lina

운명

[heetaki]

a girls amateur guide to chemistry

‧₊˚ ౨ৎ -- park sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: It was supposed to be a joke. a simple experiment after one too many 'but what if we could' questions. but now the college golden boy is convinced he's in love with you, and you have to figure out a way to remind him he's not. unless, of course, the experiment isn't the reason he can't seem to leave you alone.

wc: 22.1k

warnings: romcom, fluff, humor, hockey captain!sunghoon, a lot of chemistry nonsense that is not realistic or accurate, slow-burn (i did not mean for that to happen but it did so sorry), love potion (?), severe yearning, reader is a bit oblivious, reader is a woman in stem, reader AND sunghoon are down baddd, one scene inspired by “better then the movies” // p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, soft dom!sunghoon, super sweet and giggly sex (they’re in love your honor), praise kink

ab thinks... i rewatched descendants and this came to me...so thank ben's rendition of "ridiculous" for this LOL. also the chemistry plot kind of got away from me towards the end but i promise the concept is there! this fic meant so much to me to write. it's one of the longest I've ever wrote, and i seriously think that despite how much i complained about writing this, it helped me fall back in love with writing. special thanks to @arischacco @ickbite @ewstain @heedimples and @clearlyhoonie for listening to me complain while also supporting all my ideas. ily guys ok?

the playlist: "black magic" - little mix / "if only" - dove cameron / "slut" - taylor swift / "supernatural" - ariana grande / "ready to love" - seventeen / “too close” - enhypen

It’d sounded like a good idea at the time.

But now, as you watch Park Sunghoon–campus golden boy and the boy you’ve been (secretly) in love with for three years–literally drink your experiment, you’re starting to think you might have messed up somewhere.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

“Okay, but, like, what are the odds a person could make a real life potion? Or something like it?” Jungwon asks, eyes racing back and forth on the screen as Harry Potter brings back Cedric's dead body.

Yunjin shoots him a glare, her eyes brimming with tears. “Are you seriously asking that right now? Cedric just died!”

He blinks, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "We’ve seen this movie, like, a hundred times.”

“That doesn’t make it any less sad!” She scoffs, reaching for the throw pillow behind her head and tossing it at him.

It hits him square in the chest, but he barely reacts. Just lets it fall into his lap like it'd always been there. “I’m being serious, though!”

Beomgyu hums, popping another pretzel in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you’re just thinking of chemistry.” 

Jungwon rolls his eyes, shifting in his seat so he can better face the three of you. “I mean like an actual potion. Like ones that make you fall in love or something dumb like that.”

You finally decide to speak up, tucking your feet under yourself and pulling your gaze away from the glowing screen. “You want to know if it’s possible to make a love potion?” You ask, voice laced with disbelief.

But Jungwon doesn’t laugh. If anything, he just looks ten times more serious. “Exactly.”

The three of you go silent, glancing between eachother like Jungwon might reveal he’s joking and he knows something like that isn’t possible. 

Right?

See, there's a lot of issues with being a Biochemistry major. Some of the more obvious being that you’re a woman in a male-dominated field–which is a problem in and of itself–and the other being that it’s extremely difficult.

But the one people don’t talk about is your extreme crave for knowledge. Even if that knowledge has to do with finding out whether or not it’s possible to make a fucking love potion.

And you should shoot the idea down as soon as it comes to your head, really, you should. But there’s that little flicker in the back of your mind, the one that usually gets you into trouble, that has you saying: “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

(Newsflash: it really, really would.)

Three weeks. That’s how long it takes the four of you to work out numerous formulas, some which nearly exploded in your face, others that did nothing at all. It wasn’t until you suggested using a bit less magnesium does the whole thing seem to be less far-fetched.

Despite her initial scepticism, Yunjin was insistent on finishing it as soon as possible so that she could make Jay–her second situationship of the month–realize he was in love with her and finally ask her on a proper date. You couldn’t help but feel like maybe that was a little unethical.

Besides, you’d already agreed you weren’t actually going to use the substance on real people. You’d test it on rats, see if it worked, and then go to sleep feeling completely and utterly satisfied.

That was the plan, anyway.

You crossed your legs, pencil tapping against your chin as you read over the equations in your notebook. The experiment was nearly completed–but you just couldn’t figure out how to make sure its effects wore off. Beomgyu had suggested maybe substituting the sodium for something else, but you just weren’t sure what.

Jungwon groans next to you, letting his forehead rest against the desk. “Remind me again why electives insist on giving more work than necessary? Like, why do I have to write a 15,000 word essay on the history of the internet?”

You snort, shaking your head slightly as the eraser of your pencil rubs furiously against your paper. “Remind me again why you chose to take a class on the internet?”

He lifts his head up, glaring at you the entire time. “I wasn’t aware the curriculum included 15 page long think pieces on the significance of Damn Daniel.”

You really laugh at that, lips curling up in a cheeky smile. 

You and Jungwon usually had nightly study sessions at the campus library. It was a good way to unwind while also getting some work done. Well, more like you were getting work done and he was decoding Vine’s cultural significance. 

It’s hard for you to focus though.

Park Sunghoon is considerably the most beautiful man you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, with raven hair and a smile that stops girls in their tracks, he has officially claimed the title of Campus Golden Boy and local heartthrob.

So how can you be expected to focus when he’s sitting in front of you, looking like that? 

He’s wearing glasses, something you weren’t even aware he needed, slightly hunched over his glowing computer screen with an adorable knit in his brow. The sight should be illegal, honestly. 

You don’t even notice you’re staring until Jungwon nudges your foot with his, a knowing smirk on his face. “If you keep staring at him like that he might think there’s something wrong with you.”

You immediately flush, forcing your gaze back onto your notebook and trying to ignore the fact that your ears have begun to burn something mean.

“I hate you.” You mumble, fully expecting Jungwon to reply with something witty, but it never comes. Instead, when you lift your gaze up, Sunghoon has left his table and begun to make a beeline for you.

Your eyes widen, throat already closing up and panic swelling deep in your chest. You’d definitely been caught and now he was going to confront you about your stalker-like behavior. You briefly wonder how long it takes for the police to arrive when they’re called, because he was definitely coming over to inform you that he’d done just that.

“Stop looking like your five seconds away from combusting.” Jungwon whispers, tone strangely serious.

You do your best to straighten your posture and make it look like there weren’t three-week-old eye bags under your eyes or a mysterious stain on your sweats, but it’s all futile when he flashes you that smile. The one he gave everyone when he was being friendly, something you’d been on the receiving end of before. But, for some reason, this time it feels different.

This time it feels like the start of something new.

He stops at the other end of your table, hand shooting up in a brief wave. “Hi,” He breathes out, “We have chemistry together.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Jungwon kicks your shin and you remember that you should probably reply. ‘Uh–Yeah!” Your voice cracks, tone pitching up higher than you meant it too. You clear your throat with a slight wince, doing your best to give him a smile. “Yes. Yeah. We do.”

He chuckles, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. And, wow, maybe Jungwon was right–you really are about to explode.

“I was having trouble with this last assignment,” He sighs, clearly exasperated, pointing a thumb back at his computer. “What are the chances you might be able to help me?”

Okay. This is fine. Amazing, actually. You’d finished that assignment the other night and you understood it pretty well, so helping him should be a piece of cake.

At least it would be if you didn’t seem to forget everything in his presence. Because you can definitely smell a bit of his cologne right now, sharp and clean, and you think you’re going to die. Yep. You’re going to pass away from cologne.

“Yes,” Jungwon answers for you, already ushering you out of your chair. “She can help you. Trust me, she’s crazy smart.”

Your eyes widen, staring at your friend in horror as he practically pushes you out of your chair and closer to Sunghoon.

“I know.” Sunghoon replies easily, tone light. Two words, but they’re enough to nearly send you melting into the floor.

You do your best to stay composed as Sunghoon leads you back to his table, but you aren’t entirely sure you’re even going to be able to think next to him. Which is definitely a little pathetic when you think about it, but seriously, look at the man. You are not ashamed in the least.

Jungwon shoots you two thumbs up, dimples showing as he smiles like he’s just won the fucking lottery. You don’t return the sentiment, instead shooting him a harsh glare. 

Sunghoon pulls out the chair next to his computer for you, and you sit down shakily. Your nerves feel completely shot, face on fire and your palms becoming uncomfortably moist.

He gestures to the problem on his screen, murmuring something about how he’d been stuck on it for the last hour.

You nod along, chewing on your bottom lip. The equation he was stuck on was thankfully something you knew how to do, so after taking a breath and reminding yourself that he is simply a boy and you are a very smart woman, you manage to explain it to him.

“You put a negative there, but the equations actually positive,” You explain, voice still shaking the tiniest bit, but stronger than it was earlier as you gain back some confidence. “You also wrote the wrong unit over here.”

Sunghoon listens as you explain everything to him, your hands gesturing wildly and words going a mile-a-minute. It’s obvious to anyone watching you that you’re passionate about the subject.

By the time you finish, he’s already fixing his mistakes and taking the steps needed to get the right answer.

He shifts closer to you, finger dragging over the paper with a light touch, “Is this right?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. He says it loud enough that only you hear, eyes flickering over the side of your face.

You feel that familiar flush building when his knee brushes yours under the table, but do your best to swallow it down. “Uh, yeah. All you have to do now is figure out the correct configuration, which you’re pretty close to doing, and you’ll be good to go.”

He hums, leaning back in his seat and flexing his palms. “How are you so good at this stuff?” He asks with a laugh, eyes raking over yours like he’s trying to fully understand you.

You swallow, playing with your fingers in your lap. “It’s just always interested me, I guess. Like, the fact that we breathe in air and breathe out carbon? And the earth needs carbon to survive, so really we’re helping power the world. It’s all just so fascinating to me!” You’re smiling now, talking animatedly, “It’s difficult, yeah, but it’s also rewarding. Like, watching your experiment work is such a rush and I–”

You cut yourself off, realizing you’re rambling about fucking chemistry like you’re in love with it. He must seriously regret even asking.

“Sorry,” You mumble, nervous laughter bubbling out of you like a defense mechanism.

He shifts, leaning forward onto the table now, face turned so he’s still looking at you. “Don’t be sorry,” He reassures, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I was listening.”

Okay, wow. You are seriously either about to throw up and die or…yeah that’s it. There aren’t any other options.

By the time you make your way back to your table you’re practically shaking, breaths coming in shallow and rushed, your entire body on fire. You feel like you’re in some weird kind of fight or flight.

Jungwons bouncing in his seat, bottom lip sucked into his teeth. He practically pulls you down next to him, beginning to ask you a million questions, but you can’t see him.

All you can focus on is the subtle glance Sunghoon gives you when he leaves.

You should’ve known something was going to go wrong the moment Beomgyu called you. 

“I swear I’ve almost figured it out,” He sighs into the phone. You can’t see him, but you can tell his nose is scrunched up the way it always is when he’s thinking too hard about something. “I think we got the units wrong, but if we can figure out the correct ones it should work.”

You kiss your teeth, bumping your silverware drawer with your hip and letting it slide shut. Your phone rests snugly between your shoulder and ear, your head tilted uncomfortably to accommodate it. “Are you in the lab right now?” You ask.

Beomgyu hums, “Jungwon and Yunjin are here too, but I don’t really know why considering neither of them are doing anything to help.” He says sharply, and you can hear the subtle cries of retaliation from your two friends in the background.

You snort, rolling your eyes slightly. “Okay, well,” You sit on your couch, attempting to get comfortable and placing your plate of food in your lap. “I’m gonna eat this and then I’ll be over, okay? Try not to blow anything up before I get there.”

“No promises.” He groans, tone laced with annoyance, but you know it’s all out of love.

You get there twenty minutes later, hair thrown up and sweats hanging off your body. Very professional, you know.

When you push the metal doors open the first sight that greets you is one you’re quite familiar with. Jungwon and Yunjin fighting with each other over something stupid, and Beomgyu ignoring them like they're his children. Nothing says friendship quite like that.

Yunjin immediately shoots up when you enter, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Can you please tell him that Jay is in love with me before I kill him?”

Jungwon’s quick to follow her, knocking his shoulder with hers so that his frame blocks her from your view. “Can you please tell her she’s known him for a week?"

You roll your eyes and scoot past them, making your way over to Beomgyu. He’s diligently writing down formulas; bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He's giving off a mad scientist vibe right now. Or maybe just a stressed-out university student vibe. Both are interchangeable.

You nudge his shoulder to get his attention, but he barely even glances at you. Just continues mumbling out questions like he's expecting the universe to answer him.

“What can I help with?” You ask, throwing on your lab coat and snapping on a pair of medical gloves.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gestures lazily to the counter top, where a small gatorade bottle is sitting where the glass test tubes usually do. “Those two idiots broke the glass tubes I was holding the liquid in so now I have to use this janky bottle,” He mutters, throwing a glare at Yunjin and Jungwon.

Your experiment was currently sitting in a Blue Crush Gatorade bottle, floating around the bottom unsuspectingly. You snort at the sight, rolling your eyes slightly. “I think they have some extra next door,” You sigh, turning on your heel to go grab them.

But before you can even think about pushing the door open, Sunghoon reveals himself on the other side.

He’s still in his hockey uniform, helmet hanging from his hand and cheeks flushed a lively pink. You both stand there for a moment, blinking like you’re waiting for each other to make the first move. Jungwon and Yunjin even stop bickering, the both of them staring at you with wide eyes and cunning smiles.

Sunghoon clears his throat, gripping his helmet just the tiniest bit tighter. “Sorry for bothering you,” He murmurs, “I, uh, forgot something in here. Just stopping by to grab it.”

You’re silent for a moment too long, trying to string together a sentence without sounding it’s your first day on earth. It turns out, it’s a bit difficult to do that when Sunghoon is staring at you like that.

Like he’s trying just as hard as you are to not burst at the seams. 

“Can I scoot past?” he asks, tone small and light, a shy smile playing on his lips.

You swallow, managing a small nod and moving to the side weakly. His fingers brush yours when he scoots past, sending a cool shiver down your spine, one that shouldn’t feel as electric as it does.

He waves at Jungwon and Yunjin, who both give him polite smiles, but you can see the way their eyes shine at him. Like they know something he doesn’t–which they do–but still.

Yunjin hurries over to your side as soon as his back is to you, giving you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen. She grabs your bicep with her manicured hand, squeezing it so tightly you have half the mind to think it’ll bruise.

“Oh my God,” She whispers, eyes flickering between you and Sunghoon, whose eyebrows seem to be narrowed in confusion as he looks for whatever it is he left. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

You immediately flush, smacking her lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.” You grumble.

“I’m being serious!” She defends, wiggling her eyebrows. “Even I got butterflies.”

You run a hand over your face, head shaking slightly. “Yunjin, seriously, stop talking.”

She laughs, but you can’t find it in yourself to laugh with her. Even if Sunghoon was looking at you a certain way, it didn’t mean anything. Not when Sophia was still around.

Sophia was the complete opposite of Sunghoon. A rude party girl who assumed the world revolved around her and her perfectly blown-out hair. And somehow, someway, she’d gotten the dark-haired man wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

Their relationship was constantly off and on, mostly because Sophia could never seem to make up her mind on what man she was interested in that week. And Sunghoon, poor, beautiful Sunghoon, always went back to her. Sometimes you wondered if she had some kind of blackmail on him. Or maybe he was just a secret masochist. Both answers were equally concerning.

They seemed to be on one of their breaks right now, but everyone knows it's only a matter of time before she's showing up at his games again. You hate that the thought of it fills your chest with green smoke.

You turn around on your heel to continue your walk to the classroom next door, but the sound of Beomgyu shrieking stops you.

You whip around, half expecting something to have exploded, but instead the sight you’re met with is worlds more alarming. 

Sunghoon, the campus golden boy and secret love of your life, is drinking your experiment. Literally. Lid to mouth, chugging it like it's water.

Beomgyu rips it from him, but it’s too late. Almost all of the liquid, aside from a few measly drops in the bottom, is gone.

The four of you freeze, watching Sunghoon like he’s grown three heads. But the boy in question just blinks at you with confusion. His tongue flicks out to lick a drop off his bottom lip, eyes flickering between the three of you. “What?

Beomgyu takes a cautious step towards him, arm held out like he’s worried Sunghoon might go rabid and lunge at him. “Do you feel anything…strange?”

Sunghoon swallows awkwardly, lips curving into a concerned smile. “Um,” he murmurs, letting out a nervous laugh. “Should I?”

You share a glance with Jungwon, who just shrugs his shoulders. The four of you are in different stages of shock, because why would somebody drink a mysterious liquid in a lab? What is the thought process behind that?

Yunjin looks like she's holding back a laugh, which isn't that shocking since she always laughs at the most inappropriate times. Meanwhile Jungwon looks nearly amused, like he'd known this would happen, and Beomgyu just looks pissed.

“Sunghoon,” Jungwon murmurs, circling the ravenette like he’s studying him, a hand on his chin. “Why did you drink out of that bottle?”

Sunghoon watches him, head twisting around his shoulder every time Jungwon makes his way out of his line of sight. “Because it’s mine? I left it here last night.” He answers casually.

Your eyes snap to Beomgyu, watching as his eyes trail down to the bottle in his hand. 

“You guys alright?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with suspicion. Not that you can really blame him.

Yunjin’s the first to answer, a honey-sweet smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, we’re good! Just…deadlines. You know how people get.” 

Sunghoon nods, eyebrows knit together. “Right,” He mumbles, pursing his lips slightly. His eyes flicker between all of you once more, like if he stares at you long enough one of you might break. 

When his eyes land on you, he pauses. It’s just a moment, something you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying attention, but something you aren’t quite sure how to place flashes in his gaze. Something far too real and confusing.

“I should, uh,” He swallows, gesturing lazily towards the door. “I should go.”

You nod, lips parted slightly as he slips past you. 

Beomgyu clearly wants to stop him and ask more questions, maybe try and keep him for observation, but you shoot him a look that tells him to let it go. Your experiment being gone sucks, yes, but if he seems fine then there isn’t any reason to scare him. And if he isn’t fine later then you can deal with it then.

Sunghoon glances back at you before he leaves, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he decides against it. Instead, he pushes the door open and steps back outside, leaving the four of you to try and come to terms with what happened.

Theres a pregnant pause, mostly because you think nobody really knows how to approach the situation. How do you move on with your day after your personal campus celebrity drank your fucking experiment? It's seriously a valid question.

Yunjin clears her throat, arms crossing over her chest. “So... does this mean I can’t use it on Joshua?" She asks, expression completley serious.

Beomgyu lets out a large sigh, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose like it might ground him. “Yunjin,” He murmurs, “Shut up.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It was a genuine question."

Your lips tighten, hand reaching out to give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You weren't going to be able to use it on him anyway."

"You don't know that!"

You can’t help but feel on edge when you walk into your Chemistry lecture the next day, hands gripping your computer tighter than necessary.

Would Sunghoon be here? Would he be okay? Did he die sometime in the night and the campus just wasn’t aware? What if the police were waiting for you so they could question you?

What would you even say? Well, you see officer, he kind of drank my experiment. So sorry it killed him! Yeah, no. That wasn’t gonna work.

To your relief, there aren’t any police officers waiting for you in the lecture hall, and Sunghoon seems to be perfectly fine.

Except, he’s sitting in Yunjin’s usual seat right next to yours.

You immediately pause, heart dropping to your stomach. This has never happened, ever, and you already know it must mean bad news.

He’s writing something in his notebook casually, hair curling over his forehead in a way that makes him look hand-sculpted by the Gods themselves. Your mouth goes dry, eyes flickering across the room until they land on a sly looking Yunjin. She curls her fingers at you in a sultry wave, like she knows exactly what she’s done–which you’re sure she does.

And, conveniently, every other seat in the room is full. Which means you have no other choice than to sit by Sunghoon.

Which is perfectly fine. Yep. It’s fine.

You force yourself to make your way to your seat, feet dragging the entire way, head hanging so that your hair covers your face. Is it a little pathetic? Yeah, definitely. But you’re way past caring.

You try to sit down as incredulously as possible, making sure your body is conveniently facing away from him. And for the first few minutes it works! Sunghoon doesn’t glance at you when you open your computer and pull up the assignment, doesn’t even blink when you sneeze right next to his ear.

And when you think you’re finally in the safe–finally feel like you can let yourself relax–it happens.

Sunghoon turns to you, his cheeks flushed a strange shade of pink, eyes strangely bright and pupils blown, and says in a scarily serious tone, “How are you, beautiful?”

You don’t even register it at first. It feels so absurd, so out of reach that he could even be thinking about saying that to you, that you completely ignore him. You assume he must be on the phone with Sophia, because there is absolutely no way Park Sunghoon just called you beautiful. It just wasn’t possible.

But then his foot finds yours under the table, and he starts trying to play fucking footsie with you. You freeze momentarily, brain trying it’s very hardest to catch up with whatever the hell it is that’s going on right now.

You swallow, finally forcing yourself to look at him. For a moment you really wish you hadn’t, because he’s got this cheeky smile going on, like he’s content just being in your presence.

You clear your throat, looking around once more for confirmation that he isn’t talking to anyone else. Your pointer finger comes up to point at yourself hesitantly, voice coming out in a small whisper when you say, “Are you talking to me?”

His foot stops nudging against yours now that you’ve finally answered him, and his smile widens. “Who else would I be calling beautiful?”

You nearly choke on your own spit, hand flying up to your mouth as you fall into a coughing fit. Sunghoons hand comes up to rub soothingly on your back like he’s done it a million times.

“What are you talking about?” You manage between coughs, eyes wide like you’ve just seen a bomb go off. 

Well, this certainly feels like one has.

Your mind can't even make sense of what he's saying. It almost feels like he's speaking another language and you're using google translate to try and communicate with him.

Sunghoon laughs, head shaking as his hand travels up to ruffle your hair. “You’re so funny sometimes, really. Did you know that? Honestly, I’ve always thought you were the funniest girl I’d ever met. And the prettiest.” His eyelashes flutter, leaning his cheek onto his hand like he’s got some type of school-girl crush. “I want the whole world to know just how perfect you are.”

You’re too shocked to even respond, lips opening and closing while you rack your brain for anything to say. This is so out of character for Sunghoon. Not just because his admiration is aimed at you, but because you’ve gone to university with him long enough to know he doesn’t act like this.

And then it hits you.

The fucking experiment.

You are so screwed.

You clear your throat, glancing around warily. Your professor started lecturing a few minutes ago, but you were so busy with Sunghoon you had no idea what it was he was even talking about.

You suck in a shaky breath, “Okay, listen, I know you’re probably confused right now." You attempt, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to what’s going on. “But you drank something you shouldn’t have yesterday, which isn’t your fault! Me and Beomgyu just have to figure out how to reverse its effects! Unless, of course, it wears off by itself. That would definitely be ideal.” You mumble the last part, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth just like it always does when you’re thinking too hard.

Sunghoon watches you with a dopey smile on his face, clearly not caring about anything that you’re saying. The sight makes your heart stutter, which you know shouldn’t happen. Personal feelings about Sunghoon aside, he doesn’t actually feel anything for you. He just thinks he does.

“You’re so cute when you’re focused.” He murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath catches when the tips of his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch soft and intentional. He's gazing at you with so much love, so much genuine feeling, it breaks your heart the tiniest bit.

And you wonder for the briefest moment what would happen if you let yourself indulge in this. Even if just for a day. Would it be so bad?

He pulls away from you slowly, the tips of his ears pink and his lips curled into a shy smile. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs again.

You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “Sunghoon–”

He stands from his seat abruptly, his chair scratching against the floor obnoxiously. You wince, head whipping up to figure out what the hell it is he’s doing.

“Everyone!” He announces, voice booming through the lecture hall. You immediately scramble to stop him, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to try and pull him back down. He just ignores you, instead choosing to continue to address the whole class like he’s giving some big speech.

“I’m in love–!”

Yeah, no.

You practically wrestle him into his chair, pulling on his arm so hard he nearly collapses into your lap. You push him into his chair, a shaky smile on your face.

The class stares at you with unamused frowns, all clearly annoyed at having the lecture interrupted by Sunghoons near-declaration.

You clear your throat, hands waving in front of you. “He’s just not feeling well,” You attempt nervously, a humorless laugh bubbling out of your lips like it might save you from embarrassment. It doesn’t.

Your professor fixes you with a stern look, one that you’d never been on the receiving end of until this moment. Now, you’re starting to understand why people say she’s so icy.

You murmur out apologies to the room, hoping to ease at least some ofthe growing tension between you and your peers. Yunjins looking at you with genuine shock, her hand covering her mouth like she’s hoping to spare you any kind of embarrassment. It doesn’t work.

You turn your attention back to Sunghoon, who’s giggling in his chair like he’d just witnessed the funniest thing ever.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, beginning to pack your stuff as well as his. You’d thought you’d wait until class was over to go find Beomgyu, but after that stunt you’re starting to think your social life might go down if you don’t figureout how to fix this ASAP.

Sunghoon shrugs, fingertips tapping against his thigh. “Is it a crime to tell people about the girl I love?”

You tense for a moment, but don’t stop gathering the rest of your things. “You don’t love me.” You manage out, voice cracking slightly. “You’re just confused.”

Sunghoon grabs your wrist and stops you from closing his notebook, his thumb hovering over your pulse point. “I’m not confused.” He insists, and, God, for a second you almost believe him. It’d definitely be easier to.

But you know he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confusing his emotions for you with something else—something that isn’t there.

Something that will never be there.

You pull your wrist out of his grip, a sad smile on your face. “C’mon,” You manage, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Let's go talk to Beomgyu.”

The walk to Beomgyu’s apartment is filled with endless yapping from Sunghoon and mostly silence from you. You aren’t sure how you should reply to his advances considering he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying. You keep telling yourself to imagine he’s on some weird drug that makes him more open than normal. And ten times more flirty.

Beomgyus apartment is just on the cusp of campus, close enough that it wasn’t a long walk, but far enough to get some sense of individualism. You’d been there a thousand times, whether it was for a casual hangout or to catch up on homework, but never in a million years did you imagine you’d be knocking on the door with Park Sunghoon staring at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars.

“Stop,” You mumble, fist rapping onto the door again. You know Beomgyu’s home right now.

Sunghoon raises a brow, arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to you. “Stop what?” He asks, maintaining his false facade of innocence.

You shoot him a glare, hands gesturing at him wildly. “Stop looking at me like that!”

He just hums, like he’s amused at your reaction. And you know none of this is technically his fault–well, it is but it isn’t–but there’s a growing annoyance in your chest that you can’t seem to get rid of. If you were going to be subjected to another public embarrassment like what he’d pulled in your lecture you think you’ll die.

You huff, fist tapping against the door again. “I know you’re in there, Beomgyu! Stop trying to pretend you aren’t there so I’ll leave!”

There’s a momentary silence, and then the door clicks open and an unamused Beomgyu stares at you from the other side. He’s wearing a white stained shirt, hair sticking up in numerous places. 

He’s a sight for sore eyes, honestly.

“What?” He sighs, staring at you like you’ve interrupted his very busy schedule.

You point over at Sunghoon with your thumb, “We’ve got a massive issue.”

Beomgyu’s eyes trail towards where you’re pointing lazily, like you’re somehow inconveniencing him. He looks Sunghoon up and down, lips twisting into a frown. “I don’t see the problem.” He mumbles.

You sigh, running a hand over your face and letting it slap back down to your thigh. “It worked.” 

Beomgyu raises a brow. “What worked?”

You groan, “The experiment worked.” You hiss, nodding towards Sunghoon slightly. “And now he’s convinced he’s in love with me.”

Beomgyu blinks, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes what you said. He’s been your closest friend for long enough to know that under different circumstances, Sunghoon confessing his love to you would’ve had you over the moon. He knows you would’ve had a much different reaction to the one you’re giving now, at least.

He licks his lips, glancing around the hallway like he’s expecting someone to jump out at you, and then ushers the both of you into your apartment. Sunghoon tries to grab your hand when you go inside, but you pull away and shoot him a sharp glare. He just smiles back, like your annoyance is the most amusing thing in the world to him.

Beomgyu gestures to the couch, mumbling out a hasty sit before disappearing into his room. You sigh when you plop down onto it, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursued. 

You know it’s not Sunghoons fault. This whole thing was a complete accident. But…some part of you couldn’t help but feel like this entire thing was only going to end one way–with you getting hurt. Sunghoon doesn’t love you like he seems to think. The issue is, you aren’t sure just how long you’ll be able to resist him before you finally start believing him.

That’s why you need to figure out how to reverse this before it gets to that point.

And what about the effects it must be having on Sunghoon? Sure, you were taking emotional hits, but what if you had accidentally seriously messed him up mentally or physically? What if he never recovered and then you’d have to live with the fact that you’d indirectly messed him up for life?

Sunghoon sits down next to you wordlessly, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes trail over the living room, eyes pausing on a framed picture of you and Beomgyu from highschool. In it, the both of you are laughing at something on the other side of the camera, your hands clenching your stomachs and wide smiles on your faces. You don’t remember what exactly had been so funny at the time, but your heart still melts all the same every time you look at it.

Sunghoon hums, nodding towards the picture. “You look happy.”

Even though you don’t mean to, and there's definitely no reason to do so right now, you crack a small smile. “Yeah,” You mumble, “That was a good day.”

The space between you isn’t uncomfortable, it never really has been despite everything, but it’s tense. Like there’s some sort of gravitational force pushing you towards him, and the harder you resist, the more it wants to persist. 

Sunghoon must feel it to, because his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing slightly. For the first time since this entire fiasco started, he looks almost unsure, like there’s something he wants to do or say, but he can’t.

You frown, hand instinctively coming up to rest on his bicep, “Sunghoon,” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright–”

“Okay, here's the plan,” Beomgyu interrupts, finally emerging from his room. He looks much more put together now and not like he’d just rolled out of bed. He points to himself, “I’m going to figure out how to fix…” He gestures to Sunghoon warily, “This as soon as possible. You,” He points to you next, “Are going to watch him while I do.”

Immediately, alarms go off in your head. You can’t watch over Sunghoon. You just can’t.

You sit up straighter, arms crossing in an X over your chest. “I can’t,” You blurt, heat rising to your cheeks. You slowly lean back again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I have…plans.”

It’s a lame excuse, you know. And you know neither of them believe you. (Honestly, does Sunghoon even understand what’s going on?)

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “Okay, first off, no you don’t. And if this is like, a one in a million time in which you actually do have something going on, cancel it.” He lowers his voice slightly, hand covering his mouth so Sunghoon can’t see what he’s saying. “He can’t be alone right now, and I’m guessing you’re the only person he’ll willingly go with. So, either take him or deal with the repercussions.”

You hate that he’s right. 

Maybe, if you had any energy left in you you’d fight with him on it. Or maybe you’d just deal with the consequences of sending Sunghoon out there on his own. But one glance at the man in question, and you immediately cave.

He’s gazing at you with hopeful eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. It really shouldn’t tug at your heart strings like it does. It shouldn’t make you want to say yes until the word doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

You sigh, forcing your gaze to the ground. “Fine,” You huff, “I’ll watch him. Whatever that means.”

Beomgyu grins, glancing between you and Sunghoon cheekily, like he knows something you don’t. “Great,” He rolls his neck, letting it pop once. “Now get out so I can get to work.”

Campus is never busy on Mondays. You think it’s because most people don’t like the idea of morning classes on the first day of the week, which you can’t really blame them for. But that also means that it’s just you and Sunghoon on the street, and while it feels completely awkward for you—he looks like he just won a million bucks.

He’s smiling, as if the harsh winds blowing across your faces is anything to smile about. As if anything about this situation is something to smile about. 

And you know you shouldn’t be upset. Anyone in your situation right now would probably be ecstatic. The man you’ve been secretly in love with for the past three years is finally returning your feelings, even if they aren’t completely genuine.

But that’s the issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t really feel this way towards you, he just thinks he does. And it would be so easy to let yourself indulge in it–to let yourself forget that none of this is actually real.

But you can’t. You know you can’t.

Sunghoons arm brushes against yours, a complete accident, but you still flinch and pull away like he’s burned you.

He glances at you, eyebrows furrowing. His breaths coming out in uneven puffs of white fog. “Everything okay?”

You clear your throat, trying to act like the shiver that goes down your spine is from the frosted air and not because his smooth voice makes your body flush with heat. “I’m fine,” You murmur, “Just…hungry. Tired.”

He hums, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “You know,” He drawls, trying to keep up a nonchalant front. “We could go eat. Together. Just me and you.”

You blink, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Is he asking you on a date right now? If the past two hours hadn't happened, you probably would've been more surprised.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly, “I’m not going on a date with you Sunghoon.” The words nearly don't make it out of your throat, feeling more artificial and practiced than anything else. If you would've told yourself a week ago you'd be rejecting Sunghoon, you probably would've slapped yourself for even thinking about it.

He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Who said anything about a date?” He asks, looking at you like you've just uggested the craziest thing he's ever heard. “We're just two friends eating lunch together, right? Even if I am irrevocably in love with you.”

He throws the word love out like he's saying hello, not like he's pulling at the strings of your heart every time it leaves his lips. It almost sounds fucking natural, like he'd been saying it to you for years, which makes it even worse.

You pause in the street, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Okay, I get that your brain isn’t in the right place right now, but stop saying things like that.”

His head tilts slightly to the side, eyebrows raising in amusement. “Why?” He asks, tone innocent, but you know better. You know he’s finding this funny. It’s frustrating and annoying and your heart fucking stutters every time he looks at you like he knows exactly what makes you tick.

You stumble over your words, hands gesturing wildly in front of you. “Because It’s annoying! And weird! How would Sophia feel if she knew you were saying all of this?”

The air goes still at the mention of Sophia, like the thought of her is enough to push away the sun. Sunghoons expression hardens, his jaw tightening for a moment before he releases it. It’s almost like the sound of her name has sucked all of the joy out of him. “Why would I care what she thinks?” He mutters.

You blank, unsure of how to respond to that. You know the two have always had a more than toxic relationship, but you’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards her before. You’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards anyone before.

“I don't know, maybe because she’s your girlfriend?” You attempt.

His eyes harden as he looks away from you, like he doesn't want to point his annoyance towards you. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He mumbles.

Your neck cranes up so you can look at him, arms crossing over your chest in a silent defense. “Besides,” He continues, taking a small step closer. “Why would I care about her when you’re right in front of me?”

You feel that familiar heat rush up your neck, the one you know you have no right to feel. And it’s strange how something good on the surface can cut you so deeply. How something you hoped to hear from him for years can suddenly feel like the biggest insult.

But, you are hungry–you weren’t lying about that, and Beomgyu has already assigned you to practically be his babysitter anyway, so might as well get something out of it, right?

You let out a breath, kissing your teeth as you do. This is a very bad idea, and you know it. “We can go to lunch as friends, but that’s it, okay? And no more flirting.”

His lips curl into a grin, eyes flashing like he’s just won a prize. “Perfect, because I already made a reservation for us off campus.”

Of course he did. 

You open your mouth to argue, or really say anything, but his hand makes its way onto your lower back so he can lead you away and you suddenly forget how to speak. Because, yes, you’re still a strong woman who would rather die than ever be rendered speechless by a man–but Park Sunghoon is an exception. One that you know you shouldn’t indulge, but doesn’t it feel oh, so good when you do?

That’s how you find yourself thirty minutes later in the nicest restaurant in a fifteen mile radius, wearing jeans and an old ratty t-shirt. You cross your legs, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach at being so underdressed.

Sunghoon doesn’t look the least bothered by it though, reading over the menu with sharp eyes and a slight furrow to his brows. He asks you your opinion occasionally, mumbles about calories and his protein intake. All things you’d never really felt the need to look at yourself before. Maybe hockey people have to worry about that stuff? You’d always assumed it was just wrestlers and weightlifters.

“Do you like Alfredo sauce or marinara? I like both, but I want you to be able to pick off my plate.” He mutters, saying it so casually. Like ordering his own food based on what you like is just common sense. If any of this was real, he would make the perfect boyfriend.

It makes you wonder again how Sophia could just let him go so easily.

Your eyes flicker up from your own menu, heart stuttering in your chest. “Just get whatever you want,” You sigh, “You don’t need to ask me.”

He’s silent for a moment, the gears in his head turning. He slowly sets his menu down, and then plucks your own from your fingers.

Your eyebrows furrow as you go to reach for it, “Sunghoon—“

“Why are you so set on rejecting me?” He asks, keeping his eyes on yours. The eye-contact nearly makes your throat close up from how intense it is. “I know you think none of this is real or whatever—“

"Because it isn’t.” You interrupt. You wish you understood how this experiment worked, because then maybe you'd know how to get it through his thick skull that none of this was real. You run a hand through your hair before continuing, “You drank an experiment, Sunghoon. Everything you’re feeling—everything you think you’re feeling—it isn’t real.” Your voice cracks slightly, like it’s a manifestation of your own hurt. 

Sunghoon, for the first time since this entire thing started, goes silent. His jaw ticks, breathing going slightly uneven. The air crackles between you, tension that neither of you really want to admit is there.

And then, without even so much as a stutter, he says, “I’ll prove it then.”

You falter, lips parting as a laugh bubbles out of your throat. You don’t mean to laugh, really, you don’t, but Sunghoon's insistence is almost admirable. And, unfortunately for you, his stubbornness only makes you fall for him the tiniest bit more.

“Why are you so set on this?” You ask, mimicking his question from earlier. 

He shrugs, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hand. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it does matter. But you know there’s no way you’re going to get an actual answer from him, so you won’t push anymore. So, instead you just shrug, fingers tapping against the table. “I guess not.”

Sunghoon grins, his tongue poking against his cheek slightly. “Atta girl.”

You should drag him out of the restaurant and back to Beomgyu’s apartment after that. Should refuse to even speak to him until Beomgyu figures out how to reverse this whole thing. Should protect your heart from the hurt that you know is coming.

But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you laugh along to his jokes. You don’t protest when he pays for your food. You let him walk you home like he’s your boyfriend and try to ignore the deep ache beginning to bloom in your chest every time he looks at you like he loves you.

And when you lay in bed that night, sheets tucked to your chin and green glowing stars shining on your ceiling, you let yourself believe that all of it was real. That all of it meant something.

Even if that was only true for one of you.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting the next morning, but it certainly isn’t sunghoon at your door with a jersey in one hand and hockey stick in the other.

You blink at him, still in your pajamas with leftover mascara flakes covering your cheeks. You’re sure you look the picture of attractiveness right now. You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. “What are you doing here?”

Sunghoon holds the jersey out to you, and it’s then that you realize it’s his. Or, at least, one with his number and name on it. “This is for tonight.” He says casually, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

Your eyebrows furrow as you cautiously take it from him, inspecting it like it was a bomb and not a piece of fabric. “Uh,” You chuckle humorlessly, “What’s tonight?”

The jersey is your size, but the only other people you can think of who wear these are family members, die-hard fans, and…girlfriends. 

But there’s no way that’s why he’s giving this to you. Besides, you’d seen Sophia wear the same exact thing enough times to know what wearing it would mean--to know what it would make you, as well as everyone else on the campus, aware of. 

That you were Sunghoons.

That is not happening.

He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. His hockey stick pokes out from under his armpit awkwardly, and the sight nearly makes you crack a smile.

“For the game,” He says, “You’re coming.”

You immediately shake your head and attempt to shove the jersey back into his arms. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to that. Thanks for the offer though.”

You turn on your heel after forcing him to take back the shirt, and while you know you should tell him to leave, you let him follow you into your apartment.

He trails behind you like a lost puppy, a slight pout twisted onto his features. “You have to go,” He insists, “You’re my girlfriend–”

You whip around and glare at him, “I am not your girlfriend.”

His lips curl up into a shy smile, a hand coming up to brace the back of his neck. “That’s a technicality.”

You give him a look before finally turning back around and continuing your walk to your bathroom. He tries to follow you in, but you quickly shut the door in his face. You half expect that to finally be the hint he needs, but of course it isn't. Instead, he just keeps talking to you through the door. “Okay, fine, you’re not my girlfriend.” He sighs, voice slightly muffled. You just roll your eyes and throw your hair up, grabbing your toothbrush from its place in the barbie cup on your sink.

“But you said I could prove to you how serious I was,” He continues. You can hear his body slide down to the floor, and you assume he’s sitting with his back against the door. He’s silent for a moment, before mumbling out so quietly you nearly don’t hear him, “Let me do what I said I would. Please.”

You are a weak, weak woman. You’ve always known this. When it comes to school and things of that nature you’d always known you excelled. But, people? That was something that was way out of your league.

Your mom used to call you a people-pleaser. Said it’d end up in you getting hurt if you didn’t learn how to step away from things before they got out of hand. And you thought you had.

But maybe you hadn’t.

You sigh, finishing up brushing your teeth and washing your face. By the time you're finished the ends of your hair and the sleeves of your shirt are soaked, but you don’t care. He wouldn’t care what you looked like right now anyway. His brain is all jumbled up and you doubt you looking like a hot mess is the thing that'll fix it.

You open the door cautiously, and just as you’d expected he’s sat on the other side with his knees tucked into his chest. He looks so small here, so boyish. Not like the Park Sunghoon you’d seen from the spotlight, not like the school's star player and pride and joy. From here, he looks like a boy trying to find himself in a world too big for him.

You tug your bottom lip into your teeth, eyes choosing to look everywhere but at him. “I’ll go,” You finally mumble, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “But I’m not wearing the jersey.”

He smiles, shoulders sagging in relief. He tilts his head up so he can see you. “Jersey?” He smirks, crumbling up the fabric and shoving it behind his back. “What jersey?”

You grin despite yourself and nudge your foot into his lower back. “Whatever. Go home so I can get ready.”

He stands, knees popping as he does. He grabs his hockey stick from where it leans against your wall, fingers wrapping around it and giving it a firm squeeze. “Six pm, alright? I’ll get you and your friends a spot up front.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that–”

He grins, and before you can even think about swerving him, leans in and places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. You freeze, body flushing and eyes going wide.

His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, coated with a scentless chapstick that you’d seen him carry around with him for years. He pauses for a moment, his spare hand lingering at your waist. He never touches you directly, doesn’t even attempt to. But you can still feel the slight heat emitting from his hand, and it almost feels more intimate than if he'd just taken that final leap.

He swallows, taking a step away from you. There’s a slight pink blush dusting his cheeks, like he’s shocked by his own actions, but he’s quick to clear his throat and pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary about what he’d just done. Like the entire thing was a regular occasion for the both of you.

“I’ll see you there, okay?” He mutters, raising a brow. Like he needs more reassurance that you’ll stick to your word and show up.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips for a moment, eyes searching for any indication that maybe he understands what he did. That maybe the experiment's effects are starting to wear off. But when you look at him, you see the same exact thing you’ve been seeing since yesterday morning.

Pure, unbridled, love.

You suck in a breath, nodding your head slightly. “Yeah,” You manage, though your voice comes out low and breathless. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles, mumbles out a soft goodbye, and then leaves you in the middle of your hallway, body flushed and mind jumbled.

Yunjin, to your dismay, comes over as soon as you ask her too.

She looks ecstatic. You’d called her last night and explained the entire situation, but she, of course, couldn’t see how it was a very bad thing.

“Why are you so upset?” She’d asked over the phone. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was practically beaming. “The guy you’ve been secreltey obsessing over like some kind of stalker is in love with you! That sounds like a complete win to me!”

You’d winced, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Yeah, It sounds great! But he doesn’t…” You swallowed uncomfortably, “He doesn’t actually feel that way for me. He just thinks he does.”

You heard her take a drink of something before she sighed out, “How do you know that?”

You went silent, unsure of how to answer. What did she mean how did you know? It was obvious. Sunghoon accidentally drinks a love potion and now thinks he’s in love with you. That’s what had happened.

You tucked your legs under you and adjusted your phone against your ear. “I think that’s obvious, Yunjin.” You murmured.

She hummed, “I don’t know, [Y/N].” She said, tone strangely teasing. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

So, when you’d called her and asked her to help you get ready for tonight’s match, she was ecstatic. And you appreciated her support, of course, but you weren’t sure she really understood what was happening here.

You and Sunghoon are nothing. When all of this was over, you’d go back to being two strangers who sometimes smiled awkwardly at each other out of obligation. And you needed to be able to be okay with that. You had to be.

“Okay, I think you should wear something super sexy so that Sunghoon’s knocked on his ass.” Yunjin quips, scouring through your closet and inspecting everything you own like it owes her something.

You sigh from where you lay on your bed, staring up at the stars on your ceiling like maybe they’ll save you. “We’re going to his game, Yun. I don’t want him to fall on his ass.” You chuckle, throwing up air quotes around the end of your sentence.

Yunjin rolls her eyes and throws another pair of jeans onto your desk chair. “I don’t mean literally. I just mean maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wear something different."

You sit up, bracing yourself against your elbows. “What's wrong with my usual clothes?” You ask, eyebrows raising teasingly.

Yunjin pauses, cautiously turning around so you’re face to face. “There’s nothing wrong with it," She attempts, lips twisting thoughtfully as she tries to come up with the softest way to say it. “But I don’t think a pair of sweatpants and some random shirt you got in middle school is quite the look we’re going for.”

You scoff, flopping back down onto your bed and pushing the palm of your hands into your eyes until white dots fill your vision. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you usually wear, even if it isn’t the nicest clothes ever.

But you can’t lie and say there isn’t a part of you that wonders how Sunghoon would react. Would he even care? If he did, would it even be real?

“I think that you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” You mutter, letting your arms wrap around yourself.

Yunjin snorts and tosses a shirt at you. You cautiously inspect the fabric–a blue long sleeved top with a deep neckline that you’d bought to make your ex-boyfriend jealous and then never wore. You scrunch your nose slightly at it and then toss it back at her. 

“There’s no way I’m wearing that.” You snort.

Yunjin nods, grabbing a pair of dark jeans from your closet. “That’s what you think.”

The hockey arena, to no one's surprise, is full to the brim with die hard fans and half-way drunk college students. You, personally, have never been to a game before. Mostly because you know what they consist of, and you’d rather skip watching men fight over a puck on ice when you could be doing much more important things. Like rewatching New Girl.

But, alas, you, Yunjin, and Jungwon all find your seats right at the barricade. Beomgyu had chosen to skip so that he could keep working on some kind of fix for your current situation, but you had half the mind to believe it was because he simply didn’t want to come.

Jungwon takes a sip of his fountain drink, letting the red straw rest on his lip. “So, you’re telling me that Sunghoon drank the experiment, thinks he’s in love with you, and invited you here because he wants to prove to you that it’s real?”

You nod, shrugging your jacket off and laying it across the back of your seat. The players are warming up in front of you, their skates scratching against the ice as they yell instructions at each other. You can see Sunghoon talking to another boy with a serious expression, his hands moving admittedly as he does. You can tell he’s being stern with him, but the boy doesn’t look upset or scared in the least. If anything, he’s taking his lecture with pride–like getting told off by Park Sunghoon is a privilege.

And you think that goes into show just the kind of person that he is. He's kind, and funny, and defientley doesn't deserve what you're putting him through.

"Um," You sniff, adjusting yourself in your seat. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Jungwon hums, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Is it weird that that isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to us?” He asks.

You furrow your brows, “What could possibly be weirder then that?”

“Remember freshman year?” Yunjin chimes in, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “There was that full two weeks where Beomgyu was stained pink.”

“Oh,” You draw out, chuckling at the memory. “I do remember that.”

You giggle at the memory. Beomgyu had had a rouge experiment blow up in his face--literally--and spent two weeks looking like he'd just stepped out of the Barbie movie.

Jungwon shrugs, “I would argue that seeing Beomgyu walk around campus like a real-life monster high doll was definitely weirder than this.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your attention back towards Sunghoon. He still hasn’t noticed you–which you’re mostly grateful for, but it also makes you anxious for when he does.

While you’ve never been to one of the matches in person, you have seen them online. You know that they can get heated and violent. You’ve seen Sunghoon walk into class with the occasional black eye or scabbed over knuckles.

It makes worry build in your stomach, thick and strong and nearly overwhelming. And you know you shouldn’t care. Sunghoon isn’t your boyfriend, even if he seems to think he is. But, still, the thought of him getting hurt makes you want to throw up.

You lean back in your chair, leg bouncing anxiously, and then you see it. It’s a subtle movement from the corner of your eye, but you catch it nonetheless.

Two seats down from you, Sophia sits down with her friends, all of them looking like they just stepped out of fucking vogue. And Sophia, with her perfectly blown-out hair and sickly sweet smile, is wearing Sunghoons jersey.

Your heart drops, stomach becoming an endless pit as you stare at her. You’d assumed they broke up, but what if they hadn’t? That was the only explanation you could think of for why she was here wearing that. What if you had accidentally ruined her relationship with Sunghoon?

Not to say that their relationship wasn’t already on the brink of disaster, but still.

You nudge Jungwon with your elbow, forcing your gaze onto the rink. The other team has come onto the ice now, and you can see Sunghoon's jaw tick. But he isn’t watching the other team, no, he’s searching the stands.

Searching them for you.

You suddenly feel a wave of guilt at what you’ve done, even if it was an accident. You’ve inadvertently forced yourself into the middle of a relationship that was never any of your business. Does this make you a homewrecker?

“Jungwon,” You mumble, “Tell Yunjin we’re leaving.”

“What?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. “The game hasn’t even started.”

You sink into your seat as you watch Sunghoons gaze get closer and closer to you. “Sophia’s here.” You say through your teeth, “And she’s wearing his jersey.”

Jungwons gaze shifts past you, lips parting when he spots her. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, “Oh.”

Jungwon turns and tells Yunjin, and you watch as her head pops out from behind him, her lips pulled into a frown. “Oh, this is so fucked.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan, “I’m a homewrecker!”

“Okay, no,” Yunjin scoffs, still eyeing Sophia like maybe if she stares at her long enough she’ll disappear, “This is all just a really small misunderstanding.”

You groan again, dropping your hands to your lap and looking back onto the rink. Sunghoon finally spots you then, a smile curling onto his lips as he skates over. Your stomach churns, letting yourself steal a glance to Sophia, who is also smiling at Sunghoon. 

You sink further into your seat.

“Y/N!” He calls once he approaches, placing a hand in the glass separating you. You can practically feel Sophia’s gaze burning into your skull, and for once, you can’t even be mad that you’re on the other side of her icy glare.

“Um,” You manage, clearing your throat and cocking your head as subtly as possible towards Sophia. “Sunghoon, you should probably go say hi to your girlfriend before you say hi to me.”

You can feel Jungwon and Yunjin holding their breaths, like they’re scared any sudden movement will set off some kind of bomb. But Sunghoon either doesn't notice the tension, or he’s actively choosing to ignore it.

He cocks his head to the side, smile faltering a bit. “What are you talking about—”

“Hoonie!”

There’s something very distinct about Sophia’s voice—just the right amount of feminine to be cutsey, but still bordering on the edge of nails on a chalkboard. Normally, the sound of it would make you roll your eyes and resist the urge to pull your hair out, but now it just makes you feel sick with guilt.

Sunghoons expression immediately shifts, his smile curling downwards, eyes narrowing slightly. When he spots Sophia, he almost looks bored. Like the sight of her is nothing special.

She climbs over the people next to you, a mom and her toddler, both of whom she doesn’t apologize to when she steps on the tips of their shoes.

“Hoon,” She sighs, adjusting her skirt. “I missed you.”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance, which you’re partially thankful for. But, you also can’t help but wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even see you as a threat.

Which, you’re not—but still. It’d at least be nice to be considered one.

Sunghoons jaw ripples, gaze icy and nearly angry. “What’re you doing here Sophia?” He asks. His gaze falls downwards, onto the blue jersey she wears proudly across her chest, and scoffs. “And why are you wearing that?”

Sophia doesn’t even flinch at his tone, if anything she seems to revel in it. “Why wouldn’t I be here, silly?” She giggles, “I’m supporting my boyfriend!”

Jungwon glances over at you, but your eyes stay on the floor. What are you supposed to say? Actually, you’re boyfriend thinks he’s in love with me, so sorry! You’d just sound crazy.

Sunghoon leans closer, voice lowering an octave. “Are you forgetting that I caught you fucking my roomate last weekend?” He spits, gripping his hockey stick so hard you’re convinced it’ll break. “Or am I supposed to just get over that like everything else?”

You can’t help the gasp that leaves you. A small sound, but it’s enough to catch her attention. She whips her head around, dark eyes catch yours, nose scrunched like she’s staring at the trash on the side of the sidewalk and not a person.

You half expect her to apologize for having such a private conversation in front of you, but she doesn’t do that. Why would she? Instead, she barks, “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation? Go somewhere else.”

You blink, lips parting as you try to come up with something to say. But, Sunghoon beats you to it.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” He defends, eyes blazing something nearly protective. It makes your heart flutter and heat fill your stomach for all the wrong reasons.

Sophia takes a moment to process, but when she does, you would’ve thought Sunghoon had just told her he’d made out with her mom.

“Why are you defending her?” She asks, letting out a humorless laugh. She really takes you in then, eyeing you up and down. You sink into yourself instinctually, arms wrapping around your stomach like a shield. “Don’t tell me this is my replacement?” She chuckles, like the thought of you even being near Sunghoon is amusing.

You shake your head, hands shooting out in front of you. Even though she doesn't deserve it, you don't want to be the other woman. “No, no, that’s not—”

But Sunghoon doesn't let you finish. “She can’t be a replacement when there’s nothing to replace.” He mutters, tongue leaking venom.

Sophia, for what you’re sure is the first time in her life, is rendered speechless. Her glossy lips part, eyes widening a fraction. “Sunghoon—”

He turns to you then, completely ignoring her like her prescense isn’t even a blip on his radar. His eyes soften, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of pink. “Meet me after the game, okay?” He mumbles.

A buzzer sounds, and both teams on the ice skate over to their respective coaches to get ready for the game. Your lips part as you wrack your brain for a response, but it’s hard when Sophia is sneering at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

Sunghoon sighs, throwing you a final glance before pushing off the glass and beginning to skate towards the rest of his teammates.

His jaw ticks once, throwing Sophia an icy look over his shoulder. “Go home, Sophia.” He mumbles.

Sophia doesn’t say anything else, just shoots you a glare and then stomps back to her waiting friends. They all look sympathetic when she tells them what happened, shooting you not-so-subtle death glares. As if you did something. Well, you did—you unintentionally home wrecked her relationship, but still, it was all accidental!

Yunjin lets out a low whistle, crossing her leg over her knee and clasping her hands around it. “Can we make more of those love potion things?” She asks with a chuckle. “This is reality tv kind of entertainment.”

Jungwon nods, “Rivals love island, honestly.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut, “This isn’t a reality tv show.” You mumble.

Yunjin shrugs, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. “We know, but it might as well be. Or maybe the plot of some super bad fanfiction.”

And, well, you can’t really argue with that.

But you’d never been good at confrontation, and Sophia keeps looking at you like you’d owe her something. Her lips pulled tightly together, friend whispering in her ear like she knows your deepest darkest secrets.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a subtle prick of insecurity. One that forces you deeper into your seat and into your own head.

The game goes by in a blur, one that you barely pay attention to. It’s not that you don’t want to, but it’s a little difficult when Sophia keeps glancing over at you and laughing with her friends.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve been laughed at before--been the victim of bullies who thought they had the upper hand for whatever reason. But that had been in high school, never in college. And even though you try to push it away—try to block it out—those awful thoughts still crawl their way from the depths of your mind. Thoughts that you hadn’t had since you’d sat alone in a chemistry classroom in tenth grade, back before you’d met Beomgyu.

So, when the game is over (Sunghoon led the team to victory of course, because why wouldn’t he?), you don’t hesitate shrugging your jacket back on and climbing your way over people to get to the exit.

Yunjin and Jungwon stumble behind you, calling your name in an attempt to get you to slow down, but you don’t. Can’t, really.

You didn’t sign up for any of this. Didn’t sign up to be the target of Sophia’s stares, didn’t sign up to be the girl Sunghoons convinced he’s in love with.

You just wanted to go back to your life before. When you were still just in the background with your select circle. You wanted to go back to watching Sunghoon from afar—to being the girl he’d never look twice at.

Because this? This was too much for you.

And you know none of it is his fault, but that almost just makes it worse. He has no idea how much all of this is really hurting you. How much it breaks your heart every time he looks at you like you mean something to him.

The wind hits your face when you step outside, neon lights of the stadium lighting up the parking lot around you. You finally let out a breath, eyes glassy and lips chapped. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you really don’t care.

“[Y/N]!” Yunjin calls, jogging slightly to catch up with you. Her jackets hanging off her arms awkwardly, purse dangling from her elbow. “Where are you going?” She presses, grabbing your bicep gently and forcing you to a stop. “What’s going on?”

You force your gaze to the ground, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I’m going home,” You tell her, voice raw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. If I had known he was still with Sophia—”

“Woah, hold on,” Yunjin interrupts you. Jungwon approaches then, his blonde hair blowing over his forehead awkwardly. “Did you not hear Sunghoon? They’re broken up.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “They’re always broken up.”

Yunjins lips pull in tight, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Is this because she was here?” She asks you, tone serious and deadly. "You know you don't need to care about whatever it is her and her friends think."

It’s rare for her to speak to you so seriously, always the one looking towards humor to lighten up situations. So when she does, you tend to listen.

“Sophia is a bitch, plain and simple. Sunghoon is not. And he’s actively trying to prove to you that he wants you, and you’re not letting him.” She insists.

You pull your arm from her grip at that, eyebrows knitting together. Does she seriously think anything Sunghoon is doing he actually means? If that were the case, you wouldn't even be in this situation.

“Yunjin, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” You spit, tone harsher then you mean it. You don’t mean to aim your anger towards her, but she just keeps pushing and pushing until you finally explode. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t feel like that towards me.” Your voice breaks, eyes brimming with tears. “He doesn’t feel anything towards me.”

Jungwon swallows, his eyes downcast. He was usually good in situations like this, usually the one to take the lead and get you laughing again, but now he can’t even meet your eyes.

Yunjin reaches for you again, sympathy written all over her face, but you pull away. You don’t want her comfort right now, even though you know it comes from a place of love.

You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze onto the sidewalk in front of you. The pavement is wet from rain earlier in the day, collecting in small puddles below your feet. “I’m just going to go home, okay? Tell Sunghoon I’m sorry.”

“[Y/N]…” Yunjin mumbles, but you’re already walking away, arms wrapped around yourself and bottom lip trembling.

Is it pathetic to be crying over a stupid boy and a mean girl? Maybe. But you also know that having feelings is human, and sometimes, when the time is right, it’s okay to cry.

And you think right now is one of those times.

You don’t cry hard. Not full, chest-heaving sobs, just occasional hiccups—a steady stream of tears flowing down your cheeks that you stain your sleeves with every time you wipe at them.

Your apartment is cold when you enter, the air brushing harshly against your face. You shrug your jacket off and toss it onto the couch, padding over to your room with exhaustion sinking into your bones.

You peel off your clothes–the top Yunjin had insisted you wear for Sunghoon suddenly feeling suffocating and tight. It isn’t often you let yourself wallow in self-pity like this, but tonight was going to have to be an exception.

You change into a stained t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a rip in the knees and collapse onto your couch. You wonder if Sunghoon said anything when he noticed you weren’t there. Was he disappointed? Or had he finally realized it wasn’t you he should be chasing after?

Your heart hurts at the thought, aching and heavy in your chest.

It isn't fair to him that you feel like this. It isn't fair to you that he's unknowingly playing with your heart. The entire thing is a bad dream you wish you could just wake up from.

You barely register the knock at your door at first, too stuck in your head while trying to pretend you’re paying attention to whatever sitcom’s playing on the TV.

But then it comes again, not harsh, just louder. More insistent. Like whoever’s on the other side is desperate to see you.

You roll your eyes, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and forcing yourself to pad over. “Yunjin,” You sigh, clicking the lock and swinging the door open. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

But it isn’t Yunjin standing on the other side. It’s Sunghoon.

His black hair is a mess, bangs covering his eyes in a way you know can’t be comfortable, a pair of black-rimmed glasses resting against his nose. He’s not wearing his jersey anymore, but the black compression shirt he wears under it is still there, a pair of gray sweatpants laying dangerously low on his hips.

He looks dangerously handsome without even trying.

Your breath catches before you can stop it, gaze falling down his body like you’re commiting it to memory. You’re both silent, just staring at eachother, waiting for the other to cut through the tension first.

It shouldn’t hurt seeing him right now as much as it does. You don’t have any claim on him. He loves Sophia, you’ve known that from the start.

So why does it feel like tonight was just one big slap in the face? Like the universe was reminding you of exactly what your place with him really is?

Sunghoon swallows, eyes shaky as they try to search your own. You don’t let him though. You know if you look him in the eye right now, you’ll break, and that’s the last thing you want him to see.

“You left,” He whispers, tone low. You can hear the hurt seeping through his voice, but it’s masked by a weird kind of warmth. Like even though you hurt him, he can’t physically be mad at you.

You think that’s probably a side effect.

You shift your weight uncomfortably, twiddling your thumbs in front of you. You can’t look at him—too scared of what you’ll find if you do.

“Sunghoon,” You start, voice trembling. “You don’t want me.” You don't say it like a question, instead it's a statement.

His fingers tighten into fists at his sides, knuckles going pale. “Why do you keep assuming you know what I want?” He asks.

You shake your head, “You’re just confused—”

“Stop,” He interrupts, taking a small step towards you. “Stop saying that when I know I've never been more clear headed in my life.”

You stiffen, unsure of how to respond. You know for a fact he has no idea what he’s doing or talking about. And that’s what makes it hurt the most. He genuinely believes he loves you, and fuck, you’d give anything for it to be real.

His hand reaches out, but he hesitates and drops it back to his side. "Let me prove it to you, okay? Just like I said I would. No games. No Sophia. Just me and you.”

You force your gaze up then, eyes narrowed. You shouldn’t say yes, not when your heart is already on the brink of collapse. But Sunghoons staring at you like he’ll break into pieces if you say no—like the thought of you rejecting him is too much to handle.

You lean against the doorframe, lips twisting slightly. “I don't know,” You attempt, “it’s already so late and I look a mess—”

“Please,” he breathes out, voice wrecked. “Stop thinking so hard and let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Your knuckles tighten until your fingernails dig into your palms, forming little crescent-shaped marks into the soft skin. Everything inside of you is telling you to say no. To tell him to go home and lock himself in his room until Beomgyu figures out how to fix this.

But there’s still that small part of you—the part that wonders if maybe he really did mean every sweet word that fell from his perfect lips. If maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.

And that part of you wins.

Sunghoon doesn’t let you change—just ushers you into your jacket and leads you with a hand on your lower back out of your apartment and back towards the rink.

You don’t notice that’s where you’re heading at first, not until the lights outside the parking lot come into view. Your stomach twists at the memory of your last conversation with Yunjin and Jungwon, but you push it away. You’d fix things tomorrow.

“Why are we here?” You ask, glancing up at the raven-haired boy. His palm hasn’t left your back since you started walking, almost like he was staking his claim there. Imprinting the shape of him into your skin like it’s second nature.

He shrugs, mischief flashing in his smile. “You’ll see.”

You’ve never seen the stadium empty before, but now that you are, it makes you realize just how daunting it really is. The lights pointed at the rink are still on, reflecting off of the ice and glinting across its surface. You can see the slight scuff marks and dents from numerous skates, small puddles forming in their wake.

Sunghoon jogs in front of you, pulling out a set of keys and opening the gate that the hockey players use to get onto the rink. He holds an arm out to you, gesturing for you to come over to him.

You do so cautiously, arms wrapped around yourself. The ice from the rink makes the air frigid, crawling up your spine like a garden snake. Menacing, but not dangerous.

“I don’t have any skates.” You mumble.

Sunghoon smiles, reaching out and wiggling your hand out from where it rests under your arm, “That’s okay,” He says softly, intertwining your fingers. His hands are large, this is something you’ve always known. It’s hard not to notice when he makes his pencil look like a fucking mini-brand every time he writes down his notes—but now you realize just how much they dwarf your own. “We don't need them.”

He pulls you onto the rink then, and feet immediately slip on the slick ice. You yelp when you feel your foot begin to slide from beneath you, back arching and spare arm flinging to your side, but Sunghoon grips your hand and pulls you to his chest like he’d been expecting it.

You huff when your face meets his chest, heat crawling viciously up your neck from embarrassment. Sunghoons chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer to him.

“Finally falling for me?” He teases.

If only he knew.

You scoff and cautiously step away from him, tightening the muscles in your legs so you don’t slip again. “You wish.” You say, meaning for it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds soft. Playful. Everything it shouldn’t be.

He rolls his eyes and drags you to the middle of the ice, careful not to tug too hard or walk too fast, instead matching his pace with yours.

You look around at the thousands of seats surrounding you, the blinding lights on the ice. There isn’t even anyone here, and you still feel slightly intimidated. It makes you wonder how he’s able to deal with all of it so efficiently.

He stops suddenly, forcing you to as well. For a split second, you think he almost looks nervous. 

He sucks in a breath, brown eyes finding your own. You just raise your brows, staring at him expectantly. You assume he must’ve brought you here for something—it’s just whatever that is that puts you slightly on edge.

“Do you remember that glass duck you carried around at the beginning of the year? The one with the weird monocle and pink jacket?” He asks, releasing your hand and shoving it into his coat pocket. You can see something round in there, you just have no idea what it is.

You frown. You do remember that duck. You’d found it on your trip with Yunjin to Europe over the summer in some rundown antique shop. It was stupidly overpriced and honestly kind of ugly, but you’d fallen in love with it for whatever reason. Maybe because it was a little different then the other ducks, with a weirdly shaped beak and slightly bigger beady eyes. But it was perfect to you.

At least, it was until Jungwon accidently broke it on Halloween weekend. He’d drunkenly slammed into you and knocked it loose from its place on your bag, and it ultimately shattered as soon as it hit the floor. You remember you’d been devastated and refused to talk to Jungwon for a week after, but that was it. You hadn't really thought twice about it for a while now.

But, how did Sunghoon know about it? Why was he asking you? You’d never talked about it with him—hell, you barely said two words to him back then.

Your chin lowers slightly in suspicion, “I do, yes. Why?”

He swallows, and you can see his free hand twitch. “Well, I saw it break at that party on Halloween. And you looked so sad. And…I really hated it. So,” He takes a breath, finally revealing whatever it was he had in his pocket. “I fixed it.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s holding out the duck to you, cracks from where it'd shattered all over its little glass body but ultimately put back together.

It takes you a second to fully process what’s going on, but once you do your lips part in a gasp and you take it from him. You hold it up to your face, cradling it in your hands. “How did you—what? Why? I-I don’t understand—” You’re talking so fast you barely even understand yourself, but Sunghoon just laughs, and you notice the way his shoulders slowly relax in relief.

He shrugs, like this is any other day and he didn’t just reveal to you he’d fixed your most prized possession. “I didn't want you to lose it,” He admits, taking a careful step towards you. “You don’t deserve to lose things you love.”

You glance up at him then, and you realize just how close he really is. The last time you’d been in this position he’d placed a soft kiss on your hairline, and although your heart feels like it’s skipping a beat, it’s not out of fear this time.

It’s something more dangerous, something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to feel. Not with his condition. You glance back down to the glass duck, hesitation gnawing at your stomach. 

Ultimately, you know that what you feel for Sunghoon is not returned. But this... this changes things. He’d taken the time all those months ago, before the experiment was even thought of, and fixed something you’d deemed unfixable simply because he didn’t want you to be sad. Usually, you’d think that meant something.

But isn’t that also just the kind of boy he is? Kind, golden-hearted Park Sunghoon. Campus golden boy. Star hockey player. Everything you could never have.

“Sunghoon,” You breathe out shakily, still holding the duck in your palm. “Thank you.”

Although you're feeling conflicted about where he really stands with you, you know you're overall grateful. You've never had someone do something so kind for you simply because they can.

He doesn’t respond, just gives you a shy smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful. It’s cute. “It wasn’t any problem.”

You hum, tapping your nails against the duck's glass tail. “Can I ask why you needed to bring me here to give me this?” You question, a teasing lilt to your voice.

He shrugs, “It’s more romantic here then in the middle of your living room.”

You laugh aloud at that. For once, the mention of romance with him doesn’t make you want to throw up and die all at the same time. Instead, it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy and all the things you know are going to hurt you in the end.

Because while this entire illusion is going to be over at some point, right now, in this moment, Sunghoon is in love with you. And you’re starting to wonder just how wrong it’d be to let him.

Your heart is heavy in the morning as you fidget with the duck. It’s hanging off your purse again, safely locked into place with a keychain. You’d asked Jungwon and Yunjin to meet you for coffee so you could talk, and both had agreed easily.

You guys never really did well with bad blood. Any arguments you had were always resolved fairly quickly, because otherwise it would simmer until you thought too hard about it and ended up doing something you regretted.

And you know you owe them an apology–Yunjin, especially. She’d only been trying to help, and you’d spat venom at her like she’d done something wrong. You didn’t want to be like that, and it was important to you that she knew how sorry you were. That they both knew.

They arrive together, steps slow as they approach the table you’d saved. You shoot them a sad smile, unsure of just how angry they were.

They sit next to each other across from you, sharing a glance that makes your stomach churn. You suck in a breath, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” You start, choosing to skip the awkward pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And I–”

“Stop,” Yunjin sighs, not letting you finish. Your heart drops, immediately assuming she's about to end your friendship. But she doesn't--instead, she points between herself and Jungwon and says with a quiet finality, “We should be the ones apologizing.”

You raise a brow at that, spine straightening in your seat. “What? No–”

“Yes,” Jungwon interrupts now, his eyes full of concern. “You were rightfully upset with everything going on, and we pushed it aside simply because we didn’t understand how you were feeling.” He sniffs, head tilting to the side slightly. “I didn’t realize how hard this must all be for you. Having the guy you like constantly telling you he’s in love with you, and then not even know if he means it? It’s unfair to you.”

You’re silent, a wave of relief and guilt crashing over you at once. You’re relieved that your emotions are being validated, but you also feel guilty that they think they need to apologize to you when you yourself are struggling with what you should feel. Before last night, you would've agreed with them wholeheartedly, but now you weren’t sure. You glance down at the figurine hanging from your bag once, heart filling with so much warmth you think it may burst. 

“You’re right,” You murmur, leaning back in your chair. “It is unfair, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe…maybe I was wrong.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen, confusion written all over her face. “What?”

You smile softly, reaching for your purse and spinning it around so they can see the once-broken glass duck. They both study it for a moment, and you watch as recognition flashes in their eyes.

Jungwon frowns and looks back at you. “I thought I broke that ugly thing?”

“It’s not ugly,” You scoff, snatching your bag back and carefully unclipping the little duck from where it hangs. You place it in the middle of the table with a small shrug. “He fixed it.”

The three of you stare at it, studying the cracks the run along it’s surface.

“What do you mean he fixed it?” Yunjin asks.

“I mean,” You sigh, “He saw it break on Halloweekend, and took it upon himself to fucking glue it back together.”

A beat. And then, “Are you serious?”

You don’t laugh, even though you want to. It is entirely ridiculous, but it happened. You’ve spent the last twelve hours mulling it over in your mind, and you can only come to one conclusion. 

Maybe Sunghoon noticed you more than you thought.

And if that were true, what did it mean now?

You manage a soft smile, picking at the skin around your fingers mindlessly. “Yep,” You hum, popping the P. “Gave it to me last night.”

Yunjin squeals, gripping Jungwon's bicep and shaking him. He huffs and rips his arm from her grip. “Quit!” He hisses.

Yunjin just ignores him, her full attention on you. “I know I shouldn’t be feeding into this anymore, but that,” She gestures towards the duck, “That is more than some stupid experiment.”

You sigh, voice small when you say, “I know. I just…I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.” 

And for the first time, you’re starting to feel like you’re finally being honest with yourself.

“Well,” Jungwon shrugs, leaning back in the booth. The waitress comes around and drops off three milkshakes, vanilla for yourself, and chocolate for Jungwon and Yunjin. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Test it out?” You repeat, taking a small spoonful of whipped cream and stuffing it into your mouth. You'd always been a sucker for ice cream.

Jungwon nods, “There’s a party tomorrow night to celebrate the hockey team's win last night. Sunghoon will obviously be there, and maybe you can test out what he does when it’s not just the two of you.”

Yunjin sucks in a sharp breath, “But,” She draws, “Sophia will be there too.”

Jungwon snaps his fingers, “My point exactly.”

You aren’t really understanding where he’s trying to go with this. “So what?”

Jungwon continues, “We don’t really know if he’s still under the influence of the experiment,” He explains, nodding towards the duck, “that changes things. So, I think we should see if his feelings are real or not at the party.”

Your lips twist in thought, “How do you plan to do that?” You push. It's not that you don't understand what he's trying to say, it's just hard for your head to fully wrap around it.

He smiles then, that same mischievous smile he’d given you all those weeks ago when he’d initially suggested this whole disaster, and it’s then that you know you shouldn’t listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. 

“Simple,” He shrugs, taking a sip of his milkshake. “We ask.”

Your lips part to respond, but your phone ringing in your pocket interrupts you. Beomgyu’s name flashes across the screen, bold white letters that usually bring you comfort, but strangely are now doing the opposite.

You clear your throat, “Hello?”

Beomgyu’s voice sounds from the other side, exhausted and groggy, but he’s got that spark he always does when he says, “I did it.”

You glance up at Yunjin and Jungwon, stomach twisting low. “Did what?”

“I figured it out,” He swallows, “I’ve got the cure or whatever we’re calling it.”

And while it should be relief that floods your chest, instead what you’re met with is a cold pinch of disappointment.

You’d never been one for parties. Even now, dressed in some slim black dress Yunjin picked for you, a vial of something you aren’t even sure works in your purse, you’re reminded just why you don’t like them.

They’re overcrowded, filled with college students all looking to either pass out drunk or find someone to fuck until they forget why they were even there in the first place. It wasn’t your crowd, and you’d found peace with that a long time ago.

And yet, you're still here.

Beomgyu nudges your shoulder, eyes searching around the crowd of sweaty bodies. He wasn’t one for parties either, but when you explained to him just why you were coming, he insisted on joining. Of course, Yunjin and Jungwon had been ecstatic and you had to explain to them that you were not coming just to have a good time.

You were coming to find out the truth, and that was it. 

“Are you sure he’s here?” Beomgyu asks.

You nod, “He texted me earlier and invited me. Said he’d meet us here.”

Sunghoon had been slightly surprised but happy when you confirmed you already planned to come. He’d told you he might get a little busy with people trying to talk to him, but he’d make sure to try and come find you at some point. You'd scoffed, in disbelief that you seemed to have to schedule a time to talk to him. You knew he was popular, but people here seriously treated him like some celebrity and not a normal college student.

Yunjin smiles next to you, plucking a drink from the countertop. She tips it back against her mouth and chugs it, wiping off the small droplet that spills from her lips.

Beomgyu makes a disgusted face, “You don’t even know where that came from.”

“Does it matter?” She asks, grabbing another one and shoving it towards you, “It all ends up in someone's stomach.”

You push her hand away and take a cautious step back. “I’m good, thanks.”

She just shrugs like she’d been expecting that and hands it to Jungwon, who happily accepts it. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t respond, instead unknowingly floating closer to Beomgyu. Your eyes rake along the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar head of black hair, but instead you’re met with the one person you didn’t want to see.

Sophia is wearing a soft baby pink skirt and a white top that make her look like the picture of innocence, lips red and tempting. The guy she’s flirting with clearly isn’t immune to her strategy, because his eyes keep falling down to her soft neckline like he’s hoping he’ll suddenly develop x-ray vision.

Normally, the sight of her wouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t considering you haven’t interacted with her at all outside of the hockey incident. But, for some reason, all you can see when you look at her is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon looking at her like she’d hung the moon and stars. Sunghoon dragging her to his games. Sunghoon fixing things for her simply because he didn’t want her to be sad. Sunghoon telling her he loves her.

You have no right to feel it, but jealousy curls deep in your stomach. 

You recognize the boy she’s talking to. Jay, The hockey teams co-captain, and Sunghoons roommate. The same roommate who you’re assuming slept with Sophia. 

You don’t know any of the details–never thought it appropriate to ask, really. But you do know that if Sunghoon saw this, he’d probably be pissed. You wonder if that’s why she’s flirting with him so openly, because she wants Sunghoon to see. You wouldn’t put it beneath her.

The night continues like that, with you and Beomgyu hanging around awkwardly while Yunjin and Jungwon drink until their vision goes blurry. You keep catching glimpses of Sophia, and each time she’s talking to a different guy. A different pawn, actually.

You haven't even seen Sunghoon once, which is kind of strange considering this party is kind of for him. You’d even texted him, a quick "you here?" and had gotten no reply. 

The antidote feels heavy in your purse for reasons you can’t exactly explain. You were going to give it to him tonight no matter what, you’d already decided that. Even if you found out that this entire thing meant more to him then you thought it did, you were going to give it to him. Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, forcing yourself to bite back a smile.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but it’s hard. The duck had to be proof that this whole thing wasn’t just a massive fuck up–maybe it was exactly what you’d needed to finally lead the both of you to each other.

And then, as if it’s fate throwing it in your face, you see Sunghoon.

He’s laughing at something someone's saying, his cheeks flushed and hair falling over his forehead like he’d deliberately placed it there. He looks good–but when does he not? 

You nudge Beomgyu (Yunjin and Jungwon are too busy on the dance floor) and nod your head towards the black-haired man.

Beomgyu exhales lowly and grips the strap of your bag. “No matter what he says, he has to drink this.” He insists, “I know it might be easier to keep up with the lie–”

“I know,” You interrupt, placing your hand atop his. You give it a light squeeze, “No matter the outcome, he has to drink it.”

Beomgyu physically exhales and then shoots you a small smile, “For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah,” You reply, “Neither do I.” And you really mean it.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice you approach at first, not until you push past one of his friends—Heeseung, you think his name is—and his attention snaps to you.

The look he gives you isn’t one you’re used to seeing from him. It’s softer. Like light rain on a warm day. Like the beginning stages of a love that lasts a lifetime.

Every other time it’s been strong. Fierce. Like a house fire at its peak. But now…now it makes your heart melt just like it did when you’d seen him for the first time three years ago.

“Hi,” You breathe.

“Hi.” He replies.

His friends have dispersed now, leaving just you and him in the sea of bodies. The moonlight filters through the windows, reflecting across his face in a way that really should be illegal.

“You came,” He says after a moment, but he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I did.” 

The air crackles between you in a way it never has before. Real and raw and entirely strange. It should scare you—it does scare you—but you lean into the feeling. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned the past couple of weeks, it’s to embrace the fear.

You reach into your purse and pull out the vial. It’s small, with a few drops of a see-through pink liquid that you don’t think anyone should ever be drinking.

“I need you to do something for me,” You tell him, voice shaking slightly. Embrace the fear, you remind yourself. “I need you to drink this.” You say, pushing the vial towards him.

His eyes flicker down to it, and then back up to yours, and for a moment you think he looks guilty.

“Look, [Y/N]—”

“Hoonie!” Your blood feels like it goes cold. Sophia approaches from behind you, shoving past and making her way in front of you like weren’t even there. 

“I got your text,” She grins, voice sweet. But you know she knows what she’s doing. You know she’s doing it on purpose to upset you, but you’re not going to give her that satisfaction. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen slightly, something mean twisting in your stomach. Your heart feels heavy in a way that physically hurts. Of course. The experiment must’ve worn off, and he was trying to figure out the best way to tell you that he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. That’s why the air between the two of you had been so different.

You look at the antidote in your hand, and suddenly it feels pointless. Beomgyu did all that work just for it to wear off on its own. But you’d promised that you’d get him to drink it no matter what, and you weren’t planning on breaking that.

Sunghoon shakes his head, “Sophia, that’s not why I texted you.” He practically spits, “Stop trying to spin this into something you know it’s not.”

She looks genuinely taken aback for a moment but recovers swiftly. “I’m not trying to do anything,” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re the one who asked me to meet you, yes?”

His eyes flicker to yours, like he’s begging you to hear him out before you jump to conclusions. “I did, but—”

“Then what else am I supposed to assume? Unless,” She turns back to you then, finally acknowledging the fact that you’re there. The sneer on her face when she looks at you is nearly enough to make you feel small. “You didn’t want to say it in front of your rebound.”

Sunghoon visibly bristles, “She’s not—”

But you've heard enough. “It’s fine,” you say, not letting him finish. You manage a small smile, but it feels like poison against your skin. “I just need you to drink this so we can make sure everything goes back to normal without any hiccups.”

You push it back towards him, but he refuses to take it. “[Y/N], just let me explain.” He begs.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” You reply, and you mean it. You’d done the exact thing you’d been afraid of since the beginning, and that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that you’d taken everything too seriously despite knowing it was all manufactured by your own hands. He’d just been an accidental victim. “Just drink it and then we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

When you let your eyes meet his, it hurts so bad you think you’ll collapse right there and then. He looks genuinely devastated, eyebrows pulled taut and lips parted. But you can’t for the life of you understand why. He was getting what he wanted, right? He was getting Sophia back. He was getting his life back. And so were you.

So why does it feel like nothing will ever be the same again?

He looks like he’s going to protest again, but holds back. Whether it’s for his own sake or yours, you aren’t sure.

He takes the vial from you with shaky hands, unscrewing the cap and swallowing it down in one gulp. He doesn’t make a face, even though you’re sure it can’t taste pleasant.

Once it’s done, you don’t bother saying bye. You just nod at him and turn on your heel, ignoring the smirk you can practically feel growing on Sophia’s face.

Sunghoon got what he wanted. So did you. That’s all that should matter.

But you still can’t stop the tears from flooding your eyes.

You don't look for your friends, you just get out of there as fast as possible. You knew this would happen, it was exactly why you'd been so worrued at first. And you did exactly what you said you would, you got too involved. You let his words seep through the cracks in your walls instead of strengthening them.

And now you weren't sure they'd ever be fully put back together again.

You spend the next few days locked away in your dorm. You skip class, even though you know you shouldn’t, and spend your time watching reruns of New Girl and eating bowls of Lucky Charms.

Usually, hiding away for a few days and letting yourself marinate in your ugly helps. But it’s been days since the party, and the ache in your chest hasn’t subsided at all.

Sunghoon tried to text you once, just to check up on you since you hadn’t shown up to class, but you didn’t respond; just shut off your phone and shoved it in between the couch cushions.

You’d known this would happen when it started. Knew you’d end up hurt, and the worst part was that it wasn’t even anyone’s fault. There was no one you could shift blame onto; no one you could justify being angry with.

It’d all just spiraled out of control before you could fix it.

The following Monday you finally decide to suck it up and go to class. You weren’t going to let a boy get in the way of your schooling, even if the thought of seeing him made you sick to your stomach. (Also because Yunjin had threatened to call your mom if you didn’t show up again, and you really didn’t want to have to deal with that.)

Your feet drag when you get there, head hanging low. You’re expecting Sunghoon to have gone back to his spot before, but when you look up, he’s still in the chair next to yours. He looks different. Tired, almost. Like he hasn’t gotten proper sleep in days. You doubt you look any better.

You approach cautiously, hoping and praying that he won’t try and say anything to you. Does he even remember everything that happened? Was memory loss a symptom? You weren’t really sure, and you weren’t that interested in finding out.

You feel his eyes on you when you sit down, pulling out your computer and crossing one leg over the other. You’re hoping you look the picture of casual, not like your heart was just unknowingly crushed by the boy next to you.

Sunghoon, for what its worth, doesn’t talk to you for the majority of the lesson. Just shakes his leg anxiously and sneaks not-so-subtle glances your way. He keeps biting his bottom lip like he wants to say something, but stops himself before he can. Truthfully, it takes everything in you to not look at him. It’d be so easy to look into those brown eyes and remember everything he’d said–to remember every almost-kiss and every i love you that spilled from his lips like oil spilling into an endless clear blue sea.

It’d be so easy to pretend that nothing had changed between you. That the last two weeks had never happened and things were still how they were before–when he was the moon and you were the star blinking just for him, hoping for just a sliver of attention.

But, you know things will never be the same. 

You barely even register the lesson ending, not until you feel Yunjin at your side. She must’ve known you’d need her support right now, and that much you can appreciate.

“You good?” She mumbles, glancing over at Sunghoon. The lecture hall has begun to clear out now, only a few stragglers remaining. Everyone must be ready to get out of this weather.

You nod, but it’s not sincere. “Yeah,” You manage, stuffing your laptop into your bag. It clinks against the glass duck softly, and your heart twists again. “I’m all good.”

Yunjin gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. You stand, starting to make your way down the stairs and finally away from him–but he stops you.

“[Y/N].”

You almost don’t hear him at first, but you’d recognize that tone anywhere. The same one he’d used when he asked you to come to the rink with him. Insistence teetering on the edge of pleading, but there's something that underlines it. Something you’ve been recognizing within yourself a little too much lately.

You make the mistake of turning to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. That look in his eyes is one you’ve seen before, the same one you’d convinced yourself meant nothing.

Pure, unfiltered, love.

Except now there isn’t any experiment to fall back on.

“Can we…” He glances back at Yunjin and clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

Everything inside of you screams at you to say no–to turn around and ignore the way your body feels like it’s being pulled towards him. Like the world has tilted on its axis and he is your only source of gravity.

Against your own will, you hear yourself say, “Okay.”

You’ve only ever felt genuine fear three times in your life. 

That time in the second grade when your dad thought it’d be funny to take you on a roller-coaster despite your fear of heights, and you’d cried so hard you ended up throwing up onto the lady in front of you. Then, there was the time you’d accidently switched up a water bottle and literal acid your freshman year of college and watched as your professor drank one of the liquids (It’d been the water, thank God). And, of course, the time you watched Sunghoon drink your experiment.

But now, standing in some empty corridor with Park Sunghoon, you think you might have to add this to the list.

Embrace the fear, you remind yourself.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at you with this unreadable look in his eyes. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets, posture slightly slumped. He doesn’t look like the put together golden-boy you’d fallen in love with. He looks more vulnerable; more like a person instead of an idea. 

He sniffles and juts his chin towards the duck hanging off your bag, “You aren’t scared it’ll break again?” He asks softly.

You glance down at the cracked glass, reaching out and holding it between your fingers. “I guess I wasn’t worried,” You mumble, “Because last time it shattered someone put it back together.”

You hear his breath catch at that, and he takes a small step towards you. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, can feel the ghost of his lips on the crown of your head.

“Do you know why I fixed it?” He asks.

You swallow, having to lift your head slightly to see him. “Because you’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” You murmur, forcing yourself to take a small step back. Enough distance that his presence doesn’t feel like it’s consuming your very soul. “You would’ve done it for anyone.”

He breathes out a disbelieving laugh, “That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyebrows knit together, “I know you’re smarter than that.” Even though his words are harsh, his tone is soft. Like he can’t even conceptualize the concept of being upset with you. Like it's an emotion he’s never even experienced.

He’s right, you are smarter than that. But last time you let yourself believe, you’d ended up exactly where you knew you would be–with a broken heart and tear-stained cheeks.

“You don’t understand,” You manage, voice breaking slightly. “You don’t feel that for me. I know you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

You pause, bottom lip finding it’s way between your teeth. “You’ve been with Sophia for so long, and I’m just-just me. She’s beautiful and popular and I spend more time watching fucking Harry Potter with my friends then I do actually socializing and–”

Sunghoon cuts you off, voice level. “Exactly.”

You blink. “What?”

“Sure, Sophia is popular and objectively beautiful, but she isn’t you.”

It takes you a moment to fully process what he’s saying. But still, all you can find in yourself to manage is a quiet, “What?”

He takes another step closer, enclosing in on your personal space like he's always belonged there. “She isn’t you.” He repeats.

You’ve only felt genuine fear four times in your life. But only once has it ever melted into something so genuine–something so raw and real that your heart has felt like it was bursting at the seams.

“That night Jungwon shattered your duck, you said something. Do you remember what it was?”

You shake your head softly. All you remember from that night is how upset you’d been that it’d happened and trying to find it in yourself to forgive Jungwon.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch softly, “You said you loved it because it was different. You said you didn’t care that it was a little strange on the outside, because you knew it had a good heart.”

You don’t even remember those words coming out of your mouth. Honestly, you don’t even remember Sunghoon being close enough to hear them. 

“I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” He admits quietly. “I didn’t know it at first, but it was there. Everytime you sat down in class and tried not to laugh at something Yunjin said, everytime I saw you and Jungwon studying at the library, I felt it.” He sucks in a breath, “And then I drank the experiment.” 

You shudder at the memory, lips twisting slightly in discomfort. You’re expecting him to say that it made him realize his feelings for you weren’t actually there–that this was all just an elaborately cruel way to reject you.

But then, without even blinking, he says, “But it didn’t work.”

Your world stops for a moment. There’s no way that’s possible. You’d seen him with your own two eyes acting like a fool to get your attention. Constantly following you around, texting you late into the night, tucking your hair behind your ear–all things he’d done because the experiment gave him the confidence to. But, if that wasn’t true and the experiment hadn’t worked then that meant that all of it had been real. There’d never been any pretend. There’d never been any accidents. 

It’d all been real.

Your eyes widen, hands gesturing in front of you. “But that doesn’t make any sense.” You insist, “You were acting like you…” Love me. The words linger in the air, like mistletoe teasing you.

You think at first, part of you still didn’t believe that he loved you even with him standing here pouring his heart out to you. It just didn’t make any sense in your head. But now it was undeniable. It was a burning truth that had forced its way into the light without so much as apologizing.

“Because I do,” He murmurs, “And maybe it was stupid to go about it this way. I won’t argue with you on that. But, can you blame me? Do you know how hard it was to approach you?”

You scoff, “Me? What about you? And what about Sophia–”

He shakes his head, “That’s done. Has been for a long time now. That’s why I texted her at the party, I wanted to make sure she finally got it through her head that there was nothing there.”

“Oh.”

Sunghoon chuckles, voice deep and soft. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Oh.”

You look up at him now, into those swimming pools of chestnut. His pupils are slightly dilated, light reflecting off of his irises in a way that looks serene. The air around you fills with a soft tension, one that you’d have to focus on to even really notice.

You don’t miss the way his eyes glance down at your lips, silently asking for a permission you’d given him years ago.

He leans in closer, breath warm against your lips. “I really want to kiss you right now,” He murmurs. Your skin tingles when his fingers brush the apple of your cheek, before cupping it softly.

You lean into him, reaching a hand up to cover his own. “What’s stopping you?”

He smiles, a big toothy grin that shows off his canines, and then leans forward slowly.

It isn’t really a kiss at first, more like he's just lingering there, letting your breaths intermix. His hand travels from your cheek to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place.

And then he surges forward, mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize you. He’s gentle, holding you like you’re something fragile—like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he pushes too hard.

He pulls away slowly, grinning from ear to ear like he’s just won the lottery. “You have no idea how bad I've wanted to do that.”

You giggle, heat crawling up your stomach and swirling around your cheeks. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure it sticks.”

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate then. His hand finds your waist and pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours in a way that makes your head spin. You think colors swirl behind your eyes, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“I love you,” Sunghoon murmurs against your lips, “I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re focused,” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love how kind you are even when people don’t deserve it,” Another one to your cheek. “I love that you’re unapologetically you.”

Your heart stutters, laughter bubbling out of your chest uncontrollably. 

“You sure it isn’t because you accidentally drank a love potion?” You tease, reaching a hand up to tangle in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He huffs, finally pulling away so he can get a good look at you. “I don’t think I’d need a love potion to find my way to you.” He says, voice so sincere it nearly makes tears spring to your eyes.

So, yeah. The thing about Biochemistry is that it’s extremely difficult and sometimes shows you that maybe you should let your curiosity remain exactly that—curiosity.

But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it can lead you to exactly where you’re supposed to go.

Sunghoons hand traces down your arm until it finds your hand, and he easily intertwines your fingers like he was always supposed to fit there. “Let me take you home?”

For the first time, you see no reason to argue. No reason to protect your heart or turn him away. So, without a single protest, you say, “Okay.”

You aren’t sure exactly how it happened. One minute Sunghoons walking you home, smiling like a kid in a candy store, and the next he’s kissing you like he’ll die if he isn’t touching you. Your apartment door shuts softly behind you, leaving just the two of you in your space.

You remember the last time he’d been in here, how he’d kissed the crown of your head with tender care. He’d seemed nervous then, like the action was scandalous. Now, it was nearly the opposite.

He isn’t rough, no, he’s deliberate. Fingertips tracing across the curve of your waist, teasing against the hem of your shirt. He kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to survive, like he's an addict and your lips are his fix.

It steals your breath away and breathes the air into your lungs all at once.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He grunts against you, hands tugging at your waist and pulling you closer against him until you’re flush against his body. 

“Sunghoon,” You gasp when you feel the growing bulge in his pants brush against your thigh. “Don’t you ever stop.”

That’s all it takes before he’s tapping your thigh once and lifting you into his arms. His hands take up half your thighs, kneading the skin as he carries you to your bedroom. You’re giggling the whole way there, hearts in your eyes and cheeks flushed.

He places you down on the bed gently, your hair fawning out around you like a halo. He sucks in a breath and crawls over you, eyes trained on your face. His knuckles brush your cheek, and you lean into it on pure instinct.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, voice tender. “Can’t believe you’re letting me love you.”

You smile, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “There’s no one in this world for me except for you, Park Sunghoon.”

He grins, burying his face in the nape of your neck like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You answer, not even having to second guess yourself. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

He whines at your words, lips tracing across the skin of your neck, the length of your jaw, the space behind your ear, tongue darting out occasionally to mark you as his.

He tugs gently at your shirt and you arch your back so he can pull it over your head and toss it across the room, but it gets stuck on your elbow and he has to tug it loose. You laugh when it finally comes off, your hair falling in places it isn’t supposed to.

Sunghoon giggles and pecks your lips. “You’re making this difficult," he teases.

You just shrug and settle back down, ignoring the way his fingers trail over your bare stomach and pop open the button of your jeans. “I have to make you work for it.”

He smirks, devilish and no longer with any of that boyishness he’d had earlier. “Yeah, baby?” He whispers, voice husky. “Want me to beg you to let me taste you?”

Your breath hitches, bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. 

He unzips your jeans and slowly drags them down your legs, tossing them to the floor and out of sight. “Want me to beg you to let me fuck you?” He continues.

You whimper, the sound escaping you without your permission. You’d be lying if you said the idea of Sunghoon on his knees for you doesn’t make something burn deep in your belly, but the thought of admitting that to him make your nerves spike with embarrassment.

He chuckles, sinking down to his knees until his face is level with your cunt. You can’t help but squirm in place, because even though your panties still cover you, you feel completely exposed. If you would’ve known this was going to happen today, you would’ve worn something much cuter. Not your days of the week pantied and an old bra that was a pathetic excuse for lacy. 

Sunghoons breath ghosts against your growing slick, and you know your panties are already damp. “You gonna let me touch you, baby?” He asks.

You nod your head insistently, hips searching for any kind of relief. He just chuckles and places a hand on your tummy to hold you down. “Need to hear you say it.” He murmurs. You can feel his lips brushing against your core, his nose nudging in the junction of your hip. He’s so close to giving you what you want, but he won’t. Not until he hears it coming from your own lips.

“Please,” You gasp. Your own voice sounds so needy, completely foreign to your own ears. “Wan’ you to touch me, Hoon.”

He groans, but immediately obliges. He doesn’t devour you at first, just lets his tongue lick small little kitten licks over your panties. You jump at the feeling, but he uses his spare hand to grip your hip and hold you down. 

He’s messy with it, even when he’s being gentle. He licks you open until you’re teary eyed and your panties are so drenched they look nearly see-through. He just sighs dreamily, like he’s enjoying some five-star meal and not like he’s eating you out like his life depends on it.

Pretty soon though you get over feeling everything without actually feeling it, because yes, it feels fucking insane–but you want to actually feel his lips against your bare folds. Want to feel him suck against your clit while his fingers get you ready to take him. It’s just actually admitting that that’s the hard part.

“Sunghoon,” You whine, hips stuttering slightly. “Stop teasing me.”

He pulls off of you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I’m not teasing you, baby.” He chuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You huff, “You are.”

He raises a brow and begins to stand, and your stomach immediately drops. “You want me to stop then?”

“No!” You cry, shaking your head furiously. “God, no, don’t-don’t stop.”

He nods slowly, finding his place on his knees in front of you once again. “Then be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is. You’re a twenty-something year old woman with a sparkling GPA and enough experience under your belt that asking for something like this should be easy. But Sunghoons looking at you so tenderly, his hair a slight mess and eyes fucked out without even having been touched, and you’re finding it difficult to get the words out.

“I want…” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze to the ceiling. “I want you to eat me out. Properly.”

He grins and presses a chaste skin to the inside of your thigh. “See?” He hums, “that wasn’t so hard was it?”

You don't bother giving him a response, because he’s already pulling your panties off your legs and plunging back in like a man starved. His lips wrap around your clit and suck the bud into his mouth, causing your back to arch and a loud moan to fall from your lips.

He doesn’t stop after that, licking and sucking with such expertise you wonder how Sophia could ever want anything else. She had all this and genuinely thought she was going to get better? What a fucking joke.

“S-Sunghoon–” You gasp, fingers tightening into fists in his hair. He groans when you tug lightly, and you swear you see his hips roll against nothing. 

The hand on your belly travels down until he reaches your fluttering hole, gently pushing his middle finger inside of you. The stretch isn’t intense, more like just a subtle pressure between your hips, but it’s drowned out by the stimulation against your clit.

His fingers aren’t abnormally large, but they are long. So long he finds your g-spot with ease and curls his finger against it until you swear you’re seeing stars. You let out a choked whimper, hips stuttering against him.

He seems to take that as a good sign because he’s slipping another finger inside now, intensifying the stretch and making your eyes roll back. His fingers move in tandem with his tongue, licking and thrusting until your vision starts to blur at the corners. You’re close, you know it–can feel it tightening deep in your stomach.

“Gonna-gonna cum, fuck, m’cumming–”

Sunghoon hums, and the vibrations are exactly what you need to reach your peak. Your back bows off the bed, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut. You release with a silent cry of his name. He fucks you through it, and you can feel his eyes on you as he does. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs shake slightly with aftershocks. He’s studying this image of you, fucked out and empty-headed, like he’s committing it to memory.

When he finally pulls away your vision is slowly starting to come back to you. You barely register him maneuvering to come up next to you until you watch him rid himself of his shirt and you come face-to-face with the hard plains of his chest. His skin is soft and milky, the soft lines of his abs rising and falling as he takes in breaths of air. 

You reach for him and he complies, falling over you until you’re chest to chest. You don’t waste any time before you’re kissing him again. You can taste the saltiness of your own slick on his lips, but you don’t care–instead, you kiss him deeper.

His tongue slips until your mouth, brushing against your own. It’s wet and gross and fucking perfect. “Sunghoon,” You manage between pants, “Fuck me.”

A beat passes as his eyes find yours, “Yeah?”

You nod, and that’s all the answer he needs. He wastes no time ridding himself of his pants and lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, taking in every expression you make like he’s scared he’ll hurt you. And, yeah, he’s big. Like, bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. But the stretch is also perfect, filling you so completely your eyes nearly roll back.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” He mumbles, words slurring together. He sounds drunk on you. 

When he bottoms out, you swear you’re seeing soundwaves and hearing colors. His tip nudges against that spot in you perfectly, curved at just the right angle.

He takes a moment to let you adjust, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. His fingers drip the sheets with effort, bottom lips in between his teeth. You roll your hips once, testing the waters, and the pleasure that floods through you forces a moan out of the both of you.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, voice on the verge of collapse. “Fuck.”

It takes a second, but his hips slowly start to push into yours. His thrusts are shallow at first, just little pushes that help you to accommodate his size, but it’s not long before they turn rougher.

He pulls out halfway just to slam back in, and your breath actually gets ripped from your lungs. Stars swim behind your eyes as he finds his pace, “Fuck,” You breathe.

Sunghoon gasps, burying his face in your neck. “I love you,” He groans, “Fuck, I love this pussy. I love the way you sound. Love the way you fucking feel. You’re perfect,” He babbles.

You part your lips to reply, but all that comes out is a sob when he thrusts particularly hard. You tighten instinctively around him, and he falters for a split-second before he’s finding his tempo again.

He fucks you like you’ve been denying him for years, like he’s spent every night dreaming of this. Tears of pleasure begin to streak across your cheeks; each he kisses away without so much as a hum.

It’s so intimate, so perfect, so full of love that you don’t even notice you’re approaching your climax until it crashes over you.

“Fuck, just like that,” Sunghoon whimpers, reaching down and rubbing light circles over your clit. “You’re so perfect. Such a good fucking girl. My good girl.” And then he’s releasing inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your insides.

He stays inside of you after he comes, both of you panting hard, sweat and fluids leaking from your bodies. He eventually pulls out and lays down next to you, his arm across your middle.

You’re silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You just had Sex with Park Sunghoon. Not only that, but Park Sunghoon is in love with you. He’d said it enough times tonight for you to finally really believe it.

“You okay?” He asks softly, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The gentleness in which he treats you now is such a stark contrast to the brutalness of which he just fucked you that you nearly laugh.

“Yeah,” You hum, voice a bit raspy. “I’m perfect.”

Sunghoon grins and pulls you into him. He kisses you again, but there aren’t any intentions behind it. Instead, it’s slow and sweet, like he’s hoping to convey every emotion he’s ever felt into the kiss.

“Good,” he says, pulling away slightly. “Because I’m going to remind you of how much I love you as much as I can.”

You laugh, “Are you asking to fuck me again?”

He shakes his head, “No,” He whispers, “I’m asking if I can make love to you again.”

And it doesn’t take much for you to say yes.

You’ve been dating Park Sunghoon for nine months and fourteen days. Nine months of hockey games, late night study session, and weekly dates (all of which he insisted he pay for). Nine months of surprise gifts, of sweet words, and daily reminders of just how lucky you are to have him.

Yunjin groans next to you, typing away furiously on her phone. “I can’t believe this is happening again!” She whines.

“I told you that a man you met on snapchat quick add wasn’t going to end up the love of your life.” Beomgyu sings knowingly, shoveling popcorn in his mouth.

“For what it's worth, he really wasn’t even that cute.” Jungwon adds.

She shoots him a glare, “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jiung was fucking beautiful and now he’s ghosting me!”

You shiver slightly, watching Sunghoon glide on the ice. He’s instructing his teammates to do something; you aren’t really sure. He’d tried to explain the rules of hockey to you months ago, but your brain was very clearly made for science and not sports.

“Try not to worry about it, Yunjin,” you say sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on her back. “You just haven’t met your person yet.”

She scoffs, gesturing at your shirt. “Easy for you to say when you’re already practically married to, like, the most perfect guy on the planet!”

You glance down at what you’re wearing–a blue jersey with the number 23 sprawled in the middle. Sunghoons hockey number.

You would argue with her, maybe try to make her feel better, but your eyes lock with Sunghoons across the rink for just a moment, and you stop yourself.

Because, well, she’s right. You did get lucky. You glance down at the duck hanging off of your bag, the very thing that had unknowingly started this entire thing.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You’re right.”

And when you go home that night, listening to Sunghoon ramble about scoring the winning goal, you know that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

thank you guys so much for reading 🥲 this story took everything out of me but i’m mostly happy with how it came out. ily guys <3

taglist: @chyssly @hoonarchives @hearteubeateuxz @yufawnz @areikii @wobblymug @rikipepitos @jk5t4r @somieverse @nishimurasona @psychicdazestrawberry @isa942572 @lawjakesim @mae-f1 @12e45 @wichujunseo @holacsh @vissnipherwifeey @enhypenlovre @karynnoona @yenienha @tessa365 @kristynaaah @min9lam7 @tombraiderjones2505 @livonianmaia @betagalactose @lac4ygal @enhainurheart @tiramisuhn @caratcakemoa @teenagecheesecakereview @filthxyy @dr1diot @mcwilla @jaeyundazed

sorry if i missed anyone in the tag list!

[star-sim]

crawling back to you ☆ jungwon yang

☆ spiderman! jungwon x fem! reader ☆ summary: spider-man was the city's strongest hero: a crime-fighter, a man of the people, and... a loverboy? it's been months since jungwon, the identity behind the powerful spider-man persona, broke up with you. somehow, even with the entire city's fate resting on his shoulders, his biggest concern still remains whether or not he will ever get to see you again. ☆ genre: spider-man! au, exes to lovers, JUNGWON YEARNINGGG, slooooow burn, college! au, jealousy, angst, pining, SEXUAL TENSION & YEARNING ☆ word count: 24.4k words ☆ my long awaited... im sorry guys i was genuinely going through hell and back when i was writing this but its okay papa vanya pulled through, for my dearest @ashtxrie

Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, bated breaths tearing from his lips.

Not again, he thought to himself, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He could feel his loose t-shirt sticking to his skin, the heat from under his blanket too sweltering to endure that he had to throw it off of him. His cat-like eyes flickered to the window beside his bed. The moon gleamed so charmingly, streaming bright slivers of light through his window. And yet, all Jungwon could do is shiver into his hot skin.

It’s been almost 6 months since Jungwon broke up with you. 6 months since he’s been genuinely happy.

And for the past 6 months, Jungwon has been having the same nightmare every night. The nightmare that ended the same way no matter what Jungwon’s brain wired itself to conjure up: with you dying in his arms.

Jungwon shuddered. It was the middle of summer. Even when it was late in the depths of night, beads of cold sweat managed to find their way back onto Jungwon’s neck. Sitting up on his bed, his knees pressed against his chest, Jungwon’s heart pounded in his ribcage, so loud that he could hear it in his ears, yet his fear was so quiet in his heart.

His eyes flickered around his dark bedroom. He needed to call you, he thought. Images of your dying face, choked sobs, and teary voice flooded his memory. It made Jungwon’s eyes line with hot tears, as they always did whenever this nightmare returned to him. He needed to call you, to make sure that you were okay, that his greatest fears hadn’t come true.

Jungwon's hand, still trembling, reached out for his bedside table. If he ignored the empty coffee cups cluttered on it, or the way he had hundreds of ignored messages and call notifications, he would have slowed down. And just as he searched up your name in his contacts, his shaking fingers about to call you, he stopped.

Oh right. He’s not with you anymore.

6 months is a long time.  Apparently not long enough for Jungwon to forget his feelings for you.

If his chest wasn’t already aching, it was now. It was him that broke up with you.  It was him that chose to break your heart. It was him that chose to leave you crumbling to your knees, tears spilling from your eyes as you silently begged him to stay.

And maybe that was his biggest regret.

Jungwon stared at his hands. He gazed each callous on his palm, every single scar and scratch still evident on his skin. His eyes glazed over the black spider-like veins on his wrists.

No, there was no time to mull over you. Not when there was an imminent threat in this city. Slapping his cheeks awake, Jungwon huffed before climbing out of bed. There was no way he would be able to fall asleep anyway. He might as well distract himself with something productive. Start early.

His eyes fluttered back to his moonlit window. Ah, fuck it.

Jungwon had a secret.

A secret that he kept guarded day in and day out, like his life depended on it. And the truth was, his life did depend on it.

Ignoring the way the red and blue spandex felt particularly uncomfortable as it stuck to his still-sweaty skin, Jungwon shot a sticky white web at a building. He gazed at the web that had ejected from his wrist, before peering over the ledge. In this busy city, it seemed like no road was ever going to be completely empty, not even in the depths of night. There were still people roaming the streets, noisy cars honking at one another with their tires screeching.

You hated heights, was the resounding thought that clouded his head as he looked down to the city below him. Once again, Jungwon's heart tightened in his chest, and he shook his head.

He needed to stop thinking about you. You probably already stopped caring about him anyway. You're a pretty girl, even before you and him broke up there was already a line of guys waiting for you to be single. Jungwon wouldn't be surprised if a girl like you already found someone else.

Someone better. Someone that wasn't a damn coward like Jungwon was.

Jungwon let his eyes fall shut, relishing in the way that the cool summer night air brushed against him. It's hard. To let you go, to accept that what once was his could be someone else's.

He looked back down to his gloved hands, the same hands that have been fighting crime for the past 6 months, the same hands that were responsible for the safety of this city, the same hands that touched your pretty face, the same hands that have brought criminals to justice.

It was all blurring together. Jungwon dug his teeth into his bottom lip. He needed to let you go, before his mind devoured him. He needed to let you go, before his identity as Spider-Man, the number one crime-fighter in this city, gets inevitably revealed, and he has to witness you die for the hundredth time. But for real this time.

"Damn, you look like shit."

Jungwon rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, sighing loudly as he flipped through the pages of his textbook. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

Look, Jungwon is a college student. Although his Spider-Man gig was pretty good at paying him, he wanted to contribute to his community in another way. Like through tutoring the local kids.

"Why are you even studying basic elementary algebra?— you're a film major!" Jungwon's good friend Sunghoon Park was a great guy. A little rambunctious, but still a good friend. But not right now.

Jungwon had agreed to have a quote un-quote "study date" with Sunghoon at the coffee shop below Jungwon's apartment complex. Jungwon was a little proud that his friend suddenly wanted to study with him (such intellectual vitality!), but seeing as all Sunghoon has been doing for the past 30 minutes is scrolling on his phone and looking around conspicuously tells Jungwon otherwise. Sunghoon didn't even order a coffee or soak in the scent of warm coffee beans in the coffee shop. He just sat there.

Jungwon shot a look at Sunghoon. "This kid that I'm tutoring, apparently he's not very good at math."

Sunghoon nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as his thick brows quivered.

"Okay..." he said slowly, his vowels drawing out. "But why do you need to study for it? Don't you like—" the man made a face— "Already know how to do basic math?"

Jungwon opened his mouth to explain that he's not necessarily trying to review elementary math, but moreso trying to figure how to teach it, but he was cut off by Sunghoon's continued rambling.

"—Like shouldn't you know how to add apples? Like if Sally has 2 apples and she gets 3 more, how many does she..." Sunghoon trailed off when he saw Jungwon's completely vacant, unamused expression. Jungwon clicked his tongue, going back to his very informative reading. However, he could practically feel Sunghoon staring at him, to the point that it felt like he was burning holes into Jungwon's person.

Jungwon let out another annoyed sigh. When he looked up to Sunghoon very obviously staring at him, his friend comically looked away. As if Sunghoon was fooling anyone.

"Do I have three heads?" Jungwon asked bluntly.

"What?"

Jungwon huffed, leaning back in his seat. "You keep looking at me. What is it?"

Sunghoon blinked. Jungwon watched as his older friend's Adam's apple bobbed. The once relaxed, though awkward, expression on Sunghoon's face wiped almost immediately, being replaced with a deeply uncomfortable and uneasy one. He squirmed in his seat, his dark eyes darting around the coffee shop in silence.

"Are you okay?"

But instead of answering, Sunghoon just shoved his face into his hands, muttering something under his breath that Jungwon couldn't make out.

Finally, Sunghoon finished his mini-mental breakdown and looked at Jungwon. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes Sunghoon went from looking perfectly fine to looking like he just went through hell.

"Jungwon." Sunghoon finally said, his voice solemn. Which was weird, because when is Sunghoon ever serious? To add to Jungwon's bewilderment, Sunghoon reached across the table, taking hold of Jungwon's hands. His expression was so comically somber that Jungwon thought he was joking. "I have something to tell you."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips lifting. "Yeah, yeah, get on with your little bit—"

"I"m serious." Sunghoon looked around again, as if he was making sure that no one was listening. He leaned in closer to Jungwon, his voice dropping to as low as a whisper. "It's serious."

Jungwon's brows knitted together, his expression pinching in pure confusion. "What are you talking abou—"

Sunghoon squeezed Jungwon's hand from across the table. His friend took a deep breath, before earnestly facing Jungwon. "What I'm about to tell you, you didn't hear it from me."

"Just—" Jungwon's scowl deepened. "Just tell me already, dude!"

Usually Sunghoon would react, but he just shook his head solemnly. Sunghoon took another deep breath, before he opened his mouth and let words tumble out: "She has a blind date. This weekend."

Jungwon blinked slowly. "Um. Who?"

Sunghoon looked like he was going to shit himself. "You know...."

Jungwon didn't know. Jungwon literally does not talk to anyone except a select few of his friends. And none of them are girls. "I don't, though...?"

Sunghoon sucked in another sharp breath, his tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. "Your... Your girl."

Oh. Jungwon's heart sank to his stomach. That's not... what he expected. Not in the slightest. And the way that Sunghoon physically flinched as he revealed such information didn't make Jungwon feel any better.

"Who... told you that?"

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, forming a line as thin as paper. "You know my coworker? Wonyoung? She's [Name]'s good friend and she's been boasting how she hooked her up to this guy."

But Jungwon tuned Sunghoon out after that. Maybe if Jungwon had a better grip he would have calmly explained that you were not his anymore. It’s not like your breakup was a secret, and if there was anyone who had to bear witness to Jungwon's abject gloominess, it would be Sunghoon. Jungwon couldn't understand why his friends still referred to you as his, even when they were well-aware of the fact that you two were separated.

"C'mon, man, we all know you still want her," was a sentiment echoed by all of his friends.

And they were right. As if they could see through Jungwon's quiet exterior, his robotic composure so keen on hiding his true feelings.

Sunghoon's words fell upon deaf ears. If he did listen, he would hear Sunghoon pleading Jungwon to let go of this act, to stop putting up walls, to finally admit that he was wrecking himself from the inside out by continuing to act like he no longer cared for you.

Jungwon stared blankly at the coffee shop table. The pain in his chest no longer felt new. It felt more like a constant.

In his pencil case he still had the expensive mechanical pencil that you gifted him. Its silver ridges were practically molded to the curves of his fingers. The capsule of lead that came with the pencil only had a few pieces left. When he studied he still listened to the same songs that you introduced to him, the same songs that you and him kissed to as the two of you laid in his bed, and—

Jungwon thought he was okay. And for the first few weeks, he really was just fine. After all, he'd convinced himself that it was all for the better. But Jungwon knew that he'd break sooner or later. And it would be now.

It seemed like in every waking moment, you still managed to consume his thoughts.

All roads led back to you.

As Jungwon swung from building to building, he tried his best to clear his mind. As he always did.

After his little coffee chat (disaster?) with Sunghoon, Jungwon had excused himself to go to some "work." When really, he was just reporting for duty as Spider-Man. Feeling the wind against him as he swung around the city, the thrill of nearly flying through the air, was always useful whenever Jungwon had a lot on his mind. Like always, Jungwon checked his usual stops: banks, daycares, financial and business centers, just to make sure that no one was rumpling with civilians' safety.

Lately, it hasn't really been working. But what did he expect?

The bright summer sun, blaring its orange-yellow light, was now dipping into the horizon. The air smelled like gasoline and peaches, and yet, Jungwon couldn't even relish in the tranquility. Jungwon didn't know why he kept thinking about you. The thought of you going on a date at all with someone else made him feel sick to his stomach. His gut twisted as images of you laughing and smiling flashed through his mind. It hurt so bad, so damn bad.

A few more times of helping kids cross the road, or giving an elderly person some directions, and Jungwon felt like his legs were going to give out. Which was strange.

As Spider-Man, Jungwon was cursed with enhanced senses and incredible regeneration abilities. Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Jungwon never had to experience feeling physically worn out.

Not until right now. Jungwon slumped against the wall in the back alley, the cool stone pressing against his cheek. He looked down at his hands— was he sick? Losing his abilities? Seriously, what was wrong with him? His body was feeling uncharacteristically warm, like he was burning up from the inside. His eyelids felt heavy, while his legs felt like jelly.

And maybe Jungwon would have passed out in that alleyway if it weren't for the god-awful sound of his cellphone ringing.

Kriiiing! Kriiiing! Mindlessly, he picked up the call. "Hello?" Jungwon breathed, pushing nearly all of his body weight against the cold wall for support. He laid his head back, exhausted in ways that he couldn't explain.

A familiar voice greeted his ears. "Hey, it's Sunghoon."

Jungwon gritted his teeth. Not again. "I'm not interested—"

"Listen." Sunghoon said, his voice earnest. "I'm sorry about what I said today, but—"

Jungwon's lips pressed together. How shameful. It must be so shameful, the fact that everyone knew that Jungwon was suffering so much, that it was so obvious.

"—Me and the guys are going out this weekend," Sunghoon's gravelly voice said over the phone. "And we thought that you should really come with us."

Without even realizing it, Jungwon's breath got caught in his throat. He swallowed the lump, his voice coming out so much weaker than he wanted it to, "Like I said, I'm not interested—"

"Jungwon," Sunghoon pleaded. "You... You haven't been yourself lately. We know that you're struggling right now—we're worried about you. Please, just let us be there for you."

Jungwon felt so humiliated. Ashamed even, at the way Sunghoon's voice was filled with so much sympathy. So much pity.

Jungwon wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at Sunghoon and all of his friends for not minding their damn business, for treating him like he was some charity case.

But as Jungwon's eyes traced his shadow on the road, his phone to his ear, Jungwon wanted to shout at himself, for being so weak, for being a coward, for pushing people away, for having an ego so fragile that he felt threatened by his own friend caring about him.

How pathetic. And Jungwon has the gall to call himself a hero?

Jungwon clicked his tongue. "Okay, I'll be. there."

Jungwon wasn't stupid.

He knew exactly why his friends called him out tonight. It was to distract him from the fact that on this same night, you'd be going on your date.

The plan was to all meet up at Jake's apartment, and then go to the club from there. The moment that he arrived at Jake's apartment, he scurried to the bathroom.

Jungwon stared into Jake's bathroom mirror. The entire cramped bathroom smelled like strong fumes of manly cologne and hair spray. From inside, he could hear the muffled bantering of his friends, probably arguing about who would be driving.

His eyes glazed over the tight black compression shirt that clung to his chest, the dark-washed ripped jeans hanging from his hips. It's been a while since Jungwon utilized his pierced ears, and he figured that he'd put in some simple flat black studs before the piercings inevitably closed up. On his wrist, Jungwon had mindlessly slipped on the braided tassel bracelet that you made him; it was still hanging around his room, and he had forgotten that it was from you. Despite that, he didn't have the heart to take it off and shove into his pocket.

Jungwon couldn't recognize himself. It wasn't just the breakup that ruined him.

Sure, losing you was probably one of the greatest losses in his entire life, he was sure of that. But since then, Jungwon has also purposely distanced himself from his friends. He stopped responding to their messages and going to big group outings.

He could hear Jay's howling laughter and Jake's shouting, all sounds that should be completely familiar to him. And yet, there he was, feeling awkward.

He felt like staying in this bathroom until someone noticed that he was absent.

Click! But that wasn't what Spider-Man's do.

Jungwon cracked the bathroom door open, and the moment that he stepped into the hallway, revealing his blank expression, all of his friends whipped their heads. Jungwon could feel their eyes on him, staring at him like he was some anomaly, and for a second, he regretted even agreeing to hang out with them.

He hadn't seen these guys all together in so long. In fact, Jungwon hadn't been in a personal group setting for months now. He wasn't going to lie and say that showing his face to the friends that he strayed away from made him feel uneasy.

But almost immediately, his friends' faces cracked with large grins, whooping his name.

"Jungwon!" Jake delighted as Heeseung threw an arm around Jungwon's shoulder, pulling him snugly to the side of him.

Jay's sharp features morphed into a big, boyish smile, his lips forming a curve. Jay brought up a hand to dap Jungwon up, and Jungwon received it. "Hey, man."

Sunghoon followed behind him, his sharp canine teeth revealing as he chuckled. "Glad you could make it, Jungwon."

Jungwon felt unnatural. Out of place, like a fish out of water. When was the last time he was around people that enjoyed his presence? Other than the group of middle schoolers that cheered him on when he dashed through the air, or the middle aged women at the local library club that doted on him, Jungwon couldn't remember clearly.

For all the months that Jungwon tore himself away from his friends, he didn't know what was more surprising, that his friends still wanted something to do with him, or that nothing had changed while he was gone.

Sunoo's eyes still pressed into thin crescents as he threw his head back, laughing at something stupid Riki said. Heeseung still pulled Jungwon into a headlock, aggressively scruffling his head and ruining his hair despite Jungwon's complaints. Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon still liked to argue loudly, their voices reaching volumes so high that Jungwon was sure they'd get a noise complaint before even leaving.

And as Jay and Sunghoon wrestled, falling onto Jake's couch, the room erupted with the same familiar howling laughter and quips that Jungwon had forgotten how much he loved.

As Riki jumped in to join in the pseudo-wrestling match, Sunoo chanting "fight, fight, fight!," and Heeseung and Jake acting as refs, Jungwon gaped at the scene.

The boys that he's grown up with, the boys that had seen him grow from a wimpy little middle schooler into a strong adult, the boys that never failed to make him laugh— have stayed the exact same.

And for the first time in a while, Jungwon felt his lips lift up, soft giggles erupting from his chest as his eyes squeezed shut. It was such a foreign feeling, and an even more foreign sound.

His friends seemed to think the same. In an instant, the room fell silent. Once again, Jungwon felt all eyes on him.

But before Jungwon's mind could play tricks on him, Riki dashed over to him, throwing the older boy over his shoulder and throwing him on the couch.

"You son of bitch, Jungwon!" Riki laughed affectionately, beginning a tickling assault on him.

Once again, Jake's apartment was engulfed in chaos and laughter.

Well, after being tickled so hard that he almost started crying, as well as a well-deserved noise complaint from Jake's neighbors, Jungwon and his friends finally decided to go to the club. Which was their plan all along, but it wasn't any of their faults that messing around in Jake's home was more fun. And plus, Jungwon accidentally used too much of his spider abilities and body slammed Riki so hard that they all needed a momentary time-out to get Riki an ice pack for his head ("How the hell did you get so strong?!" was what Riki was more concerned about than the giant red mark on his forehead).

Bright strobing lights, the smell of sweaty bodies and alcohol, and the sound of techno music filled all of Jungwon's senses.

And with the encouragement of his rowdy, unruly friends, Jungwon sucked in sharp breath.

Fuck it.

Whatever worries he had now, or whoever was breaking his heart, he was going to forget it. He was going to pretend that it never existed, that it never hurt him, that he was okay.

Just for tonight, just for his friends.

"C'mon!" Jake pulled Jungwon by his arm to the bar. The older boy ordered the two of them a few shots. As they waited for the bartender to prepare their drinks, Jake and Jungwon sat on the barstools. In the corner of Jungwon's eyes, he could see his other friends fucking around like they always did.

"Would it hurt them to have some class?" Jungwon muttered playfully, unable to hide his amusement when Heeseung slipped and fell on the dance floor.

"Nah, class is a foreign concept to them." Jake let a bashful smile spread on his face, his gelled hair falling over his eyes. The older man tapped his fingers on the bar counter to the electric music loudly blasting.

Jungwon grinned, and the two sat in a comfortable silence, before Jake opened his mouth again.

"We missed having you around, you know."

Jungwon whipped his head over to his friend. He quirked a brow. "Really?"

Jake put a hand on the back of his neck, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. "Yup." Jungwon followed his eyes, back to their friends that were now teasing Jay for his wild dance moves. "I think you're the smartest out of all of us."

"That's not true."

Jake shook his head. "Nah, you should have seen us. Me and Sunoo were trying to figure out how to do taxes. Never again."

As the bartender served up their drinks, Jungwon turned back to Jake, who continued, "I know you're having a hard time, but just know that we're here for you."

Jake raised the shot glass filled with a golden brown liquid— "Cheers."

Jungwon smiled.

Clink! Their shot glasses collided.

"Cheers." And with that, Jungwon threw the shot back, the bitter taste on his tastebuds burning so hard that it reached his nose. Almost immediately, Jungwon's expression turned sour, his nose scrunching at the taste. "Blegh— How do you drink this?!"

Jake shrugged. "You'll get used to it if you drink enough."

Jungwon hunched over the bar counter, his elbows on the counter as he held his hands in his head. He shook his head. "Never again. That's nasty."

A few moments of silence pass. Jungwon slid his empty shot glass over. "Give me another shot."

Despite being an adult, Jungwon had forgotten what it felt like to party.

The thrumming of the techno music that filled the club felt like it was stringing directly through Jungwon, droning through his head. After a few shots and buzzed laughs with Jake, Jungwon was tipsy enough that his body felt weightless. Weightless enough to find himself on the dance floor.

As his strong body moved to the music, Jungwon felt the rhythm of the music. His mind was hazy, nebulous as the alcohol in his system began to take over. Jungwon's head felt warm, and his vision despite his spider senses was more blurry than usual. But that didn't matter.

Blood was rushing all over Jungwon's body. His cheeks felt warm, and he couldn't tell if it was his enhanced spidey-senses or if the music was just that loud that he could physically feel the hum in his chest.

Then, the music switched from an upbeat electronic sound, to a slower, more melodic one. Jungwon swore he recognized the song, but he couldn't name it. Jungwon felt the multiple bodies of the room brush against him, before he felt one directly press up against him.

It was clearly a woman. Jungwon let his eyes shut as he let his body take reign.

Swaying to the gradual beat, Jungwon found his hands on this new woman's body. As his chest pulsed to the song, he took in her scent, he could smell sweet, floral nodes. He could barely feel his feet below him, and for a few moments, he felt like he was going to float off of the ground. And just as Jungwon thought he was going to ascend, he felt two manicured hands on his chest. His hands slid down to her hips, squeezing them, which earned him a sultry giggle.

If Jungwon weren't drunk, he may have jumped away the moment he realized that a woman was practically grinding on him. But the alcohol was too deep in his system, and he was too far gone. Even with his eyes closed, Jungwon could feel everything so intensely. He felt fingers reach for his belt loops, pulling him along.

As the music slowed to a stop, momentarily invading the usually bumping club in a hushed silence, Jungwon felt the woman lean into his ear.

"So handsome," she rasped, her warm breath brushing against his skin.

And as the chills trickled down his spine, the music finally came back on. And strangely enough, even though they were, in fact, inside a partying club, the music that blasted from the speakers was the complete opposite.

A slow piano, rich and deep vocals, and a romantic cadence.

Even in his drunken state, Jungwon immediately recognized this song at the first lyrics. Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Preseley. Without a doubt, it was this song.

How did Jungwon know? Because this was the song that you and him loved to slow dance to on your kitchen floor. And just like that, Jungwon's mind drifted into the deepest pits of his mind, the parts that he'd locked away.

In his mind, he saw you and him swaying to this song. You and him both wearing matching aprons, giggling as you attempted to slow dance. He saw the way you'd look at him, with those beautiful eyes that he could never refuse. He saw the way you said his name with a smile that he could never forget, not even in a million lifetimes.

Then, he saw flickering images of you and him: you and him holding each other in the winter to keep each other warm, you and him crying into each other's arms, you and him arguing over something so silly that you just ended up bursting out laughing.

And for a moment, it felt like you were there. Another body up against his, dancing so rhythmically that for a split second, Jungwon could pretend that it was you.

And in the depths of his heart, he prayed that it was you.

He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this nightmare would end, and he would get to see you. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, he would see you, staring up at him with those same beautiful, glossy eyes. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this song would end, and he could scoop you up and bring you home, to show you all the love that he desperately wanted to give you.

But as Elvis Preseley's resonant voice sang earnestly, Jungwon's eyes slowly peeled open to not see you, but another woman.

A woman that was not you.

"N-Not her," Jungwon's lips quivered, his body instantly pulling away. His feet stumbled, in an attempt to tear away from her grasp. Jungwon ignored the way the woman attempted to pull him back, calling out to him.

In his intoxicated state, Jungwon felt hot tears line his eyes as he staggered away.

Not you. She wasn't you. It didn't matter, in fact. No one was you.

It didn't matter what Jungwon tried to do, his heart kept going back to you.

His head was spinning. Jungwon could barely control his body as he bursted out of the doors of the club, and even less, he couldn't control the tears that were now staining his cheeks. The expensive bottle of water that the club had at the entrance was completely chugged down in a single swish, minus Jungwon's struggles to manage his soft sobbing.

Even with water in his system, Jungwon's head was still spinning. His vision was swirling. Finally, after faltering for a few moments, Jungwon found himself sitting on the stairs at the entrance of the club.

As his vision cleared up, the alcohol in his system slowly washing away, Jungwon brought his hand to his mouth, to muffle the sounds of his crying.

Maybe he was just drunk, but the tears were just not stopping. Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, labored and stammering breaths rising from his chest. His hot tears were beginning to burn his eyes.

Even from outside, he could still hear Elvis Preseley's vocalization.

Damn it, did he have to ruin tonight? Jungwon pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face into his knees. His jeans were getting wet with his tears, and the late-night breeze was getting chilly.

In fact, everything was hurting.

Why couldn't he just forget you? Why couldn't he just let you go? Why did he still yearn for you?

Jungwon lifted his head. He could see his hunched figure in his shadow on the ground. How pathetic of him. He hasn't cried in a long time. It felt weird. It didn't feel like him.

Jungwon looked at the spider-like black veins on his wrist. Why was he cursed? Why did it have to be him? He wasn't worthy, he would never be worthy of being Spider-Man. Jungwon didn't ask to be bitten. He didn't ask for that stupidly rich and ignorant scientist to come to him and urge him to use his powers for good. He didn't ask for this responsibility. He didn't ask for anything, except you.

"With great power comes great responsibility," was what he was told the moment the scientists found him. And Jungwon really believed in it. He used his strength to help the weak, he gave others the power that they couldn't have, he protected the love that others cherished.

But couldn't keep any for himself.

After Jungwon's initial honeymoon phase with his newfound spider abilities, he realized something that changed his entire life forever. That he was no longer safe, and even more, everyone that he loved was no longer safe. And Jungwon thought he was strong enough; he thought that he could let you and all of his friends go slowly to protect you all. But he simply wasn't.

And Jungwon felt so damn selfish. He felt like a greedy bastard, someone who couldn't sacrifice himself for the good of others. Why was he even crying? There were people in danger right now, and here he was crying because he missed the girl of his dreams? How pathetic.

But he wanted you so bad.

Jungwon never wanted anything in life. All his life, he was obedient like a dog. He did everything that others asked of him. He always tried his best, always valued his righteousness, always did what was right.

But now, all he wanted was you.

He's never wanted anything, but the moment that he wants you, he couldn't have you.

Here he was, crying like some idiot all alone while you were probably still on that date. God, he wished Sunghoon never told him. He tried his best for the past few days to just not think about it, but now Jungwon had to truly face the fact that you've already moved on. His chest felt like it was going to burst.

Jungwon sunk his teeth into his fist to muffle his sobs even more. Maybe he should just go home. It's cold, it's uncomfortable, it's unsanitary, and most of all, Jungwon felt like shit.

As Jungwon stumbled to his feet, he sucked in one more breath. It still smelled like alcohol, with a scent of cigarettes. Then, he looked at the bustling road across the street. Somewhere out there, you were laughing with another man. Probably kissing him, calling him the same names that you'd call Jungwon.

God, it made him physically ill. Jungwon brought the back of his hand to wipe his nose one more time. He was going to go home. He'll leave a call for Heeseung or something later.

But before he could even take another step—

Boom!

Jungwon looked up at the sky. Even when it was dark, he could see a large cloud of black smoke. And now, he heard police sirens in the distance and the screaming of civilians.

Shit.

You fiddled with your fingers, bouncing your knee in anticipation to the beat of the 2010's pop song that your taxi driver chose.

Damn it, Wonyoung, you thought. You glanced down at the dress that your best friend chose for you. In the reflection of the backseat car window you caught your made up face. The blush on your cheeks, your curled lashes, the lip gloss. You thought you looked pretty.

Your eyes fluttered to your phone resting in your lap. The latest notification was from Wonyoung, telling you good luck and that you looked pretty. You couldn't help but smile.

It's been 6 months since your boyfriend Jungwon broke up with you. And frankly, it's probably been the worst 6 months of your life.

Words could not describe the types of pain and downright suffering that you went through. You cried for weeks straight, and up until recently, you hadn't had the motivation to really do anything.

The breakup was so unexpected, too. One day you and Jungwon were laughing, the next he left you. You couldn't understand why, and it wasn't like Jungwon gave you a succinct reason either. All he had said was that he was sorry, and that he had no other choice.

And the worst part was, you still weren't over your ex.

All that pain for nothing, you thought as your eyes followed the cars that passed your taxi. Your best friend, Wonyoung, on the other hand, had had enough.

"I don't like seeing you like this," Wonyoung had told you one night, as you cried into her shoulder. Despite what she showed others with her bubbly personality, her voice was stern. "It's not fair to you."

And you knew she was right. Which was why you let her set you up on a date with one of her colleagues. You figured that it was time that you stopped mulling over a man that couldn't stay anyway.

It's been so long in general since you even considered looking at someone else that wasn't Jungwon. And for a reason that you couldn't explain, it didn't feel right. And yet, you pushed it to the back of your head as you stepped out of the taxi.

The restaurant that your date, a guy named Haruto Watanabe, chose was a semi-formal one, called Bisco's Palace. You thought that name was a little bit corny, but you brushed it off. Thick stone walls, yellow-orange moody lighting, and an elegant grassy hedge at the entrance. It looked like a fairytale, and because of the beautiful dress that Wonyoung made you wear, you felt like you were in a fairytale.

When you arrived, you were met with a tall man with sharp features.

"Haruto?" you asked. He turned to look at you. You watched as his eyes widened, before he gave you a once-over.

"[N-Name]?" he spluttered. You recognized the look on his face. It was the look on a man's face whenever he found a woman attractive, and unfortunately, you were no stranger to it. "You look— You look beautiful."

If you were someone else, maybe you'd feel flattered. It's not every day that a good-looking man calls you beautiful. But all you felt was a sense of unease. Not that it was his fault; there was nothing intrinsically wrong with him. You just didn't know why you felt so uncomfortable.

You fought back the urge to make a face, and you instead forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Thank you." Now it was your turn to look him over. He was wearing a crisp button-up with slacks. He looked well put-together. "You look great too."

Haruto visibly turned pink, and he muttered something under his breath as he averted his gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat, extending his hand out to you. "Shall we go in?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, before you took his hand curtly. "Of course."

The two of you were quickly seated, and after being greeted by a cheery waitress that was clearly still in high school, your food was ordered and served in a timely manner. If you were to be honest, you weren't exactly too invested in tonight's date. Even if you agreed to it to get over Jungwon, you knew that your heart wasn't there yet.

Not to say that Haruto wasn't a sweetheart. He was polite, had very good manners, and was very respectful toward you. He tried his best to keep a flowing conversation with you, and in recognizing his efforts, you simply just went along with him. He was handsome and a well-natured guy. And, the food was great. Everything was to your taste, from the appetizers to the drinks to the dessert. The wait staff were also on top of it. As a whole, the restaurant was just perfect. The lights, the music, even how cushioned the chairs were.

Like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect. Perfect man, perfect food, perfect night. But it just wasn't good enough.

You felt nothing for Haruto, not even an ounce of interest. And as much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew why you were like this: Because he wasn't Jungwon.

There was nothing "Jungwon" about this date. Haruto certainly wasn't Jungwon, but everything about this date was nothing like how you liked to be treated. You liked to laugh and to get into dynamic discussions about silly topics, ones that didn't even matter. Haruto was so sweet, but he couldn't match your level of wit. While the food was tasty, you didn't want something so stringent and formal. You'd rather do something together with your date, to get to know each other better rather than sitting at a candle-lit restaurant.

Who would have known all of this? Who would have allowed you to do all of these things regardless of the environment? Who did your heart still stubbornly belong to?

Jungwon.

You let out a forced laugh at one of Haruto's jokes before excusing yourself to the washroom.

Shhhhh! As the sink water ran, you stared at your reflection. Even your makeup was done in a way that you knew Jungwon liked. The lipgloss in your purse was the same one that he bought you all those months ago. You didn't even know if you had the heart to use it up.

You thought that you were doing better. But it seemed like time and space only made your heart grow fonder.

It was getting later into the night now. And against your better judgment, you wondered what Jungwon was doing. Maybe he's playing video games. Or reading all of the superhero comics that he loved to collect.

Then, your mind wandered. What if he was with another girl? Your chest overwhelmed itself with unimaginable hurt. He never gave you a real explanation as to why he wanted to end things, and seemingly, his closest friends couldn't either. You'd be lying if you said that your mind didn't betray you, wandering to all of the darkest places.

Your eyes traced your own face in the mirror. Would Jungwon do that to you? Was he really the type to be unfaithful?

You knew the answer: no. Never. Jungwon was many things, and a cold-hearted unscrupulous cheater was not one of them. But then again, you thought you knew him to be the type to never spring a breakup on you. But he did. Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought he did.

You took a deep breath. Not right now, you thought. You were on a date with another guy. It would be disrespectful to think about your ex, wouldn't it? Even if Haruto was most definitely not the one for you, you should have some courtesy.

You quickly rinsed your hands, dried them, and reapplied your lipgloss. And as you were ready to step back out, prepared to brave your tight-lipped smile and kind words, a large crashing sound pierced your ears.

Boom!

In the blink of an eye, the tiled bathroom floor below you rumbled, low growls rolling from under your feet. You froze. Your hand jerked out to grab the counter, the wall, the bathroom door handle— anything— to keep you stable.

"W-What the—"

Another deafening roar thundered through the air, enough to make your ears ring. At that instance, the floor below you ripped open.

What the hell was going on? Was it an earthquake? That would explain why the ground tore open. And yet, in the distance, you could hear booming thumping sounds.

Almost like the footsteps of a humongous being. Almost like the footsteps of a supervillain. Shit.

You're well aware of the state of your city. In the past few years, there has been a strange phenomenon of evildoers and mutants alike, appearing throughout your city to wreak havoc and torment civilians. And with that came the rise of even more bold crimes. Bank robberies, arson, kidnappings, pretty much everything.

Luckily, in the past 6 months, a new hero has appeared. The red and blue masked hero; the friendly neighborhood superhero himself; Spider-Man.

Your apartment, located near the center of the city, was awfully close to all of the commotion, nearly all the time. Which was why you couldn't help but admit that Spider-Man was quite the gem, for taking out all of these ne'er-do-wells and eccentric supervillains. And yet, here you were, probably in the middle of a supervillain attack.

All of the past villains have been eccentric but petty. But as the tiles below your feet literally cracked with each booming thrum, you were sure that this new villain, whoever it was, was worse.

Much worse. Probably worse than you could ever imagine.

And before you could react to the way that you tumbled to the ground, the cold floor hitting your knees so achingly, you heard a shriek from outside the bathroom.

"It's Baron von Fizzlebang!"

.... Who?

Baron von Fizzlebang?

What kind of shitty villain name is that—

Boom!

The smell of smoke filled your nostrils. You didn't know where it came from, but from the way that civilians screeched and screamed outside, you figured that it couldn't be far from you.

Boom!

Okay, this is urgent, you needed to get out!

Your heart rate picking up, you breathed slowly to keep yourself calm. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the way your soon-to-be bruised knees ached. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, the lights flickered, followed by the sound of explosions. Even though you were definitively inside the bathroom, with all sides of the room still intact, the dust seeped through the cracks, filling your lungs. With a strained gasp for air, you clamped a hand over your nose, squinting.

You pressed your ear against the bathroom door. Now the entire restaurant blared with fire alarms and smoke detectors. Police sirens also sounded. The large footstep-like thudding in the distance came closer and closer. You had no choice but get out of this damn bathroom and book it.

Your heart was now pounding so quickly that it felt like it would fall out. Your legs felt so weak, your head feeling too heavy. Who the hell is Baron von Fizzlebang? And more importantly, why did it have to be tonight? Without even realizing it, your palms had become sweaty, and with all the blood rushing to your head, you were mere seconds away from sweating.

You shook your head. Focus! You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand wrapped tightly on that bathroom door handle. On a count of three, you were going to open that door and run for your life.

One. Why did some good-for-nothing supervillain have to ruin your already-mediocre night?

Two. You needed to relax. There's no time to sit around and think and languish. Just do it!

Three. You pushed the heavy bathroom door open, and you bursted through the doorway.

And much to your relief, the dark hallway that led to the restaurant's bathroom was hidden away in a little nook; at the end of the hallway was the entrance to the main room of the restaurant.

Slowly creeping down the hallway, you could see the destruction that was wreaked on Bisco's poor, fancy restaurant. Chairs and tables were knocked over, with broken glass and porcelain scattering the red-carpeted floor. From the looks of it, it seemed like all of the restaurant's patrons were either huddled up in another section of the restaurant, or they had escaped.

Great. Now, all you had to do was get out. Thankfully, at the other end of this hallway, there was a backdoor exit. So all you had to do was turn around and—

There standing at the end of the hallway, in front of your exit, was a tall and slender man.

He wore a fitted tailored suit, yet it was bright purple, with a giant bow tie. He had a monocle over his eye.

Like some type of costumed noble. Like a baron.

"That's right," he said, a devious grin spreading across his face, in a way that almost made him look like a carnival clown. Your pulse froze, mid-beat. Theatrically, he gave you a bow, before he reached a hand out to you. " 'Tis I, Baron von Fizzlebang."

Your gut twisted. And when you stared at him with shaky eyes, your entire body frozen in time, the supervillain let out a cackle.

"Oh dear," Baron von Fizzlebang put his hand to his chest, feigning offense. He slyly eyed you, and at once, you could see a lightbulb seemingly pop from his head. "You don't mind being a hostage, right?"

Before you could even open your mouth, Baron von Fizzlebang shot you with finger-guns. And before you knew it, you fell to your knees, your vision became hazy. The last thing that you heard as you lost consciousness was the supervillain's laughter, police sirens, and shouting for a particular red and blue masked superhero.

Jungwon swore that he had a special sense for you.

Jungwon arrived at the scene barely even 5 minutes after he heard the initial explosion. The big fancy restaurant at the end of Mainstreet was the scene.

Really? Jungwon thought. Bisco's Palace? That pretentious place?

The thing was, Jungwon wasn't really nervous. One time, he had to fight an entire group of 20 thugs with guns barely 5 minutes after he was rudely awoken. Jungwon could probably fight people in his sleep. His body and physicality, although he resented it half the time, was perfectly attuned to everything that he needed.

Even now, as he was barely sober and emotionally wrecked, he could see clearly. When he arrived at the scene, half of Bisco's Palace was completely destroyed. Mini fires spotted the scene, with pods of smoke bursting in the night air. Terrified civilians cried that they heard earsplitting thumping in the distance, like footsteps. Others claimed that an eccentric villain called "Baron von something-something" was the cause of this all.

Jungwon huffed. Another crazy supervillain? Seemingly there was another crazy supervillain appearing everyday! What, was there some kind of factory pumping them out? From the looks of it, it seemed like most of the civilians had escaped relatively unscathed.

Good. Jungwon readied himself to launch into that burning restaurant. He had a simple action plan: Rescue the remaining civilians, beat that Baron von something-something's ass, and go home.

The moment that Jungwon's striking red and blue figure launched across the sky, Jungwon could hear the gasps of civilians, police officers, and on-site journalists alike. Jungwon landed easily into what was left of that restaurant building.

And when he entered, it was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Jungwon had to be careful.

Jungwon creeped slowly, closer to the main dining room. He kept his breathing as quiet as a whisper. And when he peeked his head through the grand, arched door-frame that led into the dining room, there, he saw a group of civilians, huddled among the flickering fires Men, women, children— there they were, shaking in fear, and coughing as the. Fire smoke filled their lungs. With his enhanced senses, he could hear mothers hushing their wailing babies and children asking their fathers if they were going to die tonight.

Not on my watch, Jungwon mentally answered their questions.

Jungwon shot a web at the ceiling, and in one fell swoop, he gathered enough momentum to swing across the restaurant, landing where the civilians were.

"Spider-Man!" they cried.

Jungwon crouched down toward them, putting his hands on his knees.

"Listen," he began, his voice stern. "I am going to help you guys escape." Jungwon grimaced at their amazed gazes. "But I need you guys to listen to me carefully."

Jungwon's eyes glazed over the group of civilians. There were up to 15 of them. He didn't have time to carry each and every one of them out. The entrance was burning, and there weren't any other ways to get out. Jungwon wanted to conserve his time as much as possible. To prevent that bastard of a villain Baron von something-something from doing any more damage.

And now that he took a better look at these civilians, they looked tired and worn out. Their cheeks were covered in soot, sweaty faces from the fire that was surrounding them.

Jungwon's eyes darted around the restaurant. There had to be another exit. Then, his eyes fell upon the tall window that stretched from the ceiling down to the floor.

Bingo.

"Mama, it's too hot," Jungwon could hear a toddler babble. Other people seemed to join in on agreement, and yet, they could barely speak coherently. With sweat-stained shirts and cheeks, Jungwon cursed under his breath.

Damn it, the fire was physically weakening these people. Jungwon's plan was nothing short of easy: he was going to break the hell out that window and get these people to escape that way. Yet, the problem was, the windows were bound to shatter and create dangerous shards. Jungwon was going to instruct them to be careful, but judging from the way that these civilians flinched at even the slightest flutter of fire while barely even having the strength to stand up, there was no way that they could have the alertness and mental precision to actually avoid the shards.

Think, think! Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut. What should he do? In the palace that was his mind, Jungwon ran through every possibility. These fires were big. They looked much smaller outside, but now that he was in the restaurant itself, these tongues of fires were massive. Not only were these fires scalding, but the smoke was painful for these civilians.

Come to think of it, shouldn't every building in this city have a robust mechanism for when fire breaks out? And yet, the walls, floor, and remaining civilians in this restaurant were dry. Which means that the sprinklers haven't gone off yet.

This was why public establishments needed health inspections... Jungwon shook his head. He didn't have time to criticize the efficacy of his government.

At once, Jungwon shot webs at whatever hard object he could find— fallen plates, bundles of metal utensils, even pieces of debris— before slinging them into the ceiling, directly toward all of the sprinkler bulbs that dotted the tall ceiling.

I'm sorry about your ceiling, but you'll thank me later, Jungwon thought, before slinging thick wads of webs toward every vent.

As each sprinkler bulb shattered, flared streams of water bursted from the ceiling. And as each vent of this flaming restaurant were webbed over, Jungwon prayed to whichever god he could think of that his physics professor was right about buoyancy. Hopefully, if he was right, by webbing over the vents, new smoke would not be able to enter the room, and thus reduce the amount of smoke that the civilians were breathing in.

As cold water droplets pittered and pattered over Jungwon's suit, he watched as the remaining civilians cheered and cooled off under the sprinkler. And with his physics-accurate ventilation blockage, they'd now be much more compliant.

Jungwon latched onto a larger piece of debris and slung it at the closest and safest window.

"Okay," he began instructing, creating a temporary web to shield the civilians from the fractured pieces of the window. "

You—" he pointed at a man—"Take that kid. And you two—" he pointed at two teenagers—"Stick together."

Jungwon organized the people. "Be careful, and step around the shards!"

The civilians were already on it. Jungwon watched as they carried their young and old, fleeing as fast as they came, all of them murmuring a "thank you, Spider-Man," as they pushed out through the window.

And with that, Jungwon was left all alone. The fire had died down just a little bit, by virtue of the sprinklers. For safe measure, Jungwon configured a few webs to create a few fire barriers to slow those damned flames down.

Now where was that Baron von something-something?

Jungwon scanned the restaurant. He looked everywhere. In the foyer, at the entrance, in the kitchen, even under the tables.

But he couldn't find anyone.

Except, there was one place that he didn't check: the dark hallway in the corner of the restaurant.

Jungwon inched toward it, slowly. He took small, spider-like steps.

"Oh, would you just hurry it up already?!" a loud voice boomed through the air.

Emerging from the hallway was a tall man.

Baron von something-something.

"Look at you, Spider-Man!" he cried, mockingly batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands together. "So brave! So strong! You helped those poor, poor civilians escape!"

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. Who the hell was this maniac? Jungwon's fingers twitched.

"But it looks like you forgot one." A sinister smile spread across his face. "Oh come out, dear!"

There was nothing that could have possibly prepared Jungwon for what he saw next. His heart plummeted to his stomach, because from the dark hallway emerged you.

Your face was dazed, your eyes cloudy, and your movements so sluggish. As if you were unconscious, and your mind was being controlled.

"Dontcha think she's pretty?" the villain continued, eccentrically throwing his arms around you. He laughed. "They don't call me Baron von Fizzlebang for no reason! With a single gunshot from my fingers, I can take anyone under my control!"

Jungwon tuned everything out.

He felt a flood of emotions.

Fear.

You, the person that's been haunting him. You, who has been consuming his thoughts and life. There you were, in front of him, after all of this time. Even when you weren't really there, Jungwon couldn't bear to look you in the eyes.

And yet, it meant nothing. His fear meant absolutely nothing. Not when there was another emotion taking hold: anger.

So much anger, that his blood felt hot. Jungwon dug his fingernails into his gloved palms, enough that his knuckles were beginning to ache. How dare this villain take advantage of you? Your safety was in jeopardy. It made Jungwon's stomach boil with a rage that he couldn't comprehend, the way that you were quite literally not in control of your body. That in the time that Jungwon wasn't there, unspeakable things could have been done to you. To think that your own autonomy was torn from your hands, to think that your own dignity was desecrated in the name of some supervillain's sick power game— that conjured a feeling that Jungwon couldn't even describe. Disgust, horror, wrath; he felt it all.

Jungwon now looked upon the villain with eyes full of wrath.

Baron von Fizzlebang continued to rave on and on about how great he was, and how this was just all part of his master plan to subjugate this city. But it didn't mean anything.

To the entire world, Spider-Man was a hero. And in most ways, he was one. Jungwon saved people daily, he prevented the city around him from crumbling to the ground like it was easy. He was a man of the people, the beacon of hope for all city residents.

The symbol of law and order, the righteous hero of the city, Spider-Man.

And yet, as Jungwon's eyes couldn't bear to tear away from your dazed face, he felt his resolve slip away.

The obligation to protect others, defend freedom, and uphold justice, like a vessel from a dock, sailed away into the horizon, into the unknown. Right now, Jungwon was not Spider-Man protecting a civilian. He was not the Spider-Man that had no other duty than to ensure the safety of his fellow citizens. He was not the Spider-Man whose every action reflected his moral purity.

No, Jungwon was a man that was so ashamed of his own fears, that he never even dared to speak of them. He was the man that pushed everyone away, frightened by what would happen if he continued to associate with them. And worst of all, Jungwon was the man that still continued to yearn you, longing for your touch one last time before he would consign his love to oblivion.

Which was why all Jungwon saw was red.

Maybe if he was actually listening to Baron von Fizzlebang's monologue he would have heard how his abilities worked, but Jungwon didn't care. He'll probably figure it out later when this lunatic gets thrown into jail.

Jungwon couldn't control his body, or his mind at that matter. All Jungwon could remember doing was shooting a web at the ceiling to gain a higher vantage point, before (with all of the maximum, inhuman speed that his body was capable of) swinging down to land a kick flat onto Baron von Fizzlebang's cheek, effectively knocking the man down to the floor.

Before the villain could even react, Jungwon couldn't stop himself; he pinned the villain down to the floor using all of his body weight, before he let nothing but his sheer anger reign. All of his pent up emotions— anger, fear, shame, guilt— spilled out. No longer was Jungwon the pure hero.

With his bare hands, he landed punches to Baron von Fizzlebang's abdomen. Over and over and over.

Spider-Man used spider webs and crafty tricks to defeat his enemies. But Jungwon? He used his bare hands. With gritted teeth, and blood boiling hotter than lava, Jungwon punched, and punched, and punched. Even when he could feel his knuckles beginning to bruise, he punched. He ignored every cry and groan of pain coming from the villain, for there was only one thing on his mind: your dignity.

Jungwon wouldn't have stopped, not even if his arm gave out (because he would just switch to his other arm), not even if this maniacal supervillain was out for good.

The only thing that pulled Jungwon into his blind rage was the sound of you collapsing to the ground, with a thump!

Instantly, Jungwon snapped out of his fury, his head whipping over to you. Seemingly, with Baron von Fizzlebang knocked out, you were released from his control.

Immediately, Jungwon rushed over to you, leaving Baron von Fizzlebang's unconscious body.

"[Name]!" he cried, scooping your limp body up into his arms. You no longer looked dazed, so at least Baron von Fizzlebang's control of you wore off for good. And yet, your expression looked exhausted. Your eyes were half-lidded, labored breaths and soft whimpering pushing from your lips. "[Name], can you hear me? Are you okay?—"

Overhead, Jungwon could hear helicopters and the shouting of police officers and firemen from outside. They must have figured that Jungwon defeated Baron von Fizzlebang, and now they were sending re-enforcements. But all of Jungwon's focus was still on you.

"Spider-Man...?" you mumbled weakly, your voice hoarse and quivering. Now that he got a better look, your eyes were bloodshot, and your cheeks were tear-stained. Jungwon's heart clenched in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt such an overwhelming urge to pull you into his embrace, to hold you close as if you would disappear. "Spider-Man, I—"

"Don't speak," Jungwon's voice came out as a whisper. And maybe it was now that Jungwon realized that his eyes were welled up with tears. It's been so long since he's been able to see you, and yet ironically, the only reason that he could was because your life was in danger. Jungwon let out a choked sob. "Don't say anything, [Name]."

"But I—I wanted to thank you—"

"Shhhh."

You looked so tired. He couldn't imagine how you felt, being under the control of a supervillain that has malicious intentions. But here you were, still taking it upon yourself to thank him. He couldn't even fathom what type of pain (emotional? physical? mental? you definitely weren't going to be okay after this, he knew you that well) you were going through.

Hug her, was the resounding thought that filled Jungwon's head. He almost cursed himself for thinking such a thing. After all, he wasn't yours anymore. But as he watched your worn face, he thought again. When you were still his, you always felt soothed when you were under intense stress if he hugged you tightly, the way that you always liked it.

Holding his breath, Jungwon gently lifted your head and chest, before pulling you into his arms. Almost instantly, you relaxed into his body, pushing your face into the crook of his neck. Like how you used to. You murmured something under your breath, but Jungwon was too distracted by the tears that were now definitely streaming down his face. He hadn't felt your touch in so long. He's been dreaming of getting to hold you one last time for months now.

Your eyelids began to fall, your head yielding to his shoulder, which was a tell-tale sign that you've fallen unconscious.

In the restaurant of ruin and rubble, Jungwon sat there on the debris-ridden floor, with you in his arms. Before he finally decided to get back up and take the two of you out of this place, he gave you one more tight squeeze.

"I love you," he whispered into your ear. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but he hoped that somewhere in dreamland, you heard him.

Jungwon stared out of his apartment window. It's been a few days since the Baron von Fizzlebang-Bisco's Palace incident. Baron von Fizzlebang was taken into police custody and his trial awaited him. Meanwhile, the city was still cleaning up the aftermath, with an entire block of the city being taped off.

But the city wasn't the only thing that had to be repaired.

Namely, Jungwon hadn't recovered yet. His fists still had red-purple marks on them. Even with his superhuman regenerative abilities, he had pushed himself to the extreme when he was beating up Baron von Fizzlebang the other day. But that wasn't the issue.

Ever since that day, Jungwon hadn't stopped thinking about you. Well, to be sure, he never stopped thinking about you, but he was thinking about you extra now.

He wondered how you were doing. You were a strong girl. You could withstand pretty much everything, because it was in your nature. But after an incident like this one, he was sure that you were going through a lot.

Jungwon felt selfish. He wanted to check up on you. He wanted to ask one of his friends to ask your friends how you were doing, or maybe go to your apartment as Spider-Man to check up on you himself.

But that's a purely selfish desire.

Jungwon couldn't do that to you. He broke up with you for a reason: to protect you. He'd never want to do anything to put you in danger, and by even opening an avenue of communication between him (in both his hero and civilian form) and you was dangerous in and of itself.

It scared him so deeply, the thought of losing you. But still, Jungwon wanted to be selfish. He wanted to love you greedily, to have you all to himself.

He looked out his window again, then he looked down at his wrists: the black spider-like veins looked darker today. Maybe in another lifetime, because in this lifetime, he had a duty as Spider-Man.

Speaking of which, there were few actual benefits of being Spider-Man. One of them was that Jungwon got to directly impact other people's lives. Which was why every week, the municipal government would send him all of the fan-mail that civilians had for him.

Jungwon shook the thought of you away, pushing it to the back of his mind as he. grabbed his keys, slipped on some slippers, and ventured down to his apartment complex's mailroom.

As always, his mailbox was filled to the brim with mail. From letters to postcards to care packages, Jungwon looked like a madman as he struggled to carry all of his fan=mail back up to his apartment. It sucked that he couldn't use his spider abilities to help him in broad daylight.

In fact, there was so much mail that as Jungwon traversed the hallway back to his apartment, stumbling over himself, one stray letter fell from the stack of letters that he had atop all of the packages.

He cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes. He watched as that one stray letter seemingly flew off of the stack, gracefully floating in the air for a few seconds before landing before his feet.

Jungwon huffed again. He quickly made his way back to his apartment, set down all of his fan-mail, before running back out into the hallway to pick up that pesky envelope that decided to fly away.

But as Jungwon marched down that hallway, crouching down to pick up the letter that had fallen out of his grasp, his eyes fell upon that name on that envelope.

It was your name. Jungwon snatched it up.

You wrote him fan-mail. Jungwon couldn't help but smile.

It has been about two weeks since the incident, and frankly, you're only halfway over it. You could tell that you were getting better compared to how you were in the immediate aftermath. But you still couldn't sleep at night, and you needed lots of mental preparation to go anywhere outside.

But today, you decided that you were going to put on a brave face, and stand up against your fears.

Pushing what fears you had to the back of your mind, you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was late into the morning, and yet, you were wearing makeup.

Wonyoung (that smart girl, always with tricks up her sleeve), feeling apologetic about what had happened at that disaster of a date last week, begged to take you out on a girl's date today. After being cooped up in your room everyday for the past few days, you couldn't say no to her offer.

You felt a little nervous, though. The last time you went out, you got taken control of by that supervillain. But Wonyoung had been there for you the entire way, talking you through it every night. You trusted her, and you appreciated how she didn't treat you like a victim; Wonyoung wasn't babying your every step, but instead just treating you like a normal person.

And plus, it was summer. You wanted to have fun and to live your young adult life. Your eyes fluttered over to your window. Streams of yellow sunlight peeked through. Today was too beautiful. You could remember Wonyoung's excited voice over the phone a few nights ago.

"We should go take pictures!" she has squealed over the phone. "You just look toooooo pretty and we need to post something on your Instagram— to show all the guys what they're missing out on!"

You giggled. You still couldn't get used to being treated like you were single. There were indeed a few cool freedoms that came with being single. But in your mind, you still belonged to someone.

You looked at your phone. Wonyoung talked about posting pictures to make guys feel like bums for not getting on their knees and worshipping you (her words, not yours!). But when you thought about posting pictures, all you thought about was whether or not Jungwon would see them.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You needed to stop thinking about him. It wasn't healthy. But you still wondered if he thought about you, the same way you thought about him. You sat up from your bed, before you glanced into the mirror near the foot of your bed.

You hoped that he thought about you, too.

Ding dong! Oh! A ring from the front door! It must be Wonyoung! You happily promenaded to your apartment door, excited to greet your best friend with a big hug, and—

"J-Jungwon?!"

Instead of seeing your pink-wearing scheming best friend, you're greeted with your ex-boyfriend. However, for some reason, he looked more surprised than you!

"[N-Name]?!" he spluttered, his cat-like eyes as wide as saucers with his jaw falling open.

The two of you stare at each other like that for what felt like an eternity.

Your eyes fell over his features. His hair had grown a little bit longer since the last time you saw him (granted, that was half a year ago). His face looked slimmer, like he had lost weight. As you glazed over his figure, he had a backpack on his shoulders as always, but you eyed the way his biceps looked. He looked like he had put on more muscle, and before you could start ogling at him, you stopped yourself.

This was the guy that broke your heart. This was the guy that left you with no words. And now he was at your door?

"What the fuck do you want?" you spat at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your brows crashed together, your expression turning sour. When he didn't respond, because you could tell by his expression that he was too busy checking you out, you began to close the door in his face.

"W-Wait!" he put his hands in front of him, flailing them panicked. You shot him a questioning look. "I think— I think I'm at the wrong apartment..."

You scoffed. "Oh, bullshit. What do you actually want?"

"I-I promise that I'm serious," Jungwon breathed out, and for a second you felt the walls you built for yourself threatening to crash down. He looked like a sad cat. Frantically, he shoved his hands into his pockets, searching for his phone that was squashed somewhere in them. When he finally found his phone, he fumbled with it, before showing you his screen. "I'm tutoring... a kid on your floor, I think."

You took a good look at his phone screen, and he was telling the truth.

You sighed, pinching your nose-bridge.

"Do you..." he began, his eyes refusing to look at yours. "Do you know how to get to room 1214?"

You let out another sigh, this time louder. Jungwon stumbled, stammering to explain himself again, but you put a hand up, effectively silencing him.

"Keep going down the hallway, make a left turn, and you'll find room 1214 on your right," you said simply.

"Thank you," Jungwon said, as he nodded slowly, and you hummed.

Another long moment of silence engulfed the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick that you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You watched the way Jungwon's fingers fidgeted, a habit that he's never lost. He did this whenever he felt nervous or shy. It was a habit that you had grown to be fond of. You thought it was sweet that he was so fidgety. You tore your eyes away from him.

Was this the guy that wordlessly broke your heart?

"I'm gonna—" Jungwon started, breaking the silence. "I'm gonna go now."

He locked eyes with you, but just as he tried to break eye contact, you sent him a warning look. He didn't look away.

"Okay," you said simply. "Me too."

"Yeah."

And yet, the two of you still stood there, staring at each other. You've spent so many nights crying over him. You've never felt so much pain in your life before. There was so much anger and resentment that you had built up for him. There were a million words that you wanted to say to him, to tell him how much he hurt you.

But right now, you couldn't think of anything.

"Take care," you said.

"You too."

And with that, you slowly closed your door on him, while he slowly walked away from your door. But you swore that he kept looking back at you.

The moment that your front door clicked shut, you pressed your back up against it, before sliding down and holding your knees to your chest. You couldn't get over him when he clearly still wasn't over you. Why was he playing with you like this? Why did it have to be you, and more importantly, why did it have to be him?

Surely in time, Wonyoung showed up, and the two of you went on your little girl's day.

You huffed as you stumbled through your apartment doorway, struggling to take off your shoes amidst all of the shopping bags hanging on your arm. That Wonyoung, so eager to treat you to a nice day out. She bought you everything that you remotely showed interest in.

The moment that you arrived home, you shed all of your outdoor clothes, retreating to the comfort that was your bedroom. By now, it was dark out, and despite having a long and fun day with Wonyoung, you didn't feel tired. Unlike most days like this one that would follow a logical sequence, you still felt restless, as if your day had not been complete.

You were plagued with a weird gnawing feeling inside you. This happened a lot lately, probably just your anxiety from the past few weeks' incident.

And when you finally realized that laying in bed for hours scrolling on your phone was barely productive for an adult like you, you sighed, before sitting up from your bed.

Maybe you should write to him.

Ever since the incident at Bisco's Palace, you've found yourself especially restless. It's hard to tell if you're just paranoid, but on nights like this, you found yourself doing the same thing: writing to Spider-Man.

You used to be indifferent to the buzz around the masked hero, but now you understood it. You didn't know the reason why, but you found yourself finding comfort in simply writing to Spider-Man. It's simple things like thanking him for his service, and telling him about your day.

You glanced at the disorderly pile on your desk, of folded letters and envelopes. You never sent your letters. You've only ever sent him one letter.

The rest of your letters, which were structured more like long streams of consciousness vomited on a piece of paper, were left unsent.

You sighed. It wasn't like Spider-Man was really going to read your letters. You were just writing your thoughts out. You sat at your desk, scrolling through your Spotify Playlists to first choose the perfect moody music to get you writing. Your finger scrolled around your screen, glazing over the icons for each of your playlists.

You stopped when you saw a familiar, yet long-forgotten one.

It was a playlist that was created an entire year ago, with a simple title: love. Its icon was none other than a picture of you and Jungwon, with your cheeks smooshed up against each other. Smiling. In love.

Your finger hovered over its icon for a few moments. You haven't listened to this playlist in months. It's practically been collecting cobwebs in your Spotify account. If you listened to it now, you'd probably lose your mind. And yet you felt drawn to it.

You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples. In times in stress, we as humans seek familiarity. It's not crazy for you, who just experienced something traumatizing, to seek the solace of an old playlist reminiscent of a happier time. Right?

Play, you clicked.

Immediately, songs that you haven't heard in a long time filled your ears, the familiar tunes and melodies that you've grown to love hanging in the air.

You grabbed a pen, and began jotting down your thoughts.

'Dear Spider-Man,' you started off your letter. Below your desk, your knees bounced to the rhythm of each song— each song chosen by Jungwon, reminding you of all of his laughs and soft kisses as you and him shared earbuds on the city's underground subway.

As the black ink of your pen smudged against the side of your palm, you hummed along to the music that emitted from your phone. For a second, you could pretend that it was last summer, when you still had a boy to call yours.

You bit your lip, staring at the words scribbled on the paper.

It wasn't like Spider-Man would ever read these letters. He was a hypothetical addressee in your letters, so to speak. You took a deep breath.

'I miss him,' you wrote next, wincing as you gazed at your handwriting. How embarrassing, that you're confiding in the hypothetical version of a superhero in your head about your boy troubles. Whatever. You continued, 'I don't think I'll be able to move on from him, not any time soon.'

You stared at your words again. Oh, isn't this just pathetic?

You groaned, exasperated. You seriously just needed to get a life, or something. Just as you were about to throw yourself into your bed and scream into your pillows, leaving an unfinished letter open on your desk—

Crash!

You whipped your head toward the source of the sound: your bedroom balcony.

For a moment, your shoulders tensed. The last time a loud sound filled your ears, you got your mind controlled. And plus, it wasn't safe being a woman that lived alone, especially in a city notorious for its crime.

With trembling eyes, you stared out your glass balcony doors. It was completely dark out, save for the streams of light staining your balcony from your room. There's loud sounds all the time, but this time, you were 100% certain that the sound was on your balcony.

Should you go check it out? Or should you just turn off all your lights and jump into bed?

But before you could scare yourself even more, a strong figure slowly rose from the darkness. Hunched over, as if he was in pain, emerged a familiar red and blue hero.

"S-Spider-Man?!" you gaped to yourself. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

And despite the darkness, you and him seem to lock eyes. Spider-Man, although it was him that was intruding on your property, seemed even more surprised by your presence, physically jolting away as if he was really that taken aback by you. And unfortunately for him, just as he was about to scurry away, you bursted through your balcony doors.

"Spider-Man!" you called out, as the cool night air kissed your face. You could feel goosebumps rise on your skin, as your thin pajamas did you no justice against the night coolness.

Although he was masked, you swore that Spider-Man was looking at you like you were some kind of freak of nature. But you ignored his gaze, noticing the way his clothed thigh had a massive dark-red splotch on it.

"I-Is that blood?" you peeped, pointing to his thigh. That would explain why Spider-Man had such an unceremonious crash landing into your apartment balcony; he was injured. You looked back up at the hero's masked face. "Spider-Man, are you okay—"

"I-I'm fine!" Spider-Man blurted, his voice shaky and almost uncertain. The hero staggered, stumbling to his feet. You could tell that he was in pain, but was trying to hide it. "I'm okay."

You watched as Spider-Man limped, quietly wincing in pain to the railing of your balcony, gripping it tightly to support himself.

He looked over his shoulder. Even when his face wasn't visible, it was like he was sheepish. Timid, even.

"I'm...." Spider-Man began. You could see his toned back tense. "I'm sorry."

You blinked. "For what?"

The hero hesitated. Why was Spider-Man being so... shy? And unassuming? Wasn't he this grand and powerful hero?

"For...." he drew out his syllables, as if he was grasping for thoughts in his head. "For abruptly— um— crashing. Into... your apartment."

A curve formed on your lips. "No, no. no!" you waved your hands in front of yourself. "Don't worry at all!"

You glanced at the wound on his thigh. Blood ran down his thigh, seeping through his costume. "Are you sure you're—"

Spider-Man interrupted you with a loud groan of pain, as he attempted to take a step forward. He crumbled to his knees, choked cries of pain falling from his lips.

The hero cursed under his breath, muttering about some "bastard" stabbing him.

You rushed to his side, your arms wrapping around his torso to pull him back to his feet. Despite being in pain from his injury, he seemed even more baffled by your touch, flinching away.

"S-Sorry," he apologized again.

"It's okay," you shot him a small smile. "Why don't you come inside?"

Jungwon wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

After his tutoring session with one of your neighbors, Jungwon went home and decided to take a long nap. After all, running into you, his ex, was definitely not something that he intended to do. He needed a nap to clear his mind.

Except, that was not what Jungwon got. Instead, he got another dream of you dying. Combined with seeing you getting controlled by that supervillain, Jungwon was not in the right headspace when he awoke.

Once again, with goosebumps littering his arms, cold sweat rolling down his temples, Jungwon's first instinct, as always, was to jump out of that damn window and take a lap around the city. By the time he finished a lap, it was already dark, and yet neither his mind nor body had the sharp precision that he needed to fight criminals.

Which was why when fighting a group of bandits, Jungwon dishonorably got stabbed in the thigh (though, of course, he kicked their asses to the moon).

And after he tried to swing away via his webs, his painful wound in the thigh made him miscalculate and web, and he tumbled down from the sky.

And that's how Jungwon found himself sitting on your bed.

This time, instead of breaking up with you, he was clad in his spandex suit, waiting for you as you rummaged through your bathroom cabinet.

Jungwon looked around your room. Everything was the same.

You had the same plushies on your bed, with the scent of your perfume still strong in the air. Your desk is still cluttered with the same papers and pens.

Everything, and really everything, was the same. Like one of those unfortunate true-crime cases, where someone dies under mysterious circumstances, and yet their home is completely untouched, with no signs of disturbance. As if nothing had changed at all, save for the absence of life.

It was a strange stillness, and yet, Jungwon shook his head. He was in no position to judge. Though, Jungwon's eyes did catch something interesting.On your desk lay a messy stack of envelopes and papers, some crumpled up and others pristinely folded. Like letters.

And maybe Jungwon was paranoid, or heartbroken, but his mind wandered to the worst places. Were you seeing another guy? Maybe the guy that you went on that date with. Was that why you were probably writing love notes?

Have you moved on that quickly? Was it that easy to forget him? Jungwon's heart ached, and against his better judgement, he rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his thigh. He creeped up to your desk, limping with each step. With each inch closer, he could feel the world shattering around him.

And when he realized that there was an unfinished letter already in the works, freely laying on your desk, his heart dropped.

Jungwon gazed at the stack of letters, then back at the half-written letter played on your desk. But his eyes caught the heading of the letter: 'Dear Spider-Man.'

And it was now that Jungwon realized another crucial detail: your phone, also laying on your desk, was playing music. Playing music from the playlist that you and him made together.

"Spider-Man?"

Jungwon whipped his head around as your voice pulled him out of thought. And before he could even question why you would be writing to him of all people, you were already throwing all of your bandages onto your bed, rushing profusely to him as you cried, "Don't look at those!"

You tugged on Jungwon's arm, pulling him and gently pushing him onto your bed. Your bottom lip jutted out into a small pout, your face painted with an embarrassed expression.

"You were not supposed to see that," you murmured with your brows knitted together, standing in front of the now sitting hero. When Jungwon didn't respond, you continued, your voice breathy. "Just— Just forget you saw anything."

Jungwon nodded slowly. Under the mask, he glanced back to your desk. Were all of those letters addressed to him? As in, Spider-Man? And why were you still listening to that playlist?

"It's okay," he said reassuringly, even though he was extremely uncertain himself. "I didn't see anything."

You visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh. "I-It's just embarrassing."

Your eyes fluttered up to Jungwon's masked face. You opened your mouth to speak, but Jungwon could tell by the way your lips trembled ever-so-slightly and your brows crashed together that you felt uncomfortable.

You made that face when you felt like you needed to talk. Jungwon swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, his arms opening up and his palms opening. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"But—"

Jungwon hoped that you could see his earnest smile from behind his mask. "I mean it. Don't worry about it."

Your eyes narrowed, as if you were studying his face. You sighed again. "Okay, sorry."

A silence engulfed the two of you, as you reached for the bandages and first-aid supplies that you had so abruptly thrown onto your bed earlier, completely unaware of the way Jungwon watched you so intently. He hadn't been so close to you in so long. With every flicker of your eyes and twitch of your face, Jungwon admired you closely.

What he would do to reach out and cup your cheek again, to feel your living and breathing self against his hands. To verify that you hadn't died. To confirm that you were safe and sound, alive and well.

"Can I—" you started, breaking the silence— "Can I help with your wound?"

Jungwon blinked. He had high levels of regeneration, so in a few hours, the wound on his thigh would be completely gone. It would be better to not waste both of your time.

But how you looked at him with wide, innocuous eyes, filled with worry and your characteristic kindness, Jungwon's greed clouded his mind.

"I would love that," Jungwon replied, his voice a near whisper.

How shameful of him, to sit here and selfishly bask in your presence as if he hadn't broken your heart.

You smiled, taking your rubbing alcohol and coming to Jungwon's side. Quickly, you started at your ministrations. Jungwon hissed at the burning sensation of the rubbing alcohol on his open wound (he had forgotten what it felt like), whispering apologies with each squeak of pain that fell from his lips. You hummed to yourself, your delicate face so focused.

"You know, Spider-Man," you began as you continued treating his wound, your voice soft, "I always wonder if you remember me."

Jungwon scoffed, his lips moving faster than his brain. Breathy, but eager, words came out, in a tone that Jungwon had always reserved for you. "How could I ever forget you, [Name]?"

You let out a peep, your face slowly morphing into a flustered expression. "W-What are you talking about?"

Shit. "I-I mean—"

Jungwon's ears burned, the apples of his cheeks prickling with warmth. This is not what he meant to do! Jungwon cleared his throat, sucking in a sharp breath to recompose himself.

"W-What I meant was that I—" Jungwon narrowed his eyes, thinking of an explanation— "I could never forget what happened at Bisco's."

You blinked at him a few times, your face breaking out into a frown. "Oh."

Jungwon sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Did that make you upset?

"I always remember the people that I save," he continued, observing your facial expressions carefully. "I could never forget the impact I made on others, and that includes you, [Name]."

You shook your head understanding, but Jungwon could still see the frown on your face. "You're right," you said. Your eyes met with his. "You really have made an impact on me, Spider-Man."

You reached for the bandages, beginning to slowly wrap them around his wounded thigh.

"You know..." you started slowly. A bashful curve formed on your lips, nearly forming one of those cute grins that you always did whenever you felt particularly happy or appreciative. "I think about you quite a bit."

Jungwon cocked a brow.

"The truth is," you continued, the bashful expression on your face growing, "I write letters to you whenever I feel like shit."

"Why?" Jungwon blurted. He knew he probably shouldn't ask. It would make him spiral even harder, but his curiosity got the better of him.

You let out a chuckle, closing your eyes and shaking your head in embarrassment. "Because you saved me. And because you're a pretty universal symbol of strength and reliability."

You looked up at him again, flexing your arms with a goofy grin. "You're this city's number one defender. I write to you because I feel like even if I can't send you anything, I could rely on you, y'know?"

"Yeah," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't seen you smile like that in a while, and your reasoning was un-surprisingly sweet. Because you were that type of person. He couldn't help the way his lips pulled up into a small smile. "That makes sense."

"How about you, Spider-Man?" you asked.

"What about me?"

"What do you do when you feel like shit?" you cocked your head, blinking owlishly. "You must go through a lot as a hero. What makes you feel like you should keep going?"

You, he thought. You were what made him want to keep being a good person. All his deep fears of failure and imperfection were intrinsically rooted in his desires to make himself worthy for you. It was all you.

"You," Jungwon said. But he couldn't have you. "... And other people that I've saved. Knowing that I have helped others is enough to keep me going."

You nodded your head, understanding, your lips forming an 'oh' shape. You continued wrapping his thigh with bandages. "Do you ever check up on the people that you save?"

"I wish I could," Jungwon responded. "I would love to check up on everyone."

"So why don't you?"

You were always so curious. Jungwon pursed his lips. "Because there's too many people that I've saved. I don't know all of them by name. I don't know how to find them."

You hummed. You finished wrapping Jungwon's leg with bandages, using scissors to cut the cloth bandages and securing them. You patted your hands off, sending the hero another smile. "Aaaand you're all done."

"Thank you," Jungwon held a fixed gaze on you again. It took all of his self-control to not throw his arms around you and embrace you. "I don't know how I can repay you—"

You waved your hands in front of you profusely. "No, no! I'm repaying you for saving me—"

Jungwon shook his head. "If it wasn't for your balcony, I would have probably died."

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating, before a lightbulb seemingly popped above your head. You swiftly took Jungwon's hands, squeezing them tightly.

"Come visit me."

Jungwon spluttered. "W-What?"

"You said that you didn't know how to repay me, and that you didn't check up on people you saved because you didn't know how to find them," you gushed eagerly. "You found me. You can repay me by visiting me ever so often."

"But— But why?"

You shrugged. "It gets lonely sometimes," was all you said, but your wide and glassy eyes staring up at him so pleadingly made it hard to say no. "Please?"

"I'll try."

You didn't catch it at first. "What?"

"I'll try," Jungwon murmured. "To come back. If I can."

You chuckled. "Good enough for me."

Jungwon wasn't sure if he made a promise that he could keep.

"Good morning! Welcome to Maeum's Coffee Shop, what can I get you— Damn it, [Name], did you have a rough night again?"

You winced at Wonyoung's words. Wonyoung worked at a local coffee shop, and as a good friend, you always came in to support her.

It's been a few days since you found Spider-Man on your balcony, and you would be lying if you said that you weren't excited. You stayed up a few nights waiting for Spider-Man to crash-land on you again. It wasn't anything romantic for sure, you were just interested in talking to him. The truth was, you stayed up most nights anyway. You stayed up most nights thinking about everything, unable to truly rest. If you were going to be restless, you might as well think about your new friend Spider-Man.

"The usual," you murmured to your friend, who hummed understandingly, despite you completely ignoring her question. You rubbed your eyes. "I'm so tired, Wonyoung."

Wonyoung's bright eyes ran over your figure: you were wearing sweats with a hoodie draped over your shoulders, as if you just woke up. She chuckled at you, before ringing you up. "We could go to the beach after my shift, if you want."

You groaned as you swiped your card. You didn't feel like doing anything, but when it was Wonyoung, it was hard to say no. "Fine."

You grinned lazily as she cheered, before you took a seat in the coffee shop, slumping over yourself as you waited for your coffee. You could hear some light jazz playing, but especially the laughter of Wonyoung as she charmed customers, and most importantly, the flagrant whispers of her coworkers.

There was always one downside of visiting Wonyoung while she worked: her coworkers, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jake, who just so happened to be your ex-boyfriend's best friends. And now as you tried to fight your tiredness, all you could hear now was their whispers. Their frantic whispers.

If you weren't literally about to fall asleep, pulling your hood over your head, you would have shot them a glare, maybe even text Wonyoung to tell them to shut up.

"....that's definitely his..." you could hear Jake whisper-yell.

"...ngwon's gonna blow his shit..... Hurry, call him!"

"—Shit, he's on his way already!"

Ding! The doorbell of the coffee shop rang, making everyone in the shop (including yourself) turn their heads. And lo and behold, standing at the doorway was none other than your ex-boyfriend.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care. You could hear his friends practically shouting in the back while your phone pinged a billion messages from Wonyoung, but you just continued to push your face into your arms, taking comfort in the hoodie that you had thrown on this morning.

You hoped that Jungwon didn't notice that you were here. Maybe that would be better for your mental stability.

"[N-Name]?" Sunoo's shaky voice called out from the counter, where Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Jake liked to hang around. Your drink was ready. Finally.

Lifting yourself off of the cafe table, you trudged over to the counter, only a few feet away from the cash register. Where Jungwon was standing, getting ready to order. Which meant that he 100% saw you, and now he 100% knows that you're here.

Damn it. You really couldn't take seeing his face today. You fiddled with your hood, pulling it closer to you to hide your face.

"Here's your.... drink," Sunoo said, slowly and awkwardly, as if you were some alien. You rolled your eyes, fighting the horrible feeling of Jungwon's eyes boring into the back of your head, as you took your coffee from the counter.

As you read over the labeling and Sharpie'd name on your cup, you verified that this drink was indeed yours. And just as you were about to turn on your heel and get the fuck out of there (away from Jungwon, who was now 100000% staring at you), Jake just had to open his mouth.

"I-Isn't that Jungwon's hoodie?" Jake blurted, throwing an accusatory finger at the hoodie draped over your shoulders.

You didn't know what came first: Wonyoung's gasp from the cash register, you choking on your spit, or Jungwon spluttering from where he was. Sunoo and Sunghoon whacked Jake in the head, but the damage was already done.

Once again, for no apparent reason, you and Jungwon found each other. You couldn't fight the urge to turn over your shoulder and spot Jungwon, who was staring at you with big, shivering eyes, his ears red and his lips agape. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Your emotions were so erratic. Sometimes when you saw pictures of Jungwon you felt nothing, but now that he was in front of you, face to face, you wanted to scream and cry.

You looked down at the hoodie that enveloped you. Now that Jake mentioned it, yes, this hoodie was Jungwon's. In fact, you could remember how you acquired such a thing. One time, it was raining so Jungwon let you wear his hoodie, and you never gave it back. What once belonged to Jungwon was now yours, and you've made it such a normal part of your life that you forgot that it had ever been his.

This hoodie, having lived in your closet for months and months, smelled like your own laundry detergent. And as you brusquely walked past Jungwon, blinking back the tears that you hadn't even noticed were collecting in your eyes, you wished for something abnormal: you wished that this hoodie still smelled like Jungwon, even after all this time.

So that you could have something to remember him by.

Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath. Temptation was a work of sin, and unfortunately, it was not his fault that the devil was stronger than a man.

There were many reasons that Jungwon was so committed to keeping a distance from you. He wanted to respect your space, and he was dedicated to protecting you. But even more, there was an intimacy that was never speaking to you again. In his last act of love for you, Jungwon would grant you the peace that his presence could never give you. He hoped that his absence spoke of the words that he could never have said. And yet, as Jungwon sat on the ledge of some building, he watched the cars pass wistfully a few hundred meters below his feet.

In the daytime, he felt like he could deal with the guilt and loneliness. But at night, it was nearly impossible. It's been another week since Jungwon had uneventfully landed on your balcony, and you had requested that he, as Spider-Man, visit you.

And frankly, Jungwon wasn't going to visit you. Even if he promised you, he was so sure that he couldn't keep it. After all, he had a commitment. But when the summer air is so warm yet so unforgiving, sending hot beads of sweat running down Jungwon's face, the frustration and guilt festered, devouring Jungwon from the inside out. That was how Jungwon found himself only a few buildings away from your apartment. He teetered on the ledge. Half of him wanted so desperately to just swing onto your balcony again, to just see you again. But the other half of him couldn't stand putting you in harm's way any longer.

So imagine Jungwon's shame as he picked up his feet and swung by your apartment. All he wanted to do was check on you. He had good eyes, so hopefully he'd be able to catch a glimpse of you through your windows as he briefly came by. And yet, instead of finding you safe and sound through your bedroom window, what Jungwon saw from a distance was you, on your balcony, looking sad. Wistful, even. You had your arms over the railings, and even when he was afar, Jungwon could recognize any of your expressions, and this one, he could tell that you were crying.

His body moved faster than his mind, with zero hesitation, zooming right onto your balcony. Jungwon's mind was still racing, questions blurring through his mind, hesitating about what he should do. Why were you crying? Was it someone that made you feel this way? But his body knew his intentions better. His body knew the sorts of yearning that he had no chance of resisting. And just as swift as he came, Jungwon found himself breathing heavily as he landed back on the railing of your balcony.

"S-Spider-man?!" you sniffled. Under the dark sky, he could see the way your eyes lined with tears, your tearful eyes puffy and bloodshot. You quickly hid your face in your sleeve, turning your face away from him. "Wh—What are you doing here?"

"I..." Jungwon's mouth ran dry. He didn't have an answer for you. Seeing you like this made him feel on-edge, nervous even. He didn't know why he was here with you. He didn't know why his body forced him to keep crawling back to you. He didn't want to be here, it went against all instinct. He stared at the back of your head. "I'm— Um—"

You let out a loud, high-pitched sob, before you threw your arms around Jungwon's shoulders, burying yourself into his chest. Jungwon stiffened under your touch. It felt weird. He hadn't been close to really anyone at all, at least not physically. If it wasn't you that he was physically intimate with, he'd rather not have it at all. But even when it was you, intimacy felt so foreign, so lost. But as your choked sobs rung through the air, your arms holding onto him like he'd save you, Jungwon relaxed. Mixed in with the smell of the night air, you smelled like your usual peachy perfume. Your touch, just like he had remembered it, was soft. Kind.

Jungwon brought a hesitant hand up to the small of your back, in an attempt to quell your distress. Yet, he felt such a weird warmth as you clung onto him.

"I h—hate him, Spider-Man!" you cried, your hand gripping his forearm. "I hate him— so much."

And maybe if Jungwon was stronger than he was now, he would have just listened to you silently without any questions, patting your back and lending you a shoulder to cry on. But he wasn't.

"Who?" he breathed into your ear, his brows knitted together. That horrible gnawing feeling filled his stomach once again. He didn't want to know what your answer was, but that sickening curiosity was burning from the inside out. "Who do you hate?—Did you— Did you get hurt?"

You shook your head, looking up at the hero. The moonlight reflected off your eyes. You looked so pretty, even when you were crying. Jungwon's heart ached at the sight of your pained face. My baby, he thought. After all this time, you could commit all the grievances in the world, and if you just looked at him with your big, teary eyes, he would acquit you of all your crimes.

You tugged on his arm, your glossy eyes staring at him like he was some god, pulling him back into your room. And against all resolutions that Jungwon tried to make to himself, he followed you in anyway.

As your balcony door clicked shut, Jungwon watched as you pulled him onto your bed with you, pulling him as close as you could as you continued to cry, murmuring about how much you hated "him."

This time, Jungwon just let his eyes fall shut. He hadn't laid down in your bed in a while, and frankly, he thought your bed was more comfortable than his. With you so close to him, and his arms wrapped around you, for a split second, it felt like he was back together with you. It felt like another one of those nights where you'd cry into his arms about how stressed you were, and all he could offer up was his presence to console you.

"I know, I know," he gently whispered into your ears. You always loved it when he reassured you like that. He rubbed slow circles on your back, continuing to whisper soft reassurances into your ear, even if he knew that you couldn't hear him. "I know, love."

"I c-cant get over him," you lamented. At this point, Jungwon's chest was wet. "I don't know why I c-can't. I h-hate him so much."

Jungwon gulped as his gut twisted.

"Tell me," he rasped. He knew what your words meant. He knew better than anyone that you were talking about him, that it was him that you hated. But he needed to hear it from your lips first, to get real confirmation. Despite the weak feeling in his knees and the pang in his chest, he wanted to listen to you.

After all, he'd do anything to make you feel better, even if you didn't know it was him. And he knew how to do that exactly.

You lifted your head to look at him in the eyes, shaking your head profusely. "But i-it's pa—pathetic," you stammered, but when you could feel Jungwon's unwavering gaze on you, you gave in. Resting your cheek on the hero's shoulder, you spoke in a low, shaky voice. You told him everything— every thought and emotion that's been swirling your mind. You told him of how you still constantly thought about Jungwon, how you felt like in every crevice of your life he was there, how you've done everything you could to get over him with fruitless results. You cried and cried and cried. You detailed to him what types of restless nights you had, what kinds of thoughts swirled through your head whenever you thought about your ex.

"I miss him," you ended your tear-filled rant with. "I mi-miss him s-so much and I feel so—so d-dumb."

And if you weren't so caught up in your feelings, you would have noticed how the hero's body tensed with each word that fell from your lips.

A silence fell over you and Spider-Man, as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, letting your bated breaths calm down with each hiccup. You let your heart rate slow down, as your eyes— sore from crying— rested. Against you, the hero was so... still. He was definitely breathing, but it was slow and tranquil. If you listened hard enough, you could hear his heart beat; weirdly enough, it was erratic and loud.

That's what Jungwon's heartbeat sounds like when he's excited, you thought, before shaking your head and pushing that thought into the back of your mind. The mere thought of Jungwon made your stomach churn. You didn't want to even entertain that thought.

"Spider-Man...." you began in a soft voice, your finger coming up to poke his masked face. No response. "Spider-Man, are you asleep—"

Suddenly, Jungwon jolted up from the bed, his voice ripping through the air: "Boo!"

You let out a loud shriek, jumping away from him, surprised. You stared at him for a few moments, before Jungwon bursted out into giggles. On your bed, you watched as the red-and-blue masked hero who had just tried to startle you attempted to conceal his giggles, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"S-Sorry—" his voice was shaky, trying so goddamn hard not to laugh. Airy laughs escaped his lips, filling the air with something that felt all too familiar.

Despite having just cried for what seemed like forever, you slapped his chest, your lips pulling up into a wobbly smile. Spider-Man's laughter was contagious, and even as you continued to lightly punch him, you couldn't help but let giggles fall from your own mouth.

"Sh-Shut up!" you said between laughs. Having enough, you reached for a stray pillow and threw it at him. "You're so annoying!"

You couldn't remember the last time you laughed like this with someone. In fact, perhaps if you weren't so busy beating Spider-Man up like your life depended on it, you would have noticed the way your beloved hero was watching you closely. Jungwon knew exactly how to get you to loosen up; and in this case, it was to do something so stupid and dorky that you had no choice but to laugh.

"Ow! Ow!" Jungwon squirmed like a spider that had just gotten hit by bug spray. He let you win, as now he was pinned down on the bed, with you smothering him with your pillows. "White flag—Ack!"

Your laughter rang through the room. You weren't even that strong, but Jungwon did not dare to use his own strength on you. That wouldn't be fair.

That's right, he thought. Forget about me. Forget about the pain, forget about everything that I've done to you. Your eyes crinkled and your nose scrunched and your lips parted when you threw your head back and laughed. If he could preserve that laughter for the rest of his life, he would. Forget about me, baby.

"Jesus Christ, Spider-Man!" you snickered, as you held him down with a hand on his hard chest. "I thought you were stronger than this."

Jungwon's strong hand slid to wrap around your wrist. "You really wanna see strength?"

A weak yet sly grin spread across your face. You leaned down to him, so close that your noses touched. Almost purring,"Try me— Eek!"

That was all the confirmation he needed. In an instant, Jungwon flipped the two of you over, crashing into the soft plushness of your bed. This time, he was the one pinning you down. And while airy laughter fell from your lips, the surprise of Jungwon's outburst reducing you to giggles, Jungwon was distracted. You're just so pretty, so strikingly beautiful that he had no choice but to admire you.

And if Jungwon wasn't so distracted, he would have noticed the way that you stared at him owlishly, with a type of hunger and curiosity that was all too familiar. As if a lightbulb had switched on, your arms slithered up from under him to wrap around his neck. With glassy eyes and a girlish giggle, you gently pulled him toward your face.

Jungwon's body froze up as you plant a soft, tender kiss on his masked cheek, a spluttering sound coming from his mouth.

"Relax, silly," you rasped into his ear with a chuckle. Even with the mask, your fingers found their way to the crook between Jungwon's ear and jaw, delicately running your fingers over that spot and mindlessly caressing it— something that always made shivers roll down Jungwon's back. "You can save lives but you can't handle a girl kissing you?"

Jungwon's face felt hot. "Shut— Shut up!" That night, you eventually laughed yourself to sleep, and after tucking you in, Jungwon left with a bittersweet feeling in his chest. He hoped that he'd given you any type of emotional refuge, so that you would eventually forget the hurt and pain that he had caused you. 

To be a girl, after a long week of stress, unloading your worries and the like in a nice steamy bath— Oh, that is the best thing any person could experience.

You relished in the warm solitude of your bathtub. You hummed along to the quiet music you liked to play when you bathed, the peachy bubbles and scent of your soap filling your senses. You relaxed with an "ahh" into the water. Tonight was going to be perfect. After this bath, you were going to do your skincare routine and lather yourself with your new yummy lotion. Then you'd go make yourself a late night snack. Then maybe you'd spend the night reading some manga, or watching some shows, or anything you wanted frankly.

You had worries: finding an internship, employment, boy troubles. But this was no time to care about them. You let your eyelids gently fall shut... and maybe if you weren't careful, you might... just... drift... off...

"Eep!" You're startled back into reality by the sound of a distant crash! You glance around your bathroom, clutching yourself. It didn't sound nearby, so you had nothing to worry about. You sunk into the water again, letting your tense muscles relax into the warmth. Your tired eyes fell closed again. And maybe this time.... you'd be permitted the peace... to just... drift... off...

Crash! You jolted up, your eyes shooting open. This time, this crashing sound was much louder, and appeared to be much closer. Following that outburst was the sound of rustling and scrambling, which (in your already paranoid state) confirmed your fears that whatever the cause was, it was too close to you.

Emboldened, you stepped out of your bathtub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body tightly, before slipping your shower slippers on.

And maybe you're dumb. Really dumb. But you peaked your head out your bathroom door, eyes glazing over the hallway between your bathroom and kitchen. Everything seemed fine. You crept out of the bathroom. Your entire apartment was quiet, maybe a little too quiet. Slowly, you made your way into your bedroom. It looked normal, not a single hair out of place. Nothing was wrong then.

Since you were already out of the bathroom, you should probably start dressing anyway. You loosened your grip around the towel, and just as the fabric fell from your chest—

"[N-Name]?!"

There had to be something psychological about the way bright red and blue were incredible at camouflaging, because you had not noticed the red and blue superhero perched at your window. And it seemed like he didn't notice you either, until now.

"Spider-Man?!" you cried. But it was too late. There you were, naked in all your glory and exposed entirely to the spider hero himself. You didn't know what was worse. The feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, sending goosebumps on your arms, or the feeling of Spider-Man practically ogling at you. It didn't seem to matter because the two of you stood like that: in silence, in complete and utter horror.

"I-I'm..." You've never seen Spider-Man more flustered, but if you weren't too busy trying to cover yourself up, scrambling for your fallen towel, you would have noticed the way the hero's hand shot up to clutch his face in embarrassment. A habit that you loved to see in your ex-boyfriend. "S... Sorr—"

"Get out!" you cried, clutching your towel so tightly as you began reaching for all of the pillows and plushes on your bed, hurling at the hero at full-force. Your face burned with embarrassment as you heaved. "Out! N-Now!"

Spider-Man simply stood there, stunned, which was weird considering that he should have a fast enough reaction time to stop you. Frustrated, you threw yourself on your bed, throwing the blanket over your naked body and pushing your face into the mattress, humiliated and flustered beyond belief.

"Get out!" you cried again, your eyes almost welling up with tears with how embarrassed you were. You felt so hot all over that you could probably melt. You hadn't felt this way— this flustered and embarrassed— in so long. You murmured, "What are you even doing here?!"

Finally breaking from his stupor, Spider-Man spluttered, "I-I just wanted to check up... on you."

You groaned from under the blanket, muffled, and that seemed to egg the hero on with a squeak. Words tumbling from his mouth like water, he squeals, "It seems like you're doing well! Youlookgoodasever—I mean— In all the years I've known you, you always look amazing— Like— Uhm— I— You're always—" he sucked in a deep breath, and you could hear how red his face was under the mask— "Beautiful."

There's a long silence, before Spider-Man nearly shouts, "Okay bye!"

And with that, he climbed out your balcony, and swung away. You stay where you are under the blanket all huddled up for a few moments, before you let out a giddy little chuckle. You flipped over to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, before it hit you.

"Years?" you said aloud. Spider-Man said that you've been beautiful in all the "years" that he's known you.

You sat up. But you swore you only knew him for a few months.

Hm. Interesting.

Jungwon cursed under his breath. Fuck. He was in a pickle. After a few weeks in hiding, archvillain Baron von Fizzlebang was back for more, this time with more to show. It seemed like every time, he was getting progressively worse and worse. New gadgets, new costumes, new methods of entrancing people. First, Baron von Fizzlebang entranced a mob to rob a bank. Then, he controlled some elementary schoolers and tried to get them to walk into oncoming traffic (really evil of him). Most recently, the supervillain tried to possess the entire fire department and make them commit arson in an ironic turn of events. If it weren't for Jungwon's restless fighting, the entire city might have gone up in flames already.

Simultaneously, against his own better judgement, yet in alignment with his heart, Jungwon found himself intentionally coming to see you more. It's shameful that despite cutting you out of his life he still tried to keep you at an arm's reach. But oh, Jungwon was so greedy. Each time your face lit up when he appeared on your balcony left him eager for more. Every smile and little touch had him hungry. Hungry for more of you, hungry to keep you for himself, hungry to hide you from the world and selfishly have you all to himself. And the worst part was, your grief and sadness over civilian-Jungwon was slowly dissipating with time: you were reverting back to the you that he knew, not the sad, crestfallen version of you.

But, he had no time to think of that. Right now, Jungwon was beaten up pretty badly, resting atop the roof of a building and leaning against some structure there.

It's not easy to fight one Baron von Fizzlebang, when he's able to manipulate up to a hundred people to do his own bidding. Jungwon doesn't want to hurt the civilians under Baron von Fizzlebang's control, but how is he supposed to win at all if these civilians are being used to attack him?

One eye was incapacitated, with blood dripping down Jungwon's forehead and his lip bleeding. Even in the darkening night sky, Jungwon could tell that there were a few tears here and there on his hero costume, but the worst part was that Jungwon's right shoulder was most definitely out of commission.

Luckily, Jungwon got the victimized civilians to safety. Unluckily, Baron von Fizzlebang was still on the loose, pretty much unscathed. Jungwon could work under severe pressure, with great injuries too. But for some reason, he absolutely couldn't think straight as he stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured shoulder. He blinked his one working eye slowly, trying to see clearly, but there was too much blood coming from his head after getting slammed against a brick wall for him to get a clear view.

At the very least, Jungwon needed to locate where the villain went—

"Yoo-hoo!" a sing-songy voice boomed, and Jungwon whipped his pounding head around. "Spidey-Spidey!~"

Lo and behold, Baron von Fizzlebang was (for some reason) suspended in the air, completely uninjured, a stark difference from Jungwon's hunched-over, painful form. With his extravagant costume, he waved mockingly at Jungwon, a cackle spilling from him. "I'm back for more, Spidey. Are you?"

Jungwon's eyes narrowed, a pained grunt escaping his lips before he limped toward the villain. He sucked in a sharp breath. The blood from his bleeding lip tasted metallic on his tongue, but his physical pain mattered not— not when the livelihood and safety of the city was on the line because of this maniac.

"Yeah," Jungwon responded breathily, stumbling. "Come get me."

Much to Jungwon's chagrin, from Baron von Fizzlebang came some strange metal contraption. With big and long metal tentacle arms with grabby hands at the ends, Baron von Fizzlebang laughed maniacally as his new gargantuan device conjured a physical reaction out of Jungwon. Faster than Jungwon could move, the villain's metal arms snatched him up.

"Let me go—Ack!" Jungwon squirmed in the contraption's grasp.

"No," Baron von Fizzlebang said simply. "All you do is ruin my plans to take over this city!"

Jungwon cried in pain as the metal hands squeezed him tighter. The villain laughed again. "Have you ever had to experience someone try to ruin something you care about, Spider-Man?" Jungwon opened his mouth to choke a retort, but the Baron continued. "Or in your case, someone that you care about?"

Jungwon continued to squirm in the metal hands' grasp, the villain taking it as a sign to continue his villainous monologue.

"You don't think that I don't know you have a secret little girlfriend, right? She's the same one I claimed that one night at Bisco's." At the sound of that, Jungwon tensed up even more. No.... Don't tell me.."Maybe I should let this little spider go. To make you really feel my pain, why don't I go pay your little girlfriend a visit again."

"No!—" tore from Jungwon's throat, but it was too late. With panic filling his body, Baron von Fizzlebang's metal tentacles hurled him through the sky before the villain took off. Presumably to find you. And even though Jungwon was falling through the sky with an incapacitated eye and shoulder, all he could think about was you.

Every single fear and made-up scenario of you getting hurt or even worse, dying, as a result of Jungwon ran through his head in the milliseconds that he was in the air.

Just as Jungwon was about to slam against a sky-scraper, he shot a web to catch himself. His hands shook as he stabilized himself against another wall.

Dammit, dammit, dammit— I'm so fucking stupid— She's in danger now— Everything that he had feared was coming true, and it was all a result of Jungwon's selfishness and negligence and— Jungwon took a deep breath, not noticing that he had neglected to breathe as he spiraled. He shoved his face in his hands. Think, think, think. He had to do something.

He looked at his hands. He had to go find you, and warn you. Move you to safety, make sure you're somewhere safe where that maniac couldn't find you.

Even with all his injuries, nothing stopped Jungwon as he shot webs across the sky. With all the remaining strength in his body, and with all the power he could muster up, Jungwon flew across the sky to where he knew you'd be: in your apartment.

And just as he expected, you were in your room, peacefully listening to music and painting your nails. Usually, he'd be courteous and wait for you to welcome him in. But Jungwon had no time to waste: he crashed onto your balcony, practically busting into your room through the doors.

"Spider-Man?!" you cried, startled by his sudden entrance.

"You have to leave," Jungwon breathed with labored huffs. He clamored toward you, grabbing you by your shoulders. "I-I don't have time to explain—"

"What— What are you talking about?—"

Jungwon gripped your shoulders, the vehemence in his voice resounding as he desperately repeated, "You have to leave. It-It's not safe for you— I need you to leave and go somewhere sa—"

"Spider-Man," you said firmly. Jungwon breathed shakily, swallowing down hard. He shook his head. It felt like the world had fallen into his shoulders.

"Please, [Name]," he pleaded. Even with a mask, you can hear his sheer desperation. "Please listen to me this time."

You stared at him, with a curious yet concerned look, like you were studying him. “Please,” Jungwon said again, his voice high-pitched and cracking. His grip on you loosened, but his head hung low.“Please.”

You kept your eyes stuck on him, but Jungwon couldn’t focus. All he could think about was how you could die. Everything hurt, and yet nothing did at the same time. The mere thought of something even worse happening to you made Jungwon’s gut twist, the oncoming fear so great that it effectively numbed everything in him.

“I can’t— I can’t lose you—“

There was something unsettling about you that Jungwon never figured out. You’re sensitive and soft, but strong-willed and stern. But you’re also a level of smart that Jungwon couldn’t understand.

Which was why he couldn’t possibly understand why you grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him into you, and slammed your lips against his. You let your lips stay on his for a little bit, but before you could pull away, all the hunger and fear consumed Jungwon whole. His large hands grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. Greedily, like a starved man, Jungwon hungrily kissed you back, holding you tightly as his breathing picked up.

Maybe it was all the adrenaline, or the pain and delirium, or just Jungwon’s fear, but he didn’t even think about what he was doing. Your lips against his, your body pressed against him, and your scent overtaking his mind— it all made it impossible for him to stop.

He muttered your name against your lips, grasping you like you’d disappear any minute. Your soft body on him felt heavenly, as he drank you in. Everything felt hot and everything ached, but even with his mask on, it felt so delicious. He heaved as your lips moved against his. A choked breath and whimper escaped his lips as you slid tongue into his mouth, your hands slithering up his chest and wrapping around his neck, the way that he always liked it. Almost like you knew how to make him feel good.

The kiss halted to a slow stop, with the two of you gently pulling away. And Jungwon, too dazed, didn’t know what to expect next— and he definitely didn’t expect the next words that came out of your mouth.

"Jungwon," you hummed against his lips, looking at him with an expression that he couldn't read. Jungwon's heart plummeted to his stomach, shaky eyes widening.

"Wh-What—" he began, but you brought a finger up to his lip, hushing him. No way. There's no way that you knew it was him all along—

"You need to calm down, Jungwon," you said as you pulled away from him, eyes glued to his masked face. You took his hand, rubbing circles on the back of his hand slowly, the way that always helped calm him down. "I know you. You're spiraling. We can't do anything if you're panicking. Deep breaths."

"I don't— I don't understand," Jungwon whispered, his strong body still. Had you known it was him all along? And if you did, why didn't you say or do anything? Did you find him pathetic? "How did you know?"

You blinked at him slowly, before a bashful grin pulled onto your face. You reached your hand out to him, your palm finding itself on his cheek. In a moment of instinct, Jungwon leaned into your touch.

"That's how I knew," you breathed. Your lithe fingertips then prodded at the crook between his jaw and his ear, the sensitive spot, and just as you expected, Jungwon shuddered. Your fingers traced down his jaw to his neck, pressing on the tender spot in the middle of his neck. Much to Jungwon's personal mortification, he let out a gasp, and when you leaned closer to his neck— so close that he could feel your breath on him— Jungwon let out a soft sound and shivered. Your lip grazed against the covered skin of his neck, watching him intently as you earn a sensitive whimper from him.

"What— What are you doing—" Jungwon was cut off again by your lip pressing against his jugular, at the spot that never failed to make him cry out in pleasure. Jungwon's ears burned, but the blood rushing through his body made him feel hot all over. He leaned his head back, eyes falling shut.

"I know you, Jungwon." Your voice was low, almost like a purr. Your hands continued to run over his jaw and neck, hooking onto the edge of his mask and uncovering the honey tan skin of his neck. You pressed your lips against his exposed skin, another gasp falling from his lips. "You're not good at hiding anything. And you're not a convincing liar."

You pulled his mask up, exposing his lower jaw and lips. When he muttered your name startled, you pulled the entire mask off.

Lo and behold, just as you had expected, it was Jungwon Yang. You had your suspicions, and when you made them known to him you were certain that you were right. And yet, you're still taken aback when it's really Jungwon behind the mask. His overgrown blonde hair falling over his eyes, his cat-like eyes staring at you with a mix of fear, shame, and desire, his jaw that had gotten stronger— you drank in every last bit of it.

"Son of a bitch," you murmured under your breath.

Jungwon hadn't noticed the way his chest pounded and how his breathing became erratic, nor did he notice that he was now blinking back tears, his chest heaving. "I—I'm sorry—" he struggled to get out, his voice getting caught in his throat. "Oh— I'm so— I"m sorry—"

He couldn't tell if you were angry, or disgusted, or both... because despite the unreadable look on your face, you still grabbed his face, slamming your lips against his once more.

Your fingers brusquely grab at his hair, tangling themselves in his grown-out blonde locks. This time, you're the hungry one. Your hands slid down his chest again, grasping onto his strong, toned arms, and running your hands all over him. Your lips moved surly against his, as if you hadn't been fed in days.

"You're a jackass," you rasped against him, and yet you kept kissing him like he'd disappear. "Fucking jackass." Jungwon tried to murmur apologies, but you kept kissing him, shutting him up. You pushed him against your bed slowly as your lips moved, so that he had no choice but to fall back onto it.

With Jungwon's back now pressed up against your bed, you were on top of him. Your hands roamed his body, and Jungwon couldn't help but let his eyes fall shut.

"I-I'm sorry," he rumbled, but with you on top of him, lips all over him, he couldn't do much but gasp and squirm under your touch. "I-I didn't mean to—"

Boom! In the distance, a massive explosion sound careened through the air. You and Jungwon, both alarmed, froze in your position. Even with you filling his senses, Jungwon's immediate thought is simple: he is Spider-Man.

Jungwon felt your body tense against his, with fear painted on your face. His body felt hot all over, the excitement still pulsing through his veins and desperate need for you still clouding his mind. But a trembling, paralyzed you was enough to pull him away from himself, and force him to focus.

In one fell swoop, Jungwon pulls the two of you to your feet, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly, yet gently. Ignoring your questions, he felt around for his discarded mask, before shooting a web from his fingers and pulling it to him.

"You have to go," he said to you, his hands tightening around your waist. Jungwon watched as your brows crashed together, your expression morphing from bewilderment to hurt, and then anger.

"What are you— Jungwon—" Jungwon ignored you, quickly searching around your room. He took a jacket from your closet (which was definitely his), before draping it around your shoulders.

"I'm serious," he said, his voice cracking with earnestness. "I mean it, [Name]. You have to go."

It was your turn to splutter, scoffing in disbelief. "Where would I even go? I don't know why you're saying this—"

Jungwon chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, before he huffed. "Go to Jake's."

You're about to scoff again, but Jungwon— the most tender person you've ever met— sent you a stern look that shuts you up.

"Tell him that I sent you," Jungwon instructed. "Tell him to keep you safe. And text me when you're there...." the boy trails off, awkwardly scratching his head, "If I'm not blocked, y'know.... Or just have Jake text me."

You stared at him in silence, blinking slowly, in an attempt to assess his face. Finally, you sigh, your face looking sad. "Okay."

Jungwon helped you collect your things, the two of you engulfed in a silence, with nothing filling your apartment but the ambient sound of your footsteps and breaths. That is, until it was time for you to go.

"I-I think I should go now," you said shakily, your back turned to Jungwon as you reached for your front door. Jungwon solemnly nodded, wistfully staring at you as he fiddled with his mask; his face was still uncovered, making it difficult to hide his concern, yet he didn't have the courage to put his mask back on. Not when you were here. And Jungwon would have let you go like that, alone into the night, if it weren't for the sound of your sniffles.

"Hey, hey," he called out to you, reaching out to you and taking hold of your shoulder. His brows furrowed. "[Name], what is it?"

You sniffled, your breath getting caught in your throat, and it was clear now that you were crying. However, you just shook your head, your back still turned to him.

"Baby," Jungwon said again. "Baby, please tell me. What is it? Why are you crying?"

The sound of Jungwon's voice made you tense up again. You let out a choked sob, before you sucked in a sharp breath. "Th-That."

Jungwon reached for your face, tilting your chin so that you would face him, but you wouldn't budge. "Talk to me. Please."

"That!" you cried. You sucked in another sharp breath as you threw your face into your palms. "You— You l-left me the first time... and— and now you're leaving a-again."

Jungwon's chest ached, and in a moment of remorse and desire, he slid his hands around your waist, pulling you into an embrace with you pressed against his chest. The way you always liked it. He pressed his cheek against your head, his own tears welling up in his eyes as you sniffled and cried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. He knew he hurt you, it was nothing new to him. But just knowing that never made the regret feel any better. He kissed your head. "I'm so sorry."

There's another explosion in the distance, and Jungwon's hold on you tightened. "Please. I'll make it up to you. Please just go this time."

You shook your head. "I—I don't get it. J-Jungwon, I don't g-get it—"

In your state, there was no way you'd make it to safety in time. And Jungwon was a fool for thinking that you could, not after opening up the wounds you were trying to heal from. Jungwon pressed one more kiss on your head. He hauled you into his arms, ignoring your protests, only saying, "Wrap your arms around me."

Jungwon wished he had more time. He wished he could sit you down and explain everything. But there was no time, and he had to make sure you were safe first: he'd like to do it himself. All the injuries from earlier had been healed for the most part, just enough that he had strength.

"Hold on tight, baby," he said in your ear before putting his mask on, and shooting a web out your window. Jungwon figured it was your first time soaring with Spider-Man, because you let out a squeal, hiding your face in his neck.

"Jungwon!" you cried, your eyes still lined with tears. "P-Please, I'm scared—"

Jungwon chuckled, but complied with your request, taking less risky swings. And when he arrived at Jake's apartment, he simply forced his friend's window open. Much to his luck, Jake was already there.

"S-Spider-Man?!" Jake gawked. It wasn't every day that the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man showed up at your window. Then, his eyes fell on you. "[N-Name]?!"

Gently, Jungwon set you down. "Jungwon's request: Keep her safe."

Jake, utterly baffled, opened his mouth to speak. But like a little boy (quite literally) seeing his favorite super-hero for the first time, Jake nodded dutifully, his eyes comically filling with stars. "Yes sir!"

Jungwon nodded satisfied. He knew he could count on Jake. As Jungwon readied himself to jump out the window, he's stopped by your soft voice.

"G-Good luck..." you murmured, fiddling with your fingers. "Don't die... please."

Jungwon couldn't help but grin. "Of course."

And with that, he swung away, ready to kick ass.

You're already asleep when Jungwon finds you back at Jake's house. He felt a little bad about placing the burden of you on Jake, but Jungwon couldn't care more about that when your life was on the line. Jungwon, in his hero form of course, left a note for Jake on the kitchen counter, as he slowly wrapped his arms around your sleeping figure.

You're left sleeping on Jake's couch, with a throw blanket awkwardly draped over you. He appreciated Jake's efforts, grinning softly as the way you stirred in your sleep. It's near dawn, and Jungwon couldn't ignore the ache in his body. But even so, the way your eyes were puffy, your cheeks stained lightly with tears made his chest ache more than his body did.

As quietly as he could, Jungwon took you in his arms, and took you back to his apartment (he didn't have the keys to your apartment, and he didn't want to make you angrier by breaking in). Helicopters were still flying overhead, the sound of police sirens below filling the air. Jungwon's eyes twitched with tiredness, his straining muscles nearly giving out. The city was asleep, and yet it was still functionally cleaning up the mess from earlier.

Speaking of, that son of a bitch Baron von Fizzle-dick or whatever was now in police custody. Jungwon was too exhausted to remember the details, but it was a long and tiring fight. One that was painful.

As he swung through the sky, Jungwon couldn't forget the fight. He was hit pretty badly, almost nearly stabbed in the chest. His entire body was in pain, and if it weren't for the precious you in his arms, Jungwon thought he would collapse mid-air. The feeling of the insurmountable physical agony that that villain inflicted on him was definitely one for the books. Jungwon could still feel the blood dripping down his back. But what was even worse were the things Baron von Fizzlebang had said. The threats he made, the words he said: the villain, and apparently, all the villains in the city, via their underground network, seemed to know you by name. They knew you because you were a soft spot for Spider-Man. It terrified him that now you had a target on your back. He cursed himself for letting himself get comfortable, for endangering you in the process. Even if he won the fight now, Jungwon couldn't forget the fear.

As he landed on his window, Jungwon slowly cracked it open, supporting both you and himself as he brought the two of you into his apartment. He placed you down on his bed, pulling his comforter over you. He watched as you snuggled into his bed, a satisfied murmur falling from your lips. You looked so peaceful, and for a moment, Jungwon could forget all the pain he felt.

Jungwon looked down at his hands. Ripped gloves, blood-stained palms... will it ever go away?

He pulled away from you, about to make his way to his bathroom. He ought to wash the blood off his hands. The night was at its peak, the dreariest that it had ever been. He didn't know what time it was— he lost track of that a long time ago— but all he knew was that it was dark outside. He better get some sleep too. But as he pulled away from you, he felt a few fingers weakly grip his arm. He froze.

"Jung... won..." you murmured. Your eyes were shut, and your voice sounded dreamy.

"I'm here," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't realized it, but his voice broke. Really, all he felt like doing was crying.

"Don't leave," you mumbled. Your fingers tightened around his arm. "I'll do.... do anything..." you drew on. "Just... don't go."

"Oh, baby—" And with that Jungwon broke, the hot tears he hadn't even realized he were holding in spilling. He pulled on his mask. He dropped to his knees, resting his head on the bed beside you. "I... I never meant to. I never wanted to leave you—"

You hummed, murmuring something incoherent. "Stay."

Jungwon let out a shaky breath. "I will— I really want to— Please, let me—"

"Jungwon," you said, rather firmly. You still had your eyes shut.

"I'm here, baby." Jungwon sniffled, swiping the back of his ragged hand to wipe his nose. "I'm not gonna go— I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so—"

"In the... morning," you whispered. Before Jungwon could ask, you continued. "Talk in the morning."

Jungwon's voice broke again. "W-What?"

Your hand reached out for him again, this time falling onto his disheveled head. Jungwon nearly flinched at the feeling of your hand running through his hair, but instinctively he leaned into your touch. For a few moments, your fingers ran through his blonde locks, such a foreign feeling and yet a welcome one. Jungwon let his eyes shut, and they burned as his lids fell shut.

Your voice is quiet, and Jungwon is almost certain you're awake now. "Jake told me some things. I put two and two together."

"Really?" Jungwon, too tired to be mad. "Was it bad?"

You only hummed, giving him a classic nonresponse. Your fingers continued through his hair. "Go to sleep now."

"But—"

You hushed him, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "I love you."

Jungwon was stunned, but it felt so natural as, "I love you, too," tumbled from his lips.

There's a warmth that spreads across his chest, reassuring and comforting. But yet, so deeply harrowing, and so deeply frightening. He's a man of a thousand words and complex ideas, and you knew it, so you hushed Jungwon before he could continue, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "We'll talk in the morning."

Jungwon opened his mouth to protest. But as your fingers ran through his hair, he couldn't help the satisfying chills that ran down his spine. And everything hurt, and it hurt so bad that it was unbearable and Jungwon felt like he couldn't take it.

But your touch was so soft and familiar, Jungwon felt like.... for a second... he could maybe... fall into your touch... and just... take... it... easy...

"Pro...tect you..." Jungwon murmured. "I'll protect... you."

You chuckled softly. "You're not alone. I'll carry your burden with you."

It's his turn to hum, nearly satisfied. As he drifted off into a deep slumber, his troubles melting away into the palms of your hands, there's only one last thought in Jungwon's head.

Maybe there will be a new day tomorrow, and hopefully, he won't be alone when the day breaks.

[nephynes]

PARANOIA ──.୨ৎ hyung line one shot

A high stakes game of paranoia among a toxic campus group of friends spirals into a brutal social execution as hidden betrayals, illicit affairs and devastating personal secrets are weaponized just for the sake of shattering reputations.

nsfw warnings ── smut, talks of sex, EVERYONE is horrible, don’t root for anyone of them, talks of cheating, use of hard drugs, violence. honestly let me know if i missed any, i wrote this a little unhinged.

word count ── 4.4k

How to play ── players sit in a circle and take turns whispering a "who" question to the person on their right, that person then publicly names a person in the group as the answer to the question, the person named must either drink to find out the question or decline to drink and remain in the dark.

You shift your feet on the carpet, your knees brushing against Jake on your left and Heeseung on your right. You're still trying to wrap your head around the rules Calista just laid out, her voice sweet but carrying an edge that suggests she's played this game to destroy people before. Your palms are already sweating against your jeans, as you look around the circle at Heeseung, you, Jake, Calista, Sunghoon, Leah, Jay, and Ume all sat in a circle. It feels like a predatory loop, you’ve always thought you were the observant one, the one who passes all her classes while everyone else is out partying, and being thrust into this dynamic feels like being a lamb at a wolf's dinner table.

"I'll start then," Jay says, his voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner.

He leans over toward Leah, his silver rings glint in the light, as he whispers something into her ear, his expression stays unreadable. You watch Leah's face, she bites her lip and her eyes flicker around the circle before they land on someone. "Jake," she says clearly.

The room goes silent and Jake, who is sat right next to you lets out a dry chuckle. He doesn't hesitate for a second though, immediately reaching for the bottle of vodka in the center of the circle, pouring himself a heavy measure into the shot glass.

"I'm not staying in the dark for that," Jake says, looking straight Leah before tossing the drink back and slamming the glass down. "What was the question?"

Leah clears her throat, looking sheepish. "The question was...who here is most likely to not graduate?"

A few people let out oohs and light laughter, the tension breaking just enough for the game to feel tame. Jake rolls his eyes, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Harsh, Leah. I'm literally passing three of my labs right now."

But your heart is still beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The game is moving clockwise, so now it’s Jake's turn to whisper to you, he leans in so close that his shoulder presses firmly against yours and the scent of the alcohol on his breath mixes with his expensive cologne. His hand brushes your arm as he anchors himself to whisper in your ear. "Who in this room," he murmurs, his voice is so low it sends a vibration down your spine, "would you cheat on your partner with?"

A landmine of a question, and stupidly your eyes instinctively flick toward Jay and then toward Sunghoon, whose posture has gone unnervingly rigid beside you.

Your throat feels tight, your palms are slick with sweat. You know can't hesitate too long or you’ll look suspicious, so you take a breath and try to keep your voice steady. "Jay," you say.

Jay's eyebrows shoot up as a grin spreads across his face. He doesn't even look at the shot glass, going straight for the bottle instead, tilting it back for a throat burning swallow. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

"I definitely need to know the question for that one," Jay rasps, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "What did you ask our girl, Jake?"

Jake leans back. "The question was…who here would you cheat on your partner with?"

You feel the heavy silence that immediately falls over the circle, it’s suffocating in a way that precedes a storm. You feel Sunghoon's gaze burning into the side of your face, you don’t need to look at him to know his mouth is set in that angry line.

Suddenly the silence is broken by Calista’s sharp laugh, her face lit up maliciously. "Wait," her voice cuts through. "That's a bit redundant, innit? I mean, didn't you already do that?"

Fucking Calista.

You feel like you're shrinking into the floor as Leah and Ume exchange a wide eyed look. Before you can even think of what to say Sunghoon's voice snaps out, "Shut up, Calista," he says with a terrifying authority. He doesn't even look at her, he just stares straight ahead, his knuckles white where they're gripped around his own knees. "It's your turn to whisper to Heeseung." Well it’s not, by the rules of the game it should be Jay’s turn but no one bothers to correct Sunghoon.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat and pretend you can’t sense the tension vibrating between you, Sunghoon and Jay.

Heeesung next to you is sat with a deceptively relaxed look on his face, his eyes betray him though, they remain sharp, tracking the fallout of the last round with interest.

You lean in, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance, "Who in this room," you whisper, "do you think is secretly an alcoholic?"

He stiffens for a split second before a raspy laugh leaves his chest. He pulls back with a smirk dancing on his lips as he scans the faces in the circle, lingering on the glass in Leah's hand. "Leah," he says, his voice clear and resonant. "Obviously."

Her name lands with a dull thud but Heeseung doesn't stop there, he leans back on his elbows and continues. "I mean, the whole party girl aesthetic is a great mask, right? It's easy to hide the shakes when everyone expects you to have a drink in your hand twenty four-seven."

You had expected Heeseung to answer Jay, everyone always talks about how he drinks too much but Heeseung being the shit starter he is just had to pick her.

Leah's face pales immediately and her forced smile from earlier completely vanishes. She looks down at the half full shot glass in front of her and her fingers trembling slightly. Everyone is watching her, waiting for her to reach for the bottle and demand to know what question would make Heeseung make such a pointed comment.

But Leah doesn't move. "I don't want to know," she says, "I'm staying in the dark."

"Oh, come on, Leah," Jake groans from beside you, his voice dripping with agitation. He's already tipsy and his competitive streak getting soured by the heavy atmosphere. "Don't be boring. It's a game. Just drink and get it over with."

"Leave her alone, Jake," you snap, the words come out of your mouth before you can think. You feel the heat of Sunghoon's gaze on you, probably surprised by your sudden sharp tongue. You look over at Leah and offer a small nod. "She said she doesn't want to know. Let's move on."

Leah looks up at you with her eyes glassy with unshed tears, she shoots you a look of gratitude.

The bottle is slid toward Heeseung now, he has to whisper to Ume but you can't help but feel like the vibe in the room has shifted from a party game to a battlefield.

"Can’t I just pick who I want to whisper to instead?" He asks and Calista being as equally aggravating as he is agrees with him. "Sure you can!"

So instead, Heeseung gets up and hands over to Ume, crowding her space, his lips almost brushing her ear. Whatever he whispers is a long string of murmurs that lasts just a few seconds too many. You watch the playful smirk on Ume's face fade, her nose wrinkled in a display of revulsion. "God, Heeseung," Ume spits out, her voice sharp with a mix of shock and genuine disgust. "That's actually disgusting. You're such a weirdo."

Jay shifts forward, clearly intrigued by the sudden spike in hostility, while Sunghoon's jaw remains tight. Ume looks around the circle, her eyes landing right back on the man who whispered to her.

"It's him," she announces, pointing a finger directly at Heeseung. "The answer is Heeseung."

Heeseung lets out a mocking laugh that makes your skin prickle, he tilts his head to the side as he stares Ume down with a terrifyingly calm intensity.

"Funny," Oh God. "Because you didn't seem to think it was disgusting three days ago. In fact, you didn't seem to need any help at all when you were begging me to fuck you in my car."

Ume's face goes from flushed to a sickly white very quickly, she opens her mouth to retort but no sound comes out.

Heeseung on the other hand, just smirks while the question remains unrevealed, it's now a toxic secret sitting between them that has everyone else exchanging uneasy glances.

Someone should really call it now, call it a night but instead someone just murmurs that it's Ume's turn and now you're hyper aware she's about to ask Sunghoon—who's been a ticking time bomb since Calista brought up your lore—a question.

Ume, looking for any way to deflect the humiliation Heeseung just heaped on her, leans into Sunghoon. You can see the tremor in her hand as she tucks her hair back, her eyes narrowed with a vengeful glint.

She whispers the question to Sunghoon and for the first time tonight, you see a flicker of a smile cross his face. He doesn't hesitate his answer, "Heeseung," Sunghoon says and of course Heeseung wants to know, so he reaches for the bottle and takes an aggressive swig from it. "Reveal it," he commands, "What's the question?"

"The question," Sunghoon says, leaning forward so he's eye to eye with Heeseung, "was who here is definitely not as rich as they pretend to be?"

You nearly snort, that's not just a jab or a joke, it's a strike at the core of Heeseung's carefully curated image.

"Rich coming from you, Sunghoon," Heeseung sneers, his gaze flickering toward you before snapping back to his former friend. "At least I'm not the one who's so pathetic he took back a girl who already went through half the guys in this room. You're sitting there acting all protective of her, but we all know you're just the guy who cleans up the mess everyone else left behind."

The insult is so raw, it’s so unearned and cruel, so Heeseung. You hate how quick with it he is but you're quick too. Quick to connect the back of your hand with his face, the sound of your hand connecting with his cheek is like a gunshot in the small living room.

His head snaps sharply to the side and your hand starts to sting with the force of the blow as tears of pure rage blur your vision. Heeseung stays frozen for a long beat before his hand slowly comes up to touch his reddening face.

"Don't you ever," you choke out, your voice trembling with a fury you didn't know you possessed, "speak about me or Sunghoon like that again."

You don't even realize you've started heading for the door until you hear a pair of frantic footsteps following behind you. The stinging in your palm is nothing compared to the acid burning in your throat. You burst out into the cool night air, you're crying so hard you can barely see.

"Wait! Just—stop for a second!" Sunghoon's voice echoes behind you, his hand gently but firmly grasping your wrist to pull you into a quiet corner of the stairwell.

"Get away from me," you sob, trying to yank your arm back, the adrenaline from the slap finally crashing into a wave of pure humiliation. "He's trying to make me look like a whore, Hoon. In front of everyone. He's sitting there acting like I'm some...some conquest for the whole group."

Sunghoon doesn't let go, his face is red too and his eyes are filled with a mix of hurt and protective fury. "He's an asshole who's lashing out because he got called out for being broke. Don't listen to him."

"But he's making it sound like—" You choke on a breath, your voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Jay was one time. I was drunk, baby. You know that, I told you I didn't even know where I was. It wasn't half the guys, it was one mistake that almost killed me to tell you."

You look up at him with your tear stained face, you’re searching his eyes for any sign of the judgment Heeseung just spewed. "You believe me, right? Hoon, you know me. Or do you secretly think I'm just a whore, too?"

His face softens a little, right as he moves his hands to cup your face and wipe your tears, "I believe you," he says, finally letting your heart stop its frantic racing. "I know who you are. I didn't take you back because I'm pathetic. I took you back because I'd rather have a complicated life with you than a perfect one without you." "Let him talk. He has nothing and I have you."

The moment you and Sunghoon step back into the room, you realize the game didn’t even stop. You sit in Sunghoon’s lap instead of next to Heeseung again. Jay is whispering into Calista's ear now and whatever he says makes her eyes light up with glee that she literally cackles, a sound that grates against your raw nerves.

"Sunghoon. For sure," she says, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"I don't want to know. Move on." He says, tightening his hand on your hip.

"Are you sureeeee, Hoonie?" Calista taunts, leaning forward so her cleavage is on display. "It's a really juicy one. Don't you want to know what Jay thinks about your...habits?"

"He said move on, Calista," you say, your irritation showing on your face clear as day.

She rolls her eyes but since it’s her turn now, she leans over to Heeseung. You can’t help but think of how the two of them have always shared a certain level of toxicity and as she whispers to him, the damn near evil smile that spreads on his face makes you want to throw up, even though the read mark from your slap still so visible on his cheek like a badge of dishonor.

Heeseung looks around the circle, first at Leah then at you. "Leah and Y/n," he answers.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Jake interjects, his brow furrowing. "The rules are one person, Hee. Don't be a dick and break the flow."

Heeseung doesn't even look at Jake, he looks like he's out for blood now. "Oh fuck the rules. I'll just tell you the question," Heeseung announces. "So Calista here, asked me who here would I have a threesome with?"

Fucking disgusting.

"I picked Leah because word on campus is she gives the best head when she's blacked out drunk. So efficiency, right?"

He turns his gaze to you, he’s so hellbent on destroying the little peace Sunghoon just gave you.

"And I picked Y/n," he continues, ignoring the way Sunghoon is literally vibrating with rage beside you, "because Jay told me that he's never seen an ass bounce on cock quite like hers. I figured I should see what the hype is about."

The room explodes and Sunghoon is up from under you, pushing you off him before Heeseung can even finish his sentence, his fist flies towards Heeseung's jaw as Jake tries to scramble out of the way.

The living room erupts into a violent blur of motion and anger. Jay and Jake lunged forward, trying to haul Sunghoon off Heeseung but he is a whirlwind of unbridled rage and he’s too strong for both of them, his heels skidding on the hardwood as he punches Heeseung one two three times square in the face.

"Get off me!" Sunghoon roars, his voice cracking with the intensity of his fury.

"Hoon please! You’ll kill him!" Leah cries and in the midst of the chaos, Calista decides now is the perfect time to give her unsolicited opinion. Just as Jake and Jay finally manage to drag Sunghoon off the now bloodied Heeseung, she stands up and smooths her skirt with a sickeningly calm demeanor that irritates you so quickly. "I don't even know why you're getting so defensive, Sunghoon," she starts, "It's not like he lied. You did cheat on him with Jay. It's public knowledge at this point. Why act like she's some untouchable virgin when everyone already knows how passed around your girlfriend is?"

Take it to hell then.

"Public knowledge, huh?" you repeat, "Is that what we're calling it now, Calista?"

You take another step, deliberately trying to invade her personal space until she's forced to lean back against the sofa. "Since we're so happily sharing public knowledge," you continue, "is it public knowledge that you spent seven months last year practically begging Sunghoon to take your virginity? That you sent him dozens of nudes he never asked for, crying and pleading with him to be the one because you were so obsessed with his fucking reputation?"

She tries to interrupt you, maybe to get you to shut up but you don't give her the air. "And when he wouldn't even look at you—when he told you he wasn't interested in a girl who tried that hard—is it public knowledge that you finally settled for Heeseung just so you could feel like you were part of the group?"

It’s almost laughable how the whole room is suddenly silent. Heeseung, who was wiping blood from his lip, freezes before his eyes snapping to Calista with a look of pure realization.

Jay and Jake slowly loosen their grip on Sunghoon, their eyes wide as they look between you and the trembling girl in front of you. She really looks like she’s about to faint. "You...you don't know what you're talking about," she stammers.

"I have the screenshots, Calista," you announce. "Sunghoon showed me everything the day we got back together. So if I were you, I'd stop talking about public knowledge before I make sure everyone on this campus knows exactly how little dignity you actually have."

Despite the blood from his split lip, the black eye and bruises forming all over his face, Heeseung laughs, looking at Calista then at you with some kind of twisted admiration. "Damn," his voice scrapes against the silence. "That's harsh. Even for this room."

Leah, who has been sitting in a crumpled heap of tears and humiliation since Heeseung brought up her blackout reputation, finally snaps. The gratitude she felt when you defended her earlier has fermented into a courage. "Oh, fuck off, Heeseung," "You're really going to act like you're worth more than that? Settlement is the best word for you. Honestly, it's the best you can do seeing as you can't get anyone sober to actually touch you."

Jake and Jay look at each other, realizing the night has moved past a game and into a total social execution. You wince at Leah’s words cause you know Heeseung, he has no problems being dragged through the mud, as long as someone is being dragged with him and that’s exactly what he does.

"Ouch, Leah. You're hurting my feelings," he pouts, looking directly at Ume. "But you're wrong. I get plenty of sober pussy. Right, Ume?"

She shakes her head, almost like she’s begging him to stop but Heeseung is long past mercy.

"Ume fucks me. A lot, actually," he says with a voice so casual, you’d think he was discussing the news. "You'd be surprised how many pregnancy scares we've had just this semester. I think we're on what? Three now, Ume? Or did you forget to tell me about the one last week because you were too busy pretending we don't know each other in the halls?"

Ume lets out a choked sob, covering her mouth with her hands. The revelation is a nuclear bomb, Heeseung is burning every bridge in the room just to stay warm.

Sunghoon's grip on your waist tightens, you hadn’t even realized he was behind you. He looks down at you, his eyes silently communicating that this has gone too far. The game has completely turned into a search and destroy mission and of course Heeseung is leading the charge with a bloody lip and a terrifyingly calm smile. He ignores the sobbing Ume and the trembling Calista, turning his predatory focus toward the one person who has stayed unnervingly silent during the chaos. "Jongie," Heeseung coos, tilting his head. "You've been awfully quiet while everyone else's skeletons are falling out of the closet. Why is that? I know it's not because you're worried about our girl over there—we already established you've been there, done that."

"Shut the fuck up, Heeseung," Jake snaps, "You're clearly just high on the drama. Stop it."

But Calista, sensing a chance to shift the target off her own humiliation, lets out a hysterical laugh. She wipes the tears from her eyes that are already shining with a manic triumph.

"Oh, wait! I know this one!" she chirps, her voice trembling but eager. "It’ll all make sense now but Jay here didn't sleep with Y/n because he wanted her. He used her as a litmus test."

Sunghoon's grip on your waist becomes painfully tight as the room goes dead silent.

"He was trying to figure out if he was actually gay or not," Calista sneers, pointing a manicured finger between Jay and Jake. "Because Jay and Jake haven't just been best friends since freshman year. They've been fucking since the first week of classes. Jay just needed to see if a girl could still do it for him, and you were the easiest target because you were drunk and vulnerable."

This can’t be happening. Why? Why did you agree to even come to Jay’s house tonight?

The two boys don’t even move, it’s like they can’t. Sunghoon’s hands fall from your waist as he looks at Jay—the man he thought was his best friend, the man who had supposedly betrayed him out of a moment of drunken weakness, not a cold blooded experiment.

"Is that true?" Sunghoon asks, his voice dangerously low. "You used my girlfriend to see if you could still get your dick hard for a woman?" But Jay can’t answer, he can’t even look Sunghoon in the eye.

Before you realize you’ve moved, you’re right in Calista’s face again, moving without thinking. Without a word, you bring your hand up and deliberately swipe your index finger right under her nostril. When you pull your hand back, you look at the faint white residue on your finger before looking back at her with pity.

"Aw, Cali,"

"I knew you did coke but I didn't know it was this bad. Is that why your heart is racing so fast? Or is it just the sniffles?"

You want to dismantle her credibility, her sanity. How dare she? You don’t even care about what Jay allegedly did. How dare she attempt to out two people who clearly weren’t ready for that.

"Are you just making up shit now because you're scared?" you ask, tilting your head. "You’re scared that everyone will finally find out you're nothing but a coke whore who trades blowjobs for a gram?"

A strangled sound escapes her throat, she looks around the room, searching for an ally but everyone—even Heeseung—is looking at her with a new level of disgust.

"News fucking flash, Calista," "Everyone knows. We've always known. We just didn't care enough about you to say it out loud until you decided to make yourself everyone's damn problem."

You turn your back on her, grab Leah’s hand and heading for the door, you’re sure Sunghoon is right behind you. "We're done," you say. "We don’t need these toxic people."

──.୨ৎ

The laundry room basement of Jay’s house is a stark contrast to the polished, expensive chaos neither Sunghoon nor Leah are expecting to unfold in about an hour. Down here, the smell of the laundry detergent is strong, paired with the rhythmic thrum of the m washing machine, it’s enough to make anyone overstimulated in this situation.

Sunghoon has Leah propped up against the vibrating metal of the washer, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he drives his cock harder and harder into her.

The machine’s cycle is loud but it’s still not loud enough to drown out the wet sounds of their bodies meeting or Leah’s loud moans.

"Hoon...Sunghoon," Leah whimpers, her fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders as he thrusts into her with a mechanical intensity.

"Quiet," he shushes, pressing his palm over her mouth for a second, his eyes dark and devoid of the softness he usually keeps reserved for you. "The others are going to be here any minute. You want them to hear you?"

Leah shakes her head no, her eyes glassy with a mix of pleasure and a desperate need for him to look at her with something other than detachment, for him to look at her the way he looks at you. She pulls his head down, pressing her lips against his before whimpering when he brushes her sweet spot.

"Oh fuck! I love you!" she moans, the words suddenly slipping out like a confession she can’t hold back. "I love you so much, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate, kissing her to shut her up, his tongue invading her mouth with a possessive hunger that felt more like a conquest than an embrace. "I love you too," he mutters against her skin, the words sound practiced, they’re even mean in their delivery—a hollow comfort he’s offering only to keep her compliant.

He shifts his grip, hooking his large hands under her thighs to pull her closer, "Are you close?" he demands, his breath hot and erratic against her neck. "Fuck—Your pussy’s so good, babe. You’re gonna make me cum right now."

Leah lets out a frustrated breath, lolling her head back against the cold laundry shelf. "No...no, I'm not. It’s okay, baby." She wraps her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could go. "You can cum, Hoonie. Just...cum inside me. Please."

Sunghoon lets out a grunt of appreciation, she doesn’t need to tell him twice before he buries his face in the crook of her neck, his thrusts become faster and more desperate until he finally stiffens, his entire body shudders as he fills her. "Mm yes, Sunghoon. Gimme your cum."

He stays there inside her for a long moment, before pulling back to start fixing his clothes with a terrifyingly quick efficiency.

"Clean yourself up," he says, not looking at her as he heads for the stairs. "We need to be upstairs before the rest of them get here."

nene’s note ── is it just me or is heeseung HILARIOUS in this? lmao (cause i’m not on the receiving end) also poor ume (right?👀) did you expect the twist? i loveeee feedback! please enjoy!💋

taglist i ── @fancypeacepersona @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @gabrielinhaa @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143

© nephynes 2025

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

[archivojjong]

Jungwon’s guide on servicing women

Synopsis! Your best friend’s brother finds a solution to ease your frustrations.

Contents! Best friend's brother Jungwon x fem!reader, service dom Jungwon, dubcon (??? But reader is very okay with it and consent is given), fingering, nipple play, lots of kissing, kitchen sex, biting, thumb sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, against the wall(fridge), praise, dirty talk.

Wc! 3.5k words

Note! This is for my very beautiful wife @v3lv3t-th1rst ily and thank you for trusting me with this request.

You knew that you should have gone straight to bed.

That you should have said no the moment Jungwon said those words in a slow and deliberate way, like he already knew you wouldn't refuse him.

You don’t even like Jungwon, more like you tell yourself that you’re not supposed to. Mainly because of the slight hostility he sends your way each time you’re in his vicinity.

To you, he’s just Jungwon, no one significant. Just your best friend’s handsome cheeky brother, just someone who didn’t speak unless spoken to, someone who kept to a small circle of friends.

Someone who glares at you every time you enter the room, and it leaves you to wonder if you actually did something wrong to him.

Then you came to realise that his stare downs and broken conversations were because of something else entirely.

-

You had gone down for a drink, thirsty from all the talk you were having about with your best friend. Your discussion circled around men who were horrible in bed, focusing mainly on your blind date who you carelessly took home the other week.

You don’t even remember his name, Caleb, Calvin, Charles, something that began with a C. You don't wish to remember. Just thinking of the scene in your bedroom, that man being so horribly horrible in bed, not even giving you the luxury to help you reach your climax, leaves you cringing physically hard.

And after your friend fell asleep, you decided to head on down to the kitchen, where you saw Jungwon, just…standing there. Not doing anything in particular, not drinking water, not scrolling through his phone, just there, as if he was waiting for someone. As if he had been waiting for you.

When he saw you enter the kitchen, he tailed after you. He looked like he was trying not to be obvious about it, but you noticed.

“What.” you deadpanned, matching the coldness in the tone he had been using on you for the past few weeks.

Jungwon leaned back against the kitchen counter, eyes locked onto yours, the same way they usually did. Only this time, his eyes looked intense, like something more sharp was hidden behind them. Something darker. Almost Predatory.

He crossed his arms across his chest and you furrowed your eyebrows at him, scanning his body before you could stop yourself.

When did his shoulders get so broad?

“You’re up late,” he had said matter-of-factly.

You breathed out a laugh and lifted the bottle to your lips, drinking it. A few drops slipped past your lips and trailed down to your shirt, and Jungwon’s eyes followed the trail. He didn’t look, he watched. No shame. Perhaps even slight amusement.

That was when Jungwon dropped the words like a bomb.

“I can make you cum.”

Oh. Wait what?!

You freeze, the water bottle you grabbed from the fridge frozen in your hands, hovering halfway to your lips.

“What?” you had chuckled awkwardly, trying to make sure you had heard him right.

Your grip tightened around the bottle.

“You heard me, I can make you cum.”

He pushed himself off the counter and started to take a few steps towards you.

You stepped back instinctively, heart starting to pound against your ribs.

Jungwon didn’t say anything, he kept stepping forward until your back hit the edge of the kitchen island. That’s when he smirked.

He took the bottle from your hands, setting it aside on the island and leaned closer, trapping you against the island between his arms on either side.

For some reason, you suddenly felt small, and felt that the space around you was shrinking.

“What? You think I can’t?”

You glanced over your shoulders, making sure that no one else was around, “What?!” you whisper shouted, “Are you crazy?” you landed a half-hearted shove to his chest.

You expected Jungwon to pull back, to say he was joking, to apologise.

But he doesn’t. Far from it actually.

He leans in even closer, letting you know that he wasn’t about to let you go easily. A cheshire grin on his face as he leans in close, enough for the fresh smell of his shower gel to infiltrate your senses.

“I heard you with my sister,” he admitted with no sign of hesitation nor shame in his voice about the fact that he had been eavesdropping.

“You talked about how frustrated you are,” he says, jogging your memory.

You felt embarrassed, but he was right, you were frustrated, that was the only reason why you brought that asshole into your apartment, and he was of no help.

“Jungwon, someone might see us,” you said, glancing back restlessly again.

He grabs your jaw between his fingers, guiding you to face him.

You stare up at his eyes. They’re serious, dangerously serious, staring you down with lustful intensity. You don't even know what to make of it. He was staring into your eyes like he had already claimed you.

“I’ve seen how you look at me,” he says, “I’ve seen how you scan across my shoulders,” he spoke deliberately, his hand moving from your jaw to your hair, twirling a loose strand around his fingers before he tucked it behind your ear.

“I’ve seen how you glare at me,” he says, his knees slowly pushing your legs apart. Your breath hitches, stomach coiling uncontrollably.

“You’ve been staring,” he leaned in closer to your ear, his breath hot against your ear, sending a bolt of electricity to your spine.

“Like you want me to take you,” he whispers, knees pushing up against your dampening core.

A whimper leaves your mouth before you can contain it. Your hands instantly grip around Jungwon’s surprisingly strong and steady arms, and he delivers you a victory painted smirk.

“I can make you cum,” he repeats to make sure you know of his intentions, as if those words hadn’t been echoing in your mind since the moment that he said it.

“Just say the word,” his hand slides to your face, cupping your cheeks, grazing his thumb against your skin gently. His knee was still pushed up against your heat, then moving it up and down with slow, teasing movements

You felt your arousal pool in your panties, dampening them, you could feel the way it stuck uncomfortably and hot to your pussy each time Jungwon pulled his knee away.

“Please Won," you breathed.

“Please what y/n?” he tilts his head, now moving his knee against your core in slow circles. You bite down on your lips hard, trying your best to hold in your moans.

“Please…make me cum,” you give in, and it had Jungwon feeling over the moon.

With one swift move, he grabs you by the hips to hoist you up on the kitchen island. You gasp and Jungwon immediately shushes you, “Don’t make a noise baby, wouldn’t want my sister to hear you,” he chuckled.

Before you could swat his chest, Jungwon pulled you into a kiss, slow at first, steady. But the kiss shifted into something more needy and desperate once he let his hands roam around your body.

He slips his tongue in your mouth, letting you taste him, he tastes of mint and vigor. You hum softly into the kiss when Jungwon’s hands shift from your back to your waist, his hand sliding up under the fabric to cup your breasts, his thumb grazing the underside of your breasts.

You gasp into the kiss when he squeezes them. Jungwon continues kissing you, sucking on your tongue as the kiss elevates into a messy and wet one.

He pulls down your bra to release your tits from them and he just holds them, no groping, no teasing, he just gently holds them as he pulls away from the kiss.

You take a good look at Jungwon’s face, his eyes looked determined yet soft, pupils slightly dilated, his lips were glossy and swollen from the kiss and he gives you a small smile which makes your stomach churn.

He attaches his lips to your neck, kissing you there.

His hands move, gently squeezing on your tits and you sigh, throwing your head back.

Jungwon lips travel up to your ears, biting and licking on the lobe. He starts flicking your nipples with his thumb, and you instantly dip your head against his shoulder, biting down on your swollen lips.

Your body jolts as he continues his ministrations on your nipples. He kissed your ear, “Bite down on my shoulder,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. He started leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw.

You bite down on Jungwon’s shoulder, moans muffled as you bite down harder. Jungwon hums against your neck, his fingers now pinching your nipples and gently rolling them between his fingers.

“Fuck Jungwon,” you curse through your clenched teeth and he hums knowingly.

“I know, just feel what I give you baby,” he mouths against your neck.

One of his hands leaves your breasts and slowly starts to dip down into your pants and panties. His thumb finds your clit and he places the pad of his thumb against the bundle of nerves, then he starts to rub the swollen nub in slow, deliberate circles, his other thumb back to circling your nipple again.

You bite down harder and Jungwon groans, “Shit- that’s it,” he chuckled.

Your hands grinded eagerly against his thumb, pussy aching and begging for more. “Jungwon,” you managed as you pulled away from his shoulders, your voice breathy and desperate.

He hums and locks eyes with yours. He pressed down his thumb against your clit and your breath hitches, your nails sinking deeper into his arm.

You begged him with your eyes, eyebrows drawn together, eyes glossy and pleasing. But he ignores it and presses his thumb harder, “Ngh- fuck,” you breathe out.

Jungwon stares at you with an innocent smile, almost mocking.

“Want me to put a finger in you? To have your dripping pussy full of my fingers?” He says, his voice is hushed, reminding you that you had to keep quiet no matter what.

You nodded frantically, wanting more than just his thumb on your clit and his hand flicking your nipple, it was too much to hold in, and yet it was not enough for you to let go.

“Good girl, tell me what you like,” he whispered and slid his thumb down to your entrance, prodding in it experimentally first before sticking his thumb in, and your hips instinctively chase after his hands

The sensation was still not enough, you were still not full enough.

Jungwon noticed your desperation, and with a small shuddered laugh, he pushes two digits in your sopping hole, “Fuck, it slid right in,” he said, more so to himself, a hint of astonishment in the way he said it. Then he began to move his fingers in and out of you.

Your body jolts forward to chase Jungwon’s fingers, “Oh my fucking god-” you mouthed, not because you had to keep your silence, but because the words were stuck in your throat, only threatening to get out, but failing.

Your thighs shook at the sensation, the pleasure, the fullness.

Jungwon stared at you, his gaze intense and burning. He could feel his cock growing painfully hard at this fucked up sight of you, your eyes fluttered shut, your lips pressed together in a line as you desperately tried to contain your moans.

He takes his free hand out from beneath your shirt and he cups your jaw. He pushes his thumb to the corner of your lips, slowly pushing it in.

You opened your mouth, letting Jungwon press his thumb against your tongue. You don’t wait for his instruction and start sucking on his thumb. You circle your tongue around his thumb, letting out silent moans.

The wet sounds of Jungwon’s fingers moving along your walls are loud and obscene in the quiet of the night.

But that doesn’t stop him or you. Jungwon drives his fingers in and out faster, with obscene precision that makes you dizzy, your mind spinning with pleasure each time he pushes his fingers knuckles deep in you, curling them while he’s in deep.

“Fuck you look good like this baby,” he groaned, his cock aching with the need to be inside your warm, wet, pulsating hole.

You squirmed in place as Jungwon kept dragging his digits along your hot convulsing gummy walls, keeping his thumb in your mouth tugging at the corner, pushing his thumb in and out as you continued to suck on it.

It was so incredibly hot and filthy.

Your arousal gushed out of you, wetting your panties and his fingers kept digging deliciously deep into your hole.

Your body tensed up, clenching around Jungwon’s fingers, Jungwon notices how the muscles contract around his fingers, “Wanna cum around my fingers baby? Wanna let your pretty pussy drip all over my fingers?” he asks, his voice low and controlled.

He lets out a heavy breath through his nose when you nod. The pace of his fingers speed up, he drives them into you sharper, with more precision. His thumb finds your pulsing clit again, rubbing circles on the small nub while fucking his fingers knuckles deep into you, working inside you and hitting your g-spot.

“Cum for me pretty, let that tension go hm?”

Your thighs shook even harder, your whole body shaking on top of the marble surface, thrashing about, legs hovered up in the air, toes curled as you felt the tension coiled up in your abdomen.

Then you cum. Hard. Raw. All over his fingers, coating it with your arousal. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsating in strong rhythmic beats.

Jungwon removed his fingers out from your dripping pussy and pushed his arousal coated fingers into your mouth, “Taste it baby, let yourself know how good you taste,” he sighed.

You sucked on his fingers, his thumb tugging the corner of your lips, urging you to open your mouth wider, allowing him to push his fingers in deeper.

He pulls them out and lets you take a moment to breathe as he palms himself through his pants. He hisses at the touch, his cock sensitive and throbbing with need, begging for attention.

“Jungwon…I need you” you begged weakly, thighs threatening to close around him.

“Yeah?" He cooed, “Want me to put my cock in you? Fuck you deep and hard?”

“Yes. Yes- fuck I want you,” you whimper and Jungwon’s hands are back on you in no time. He holds your waist, leaning into a kiss. You kiss him back, releasing a satisfied hum, “So Fucking Pretty,” he muttered, kneading the flesh of your waist.

He then tugged on the waistband of your shorts, his lips refusing to leave the fevered kiss. He pulls the shorts off of you, his hands caressing your bare thighs.

His hands then move to your back, grabbing your ass and lifting you off the marble surface easily.

You gasp lightly, “Surprised?” he asks, pressing soft kisses against your lips now, “Maybe,” you giggle, returning Jungwon’s now soft kisses.

He pushes your back against the refrigerator, the appliance cold and humming against your back, “So pretty,” he said in a low voice, “God I should have done this long ago,” he added, his lips migrating to your neck.

Jungwon holds you against the cold surface in place, one hand holding you securely in place, the other dropping to his pants to release his cock from its restraint.

Jungwon’s cock springs free, hitting the base of his stomach when he pulls his pants down hurriedly, the fabric pooling carelessly at his ankles.

He pulls your soaked panties aside, then kisses you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, like you’re all that matters to him right now.

Jungwon lines his cock to your entrance, sliding the red and angry tip along your folds to lubricate it with your wetness.

“fuckkk” he drawled as he slid himself along your folds, “You’re so wet for me baby,” Jungwon said to your ear. Heat rose up to your neck, to your ears and face, a whine threatening to leave your mouth.

Jungwon then slowly pushes the throbbing tip of his cock, ready and eager, hard into your aching pussy. He pushes it in slowly and your hands grip a handful of his hair, mouth hung open as his cock gives you a delicious stretch.

“That’s it, feel the stretch baby, feel me,” Jungwon grunted, smirking when you tug on his hair harder. Jungwon started to move his hips, rolling them upwards to push his length in you with slow strokes.

You start to see that he was slowly losing himself. You could tell in the way his cock throbbed inside you, heavy and aching with each deep roll of his hips.

He started moving faster, cock slamming upwards making wet and filthy sound bounce off the walls. “Jungwon- that feels so good- ngh-” your moans become choked. You felt so full with Jungwon’s length drilling deep inside you, his tip hitting your g-spot each time he filled you to the brim.

“Pussy’s so wet, so tight just for me,” he stuttered, “Isn’t that right baby?” He chuckles breathily.

“Yes,” you whisper-whined, mind numbed out as Jungwon kept pistoning his length along your walls, his cock sliding in and out easier gradually as more wetness gushed out of you.

Jungwon messily kisses your neck, letting out small grunts each time he thrusts his cock deep inside you with sharp precision.

You let a moan slip out, immediately biting down on your lips. Jungwon’s cock twitches at your noise, speeding up his thrusts, “You sound so pretty baby,” he muttered against your neck.

His hands dug into your skin harder, his body pressed against yours even more than it already was, practically fusing into yours.

“This pussy’s gonna milk me dry,” he groaned, his thrusts sloppy yet unrelenting now. You could only hear Jungwon, only feel Jungwon, only think of Jungwon. Your initial fear of getting caught kept far in the back of your mind now when all you could focus on was the pleasure.

You wrap your arms around Jungwon’s neck and pull him in a kiss. Jungwon pauses, momentarily surprised, but kisses you back nonetheless, his body taking delight at your excitement.

“Make me cum Wonie,” you moan into the kiss. Jungwon straight up moans, not his small grunts, not his quiet and constraint moans, a loud genuine moan, “Keep calling me that baby,” he kisses you, sloppily swirling his tongue with yours.

“Wonie,” you whine and he hums appreciatively, still pushing his arousal coated cock inside you with an uneven tempo.

You felt your orgasm approaching, coiling up in the base of your stomach, “Wonie, I’m so close,” you say and Jungwon delves his tongue deep into your mouth.

“Cum for me baby, be a good girl and cream all over my cock,” he moaned again.

“Fuck! I’m going to cum too,” Jungwon said, his hips stuttering briefly, then proceeding to slam his length upwards relentlessly, his thrusts become powerful and impossibly deeper.

“Cum with me baby, okay?” He kisses your lips, cheeks, the corners of your lips, everywhere on your face he could.

And you let go. The overwhelming climax taking over the nerves of your body, vibrating in every fibre inside you, your body arches in his hold. And Jungwon shoves his dick inside, balls deep in you, spilling his white and sticky release inside you.

He kisses you through your orgasm, softly moaning into the kiss and he moves his hips up and in lazy circles to make sure his seeds are emptied completely deep inside you.

You can feel his seeds flow out of you as Jungwon pulls out, the liquid dripping down to the clothes pooled at his ankles. He still holds you in place, pecking your cheeks as he tries to even out his staggered breaths.

Your chest heaves up and down, body still twitching from your climax.

“Fuck,” he chuckled breathily, resting his forehead against yours.

He pulled back to examine you, to make sure you were alright, you smiled at him lazily, still resting your hands around his neck and grazing your nails at his nape.

“I told you I could do it,” he said, that familiar cheeky smile returning to his face, you scoff and roll your eyes.

He leans in, pressing his lips against yours, soft and careful. It is entirely different from the previous lust driven kisses you just shared. It is soft and gentle, as if you would shatter into a million pieces if he put any more pressure.

“Told you,” he kisses the corner of your lips, “I could help ease your frustrations,” he kisses the other corner, “That I could make you cum,” he presses his lips against yours again, in that same gentle manner.

“And I did,” he smirked, “Twice,” he lifted his brows proud, perhaps even child-like.

“You’re so stupid,” you chuckle, and his teasing grim transforms into a small smile.

“Sure, whatever you say,” he says, pressing his lips against yours

©archivojjong 2026. All Rights Reserved.

𓂃۶ৎ𓂃۶ৎ𓂃۶ৎ

Taglist! @v3lv3t-th1rst , @jeyporkpork.

[dazedinadream]

DO YOU THINK I AM FRAGILE? ⊹₊ ⋆

⭑.ᐟ The coach's daughter - Lee Heeseung

A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost, and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.

💿 SOUNDTRACK 〢🖇 SERIES MASTERLIST 〢⛸️ TAGLIST wc pt 1 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ 24,868

ᵎ!ᵎ WARNINGS ──── GRAPHIC CONTENT! car accident, PTSD, chronic pain & disability, depression, Y/N is very, very frustrated and kinda angry at the world for a second, overprotective/controlling dad & brother, sports injuries, alcohol, mild drunkenness, hurt/comfort, slight panic attack, mentions of zombies, mentions of dying by said mentioned zombies, smooching (each other, not the zombies!!) # TAGS ──── SLOW-BURN friends-to-lovers, coach's daughter x hockey captain, mutual pining, very much bed-sharing, and a lot of napping, Y/N is a napper, they very obviously have crushes on each other, angst with happy ending

❝ AN ❞ ──── I really loved working on this fic and am SO excited to republish it! I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. I've not finished the whole fic yet, but I assume it's gonna be about 55 to 60k long! We also ignore that she would not be at rehab this shortly after a surgery! Things had to be changed for the plot!!

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ

The sound of crunching metal and the violent jolt of impact were the last things you remembered clearly from that day six years ago. 

It was louder than the music on the radio. Louder than your dad’s panicked shout. 

Louder than your own scream as the world folded in on itself.

It had been raining for days, thundering even, thick, dark clouds hanging above the skyscrapers of the city, blocking out any sunlight. 

You had been sitting in the front seat of your dad’s car, your legs tucked comfortably into the seat as he drove through the rain on what was supposed to be a regular, boring Saturday morning. You remembered the music, a song you had heard a million times already. You desperately wished to change the radio station, but didn’t dare to ask. You had fought with your dad in the morning, you couldn’t recall what it was about, you knew it was probably something stupid, something meaningless, but it was enough to dampen his mood, making the whole ride to the ice rink uncomfortably tense. 

You remembered the car coming to a stop at an intersection just a few streets away from the ice arena. 

You hated going past that intersection now.

There wasn’t even a single trace left of what happened that day. The traffic light had been changed, the tyre marks washed away after years of cars driving over the asphalt, and yet it left so many scars on you.

You remembered the horn that cut through the silence in the car. A loud, long, shrill sound.

Seconds later, time seemed to slow down. 

The impact was deafening.

You heard everything at once. Felt everything at once.

The high, tearing shriek of brakes. The heavy, hollow boom as metal slammed into metal.

The feeling of your head connecting with the window in a sharp, sickening thud, and the white, hot pain that would follow. It exploded through your body, radiating from your foot up into your chest, stealing the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping, choking on your own breath. 

For a moment afterwards, everything was silent. You knew it was never silent, but it was like you had dislodged all your senses for a few seconds before the world came rushing back in a torrent of pain and noise.

You remembered the rumble of thunder, the rain drumming harder on the crumpled roof, a sharp staccato against the twisted metal. For a few seconds, you were able to hear your dad over all of the noise, his voice full of panic.

“YN!” His voice sounded far away, buried under the ringing in your ears. “Stay with me, okay? Stay with me!”

You blinked. Your vision was blurry, your eyes stinging. You tried to move to rub your eyes, find a way to make it stop hurting. 

Another rumble came from overhead, thunder chasing the storm across the sky. It blended in with the sirens, with the echo of the truck’s impact replaying in your skull. 

Everything after that was gone. You couldn’t remember the ambulance coming in, the process of freeing you out of the wreck, the drive to the hospital, the surgeries, or the days in the ICU. 

The only thing you could remember from the weeks afterwards was the dull, never-ending pain. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

“-/N? Are you with me?”

A hand landed gently on your shoulder, startling you into ripping your open eyes, almost jolting upright. Your heart was hammering against your ribs until you recognised the white ceiling of the room in the rehabilitation centre. 

"Whoa, easy," Jihoon, the physiotherapist in charge of the EMS machines, chuckled.

The pads placed along your clave went silent, the current fading to nothing, leaving a faint prickling feeling. He peered at you over his glasses, that soft smile in place, that he always used when he knew you were exhausted.

You blinked hard, swallowing dryly while heat crept up your neck. "Sorry. I zoned out."

"Again?" He raised an eyebrow, peeling the electrodes off one by one, before attaching them to your thigh. His touch is brisk but kind, years of working making it almost automatic. "You’ve been stuck in your head a lot lately. Everything alright?"

You forced a laugh, nodding. "I am just dreaming of the day when I don’t have to come close to this building ever again." Your ankle throbbed without the distraction, a deep, insistent pull. Jihoon hummed. "I really love our sessions together, but for your sake, I am hoping the same."

"Thanks," you muttered, clenching your teeth when he started up the machine again. 

“Do you want me to let you sleep while you’re hooked up to the machine?” Jihoon asked, cleaning his hands from the gel he had used to attach the pads. 

You made a sound in agreement, not trusting your voice, while the little electrode pads hummed steadily against your skin. 

Tighten. 

Release. 

Tighten. 

Release. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

It was almost routine by now, the gruelling physio sessions and lymphatic drainages that were leaving dark bruises blooming across your skin, the agonising moment of having to get up and get home despite the exhaustion. 

Soobin's car idled close to the entrance, its hazard lights blinking.

Your brother leaned over to pop the passenger door as you approached, crutches clacking unevenly on the pavement. "Hey," he said, voice light, his eyes scanning your face. 

“Hi,” you eased into the seat with a wince, folding the crutches across your lap. 

You hated this, having to be chauffeured around like a helpless child. Having to wait for someone to get you home.

Soobin grabbed your bag and placed it on the back seat before turning back to you with a soft smile. "How was your day?"

"Hard. Tiring." The words came out flatter than you meant, edged with frustration you couldn't quite bury. 

Soobin caught the bite in your tone, glancing over as he merged into traffic. He was quiet for a second before he started talking again. "My media ethics class was a circus today. The professor had us debate whether deepfakes should be straight-up illegal or just watermarked to hell. This one guy, a total idiot, argued that those who have deepfakes created by whatever AI just had to tell people it wasn’t them. Sometimes I really wonder how those people got into Decelis. I thought it was supposed to be a top university.”

You nodded, half-listening to his rambling; his voice was a steady hum over the engine. When he killed the engine a few minutes later, you had to force your eyes open again, squinting against the bright light in the underground garage. 

Your brother glanced over, smirking as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I see, you’re truly interested in my life, Y/N.”

You hummed, letting your eyelids close again. “I’ve paid attention. You told me something about deepfakes and laws and…yeah.” 

Soobin chuckled and got out of his seat, rounding the car. By the time you fumbled with the door, Soobin had already grabbed your crutches with one hand and slung his and your bag over his shoulder. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. Up you go."

You groaned, but obediently swung your legs out of the car, reaching for the crutches and heaving yourself upright with a huff. Your brother was waiting patiently, holding the car door open wide until you had made your way out of it. He led the way, propping doors open through the dim garage halls, up the elevator, and right to the apartment.

Soobin entered the hallway with a loud, “We are home!” 

Inside, it was cooler than the warm, humid August air. “Hello, you two," your mom's voice came from the kitchen, followed by her head appearing in the doorframe. ”Get changed and come eat.” 

“Hi mom,” you answered, giving her a tired smile. 

Soobin dropped your bag in your room, and you thanked him before letting yourself drop onto the bed with a huff. 

For a long moment, you stayed there, the only movement coming from your ribcage, slowly lifting and lowering with each breath you took. You crossed your arms over your head, your skin sticky from a faint sheen of sweat. “Y/N, aren’t you hungry?” Your father was standing in your doorframe, mustering your figure.

You slowly dropped one arm after the other, still staring ahead at the ceiling. The small glow-in-the-dark stars that Ryujin and Beomguy glued onto your ceiling during your first stay in the hospital were slowly peeling off, leaving holes in the constellations. “I’m tired, Dad.”

“You still need to eat Y/N. And I will not bring dinner to your bed, so come on,” his eyes were ranking over your figure, as you heaved yourself upright. “I can get your mom if you need help changing, and then you can join us.”

You hummed. “It’s fine. I’ll change later.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

“Heeseung!” the voice of his coach ripped Heeseung from his thoughts. “Do you have a minute?”

Heeseung came to a stop and turned around to face Coach Choi, standing near the bench, his clipboard tucked under his arm. 

His eyes darted from the older man to the entrance to the changing rooms. It has been nearly a week since the season started, and he couldn’t remember anyone doing anything that could have gotten him or anyone else in trouble. “Sure, Coach.”

A few strikes over the ice were enough to reach the boards before he stepped onto the rubber flooring. The Coach gestured for him to sit down. 

“Heeseung, my boy, I’ve been thinking about the team’s image,” the Coach began, his tone casual but deliberate.  

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Image?”  

The Coach nodded, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Yeah. You boys are doing great on the ice, and it’s a pity we don’t showcase that more on social media. I’ve had a meeting with the athletic department, and it has agreed that we need someone to handle not only your social media but also the figure skaters' social media. They want to have more exposure for the teams and for your students.”

He looked at Heeseung expectantly, and he nodded slowly, waiting for the older man to continue.

“Scouts, sponsors, even alumni donors, they pay attention to more than just your games. They want to see personalities, professionalism, something marketable for their teams.”  

Heeseung crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the boards. “I am aware, sir. But what does that have to do with me?”  The Coach hummed. “We’ve come to an agreement that we will build a social media team this semester. Students and professionals alike. We would like to give students a chance to get internships done and have someone who has an eye on the situation.”

Heeseung tilted his head, curious. “A PR manager?” He wasn’t aware that the team had the funds to hire a person to post a few pics of them on Instagram to appease the sponsors. He knew the swimming team had a PR-manager, a sweet girl being tasked with filming them while they swam and making them partake in ridiculous TikTok trends.

“Yes. I was thinking about asking my daughter for now, until we’ve officially built a team and publicised the applications,” the coach said, nodding, “I want to start posting as soon as possible, so that we already have a few followers when the games start.”

“Y/N?” Heeseung blinked, caught off guard.  

The Coach nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She knows hockey inside and out. And she’s good with this kind of stuff, social media, PR, that kind of thing. It’ll be good for her, and it’ll help the team.”  

Heeseung hesitated for a second. 

The coach’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face, as he spoke up before Heeseung could answer. “She’s been looking for something to focus on, and this is a good opportunity for her. Plus, it’s not like she’s starting from scratch; she grew up around this sport.”  

Heeseung nodded slowly, uncertain what influence your prior knowledge of hockey had on you filming some cringe TikTok videos. “Okay. What do you need from me?”  

“I need you to help make this transition smooth,” Coach said, his tone firm. “She’s going to be around a lot, and I don’t want her feeling like she’s an outsider. Make sure the guys treat her with respect, and if she needs anything, you help her out.”  

Heeseung frowned slightly. “You’re not asking me to babysit her, right?”  

The coach let out a low chuckle. “No, she doesn’t need babysitting. But you’re the captain. It’s part of your job to make sure the team stays cohesive. She’s going to be part of the team.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Heeseung was standing under the hot stream of the showers in the arena, washing away the layers of sweat that had collected on his skin during the last three hours of drills on the ice. The muscles in his back started to relax slowly under the heat. 

“Hee, do you wanna come over later? Yeonjun, Beomguy and I were thinking about inviting Tae and Kai as well. They are in Seoul today and tomorrow, and we want to get something to eat.” Soobin was rubbing his hair with a hot pink towel, standing in front of Heeseung's cabin, ripping him out of his thoughts. 

He nodded and hummed a ‘sure’ before stepping out of the cabin, reaching for his towel. 

“You tired?” Soobin asked, lifting one of his brows. 

Heeseung hummed again. “I haven’t slept much last night.”

“Oh, believe me. I’ve heard,” Soobin chuckled. “Gyu was screaming around until like 3 am. What did you play?”

“We played Catan online,” Heeseung shrugged. “Let’s say, we all united against him and used the robber well.” 

“Catan?” the older mustered him with an amused smile.

“I have no clue. Jeongin wanted to play,” Heeseung wrapped his towel around his lower half and stepped out of the showers, towards the locker room. 

He glanced at Soobin, who was still scrubbing at his hair with that ridiculous pink towel. Soobin insisted it was a lucky charm. 

"Hey," he said after a few beats, pulling a shirt over his head. "Your dad mentioned something about an internship? A PR intern for the team or whatever. He said his daughter might take it to catch up. He claimed Y/N needed something to ‘focus on’. Not gonna lie, he seemed pretty set on me babysitting her. Any idea what's up with that?"

Soobin's hands froze, and his towel dropped a fraction, a frown making its way on his face. „Y/N? Are you sure he said Y/N and not another name?“

Heeseung stopped adjusting his shirt and turned his gaze towards the older, nodding slowly. „He said ‚my daughter‘, and you only have one sister that I know of?“

Soobin closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing to towel his hair dry, now with a bit more force than necessary. „Whatever he is talking about, no. She would never do that. She isn’t supposed to do that.“

Heeseung blinked, his hands stilling as he reached for his pants. "Oh. Why that? He claimed that, you know, since she grew up around the sport, she'd be doing just fine?"

Soobin's expression darkened further, a flash of real upset crossing his face, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. "She will absolutely say no. No chance."

Heeseung turned fully now, brows raised as he zipped up. “Why? She's not into it?"

Soobin exhaled sharply through his nose, as a mix of confusion, disappointment, and annoyance flickered across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, pacing a single step before stopping,. "Into it? Man, she'll hate every second. Turn it down flat, no question. My dad has this obsession with dragging her back into the hockey world. He thinks being around the rink, the team, all that will 'motivate' her, get her excited about life again after everything. But it does the exact opposite. She shuts down hard. He just... doesn't get it."

Heeseung raised a brow, leaning against his locker as he grabbed socks from his bag. He knew of the accident, of the surgeries. Soobin never really talked much about it, about you, and Heeseung wasn’t one to ask. Soobin was touchy about the topic. "Opposite how? I mean, PR's not even on-ice stuff. She wouldn’t have to skate?"

Soobin hesitated longer this time before answering. "She just had her fifth surgery, Heeseung.” he was quiet for a second, pulling a white shirt out of his locker before he continued. “She loved hockey before the accident. She had a sharper wrist shot than most of the guys here. She’s on crutches or a wheelchair most days now. She barely watches my games anymore and avoids the rink unless she has to. I don’t think she would ever say yes to anything that has to do with hockey ever again."

Heeseung felt a twist in his gut. "The coach made it sound so straightforward."

"Yeah, he always does," Soobin muttered, disappointment heavy in the words as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "I know he thinks he's helping, but he’s just…clueless.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

You first heard them in pieces, muffled voices coming from the kitchen.

“…don’t you think you should have told me first before you ask Heeseung?” Soobin’s voice was low and tight.

It was uncommon for your brother and father to fight, even more so for Soobin to sound this pissed. You sat up quietly on the sofa, the blanket your mother had thrown over you, slipping down your shoulders. 

“I was going to,” your father answered in a clipped tone. “But the athletic department needed an answer. This internship is perfect for her. It gives her credits, a routine, something to focus on. She is not taking classes this semester.”

There was a pause before Soobin answered with a hiss. “Perfect for her?” he repeated, incredulous. “You mean the Y/N who hasn’t watched a full game since the accident? The one who hates everything that reminds her of the time before the crash with a passion? That Y/N?”

Your heart climbed up your throat, and as quietly as possible reached for your wheelchair, pulling it towards the sofa, so you could slide into the seat. The corridor light spilt in as you nudged the door open a little further, not wanting to interrupt them, but also wanting to know what they were discussing. They were standing in the narrow hallway just by the kitchen door.

“You’re exaggerating,” your father said, though his eyes flickered towards your mother, who was wordlessly watching the two. “She used to love the rink. Being around the team will do her good. Motivate her. She’s been doing nothing for months now, just physio and classes when she still had some. She needs a hobby, something that she actually enjoys.”

Soobin let out a short, humourless laugh. “A hobby? Dad, you’re talking about throwing her into a job in the loudest building on campus. You want her sitting behind the bench while thirty guys slam into the boards and pucks hit the glass. You think that’s going to magically fix things?”

“She doesn’t have to be behind the bench,” your father retorted. “She’d be in the office most of the time. Running social media, filming short videos, and organising content. She always liked making videos with her friends when she was younger.”

Your fingers curled around the cold metal of the wheels. What were the two talking about? An Internship?

“Meaningful for who?” Soobin fired back. “For her, or for you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to drag her back into your world whether she wants it or not.”

Your father straightens, shoulders squaring. 

“That’s not fair,” he said sharply. “I’m trying to help her. She’s twenty and stuck in her own head. I know how bad the recovery is going, I know that this surgery was the last try, Soobin, believe me, I know. But I can’t watch her sitting at home and rot, she has so much life to live. And maybe getting back into something she loved will help with that.“

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, forcing your heart to calm down. You hated it, you hated it so much, how they tried to decide over your life as if you weren’t there. ‚This isn’t good for you, Y/N‘. ‚Do this, and you’ll feel better, Y/N‘ 

“Maybe she wouldn’t feel stuck if people stopped treating her like a broken project,” Soobin snapped.“She’s allowed to want things that aren’t hockey. Not everything has to lead back to the rink.”

“And what does she want, then?” your father shot back. “She wants to drop her minor, barely talks about her major, and every time I ask about physio, she shuts down. At least this internship gives her structure. Colleagues. A reason to get out of bed that isn’t just rehab.”

“I can ask her,” Soobin said, stabbing a finger toward your room. “You could have asked her too, you know, instead of deciding for her and talking to Heeseung first.”

“He’s the captain,” your father snapped. “I needed to make sure he understood the situation. The team has to respect her.”

“And maybe your daughter should’ve been the first to know?” Soobin’s voice cracked on the last word. “She’s going to hate this. You know she will.”

“I know she needs something,” your father said stubbornly. “She always lit up around the rink. She used to film everything on that old camera, remember? Tournament vlogs, locker room interviews with you and the boys. Why is it wrong to try to give her that back?”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Your own voice surprised you. Both of them turned at once.

You rolled into the hallway, having to crane your neck to look at them. “Can you two please stop yelling like I’m not here?”

Soobin’s expression softened immediately, guilt flashing across his face. “Y/N, we’re not–”

“You’re exactly what I think you are,” you cut in, looking from him to your father. “Arguing about my life as if I had nothing to decide here.”

Your father exhaled, some of the anger draining into a frown. “We didn’t want to upset you. I was going to talk to you after dinner. It’s just an internship, Y/N. Helping the hockey team with PR, filming a few videos, and taking pictures. It could be good for you.”

You stared up at him. “No.”

The word left your mouth before you even thought it through. 

His brows knit. “You haven’t even heard the details.”

“I don’t need the details,” you replied, heat rising behind your eyes. “If I could, I would never do anything with hockey again. Not as a player, not as a manager, not as a mascot, nothing. I don’t want to work for your team. I don’t want to sit in that rink, listening to sticks smack the ice and pucks hit the glass and pretend I wouldn’t die to be down there, to play.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Y/N–”

“And I’m so tired of you acting like forcing me back into that world is some kind of cure,” you pressed on, voice tightening. “I am healing. Slowly. Miserably. With more pain than you want to admit. You deciding I need a ‘hobby’ is not going to fix my leg.”

“You do need something,” he insisted. “You can’t just exist between physio appointments and your bed. This isn’t about hockey, it’s about your life. You need a reason to get up, a project. You always loved filming and editing; this combines what you’re good at with something that gives you real working experience. Why is that so terrible?”

“Because you’re not listening,” Soobin said sharply. “You’re not listening to what she wants, Dad. You’re listening to what you want. What you miss.”

„Stop it!“ you raised your voice, now almost louder than the two of them. „I get it! You’re worried about me, but I am the one deciding what I want and what’s good for me, okay! I already feel like shit with everything going on, you don’t have to make it worse!“ 

Your father’s shoulders sagged, and he was the first to break the silence that followed your outburst. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter. “You’re right. Both of you.”

He dragged a hand over his face, the years suddenly visible in the lines around his eyes. “I shouldn’t have talked to Heeseung before I talked to you. That was wrong. I still think this could help you, but… It’s your life. We can discuss it properly. Without yelling at each other like idiots.”

Soobin nodded, moving to stand beside you now. “Then maybe actually listen when she says no,” he said, but there is no heat in it anymore.

You exhaled slowly, tension leaking out of your shoulders. “We can talk,” you agreed, your voice tired. “Later. When we have all calmed down and had something to eat. You two tend to get hangry”

A corner of your father’s mouth twitched, reluctant. “Fair enough.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

You shuffled into the bathroom after dinner, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that hadn’t disappeared since you interrupted your father and brother. There was a chair already set up in the shower, positioned under the handheld nozzle you’ve installed there after the last surgery. Your mom followed you, grabbing fresh towels from the linen closet. 

“Need help?” she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

You nodded silently and let her help ease you onto the chair, after wrapping up your leg in a plastic bag. You sat hunched forward, one leg extended awkwardly, while she knelt on the bathmat with a loofah and body wash. Her hands were gentle, methodical, washing your back first, then your good leg, avoiding the cast with practised care.

You hated how all of this was routine already, how your mother had to sacrifice so much of her time for you, to care for you, when you should be able to do all of this by yourself.

The steam rose slowly, fogging the mirror, distorting your reflection until the only thing you saw was blurry silhouettes. 

“Honey,” your mother said after a while, watching you rinse soap off your shoulders. “Do you really think the internship is such a bad idea? Your father only means well. He worries about you. Maybe… maybe you would have some fun with it? Filming the boys and girls, making videos. You used to love that.”

You kept your eyes on the drain, watching suds spiral away. “I have friends, Mom. I do things.”

She pauses for a second. “I know you do. But you’ve refused visitors for weeks. You don’t leave the house except for rehab. You’re just… sleeping. All the time.”

“I’m tired,” you said, sharper than you meant. “That’s all.”

“I know you’re tired,” she murmured, taking the loofah from your hand and gently cleaning your injured side. “But I’m worried too, Y/N. You used to be so bubbly, so outgoing, you had so much fun. Now… It’s like you’re fading. And we all see it.”

Frustration bubbled up hot behind your eyes. “Because even three months ago, I still could have fun mom,” you burst out, water splattering as your hand clenches. “I knew this surgery wasn’t a good idea. It's stealing another nine months of my life again, Mom. And look at me now. I’m exhausted, my hip aches so bad from the bone graft that I can’t sit up alone some days. It’s not healing. You and Dad keep acting as if I just try harder, that with a hobby, an internship, whatever, it’ll magically get better. But it won’t. I’m stuck like this, and pretending otherwise just makes me angrier.”

Your mother’s hands stilled completely. She sat back on her heels, water dripping from the sponge onto the mat. Her eyes met yours, sad and searching. “We don’t know how to help,” she admitted quietly. “Your father pushes you because he’s scared. I… I miss my girl. The one who was always in a good mood, who always had a smile on her face. But I also know that we will never understand what you are feeling, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “I miss her too.”

She reached out, cupping your cheek despite the spray of the water. “Then let us try. Not to fix you. Just… to be with you.”

You didn’t answer. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

The air wasn’t particularly cold where you were sitting in the bleachers. It had been three days since you had spoken properly to either your father or Soobin. You were hurt. It hurt, hearing them say that, them all somewhat agreeing that you were letting your life just go by without…living it. 

The worst part about everything was that they were right. You were just sitting around doing nothing, but what were you supposed to do? All you could do at the moment was go to rehab, spend your day with grandmas who have gotten new hips or knees, and have to hear how you were too young for your injuries. You did your best with the exercises, taking it easy, but you had the feeling that it wouldn’t be enough. 

You were watching a Sunghoon float across the ice. He was tall and slim, jumping around the ice as if it were nothing. Your dad had wanted you to start figure skating as well. He had enrolled you in a class, but you hated it. You weren’t elegant or willing to go through the grueling training to get flexible enough to actually do some of the elements; you wanted to play hockey, like your brother…like your father. 

The figure skater jumped, and his toe pick got stuck in the ice, causing him to stumble and fall onto his side. He stayed on the floor for a few seconds. His face was turned away from you, but you could imagine the frustration on his face. Sunghoon had fallen five or six times while doing this specific element already. 

Getting stuck over and over, having to repeat one step over and over. 

You knew that feeling, being stuck. 

But he got up every time, started his music anew and ran the program again and again and again. 

The door to the rink opened with a soft metallic groan. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw another tall person stepping inside. He was dressed in all black, baggy clothes, shaking out his hair. He stepped to the boards, watching Sunghoon gather his speed again and stumble into a jump he had landed with ease before. You recognised Heeseung even from afar. You had spent the last few days stalking the team, or well, teams on their social media accounts. 

Sunghoon made an annoyed sound and skated to the boards where his phone rested, and Heeseung stood. They talked for a bit, Heeseung looking amused, if not a bit worried. You couldn’t hear what they were talking about; the low hum of the rink was louder than their conversation. After a while, Sunghoon went back to his starting position, and for a moment, the hockey player just stood there, watching before his gaze drifted up, scanning the stands.

You straightened a little when it landed on you. You had met Heeseung a few times, at parties or when he came over while Soobin was still living at home. He was nice, polite. 

You lifted one hand in a small wave, trying to tug your mouth into something that could pass as a smile. He blinked, surprised for a fraction, then his features softened, and he waved back, lips curving. A moment later, he disappeared from view, heading out of the rink’s sightline.

You assumed he had gone to the locker room, but a couple of minutes later, you heard the faint echo of footsteps on the metal staircase. You turned your head and saw him coming up towards your row, duffel thumping lightly against his hip.

He didn’t say anything at first, just reached the top and crossed over to your row. He lowered himself onto the seat next to the one where your crutches lay, balanced awkwardly against the bench.

You blinked before turning your head to the ice again, watching Sunghoon skate. He hadn’t restarted his music, so the silence in the rink was only broken by the sharp sounds of blades scratching over the rough ice. 

You glanced to the side, where Heeseung was now leaning back into the seat. He had to fold his legs slightly, too tall for the tight space in between the rows. His gaze was focussed onto the ice, watching the figure skater. 

It felt awkward, the silence between the two of you. You averted your eyes and mustered the grey plastic of your cast, hoping for him to go back down again. This was supposed to be your escape. You wanted to be alone for a second. To not see anyone, to not talk to anyone. You didn’t know why you decided the rink was the best place to go. You hated coming here. 

You hated the rink. It reminded you of everything you had lost, of the future that would never be a possibility. But somehow, when you had finished your rehab earlier than planned today, and got into a taxi, you ended up coming here. 

“I’m Heeseung,” he said after a while, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, and his eyes were fixed ahead. “By the way.”

You huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “I know who you are.”

He nodded once, accepting that, and silence settled again, thicker this time.

Sunghoon stumbled on the ice and fell hard onto his hip. You frowned at the sight. 

Heeseung spoke up again. “How long have you been here?” he asked quietly.

“A while,” you answered, shrugging one shoulder. “He’s been struggling with that sequence for… I don’t even know how long. It keeps tripping him up.”

Heeseung nodded, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “He won’t care,” he said, like he’d seen this happen a hundred times already. “Sunghoon will stand up and do it again as many times as he needs to. He’s preparing for the Olympic qualifiers.” 

You hummed this time, watching as Sunghoon pushed off the ice again, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in concentration. 

Of course, that was the right thing to do. 

When you were that talented, giving up was not an option. It never had been.

“Are you training for the Olympic team as well?” you asked after a beat, turning your head slightly towards Heeseung.

He let out a short laugh, glancing over at you. “No,” he said, amusement tugging at his mouth. “It’s hard enough being captain under your dad. I’ve already been drafted by a team. I want to play with them first, see where that goes. Maybe then I’ll think about the Olympics. If they even want me.”

You nodded, accepting that answer. You sat like that for a while, both of you watching the streaks of motion on the ice. Eventually, a dull ache started spreading up your calf, into your thigh. You shifted, carefully adjusting the position of your leg, trying to find a spot where the pull lessened.

“You alright?” Heeseung asked, his head turning a fraction towards you.

“Yeah,” you said, biting back a wince. “Just… aching muscles. My physiotherapist had me try a new exercise today.”

“Oh.” He nodded slowly. “That sounds good, though. That’s how healing works, right? At least that's what building up muscles is like. It hurts a bit?”

You let out an annoyed little huff, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Unfortunately,” you admitted. “It is.”

He smiled to himself, eyes drifting back to the ice, and you followed his gaze, both of you letting the quiet settle over you again, the sound of blades and distant music filling the spaces. 

“I can’t do the internship,” you said finally, the words tumbling out of nowhere, surprising even yourself.

He hummed low in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied. “Soobin told me already.” His gaze didn’t leave the ice. “It’s alright. I get it.”

Down below, Sunghoon went into the troublesome pass again. You watched his blade catch, just slightly off, and he went down hard on his hip this time. The music kept playing, while he got up slowly, his chest heaving.

"Do you need a ride home?" Heeseung asked after a while, breaking the silence , his voice casual, eyes still fixed on the ice.

You turned your head slightly, surprised by the offer. "Oh," you said, shaking your head. "No, thank you. I will take a taxi."

He let out a soft huff of laughter, the corner of his mouth lifting. "If Soobin knew you were here, and knew that I was, that we met, he would probably kill me if I let you take a taxi home." He nodded towards the ice where Sunghoon was gliding into position again. "So let me drive you. It would save us both some trouble. The men in your family are quite protective of you, in case you haven’t noticed."

You shook your head again, though a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "You just arrived. Do you not want to train or something?"

He hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. Then he shook his head. "No. I will not get Sunghoon off the ice anytime soon."

"I am only here because I was feeling bored," he continued, as if it explained everything. "I wanted to procrastinate on one of my essays, and what better way than going to the ice instead of being stuck behind my desk?” 

You hummed. Sunghoon took off again, his blade catching just enough to make him stumble, and glanced back at Heeseung. He leaned back against the bench, taking your hum as an agreement, stretching his arms along the top row behind him.

"How is your rehab going?" he asked, his tone shifting to something gentler.

You exhaled slowly, nodding slightly. "I’m not sure. Worse than my doctor had anticipated? I don’t really know what to do with myself at the moment, if I am honest.” With a shrug, you turned to him. “This surgery was meant to restore the little mobility I had left and ease the scar tissue pain in my leg. But I am just more exhausted than before. The hip where they took the bone for the graft aches so badly on bad days that I cannot even sit up alone."

He winced visibly. "That sounds horrible."

"Yes," you agreed. "It is."

The silence returned, softer this time, with Sunghoon's music looping faintly in the background. After a moment, Heeseung spoke again. "Do not worry about the internship, by the way. I am sure they will find someone else."

"Yes," you said, nodding. "It does sound like fun, in a way. I am sure someone will love it."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Would you not love it?"

You would. The thought stung because part of you really would love it if you gave it a chance. 

"I would," you admitted after a moment, your voice heavy. "But I would hate coming here every day. Seeing what I could have had."

He nodded slowly, understanding flickering in his expression. "Were you ever on the ice during the phases when you could walk?"

"No," you replied, averting your gaze from him to the ceiling, before closing your eyes. "I was too scared I would hurt myself even more."

He hummed. “Do you think you could try skating again? After you’re done with rehab, even if it isn’t completely healed. You would not have to be some crazy hockey player. Just skating. It could be nice, no?"

Sunghoon landed cleanly below. You watched the motion of his blades, the way he moved as the ice belonged to him, and felt that familiar ache. You would love to, you were almost desperate to. "Maybe," you said quietly. 

“You would have some pretty good coaches on your side, if you ever want to try,” Heeseung joked, and you huffed out a laugh. 

“I would, wouldn’t I?”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ You were stuck in traffic almost as soon as you exited the rink's parking lot. Heeseung cursed under his breath, not letting go of the brakes fully, barely letting the car roll forward even after the light turned green for the second time. 

He was still in disbelief at what was happening right now. He had come to the rink to clear his head, maybe get some solo drills in. But he knew that there was no chance he would be able to get Sunghoon off the ice today, as soon as he stepped inside. His friend had been sick for days, and this was the first time since then that he had time to go over his routine, so he didn’t want to impose. He scanned the empty stands out of habit, than anything else. He was surprised to see someone actually sitting in there. You sat high up in the bleachers, crutches propped beside you, your expression distant as you watched Sunghoon glide across the ice. There was no particular cold in the air, but you looked small somehow, hunched into yourself, like the weight of something invisible was pressing down on you. Heeseung paused by the door, surprised at himself for even recognising you. He barely knew you beyond team events and Soobin's warnings to "be nice but don't get too close." For a second, he wondered if he was crazy. What was he supposed to do, walk up to his Coach's daughter and strike up a conversation? But you looked… miserable. Sad, even. And you seemed nice enough from the handful of times you'd exchanged words. He wasn’t a person who went up to others to just start up conversations; he was rather awkward most of the time with new people, but before he could talk himself out of it, his feet were already carrying him up the stairs. And now he was driving you home. 

Heeseung took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down enough to not start cursing out the poor drivers in front of him and noticed how you shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat next to him. He imagined the cast to be uncomfortable, especially now in the hot, humid summer. 

"Is it very bad?" his voice was gentle, when he broke the silence in the car for the first time, since you got in. 

"Just sore," you answered with a shrug, repeating your answer from before. He would have been fine with that as an answer, but you continued talking. "I swear my physio is trying to kill me. I know to rebuild muscle, I have to actually work on it, but he thinks of the worst exercises."

He huffed out a soft laugh at that. "Sounds like your dad. He claims that if we are not sore by the end of a gym session, we are pussies who haven't done enough." That made you smile, small but genuine. "Sounds like him, yeah."

A car honked behind you, and Heeseung sighed, resting his forehead briefly against the steering wheel, closing his eyes in resignation, before turning his head towards you. "I think we're going to be stuck here for a while."

You snorted and raised a brow. "You think?"

He ignored the remark and sat up properly again, trying to strike up an actual conversation this time. "Which year are you in?"

"Third," you answered. "You?"

"Same," he replied. "Well. Technically. I took an extra semester."

"Hockey?"

"Hockey," he confirmed.

The music from the speakers shifted quietly between R&B and pop. He kept his eyes on the traffic ahead. "So, what are you studying? Your major."

"Business administration," you replied, staring out at a couple walking their dog on the sidewalk next to Heeseung's car. "With a minor in media production."

"That fits," he nodded. "With the internship, I mean. PR stuff. Content creation."

You hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything further, and Heeseung bit his lower lip, thinking he had fucked up by mentioning the internship again. He glanced at you, but you were still staring out of the passenger window. Great, seems like he did fuck it up. 

"What about you?" you asked after a long moment of silence, turning your head towards him. "Music production," he answered, almost relieved. "Sound engineering, mixing, that kind of thing." Your eyebrows lifted slightly, interest sparking. "Music production? Have you done anything like… professionally? Or just as a hobby?" He smiled faintly, tapping the steering wheel with the beat. "Right now, it is mostly me in my flat at three in the morning, trying to layer vocals over beats that sounded better in my head. My roommates have to suffer a bit with it.” 

"That sounds cool," you cocked your head a bit to the right. "Do you make whole songs? Or just remixes and stuff?"

"Both," he gave you a small smile, counting it as a win, that you seemed at least a bit interested. "I started with remixing songs I liked, speeding them up, adding drops, that kind of thing. Now I am trying to write originals. Lyrics are harder than the production, though."

You nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of music? Like… pop? Electronic?" "Bit of everything," he admitted. "Pop, hip-hop, some lo-fi. Depends on my mood. Lately, I have been messing around with ambient stuff."

"Have you put anything online?" you asked, leaning a little closer to the centre console now. "Like on SoundCloud or something?"

He felt his ears heat slightly; he usually didn’t talk much to strangers about his music. Most of the stuff he did write or produce was close to his heart, had a lot of meaning to him, or was the person to whom he gifted the songs. "A few tracks, yeah. "

You were smiling properly now, eyes bright. "What is your artist name?" He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You’re gonna have to try to figure that out by yourself, Y/N."

“Aw, Heeseung,” you pouted, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “I thought we were friendly now. Why would you make me work for it?”

He raised an eyebrow. "Friendly?" "Are we not?" you said simply. "You came up to me while I was moping around, and you are driving me home now. In a weird way, you were able to even lift my mood a bit!"

Heeseung giggled at that, a real, full giggle breaking out of him, and he felt his ears reddening before he caught himself. “I am glad I could lift your mood, Y/N. But you’re not gonna get my user. You have to work for that.”

You huffed out a breath and pretended to be upset, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Unfair!” 

"What do you do in your free time, aside from now probably trying to figure out my Soundcloud handle?" Heeseung asked, his curiosity genuine as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. The traffic had finally started to ease up a little, but you were still crawling along at a snail's pace. You let out a small sigh, your gaze drifting back to the window. "Lately? I sleep a lot. I do not really do much aside from physio and sleeping at the moment. Maybe watch some Netflix if I have the energy." He nodded slowly, processing that. "And before? If you are in media production, you probably did a lot of video stuff, right?" Your smile returned, but it did not reach your eyes. "Yes, I did. A lot of video editing. It was actually a lot of fun. I used to vlog, make edits for friends, little projects for classes. I even had a small following on TikTok for a while." “Oh, what did you upload?” he tried to keep his tone light.

“Different things? Mainly edits of a few idols?”, you answered, sounding a bit embarrassed at that.

Heeseung nodded, smiling, amused at your reaction. “Like those thirst traps of them being half naked?”

“No!” you gasped and shook your head. “Definitely not that. Usually, it was just a few videos cut to a song I thought was cute with a few filters and stuff like that.”

Heeseung laughed at that, and you nodded, averting your face, but grinning.  

“Do you do anything aside from playing Hockey and cooking up some crazy beats that I am not allowed to hear?” You asked a few seconds later. 

He hummed and nodded, switching lanes before he answered. “Not much? I like to play video games. Do you know Beomgyu? We tend to play League a lot.”

That made you snort and shake your head. “Oh, believe me, I do know Gyu rather well. He claims gaming is helping his strategic thinking on the ice. I call it bullshit.” 

Heeseung chuckled, nodding along. "Fair enough. But you have to admit, his game sense is pretty good sometimes. Gyu reads plays two steps ahead, sets up those perfect give-and-gos like he sees the whole rink in his head."

You raised a brow, turning fully towards him now. "Dude, what the fuck? If he wasn't as good with his wrist shots, he wouldn't be any good on the ice at all."

Heeseung blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "His wrist shot?"

You shrugged, but your eyes lit up just a fraction. "Gyu's release is filthy. He hits the top shelf before goalies even track it. Without that, his 'strategy' wouldn't save him from anything."

He stared for a second, lowkey impressed. He had forgotten, not just that you were Coach's daughter, but that you had played yourself. "Damn," he said, grinning despite himself. "Spot on. How do you know all that?"

You huffed a small laugh, glancing out the window. "I catch highlights sometimes after you play. And yeah, Gyu's shot carries him." "He did a reel with his best shots of last season," he said carefully. "It got a few million views on his TikTok."

“I know,” you went quiet for a moment, your fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. “I cut the videos. I helped out with most of his videos when he was still actively posting.”

Heeseung hummed at that, not knowing what to say now. The playlist shifted to another soft pop track, filling the space. 

"I don't know," you finally admitted. "Part of me thinks it could be good. To do the internship, I mean. I think my dad is right, and I would love it. But coming to the rink every day… being surrounded by hockey again. It is hard."

"Why not try it?" he pressed gently. "Just for a bit. If you like it, great. If not, you quit. I will even play babysitter.” He huffed out his chest a bit and winked at you. “I’ll be rude to anyone who does not participate. Make sure everyone behaves."

You let out a small laugh, genuine this time. "Ohh the scary captain saving the poor social media girly in need? I don’t think you’re scary enough to get the others to film stupid TikTok trends."

He grinned, playing along. "Oh, I am terrifying. Ask the freshmen. They cry into their pillows every night."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Such a bad captain. The team must hate you."

"They worship me," he shot back, mock-serious. "Fear and respect. Perfect balance."

The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet, but he could see you thinking, turning the idea over in your head. "Just say the word. I will make sure everyone is on their best behaviour."

You smiled tiredly, but nodded. "Deal."

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ Crazy. You had to be batshit crazy for what you were about to do. You had just finished brushing your teeth when your father shuffled into the bathroom, yawning wide as he reached for the cup where he kept his toothbrush. The morning light slanted through the frosted window, catching the tired lines around his eyes. Before he could even start his routine, you turned from the sink. "I'll do it," you burst out, watching his reflection in the mirror halt mid-motion. His hand froze over the cup, toothpaste tube half-squeezed in the other. He blinked, setting the tube down slowly. "Do what?" "The internship," you said, taking a deep breath that did nothing to steady the sudden hammering in your chest. "I'll try it. I'm not promising anything. If I hate it, I will quit. But I'll give it a shot." Your father straightened up, toothbrush forgotten entirely now. Shock flickered across his face, eyebrows shooting up, mouth parting slightly as if he thought he had misheard you. He turned fully to face you, leaning one hip against the counter. "Wait. You-you're serious? After everything you said the other night?"

You nodded, gripping the edge of the sink behind you. "Yes. I'm serious."

He stared at you for a long moment, processing, then a slow smile started to spread across his face, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look ten years younger. "Y/N, that's… that's great. Really great." He stepped closer, clapping a hand on your shoulder gently. "What changed your mind?"

You shrugged one shoulder, avoiding his gaze by focusing on the toothpaste flecks in the sink. "I do need something to do, no matter how hard it might be. You and Mom are right, sitting around all day… It's not helping. I think I need to really live my life again.”

The words tasted bitter, like admitting defeat, but they were true. 

He nodded eagerly, hand lingering on your shoulder a second too long. "Exactly. This is perfect for you. With your eye for video, knowing the game inside out, you could do hockey media afterwards. Analyst, journalist, or something in the industry. Build a real future around it. This is such a good opportunity for you! I am glad you’re finally seeing that aswell."

You froze, closing your eyes, while your heart slowed down for a second, before beating faster than before. Disappointment washed over you.  "Dad," you said, your voice tired. "I told you that I’m having a hard time doing literally anything and want to try to get my life started again, and you want me to already turn that stupid PR thing into a career? The last thing I am thinking about is building a future around something I would be close to but could never have."

He frowned, hand dropping. "What do you mean, can't? You’ve always loved–"

"No." You turned fully now, gripping the counter edge so your knuckles whitened. "Dad, how can you still not understand what I am saying? You’re right, I loved hockey. But I have to leave that in the past; I had to reinvent myself dad. I will never be the girl who lived and breathed hockey. I can’t even sit up without help for fucks sake!”

His expression softened into pity. You pressed your lips onto each other, turning away, trying to blink away your tears. "Y/N…I didn’t mean it like that. I always imagined that when you’re healthy again, you’d go back onto the ice, help me with the summer camps, and have fun joking around. You were such a talented player."

Tears pricked in your eyes. "So you still see me as a prodigy lost, got it."

Silence hung heavy between you. He stepped back, deflated. "I… thought the rink would help."

"You thought wrong,” you snapped. "This isn't about your dreams for me. I regret letting Heeseung talk me into this now. I’m such an idiot. How could I think you’d ever understand me?"

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his neck. "Y/N I was driving the car. I saw you almost die. You think seeing you not getting better is something I enjoy? I am trying to understand. But I actively lived my life after the crash, and I know you can too.”

You laughed; it was a hollow, pained sound. "Your surgeries were nothing compared to mine, Dad. You walked weeks later. I got crushed. Pinned. It’s been six years, those six years that are the most important ones. Hell, I was in the hospital on my eighteenth birthday, I can barely remember my sixteenth, I was too high on pain and anxiety meds! You don't get it." 

The bathroom felt too small suddenly, air thick between you. 

"Alright," he said finally, his voice quieter. "You're right. I got ahead of myself. I’m just… trying to help."

You swallowed hard, the fight draining as quickly as it came. "I know," you muttered. "But let me try this my way. Okay?"

He nodded, reluctant but genuine. "Okay. Your way."

You grabbed your crutches, brushing past him towards the door. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Heeseung was lazily shooting a puck into the goal. He had actually finished his essay this morning and had handed it in as soon as Jake had read over it, wanting to get rid of the stupid document and never look at it ever again. He loved his major, and he did enjoy the lectures he had with that particular professor, but this essay stole away every ounce of motivation Heeseung had going into the summer break. If one could call it summer break. He had spent it training either by himself, with his younger brother or helping his older brother move and renovate. If Heeseung was honest, he didn’t catch much of a break. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and the heavy door to the rink opened. He didn’t see anyone in the doorframe. The door closed again.

Heeseung skated towards the boards opposite the door, when it opened again with more force than necessary, revealing you. You were sitting in a wheelchair and struggled to get over the threshold, getting caught on the door while it closed on you. 

“Y/N?”, he heard himself ask over the music coming from his headphones. 

You looked up and immediately back down, muttering something under your breath while pushing open the door again. 

“Hi, Heeseung,” you greeted him, giving him a tired smile, when you finally made it into the rink. “That door is heavy, Jesus Christ.” 

“I–,” he was at a loss for words for a second. The view of you in a wheelchair took him by surprise; you looked like you knew what you were doing, casually rolling closer to the boards. You were wearing oversized clothes, a shirt with the logo of a band you couldn’t recall and a pair of what looked like Soobin's basketball shorts, judging by the size. It made you seem small, almost fragile, in combination with the wheelchair. 

“Have I shocked you into silence with my fabulous wheelchair skills, oh scary captain?” you joked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He felt heat creep up his neck, and he coughed once in embarrassment before catching himself. “No. Sorry. I just…I just didn’t know you needed a wheelchair? I would have opened the door for you?” 

“Nah,” you waved dismissively. “It’s fine. As you see, no door is heavy enough to stop me and the immense levels of willpower I have when we’re talking about opening doors on my own.”

He chuckled and skated along the boards. The two of you were silent for a long moment; it wasn’t uncomfortable, rather the opposite of it. 

You were rolling into the direction of the opening to the rink, him doing the same, glicidng over the ice before jumping over the railing as soon as the thick plexiglass stopped. 

You came to a stop a few meters from him, watching him.

“I said yes,” you said, suddenly.

Heeseung looked up from where he was just putting on his bladeguards, leaning against the bench with his thigh. 

“To what?”, he blinked at you in confusion, his hand stilling. 

“The internship,” you hummed, not looking at him. “I kinda…fought with my dad a bit about it…But I agreed.” “You… said yes,” Heeseung repeated, just to make sure his ears weren’t lying. “That’s… good. I mean–” He cleared his throat, eyes dropping to his hands as heat crept up his neck. “–I’m happy for you. I guess?” You snorted softly, the sound cutting through the rink’s chill. “You guess?” He shrugged, feeling a little helpless under your gaze. “I don’t know. It sounded like a sore spot last time. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and scare you off because I am an idiot, in case you really wanted to do it?” Your expression softened, just a fraction, as you let out a breath through your nose. “It is a sore spot. But you were right.” Heeseung hummed, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering surprise “Well…I’m  glad, then.” You rolled your eyes, but a hint of a smile ghosted your lips. “You’ll have to protect me, though. Make them take part. I’m not begging twenty overgrown kids to lip-sync for TikTok.” He laughed, the echo bouncing sharply off the empty boards. “Sure. I can do that. I’ll be the bad cop. Very scary captain, remember?” Or else. They probably won’t listen to him, but to the coach, who was your father, they definitely would.

“Oh, absolutely terrifying,” you deadpanned. “They’re all shaking in their skates.”

He grinned and shook his head, then his gaze dropped for a second to the chair again before flicking away. His fingers fiddled with the edge of his glove. He wanted to ask why you were suddenly not able to walk at all anymore. He knew you weren’t healing as fast or as well as you had wished, but having to use a wheelchair? “Can I… uh,” he started, then stopped, grimacing slightly. “This is going to sound stupid.”

You tilted your head, scrunching your nose and smiling, making him feel even worse. “It’s okay. Just ask.”

He scratched his neck, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “I just… didn’t know you were… using the chair now. You had crutches the last time. Is it… worse?”

You glanced down at your hands on the wheels, then back up at him. “Not really worse,” you said. “Just different bad. When the weather changes and the rain comes in, my leg and hip hurt more. The bones and scar tissue get… angry, I guess. Today, the wheelchair is just easier than forcing myself to hobble around.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “Makes sense,” he said quietly. “Less strain.”

You nodded and pushed yourself a little closer to the gap in the boards, resting your forearms on the ledge. “I was just hoping to sit here for a bit,” you continued. “Be nostalgic. Watch Sunghoon or whoever might be training. Then, you know… eventually get my shit together.”

He followed your gaze to the empty rink, only a few stray pucks scattered over the surface. “If you want to watch properly,” he said after a moment, “there are disabled seats in the upper ranks. It’s not as high up as your seats last week…but you’d have a better view? I can take you up there later, if you’d like.”

You made a face, half amused, half resigned and he feared again that he might have said the wrong thing. “It’s fine,” you shrugged, sitting up again. “I’ll just give my commentary to your playing instead.”

He huffed out a laugh, honestly surprised at that answer. “Oh? You’re going to roast my shot selection?”

“Obviously,” you said. “Someone has to keep you humble, captain.”

His eyes lingered on your profile, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Then you looked up at him expectantly, as if you were waiting for him to say something else. He shifted his weight, and cleared his throat. “Do you… want to see your office?” he asked. “Your dad told me that the room would be for the social media team. We started dumping some stuff there. I can show you.”

You hesitated, glancing once back at the ice, then at the hallway behind him. “Stuff?”

“A desk and a chair? The room has been used for storage for at least half a decade now, so it’s a bit stuffed.” He admitted. 

That made you smile. It was small but seemed genuine. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay. Show me.”

He nodded and moved to the side, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he should push you or leave you on your own, but decided to just let you do your thing. “I handed my essay in, by the way,” he explained, walking backwards a few steps as you rolled toward the staff door, leading towards the offices and media rooms of the rink. “I did finish most of it after I drove you home, actually.”

You snorted. “Well,  then I don’t have to feel bad about stealing your time in the rink.”

“You sure don’t, Y/N,” he held the door open this time, letting you wheel past into the corridor. The air was warmer here, laced with the familiar mix of sweat, detergent and faint rubber, even though the players rarely came here. Heeseung assumed the smell he had come to love and grow familiar with carried through the whole building. 

As you started down the hall together, your chair clicking softly over the uneven floor and his bladeguards thumping with every step, it was silent for a few seconds before you started talking again. 

“I didn’t know I’d get an office,” you hum, while Heeseung opened the door. It was rarely locked, it was in a locked part of the building and mainly used for clutter that is yet to be thrown away.

“I think they want to have a whole social media team? So think you’re not only getting an office but colleagues as well,” he opened the door and revealed the small room. It was lit by a small window, one side of it stuffed full with clutter, stacks of paper, scattered office supplies covered multiple surfaces, including an old wooden filing cabinet. A half-empty bookshelf leaned under the weight of folders, some piled haphazardly on top of one another. Boxes of miscellaneous items were stacked in a corner, threatening to topple. In one corner stood a seemingly clean desk that Heeseung and Yeonjun had cleared up a few days earlier. They had dumped everything that was on there onto the other side.

“I’m sorry, it’s still a mess. I honestly didn’t think you’d say yes, and then you know, your dad would have had to officially search for someone, and that would have given us a bit of time?” Heeseung leaned down and picked up two boxes to make space for your wheelchair. 

“Is my dad making you clean the room?” Your voice sounded annoyed, and he turned around. Your gaze was fixed on him, and he blinked again. “...No? Yes? What answer would you prefer?” 

You laughed teasingly and hit him with your healthy leg. “It’s not your fault if he made you. My dad is an asshole.” 

“He…can be?,” Heeseung said, nodding slowly. 

He knew Soobin wasn’t the closest with his dad, and apparently you weren’t either. 

“Hee, you don’t have to keep being so careful,” you giggle, and that confused me even more than using a nickname. “My dad is an ass, for the record. I still love him, but he can be annoying as fuck.”  

Heeseung laughed once and leaned against the desk in the room. “He…yeah…he is an asshole, especially if you don’t do what he wants to do.”

“And you know what I really like doing?” You stopped for a second, but answered your own question before he could even open his mouth. “To not do what he wants me to do. I think if he knew I was here instead of at home, he would scold the shit out of me.” 

Heeseung raised his eyebrows. “Really? Why?”

“Well, for starters, he gets really paranoid when I sit in the chair. I have no idea why, because usually people have even more pity with me and try to help me, but he hates it. And that I am here technically alone, cause I couldn’t know you’d be here, would get me scolded,” you shrugged and let your gaze wander across the room.

He mustered your face, let his eyes wander across your face, your hair, and the blue shirt. You were smiling; it was a small smile, but at least you were smiling. When he met you last week, you seemed so down, so frustrated; seeing you be so upbeat today made him smile as well. 

Your face snapped back at him. “What’s got you smiling like that, Captain? My dad possibly scolding me when I get home?”

“Ah-I-no-”, he stumbled, being caught staring at you the second time today. “I was just thinking about how you look a lot better than last week, even though you’re going to get scolded.”

“Oh, you just had the pleasure of meeting me in a bad mood. I promise I can be fun?”, you joked, shooting finger guns at him, causing him to laugh lowly again. “No, seriously. I just haven’t had the best time doing anything after the surgery; it’s been hard.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better than,” Heeseung grinned. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

You were sitting on the floor of Soobin's living room, your head resting against the side of Beomgyu's thigh. He was deeply immersed in a rather intense game of FIFA, his focus unbreakable as his thumbs flew over the controller. Yeonjun, Beomgyu, and your brother had decided to invite a few people over for a pre-semester get-together at their flat. When they said ‘a few people’ it really just meant the three of them, their girlfriends, and you. While Chaewon and Yunjin were in the kitchen reheating the pizza you had all ordered for dinner a few hours earlier, you had decided not to move an inch. Your eyelids felt heavier than they should have, especially after the unhealthy amount of Diet Coke you had consumed all evening long. So, you simply curled up closer against your friend's leg, letting his warmth seep into you.

Beomgyu huffed in annoyance when his team lost to whoever he was playing against online. A few seconds later, his hand landed gently in your hair, softly caressing your scalp. The motion only lulled you further toward sleep, your body growing heavier by the second.

"Hey, Y/N," Soobin's voice startled you, forcing your eyes open again. "Do you want to go to sleep?"

You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes, ignoring the smudges of mascara from the excessive amount you had applied that morning. "No, I'm fine. Gyu is warm."

Beomgyu laughed loudly at that. "Damn right. You heard that, everyone? Y/N agrees that I'm hot!"

You reached up and slapped his calf playfully, while the boys made various sounds of disagreement and mock disgust. Beomgyu whined in protest, but he did lift your head slightly so he could look down at you properly. "It's fine if you want to sleep a bit. You can use literally any bed in the apartment. I'll even personally carry you to bed if you want."

You just shook your head and gave him a tired smile. Then you sat up a bit straighter, wincing as a sharp pain shot through your hip from the sudden movement.

"You're basically asleep, Y/N," Yeonjun said from the couch, pausing his own game to look at you with clear concern in his eyes. "Seriously, go crash in a bed."

Soobin nodded in agreement, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Use my bed"

"I'm not gonna sleep," you protested, though your voice came out weaker than you intended. "I’m fine. I’m just resting my eyes a bit."

Beomgyu paused his game with an exaggerated sigh, then shoved Yeonjun's leg off the coffee table and hip-checked Soobin just enough to claim more space on the sofa. "Scoot over, you losers. Make some room for her." The other two grumbled playfully but shifted aside, clearing a spot as he patted his lap insistently. "Come on, Y/N. Get up here and rest your eyes properly."

You laughed softly and let him tug you up without much resistance. You settled with your head properly in his lap as he sprawled back against the cushions. His hand found your hair again, fingers carding through the strands in gentle, rhythmic strokes. Your eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, the steady warmth and motion pulling you right back under. 

You were just on the edge of sleep when your brain snagged on something important. Your eyes cracked open again. "Oh, wait," you mumbled, your words slurring slightly with exhaustion. "I took Dad's internship offer."

Soobin froze mid-sip of his soda, his eyes widening over the rim of the can. "You did what?"

"I said yes," you clarified, shifting a little to peer up at their stunned faces. “On my terms and conditions tho. You’ll have to be nice to me and let me film you for some stupid Tiktoks or I’ll get dad involved.”

Your brother stared at you, his sodacan now slowly sinking into his lap. “Y/N did he make you say yes?” 

You let yourself sink back into Beomguys' lap, appreciating once more how muscular hockey player thighs were. You had spent many hours napping in various laps over the last few years. 

 "No, he didn't make me do it. I just…thought about it. I did like making those TikToks for Gyu last year, and I like the team. You’re fun. Plus, I'm only taking two classes this semester. Rehab ends soon, and I'll be bored out of my mind otherwise."

Somehow, you didn’t feel like telling your brother about how you met his captain, how talking with him for a mere two hours was enough to convince him. You still didn’t understand how or why, he didn’t even have to do any convincing, but somehow…somehow it was enough.

Soobin set his can down on the table with a sharp clink, his brow furrowing deeply. "Y/N, I don't know if that's such a good idea. You–"

"Yo, that's actually dope," Yeonjun cut in immediately, grinning wide as he leaned forward. "I’ll sort things out with the others if they refuse to film with you, don’t worry, Y/Nie."

Beomgyu nodded enthusiastically, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your scalp. "Hell yeah, exactly. I told you it would be fun."

Soobin opened his mouth to argue further, clearly not convinced, but the kitchen door swung open right then. Chaewon and Yunjin came back balancing stacks of pizza boxes and plates, steam rising from the reheated slices. "Okay, what's going on? Why does Soobin look like he just bit into a sour apple?" Yunjin asked with a laugh, dumping her pile onto the coffee table.

"YN's doing the media internship for the hockey team," Yeonjun filled them in quickly, already reaching for a slice loaded with pepperoni. “And Soob isn’t the biggest fan.” 

Chaewon's face lit up with genuine excitement. She dropped straight into Soobin's lap like it was the most natural spot in the world, making herself comfortable. "No way, that's so cool! I’m sure the boys will love having to dance to weird TikTok sounds, just get them drunk, and your job’s gonna be easy." She winked at you over his shoulder. 

Soobin sighed deeply, his arms looping loosely around Chaewon's waist as she stole a bite from the slice he had just grabbed. 

"I guess it's cool, yeah," He trailed off with a half-grumble, relenting under her steady gaze.

Yunjin clapped her hands together sharply. "Anyway! Who's up for Mario Kart next? The loser has to grab the next round of drinks from the kitchen."

You nodded faintly in agreement, already sinking back into Beomgyu's lap as the chatter erupted around you once more. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

The locker room was warm and smelled faintly like perfume and deodorant. The figure skaters had just ended their training session when Heeseung came into the rink. He had watched for a few minutes before heading deeper into the building, his bag heavy across his back.

Some of the other players, mainly his roommates who had driven with him, were already changing when the sound of laughter came in through the doors. Beomgyu’s head appeared in the doorframe.

“Is everyone dressed?”

Heeseung glanced at his teammates, all in various states of undress, and shrugged. “Yeah? Mostly?”

“Perfect!” Beomgyu stepped fully into the room, followed by – you?

Heeseung’s brows shot up, and he had to stop himself from gawking.

You looked a little embarrassed, hovering awkwardly just behind Beomgyu’s shoulder. It was the first time he saw you in something that wasn’t athleisure or oversized clothes. Your hair was done, framing your face, and there was a bit of makeup on your skin that softened and sharpened you at the same time. It was a bit weird, seeing Soobin’s face on a female with makeup on, but it was pretty. You were pretty.

“This is Y/N, she is going to be our social media manager for this semester,” Beomgyu announced, gesturing into the room like he was presenting a prize. “This is our locker room. You’re not welcome in here unless you want to see dicks, Y/N. So don’t come in. This is Heeseung, our captain.”

You gave him a small, amused smile and waved, lifting your crutch slightly in greeting.

He smiled back at you. “Hi, Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.”

He had to laugh a bit at how stiff and formal that sounded, while Beomgyu continued introducing the rest of the team that was standing around. Jake was holding his jersey against his naked chest, his face blooming red as he stuttered out his name. You glanced Heeseung’s way every so often, and he just shook his head in amusement.

“The coach will introduce her to the rest of the team later and, like, explain why we have a social media manager now,” Beomgyu continued, ignoring that the rest of his teammates were a bit taken by surprise at Soobin’s sister, their coach’s daughter, standing in the locker room. “Tell the others to stick by later. The coach asked me to tell you all.”

“Sure. I’ll text the rest,” Heeseung said, dusting imaginary dirt off his jersey pants. “Are you gonna show her the office? Have you finished cleaning it out?”

“Yeah, and not yet,” Beomgyu shook his head and jerked his chin toward the door. “You wanna come along, Hee? Show her around as the captain? I’m doing your job now.”

You laughed at that and boxed Beomgyu in the ribs with your elbow. “Let him be. You just pulled me into the men’s locker room, and now you want to make him show me around because you wanna change?”

Beomgyu shrugged. “You know your dad could have also just made your brother or Yeonjun hyung show you around? I didn’t choose this job. Let me graciously hand it over and get ready, woman.”

That made you giggle and roll your eyes, before shaking your head and looking at him fondly. The two of you seemed pretty close.

Heeseung’s legs and mouth worked faster than his brain. “I’ll show her around. I’m almost done anyway, Gyu.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Beomgyu seemed surprised but genuinely happy about that. “Have fun then!”

You rolled your eyes again when he patted your shoulder, but when you turned to Heeseung, there was a small, careful smile on your lips. “Lead the way then?”

“Sure.”

He crossed the room in three strides and opened the door for you, letting you step out first. Today, you were much faster and almost agile on your crutches compared to when you first met. The movement looked practised, a bit stiff around the hips, but confident.

“Thank you, oh dear scary captain,” you said once you had crossed the threshold.

He huffed out a quiet laugh and let the door fall shut behind him. “You really gonna keep that going?”

“Yes,” you replied without missing a beat. “You have a reputation to uphold, Lee Heeseung. I can’t ruin that by calling you nice.”

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “So I open doors and volunteer tour guide services and still get slandered. Tough crowd.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth twitching. “You’re recovering from it just fine.”

You walked side by side down the corridor, your crutches clicking on the slightly uneven floor.

He stopped in front of the small office door, pushing the handle down and nudging it open with his shoulder.

“Here we are, Miss Social Media Manager. Welcome back.”

You stepped inside, eyes sweeping across the room, letting out a little huff. “Wow. Still depressing.”

He leaned against the doorframe, watching your expression. “Hey, the desk barely wobbles now. That’s an upgrade.”

“I really need to bring some decoration or something,” you muttered, moving closer to the window and looking back at the desk. “Plants. Posters.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Just let me know what you need, and I’ll arrange everything as the big scary captain. One word from me and we’ll have fairy lights and a coffee machine in here.”

You turned halfway to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Sure, Hee.”

The nickname slipped out so casually that it took him a second to register it. Something warm tugged at his chest before he could stop it. He really liked the way it sounded, simple and familiar, like you had known him a lot longer than you actually had.

“Do you think we could rearrange a bit?” you asked, turning around, a pout on your lips.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the desk. “Sure. What do you want me to do?”

“Could you push the desk under the window?” you said. “I’d prefer some natural lighting while staring into a screen all day. Gotta work on my tan. I am sick of looking sick”

He snorted and grabbed one side of the desk, dragging it across the floor with a dull scrape. “I assure you, you’re looking a lot less sick today. It’s nice to know you are owning jeans.”

You laughed at that, the sound soft but real. “I sure do. I think I have at least two, you know, for some diversity”

Heeseung bit back a smile. 

As he adjusted the desk under the window, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. The fondness in the way you had looked at Beomgyu earlier stuck with him. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was something going on there. The two of you were the same year, had clearly known each other for a long time, and with how close Soobin and Beomgyu had been since school, it would make sense.

He didn’t say anything, though. It wasn’t his business, and assumptions never helped anyone.

“There,” he said instead, giving the desk a small shove to straighten it. You moved forward and leaned your weight onto the edge, then gave it a small shake. It didn’t wobble. “Not bad, captain.”

“I do what I can,” he replied lightly, brushing his hands off as if he had just completed major construction work. “I’m sure we can get this room to look a bit more inviting in no time.”

“I sure hope so,” you said, looking around the room again. This time, your gaze lingered a bit longer, less unsure, more thoughtful. “It’s weird, but… I kinda feel stupid for doing this. My dad just nepoed me into this job. I am sure there are so many others who would have loved it and actually want a job in this industry later.”

He nodded once, understanding more than he knew how to say. “He did, yeah. But the edits you made for Gyu were really cool, and I feel like you’re just as qualified as anyone else that might have applied. If you don’t like it, you can always stop. You said you’d only do it on your terms.”

You glanced at him, and for a brief moment, there was something open and vulnerable in your eyes. “Yeah, my terms.”

He cleared his throat, stepping back toward the door. “I should get back to get changed, before your actually scary father scolds me later.”

“God forbid,” you said, lips twitching again. “Go protect yourself from getting scolded by my very scary father.”

He grinned, hand on the handle. “If you need anything, just come find me. Or, you know, call your big scary captain to move furniture.”

“Got it, Hee.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting in front of a flipchart, surrounded by notes and scribbles of ideas for content. Your research had turned up dozens of trends and challenges that could work for the hockey team’s social accounts, but your enthusiasm was running low. The chair you were sitting on felt like it was designed for maximum discomfort, and you were seriously considering bringing your wheelchair the next time. You sighed, shifting your weight in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position. Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and Heeseung’s head popped in. “You surviving in here?” Without looking up, you muttered, “Barely. What do you need, Heeseung? Is my scary father done torturing you?” He chuckled and stepped fully into the room, leaning casually against the wall. “We’re done for the day, actually,” he said, flashing you a grin. “He asked me to get you, so he could introduce you to the rest?” You took a deep breath, resting your face in your palms, “Can I say no? I feel like doing that once a day should be enough.” “I fear you can’t,” he replied, chuckling, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step closer to the desk. “I will try to make sure you’re not seeing any half-naked men or dicks, and compared to Beomgyu, I will wait for a proper answer and not burst into the locker. I don’t want to scare you away when you just started. And potentially get killed by either Soobin or your dad.” You snorted despite yourself, leaning back and stretching your arms. “I don’t think any male creature will ever be safe from that, if I am completely honest, not even his star student. So you better take good care of me, but don't get too close!” He laughed and crossed the room to hand you your crutches. As he moved closer, you noticed a faint, fresh scent, like soap and something woody, maybe a hint of citrus. 

“Did you get any work done in here?” he waited patiently for you to pack your bag while holding out your crutches. You shrugged. “Tell me why some of you post random pictures of food with 20 filters slapped onto them.” “Ah, come on,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “It’s not that bad. My Instagram is pretty and aesthetic!” “Something like that,” you muttered, unable to suppress a small smile, as you stood up slowly. “I found some trends and figured we could hop on a few of them. I’ve got ideas for locker room Q&As, pre-game routines, that kind of thing.” “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then,” Heeseung said, nodding as he moved to grab your bag. “So, when do we start?” “We?” you scoffed, raising an eyebrow. He laughed, shaking his head. “Your dad made me responsible for everything you do and makes me babysit you, so yes, we.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though it was becoming less from irritation and more out of habit. “Jesus Christ.” “At least I have all of my teeth. And we have some pretty faces on the team, that should help,” he teased.

꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

The air in the locker room was a thick haze of sweat, body spray, body wash and perfume. You scrunched your nose in disgust for a second before doing your best to even out your facial expression, when Heeseung pushed the door open. You hovered just behind him, your crutches digging into your arms, trying not to breathe too deeply as the full team turned to stare. Two dozen pairs of eyes locked on you and Heeseung from the benches and stalls. Your father was standing next to the door with a clipboard in his hands, while he nodded appreciatively at Heeseung and gave you something like a welcoming smile before he turned to the team. 

"Alright, listen up," he clapped his hands once, and the chatter in the room died. "This is Y/N. My daughter.” You pressed your lips onto each other in embarrassment while he continued talking.  “She's taking over social media for the semester, content, TikToks, Instagram, whatever gets eyes on us. You all participate when she asks. There will be no whining, no skipping. She is here to get you known by sponsors and teams, so cooperate, understood?"

Murmurs rippled through the team, a few nodded, and there were even a few agreeing grunts. You shifted your weight and searched for Soobin’s face, hoping for him to save you, but his face made it clear that he still did not like the idea of you being here. You blinked before forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Yeah. Hi, everyone. Um, nice to meet you all?"

They greeted you back by waving and nodding, while you turned back to your dad, waiting for him to say something else, but he just stood there in silence. 

You nodded, and your gaze flicked automatically to Heeseung, though. He was leaning against his stall near where you were still standing, arms crossed over his jersey, now giving you a small smile. 

A few seconds later, your father seemed to realise that you had nothing else to say and cleared his throat. "Alright, show's over. Until tomorrow, everyone."

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Ryujin’s sofa was uncomfortable. It usually wasn’t. You’ve spent many hours here, watching movies or talking until deep into the night, but today the old, worn fabric rubbed at your skin wrong, the pillows were too hard and too soft all at once. You tried to adjust your position, but the only thing that happened was the pack of frozen peas that were resting on your ankle slowly sliding down your leg, causing you to shiver. 

The apartment was filled with the smell of bacon sizzling on the stovetop, where your friend was cooking dinner for the two of you. The food in the cafeteria didn’t seem too appetising, so the two of you decided to cook at her place. 

With a grunt, you sat up, reaching for the improvised ice pack. “I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy being massaged. All I get from a ‘massage’”, you made quotation marks in the air, “are bruises. My legs and my left ass cheek are going to be black and blue tomorrow."

"Nobody is seeing your legs or your ass, girl. Aside from your physiotherapist, who might add some new bruises," Ryujin shot back, stirring the pan with a wooden spoon. The warm, buttery smell mingled with the salty scent of bacon, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

“Unless you want to show someone else your ass?” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

"Not really. Who would want to see my blue and black scarred arse unprompted? Do you want to see? I'll undress just for you," you grinned at her, letting the frozen peas drop unceremoniously to the floor before reaching for your crutches. 

Ryujin rolled her eyes, laughing as she scooped the cooked pasta into the pan. "I love you, and I have seen plenty of your naked ass already, but I don't need you to erotically strip for me, Y/N. You're not really my type, I'm sorry."

You sat down on one of the chairs around her kitchen table, the plastic groaning, when you adjusted yourself. "You wound me, Ryujin!" You clutched your chest in mock offence. 

"Ha ha! I'm sure we can find someone who would like to see your ass. There are plenty of guys on campus that are horny 24/7," she shot back, glancing over her shoulder as she added a sprinkle of cheese to the mix.

“Yeah, number one problem: my brother is also at that campus and knows everyone and would scold me for doing that. He and his big brother complex,” you sighed and rolled your eyes, before resting your chin in your hands. “I feel like it’s gotten worse since I’ve started working with the team.”

“Really?” She stepped over and handed you one of the forks she and Lia were borrowing from the cafeteria. “Why do you feel like that?” “I–”, you groaned and shrugged. “I can’t even pinpoint single events, but he hates it. I think he really hates that I am there. Not in a he-wants-hockey-to-be-his kind of way, more like he is afraid it would…I don’t know, trigger me?”

Ryujin plated the carbonara, sliding one over to you before settling on the chair opposite yours with her own bowl. Steam curled up between you as she twirled pasta onto her fork. “Does it?”

You poked at the noodles, thinking of what to say. You weren’t good with feelings or talking about your feelings. .  

After a long moment of silence, you hummed and nodded slowly before answering. “Both?” You leaned down and took a bite of your noodles while Ryujin waited for you to continue, chewing slowly.

“I think he is afraid that I’ll go back and hide in my shell when I realise that all of the dreams I once had are dangling in front of my feet, but are so unattainable?” You swallowed, the sauce leaving a creamy film in your mouth. "Don't get me wrong, that can happen. I’ve done my best to try to not interact with the women's team, but Soobin should just let me do my thing, let me live my life. Maybe my dad is right, and I just need to finally come to terms with what my life is now and have to, you know, still have fun? They both do their best in trying to tell me what I am supposed to do, which is annoying, but at least they care, I guess.” 

You took another bite, the noodles flicking a bit of sauce on your face.

Ryujin hummed. "Have you told him that?"

You nodded once, slow, the tangle easing a hair. “I did. I’m just not sure if he understood.” 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

The air in your office was stuffy and warm, the open window doing little to let in some fresh air. The sun was still relentlessly blazing down, even two weeks into September, and you were suffering from the heat. 

To help with the airflow, you had opened the door to your office, had pulled a chair into the doorway with more effort than necessary, your wheelchair getting in the way. Your mom had taken you shopping for the office a few days ago, after she had visited your office for the first time, so now there were a few plants and a floor lamp standing around. It wasn’t much, but it was something at least. 

You were sitting with your healthy leg pulled to your chest, and the injured one stretched onto the desk, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, for the better part of an hour now. You actually had a few videos to cut, but the heat made you feel lazy and lethargic. 

You could hear the shrill sound of your dad blowing his whistle, and your eyes searched the small clock that was hanging on the office door. 

4.15. 

You hummed to yourself and turned your attention back to the reel looping for the third time now. A few minutes later, you could hear the door to the hallway open, the sound of laughter echoing along the walls. Yeonjun's head appeared in your doorframe, grinning at you. His hair was flat and damp from sweat, and his face was still red from the on-ice session. “Hello, my dearest Y/N!” Behind him, Soobin and Beomgyu strolled in, just as sweaty, looking completely worn out. Beomgyu flopped dramatically into your office chair. “Yeah, sure, come in and just take over my whole workspace while you’re all stinky and sweaty”, you teased, though you didn’t mind the company. Beomgyu groaned, stretching his legs out. “This break isn’t long enough. Your father is killing us. I swear I’m going to die.” Soobin rolled his eyes, perched on the edge of your desk, while Yeonjun leaned against the wall. “You’ll survive. We’ve had worse drills.” Yeonjun smirked. “Speak for yourself. I’m not built for this much cardio.” You laughed. “Maybe you’re just really out of shape because you spend the biggest part of your summer break eating anything you find?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I was just bulking up, Y/N. Just you wait and see!” 

“Man, that’s such a lame excuse,” Beomguy groaned and laughed at Yeonjun. “Just admit, you let yourself be fed fat by your charming girlfriend who is madly talented in the kitchen.” “Can’t confirm or deny!” Yeonjun shrugged, and Beomguy rolled his eyes at that, smiling. 

You turned to your brother. “Can I help you with something?”

He nodded and scratched the back of his head. “I was wondering if it was okay for you to go home with Heeseung? I have a study group later, and Dad has a meeting after training. He offered to take you home?” You blinked at him, your brain needing a second to catch up.

“Heeseung?” you repeated slowly. “Driving me home?”

Soobin nodded, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah. He’s going that way anyway and said it’s no problem.”

That was… new. Your brother was many things, but usually, if it involved you and getting you from A to B, he shoved the responsibility onto Beomgyu or Yeonjun without thinking. They were the default options, the built-in safety net. The idea of Heeseung offering, and Soobin being cool about it, caught you off guard.

“Wow,” you said, half-teasing, half-genuinely stunned. “You’re cool with that?”

Soobin studied you for a moment, eyes scanning your face. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Heeseung’s not an idiot. He’ll get you home in one piece. And I really can’t miss that study session.”

There was something in his tone that made your chest squeeze; it was as if he was reluctant, but trusting. You swallowed and nodded once. “Alright. Sure. I’ll go with him.”

“Cool,” Soobin said, as that settled it. “We gotta get back. Dad wants us in the gym in–” he glanced at the clock on your door, “–five minutes.”

“Yay,” Yeonjun groaned, peeling himself off the wall.

Beomgyu pushed up from your chair with a dramatic sigh. “If I die, Y/N, post a really hot memorial slideshow for me, okay?”

“I’ll only use pictures where you blink,” you replied sweetly.

“Monster,” he muttered, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth.

Soobin leaned in as the other two started bickering their way toward the door. He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, the gesture so familiar and careless it almost made your throat close up.

“Text me when you’re home, okay?” he said quietly.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “Yes, Mom.”

He snorted and straightened. “Brat.”

You watched him walk out with the others, sweaty and tired and already complaining about gym sets, and for a second, the irritation and tension of the last days dulled. You still loved him. Of course you did. Even when he was hovering and moody and weird about the internship. He was still your brother.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Heeseung was tying the shoelaces of his sneakers; the rink was silent, almost eerily so. He sighed, reached for his bag and ruffled his hair. It was still damp from his shower and fell into his eyes, sticking to his forehead.  He pushed them back with the heel of his hand and stepped out into the hallway.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as he walked past the locker room, past the gym, the familiar path toward your office tugging at his feet more than any conscious decision. 

Your door was propped open, and the air coming from inside was warm and heavy. He paused in the doorway and leaned his shoulder against the frame.

You were in your wheelchair, curled into a strange, half-comfortable position. Your injured leg was stretched out onto the desk, while your healthy leg was bent, heel hooked against the wheel. Your laptop sat in your lap, fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed something with determined focus, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Heeseung took in the scene for a second, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “You know that looks mildly unsafe, right?”

You startled, fingers pausing mid-word as your head snapped up. For a heartbeat, you just stared at him, then you let out a breathy huff. “Jesus, Hee. Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?”

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, smile widening. “The door was open. I think that’s technically an invitation.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, shifting your leg a bit on the desk with a wince, “maybe the invitation didn’t extend to commentary on my sitting positions.”

He glanced pointedly at the way you were half-twisted in the chair. “Are you at least comfortable like that?”

You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back against the chair for a moment. “As comfortable as a person can be when only one side works properly, I guess. Don’t discriminate against my wheelchair pose, Lee Heeseung.”

That made him laugh, the sound soft and genuine. “Right. I’ll work on that. I’m sure the media team would gladly give us another of those PR sessions. Are you ready to go?”

You snorted, then closed your laptop halfway, the screen dimming. “Yeah, I am sorry that Soobin makes you drive me home.”

He shook his head and gave you a small smile. “It’s fine. I offered to drive you.”

You hummed at that, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you. Can you give me my bag?”

“Sure!” Heeseung pushed himself away from the doorway, crossing the small room, until he was next to your desk, leaning down to grab your bag. It was surprisingly heavy when he lifted it up and handed it to you.

His eyes drifted across your working space. It looked a lot better than a few weeks ago; plants and decorations gave the still cluttered room at least a bit of character.  He picked up one of the tiny figurines you had placed on your desk and turned it over in his hand with a grin. “What’s with these little guys? A personal touch?” You gave him a mock glare, clearly more amused than offended. “They’re called Sonny angels, and yes, this office was depressing. I needed to liven it up.” Heeseung laughed softly, putting the figurine back down carefully. “Why would you bring naked angles?” You rolled your eyes again. “Don’t make fun of my babies. They are cute, and that one was a gift, so leave it be.” Heeseung laughed, setting the figure down gently. “Okay, okay”, he sat down on the edge of your desk, “Have you had a productive day? You’ve been here for like six hours now” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I was trying to finish up all of the videos I want to post next week, but it’s taking longer than I thought.” Heeseung glanced over at the cluttered desk, noting the piles of papers and sticky notes you were using. “And you couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” “Nope. I like torturing myself,” you said dryly, then raised an eyebrow as he continued to toy with one of the angels. “Are you done judging my office decor now?” Heeseung twirled the figurine in his fingers, then squinted at it. “I mean, I’ve got questions. First off, what’s up with this one?” He held up a small yellow angel wearing a dinosaur costume. “Did you really choose this? Not gonna lie its kinda ugly. And why is the other one naked?” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “No! I wanted the pink dinosaur one, but kept getting the yellow one instead. Three times! So, this is what I’m stuck with. And honestly, I am not sure, but they are cute.” Heeseung laughed, genuinely amused by the annoyance in your voice. “Are they figurines from lucky boxes?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t seem to have luck with them,” you replied with a deadpan expression. “I have one in my room, one in my car, and now this sad thing is stuck here, reminding me of my failure every day.” Heeseung chuckled. “Well, pink dinosaur or not, it does help make this place less depressing.” You just laughed at that. He watched you for a moment, noticing how your shoulders were slightly hunched. His gaze dropped to the wheelchair you were sitting in. “You know,” he said, looking around the room. “This office still feels so crammed and uninviting. You need a couch or something.” You raised an eyebrow. “A couch?” He grinned, nodding. “Actually, Yeonjun and I were thinking about it even before you had the office. We need to get Coach to clear out the junk on the other side of the room so we can move in a couch. You’d have a nice place to chill while pretending to work.” You laughed, shaking your head. “And by ‘chill,’ you mean take naps, right?” “Exactly.” 

You glanced at your leg, then back at him. “Can you grab my bag? And maybe, if you’re feeling extra heroic, help me get this thing off the desk without me dislocating something? My foot is…asleep.”

Heeseung moved without complaint. He set your bag on the back of your chair, then stepped to the side of the desk, hands hovering near your ankle. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just… support under the heel? It feels weird when it’s lower than my hip for too long.” Your voice softened a bit, more matter-of-fact than apologetic.

He slid one hand carefully under your heel and the other under your calf, lifting slowly until the tension in your face eased. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, shoulders dropping. “Like that. Thanks.”

He guided your leg down until it rested back on the footrest, making sure you were steady before letting go. “There. No dislocations on my watch.”

You gave him a small, crooked smirk. “Guess I’ll keep you on the payroll, then.”

He stepped behind your chair and wrapped his fingers lightly around the handles. “Ready to go home?”

You glanced once around the office, then you nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get out of the sauna before I melt onto the floor.”

He chuckled and eased the chair out of the doorway, careful of the threshold. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊ 

Heeseung's bedroom was dark except for the blue glow of his phone screen, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner. He had dropped you off almost an hour ago. The drive had been quiet, comfortable in the way that didn't need filling, your wheelchair folded neatly in his trunk. He had pushed you inside without asking, just because the path from the car to the entrance of the apartment complex you were living in had those stupid uneven steps. His thumb hovered over the screen, mind circling back to the way you had stretched your leg across the desk in your office. The faint wince when you shifted. The fact that you were using your wheelchair most days. 

It must be horrible. 

He didn’t dare to ask either you or Soobin about what happened. 

He knew that you were involved in a car accident and needed multiple surgeries afterwards, but your dad sat in the same car, right? Why was his coach so… healthy compared to you?

He sat up a bit, bunching his pillows under his elbows in the process and typed your full name into Naver. The first entry on the results page was to a junior hockey league profile. He clicked onto the link, and a profile pic loaded first: you at maybe 16 or 17, wearing the same colours as he was at that time. You played for the Hyundai Juniors. He scrolled past your picture, and his breath caught. Your stats from before the accident were still listed on the page, your last five games ever played. Apparently, you were a top scorer in your division and had an impressive number of assists. A few clips were added to the gallery at the bottom of the page, and he couldn’t stop himself from clicking on them. You moved like lightning in them, sharp edges, explosive starts, a cocky grin flashing after breakaways. Damn. Impressed didn't cover it. 

You were good.

Really good.

He returned to the Google results page and clicked on the next link, ‘Junior League Star Y/N Lights Up Regionals–Scouts Take Notice’. 

He read the article and the next one and the next one. You truly were a star player in the female league. You could've had a career, scholarships, maybe Europe, hell, even NCAA if you had pushed academics. Instead…

He swallowed before continuing this thought. Instead, you were now sitting in a wheelchair, unable to walk without crutches. Heeseung's jaw tightened, thumb pausing on a crash article thumbnail, the rain-slick road, mangled car, your name in the survivor column.

He tossed the phone screen-down onto the nightstand, harder than intended. 

It was awful, all of this was awful. He understood why you didn’t want to do the internship, why you were so hesitant. And he had more or less talked you into it. To being stuck editing other people's glory while yours rusted away. Heeseung felt nauseous.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Your class had dragged on endlessly today. The two hours of marketing lecture blurred into white noise, your hip throbbing sharper with every shitty shift in the lecture hall seat. 

You had planned to meet up with some of the ice hockey players and figure skaters to film challenges with them later, and the thought of working on your essay for said lecture in the library, sitting in one of the uncomfortable seats, was worse than anything else you could imagine right now.  By the time you crutched across campus to the rink, the universe felt like it had a personal grudge. 

You pushed through the players' entrance and beelined for the sofa tucked in the corner of your newly cleaned-out office. The players had spent one gym session cleaning out the room from all the clutter, in exchange for not having to work out on that day. Now you were the proud owner of a new sofa, a clean shelf, where your decoration and a few hockey books were now lying, and a floor lamp. Your bag hit the floor with a thud, crutches clattering beside it as you collapsed onto the cushions with a loud groan. Pain pulsed like fire up your leg, every nerve screaming, even when you hoisted it up on the armrest.

"Fuck this," you hissed to the empty room and sat up again. You fished for your bag and searched for your painkiller; you had taken one barely an hour ago, but you didn’t care. The blister pack rattled slightly when you finally found it and popped one of the pills out. You swallowed it without water and leaned back down into the sofa.

You still had around an hour or so until the others would come in, so maybe you could try napping a bit and letting the painkillers do their thing. Your body sank into cushions, and you tried falling asleep. But even trying to blacken out the light in the room by crossing your arms over your eyes doesn’t seem to help you fall asleep. 

Frustration burned hot up your throat, and you snatched your phone instead, opening TikTok; maybe mindlessly scrolling would help a bit. A few minutes in, you realised that you were logged into the rink's account, figure skaters and ice hockey players popping up nonstop. You took a deep breath, but continued scrolling. Your thumb hovered over the screen, the TikTok looping again and again, but you couldn’t get yourself to swipe it away. Jeon Somi was holding up the Lee cup, surrounded by her teammates, her face 

split wide in a grin mid-celebration. She was wearing a pro club jersey gleaming under the arena lights, the women's league logo stamped bold at the front. It was an edit; someone had edited her shooting goals, giving assists, and celebrating.

Your heart dropped.

You used to play together, to match, to dream of the same dream. 

Tears stung your eyes, and the screen blurred, before you tossed your phone to the floor, not caring if the screen cracked or not. 

You pressed heels of your hands into your eyes, grinding hard till white sparks bloomed behind your lids. You knew there was no use in being sad about it, of being jealous. But you were so, so jealous. She was living her dream, the life you had dreamed of, the life you could have had, but was so unattainable now. Life was unfair, it had always been, will always be to everyone. You knew it was, and you knew you had to get used to how it was now. You were used to it, but you hated it. So so much.

A sob broke through your lips, and you pressed your hands across your mouth, trying to stop yourself from making any sounds.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

A familiar male voice, low, careful, said your name like he didn't want to startle you. "Y/N?"

You cracked one eye open. It felt heavy and swollen. You sighed and closed them again. 

There was a chuckle before your name was said again. You grumbled something garbled and tried to roll away, shoving your face deeper into the cushions. The fabric was rough under your face, and you cursed your father for picking out a cord sofa. The movement sent a sharp pain down your hip, your leg had tangled upwards, the cast hooked heavily over the armrest like a dead weight. You cursed and opened your eyes again, only to notice that you didn’t imagine Heeseung's voice. He was kneeling right in front of the sofa on the scuffed lounge floor, elbows braced on his knees. He gave you a small smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Heat flooded your face, and you yanked your arms up quickly, crossing them over your face like a shield, your elbows digging into the sofa. "Go 'way," you muttered, muffled thick against your sleeves. God, why him? Why now?

You must look like a mess. Your eyes were swollen, your hair probably a mess.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked. His voice was steady and even, like asking about the weather. Even if he noticed the state you were in, there was no pity in his voice.

The "M'fine," you answered with, came out moody even to your own ears, the lie sour on your tongue. Your head felt foggy from the painkillers that weren't kicking in yet, and every sound in the small room, the humming from the AC, the sounds from the rink, the ticking coming from the old clock, everything was too loud. 

"Mhm. Sure, you are." Amusement threaded through his words, light and teasing. 

You risked peeking one eye out from under your arm, squinting at him. Damp strands fell over his forehead, and your phone dangled loose in one hand. "Don't you have training or something?"

He shook his head. "Not for another two hours. You'd be stuck here at least five, waiting for your dad or Soobin to drive you home."

A groan ripped out of you, pure, raw annoyance bubbling inside of you. 

"I can drive you home if you want," he offered, straight and simple, like it was nothing. He straightened up a little but didn't rise fully, keeping himself at eye level. "It’s no big deal."

Pride warred hard in your chest, you wanted to say no, you didn't need pity, not your brothers, not your friends and especially not Heeseungs. You hated that he saw you this way, how broken you were. You sat up and had to close your eyes when you were seated upright, to make your head stop spinning. Maybe you should go home. No, you should definitely go home.  

"Yeah. Okay," you swallowed, your voice small. There was a beat of silence. "I’m just…not having a good day. My painkillers aren’t working. I might be a bit slow."

"That’s no problem," he said immediately, without hesitation. He pushed to his feet smoothly then, but instead of heading for the door, he just... dropped cross-legged onto the floor right there. “You should wake up properly before we go outside. I’ll text the others that we aren’t going to film today.”

You bit your lips and closed your eyes, suppressing a groan. You had forgotten about that. 

Heeseung leant back against the sofa arm, close enough you could smell the citrusy perfume he liked to use. 

“I’m gonna tell them I am feeling unwell,” Heeseung added, while he already started typing something into his phone.

You nodded and leaned back into the cushions, resting your cheek against your knee, staring at Heeseung's hair. It was still styled, the stands lying in a way that made it seem as if he hadn’t put much thought into it, but the way it barely moved with the movements of his hair made it clear that he had spent some time on it today. You rarely got to see him like that, in his street clothes, with his hair looking like this, you got the sweaty, tired Heeseung. Not that you were complaining, you still didn’t understand why you got any Heeseung at all, why he would care, come to your office, check on you as often as he did. Why did he offer to drive you home, even though he would have to come back to the rink?

He had been quiet for a while, back resting against the arm of the sofa, thumb scrolling half-heartedly over his phone. 

When you shifted and swallowed down another groan, he spoke again. “I’m not leaving you here if you’re not feeling well, Y/N. Don’t even think about asking me to go somewhere else.”

You stared up at the ceiling for a beat, jaw tightening. Of course, he would say that. Of course, he had been… kind. It scratched at something raw in your chest, that familiar mix of gratitude and rage, like your body couldn’t decide which way to flinch.

“I don’t want your pity,” you snapped before you could stop yourself, the words out sharp and ugly. They hung between you, heavy. You winced at your own tone, but it was too late.

Heeseung’s brows pulled together. He didn’t look offended, just surprised at your sudden outburst. “It’s not pity,” he said quietly. “If I pitied you, I’d have walked away a long time ago.”

You swallowed, throat tight. Heat crawled up your neck. You turned your head toward him, meeting his eyes. They were soft, steady, no pity in sight. They just had that same quiet determination you’d seen at practice, the one he got before stepping into a faceoff.

“I just…” Your voice thinned. “People feel bad, and then they hover, and I don’t… need that.”

He held your gaze, shoulders loosening a little. “Okay,” he said. “Then don’t call it pity.”

“What am I supposed to call it, then?” you muttered, more tired than angry now.

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m your friend,” he said simply. “And your friend’s not going to leave you here when you’re in pain and can’t even roll over without cursing out the universe.”

Your chest squeezed at that, tears stinging your eyes again, and you averted your gaze, hoping for your eyes to stop watering. “You’re really bad at minding your own business, you know that?” you whispered.

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Comes with the captain thing, I guess.”

You let your eyes fall closed again, but nodded. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

Heeseung's fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, the windshield wipers sweeping steady, rhythmic arcs across the glass. Rain hammered relentlessly against the car roof, turning the world outside into a smeared watercolour of streetlights and glistening asphalt. You were slumped deep in the passenger seat, your crutches jammed awkwardly between your knees. Neither of you had said much since you had sat down, music filling the space. He had no intention of starting up another conversation, waiting for you to talk, if you wanted to. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze fixed on the downpour sheeting down the window. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable; he had grown familiar with it over these past weeks, but he could feel the tension radiating off you, shoulders stiff, fingers picking absently at the seam of your jeans.

He wanted to ask. To ask how you were doing. Why you had been crying. What had happened today. His heart broke a bit when he saw you asleep on the sofa. Your eyes were puffy as if you had cried. Your face pulled into a frown even in your sleep. 

His chest tightened at the thought. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he stayed silent. 

You broke the quiet first, voice cutting soft through the rain. "Do you know if it's supposed to thunder tonight?"

Heeseung glanced over quickly, then returned his eyes to the road, his hands flexing on the wheel. "No idea. Probably?"

You fell silent again for a long moment, watching the rain streak the glass. "I hate thunder," you muttered finally, the words almost lost under the drumming downpour.

He nodded, keeping his tone even. "I get that. Rain's not my favourite either."

You huffed a small sound, not quite a laugh. "Rain is okay, actually. Thunder just... reminds me of the accident."

Oh. 

Heeseung's grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles paling slightly. He didn’t know what to say before, but now even less. He wasn’t good with words, has never been. He wetted his lips before nodding once. “Did it rain that day?”

He glanced at you, trying his best not to do it too obviously, but even if he had, you were staring out the passenger window. 

You took a slow, shaky breath.

"It had been raining for days,” you paused and dropped your hands to your lap. “Dad was driving me to my last game of the junior league season." A dark chuckle escaped you, "I was the second hockey prodigy in the family, you know? His whole pride and joy. I was the star player, top scorer, scouts circling like vultures. We were just a few streets from the rink when it happened. The other driver hydroplaned. He t-boned into our passenger side. The metal of the car crumpled together as if it were paper, and glass exploded everywhere. Thunder cracked at the exact same second as the crash. Everything blended together for me, screeching tyres, folding steel, that boom shaking my whole world."

You stopped there, staring at your hands. Heeseung kept quiet, he was a bit surprised at the outburst, of you telling him all this, but maybe you just needed to talk about it, and he would gladly be there for you.

"I don't remember much after that," you continued, voice dropping monotone. "I woke up five days later in a coma. My right side was completely shattered. My hip took the worst of it; the dashboard basically shoved straight through it. My ankle was mangled too. My femur snapped clean, nerves shredded everywhere. The Docs said I was lucky to keep my leg. It’s a miracle that I can use it at all, that I am alive."

Heeseung swallowed hard, the horror sinking slowly and cold into his gut. He kept his eyes on the road. His stomach twisted awfully, pity rising despite himself. He knew you hated it, so he did his best not to show it. 

Your voice stayed flat through the medical rundown, but he caught the faint shake when you wiped your eyes quickly with your hoodie sleeve. "That's why loud sounds hit me so hard. Sticks cracking. Pucks slamming boards. Whistles piercing. You know loud sounds. It got better with years of therapy, but bad days still send me spiraling and I just hate thunder,” you sniffled. Heeseung risked a glance at you; your face was still turned toward the window, and tears glistened on your lashes. He wanted to reach out for your hand, for your face. He hated seeing you cry. 

You laughed dryly and wiped over your face once again. 

"Your dad," Heeseung surprised himself by speaking up. "Wasn’t he in the car as well? Why is he, you know…"

You shrugged before finally turning to look at him straight. "His injuries were a joke next to mine. He healed within weeks, and then he was back on the bench. He walked everything off like it was nothing."

Heeseung didn't know what to say. "I'm glad you survived," he managed a few seconds later, his voice rough and low. 

You took a long breath. "I wished for a long time that I didn't." Then you groaned, pressing palms to your face. "Oh man, sorry for trauma dumping. What the fuck. This never happens to me."

He shook his head fast, pulling to a red light, turning fully. "It’s fine, Y/N. Trauma dump whenever you need to. I’m not really good with feelings and stuff, but I’ll do my best."

Rain blurred everything outside. You held his gaze a beat, your eyes teary, and he had to stop himself from reaching over, stopping them from dropping. The streetlight changed to green, and he had to break eye contact before he could act on any of his intrusive thoughts. 

You exhaled slowly, wiping your sleeve across your eyes one last time, the rain still drumming steadily on the roof. "Anyway," you said, noticeably forcing your voice lighter, turning your head to look at him properly. "Why were you at the rink so early today? You were half an hour ahead, even if we were filming."

Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard for a split second. Truth to be told, he had shown up early on purpose. He had wanted to see you. He had wanted an excuse to see you alone, to talk with you, hang out with you just for a bit. He liked being around you. The drives home had become a highlight these past few weeks. Talking about nothing, not talking at all, sitting there in comfortable silence, he enjoyed your presence. 

He scrambled quickly. "I wanted to nap on the sofa. Watch a bit of this new series I've been into."

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering through the remnants of tears. "Oh? What are you watching?"

He racked his brain, landing on the first thing that popped up. "Hellbound. A new season dropped a few weeks ago. Jeongin has been hyping it nonstop." 

Your eyes lit up a fraction, a weak smile tugging at your mouth despite the redness around them, and Heseung mentally thanked his friend for being so annoying about the show. "Oh, I love that show! How far in are you?"

Heeseung shrugged. "The second or third episode?"

"Really?" You raised an eyebrow, shifting a little in your seat. "You like it so far?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding as the light ahead turned green. "It's good. Weird as hell, but pulls you in."

"That's great," you replied, the smile holding a bit longer now. Then quieter, almost sheepish, you added. "I can barely watch a full episode, though. I get too scared and have to pause."

He grinned, seizing the opening to tease you a bit. "You get scared? Do you have to hide behind that pillow you told me about?"

You rolled your eyes, but a laugh bubbled out of your mouth. "Shut up. They're terrifying. Those demons ripping people apart? No thanks. Not even my squishmello could save me."

He chuckled, warmth spreading in his chest at the sound. He loved this part. Making you smile. Stealing the heaviness away, even just for a drive. "I'll protect you from the TV demons," he promised, mock-serious. 

"Very heroic," you shot back, settling deeper into the seat. Atmosphere warmed, tension easing. Rain blurred the world, but here it felt right.

"Very heroic," you shot back, but your voice softened. "If that ever actually happened, though, I'd really need someone to protect me. I wouldn't be able to run."

Heeseung glanced over, still grinning. "Oh. Well, I need to do some more leg days then. So I can carry you around all the time."

You protested immediately, eyebrows shooting up. "Hey! I'm not that heavy!"

"Yes, but the water and supplies we need?" He raised one eyebrow. 

You paused, then huffed a laugh. "Okay, yeah. True."

The rain eased a little outside, wipers slowing their rhythm. You settled deeper into the seat, the atmosphere warm now. "What would you do in a real zombie apocalypse anyway?"

Heeseung thought for a åå, merging onto a quieter street. "I'd grab my youngest brother, Jungwon, and my closest friends, mainly Jake, Jay and Sunghoon. Maybe their girlfriends as well, l if they had any. We would get out of the city fast, head somewhere rural with supplies."

You nodded, a small smile playing. "Mhm. Yeah, that's probably clever. Do you have any actual survival skills?"

"My video games taught me plenty," he said, nodding earnestly. “I just need to acquire unbreakable joints so I can jump around like a maniac and a gun. Or multiple. And a crash course on how to use a gun. 

You sniffed, but the laugh came again, brighter this time. He loved hearing it, loved pulling that lightness back into your voice. 

Heeseung glanced over at you, the rain still pattering steadily against the windows, the wipers sweeping their familiar rhythm. The conversation felt easy now, lighter than it had any right to be after what you'd just shared, and he wanted to keep it there. "What about you?" he asked. "What's your zombie apocalypse plan?"

You let out a small, dry laugh, shifting in your seat to face him a little more. "I have no survival skills. I'd probably just end things before I could turn into one of them."

He raised an eyebrow, keeping his tone light but curious. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Yeah," you said, shrugging one shoulder. "Better than turning and eating Soobin or something."

Heeseung laughed, the sound filling the car with warmth. "Man, Soobin wouldn't let anything touch you."

You groaned in fake annoyance, rolling your eyes dramatically, but a smile tugged at your lips. "True. It's kinda his duty as the big brother."

He grinned, turning onto your street now, the headlights cutting through the wet dark. "Protecting siblings from zombies?"

"Yeah," you replied, your voice softening with affection. "You'd do that for Jungwon, too, right?"

Heeseung nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. I'd burn the earth down for him if I had to."

You huffed another laugh, genuine this time. "Yeah, so don’t you dare judge him. He might be overprotective, but it’s in his DNA. Just look at our dad."

Heeseung shook his head, still chuckling as he slowed to pull into your parents' driveway. "My god, your dad is a scary man. I don’t want to cross him in a zombie apocalypse.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊

The front door clicked shut behind you with a familiar solid thunk. You took off your shoe by the entryway, stopping there for a second. 

You were tired, so tired. 

It wasn’t even five pm yet, and yet you felt like it was at least eleven. 

You sighed and made your way down the hallway, past the door to your room. Each step sent a fresh jolt of pain up your leg. Your mom stood at the sink, rinsing dishes with slow, methodical swipes of the sponge, the radio humming low in the background with some old pop tune half-buried under the running water when you reached the kitchen. She turned at the heavy thud of your bag hitting the floor, her smile starting automatically and warm, only to freeze solid on her face when she caught sight of you. You couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

"Y/N? Honey, what's wrong?" Her voice came out soft but sharp with worry, the plate in her hands dripping forgotten into the sink.

The question cracked something deep inside you wide open. You crossed the kitchen tiles in three shaky, uneven strides, your crutches clattering abandoned to the floor as you crashed straight into her. You buried your face into the soft fabric of the sweater she was wearing as the first sob tore out of you. It was a raw and ugly sound, your whole body heaving against hers with the force of it. Her soapy hands hesitated for just a beat in surprise, wet palms hovering, then wrapped tight around your back, pulling you in closer as she steadied the two of you against the counter.  Your tears soaked through the fabric in seconds, your chest hollowing out with ragged gasp for air. "It's not fair," you choked out, your voice breaking wet and jagged against her collarbone. "Why can't I just be healthy like everyone else? I want to play hockey. I want to skate for real, feel the ice under my blades again,” another sob interrupted you, “I want to go to school without counting every single step, without the pain chasing me down. I want to travel, see games, visit friends, live, instead I'm stuck in this endless fucking loop. Nothing works. It's just surgeries. Over and over, and I'm so done."

The words spilt out frantic and unfiltered, grief twisting sharply into rage and then dissolving back into despair. Your mom started slowly rocking you back and forth, one hand stroking steady passes down your hair like she had when you were little and woke from nightmares. You wished you could wake up from this one as well. But there was nothing to wake up from; you were awake. 

Suddenly, the closeness, the touches, felt too much. You pulled back abruptly from her arms, pressing the heels of your hands hard into your eyes instead as you sank down against the cabinets. Fresh tears leaked through your fingers anyway. 

Your mom didn't let go or back away. She knelt right down there on the cold kitchen tile with you, her knees popping softly in the quiet, arms looping loose but firm around your shoulders from the side. "Shh, baby. I've got you," she murmured just once, her voice thick and cracked at the edges with her own helpless ache, but after that she stayed mostly silent. She always said you had to let the storm rage itself out without interruption when you were a child. She was always there, a coming presence, but she knew that sometimes crying was the only option, before going on. 

Eventually, it did. The storm in your head ebbed, your sobs fading into hiccuping breaths that left you hollowed and spent. You sagged heavily against her side, your face damp and swollen. 

Your mom's thumbs came up to brush the last few tears from your cheeks as best she could, her own eyes shining wet. You knew she was suffering, maybe not as much as you, but she always worried. You hated worrying her with this. She should be worried about you partying, about you doing dumb things, and instead, she had to worry that you couldn't stop. Triggered by one single stupid TikTok. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you washed up and into bed."

She helped you to your feet slowly and carefully, handing back one crutch and then the other with a steadying arm under your elbow as you limped together down the short hall to the bathroom. The sink faucet ran warm over your hands; she squeezed a swirl of toothpaste onto your brush without a word, waiting patiently while you scrubbed your face and teeth in mechanical motions, staring at your puffy, wrecked reflection in the fogging mirror. "What happened today, sweetheart?" she asked quietly from the doorframe, leaning there with her arms crossed loosely.

You spat into the sink, rinsed your mouth with a slosh of water, and gripped the porcelain edge until your knuckles went white. "Everything," you rasped out, finally meeting her eyes in the mirror's reflection. "I saw a video of Somi winning the Lee cup. She is playing for Samsung. She deserves to…but,” you sniffle before continuing. “I should be there too, Mom. But instead, my hip has been hurting so much that no painkiller is strong enough to make it stop. Heeseung had to drive me home because I just napped it off in the office like a total wreck."

Your mom nodded slowly, her expression soft but steady. She grabbed a clean towel from the rack, stepping close to pat your face dry with gentle dabs. "I know, baby. God, I know." Her arm slipped around your waist then, pulling you into a hug, as if she had to soothe herself. “I wish you were there, too. So much, Y/N.”

You sniffled and rested your head on her shoulder again, before pulling back. “I think I’m gonna sleep now.”

She nodded and followed you into your bedroom.

It was dark outside when you woke up a few hours later, your face still tender and swollen from crying. 

You fumbled for your phone with one hand, wanting to know what time it was when it vibrated. The buzzer sounded against the wood of your nightstand.  You fumbled for it with one hand, the screen's glare harsh against your tired eyes, when you found it. 

Lee Heeseung (Male Hockey Team): Hey Training just wrapped! Are you feeling any better now that you're home?

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a long moment. 

Part of you wanted to lie, tell him that you were feeling better, but the words wouldn't form. You didn’t want to lie to him. 

Y/N No But it's alright I will be Thank you for driving me home. It helped a bit. I hope the others didn’t give you any grief for not filming today.

You hit send before you could overthink it, then let the phone rest loose in your palm. Dots danced on the screen almost immediately, pulling your gaze back.

Lee Heeseung (Male Hockey Team): Don't worry about it, no one is mad Get some rest

You stared up at the ceiling tiles, their bland white blanks blurring slightly in the low light. ‘I like being around you.’ Heeseung's face flashed in front of your inner eye again, the way his hair was styled today, his easy smile when you'd first woken up grumpy. The way he was there, getting you to open up, by just being himself. You didn’t understand why, but you knew one thing, and that was for sure: You liked being around him as well.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

CONTINUE READING OTHER INSTALLMENTS OF THE SERIES

PERMANENT TAGLIST ⋮ @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @mangoescrazy @ddolleri @goldenmellow @en-boyz @bananasrme @classicroyalty @stars4kooo @evilangel404 @angelhyuka @heeseungiess @minjsui @andieekosmos @enhaverse713586 @dearestdreamies @rizz00 @aquitkuro @vixialuvs @typewonnie @enhapagluuuuu @kristynaaah @libby0705

STORY TAGLIST ۫ ׅ @tessa365 @meimeiyh @kyunlov @lyks02 @zoe1love @darjeelinglemontea @cutehoons02 @kaitheo @psyches-reid @lawjakesim @cralessia @anzzghost @510-5 @fancypeacepersona @simjaeyunlvrclub @rikiiverse @urfavmaknae @stwrlightt @moonlight-hwa @kireistrawberryjayla @st4rg1rlies @andieekosmos

[girlfriendjones]

when will my vagina know peace

[hoonsocks-deactivated20260310]

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪꜱʙᴀɴᴇ. sjy.⋆ 7

#07. 'Economy'

PROFILES2: ✦ ENHYPEN ~ PROFILES1: ✦ y/ns friend group idol au, social media au +written TAGLIST: ✦ OPEN! | seriesmasterlist!! PAIRINGS: idol!jake x fem!reader #07. + 18 screenshots! (oh mamas, pls bear with me yall) prev | next! soren's note: guys i am fully aware of how inconsistent the chapters are but stick with me for a while and promise I'll get on track and i was also writing my first oneshot so pleasee excuse me (but with each chapter you will be well fed pls don't leave me chat)

WARNINGS: ✦ all the accounts done above are for a work of fiction, not the actual accounts. Please do not misinterpret; rather, clip out of context. This is purely for a work of fiction and for fun. I do not claim to know any of the members nor do i claim to be them, nor do i claim they behave this way TAGLIST: ✦ OPEN! (1/5) @whothefvckami @jakearta @faithnsstuff @brain-empty-only-draken @missoxy @parkhoonism @swagwon @meowmeowjang @sosocide @calumcxke @5-53pm @nct-sticker-127 @areikii @weepingsweep @therealmrsbahng @mortallynumberonecoffee @brbgottablast @jasuke3 @vanillakirstein @scarredbytheworld @fairystudio @wintereals @moonstruckbae @mey-archive @rmmsthings @mwezieclipze @melphieisreading @t1iqaa @ggum-aki @tsukheeshima @tyunningism @bangchanismybae @swiftjay23 @athenaaphrodite2045 @ksnhiver @007chan @enhayaya @rxmanceuntxld @zoros-earring @fairyoflia @illus1nists @vvarkiki @numba1leeknowgoon @123hees @hanjisrightearwax

[hoonsocks-deactivated20260310]

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪꜱʙᴀɴᴇ. sjy.⋆

𖢥SYNOPSIS: When Jake left Brisbane to train in Korea, you didn’t think much of it at first, not until a few months turned into years, and the messages stopped coming altogether. Years of waiting and no reaching out. He was just the friend who disappeared without warning, and you were just the person he left behind. You just assumed he forgot about you, and you never really knew what he was training for. Now, six years later, he’s suddenly everywhere— on your timeline, in your feed, and even in your city again. What starts as a petty tweet about the boy who left turns into a full blown internet spectacle when people realise the friend you’re blasting online is none other than the Sim Jaeyun, a member of one of the biggest K-pop groups in the world. When the fuck did that happen? PAIRINGS: idol!jake x fem!reader genre: social media au (+written) | childhood friends to lovers | crack | second chances | fluff | one sided enemies to lovers 𖢥WARNINGS: ✦ reader lives under a rock, reader is a tinsy bit petty, friendly bullying, highly suggestive scenes, smut (18+) later on, story occurs in brisbane- australia , unhinged twitter threads, idol au, cocky!jaeyun x brat!reader, alcohol consumption, nicknames, reader is aggressive, profanity, suggestive [sexual] discourse, humour/crack, overall just something fun for yall to read! (not completely valid and real because if this were to happen irl poor y/nnie would get shitted on) idol au, social media au +written featuring ✦ all of enhypen, other idols from different groups status ✦ ongoing! TAGLIST: ✦ OPEN! 𖢥sok's yap: hiiii oh em gee this is my first fic and my first ever fic on tumblr, im a new writer after lurking on here for a while and i have so so much in mind for this fic so i hope yall enjoy it as much as i do when its outt! I will do my best to upload regularly and yupp thats about it! reblogs, comments, asks and even likes are appreciated. new writer show sum lovee!! ^^

PROFILES: | coming soon!

PROLOGUE: | coming soon!

CHAPTERS :

1.

copyright © hoonsocks 2025.

[babyjinsu]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ reunion ꒱ ˎˊ˗

⟢ sunghoon only planned to catch up with old classmates in busan—but somehow ended up catching feelings and trouble with his first love instead. problem? he has a fiance in seoul!

🪷 read the smau ver! here (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹

pairing p. sunghoon x fem. reader word count 5.1k content warning cheating/infidelity, angst (only if you're sooha...), men's first love theory proven, emotional conflict, profanity, sunghoon's an asshole, insecurity themes, reconciliation, sunghoon is engaged smut advisory unprotected sex, creampie, multiple sex scenes throughout, bathroom/bathtub sex, various positions, oral (fem. rec), pussy eating/licking, squirting & drinking it, tongue-fucking, cowgirl, deep penetration, cervix fucking, cock warming, nipple playing, masturbation, overstimulation (they fuck like rabbits all night lord), sneaky fuck

── ꩜ taglist ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ˖ 𐔌 . ⋮ @saraabbas

“hey… aren’t you worried?”

“worried? why should i be?” sooha tilted her head, straw swirling lazily through the melting ice of her honey latte. yujin leaned closer over the small table, lowering her voice like she was letting the girls in on a secret. “i mean… he’s all the way in busan, right? high school reunion, old friends… old flames, maybe…” 

sooha let out a soft laugh, one corner of her mouth quirking. she playfully slapped yujin’s forearm. “you’re overthinking! i was the one who told him to go. he said he wouldn’t if i don’t want him to but… he hasn’t been back in years. he deserved a little break.”

“still…” yujin pressed, her brows furrowing. “people get sentimental. you never kn—” before yujin could finish her sentence, mina hissed and slapped her forearm once again—earning a wince out of yujin. “why are you planting doubts inside her  head? don’t make her worried! they’ve been together for almost three years now.”

sooha laughed, shaking her head like she was a mother of two children instead of their friends. “you two are silly,” she set her cup down, eyes glinting with innocence and amusement. “i trust him. sunghoon wouldn’t do such things. he loves me!” 

mina shot yujin a smug look, shrugging as if she got it right. yujin grumbled under her breath, muttering something like—”i knowwww. i’m just looking out,”—while rubbing at the spot both of them had smacked. 

“thanks… but we trust each other. the stereotype of men these days doesn’t apply to my sunghoon.” she chuckled, shrugging the topic off. 

sooha waved them off with a reassuring smile, glancing at her phone—sunghoon must still be on the train as they spoke—both her friends hummed and nodded, just content that their friend was at least secured in her relationship, especially with how couples are these days.

“please,” sooha sighed dreamily, resting her cheek atop the heel of her palm. her ring finger wrapped in gold glistening under the cafe light. “we’re literally engaged. he knows where his home is.”

——

“oh my god—oh, fuck, sunghoon—” you gasped nails digging into his shoulders as your back arched against the hotel sheets. his name tore out of you raw, half–breathed, half–moan, echoing against the walls. 

sunghoon’s mouth was hot against your throat, teeth grazing the spot he used to bite when you were both seventeen and too desperate to care who might hear behind the walls—his big, warm palm pressed firm against the small of your back, holding you steady, supporting your arch to cradle every piece of you closer. 

his other hand cupped and fondled your perky tit, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and squeezing it between his fingerpads. “missed this baby,” he muttered, voice breaking as he drove his hips harder and deeper inside your tight, wet cunt—eliciting a meek moan and squelching noise from when his skin met yours. “missed my baby.” 

the bed creaked violently beneath you, but who gave a fuck, really? time folded in on itself—no fiance in seoul, no wedding plans—just the fever of first love resurrected in a hotel room sunghoon paid for using the same fund he was supposed to save up for his wedding.

“mm… yeah?” you let out a soft giggle as you tipped your head back when sunghoon started nibbling along your jugular, canines scraping before soothing the spot with his tongue. he left red and lovely marks around your soft skin like canvas. 

your laugh made him groan and you felt it against your abdomen, the tip of his cock ruthlessly knocking against your cervix like it wanted to enter deeper—as if he wanted to merge himself with you. “don’t—fuck, baby—don’t tease me,” he rasped, rutting deeper, chasing the wet heat sensation that clenched around him.

his hand kneaded your breast like dough pastry, squeezing and folding your skin like layers. his thumb circling your nipple until you writhed beneath him. the headboard thudded against the wall, each slam echoing louder, drowning out any thought of guilt and restraint.

sunghoon pressed his forehead to yours, sweat beading at his temple. the tip of his nose brushed yours, lips just inches away from one another. “‘m not teasing you, though?” you breathed out, teasing him as you leaned closer to brush your lips against his. kissing—but not entirely.

you’re the kind girl that liked to play with the edge of the flame. it used to drive him crazy back in high school, and it still did now, it seemed.

sunghoon’s grip on you tightened at your innocent tease and he was quick to give you what you wanted—clashing his lips against yours—teeth bumping, mouth messy and impatient. there was no gentleness, no carefulness, just hunger and lust. 

the kiss tasted nostalgic, but mature now. his tongue slid against yours, desperate and missing. even the sound he made was half–groan and moan. sunghoon kissed you like he was trying to go back to his teenage–self, erasing all the problems and the lives that had grown around the two of you. 

“yes you are.” he murmured between the kisses before attaching them again. your fingers twisted in his damp hair, tugging hard enough to make him shudder. oh, sunghoon used to flinch like that in high school too—shy and still learning what he liked. now he only leaned into it, grinding against you like a man starved.

you chuckled, tugging on his strands. sunghoon’s hanging balls slapped against your wet pussy from both your juice and squirt and saliva from the blowjob earlier—moaning into his mouth and revibrating down through his body. “mh, fuck, your cock is sooooo huge…” you whined, pulling onto his bottom lip.

sunghoon’s lip curled into a smirk at the compliment, the kind of arrogant little twist that still made your stomach flutter until now. “yeah?” he rasped, voice thick with pride, teeth grazing your swollen bottom lip before he claimed your mouth again in a bruising kiss. 

he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and burning, half–drunk on the way you got him—you too, cheeks adorably flushed, lips red from making out with him, eyes glassy with eyelashes clumped together from pleasured tears—oh sunghoon’s missed this—”my cock’s huge because your pussy’s too tight…” 

with you, sunghoon felt boyish and eighteen again—except this time, there was no curfew, no sneaking around, no rules… 

except a fiance back home.

——

sooha tossed and turned on yujin’s bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. she never really liked sleeping alone, so when sunghoon said he’d be gone for one night for the reunion, yujin offered her space without a second thought.

her phone sat on the nightstand, screen dim and silent. no new messages… no calls…. she thought about texting him first but she’d already did—did you get back to the hotel okay? are you tired? send me a picture!—but decided against it. 

sunghoon deserved his fun, and she trusted him enough to wait. sooha knew how high–school was one of sunghoon’s best chapters, he always spoke about it with light in his eyes. his old group of friends that he barely had time to see now, last–night snacks at pojangmacha stalls—they were things that shaped him into the man she loved now.

sooha told herself that sunghoon must’ve been tired from his long journey. his back must be aching from sitting upright on the train, legs cramping with the little leg space ktx provides. tomorrow. tomorrow morning, her phone would light up with his sleepy smile, hair mussed from the hotel pillow, and a simple—good morning, love. will reach home in a few hours <3

mmhm! that’s it. there’s nothing to be worried about. for three long years, there wasn’t a single time where sooha had a suspicion that sunghoon was hiding something behind her back! it’s unfair for her to feel this way just because they’re not sharing the bed together for the night. 

she felt so much better reassuring herself with the fact that sunghoon adored her as much as she did—allowing herself to fall asleep for the night. 

tomorrow. he’ll come home tomorrow.

——

“fuck, have you gotten prettier since the last time i saw you?” sunghoon groaned as he tipped his head back against the cold tile, soapy water sloshing violently around your bodies. his shiny chest rose and fell beneath the steam, slick skin gleaming as his hands gripped at your hips like he’s trying to keep you intact.

you moaned aloud as his veiny lengthy cock stretched and slipped out of your pussy. sunghoon used his hands on your hips to guide your body forward then backwards, rotating in a circle—lifting you at the peak only to slam you down on his hard cock. 

you gasped and arched your back, hands flying up to clutch his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his slippery skin. the movement sent another wave of water spilling over the edge of the tub, splattering against the tile floor. “oh fuck! sunghoon! mh—!” 

sunghoon let out a guttural sound at the feel of your walls clenching and tightening around him, head dipping low to mouth at your collarbone, soothing yet another mark with his tongue. he couldn’t stop littering kisses all over your skin—it was addicting. his hands on your hips hold you down, clinging and clamping on his cock, guiding you with a feverish rhythm that made the water churn. 

“god you feel unreal,” he rasped, moving his lips up to your jaw and the corner of your lips. you titled your head to the side just slightly, cunt throbbing and twitching and clenching around sunghoon’s still–hardened cock. how could he still be so hard after cumming twice before—? his energy was feral. did he unlock something primal just by being inside of you again? 

sunghoon’s jaw clenched at your expression—obviously tired and washed out from being pounded just minutes before. he promised a shower just to clean up, only to have another session of fucking in the bathroom. his throat bobbed as he groaned into the crook of your neck. “don’t… don’t pass out on me now,” he panted, though his hips never slowed.

you groaned but nodded, lolling your head around. his tip brushed and slammed the door of your womb and it only made you want to go faster. sunghoon’s hips thrust forward, quickening his pace. “we have the whole night to ourselves.” he continued, watching as your pretty, soapy, glossy tits bounced with every pounding.

“oh god babe, i—” you stuttered, brain sloshy as moans and wet sex sounds echoed against the bathroom tiles and back in your ears. you could only moan and cry out in pleasure, unable to form a proper sentence—there wasn’t enough air for two. your mind was clouded and all you could think about was how you were back again with sunghoon and nothing else. 

“fuck—do you hear that? listen to how wet and soaked your pussy is…” sunghoon muttered, glancing down underneath the clear soapy water to see your two bodies joined—your pussy being lifted, showing his cock, only to swallow all of it deep inside you once again. and it repeated. 

shaking your head out of embarrassment, you leaned back, palms gripping the porcelain on either side of the tub for balance. the angle forced your chest up, and lust immediately started circling in his eyes.

“fuck… how’d i live without you all this while…” he hissed, water dripping from his dark hair onto his skin as he watched you guide and manuevered yourself on his cock like a joystick. his hands slid up your thighs to spread you wider under the churning water, the tension in his jaw betraying how close he was to the edge despite his stamina. 

you were fucking gorgeous. wet hair sticking on your face and neck, flushed face, as you tugged on your bottom lip to suppress moanings—tits glossy from the bathroom light above—sunghoon slid his hands up to your tits to squeeze and tug onto your perky nipples, moving and circling them around with a low chuckle.

“like what you’re seeing?” you meeked, raising your hips together then lowering it on his massive cock, stretching your entrance. the sound of skin slapping filled the space. you ride him harder until sunghoon gasped and moans falling like dominos. 

sunghoon nodded and cursed—fuck yes—, chest rose and fell with deep breaths as you clenched around his cock, meeting his thrusts. the way sunghoon’s cock dragged against your velvety walls only drove you to ride him harder and faster—water sloshing and falling on the sides like a waterfall. 

“i’m losing my fucking mind,” he murmured, dragging his nails against your plushy flesh, squeezing and fondling them like squishies. your movements alone weren’t enough—sunghoon jerked his hips, lifting his pelvis in sync with yours, hitting all that sweet, spongy spots deep in your wet cunt.

as both movements grew more needy, you sped your motion, riding him harder. your body trembled from the strain, from the heat coiled in your tummy. sunghoon’s head tipped back, throat bared, broken groans tearing from his chest as his hands dug into your waist as he chased his high. 

“shit—baby, love, fuck—” his words broke apart, the rhythm of his hips frantic and desperate. the tub almost rocking beneath your joined weight, both of you clinging to that last sliver of self–control. 

“cummin’, cumming, cumming—! hoonie!” 

sunghoon cursed out loud as he spilled his hot, thick semen deep inside you. they shot out like ropes straight into your womb. your walls spasmed around his throbbing length as you milked him—every drop of his cum was yours. 

“fuck, fuck—” he groaned, jerking his hips upward. sunghoon’s eyes locked on yours, canines dragging his bottom lip. water slid down your pretty body. “touch yourself,” he hissed, swallowing the lump in his throat. “touch yourself baby. rub that pretty clit for me, do it.”

obeying, you couldn’t think straight anyway as you shakily slid your hand down your tummy—between your bodies—trembling fingers found that swollen, flushed pea of nerves. your fingerpad brushed against your clit—and you shivered.

“mh—hoonie, fuck, ‘m so… overstimulated…” you cried out, thighs clamping around your own hand. you rubbed your clit with your back arched, shivering and quivering above sunghoon. with how you were looking—sunghoon couldn’t himself but slammed up into you again as you rubbed your tired pussy.

eliciting a cry out of you, your body jerked up—the heat of his semen contradicting the cold of the bath water. “my pretty girl,” he panted, grinding and using your inside for his cock to seek warmth and plant his seed further up. “have i told you i miss you?” 

you chuckled and rolled your eyes, moving your hands up to wrap around his neck—with his cock still buried inside. “so many times tonight.” with a soft sigh, sunghoon pulled you against his chest, your cheek resting against it. 

his arms wrapped around you as though the steam–filled bathroom wasn’t sweltering. the water had long slipped over the tub, soaking into towels abandoned on the floor that neither of you were bothered enough to clean up.

sunghoon stroked your damp hair back lovingly, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, murmuring something low and incoherent against your skin. 

it was easy to pretend. to forget the seoul city waiting, his sooha who trusted him enough not to call, the ring that sat in a velvet box back in their shared apartment. here, in busan, there was only the breathing and the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek—his first girl.

“so… can we actually take a shower now?” 

sunghoon chuckled, lifting your head up to plant a kiss on your cheek. “if i can get this cock soft—maybe, mmhm.” the way your perky nipples rubbed against his’ wasn’t helping though.

——

“he still hasn’t texted you yet?” yujin asked, squinting at sooha over her mug of coffee, hair tied messily in a bun on top of her head. it was the next morning, then. 10 in the morning to be precise. the streaks of sunlight painted yujin’s carpet in uneven stripes. 

despite the air smelling like calm coffee and lavender detergent, none of it was enough to settle the slowly growing restlessness in sooha’s stomach. 

“uh,” she sat cross–legged on the couch, still in her sweatshirt, sleeves halfway over her hands. the blanket yujin had tossed over her earlier still pooled at her hips. “no…” sooha admitted softly, fingers curling around the blanket. her throat felt tight. “not yet.”

yujin hummed, setting her mug down. “weird. isn’t he the type to always keep you updated?”

her phone sat on the coffee table, the black screen like an unblinking eye staring back at her. when sooha woke up earlier this morning, she received no notification from her fiance. that wasn’t something she expected. she tried to ignore it—but after three years of living a life with sunghoon, it was hard to adjust without him. 

sooha forced a smile, eyes drifting briefly to her phone. “yeah,” she hummed, shrugging as if it didn’t bother her. “he probably drank too much and crashed at heeseung’s. i don’t wanna overthink it.” 

but the truth was—she’d already done nothing but overthink. lying awake from seven in the morning, tossing and turning, imagining him laughing with people she’d never met (except his group of friends). sooha wondered if it was better to tell sunghoon not to go when he insisted on not going… but she didn’t want to be that kind of fiance.

the insecure one.

yujin noticed, her eyes softening as she took in sooha’s hunched shoulders and bitten lip. “hey,” she called out, resting her chin atop the heel of her palm. “if you’re this worried, why don’t you just call him?”

sooha’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “what? no. he’ll think i’m clingy or something…”

the friend tilted her head, looking at her almost weird. “no, he won’t. he’ll just think you miss him! which, news flash, you do,” yujin shrugged, brushing her hair back between her fingers. “you’re literally his future wife. sunghoon’s in love with you and you’re in love with him. why wouldn’t you be worried? what if something happens?” 

sooha pursed her lips, biting the inside of her cheek. the silence stretched, filled only with the hum of noise outside and the tv in the background. sooha’s fingers twitched in her lap, itching—before she reached to grab her phone. 

“hm, you’re probably right. he’s supposed to want me to worry about him,”

it’s probably nothing, right?

——

“so sexy,” sunghoon groaned as he spreaded your asscheeks apart, squeezing the flesh before leaning in to attach his lips on your pussy lips—like it’s the one above. his tongue darted out to lick at your needy, already growing wet cunt, dripping down your inner thighs. 

your lips parted in a soft gasp, fingers curling the bedsheet beneath. your breath hitched as his warm lips met your cold skin, hot breath fanning over the wetness. “mhm,” sunghoon moaned, licking long strips between your folds, his mouth catching and sucking on it. 

you tasted so sweet, pussy flushed and red from the whole night of fucking with only short breaks in between. after so long—sunghoon truly couldn’t get enough of you. he thought he’d moved on after years of not hearing anything about you, but at the end of the day, sunghoon was just a man. and you were just the first girl who made him feel everything. changed the trajectory of his life.

it’s inevitable. he wished to devour and have you all night long if he could, but you’d probably die had that happened. 

you moaned into the fabric, feeling the way his tongue tickling with kitten licks along your entrance. not entering, just teasing. you slowly rubbed your hips against his face, feeling his sharp nose along your pussy as he sucked on your luscious skin. sunghoon dove in, running his tongue up and down before flicking at your clit. 

“ah, fuck—hoonie, don’t—don’t tease me please,” you gasped, hips twitching instinctively, almost snapping shut before his strong hands pinned them in place. the sound of your own breath ricocheted in the hotel room desperate. 

sunghoon lifted his head just enough, lips glistening with that cocky little smirk on his handsome face. “how can i not?” he chuckled lowly before leaning down to kiss your pussy, sucking on it like it’s dessert. “you look so cute when i tease you.” he continued, low voice vibrating against your wet and hot cunt—sending shivers up your spine.

you groaned, arching your back a little in which sunghoon took that as an opportunity to give your ass a light smack and a squeeze. he plunged his tongue into your throbbing hole, spreading the entrance with it, nose pressed against your perineum. “oh my god, baby,” you gasped. 

he was practically shoving his face further into your needy, soaking pussy, fingers splayed across your flesh to spread you more. sunghoon moaned against your cunt, tongue twirling and swirling inside. instinctively, you grinded yourself onto his face as sunghoon thrusted his tongue back and forth inside of you like it’s his cock. 

a pussy this good deserved to be felt by his other body parts too. he done gave your pussy a good fucking from his cock, fingers, now back to his mouth. 

you sounded so cute whimpering and whining like you used to and it was because of him—a melody sunghoon loved more than anything. he ate you out like his last meal, sweet juices soaked on his face but he couldn’t give a shit.

“fuck, mm—you taste so yummy, babe,” he moaned, pushing his face further into your sopping wet pussy. you nuzzled into the sheet shyly, a soft scream escaped your lips. it was too much to handle—sunghoon was drawing out letters inside your pussy—something a cock couldn’t do! he didn’t stop his sucking and licking when he felt you were reaching your limit, advantaging his way through your pleasure and overstimulation. 

his grip tightened and he delivered another smack on your asscheeks when he felt you slipping away. “hoonie, ‘m cumming, uh—oh god,” you gasped, biting the white covers as continued grinding your hips along his face. 

sunghoon nodded and started sucking your pussy faster—messier—the tip of his tongue would flick your clit, circling it as he knew that’s where you get sensitive the most. you whimpered—then you felt it—that familiar sudden gush of warm fluid squirting out and down your thighs. the sheer intensity of sunghoon’s mouth triggered the release. 

“sunghoon!” you cried out, jerking your body forward only to be pulled back by him against his face. he moaned at the sensation, keeping his lips intact on your pussy as he drank it down his throat. “hngh, on my tongue babe, c’mon,” he rasped, tongue laid flat against the surface, palms squeezing and fondling your ass.

the sound of his gulping and wet sucking and slurping your sloppy messy cunt drowned out your thoughts and moans. juices trailed down along his sharp jawline and throat as sunghoon devoured, licking strides between your folds like he’s scooping all that’s left.

only after he was satisfied that he pulled back with a grunt, lips shiny, chin damp. he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, but the smirk stayed. with you, he felt like he was a teenager all over again. 

you… truly brought out the version sunghoon loved that he couldn’t find when he’s with sooha.

“so fucking sweet,” he muttered, voice hoarse, pupils blown as he looked at you. the sight of your embarrassed face after having him gulping down your squirt, chest heaving, and thighs trembling seemed to do it for him.

you tried to catch your breath, but your pulse was a runaway train. sunghoon was a sex manic. heat radiated off your skin, and with that hungry gaze on you—you felt wanted again—that made you want to forget everything outside the room. 

smirking to yourself, you sank back into the mattress, the sheets cool against your flushed skin. slowly, deliberately, you stretched out on your back, arms loose at your sides, legs shifting apart in a silent invitation. 

one of your hands crept lower, teasing yourself in a way that was more playful than desperate. your finger lingered just long enough on your pussy that when you pulled back from your entrance, a glisten caught the dim light of the room—how much you wanted him.

“well,” you breathed out, smiling innocently as you ran your hand over your pussy, using your two fingers to spread your hole—twitching. “what are you waiting for?” 

sunghoon froze, chest rising and falling like he’d just been punched with the sight. you were inviting him—his first love, all displayed on a gold platter for him to roister. you didn’t need to say twice—his jaw clenched, a strangled groan slipping past his lips as he dragged a hand through his hair. 

his cock throbbed in the air, precum already leaking and hanging from his mushroom tip. sunghoon felt it—swore it grew hornier at the sight of where he’ll be burying his cock in. fuck, weren’t you a slutty little tease? he’s so fucking horny for you it’s embarassing. sunghoon’s never felt this way—was this why people cheat? because of this feeling?

“you’re killing me,” he murmured.

the smirk tugging at your lips only grew, satisfaction curling in your chest at how undone he looked because of you. he wrapped his hand around your ankle to pull you underneath him. 

you made your bed, now lie in it.

sunghoon fucked you like he didn’t pound your pussy all night that morning—in various positions, with blowjobs and pussy eating and making out in betweens—it felt like you first reconciled with him. he took you on the sofa, on the television console, on the vanity—now the two of you were on bed again, with sunghoon above you.

“fuck, fuck, how are you still so fucking tight?” he groaned. sunghoon’s breath came in ragged bursts, every word shuddering out of him like he was unraveling with each second. his grip on your waist tightened, almost desperate like he didn’t want to be apart from you for a second. 

you could only cling back, nails skimming the back of sunghoon’s hands. “ah—ah, hngh—more, more! fuck me harder with that cock, hoonie!” you moaned like a whore, tits bouncing up and down as sunghoon rammed you brutal. 

the sound of the bed creaking filled the room—didn’t need to say again, sunghoon slammed his hips against yours, arching your back as he did so a couple of times. he’d pull back his length, only to ram it all the way inside of you. letting your walls feel every veins of his dick.  his huge, veiny cock dragging along your velvety gummy walls as he thrusted back in sharply.

“yeah—? did you miss me, babe? back then you couldn’t even take me whole—” sunghoon chuckled, gathering saliva inside his mouth before spitting a drool on your pussy where his cock slid back and forth. it broke and slid down between your pussy lips before being mixed and pushed inside your cunt. you giggled, rolling your eyes back. 

“mhm—uh huh, i can take all of you now~” you gasped as the tip of his cock slammed up and jerked your body upward. sunghoon pulled you back with his hands on your hips. you intertwined both your and his hands together, giving it a light squeeze. “yeah—because you’re such a big girl now.”

locking eyes with him, you licked your lips before tugging onto your bottom lip. “then, should we date again, hm?” you giggled, batting your eyelashes prettily up his way. “do you wanna be my first boyfriend again?”

sunghoon froze above you, his pupils blown wide, breath stuttering in his throat. for a moment, he saw the version of himself and you when the two of you were together in high school—but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the adult, engaged man who knew exactly what he was doing.

his jaw flexed, lips parting like he might laugh, but nothing came out. instead, sunghoon dipped his head lower, mouth brushing sensually your ear. “don’t play with me like that, baby,” he rasped, voice breaking. “you know i never stopped wanting you.”  

with that, sunghoon started slamming into you harder and deeper. your inner walls clamping down on his cock in pulsing waves. sunghoon captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your giggles. he gave your hands a little squeeze. 

“oh, hoonie—there! right there!” you gasped, thighs clamped around his hips for any closure left. sunghoon’s relentless thrusts hitting your g-spot without mercy. “uh huh, over here baby?” he smirked, using your cries to his advantage to make you feel good.

you nodded eagerly, it’s hard to think rationally when your brain’s all sloshy and fucked up. the orgasm crashed over you like a wave—with an arch of your back, your tight pussy clamped around him, releasing.

“ah fuck, i’m cumming, yn!” sunghoon, too—with one final ram—you felt his hips stuttered as his cock violently pulsed out milk deep inside of you in thick spurts. sunghoon slowly collapsed onto you, not putting full weight pressure, but just comforting enough. 

the scent of sex and sweat and cologne hung heavy in the air. sunghoon shifted with a small groan, dragging a hand over his face before rolling onto the side. 

you were—again—out cold, cheek pressed against his bare chest, breathing soft and even. your bodies together slicked against one another but he didn’t feel disgusted… just connected again. nostalgic. 

like how the two of you were in high school, sunghoon’s arm found its way around you without thinking, pulling you into a cuddle. he pulled the cover to cover your bodies, snuggling you against his warm chest. you smelled a lot like him and less like how you did when he saw you again at the restaurant.

the room was quiet save for soft breathing. sunghoon felt his eyelids drooping too from watching how peaceful you slumbered. and just as he was about to shut his eyes—his phone buzzed violently against the night stand next to him. next to it, his ring shone where he'd placed yesterday.

the sound made his stomach clench. he reached for it, careful not to wake you up, and the screen lit up with her name.

sooha baby ❤️ incoming call

ah, fuck. he’s back being an adult with real problems.  

——

sunghooney 💘 : i didn’t notice sorry

sunghooney 💘: someone offered to drive me home to seoul but tomorrow :/ so i’ll have to spend the night here 

sunghooney 💘: sorry for worrying u ;( i’ll see u tmrw ily

💌 well! stream sunghoon's odoriko on youtube <3 and please let me know what you think :( asks and comments and reblogs means so to me, more than you think (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) i hope you enjoy~

[skzophoria]

Chapter Nine: Southpaw

pairing: boxer!bang chan × med student!reader genre: sports drama · angst · smut · hurt/comfort status: ongoing warnings: explicit smut, sexual harassment/coercion mention (non-graphic but targeted), assault, violence, cancer/prognosis talk, no condom/creampie,

Christopher Bahng lives for the ring—the pain, the pressure, the promise of glory. You’re on the brink of losing someone you love to a fight they can't win. When your worlds collide, obsession meets resistance, and every round brings you closer to a choice: protect him, or watch him destroy himself. Because in boxing, no one leaves the ring untouched—and not every fight is fair.

taglist: open! (comment under masterpost to be added) notes: extra long chapter cuz other wise i'd have to split it into two and make another extra chapter and i'm not tryna do that ngl 😭 hope it keeps you guys well fed before the final chapter :)

masterpost | previous | next

Seungmin’s door opens before you knock.

He’s braced on crutches, color too thin for the hour, the line of his mouth already asking questions his voice hasn’t caught up to. The lemon-cleaner echo is still here, the ginger tea smell riding it like a habit you can’t quit. Behind him, the wheelchair sits folded by the shoe rack like a truth the room doesn’t want to say out loud.

“What—” His eyes do a fast inventory: your face, Minho’s jacket on your shoulders, Jisung hovering, the tremor in your hands you’re trying to bully into stillness. “What happened?”

“I told you not to get up,” Minho says, glaring. “Between the two of you, I don’t know who’s more fucking stubborn.”

Seungmin plants the crutches anyway, backs up to let you in, breath coming a notch too loud. “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” he says, low and fast. “I heard— I heard plenty in the tunnel, but I don’t have… context. Why were you there? Why are you shaking? Why is Minho carrying you like a fire drill? Why is Jisung…nevermind Jisung usually looks like that.”

Jisung blinks. “I’m not sure if I should be offended.”

Minho shuts the door, slides the chain. “Couch,” he orders, and because he’s the unofficial leader of your little group, you all head to the couch.

You end up on the cushion closest to the arm; Seungmin lowers himself beside you with a careful breath, crutches clacking into their corner. Seungmin stares at your rapidly bruising wrist. “Who did that?” he says, already halfway out of his seat. Then he realizes: “That guy. Who was with you in the tunnel.”

“What’d he look like?” Jisung pounces.

“Sit,” Minho interrupts. “You’ll fall.”

Seungmin drags a hand over his face. “Explain. Please.”

You swallow. “They’re… tilting things,” you start. “Not big dramatic cheating that gets them arrested. Little nudges. Bells ringing early when Chris is in trouble. Breaking clinches fast when the other guy’s working. Counting when it’s not a knockdown so he gets a breath. Swapping the timekeeper a lot. Weigh-ins moved ‘for cameras.’ And there’s a clause in his paperwork that says the event operator can make ‘timing adjustments’ and ‘substitute officials’ whenever they want.”

Seungmin blinks. “So… small cheats. Over and over.”

“Habits,” Minho says. “Enough habits and the floor slants.”

“I heard them say it,” you add, voice steadier now that the telling has a groove. “In the tunnel. ‘If he gets buzzed, bell goes.’ ‘We can always find ten seconds.’ ‘Market loves invincible.’ Event ops, both promoters.”

“I was on the call,” Seungmin says, eyes flaring with the memory. “I started recording after...things started getting weird. I still don’t know how we got there. Did you leave your seat?”

“I had to,” you say. “They were meeting by the tunnel. Minho and Jisung were watching the tables. I—” You glance at Minho, wincing slightly at the look he gives you. 

“She slipped,” Minho confirms, dry. “Past me. I should’ve cuffed her to the chair.”

Seungmin exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh. “So you heard them. And then?” He flicks his gaze to your wrist and away again, jaw flexing. “And then something else happened.”

Jisung’s mouth tightens.“We’ve got the audio.”

Seungmin goes still, everything in him narrowing. “I heard enough.” His eyes find yours. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” you say, honest. “Just—” You tap your wrist with a little shrug. “And the sick feeling.”

Minho nods once. “Okay. So that’s the tunnel. Now the ring.” He looks at Seungmin because he knows you’re dragging. “Round two ended early. Four ended early. Five had a nonsense count. Ref broke the other guy when he was working. We’ve got the timestamps; Sung pulled the clips. They’re not huge on their own. Together they smell like a plan.”

Seungmin sifts all of it fast, eyes moving like he’s watching the fight in his head. “And Chan?”

Jisung blows a breath out. “He won. Big. She tried to tell him what she heard and he…didn’t love it, apparently.”

Seungmin looks back at you, feeling the bruise you’re not wearing on your face. “What did he say?”

You pick at a loose thread on the towel, because looking down makes it easier to stay level. “He thought I was saying he couldn’t win without help,” you say. “I told him that’s not what I meant. We… argued a bit. He was buzzing from the win and I was… not. It went sideways.”

“How sideways.”

“Sideways enough.” You press down with your thumb, a part of you relishing the pain that blooms from your wrist—it makes you feel real. “He told me if I was going to keep seeing a case instead of him, I shouldn’t bother coming to the final.”

Silence lands heavy and exact.

Seungmin closes his eyes like that sentence is fluorescent. “Okay,” he says after a beat, voice thin but keeping shape. “Okay. So—what the fuck is going on is: the show is sanding the edges for him now so they can feed him to their guy later. You caught them saying it out loud. He—because he is a human man who just did the biggest thing of his life—heard you say he didn’t do it. And because he is not made of stone, he said the worst version of his fear back at you.” He opens his eyes. They’re too bright. “Christ.”

“You’re not wrong,” Minho says, a rare gift. “And none of that makes the tunnel okay. Or the show. Or the clause.”

Seungmin’s hands spread, then fold. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, incredulous and hurt layered on top of each other. “Any of it. Before you were in a hallway calling me because you had no one else to call.”

You look at him, and you don’t answer with words. You let the look carry the weight: because the last time I pushed, you set me on fire. Because you told me to stop choreographing your pain. Because you said you didn’t want me here and then you told me something I can’t unknow. Because I didn’t know which version of you I’d get if I did.

He absorbs it. He’s always been good at reading your thoughts. You watch it hit, sink, sting. He nods once, apology sitting in the space between his ribs like a bird that can’t stop beating its wings.

Minho watches the look pass between you and Seungmin—some old, tender bruise glancing off a new one—and clears his throat.

“Alright,” he says, slapping his palms on his thighs like a coach calling time. “I left my car half-kissing a hydrant and Sung’s coming with me.”

Jisung blinks. “I am?”

“You are,” Minho repeats, already standing, already hooking his fingers in the collar of Jisung’s hoodie to tow him upright. “Two errands: I’m grabbing a spare drive from my place so we can mirror everything off Seungmin’s phone and your laptop—triple copies, one off-site. And you need to organize all the footage you got .”

Jisung catches up, nodding hard. “Right. Yes. Tech knight errand. Also I just found out your Wi-Fi is named K1mP0ssible which, frankly, I need time to respect privately.”

Seungmin snorts despite himself. Minho is at the entryway, slipping into his shoes. He checks the chain on the door, then pauses, turns back.

“Lock behind us,” he says.

The chain clicks, the door hushes shut, and the apartment shrinks to the sound of the fridge humming and the soft, arrhythmic swing of the heat coming on. You thumb the lock, check it twice. When you turn back, Seungmin is already watching you like he’s trying to read a chart without the legend.

“Water?” he asks, even though the bottle is right there on the table he set for you earlier.

You sit. “Please.”

He passes it over, settles back onto the couch with care—one hand braced to lower himself”. The crutches lean in their corner, stubborn shapes.

“Okay,” he says softly, as if raising his voice might make something shatter. “We need to talk.”

The words bring the fluorescent back—tile, hush, the wrong kind of clean. You nod once.

He drags his palm down his face, slow. “I was cruel,” he says, without flourish or defense. “I did it on purpose. I wanted you to hurt.”

“Yeah. I got that part.” Your throat tightens and loosens in the same second. You don’t say it’s fine. You don’t say it didn’t matter. You put the water down.

He looks at your wrist, at the bloom of purple surfacing under skin. Something in his expression buckles. “I’m going to tell you the piece I kept choking on,” he says. “And you’re going to be mad. You can be mad.” A beat. “The oncologist said… not much runway. Two months if we get lucky. More if luck is a lunatic. ‘Quality of life’ started showing up in every other sentence like a comma.”

The room tilts around the words without moving. You feel your breath look for a railing and not find one.

“I stopped,” he says simply. “Because we were at the part where the treatment is the illness, where the cure is a costume it tries on for you, and because the math didn’t make sense anymore.” He lifts one shoulder like an apology he can’t stand to dress up. “And then I thought—if you hate me, maybe it won’t rip you in half when the calendar does what it’s going to do anyway.”

The bottle on the table ticks as it shifts temperature. You stare at it until the letters blur and sharpen. “You can never make me hate you.”

“I wanted the exit wound smaller,” he says, a laughless sound. “Which is stupid. Because I’m selfish. I don’t want you to go. I can’t stand it when you do. So I tried to push you away and then stood in the doorway like a dog, furious you listened. I lasted—what—Three days? Two? Before I started texting you about raccoons and coffee. I am,” he says, mouth twisting, “selfish.”

A breath leaves you like a minute you’ve been holding too long. “You’re not selfish,” you say, then correct yourself because the truth matters, “You are, but not in the way that makes this wrong. You’re scared.”

His eyes lift to yours, dark and steady. “I’m jealous,” he says, and it lands dull and honest between you. “Of him. Of everybody, but of him especially. He gets to run and hit and laugh with his whole body. He gets late nights and clean scans and the luxury of being an idiot about the future. I wanted to be generous about it. I wasn’t. I see you with him and—I want to smash it because I can’t have it.” The next line is barely a breath. “And I hate that part of me, and it’s still here.”

You sit with it, and with the way your heart does not pull away from him. “You could have told me,” you say, gentler than you feel.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I forget.” He watches your face like he’s trying to memorize it in a way that won’t hurt later and knows that’s not possible. “I said ‘don’t come’ because I wanted to hurt back before I could be left. That’s the ugliest truth.” He swallows. “And the other ugly truth is that I love you. Which makes it all worse and better at the same time.”

It lands the same way it did in the tunnel—too big for the air, still somehow fitting you exactly. Your fingers flex on your lap. “I know.”

He nods as if that, too, is a form stamped and filed. “If you want to be done with me for a while,” he says quietly, “I won’t fight you. I started that distance. You get to finish it if you need to.”

You breathe once, twice. “I don’t want to be done.”

Something fragile unknots under his ribs. He exhales like a held note finally allowed to end. “Thank fuck.”

Something in him loosens at your answer and then frays. He tips his head back against the couch and stares at the ceiling like it might file him back into place. It doesn’t. His mouth presses flat; his throat moves once, twice—and then the breath he pulls catches wrong.

“God, I hate this,” he says, too evenly. “I hate that I can’t even—” He breaks off, jaw tight, eyes shining like he’s furious at the physics of it. “Cancer sucks.” It comes out small and ugly, like a truth he’s too tired to dress up. “It’s stupid and it sucks and I—”

The sentence dissolves. He curls onto his side, knees drawing in a little, one arm hooked under his head. The other hand fists in the hem of the throw pillow as if he could wring it dry. He cries the way he does everything he can’t stand: discreet, teeth set, eyes crushed shut so the tears have to find their own way around the stubborn set of his lashes. 

You don’t say anything. You move—quietly, automatically—into the shape you’ve been making around each other since you were kids on library carpet, since you were twelve and he split his chin on the monkey bars and wouldn’t let the nurse touch him unless you held his hand. You tuck yourself along his front, press your knees to his shins, slide a palm between his shoulder blades, slow and steady until your breathing becomes a metronome he can borrow. He tries to swallow the sounds back down. He fails. Your fingers find the nape of his neck and stay there.

The radiator ticks. Somewhere a pipe sighs. His breath stutters and steadies, stutters and steadies, until the fight in it runs out and he’s left with what’s underneath.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, hoarse, hating how it sounds. “I don’t want—” He drags a wrist over his eyes and immediately resents the gesture. “I don’t want this version to be the one you remember. The… whittled one. The mean one. The crying one. The guy who’s nothing without  blankets and pills and fucking ginger tea.”

You keep your palm between his shoulders. “That’s not what will stick.”

He huffs, disbelieving. You lift your head enough that he has to meet your eyes.

“I’ll remember you failing your first bike start at the park and refusing to let me hold the back of the seat because you didn’t want to hurt me if you fell—and then fell on me anyway.” The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. You keep going. “I’ll remember you at twelve, marching into Ms. Kwon’s office because she told me my book report was ‘too emotional’ and you told her that was the ‘fucking point’ and got suspended for two days. I’ll remember you stealing the cafeteria tongs to rescue a squirrel from the dumpster and then making me swear never to tell anyone you cried when it ran away.”

He groans into the pillow; you smile into his hair.

“I’ll remember you at sixteen, teaching my kid cousin how to float at the pool even though you hate pools, because she wouldn’t stop screaming unless you were there. I’ll remember you staying up with me all night before my chem exam, quizzing me until I wanted to throw the periodic table at your head.” You nudge his shoulder. “I’ll remember you at that ridiculous party you threw two months ago.” You glance toward the bookshelf where one still perches on a plant, crooked and royal. “You make everyone feel like belonging was a thing we are entitled to.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shining again. “Keep going.”

You laugh, watery. “I’ll remember you teaching yourself card tricks right in front of me and then refusing to do them unless I promised to act surprised. I’ll remember midnight grilled cheeses that were always burnt because you can’t fucking cook. I’ll remember you texting me that picture of the raccoon with the chip bag on its head. I’ll remember the version of you that keeps making a joke even when it costs you, because you can’t stand it when a room goes cold. That’s you. It’s who you are.”

He’s very still for a beat, as if he’s fitting himself against the memory. Then he breathes out, long. “You make me sound better than I am.”

“I’m not making you anything,” you say. “I’m reminding you.”

He stares at your mouth like the words are something he might try to hold with his hands. His voice, when it comes, is careful. “You’ll stay, right?”

“Until the very end.”

He closes his eyes, and the way his face changes is not relief exactly, but the thing that relief allows. He nods, once, like that line slots into a groove you both made years ago between book spines and movie marathons.

“Until the very end,” he echoes, steadying on it. His fingers find yours where they rest on his chest and weave through, tentative at first, then sure. “You think I’ll come back to life like Harry did?”

“Maybe,” You humor him.

He nods, gaze unfocusing on the far wall. “I keep thinking about that white place. The train station. If there’s a place like that, I want the benches to be warm. And I want the signs to be readable. None of that soft-focus crap.” He swallows. “And I want you there. Even if you’re only there because I’m imagining you.”

You don’t answer. If you do, you’ll start crying like a baby and make everything worse so instead, you lie there like that, curled into the version of quiet that isn’t empty. The radiator ticks again. The fridge hums. Seungmin’s breath evens out under your palm, warm and human and here.

The night holds. 

Two days later, the gym was closed but the lights were on. Chan had been holding pads for a kid whose parents never showed; now the kid was gone and the ring ropes creaked in the kind of silence that knew what you’d said and didn’t forgive it. His phone lay face up on the canvas with a battlefield of blue—missed calls, unsent drafts, a text bubble that had lived and died three times: I’m sorry. Can we talk? I messed up. Please—

Footsteps on the rubber. He didn’t look. “We’re closed.”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, voice already too loud for the empty room. He ducked under the top rope without waiting for permission, hoodie half-zipped, fury lighting his face like bad arena bulbs. “You and me? Open for business.”

Chan worked his jaw. “If this is a pile-on, bring Minho. Let’s just—”

“Minho’s in the car,” Jisung snapped. “Because he knows I need first swing or I’ll explode.” He tapped the phone with one finger, hard enough it hopped. “You been calling her?”

“Every hour that doesn’t make me a stalker.” The admission came out smaller than he meant. “She won’t pick up.”

“Yeah,” Jisung said, eyes flat. “Because you told her not to come to your final. Because you made her choose between being right and loving you, and then punished her for being both.”

Chan felt the hit and didn’t defend. He set the pads down and laced his fingers behind his neck until his shoulders bit. “Why are you here, Sung?”

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He dropped a canvas tote next to the phone. Three hard drives, a spiral notebook, and a legal folder thudded out like he was laying tools on a workbench.

Chan felt his ribs tighten. “What is this?”

Jisung didn’t answer him. He just popped the laptop open on the canvas, fingers moving fast, eyes flicking up once like he was daring Chan to flinch.

“This one,” he said. “Tunnel. Seungmin’s angle.”

He hit play.

Chan heard her before he saw anything—her voice, pitched for calm, low because she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. Then other voices, blurred by the tunnel: book’s clean now… time’s friendly… market loves invincible… we can always find ten seconds. He knew those cadences. He’d heard them on headset days, backstage days, “just a quick meeting” days.

Then the sound jumped. A crack of scuffle, breath knocked out of her, the ugly scrape of phone-on-concrete. The image spun and froze sideways on gray cinderblock, then settled on the ceiling—bluish work light, rust line, nothing else. From here on, it was all audio.

Listen to me… you’re gonna stop playing reporter… go bat your lashes… make sure he stays grateful… use that mouth… wrap those legs… that’s how you help a career.

Chan’s jaw went hard. The tendon at the side of his neck stood out. He didn’t talk.

The man kept going—lazy, practiced, knowing exactly how loud he could be and still think no one official would hear him. Pretty keeps your boyfriend’s checks coming… I can tell him you begged… I can make him hate what you cost him… I can make you famous in the wrong rooms… It wasn’t flirty. It was leverage with a hand on her body.

Chan’s fingers closed on the top rope until the leather bit into his skin.

Jisung didn’t add commentary. He just watched Chan listen.

He knew exactly which short, over-friendly little man would smile at a phone and say, Hi, Seungmin. Big fan. He knew the cologne. He knew the watch. He knew the way the guy liked to stand half in your space so the cameras could see him in the shot.

Chan stopped breathing for a second.

On the screen: ceiling. On the audio: You like your boy’s face pretty? Keep your mouth pretty, too.

He snapped the laptop shut.

Silence rolled out, thick and humming. The gym lights buzzed. The ring ropes creaked once where his hand was still braced.

“That’s enough,” Chan said. His voice was flat and low, the kind he used when he was walking a kid through his first spar and the kid didn’t know yet they were about to bleed. “I heard it.”

Jisung searched his face. “So?”

Chan’s eyes were darker than the room. “I’ll handle it.”

“How,” Jisung said immediately.

Chan climbed out of the ring in one clean swing, movements clipped like he was counting reps. He grabbed his phone, slid it into his pocket, grabbed his hoodie off the post. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Chan.”

He paused by the light switches, back to Jisung, shoulders up around his ears with effort. “You got her out. You got it on tape. That’s your part.”

“What’s yours?” Jisung demanded. “Because if you’re going to storm in there alone and let them spin you, I—”

“I said,” Chan turned, finally, eyes hot and unbearably calm, “don’t worry about it.”

Jisung shut his mouth. That tone meant he wasn’t bluffing.

Chan looked at the laptop once more, like he could burn the audio into himself. “Nobody touches her,” he said, almost to himself, like a rule he was writing down. “No one.”

He killed the lights. The gym dropped into that half-dark that smells like canvas and sweat. Then he was out the door, quiet, fast, fury folded tight enough to travel.

The hospital lobby had that late-shift brightness that always felt a little too clean for the hour — floor buffed to shine, security guard half-watching the news screen, the smell of coffee that had been hot three hours ago. You were halfway through a chart you weren’t really reading when the ambulance doors banged open and the air changed.    

Two EMTs rolled in a stretcher at speed.       

On it: him.     

For a second your brain didn’t let it land. Then your hands went cold.      

It was the short promoter.      

No slick suit, no lanyard, no pretend-friendly face organizing an event. Just hair wet from whatever they’d washed off him, blood drying in scallops at his hairline. One eye was ballooning shut, skin mashed purple over the cheekbone. Nose packed. IV already hanging on a pole. The kind of bruising you recognize from a fall. Or a fight.      

“Male, fifties, found in a parking lot behind the civic center,” the lead EMT was saying, voice practiced. “GCS fifteen, vitals stable, multiple blunt-force traumas to face and torso, possible rib involvement, right forearm contused but strong radial pulse. Says he ‘fell.’” The EMT didn’t bother hiding his skepticism at that last part.      

Your stomach flipped so hard you had to lock your knees.      

He saw you.      

Not first. First he clocked the ceiling tiles like he was cataloguing where he’d landed. Then he scanned faces — triage nurse, tech, charge — and then his gaze snagged on you like he’d walked into glass.      

For one sharp second, his expression did this wild, fast thing — calculation, recognition, ugly memory — and then it slid back to something pitiful and injured. He opened his mouth like he was going to call you sweetheart again. What came out was a wet, nasal, “You.”      

Your throat closed.      

You were not supposed to react. You were supposed to be the neutral, professional, “let’s get you seen,” “what’s your pain level,” “do you have any allergies.” You were absolutely not supposed to be the woman he’d pinned to cinderblock telling him to get off.      

But he was right there. In your hospital. On your stretcher. Looking like someone had picked him up and shook the arrogance out of him.      

“Y/N?” the triage nurse said, quick, reading your freeze. “You good?”      

“I’m—” You forced your voice to work. “Yeah. Yeah. What’s he coming in for?”      

“Assault, probably,” she said, already slapping the ID band on his wrist. “Says he fell, but… yeah, no.” She lifted her chin. “You can take him back?”      

Your mouth said, “Yes,” before the rest of you could decide.  

They rolled. You moved with them because habit is older than trauma. The wheels hissed across linoleum; the automatic doors sighed. The fluorescent hallway tilted you straight back to the tunnel — same buzz, same hum, same too-bright light on skin.      

He blinked up at you, good eye working. Even smashed up, he tried the old angle. “You recording now too?” he rasped, voice thick from the packed nose. “You and your… little friends?” He winced when the stretcher bumped the doorjamb. “I’m gonna need… a lawyer present.”          

You stared at him, at the gauze, at the raw scrape along his jaw where he’d met concrete.      

Every instinct screamed Chan.      

Not Minho — Minho would’ve filed a complaint and burned him down on paper. Not Seungmin — Seungmin could barely stand without crutches. Not Jisung — Jisung talked big but Minho kept him on a tight leash.      

Your heart did a sick, traitorous swoop.      

“Sir,” you said, automatic, grabbing onto the script like a rope. “We’re going to get you evaluated. I need to ask you a few—”    

He coughed a laugh that turned into a groan. “He hits like he fights,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Should’ve… expected… loyalty package.”     

Your head snapped down. “Who hit you?”      

He looked at you from under the swelling — even now he still found a way to be smug, knowing bastard. “Oh, sweetheart,” he slurred, “you know who your prince is.”      

Heat climbed your chest like a rising tide — fury and something that was not fury at all tangled together. Because of course Chan would. Of course he would hear that audio and go straight to the source and settle it in a language men like this actually understood. Of course he wouldn’t tell you, because then you’d have to pick between reporting an assault and letting him defend you.      

You swallowed it all back down.    

“CXR, facial CT, pain, tetanus,” you rattled to the nurse, voice tight but steady. “Get Dr. Park if she’s still on. And page security to get his statement now while he’s talking.”  

He lifted his busted hand an inch, like he was going to catch your wrist again. The IV tape yanked. He hissed. “Careful,” you said, sharper than you meant. “Don’t move that.”      

“You gonna tell them?” he croaked. “Tell them I tripped? Or tell them I got jumped?” His good eye glittered, mean through the swelling. “You know what that’ll do to his career, princess.”      

You met his stare dead-on. “You sexually harassed me in a workplace and threatened to tank my boyfriend’s career if I didn’t go along with it,” you said, quiet enough it was for him only. “This is the part where you say ‘thank you’ I’m not stopping this gurney and blowing your spot right here.”      

Something ugly flashed across his face — the memory of being in control and now very, very not.      

You rolled him into the bay. Monitors chirped, light swung, doors swished. People moved around him like he was just another body that needed fixing.      

You stepped back, out of the flow, hand pressed over the bruise on your wrist like a reflex.      

Chan did this.      

Chan, who’d kissed your forehead still hot from the crowd and then ripped you open with one sentence, had gone out and put his fists where his apology should’ve gone.      

You didn’t know if you wanted to shake him or hold his face in your hands and say that’s not how we fix things. You didn’t know if you wanted to call him and say thank you or not call him at all so he’d sit in what he’d done.      

In the hall, you could see security heading down with clipboards and those cop-adjacent faces that meant paperwork. Behind them, Dr. Park moving fast, eyes already scanning the chart.      

You backed out of the doorway before he could start pointing or lying or twisting it into a version where he fell.      

In the bright wash of the nurses’ station, you pulled your phone out.  

It was full of his missed calls. All those blue lines. Your thumb hovered.      

Then you locked it, shoved it back in your pocket, and went to wash your hands.      

By the time you got home your scrubs smelled like hospital air and someone else’s antiseptic, and your head was noisy with two things at once: the way his eye had swollen shut, and the way he’d said you know who your prince is like he’d won even on a gurney.

You dropped your bag just inside the door, toed your shoes off in a way that would’ve made Minho nag you about a mat, and stood there in the dark for a second, keys in your hand, listening to your apartment breathe. Fridge hum, heat ticking, faint traffic five floors down. Normal.

Your brain didn’t match it.

Because what were you supposed to do with that?

Option A: be furious. He assaulted a man. At least, he made sure a man ended up in your bay. That is not how you solve institutional corruption. That is how you get your license in trouble, how you get your name said in investigations, how you make things messier.

Option B: be… flattered? Protected? Whatever stupid desperate thing your body had done when the promoter called him your prince. Because some raw, animal part of you had gone still with satisfaction. He heard me. He believed me. He hit someone for me. It was ugly and it was true.

Option C: both, in rotating shifts.

You chose D: shower.

You turned the water hotter than you usually do, sat on the edge of the tub while the steam fogged the mirror, then got in and let the water thrum over your scalp until the hospital seeped out. You scrubbed your wrist carefully where the bruise was blooming like spilled ink. You let your forehead rest on the tile and said, out loud to the empty room, “You’re going to have to talk to him.”

The tile did not argue.

After, you padded out in a t-shirt and panties, hair dripping down your back, lights still off because the city had its own. You were toweling your hair when you wandered to the window out of habit.

You weren’t expecting a five-foot-seven guilt trip on the sidewalk.

But there he was.

Chan’s car was across the street, hazards off so he didn’t draw attention, under your building like he’d been there a while. He was pacing in front of it, hoodie up against the cold, hands on his hips, head down like he was scolding the pavement. Every few steps he’d stop, rub a hand over his face, look up at your building, then look away like he wasn’t sure if showing up was allowed.

You stilled behind the curtain.

He looked… torn up. Not bloody. Not bruised. Just that post-fight restlessness with nowhere to go — the kind that usually gets burned in the gym. Shoulders tight, jaw working, phone in his hand like a lifeline. He checked it, sighed, paced again.

You watched him for a beat, towel hanging over your shoulder, hair dripping on the floor. He had no idea you were standing there like some nosy earthbound angel, seeing every breath.

You could’ve let him knock.

You could’ve let him stew.

Instead, you reach for your phone, and hit his name.

Down on the street, mid-pace, his phone lit. He jumped like it had bitten him, fumbled, stared at the screen, clearly not believing it for a half second — then answered so fast he almost dropped it.

“Hello?” he said, breathy, like he’d just run stairs. He spun in place, looking up and not seeing you. “Hey. Hey. Baby?”

Your hair drip-drip-drips onto the old radiator paint, a slow metronome. You tuck the phone between cheek and knee and watch him.

“Hey,” he says again, softer, as if the word might spook you. He’s still scanning the building like you’re a constellation he should be able to name. “I didn’t know if— I’ve been—”

You let the silence sit. You breathe into it. The line fills with his exhale and the distant bark of a car door somewhere down the block.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said after the fight,” he adds, not performing it, just laying it down. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I’m sorry without….” He sighs, scrubs at his face.

Your heel taps once against the wood. “You outside long?”

He looks at the buzzer, then back at the door, then up at the building again as if he could triangulate the exact pane you’re behind. He can’t. You watch him try. He rakes a hand through his hair; the hoodie tugs at his neck. 

“A while.” He glances at his watch “I wasn’t going to buzz. I just—didn’t want to not be here. In case you…” He trails. “I can go.”

You let him hang there for a moment. Not long. Just long enough for that hopeful little rise in his voice to sag like he’s bracing to walk back to the car.

“Come up.”

You can hear the way his whole body reboots. “Yeah?” he says, too fast. “Yeah—okay. Okay. “

He’s already moving; you watch him cross the street at a trot, hood up, shoulders hunched against the wind. He disappears under your awning. A second later the building door gives its familiar rusty CHNK.

You stand, finally, the shirt falling to mid-thigh, hem warped from too many washes, cotton going darker where it clings to damp skin. You don’t go hunt for pants. He’s seen you in less; there are bigger animals in this room than modesty.

You pad to the door barefoot. The hall outside is dim, elevator groaning its slow climb. You can hear his sneakers on the stairs instead—of course he took the stairs; the elevator in this building fights for its life on a good day.

His footsteps hit your floor. You toss the phone on the console. A second later: knock-knock. He could let himself in—he knows the code—but he doesn’t. You pad to the door and open it without fanfare.

He’s right there in the hall, hoodie on, cheeks a little pink from the sprint, eyes doing a fast sweep of you—wet hair, bare legs, wrist bruised under the hem of your sleeve. He doesn’t leer. He doesn’t even smile. His throat just works once, like the sight of you hurt and here is a lot to take.

“Hey,” he says, soft.

He takes you in like a man who thought maybe he’d never get to again.

“You saw the video.”

He nods once. “I did.”

You tilt your head, eyes steady. “You attacked him.”

Not a question either. He knows who you mean.

He doesn’t bother denying it. He just stands there in your doorway, large and not quite sure where to put his hands. “Yeah.”

Your mouth curls, not quite approval, not quite censure. “In a parking lot behind the civic center.”

That surprises him; his brows lift. “He told you that?”

“He told triage,” you say. “He told me. Then he told security he fell after I...doesn’t matter.”

Chan’s jaw flexes. “He didn’t fall.”

“I know.”

Silence folds over the room. Your apartment hums. A drop from your hair hits the floor. You watch him watch that.

“Come here,” you say finally, because you’re cold and he’s still in the door like a delivery. “You’re letting the draft in.”

He moves. He doesn’t lunge. He crosses slowly, like you might spook. When he’s close enough, you can see the way his eyes keep shooting back to your wrist like a magnet. He reaches, slow, telegraphed. You let him. His fingers close around your forearm with ridiculous care, turning it so he can see the purple fingerprint the promoter left.

Chan goes very, very quiet.

“Well,” you say, dry. “Now he has a million to match.”

Something like satisfaction flickers through him and then tucks away because he knows it’s not the point. He lifts your wrist higher, thumb barely touching the bruise. “I should’ve been there.”

“You weren’t,” you say, not unkind, just factual. “You didn’t believe me.”

He closes his eyes a second, guilt carving his mouth. “I know.”

You ease your arm back from his grip. You shift farther onto the couch and tip your chin to the space beside you. He sits, careful, shoulders rounding to make himself smaller. You stay curled—cat on a ledge, observing.

“I can’t have you doing back-alley justice every time someone looks at me wrong,” you say, eyes on him. 

“I know.”

“You could’ve been seen.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve been arrested.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve lost the final before you even got to it.”

His jaw tightens. “He put his hands on you.”

“And I’m not saying I hate that you cared enough to make him regret it,” you add. “I’m saying we need to be smarter than him. Because if you give him chaos, he’ll sell chaos.”

That gets through. He nods, eyes on his hands. “I get it.”

You watch him for another long second, weighing. Then you slide off the arm and in between his legs, your own still bare. His arm comes up on instinct at your hips, gathering, relief leaking out of him in a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

His hoodie is cold where it brushes your skin; his breath is warm at your temple. You let yourself lean, not because the fight is over but because sitting upright through it would be performative and you’re too tired for theater.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally.

You feel it before you hear it: the whole of him drop a rung. No speeches loaded behind it, no clever scaffolding, just the weight of the sentence.

“For not listening in the tunnel. For making you carry it alone. For saying don’t bother coming—” his voice scrapes, “—like the win mattered more than you. It didn’t. It doesn’t. I got loud about the wrong thing and quiet about the right one. That’s on me.” His hand spreads against your upper arm, as if to keep the apology from skittering away. “I’ll take whatever comes with that—your anger, your rules. I’ll earn being here.”

Your hands come up without asking you first.

Thumb to the hinge of his jaw, fingers curving into the warm of his cheeks, you make him look at you. Up close, he’s all the things you know by touch: the faint rasp where he forgot to shave, the small scar under his lip, the way his eyes try to hold still when he’s bracing. You steady him with your palms and the room narrows to the square of his face between your hands.

“I know,” you say, soft but exact. “And I hear you.”

His eyes flicker—hope, fear, the urge to say more. You don’t let him. You slide one thumb to the corner of his mouth, feel the apology there, and name the thing you’ve been carrying around like contraband.

“And I love you.”

It’s quiet in the way important things are quiet. No flourish, no soft music, just the truth laid between you like a clean bandage.

Something knocks loose in him. A release, a held breath finally allowed out of its cage. His hands tighten at your hips without pulling, like he’s asking the world to keep still. For a second he just looks at you, eyes gone glossy and bright, as if he’s checking the word for cracks.

He swallows. “I love you.” It comes out low, reverent, all the restraint he’s been trying to learn folded into the sentence. His forehead tips to yours.

You breathe him in and let it bloom, that messy, inconvenient swell you’ve been shoving behind triage and rules. You don’t want him fighting dragons for you; it’s true. But the ugly, unpretty fact is that when he did, some animal in your chest rolled over and showed its throat. You’re not going to live there. You’re not going to feed it. But you’re not going to pretend it didn’t purr.

“Listen to me,” you say against his mouth, not kissing him, just sharing the air. “I don’t need a prince. I need a partner. I need you to keep your hands for the ring and your head for the paper. I need you beside me when we walk in tomorrow. I need you to keep believing me the first time.”

“Yes,” he says, immediate. “Yes.”

“And—” your thumbs smooth down his jaw once, sealing it— “I love you.” You let yourself smile, small and real. “In case that part got lost under the lecture.”

His answering laugh is wrecked and quiet. “I heard it.” A beat. “I heard you.”

Your fingers slip from his jaw to his throat, resting in the warm notch just under his ear. You feel the swallow happen there; you feel the apology live there. He’s so still for you that the room seems to tilt toward the place you’re touching.

“Okay,” you murmur, and then you kiss him—once, slow.

He answers with restraint you can feel straining at the leash. His hands stay wide and careful on your hips, not dragging, just there, heat through cotton, thumbs memorizing the edge of your t-shirt. You tilt, press closer, and the kiss deepens—lazy at first, then not, his breath hitching when your teeth find his lower lip. He makes that quiet sound you like—half sigh, half whine—and it vibrates against your tongue.

You take his wrists and guide his hands higher, under the hem—skin to skin. His palms span your waist like they were made to measure it, reverent, warming a path up your sides. When his thumbs brush the undercurve of your ribs, you shiver; he feels it and goes softer, not hungrier, like he’s petting a skittish thing he wants to earn.

“Here?” he tries, barely touching your sternum with the backs of his fingers.

“Here,” you breathe, covering his hand with yours and pressing it flat. Your nipple tightens under the thin cotton and his eyes flash, dark and a little awed. He doesn’t yank; he learns. He drags the heel of his palm in a slow circle until your exhale breaks into pieces.

You rock against him, slow, the damp heat of you dragging over the line of him through fabric, and his head tips back to the cushion. The tendons in his throat go sharp; you chase them with your mouth—kiss, kiss, a soft scrape of teeth where his pulse stutters. His fingers flex at your hips, then splay, then slide—up your spine, down again, learning the map twice so he doesn’t get lost. When you nose under his jaw and breathe him in, his hand cradles the back of your skull like he’s afraid you’ll float away.

“Shirt,” you say against his throat, and he’s already helping—palms up, patient, letting you peel him like you’re unwrapping something you earned. Sweatshirt off, t-shirt next, the warm plane of him open under your hands. You flatten your palms to his chest and feel his heart kicking, a little wild horse he can’t make behave.

His breath hitches when you skim lower—over the ladder of his abs, the sharp V of his waist—then rise again, palms spread to feel him breathe under your hands. He’s heat and heartbeat and a ridiculous amount of patience.

“Good?” he asks, voice low.

“Mm.” You tip your chin, kiss the spot over his sternum. “Better than.”

You sit back enough to tug your own shirt off. His pupils go wide like you turned the room down to just you. He doesn’t snatch; he looks, slow, hands hovering as if asking one more time. You take one and fit it to your breast. His thumb learns you in circles, careful pressure, a ghost of teeth to your shoulder when your mouth opens on a quiet sound that makes him swear under his breath.

You grind, barely, just to hear him lose that tight control for a second—his hips buck, a small, helpless motion, and his fingers tighten at your waist.

He kisses you like a promise and then rests his forehead to yours, breath unsteady. “Wait,” he murmurs, thumbs skimming your ribs. “Let me— just let me make sure you’re ready. I don’t want to rush this.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, already shifting, already sliding your knees wider on the couch cushion. “I want you. Right now.”

His protest melts when you sink your weight into his lap and find the line of him through joggers—thick, hot, already aching for you. He exhales like you knocked the wind out of him, hands flying to your hips but only to steady.

“Baby—” a helpless sound, almost a whine. “Please—just—”

His hands flex, trying to slow you, but you’re already rolling your hips, finding the exact place that makes his breath go ragged.  

“Wait—condom,” he manages, voice frayed, eyes huge. “We should—”  

You drag yourself over him again, slow enough to make him curse. “I don’t want it,” you say, heat-sure, mouth an inch from his. “Do you?”  

His answer gets lost when you rut down just right; his head thunks back to the cushion, a soft, wrecked, “God—” torn out of him. He looks up at you, undone. “I—no. I don’t.” A swallow. “Please—just—come here.”  

You hook your fingers in his waistband and he lifts for you without thinking, obedient, letting you tug his joggers and boxers down enough to free him.He’s flushed already, thick and hot against his lower belly, breath coming in unsteady pulls like he can’t believe he’s finally here. His hands are hovering—big, careful, so obviously waiting for your lead that it softens something low in you.    

You brace one knee by his hip and guide him with your hand, tip nudging against you. The first push makes you suck in a breath—not pain, exactly, but a stretch that has teeth. You pause, hips hovering, fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Too much?” he gets out, voice all torn velvet. His eyes fly to your face, frantic. “Baby, we can—”  

You shake your head, jaw set. “Just—give me a second.”  

You tilt your hips, angle differently, breathe. He stays absolutely still for you—every muscle locked down, hands open on your thighs like he’s offering them. You sink again, slower, letting him slip into you inch by inch. It burns—sweet, hot, the kind that makes your lashes flutter. Your mouth parts around a quiet, “oh—” and his own eyes roll back like the sound alone could finish him.  

“Fuck,” he whispers, head falling against the couch. “You’re—baby, you’re so—”  

He doesn’t finish. Can’t. You’re taking him too deep, too warm, walls clenching around him while you adjust in small, careful circles. You plant your palms on his chest, feel his heart knocking, and use the steady rise of it to find your rhythm.  

He finally lets himself touch—palms sliding up the backs of your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, reverent lines over damp skin. Not directing. Just following. You ride in lazy, rocking motions, letting your weight sink and lift, sink and lift, every downward drag seating him higher, stretching you around the thick base of him. Wet sounds start to bloom where your bodies meet; he bites his lip hard like he doesn’t want to make noise and then loses that battle completely. 

“Baby,” he groans, low and wrecked, head lolling. “You’re gonna—hah—”  

You roll your hips a little sharper. His hand spasms on your thigh. His eyes flutter, then disappear under his lashes like he can’t hold focus. He’s gone boneless in that way he almost never lets himself be, thighs trembling under you, shoulders pressed back into the cushion, throat bared.  

You lean forward and your chest drags across his, skin to flushed skin. The change in angle makes you gasp and his hands fly up to steady you, sliding over your waist, up your sides, cupping your ribs like you’re glass. He’s gentle even now, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, not taking, just feeling.  

“Is it okay?” he pants, dazed. “Tell me if it’s—”  

“It’s good,” you breathe, and your voice is already thinner. “It’s really good.”  

You keep that slow, deep pace—like you’re testing how far you can drown and still breathe. Every time you drop, his mouth opens on a silent word, every time you rise, his hips chase helplessly. One arm slips around your back, dragging you even closer, so you’re pressed chest-to-chest, riding him in long, unhurried glides that make your clit brush his pelvis just right.  

His head tips back again, throat exposed, eyes half-lidded. That’s when his fingers find your bruised wrist. 

He catches it so softly you almost don’t feel it—just a warm hand closing over the ugly fingerprint. He brings it up, slow, like he’s lifting something sacred, and without looking at you, he kisses it. Once. Then again, longer, mouth lingering over the purple like he can erase it with heat.  

“Not your job to take that,” he murmurs against your skin, voice slurred with pleasure. “Not ever.”  

You pulse around him at that; he feels it, groans, bites at the inside of your wrist, gentle enough to soothe, rough enough to claim. His other hand slides down to your ass, just to feel the way you move on him, slow, greedy circles that take him to the root and drag back up slick.  

“You’re so good,” he says, words spilling now, breath hot where it fans over your wrist. “So good for me. Keep—just like that—”  

You do. You let your head fall to his shoulder, hair damp against his throat, and work him in that dreamy, syrup-slow tempo—up…down…roll…a small grind that makes him choke. He’s gone, eyes rolling back when you clench, hips jerking when you sink too fast. Every time he looks like he might snap and thrust up, you tighten your thighs and he groans, surrendering again. 

“Baby, I’m trying—” he laughs, broken, “—I’m trying to behave.”  

“You are,” you whisper against his ear. “You’re perfect.”  

He whimpers at that—actually whimpers, teeth catching his bottom lip. His hand on your wrist slips to lace your fingers, trapping your palm against his chest so you can feel how hard his heart is slamming. You ride him through it—lazy, drenched, intimate—like the world is just this couch and his breath and the wet slide of you taking him over and over.  

He turns his head, finds your mouth, kisses you on a shaky exhale. “Love you,” he mumbles into you, words blurring. “Love you, love you—”  

You answer by dropping your hips once, deep, taking him to the hilt. His whole body arches, eyes blowing wide, a helpless, “oh, fuck—” spilling out before he can catch it.  

You smile against his jaw and do it again.  

You ride him deeper, slower, your thighs working in a rhythm that feels less like movement and more like ritual—sensuous and precise, a molten drag of silk over heat. His hands shift lower on your hips, thumbs digging in when you rock just right, the weight of you pressing down until he’s buried to the hilt. A shudder tears through him when your walls flex tight around his length, and he presses his forehead to your shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. 

“Fuck—baby,” he gasps, voice unraveling at the seams. “You feel like heaven.”  

You don’t answer, not in words. You drag your nails lightly across his scalp, combing through the sweat-damp strands at his nape, watching his whole body go pliant under the touch. His throat is flushed, jaw slack, lashes trembling as he tries to keep his eyes on you but fails every time your hips roll slow and deliberate.  

You shift again and this time the head of his cock hits that angle that makes your toes curl. Your breath breaks on a whine—soft, startled—and his hand flies to the small of your back, anchoring.  

“There,” he whispers, wrecked. “Right there?”  

You nod, lips parted, pulse stuttering under your skin. You do it again—grind down, circle your hips, and feel the way his thighs twitch under yours. He’s so deep it borders on too much, but you don’t stop. You chase it, let it crest through your nerves like a tide that won’t recede. His cock drags over every soft wall inside you, thick and insistent, as your body folds around him and lets him stay.  

Chan’s hands cup your ass now, spreading you just enough to watch himself disappear into you—slow, reverent, like watching a prayer answered. His pupils are blown, mouth red and wet from all the bitten-back moans. You lean in and kiss the corner of it, just to feel the tremble.  

  “You’re taking me so good,” he says, hoarse. “So fucking good.”  

You hum against his cheekbone, wet skin slipping, your chest sticking to his with each breath. The couch creaks beneath you, a soft, rhythmic protest against the pace you’ve set—deep, languid rolls of your hips that press every nerve to the edge and keep it there. The kind of rhythm that builds under your skin like a fever, thick and sticky and slow to boil.  

He moves his hand from your wrist to your throat  resting, thumb dragging under your jaw while the rest of him stays pliant beneath you. His hips twitch, betraying how hard it is to stay still, and you kiss him to keep him from breaking.  

“I love you,” he says into your mouth again, over and over, like the repetition will keep him grounded.  

You push yourself up just enough to watch his face when you take him deeper again—when your slick walls swallow him whole. His mouth drops open, head tipping back hard, and for a second, everything in him goes still.

For a heartbeat he looks wrecked and holy at the same time.    

Then the feeling catches you. It sneaks up—starts as that low hum at the base of your spine, the one that’s been building since you first slid down on him, and sharpens into heat when you roll your hips just a hair faster. Your clit drags over his lower belly in these slow, delicious passes and your body starts to chase it without asking. You brace your hands on his shoulders and ride that angle, small, greedy circles that make everything inside seize with pleasure.    

“Yeah,” he breathes, watching you fall into it. “Yeah, baby—there you go. Take it. Take what you need.”    

His voice hits you as hard as his cock does. You whimper—quiet, broken-open—and clamp down around him. That’s what finally snaps his control. His hands tighten on your ass, fingers sinking into soft skin like he’s trying not to thrust up through you.    

“Oh, God—” he chokes, eyes rolling for a second. “You’re gonna make me—”    

“Then come,” you manage, breathless. “Come with me.”    

You bear down—slow, deliberate—until you’re seated on him all the way, pelvis flush to his. The stretch bites and your mouth falls open on a soft cry. He hears it and loses the rest of his restraint; his hands slide you up an inch and bring you down again, not rough, just deeper, like he needs to feel every slick inch of you around him.    

The wet sound where you’re joined is obscene now, hot and sticky and so close. He tips forward to suck one peaked nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling over it, and that’s what pushes you over. Your hips stutter; you clutch his hair with one hand, his shoulder with the other, and ride it.    

You come hard.      

It rips through you in one of those slow, body-hijacking waves — not sharp, not gone in a second, but rolling, rolling, rolling — from your clit to the base of your spine, out along your thighs. Your walls clamp around him in hot, gripping pulses and you can’t even keep your noises neat; they come out as soft, wrecked little sounds against his shoulder, your nails digging into him like you need to anchor.      

That’s it for him.      

Chan makes a sound you don’t hear from him in the ring — low, animal, punched-out — and all that restraint he’s been hanging onto just dissolves. His hands lock at your hips, fingers biting down, and he finally does what his body’s been begging to do: he surges up into you.      

Not wild, not careless — but deep. Deep like he’s been starving.      

Wet heat pushes up inside you with every upward snap of his hips. The couch gives a protesting creak; your thighs spread wider to take him. Your orgasm is still spilling through you, making you flutter around him, and he feels every single squeeze. His head drops to your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin, breath hot and frantic.     

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” he pants, voice gone rough. “You’re milking me— I can’t—”      

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, dizzy. “Chan, don’t—”     

“I’m not— I’m not—” he groans, hips punching up again, harder this time, losing rhythm to need. “I’m not stopping— God, you feel so good—”      

You ride him right back, matching every thrust with a roll so he doesn’t have to aim, just give. Your pussy’s soaked, messy, suctioning around him; the sounds are filthy and close and real. He’s properly fucking up into you now, all that carefulness gone, big hands guiding you down on him again and again like he can’t get deep enough.      

“Look at me,” he gasps. “Please baby.”  

You drag your eyes open — they’d fluttered shut from the pleasure — and find him. His hair’s fallen over his forehead, lips red, eyes blown wide and glassy. He looks half-gone, half-feral, all yours.    

“That’s it,” he says, voice breaking. “Stay right there for me. Let me see you. Let me—”     

Another pulse hits you — smaller than the first but sharp — and you clamp down around him again. He curses, long and helpless, head knocking back as his hips stutter.      

“I’m gonna—” he warns, desperate. “Baby, I’m—”      

You bear down and hold him right where you want him, deep, thick inside. “Yeah,” you whisper, dizzy with it. “Do it.”      

That’s the permission his body was waiting on.      

He slams up once, twice — deep, to the hilt — and then he’s spilling into you, groaning through his teeth. You feel it: the hot rush, the way his cock throbs thick inside you, the way his fingers almost bruise with how hard he holds your hips to him so you don’t move, don’t pull off, don’t waste a drop.      

“Baby—oh, fuck—oh baby—” it pours out of him, breathless, wrecked, voice jumping like it’s too much. His thighs shake under you; his abs flex. He buries his face in your neck like he needs to hide the way it’s taking him apart.      

You ride him through it, rolling slow, greedy, milking him. Each tiny movement makes him whine high and desperate in the back of his throat.

His body is still trembling under yours.

You stay there—both of you caught in the mess you made—his chest rising too fast, yours not much better. The wet sound of your last grind fades into silence, and for a moment the room holds its breath with you. You're still full. Still joined. Still pulsing around him in slow aftershocks that make both of you twitch.

His hands, which had clutched so hard at your hips only seconds ago, now ease, palms smoothing over your thighs like he’s petting a wild thing he just tamed. You’re boneless against him, collapsed forward with your cheek against the damp skin of his shoulder, your fingers loosely curled in the curls at the nape of his neck. He’s soft there, pliant—still panting quietly against your collarbone, mouth open, nose brushing skin.

Then you feel it—just a flex of his hips, barely a thrust, more like a press. His cock is still inside you, softened but swollen, and the smallest movement makes you jolt.

You shift, but he holds you closer with a palm against your back. “Don’t,” he murmurs, voice warm and cracked at the edges. “Stay.”

You breathe, nod, press a lazy kiss to the side of his head.

Another shallow push. Just a nudge, like he’s not done being part of you.

“I love you,” he says again, quieter this time. It’s almost like a thought spoken aloud.

You turn your face just enough to look at him. His lashes are still fluttering like he’s catching up to his own body, but he finds you—eyes soft and shining, a crooked smile curling the edge of his lips.

“I mean it,” he adds, thumb dragging over the dip of your spine. “Not just when we fuck. Not just because you make me feel like—” He breaks off, breath hitching. “Like I’m worth something. It’s everything. You’re everything.”

Your throat tightens. You shift your hips just a little and feel him throb again inside you.

“Chris…” you whisper.

He groans softly—like the sound of his name from your mouth is enough to get him hard again—and his fingers flex where they rest low on your back.

“I should be letting you rest,” he murmurs, eyes falling shut. Another slow roll of his hips into yours. “But I can’t stop thinking about how good you feel.”

You exhale against his temple. “Then don’t stop.”

That does something to him. He hums, something raw and grateful, and then kisses the curve of your shoulder, lingering there like he wants to press his soul through your skin.

His hands move again—caressing now. Not greedy, not taking, just relearning the shape of you: down your sides, up your arms, across your ribs. He finds your hand where it’s fallen limp on his chest and laces your fingers with his, holding them there. Another small thrust, slow and full.

He breathes you in like he needs the scent to keep talking. Another slow press of his hips—just enough to remind both of you where you are—and then he finds your hand on his chest and squeezes.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, rougher now. “For…all of it. For not listening. For making you stand there alone. And for what I did after.” A beat. “I lost my head.”

You rub your thumb along his pulse. “Tell me.”

He nods once against your shoulder, nuzzles there like it braces him, and keeps you seated—keeps himself inside you—while he starts.

“I should’ve called you,” he says. “I should’ve told you I was going. I was just—” he grimaces, jaw working, “—I was hot. Seeing you like that on the video? Hearing his voice on it? You saying ‘move your hand’ and he didn’t? I saw red. I didn’t… I didn’t think.”

You arch a brow, silent: and?

He huffs a mirthless little breath. “I went to the civic center. Their offices are still set up there while the tournament’s running.” His fingers rub low on your back, an absent circle. “Short one was in the lot. Alone. He said something cute, real smug. I didn’t let him finish it.”

You picture it—the way the promoter looked on the gurney, the purple balloon of his eye, the way he’d said you know who your prince is. Yeah. You believe it.

“I didn’t go crazy,” Chan adds quickly, like he wants you to know he tried. “I didn’t stomp him. I didn’t hit him where it would mess his head. I just… put him down.” A beat. “Hard.”

“You put him in my ER,” you say, but there’s no real heat in it. It’s a fact, not a wound.

His mouth tilts, guilty. “Yeah. I figured. I saw the ambulance pull in when I was leaving.”

You blink. “You were still there?”

He nods, sheepish, eyes sliding away. “Tall one pulled me back in before I could go.”

That gets your attention. You straighten a little on his lap; he groans low at the movement but lets you. “What’d he say?”

Chan’s face goes harder.

“I told them I’m done,” he says. “I told them I’m not going to the final if they’re gonna play with time and refs. I said I don’t want wins like that. I said if they touch you again, it’s not gonna be a parking lot, it’s gonna be—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Point is, I said I’m out.”

Your heart kicks. “And?”

He looks back at you, frustration flashing. “And he laughed.”

Of course he did.

“Said, ‘You think you’re out?’” Chan mimics, voice going flat. “Then he pulls this folder—already printed, already waiting—and he lays it out. Same blue ink as the ops sheet I signed. Same date. My name. Only this one?” He snorts, humorless. “This one says if I ‘unreasonably withdraw’ from ‘tournament obligations’ I owe them a ‘liquidated damages fee’ equal to projected broadcast revenue plus promotional costs.”

You stare. “They forged you.”

He nods once. “He even said it without saying it. ‘You boys sign so fast,’” he quotes, eyes going cold. “‘Hard to keep track of what you did and didn’t agree to.’”

You feel your stomach do that slippery little drop. “How much.”

“Too much.” His jaw works again. “Six. Figures. Baby,” He lifts his hand, palm up, helpless. “I don’t have that. I don’t have half that. I don’t have a quarter of that.”

You swallow. “They can’t enforce a forged signature—”

“They can’t,” he cuts in, “if I can prove it.” His hand tightens over your back. “But they’ve got the page. And the pen. And the video of me in their office signing shit that day. And they know lawyers cost money I don’t have because all my money goes to gas and rent.”

“There has to be a way out,” you say into the curve of his throat. “We don’t let them choose the shape of this.”

His hand strokes down your spine once, thinking. He’s quiet long enough that you lift your head. The room is dim and honest; his eyes are, too.

“I keep turning it over,” he says, voice low. “Every version where I walk away feels like I let them write the ending.” A beat. His thumb moves at your waist, absent, tender. “I… want to fight.”

You feel the truth of it leave him like heat. It lands between you, simple.

“Clean,” he adds quickly, almost a flinch. “On my feet. On my terms. Nothing bent. Nothing borrowed. If I do it, it has to be that.”

You search his face—jaw set, mouth soft, eyes bright with something that isn’t anger anymore. Want, yes. Pride. A stubborn, stubborn faith in the thing he loves.

Your chest loosens. “Then that’s the only version,” you say. “If you go, you go clean. If they try to tilt it, we don’t play.”

His breath shakes; he nods. “We,” he repeats, like the syllable steadies him.

“No more parking-lot heroics,” you add, one brow up.

A ghost of a smile. “No more.”

“And you believe me the first time.”

“I will.” His palm cups the back of your head, brings your forehead to his. “I do.”

You kiss him, small and sure. He answers the way he’s been answering all night—careful first, then a touch needier when your fingers slide into his hair. A lazy, thoughtless rock of your hips makes both of you exhale at once; he huffs a wrecked little laugh against your mouth.

“Sorry,” you murmur, not moving away.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, cheeks pinking; his hands settle at your hips to still you, not to stop you. “I just… like being here.”

“Me too.”

Silence for a few heartbeats. Radiator tick. City hum. The faint, shared awareness of where your bodies are still joined.

“Will you be there?” he asks finally, so soft you almost miss it. “If I do this. Even if you’re mad at me. Even if I’m a mess. Will you—” He swallows. “I fight better when I can find you.”

You breathe once, careful. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone. “I can’t.”

Eveyything in him flickers—alarm first, then shame that it’s alarm. “Because I—” His mouth tightens. “Because I told you not to come.”

“Hey.” You squeeze his jaw, gentle. “No. Not that.”

His throat works. “Then—”

“Schedule,” you say, sorry already in your voice. “I’m on. They just posted the rotation. It’s a swing that runs straight through your call time. I can’t swap; we’re thin. If I trade, somebody’s sleep gets stolen from the wrong place.” You smooth a hand down his chest, feel his heart thud against your palm. “If I could cut myself in two, I would.”

Some of the panic drains; something smaller and more human is left. He nods once, eyes searching your face like he’s looking for a loophole you haven’t found yet. A shallow shift happens inside you—unthinking, soft. Both of you feel it.

“I wanted…” He trails, just breath. “I just wanted to look up and see you.”

“I know.” You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be waiting for you after. Win or lose, I don’t care.” You hesitate slightly. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

He nods, almost before you finish. “Yeah.” It’s not loud. It’s not chest-thumping. It’s just … certain. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

You search him, thumb still at his cheekbone. “Even after tonight?”

“Because of tonight,” he corrects, eyes steady on yours. “Because now I know what it looks like when it’s bent. And I know what I want it to look like.” His fingers flex low on your back, a tiny, absent roll of his hips that makes both of you sigh. “I want it straight. I want it honest. I want to walk out and not have to wonder if the bell saved me or I saved me.”

Your throat stings. “Okay.”

“And I want…” He glances down between you, where you’re still wrapped around him, glances back up, cheeks going a little pink. “I want to win with this in my head. Not them.”

You lean in, press your mouth to his. It’s not a hungry kiss; it’s one of those slow, anchor ones—mouths fitting, breathing together, his lashes brushing your cheek because he’s that close. When you pull back, your forehead stays on his.

“I’ll watch,” you murmur. “I’ll find a screen.”

His eyes soften like you just took a weight off his ribs. He exhales, long, warm, shoulders dropping. “Okay. Okay.” Another tiny, mindless thrust—just enough to feel you clench. He groans quietly, smile cracking through. “Sorry. Can’t stop.”

“Don’t,” you say, amused, stroking his curls back. “I like it.”

He grins, wrecked and boyish. “You make it really hard not to wanna keep you right here.”

“Nothing’s stopping you.” You say simply.

Something in him melts.

“Yeah?” he whispers, like maybe you’ll change your mind if he breathes too loud.

“Yeah.”

He gathers you then—not to fuck, not to start it up again, but to keep. Both arms around you, forearm under your thighs to tuck them tighter around his hips, palm splayed across your back so you don’t even think about sliding off him. He sinks lower into the couch, bringing you with him, until you’re molded along his chest, cheek to his shoulder, still full of him, still open and soft.

His cock gives one more sleepy pulse inside you; you hum.

“This is all I wanted,” he says into your hair, voice gone drowsy and honest. “You. Here. Believing in me. Letting me believe you.”

“You were a little slow on the second part,” you murmur.

He winces, even smiling. “I know.” He tips his head, kisses your hairline. “I’ll be faster.”

You feel him think about it—about parking lots and blue ink and the way you’d looked in that tunnel video—but the thought doesn’t stick. Not with you warm and spread over him like this. He just tightens his arms, like he can hold the night in place.

The room has fallen into that late, humming quiet. Radiator ticking, fridge breathing, city seeping through the windows in stripes of sodium orange. Your hair is mostly dry now; it feathers under his chin. His fingers have slowed to those absent, half-asleep circles between your shoulder blades. Every now and then his hips make the smallest, unconscious push up into you—nothing hungry, just checking: still with me?—and your body answers: still.

You angle your face up. “You know I’m proud of you, right?” you say, soft as the couch. “Even when I’m mad.”

His eyes flicker open—dark, so full. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You kiss the line of his jaw, lazy. “You did the right thing in the end. You listened.”

He breathes out like you took a weight off. “Good,” he whispers. “’Cause I don’t wanna lose you over a fight.”

“You’re not,” you say, firm enough to count. “You’re stuck.”

That gets a real smile. “Good,” he says again, eyes already drooping. “That’s what I wanted.”

You let your head drop back to his shoulder. Your legs stay looped around his hips even as your muscles go boneless. His hand finds the back of your thigh and stays there, thumb drawing nothing shapes. Your heartbeat and his start to match—two steady drums under one blanket.

“Sleep,” he says, voice gone thick. “Right here.”

You wiggle just enough to get comfortable, to tuck your face into the warm space beneath his throat. He makes a pleased, sleepy sound and rolls you both a fraction so you’re more on your side, less on his ribs. He’s still inside you when sleep starts to pull—soft, not demanding, just that heavy-limbed quiet you only get when you’re safe.

“Night, Chris,” you whisper.

“Love you,” he answers, automatic, already half under.

“Love you, too.”

Outside, the city keeps its noise. Inside, the couch holds. You breathe him in, let the day drain out of you, and with his arms around you and your body still joined, you let the dark close gently over both of you.

They made him wait in the tunnel.

Not the usual thirty seconds for TV timing — a full two minutes of standing under bad fluorescent where the concrete sweated and sound from the arena came through in waves. The music was already rolling, hype man doing his script, crowd chanting his ring name like it belonged to them.

South-paw. South-paw. South-paw.

Chan rolled his shoulders once, gloves already velcroed, robe half open. He could feel sweat at his temple and he hadn’t even walked yet. His heart was up — not nervous, not the old, rattly kind — just high. Ready. He’d watched every second of tonight’s card from the back, eyes on the timekeeper, on the ref crew, on the graphics monitor whenever someone left a replay up too long. And for the first time all tournament, nothing was crooked.

No early horns. No magic counts. No “lace issue” when the favored guy needed to breathe.

They were behaving.

Because they were scared of what he had.

Footsteps on concrete. The tall promoter came out of the side hall like he owned the corridor — headset hanging loose around his neck, pass lanyard swinging, that same bland network smile not even tried tonight. He shut the door behind him with his foot and looked Chan over like he was a prop that had gotten mouthy.

“Figured we should touch base,” the man said.

Chan didn’t step back. “We already did.”

“Mm.” The promoter’s eyes were cool, bored almost. “You made a lot of noise.”

“I meant every word of it.”

“You boys get dramatic when your girlfriends are concerned.”

Chan’s jaw locked. “Say it again.”

The promoter’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, not quite not. “Relax. He’s on ice. HR statement tomorrow. Family man, real tragedy.” He flicked invisible dust off his blazer. “You, on the other hand, have a job.”

“My job is to fight,” Chan said. “Not to sell your rigged miracle.”

“Tonight isn’t rigged.” The man actually sounded offended. “Production’s listening. Commission’s sniffing because your little nurse friend sent in ‘concerns.’” He rolled his eyes like ethics were an inconvenience. “Congratulations. You got your clean night.”

“Good,” Chan said. “Then we’re done.”

“Not quite.” The promoter leaned on the wall, casual. His contempt wasn’t even dressed up this time. “You still owe us a show. You win clean — or you don’t win. But you go the distance. We need rounds. Sponsors bought rounds.”

“Your referee calls it how he sees it,” Chan said, meeting his eyes. “Your timekeeper hits sixty when he hits sixty. Your opponent gets to work if he can work. You stay out of it. That’s the deal.”

“And if we don’t?”

Chan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “Then I walk straight from this ring to every camera you’ve got and I tell them how quarterfinal two ended at fifty-eight seconds so someone could save me.” He tipped his chin. “And then I send every file to the state. And to every podcast that lives off this shit. And I let them eat you.”

A beat.

The tall promoter stared at him. For a second his face went flat — not network, not salesman, just the man. Mean. Calculating.

He pushed off the wall. “Go win your fairy-tale, kid,” he said, voice dipped in something acid. “Just remember who built the stage.”

He turned and walked back through the staff door without looking to see if Chan followed.

Chan didn’t. He rolled his neck once, checked his gloves, and looked down at his phone where it sat on the equipment crate. One unread.

🖤

Just a heart.

He smiled — quick, small, private — and handed the phone to the cutman. “Keep that for me.”

Then the music hit his cue. The tunnel light went white.

Time to walk.

The arena was a bowl of sound. Light on him, heat on him, names in the air like confetti. He did the walk loose — just enough bounce in his step to look like the cameras caught him mid-breath — but inside everything was tight focus.

Okay, he thought. Okay then.

The opponent was already in the ring. Big. Solid. One of those guys built to look good on TV — shoulders rounded, guard high, long enough reach to be a problem. And he was pissed. Chan could see it in the set of his mouth, in the way his coach was talking low and sharp in his ear. They’d promised him something. Now he had to earn it.

Good, Chan thought. Let’s see.

They touched gloves in the middle. Close up, the guy’s eyes were hard. “You ain’t walking through me, man,” he muttered. “I was told this was mine.”

“Then take it,” Chan said, smiling without warmth. “I’m right here.”

Bell.

They circled. Chan pawed the jab, found range. The other guy fired a stiff one right back and Chan ate it on the glove—solid, heavy. Yeah. This wouldn’t be a waltz.

Chan went to the body early — jab upstairs, drop downstairs, make the man think. The other guy didn’t like it; he came forward, tried to bully him to the ropes. Chan slid right, came off the line, tagged him with a short right hook. Crowd oohed. The ref said nothing. No fast break. No “watch the head.” Just boxing.

End of the round, the other guy flicked a two-piece and the bell rang right on sixty. No generosity. No theft.

Chan walked back to his corner breathing steady. His coach swabbed, talked in his ear, old rhythms. “He wants to make it ugly, Chris. Keep it long. Touch him, step off. Don’t admire your work.”

Round 2, the other guy figured him out. Cut him off better, trapped him once. Banged the ribs. Real shots. Chan grunted — those were gonna talk to him tomorrow — and pivoted out, answered with a hard hook to the liver that made the man blink.

But the thing was — Chan hadn’t had to fight for breath like this in a while. All those little time favors? All those counted slips? They hide bad habits. They make you a half-second lazy. And tonight every half-second cost.

Middle of the round, he got caught. Not stupid — not dropped-his-hands caught — just stepped wrong as the guy set his feet. Straight right down the pipe. Chan’s head snapped; his vision flashed white at the edges.

Shit.

The canvas tilted. The crowd went loud like smelling blood.

He clinched. The ref let them work a second, then broke them — not fast, not slow, just right. Chan backed off, head clearing, tasted copper. Okay. Respect.

“You good?” the opponent sneered. “Still wanna talk?”

Chan spat his mouthguard blood to the side, grinned. “You’ll know when I’m not.”

Bell. Sixty. Like a metronome.

Back in the corner, they iced the swelling starting by his cheek. “He’s getting to you when you sit,” coach said. “Stay off the damn ropes.”

“Got it.”

Round 3 was war.

They met center and neither wanted to give. Chan jabbed, jabbed, ripped the hook; the other man rolled it and came back with a left that rattled Chan’s teeth. They traded to the body — thud, thud, crowd roaring at the sound — and for a second it was just instincts and sweat and the smell of the ring.

Halfway through, Chan got cute — tried an inside angle to land the uppercut — and got punished. The right hand he didn’t see cracked him on the temple and this time his legs really went.

His knee touched.

Arena sucked in a breath.

Chan hit canvas on one hand, one glove.

The world narrowed to the ref’s pants and the sound of counting.

“One!”

Chan blinked hard. Vision reloaded. The ceiling lights were way too bright.

“Two!”

His ears were ringing.

“Three, four, five!”

Chan pushed. Legs wobbly. Head ringing. He got one foot, then the other under him.

“Six!”

Up.

He raised his gloves. Ref grabbed them, looked in his eyes — honest, professional, actually checked. “You good?”

Chan forced his focus sharp. “Good.”

Ref wiped his gloves. Let it go.

The other corner was already celebrating like they’d landed a KO. Chan put his mouthguard back in and nodded once like, alright. My turn.

He boxed clean the rest of the round. Legs back under him. Jab-move, jab-move, don’t stay where he can set. He even tagged the other guy late, a clean left that snapped the head and reminded everyone he was still there.

Bell hit on time.

His corner was all hands. Cold on the back of his neck, swab at the cheek, voice in his ear, “You cannot take another like that, Chris. Keep it clean. Keep it high. You’re in this. You hear me? You’re in this.”

He was. But fuck, he was feeling it.

Round 4, the opponent smelled the earlier wobble and came hunting. He pressed hard, tried to turn it into a brawl. Chan’s ribs took it, his arms took it; he parried what he could and ate what he had to. He landed his own — a gorgeous three-piece that made the crowd rise — but it was work. Ugly, honest work.

Round 5, Chan found a second wind. Maybe it was the tape job on his gloves, maybe it was knowing she was somewhere watching, maybe it was just spite. He went back to the body. Touch-touch, rip. Touch-touch, angle. The other man slowed — not much, but enough. Chan heard him grunt on a liver shot and filed it away: there. Right there.

At the bell, they bumped shoulders. The opponent gave him a look that said it all. Chan grinned, teeth bloody.

Final round.

Everything hurt.

His right wrist felt thick. His ribs on the left side screamed every time he twisted. There was sweat in his eye and he was pretty sure his cheek would swell shut in an hour. He could feel the tremble in his thighs — overworked, already talking about tomorrow.

But this was the one she’d be watching most closely. The one everyone would.

“Box,” ref said.

They did.

It was messy-beautiful. Two tired men refusing to give an inch. Chan pumped the jab, got caught, reset. The other man stepped in, Chan tied him, dug an uppercut that snapped his head back. They broke. Crowd on its feet now. Last thirty seconds was just grit — Chan on the front foot, then the other guy, then Chan again. Somebody landed to the body, somebody to the head — it all blurred into the roar.

Ten seconds. Clap-clap-clap from timekeeper.

Chan threw a last combination — jab, cross, hook — and two of them landed. The other guy swung something wild. Chan ducked. Bell.

Sixty. Clean.

He almost cried from relief.

He walked to his corner, rolled his shoulders, let them pull his mouthguard. He spit red into the bucket and bent over the ropes, lungs dragging. His coach slapped his back. “That’s it. That’s it.”

“Close,” Chan panted. “Real close.”

“Yeah. But you finished strong. Judges saw it.”

They called them to center.

Chan’s heart did that slow, agonizing climb. He looked to his right — to where the promoter would usually be watching from the floor — and saw him. Arms folded. Face neutral.

Not one flicker of nerves. Not one look at the judges.

Ref took Chan’s wrist. Took the other guy’s. The arena sank into that hot, vibrating hush.

The ring announcer read the scores.

“Judge one, 57-56… Southpaw!”

Crowd blew up.

“Judge two, 57-56… Torres!”

Split.

It really was that close.

Chan could hear his own pulse in his ears. Sweat stung his eyes. He stared straight ahead at the ref’s chest, at the mic.

“Judge three, 58-56… for your winner…”

A half-beat that lasted a year.

“…Southpaw!”

The place detonated.

Chan’s knees almost went. The ref yanked his arm up; his whole body lit. Noise crashed over him warm and bright and he let it — let it soak through every bruise, every sore inch. He’d done it. Without their hands. Without their bell. On his feet.

He looked up, like a reflex — like maybe he’d spot a hoodie in a sea of strangers — and instead he saw the camera red light. Good enough. He smiled into it. For her. For all of them.

For a breath it’s everything he ever wanted it to be.  

Light in his eyes, sweat cooling on his shoulders, ref holding his arm so high his ribs stretch. The crowd is on its feet — actually on its feet — a whole bowl of strangers losing their minds for him, not for some manufactured comeback or rushed bell, but for the fight he actually fought. 

“SOOOOUTH-PAW! SOOOOUTH-PAW!”  

It rolls around the arena like weather. His name — the one he bled for — coming back to him in waves. He laughs, helpless, a raw, broken sound, and thumps his glove to his chest. His coach grabs him from behind, jolting him, yelling something in his ear he can’t even hear over the roar. A camera swings in and Chan leans toward it on instinct, grinning big and stupid, teeth bloody, eyes alight.  

“We did it,” he mouths into the lens. Not I. We.  

He thinks of a hospital break room light, of you watching him on a tiny screen, of Seungmin and Minho and Jisung punching the air. He thinks of the promoter’s smug “you boys sign so fast” and it makes this sweeter, makes the win taste clean.  

He spins, arms wide, drinks it. His whole body is buzzing — not just from adrenaline, but from vindication. He’d told them: let me, and I’ll show you. He’d told her: I want it honest.  

He got it.  

Even the opponent’s corner — the cutman, the second — are clapping, tight-lipped but clapping, because fighters know. Because anybody who was watching could see how close it was and how he hauled himself off the floor to finish.  

Chan is still smiling when the ref pulls his wrist down. He shakes hands with the officials, nods to the commission, bows his head when someone claps his shoulder. He’s on a high plateau where the pain can’t reach yet — ribs screaming somewhere far away, cheek swollen, legs jelly — but the noise keeps him upright.  

He looks over the ropes, past the judges, past the cameras, to the floor.  

Tall promoter: there. Just off blue corner, headset tipped back, arms folded. Not applauding. Not smiling. Expression like carved ice.  

Chan holds his gaze a second and lifts his chin.  

Told you.  

The ring fills.

Not with people — not yet — but with color and movement and sound. Camera arm sweeping in, ring girl stepping through the ropes, security edging closer now that the belts and mics are about to come in. His opponent’s corner is climbing up, loud in the way losers sometimes get when they think a card went the wrong way.

Chan’s still high. Still lit. The canvas under his boots feels springy, light. He bounces once, shakes out his arms, grins at the crowd like.

And because he’s a good sport, because that’s who he is, even when people make it hard, he starts toward his opponent.

It’s the usual post-fight traffic: ref drifting between them, MC talking to the production table, two photographers crouched low, a medic slipping in under the bottom rope to start looking at damage. Chan angles his shoulders, weaving through.

The other fighter rips off his own gloves first — not to celebrate, but like they’re offending him. His face is thunder. His coach is in his ear, jaw tight, gesturing at the judges with the scorecards like it’ll change anything.

Chan gets close enough to speak over the roar.

“Good fight,” he says, still a little breathless. And he means it. Because it was.

The other man’s eyes cut to him. There’s no good-fight in them.

For half a second, Chan just thinks: Pride. Guy’s pissed. Give him a minute.

Then the man steps in.

Too close.

Closer than you need for a handshake, closer than you need for a hug. One forearm comes up like he’s going to pull Chan in, that sloppy exhausted clinch guys do after a war.

Chan lets him.

Why wouldn’t he?

The crowd is still screaming his name. The lights are still burning hot. The ref is turning to look at the MC. Nobody is watching two tired men in the corner of the frame.

That’s when Chan feels the wrong thing.

It isn’t even the blade at first.

It’s the angle of the arm.

In a fight, arms come around you high, over the shoulder, around the back of the neck. This comes low. This comes under. This comes exactly where you’d go if you wanted to pin someone’s hips.

Then — flash.

Metal where there should only be tape and gauze.

For him, time breaks open.

He sees the knife — short, ugly, folding kind, silver winking under the white-hot rig lights. He sees the fist around it — his opponent’s hand still taped, fingers slippery with the sweat of the fight. He sees the line the man is aiming for — straight under the left side, that pocket between ribs and heart.

Chan’s body tries to twist.

He’s a fraction late.

The knife goes in.

Not like the movies. Not a big, theatrical plunge. It’s quick. Efficient. A hard, mean drive. The steel parts skin, then muscle, and his body registers it with a white flare that rips all the air out of him.

Ah, his brain says, almost conversational. I’ve been stabbed.

Sound cuts.

The crowd is still roaring, but it’s like somebody threw a blanket over it. All he hears is his own pulse hammering in his ears, the slow, disgusting suck when the blade pulls back out.

Heat floods under his skin. Immediate. Spreading.

The ref is the first one to clock it.

“Hey— HEY—!” he barks, voice cracking from celebration to command in a single second. He lunges, grabs the attacking arm, wrenches it away.

Chan stumbles back a half-step.

His glove goes to his chest on instinct.

It comes away red. Saturated, arterial, bright under the lights like spilled paint.

The arena’s roar fractures.

It doesn’t die at once — it tilts. Confusion first, like a ripple through a stadium: what? what happened? — then shrieks from the front rows where people can see over the ropes. Phones that were filming his win keep filming because nobody’s realized yet that this is not part of the show.

Security moves like a current.

One second it’s celebration; the next it’s bodies pouring toward the corner—black shirts and headsets and the ref’s bark snapping the air in two. Someone boots the knife toward a neutral corner where a cameraman kicks it under the bottom rope with a strangled curse. The opponent is raging, foaming curses, getting dragged backward by three men who are all yelling at once.

Chan only knows two things: the heat in his chest and the red on his glove.

He clamps down harder. Pressure. He can hear her voice from a hundred nights ago, laughing at his dramatics while she wrapped his knuckles: “Pressure fixes a lot.” He tries to breathe deep and gets a wet hitch that scares him more than the pain.

“Sit, sit— get him down—” his coach is saying, hands under Chan’s elbow, under his shoulder. The cutman claws at laces with his teeth, ripping the glove loose, fumbling for gauze from his pocket, swearing he doesn’t have enough of the right kind.

Chan looks up.

He finds the tall promoter.

It’s insane that he thinks to look for him, but his mind goes there like a compass. Past the judges, past the commission table, past the belts nobody will touch now—there he is, just off blue corner, headset canted back like a crown.

Their eyes meet.

There is a flicker. Not surprise. Not horror. Calculation, cool as a hand on a fevered forehead; a quick inventory of perimeter and cameras; a pinched little He wanted to keep it clean, and now look at this mess. The man’s face re-masks itself in an instant—widened eyes, open mouth, performative concern—and then he turns with the movement of the crowd and slides toward the tunnel.

Away.

Chan tries to point. His arm feels like it belongs to someone else.

He sags. Knees hit canvas. The ref is cursing into his radio for medics and cops. The cutman finally frees the glove, slaps folded gauze under Chan’s hand. “Hold this. Hard. Don’t move. Don’t—”

“Occlusive!” a medic shouts, vaulting the rope, kit thumping. A chest seal appears in somebody’s fingers like a magic trick. They peel it, slap it down, tape and gel and trembling hands. Oxygen mask. A voice too calm, counting out vitals. “Stay with me, champ. Hey. eyes right here.”

Champ. He wants to laugh. A dry sound scrapes his throat instead.

The arena’s noise is wrong now. Not a roar—an avalanche of screams and confused chatter, a thousand people all asking the same question because they saw the replay on the big screen and can’t unsee it. He catches a glimpse of himself up there, magnified, the red hand, the shock on his own face. He looks small, suddenly, even blown across forty feet of LED.

He thinks of the heart.

Small, stupid thing. He pictures it bright on his phone the way the red tally light was bright on the camera, blinking like a heartbeat. He does not want her to see this part. He does not want her to hear this sound he’s making, the one that comes out of people when they can’t get enough air.

“Chris.” Coach’s face crowds his. “You with me?”

He nods. Or thinks he does. His head is heavy. The seal on his chest makes a damp kiss noise every time he tries to breathe too deep. He tastes metal. The floor has tilted; the ropes recede like they’re on a slow conveyor.

“Copy that, we’re inbound—” someone says. “Get the gurney up here— no, up— over the stool—”

They move him as a unit. Hands everywhere, talking, counting. The ceiling blooms into lights: four, five, eight white suns that smear when he blinks. The MC’s microphone lies on its side near his boot, feeding a long, empty hum through the house speakers until someone cuts it.

As they lift, his gaze skates once more over the apron to the mouth of the tunnel.

He catches just the back of a blazer. Broad shoulders. Headset cord swinging.

Gone.

“Don’t close your eyes,” a medic says, firm. “Eyes on me. What’s your name?”

He wants to answer; nothing useful comes out. Not “Chris,” or “Christopher,” or “Chan” or “Bangchan” or even "Southpaw." Not even a grunt you could mistake for words — just a wet, ugly gargle that vibrates and makes the medic’s eyes sharpen. Blood sluices up where air should go. He coughs — or tries to — and it only makes it worse, a bubbling sound low in his chest that scares every trained person in the ring.

I have a lot of names, he thinks deliriously and then blinks hard, forcing himself back into the present.

They hit the ramp. The noise drops by half as the ring’s lip cuts the sound. It’s colder here; he feels the temperature on the sweat at his temples. A camera tries to follow and gets blocked by a wall of security. Somewhere in the mess he hears his opponent still screaming and a cop’s bark that ends it hard.

They run him under the bottom rope of reality and the tunnel swallows him.

He turns his head—just enough to smear blood on the pillow, just enough to see blue paint, the scuff of boots ahead—and forces one more breath to be big and even because she would tell him to. In his mind he says it out loud: I’m coming back. Wait where you are. Heart, heart, heart. 

The ceiling lights strobe by.

His coach is still there at the edge of the frame, jogging to keep up, promising him everything—“You’re okay, kid, you’re okay, you’re okay”—like you can will a thing to be true if you say it enough.

Chan holds the gauze until his fingers go numb.

When the first doors bang open and the air changes to antiseptic and cold metal, he tells himself he will let his eyes close for just a second.

Just for a second.

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[shortonwon]

BREED ME : A CONTRACT ✦ ┈─ L.HS

i. PAIRING — stranger ! heeseung × afab ! reader

ii. GENRE — porn with plot, near future / dystopian au.

iii. SYNOPSIS — in a near-future society, your fertility has a deadline—and your government-assigned mate is a complete stranger. with one week to comply, you must live as a married couple, navigating intimacy, desire, and forbidden pleasure… all while pretending it’s just for the contract.

iv. WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL , mdni, smut, impregnation implications, voyeurism, sleepy sex, drugs / fertility enhancement tablets, unprotected sex, creampie, playing house but forced to, shower sex, blowjob, oral (both male & female), dirty talk, power imbalance, teasing, breast play, nipple teasing, eating out, dubious consent, cockwarming, squirting, lmk if more.

v. WORD COUNT — 6.7K — OCTOBER 5TH

“So… we’re assigned mates? Your contract’s about to expire too?” Heeseung—the name he at least claimed was his—spoke up as he glanced between you and the bed. The bed was shoved awkwardly into the sterile lab room, with a pathetic vase of flowers on the nightstand. A fake attempt at making the lab look like a cozy home.

“I guess so…” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck. Your eyes flicked to the glass wall, where machines beeped rhythmically like they were mocking you. Honestly—how the hell was this supposed to be romantic enough to fuck in?

The rule was bizarre, but in the year 3000’s, everyone got slapped with a fertility expiration date. And with humans dwindling while robots ran most of the world, the government made sure no one wasted their fertility. You had to breed before your “deadline,” and until then, live like a married couple. A shiny little “family unit.” Apparently that was how humanity would cling to survival amidst the hum of robots sweeping streets and making lattes.

And you, being the shy—or let’s be honest, lazy-ass you were, never bothered to step outside. Why would you, when your robo-assistant Zozo was perfectly capable of fetching groceries, yelling at delivery drones, or dealing with annoying neighbors? So when the government officer came knocking while you were sprawled on the couch debating which show to binge next, Zozo had opened the door and accepted the letter with zero hesitation. You tried to ignore it, even as your stomach dropped reading the fine print.

But ignoring the government is basically an Olympic-level mistake. A few hours later, you were dragged into this lab, now forced to play house with a stranger who was—surprise—the father of your potential baby. Like, how did you go from lazy naps and snack runs to this? From half-asleep binge-watching to congratulations, you’re in a breeding contract.

You sighed, side-eyeing Heeseung who was awkwardly fidgeting with the corner of the sterile blanket. He didn’t look much happier. At least that made two of you.

And, okay, sure—you’d seen robo-dogs on the streets going at it like they were programmed for porn, so it’s not like you were completely clueless about the act. But this wasn’t just sex. It was a performance. Roleplay. Pretending to be a couple. A married couple. And if you two didn’t produce results? The fine would be so massive your descendants would still be paying it off centuries later.

Talk about pressure.

⪩⪨

“Umm… so?” he speaks up as he steps into the shower, clearly waiting for you to follow. Well, this is awkward—an attempt at getting used to intimacy when neither of you have the faintest idea how to start.

“So?” you echo, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. But your eyes betray you, following the trail of water as it slides down his bare chest, glistening under the harsh bathroom light, then disappearing somewhere past his v-line and below. This is the first time you’ve ever been this close to a guy—like, this close—and you’re willing to bet it’s the same for him.

“You’re… showering in that?” he asks, voice hesitant, like he can’t tell if the question is rude or just dumb. The poor guy is clearly just as inexperienced as you.

You glance down at yourself and realize, oh right, you’re still fully clothed. Top and jeans. Jeans in the shower—how chic. “Umm… I forgot,” you mutter, laughing awkwardly before tugging your shirt over your head. Your plain black sports bra clings damp against your skin. His gaze lingers a little too long on your chest—long enough for you to wonder if he’s captivated, silently judging the size, or just zoning out like an idiot.

“Can you not look?” you mutter sharply.

“Uh—yeah, sure.” His voice cracks, embarrassed, and he whips around so fast to face the wall that water splashes up. You quickly peel off your jeans, now left standing in your bra and underwear, the steam curling around you both.

For a while, neither of you do anything but stand there, the water falling between your bodies while you try not to combust from sheer awkwardness. Yet you can’t help stealing glances at his back. It’s more toned than you expected, the kind of back you want to trace your fingers along without thinking. And then there’s the way the water darkens his hair, dripping down his shoulders.

You curse yourself for remembering that one accidental peek you’d taken when you first stepped in—the way his boxers clung to whatever he was hiding beneath. It’s… a lot. Too hot. Hot enough to almost make you forget this is government-mandated breeding prep and not… something else.

“Are you done?” he asks finally, still facing the wall like his life depends on it.

“Yeah, you can turn around now.” Your voice comes out a little weaker than intended. He turns, his expression neutral, and quietly reaches for the soap.

He scrubs himself with slow, methodical movements, completely ignoring your eyes burning holes into him—until he finally speaks. “If you keep staring like that,” he says, raising a brow without looking directly at you, “I can’t promise I’ll keep being so respectful. Wouldn’t really be fair, would it?”

You snap your gaze away so fast you nearly slip. “I just zoned out.”

“Mhm.” He hums, low and unconvinced, before continuing to lather up. He doesn’t hand you the soap, though—just keeps working it over himself like he hasn’t caught the hint at all.

“What do you do, Heeseung? For a living?” you ask quietly, already knowing how offensive that question can sound in today’s world, where robots basically rule everything.

“I… train robo dogs,” he mutters, almost shyly, as his hand works the soap over his stomach. When his fingers slip lower, your eyes flick down for a second before darting away in a rush of heat.

“Oh, that’s nice.” You reply too quickly, trying to sound casual when your face is burning. “I work at home… finding mistakes made by robos on popular websites.”

“So, basically unemployed?” he teases, finally loosening up enough to smirk at you. The smell of soap and the steam between you almost make the moment feel… normal. Domestic. Like you’re not two virgins being forced to learn how to fuck for the sake of humanity.

“Hey! Don’t say that!” you swat at his arm, laughing along even though you hate admitting he’s right. Like 96% of the population, you’re jobless. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked the question at all.

But then you feel it—his arm circling your waist and yanking you back until you’re flush against his chest. The way his breath ghosts over your neck sends a shiver down your spine, and the thick, unmistakable press of his cock through his wet boxers makes your pussy clench instinctively.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, “you don’t have to feel bad. It’s not your fault the robots are taking everything.”

You nod, but your body betrays you. Your head tips back against his shoulder, lips parting as a small gasp slips out. His soapy hand slides from your stomach to the underside of your bra, fingertips clumsy as they push under the wet fabric and rub over your breasts. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, his touches too curious, too experimental—like he’s trying to figure out what your nipples even are—but it has your cunt throbbing all the same.

“Heeseung…” you moan, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

“Just… cleaning you up,” he whispers, but the way his cock is rock hard and digging against your ass tells you otherwise.

“Please just—ahh—” your voice breaks into another moan as he shoves your bra up, not even bothering to remove it, letting your tits spill out for him to knead. The cold water pouring over you makes the contrast of his hands even more intense.

His palms squeeze your breasts like stress balls, thumbs brushing soap slick over your hardened nipples, and you swear you’ll melt right there. “H-Heeseung…” you whimper, a shaky moan tearing from your throat when his other hand slips lower, tugging your panties to the side. You’re embarrassingly wet already, your pussy aching for something, anything, even if it’s not the official “breeding time.”

He leans down, his lips brushing yours, and before you can think, he kisses you—soft, sloppy, uncertain, but desperate. His hand still tugs and pinches at your nipple, and you moan into his mouth, the sound muffled as your tongue brushes his.

“Do you want to… keep on practicing?” he asks against your lips, his voice low, unsteady, but hungry. The way you look up at him, breathless and wide-eyed, says everything your words can’t.

You moan instead, sliding your hand between your wet bodies until your palm cups the thick length straining against his boxers. The groan that rips out of him makes your pussy gush. If sex is really going to feel this good—if his cock filling you will make you feel half as powerful as this moment does—you curse yourself for wasting so many years hiding from it.

Now all you have is Heeseung. And the way his lips part, eyes shut tight as your hand rubs him, his grip on your waist faltering—fuck, you smirk against his mouth. Because you love knowing you have that kind of effect on him.

“Can I… touch you more?” you whisper, voice uncertain but desperate, like you’re asking for something forbidden even though that’s literally the point of this whole set-up. For a second you almost forget this is all arranged—just a breeding contract. A week-long roleplay to make sure humanity doesn’t go extinct.

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods, too breathless to say a word.

Your hand slips inside his soaked boxers, finally wrapping around his cock skin-to-skin. The moment you touch him properly, he groans—deep and guttural—his chest heaving as water streams down his face. He has never felt anything like it, and neither have you, but instinct is doing all the work. Your palm knows where to squeeze, how to move, even if no manual has ever explained how to handle cock.

It throbs heavy and hot in your grip, veins pulsing against your hand. Precum slicks your fingers even through the shower spray. His shaky hand reaches down and shoves his boxers off his hips, and your movements falter, because suddenly it isn’t just something hidden under fabric—it’s there, right in front of you.

You let your hand fall away just to look. His cock springs free, flushed pink at the tip, glistening with beads of precum that mix with the shower water. Thick, hard, longer than you expect, curved just slightly upward—it’s fucking beautiful. You glance up at him, but his eyes are squeezed shut, lost in sensation.

You don’t know what comes over you. Maybe curiosity. Maybe hunger. Maybe both. Your thumb brushes over the leaking slit, smearing precum over the swollen head. He shudders hard, muscles twitching under your touch. Then, with an impulsive grin, you bring your thumb to your lips and lick it clean.

“It’s salty…” you murmur, licking your lips slowly. The taste is raw, musky, addictive. You want more. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you sink to your knees under the spray, face tilted up to him as your tongue flicks experimentally at his tip.

His eyes snap open wide, panic and arousal clashing. He grabs his cock like he’s about to shield it from you. “N-No, no, don’t do that—” he stammers, his voice breaking.

“Why not?” you ask innocently, breath ghosting over his shaft as your lips hover close.

“Isn’t it… dirty?” he whispers, chewing his lip, like he can’t decide if he wants to pull you back or push you further.

You smirk up at him, hair plastered wet against your cheeks from the shower. “No. I like it. Can I have it back?”

His cock twitches visibly at your words. He groans low, like he’s fighting with himself, but gives in—grabbing your hand and wrapping it back around his length before letting go again, as if surrendering.

You lick your lips and kiss the swollen tip reverently. “This is so pretty, I swear,” you whisper, eyes wide as you stare at his flushed dick like it’s art.

“It’s not,” he mutters immediately, embarrassed, his teeth grit as his chest rises and falls like he’s just run a marathon.

Before he can defend his poor cock, you graze your teeth lightly over the head. His reaction is immediate: a strangled yelp that echoes against the tile. “NO TEETH, PLEASE! IT’S NOT FOOD—”

You giggle, lips brushing against the head of his cock. “You’re right… it’s not food. But it’s a snack.”

He groans so loud it shakes you, his knees buckling slightly. Your mouth wraps around him at last, hot and wet and clumsy, tongue swirling against the sensitive underside. The taste of his precum mixes with water, salty but not bad, almost intoxicating.

He sucks in a sharp breath, a moan spilling out of him as his hand instinctively buries in your wet hair. When you look up, his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted in awe. His cock twitches in your mouth as your tongue flicks over the treat again.

When his fingers tighten in your hair, you nearly whine at the sensation—because the look on his face is pure, overwhelmed pleasure. The sound of his low, desperate groan as he guides your head just slightly has your pussy clenching so hard you think your cunt will start dripping down your thighs.

It’s messy, hot, completely new for both of you. But with his cock heavy on your tongue, his voice breaking as he moans your name, and his eyes locked on you—fuck, it’s perfect.

You dive down to take him deeper, swallowing his length until it presses against your throat. The stretch makes your eyes water, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you bob your head faster, sucking greedily. The gag hits you, sharp and messy, but you don’t stop—if anything, the slight burn only drives you harder, your throat tightening around him. Heeseung’s breath stutters, his hips twitching helplessly as his cock pulses inside your mouth.

You don’t know what the sudden swell against your tongue means, only that it makes him groan brokenly, almost too loud under the hiss of the shower. You pull back with a wet pop, gasping, lips swollen and slick, confusion flickering across your face.

“What’s happenin—”

The question never finishes. Hot, sticky spurts shoot across your face, catching you off guard as you shut your eyes. Thick, white ropes cover your cheeks, your lips, dripping down your neck and chest before the shower water thins it, streams of cum and water sliding down your skin in a messy contrast.

You freeze, stunned, before blinking up at him through the droplets. Heeseung’s chest is heaving, his hand still tangled in your hair as if he lost control of himself completely. Relief is written all over him, his face flushed, but there’s shame too, creeping into his gaze as he realizes what he’s just done.

Your eyes drop to his cock again—still flushed, twitching, glistening under the spray, streaks of the same milky liquid clinging to it before the water washes it away. Your lips part in disbelief as you whisper, voice shaking, “That… that came from your cock?”

Heeseung swallows hard, too breathless to defend himself, and just gives a shaky nod.

Neither of you understand it—this raw, messy reaction, this proof of something more—but the hunger twisting in your chest is undeniable. And as the salty taste lingers on your tongue and your skin, you know one thing for certain.

You’re addicted.

⪩⪨

And the second day with him feels even stranger—stranger, but addicting. Both of you are already drowning in this whole thing about the fertility expiration date, the so-called breeding contract. You’re pretty sure the government officials would’ve happily stamped a certificate, binding you both together officially. It should feel wrong, clinical, but with how real everything’s gotten… it doesn’t.

“What are you making, wifey?” Heeseung’s voice breaks the silence as he walks out of the nightly shower, towel slung low on his hips, droplets sliding down his chest. The sight alone pulls you back to last night—the cock you’d touched, sucked, swallowed. The salty, musky taste of him still feels fresh on your tongue. Water cascading down his abs, the way his body shuddered under your mouth—“I asked what you were making, wifey.” He’s right beside you now, waving a hand in front of your dazed face.

“Fried rice… that’s all I can make.” You joke, but it’s the truth, your voice shaky as you snap back from your thoughts. Except he doesn’t look all that present either, his eyes heavy, his expression unreadable.

Then he’s behind you, close—too close. Heat radiates off his damp skin as you stir the rice, and you nearly drop the spatula when his hand cups your ass, firm and greedy. A gasp rips from you when his fingers slide between your thighs, brushing your slick folds, spreading the wetness you’d never dared touch yourself.

“Hee—” His name spills from your lips, cut into a moan when his finger glides up your slit, pressing right where it makes your knees weak. “Ahh…” Your head drops helplessly against his shoulder, his breath warm as he leans in, tongue flicking against the shell of your ear.

“Don’t you think…” his words vibrate low, sinful, “…we should at least enjoy ourselves a bit before ‘The Day’? Hm?”

Your body betrays you, pressing back against him, desperate. The spatula trembles in your hand, rice forgotten, brain fried worse than the pan. But then, just as you’re about to melt, he pulls away. His lips brush your ear, whispering smugly, “Focus on the fried rice. Can’t compromise on dinner, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t know when he got this bold—maybe last night broke something open in both of you. All you know is that you like it. Too much.

“Heeseung…” Your voice cracks on his name, shame mixing with hunger. “Can you… touch me again? It felt so good… we-we can enjoy all we want.” The words tumble out, raw and desperate, and you cringe at how needy you sound—yet you can’t stop yourself.

His smirk is audible in the way he breathes against your neck. “Of course. I owe you after yesterday, don’t I?” His lips press against your skin, just below your ear, and your moan betrays you instantly. His hands wander lower again, teasing, claiming, but every time you falter at stirring the rice, he pulls back, leaving you whining at the loss.

It’s a cruel game. A dangerous one. And you’re hooked.

“shh… if you want it, just keep working on our dinner, mm?” His voice dips low, his breath ghosting against your ear as one of his hands slides directly beneath your panties, cupping the soaked heat between your thighs. The other hand pushes your top upward until it bunches around your chest, and with a deft flick, your bra unclasps. You gasp, heart racing, realizing he learned the trick from last night’s shower.

“i-i understand.” you mumble, your words shaky, tears of embarrassment stinging your lashes as your body betrays you, moaning when his palm squeezes your bare breast. You clutch the spatula tighter, trying to keep stirring the rice, but your arms tremble as he plays with your body, shamelessly drawing out every sound you try to hide. The scent of garlic and spices mixes with the heady, unmistakable scent of your arousal, thick in the air. Heeseung inhales deeply behind you, lips curling into a grin.

“smells good… eating it after we enjoy would be even better, no?” His tone is casual, almost mocking, as if fingering you while you cook is the most normal thing in the world. Just as you suck in a breath to respond, his finger presses against your slick entrance, circling teasingly before slipping inside with a slow push. You choke on a gasp, hips twitching as the thick digit sinks into your tight heat, nudging against tender, gummy walls that hug him greedily.

A low sound leaves him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he feels your warmth around him. “Fuck… you’re so tight. Just my finger and you’re squeezing like this…” His words stir the heat pooling in your stomach. He moves it inside you, testing, curling upward slightly, brushing something that makes your knees buckle.

“Heeseung—” your breathy moan escapes without restraint.

“Shh, it’s okay…” His lips press at your temple, soft, almost tender, while his hand leaves your breast only to flick the stove off with a practiced motion. The rice sizzles one last time before silence falls, leaving only the sound of your shallow breaths and his finger plunging wetly into you.

Then suddenly, he pulls out. You whine at the emptiness, thighs quivering, but he doesn’t let you fall apart there. He turns you around, guiding you gently until your back is pressed against the counter. Your sweatpants are tugged down to your knees, messy and damp from the arousal staining them. Your breasts spill forward, nipples flushed and needy.

“Heeseung…” You say his name like a plea, chest heaving, shame and desire battling in your eyes.

Heeseung looks down at you, his boldness from moments ago flickering into something almost shy, almost boyish. His gaze lingers on your trembling thighs, the wetness dripping from your slit, before he raises his eyes back to yours. His voice is soft, hesitant, but laced with hunger.

“Let me… return yesterday’s favor.”

And without a word he sinks down to his knees, as if duty-bound to fulfill what being your breeding mate meant. The air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp the moment his mouth latches onto your soaked folds, his tongue already tasting you, suckling at your core like he’s been starving for you.

“Oh—fuck,” you whimper, your head falling back as his mouth works between your legs, his tongue slipping and flicking against every sensitive part it can find. The wet, obscene slurping sounds echo in the kitchen, louder than the soft hum of the cooling stove. The way his tongue dives deeper and deeper, teasing you, even circling before trapping your swollen little bud between his lips.

“Ahhh—Hee—fuck—” your moan cracks as your knees threaten to buckle, and you grab the counter for balance, your free hand gripping his hair like a lifeline.

“Like it?” he murmurs against your cunt, lips brushing your clit, voice vibrating against your folds—sending shockwaves through your whole body.

“So much, so fucking much,” you pant out, tugging at his hair harder, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation of his tongue exploring places you never even thought were reachable.

“Mmhh—” he hums, sucking harder, his hands holding your thighs apart as if to cage you there, rubbing your lower stomach like he knows something’s building inside you. The pressure makes you dizzy, your muscles clenching, your core tightening uncontrollably.

“Wait—stop, I feel like I’m… gonna—piss,” you whimper, tugging at his hair to make him stop, but he only groans and pins you harder against the counter, tongue delving in even deeper.

The cry that rips out of you is helpless, raw, trembling, “HEESEUN—GHAHHHH!” as your body jerks violently, liquid spilling from your cunt, dribbling down your thighs, coating his tongue, his lips, his chin.

He doesn’t stop—he fucking drinks it in, swallowing, slurping like it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glisten with wetness, strands of your slick shining over his mouth. Your face burns with embarrassment, heart pounding.

“Heeseung…” your voice trembles, mortified.

“You did this,” he murmurs, smirking faintly, wiping nothing away—almost proud to wear you like this. “Why’re you getting so shy now?” His voice is low, teasing, but his own cheeks are flushed as if he’s losing control too.

He rises to his feet, closing the distance until his hands cradle your face, and before you can answer, his mouth claims yours.

The kiss is messy, deep, his tongue sliding against yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, the musky, salty-sweet flavor mingling with the heat of his mouth. Dirty. Intoxicating. The thought that you’re tongue-kissing the same mouth that was just devouring your pussy should disgust you—but instead it makes you moan, arching closer, needing more.

Your fingers grip his shoulders desperately, ready to climb him, ready for more, when he suddenly pulls back, panting. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark, burning, but flickering with restraint.

“I—We should eat dinner,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as though he’s choking back desire. “If we don’t stop now, I don’t think either of us will…”

His voice trails, his jaw tightening, and the way he looks at you—hungry, guilty, desperate—you know he’s right. Still, you can’t stop the way your body aches for more, already addicted.

You just nod, breathless, even as your lips tingle from his kiss, even as your thighs tremble from what he just made you feel.

⪩⪨

The days ahead pass in a haze of exhaustion. The tablets the helper-robos keep giving—supposedly to boost stamina and fertility before the expiration date—do nothing but drag you both down into constant drowsiness. You feel sluggish, heavy-limbed, and so does he.

“Hee…” you call out softly, voice almost drowned by the silence of the room as you lay curled on your side. The bed is warm, too warm, and the setup is so real, so home-like, that sometimes you forget you’re in nothing but a lab—a carefully constructed stage meant to look like a house, a controlled mating ground for humans.

“Mm?” he hums back, voice thick with sleep. His arm is already reaching around your waist, palm lazily tracing circles against your stomach. His touch is slow, unhurried, and even in your drained state, it makes you melt closer to him. The blanket shifts as he tugs it tighter around the two of you, cocooning you together.

“Don’t you feel tired…? I swear the tablets have something to do with this…” you murmur, eyes heavy as you press your forehead into his chest. He hums again, the sound low, reassuring, and kisses the top of your head. The simple gesture stirs something deep in your chest, not sexual—just a strange, foreign warmth you can’t name.

“I feel like that too… but maybe it’s not bad,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. “We get to rest before the big day.” His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against your hair, and the closeness makes your heart race even more.

“True…” you whisper back, though the thought only makes your stomach twist. The idea of him finally ending up bonded to you forever—sealed, unchangeable—sends your pulse spiraling.

“Do you regret it?” you ask quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt, gripping like you’re bracing for a blow. “Like… do you wish it was someone else?”

His chest rises beneath your cheek, and then he answers, soft but steady. “No. Definitely not.”

You exhale shakily, relief washing over you like warmth after a chill. He shifts, rocking you slightly in his hold, and the gentle sway lulls you further. Your eyes flutter shut despite yourself, exhaustion tugging hard.

“Good,” you mumble, your words slurring into a yawn. His chest rumbles with a stifled laugh—careful, quiet, as if he’s afraid to wake you. Soon his movements slow, stilling completely, and with you curled tightly against him, both of you sink into sleep almost instantly.

⪩⪨

The robo beeps as the government officers run the analysis of their relationship on a monitor. At least they’re decent enough not to watch them go at it—oral or otherwise. Honestly, the robots seem to have more humanity than the humans in charge.

“But their relationship doesn’t seem genuine according to this article on human connections in the 2720s,” the robot pipes up, printing out the dusty old document almost immediately. The words flash across the paper, outdated theories that make no sense when matched with the sounds the two of them have been making almost every other night since they were placed together. Noises that had gotten loud enough for the officials to drug them just to slow things down.

“We can’t rely on old articles. Not right now,” the officer mutters, shutting down the live camera feed that showed the humans inside the mock-home setup. His tone is clipped, tired, like he doesn’t want to deal with it.

The helper robo tilts his head, a mechanical sigh almost leaving him before he shakes it off. “Why bother helping when those bastards don’t even need it,” he grumbles, following the officer out of the room.

After all, tomorrow is the final day before their fertility expiration date. And the others have already prepared everything they’ll need.

⪩⪨

You yawn as you wake, stretching your arms above your head—only to find you can’t move. It takes you a moment to realize why. Heeseung’s arm is still looped around your waist. By the time he finally stirs and pulls back, sitting up, the air feels noticeably colder. Without thinking, he dives straight back under the covers, wrapping himself around you beneath the heavy blanket.

“Too cold, too cold,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His body trembles against yours, and instinctively, you shove your feet back under the blanket too after testing the icy air outside for just a second.

“Did the temperature suddenly drop?” you shiver, pressing closer to him for warmth. That’s when you feel it—his bulge, hard against your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Why are you hard?” The words slip out before you can stop them, awkward and quiet, as you try to shift just enough distance between you in case it sets him off.

“What do you mean, why?” Heeseung mumbles with a shrug, completely unbothered. “I get this every time I wake up.” Then, seeing the way you go silent, lost in thought, he adds quickly, “But don’t think too much. We don’t have to do anything if you’d rather wait until night.”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip before whispering, “N-no… I mean… a little practice before the actual process wouldn’t hurt, right?”

His eyes widen, shock flickering before his lips curl into a slow smile. The officials’ forced temperature drop is long forgotten as you push your panties down, sliding them off. Heeseung doesn’t waste a second—his boxers end up on the floor beside your panties, leaving nothing between you anymore.

Your upper bodies stayed hidden under the blanket, but your lower halves were already speaking a language of their own. You hooked one leg over his hip, opening yourself for him, and Heeseung’s hand immediately wrapped around his cock. The blanket muffled the sight, but you felt every second of it—the head nudging against your folds, still dry until he pressed harder. Wetness bloomed instantly, coating you in slick warmth as he rubbed himself against your slit.

A broken moan escaped you, and he swallowed it in a kiss. You barely noticed when he shifted lower, sliding the tip between your folds, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves—the very same spot he’d played with that night while you’d been making fried rice. And then he pushed. Hard. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, but his mouth captured yours, muffling the sound, calming you down even as your body jolted.

He groaned against your lips. “God, so tight.” Your walls clung to him, greedy, swallowing inch after inch of his cock like they’d never let go. You trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the texture of his thick length, every ridge and vein dragging against you.

Your eyes rolled back as your body adjusted, the stretch almost unbearable. He stilled, hovering, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, voice low and careful, “Should I give more?” His lips brushed yours in a tender kiss, at odds with the way he filled you.

You squirmed helplessly beneath him, body caught between resistance and desperate want. It hurt—yes—but it felt so good you almost hated yourself for liking it this much.

“Ahhh—” you bury your face into his chest, shivering as he rubs your back, one hand sliding lower to part your ass cheeks. His coarse pubic hairs brush against yours, and you know you’re in heaven just from the friction, the closeness.

“Oh god…” you moan, a tear slipping down your cheek as he starts to move, nudging against your walls. “It’s too good… too good.”

“I know… shh…” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers graze your hard bud, flicking and rubbing your clit between your legs, and you shiver with every brush. He hits a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed, sending tremors up your spine.

Before you even notice, sleep drags you under again, pressed against his chest. The tablets are hitting harder than before, and he—already drained from the night—is dozing too, quietly, yet his hand remains wrapped around you, fingers caressing your hair. His cock pulses lazily inside you, still hard, a slow reminder of what you’ve shared.

Neither of you gets to cum. Not yet. The robots arrive, silently entering to re-decorate the room for the night, ignoring the way the two of you are tangled together like an actual married couple, lost in warmth, wetness, and the closeness only you two can share.

⪩⪨

When you wake up, it’s night. Heeseung is sprawled across the bed, completely naked, the blanket long gone from over your bodies. The dim lights and the faint scent of roses fill the room, creating a staged intimacy that screams final breeding night. Your stomach twists with heat and self-consciousness as your eyes take him in—every line of his muscles defined in the soft glow, the way his chest rises and falls slowly, the way his cock rests low and exposed, just waiting.

“Hee… wake up,” you whisper, rolling onto his side and nudging him gently. He doesn’t stir. Your hand slides lower, brushing against the softened length of his cock—and to your shock, it stiffens instantly in your palm. Your fingers wrap around him, rubbing along the slick shaft, feeling the heat, the pulse, the way he’s so alive beneath your touch.

Heeseung stirs, eyes half-open, still lost in the fog of sleep. Boldness courses through you, and you start stroking him thoroughly, biting your lip as your own audacity surprises you.

“S-stop…” he murmurs sleepily, voice rough, half-lidded eyes fixing on you. His hand pushes your palm away, but instead of letting go, he pins you gently to the bed. His cock presses against your stomach, tip glistening with precum, and you shiver from the warmth and pressure.

“How did we even fall asleep?” you murmur, shivering as he leans down and plants a teasing kiss on your neck. His mouth starts suckling, teeth grazing lightly over your skin, and a moan escapes you before you even register it.

“W-why does it feel soo good?” you breathe, voice trembling. His lips and tongue are consuming you, sending shivers down your spine, teasing you so exquisitely that your own body reacts without thought.

“Don’t ask questions. Just feel… we need to finish why we’re here, right? So we can go out and raise our baby,” he whispers against your neck, and your face melts into his hair, overwhelmed. You’re so lost in him that you don’t even notice when his tip presses and slides against your folds, gliding perfectly over your wet, slick skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist almost instinctively, every nerve in your body on fire. You don’t know where you learned this, but it feels right. This fertility expiration, this ridiculous breeding contract—it’s finally ending, and Heeseung is the only one who could make it feel like this.

“You really wanna raise the baby togeth—aghh!” A moan rips from your chest as he slips inside you effortlessly. Your body trembles at the stretch, chest heaving, eyes wide as you feel him fully—every inch of his thick, veiny cock filling you. God, it’s too good. How could something feel this right? You had no regrets about coming here, even if it had been forced.

When he moves, it’s like you’re falling straight into heaven. “Oh my… oh my god… ahhhh…” you gasp, gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself as every thrust presses him deeper, pushing all your limits of pleasure.

“Shh… gently… I’ll go gentle.” And he does. Heeseung starts slow, bottoming out fully, checking in with soft murmurs. But soon, the tempo builds, and he’s plunging deeper, too deep for your brain to catch up. Your body reacts before your mind, muscles clenching, and you can’t stop the first squirting eruption that floods against his pulsing cock.

Your eyes lock with his—burning with embarrassment—but he’s unfazed, so present, so attentive. God, what a man. And then he hits that same spot again, and your second gush coats him, your palm flying to your face, cheeks flaming. Minutes pass in a blur of trembling, slick, overwhelming pleasure. Your eyes roll back as you come hard, walls squeezing him like they never could before, every shudder wringing a guttural curse from his lips.

“Fuck… too tight…” he groans, cock pulsing violently inside you. Before either of you can process it, he erupts—hot, thick, sticky—filling you completely.

“I—” you start, but he pins you gently, eyes fluttering as his release surges. “J-just take all of my seeds…” His chest heaves on yours, some of it dribbling down your slit, proof of how much he’s given. It’s like he poured out weeks of stored need into you.

“Enough to make another human in the community?” he gasps, breathless, thumb brushing away a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek. His head rests against your chest, listening to your rapid heartbeat.

“Those tablets by robos better work,” you whisper, arm wrapping around his waist as you gently shift atop him. His cock still pulses inside you, leaking little drops, making you laugh and moan all at once. Every inch of you is slick, spent, alive—and you can’t imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else.

⪩⪨

“This one’s complete. Who’s the next pair for the human breeding contract?” the government officer asked, his voice flat but his eyes lingering on the glowing monitor. The feed showed the two of you tangled together in the aftermath—naked, bodies spent, still joined at the hips as though refusing separation even in sleep. For a moment, the officer simply stared, a flicker of discomfort crossing his otherwise stoic face before he looked back at the machine beside him.

The robot’s optical sensors whirred as it adjusted the angle, zooming in without hesitation on the mess between your thighs, where Heeseung’s cock remained buried inside you, a faint spill of his cum already leaking past your swollen folds. It held there for a beat, scanning, before its voice rang metallic and certain. “Based on the administered fertility tablets, probability of conception is at one hundred percent. The female has been successfully bred.”

The officer exhaled slowly, almost relieved, then leaned back in his chair. “Good. Another pair. Humanity lives another day.”

The robot didn’t stop processing. Its gaze shifted across its databanks, and a new name filtered onto the screen. “The next subject approaching fertility expiration: Park Sunghoon. Male. Age twenty-three. Behavioral report: reclusive. Rarely leaves residence.”

The officer raised a brow, a dry smirk tugging at his lips. “So, one of those ‘touch grass’ types?”

The robot made a noise that could almost be mistaken for amusement. The officer chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for his notes. “Guess he won’t have much of a choice soon. Get him paired. Humanity’s down to scraps—we can’t afford a single wasted seed.”

And with that, the two of them turned back to the monitors, logging another successful breeding while already preparing for the next. After all, humans were a rare species now—too fragile, too precious—and extinction was not an option.

© shortonwon—twenty twenty five. do not repost, translate or copy my work on any other platforms (including tumblr). THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING <3

[lveegsoi]

ִֶָ ࣪˖ ִֶָENHYPEN AS CLICHE PORN PLOTS MASTERLIST࿐

pairing.. enhypen ot7 x reader

synopsis.. enhypen as cliche porn plots

a/n.. this was marinating in my drafts since the beginning of march. im glad i brought myself to start writing it, it was so much fun i really hope you enjoy reading. also thank you for the 300 followers it means a lot to me <3 SLOW UPDATES

mdni 18+

masterlist

⌞PIZZA DELIVERY GUY HEESEUNG⌝

synopsis…. giving head to the hot delivery guy in exchange for pizza

⌞BOSS X SECRETARY JAY⌝ tba

⌞PROFESSOR X STUDENT JAKE⌝ tba

⌞MASSAGE PARLOR SUNGHOON⌝ tba

⌞STUCK IN THE WASHING MACHINE SUNOO⌝ tba

⌞FAKE TAXI JUNGWON⌝ tba

⌞CASTING COUCH INTERVIEW RIKI⌝ tba

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

taglist 1 🏷️. 50/50: @soona-huh @miiuswn @hoonprksung @01209r @atashiboba @ladynaviamin @hee-isyumaf @blushnboba @angelhyuka @brianafyz @whoisruby16 @kaykay11sworld @annovaz @luvlyfandoms @Ize325 @riwliane @wxnderingthoughts @desirejay @saraabbas @won1yoiz @laylasbunbunny @miauumin @slut4heespam @iamjusttryingtoreadapost @augennn @calilovesdilfs @starry-eyed-bimbo @heeseungsgf26 @limo-shi @whatthefliparoonie @cakeforwonu @xoseos @cherrysevng @hearts4h00n @meowwons @enhaxhypen @eth6real @wonibaby @heejakeyy07whtv @wooniecacti04 @prettygurlnikittie @bestboileeknow @royallyspectralshepherd @femaholicc @jasuke3 @en-gene2 @tokkisluv @parksunghoonsgf @songbyeonkim @slvdsjjk

[swiftjay23]

—⁝⁜ 𝓑єттєʀ 𝓣нαη 𝓣нє 𝓜σνιєѕ —⁝⁜

✦ Inspired by some of my favorite romantic movies (each fic is based on a different film I picked)

✦ All stories are part of the Better Than the Movies series ✩ (title inspired by the book I love so much + thought would fit perfectly for this project!)

✦ Will be updated on Thursday every week (starting in November)

✦ Masterlist

✦ Author Note: This series is something I’ve been planning for a while, mixing my love for rom-com movies with writing (I'm literally so corny goodbye-). I thought it’d be really fun to reimagine those classic film vibes with Enhypen, and since Better Than the Movies is one of my comfort books, the title just felt meant to be. Hope you enjoy this little passion project!

—𝓛ᴇᴇ 𝓗ᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ: 10 тнιηgѕ ι нαтє αвσυт уσυ

Heeseung is your academic rival, the boy who drives you insane, until a bet spirals into secret study dates and tension you can’t shake.

Genre: rivals to lovers, academic AU, fluff + smut

Pairing: enemy!academic rival!Heeseung x academic rival!reader.

Release Date: Thursday, 6th November

Inspired by: 10 Things I Hate About You

-> Read: Here!

—𝓟ᴀʀᴋ 𝓙ᴏɴɢꜱᴇᴏɴɢ: мя. αη∂ мяѕ. ѕмιтн

Jay is your husband. He’s also your target. Neither of you knew you were both assassins until the night he had a gun pressed to your head.

Genre: action, enemies to lovers, married couple AU, smut

Pairing: assassin spy husband!Jay x assassin spy wife!reader

Release Date: Thursday, 13th November

Inspired by: Mr. & Mrs. Smith

-> Read: Here!

—𝓢ɪᴍ 𝓙ᴀᴇʏᴜɴ: ¢яαzу, ѕтυρι∂, ℓσνє

Jake is the city’s ultimate playboy; he's fucked more people in a week than you have fingers, until he takes you under his wing to help you get over your ex. The problem? You might be falling for your wingman.

Genre: romcom AU, friends with benefits, smut

Pairing: Playboy!Jake x fratgirl!reader

Release Date: Thursday, November 20th

Inspired by: Crazy, Stupid, Love

-> Read: Here!

—𝓟ᴀʀᴋ 𝓢ᴜɴɢʜᴏᴏɴ: нσω тσ ℓσѕє α gυу ιη 10 ∂αуѕ

When Sunghoon finds out you’re writing an article about how to drive a man away, he makes a bet that he can make you fall for him first. Neither of you expects who will win.

Genre: enemies to lovers, fake dating, comedy + smut, social experiment

Pairing: football captain!Sunghoon x school editor!reader

Release Date: Thursday, November 27th

Inspired by: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days

-> Read: Here!

—𝓚ɪᴍ 𝓢ᴜɴᴏᴏ: ℓα ℓα ℓαη∂

You and Sunoo met chasing the same dream in the city. Love bloomed under neon lights, but in a world where ambition burns bright, will love be enough to outlast?

Genre: bittersweet romance, angst + fluff + smut, second chances

Pairing: rising singer!Sunoo x aspiring actress!reader

Release Date: Thursday, 4th December

Inspired by: La La Land

-> Read: Here!

—𝓨ᴀɴɢ 𝓙ᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ: ƒяιєη∂ѕ ωιтн вєηєƒιтѕ

You swore it was just physical. No feelings, no strings. But Jungwon’s late-night texts and morning kisses start to feel dangerously real. Tangled in him, your slow, shallow breaths mixing together don't really seem any emotions attached, now, do they?

Genre: friends to lovers, smut, soft angst

Pairing: fwb! Jungwon x fwb! reader

Release Date: Thursday, 11th December

Inspired by: Friends With Benefits

-> Read: Here!

—𝓝ɪꜱʜɪᴍᴜʀᴀ 𝓡ɪᴋɪ: тнє ησтєвσσк

Every summer, you and Ni-ki burned with young love, until reality tore you apart. Years later, he’s back, and he still remembers every word you wrote in the letters you thought he never read.

Genre: angst, romance, smut, second chance and forbidden love

Pairing: countryboy!Niki x citygirl!reader

Release Date: Thursday, 18th December

Inspired by: The Notebook

-> Read: Here!

Directed by: @swiftjay23 Produced by: late nights and bad decisions Starring: Enhypen

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(Ask if you want to be tagged :D)

Kinktober Taglist:

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[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈✨

📱🖤 LONG DISTANCE 🖤📱

Day 10 – Chantober 2025

Content Includes: camming, voyeurism, gn!reader

W/c: 605

You lie back against your pillows, phone propped up at the perfect angle, screen tilted just enough that he sees every inch you want him to. The lights are low, sheets bunched beneath your thighs, your skin warm under the flush of nerves and desire.

Stockings. Bra. That set he always liked, the one he picked out when you were together in Sydney. You wear it now like a promise. Like a gift. Like a silent “I’m yours.”

His face fills the screen. Hoodie off. Hair a little messy. Jaw clenched. Hand resting in his lap, but not moving. Not yet.

“Yeah?” His voice is already hoarse. He’s barely said anything, but you can hear it. The tension in his throat. The crackle of restraint. “You wanna show me how much you missed me?”

You nod once, slow and shy. Your fingers graze along your inner thigh and his eyes drop instantly. He goes quiet. Just breathing.

You’ve never done this before. Never undressed for someone through a screen. Never taken control, not like this. But tonight you want him to watch. Not just because it turns you on, but because you know it’ll unmake him. He’s so far away, and you need him to feel it. Need him to feel you.

Your hands tremble a little as they move, sliding higher. You keep your touch light, teasing. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make his lips part, chest rising with every shallow inhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”

You glance at the screen and find him staring, eyes locked. Face flushed. He hasn’t moved his hand. Not even a twitch.

“Touch yourself,” he says, voice rough now, lower. “C’mon. Don’t make me ask again.”

You obey. Two fingers press against the silk of your panties, stroking slow. His name falls from your lips on a quiet breath. He hears it. His eyes shut for half a second.

“Don’t stop. You hear me? Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

You nod again, harder this time. Shaky. Desperate. The sound of your breathing fills the room, tangled with the rustle of fabric and the soft buzz of the call. You’re soaked already, body strung tight from the thrill of being seen like this. Wanted like this.

His hand finally moves. Slow at first. Just gripping. He’s not stroking yet. Just holding himself there like he’s trying not to break too fast.

You whisper his name again. This time it’s a whimper.

He groans deep, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, it’s different. Hungrier. Unhinged.

“You want me to finish like this?” His hand starts to move then. Measured strokes, controlled, but his jaw is twitching. “Want me to come to you like this, fuckin’ alone in my bed with your name in my mouth?”

You nod again and let your legs fall open wider. Just for him. Just so he can see what he’s doing to you.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Keep goin’. Don’t stop ‘til I say.”

You don’t.

Not until he gasps your name, curses loud, and spills with a strangled cry. Not until you’ve wrecked him with nothing but your voice, your body, and your obedience.

And when you collapse back against the pillows, still catching your breath, he’s still there on the screen. Flushed. Wrecked. Smiling like you belong to him.

Because even when you’re apart, you are.

@krishastumblernow @faeprincess777 @betweensupernovasandstars @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @nebugalaxy @abeautifulthingcalledskz @ephorxa @misstiri @stalpra-and-100-fandoms @crazy4books1 @spiralizera @pixie-felix

[jakeify]

wait this is a gag

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

Wait what do you mean @jakeify

[jakeify]

a gag is a good thing like it gagged me bc it was so good IM GAGGEDDDD

[nephynes]

TIPPING IS OPTIONAL ── .✦ park sunghoon

You’re rich, entitled, and on vacation with your sister in some exclusive hotel resort, where staff is meant to serve you—not speak to you, or stare at you, and definitely not put their hands on you. Too bad the hotel’s bellhop doesn’t care how rich you are…or how loud you get when he puts you in your place.

minors do not interact

pairing: sunghoon x afab reader

wc: 12k

content tags/warnings: power imbalance, class difference, brat taming, degradation & praise, rough behavior, strong language, emotional manipulation, dubious consent undertones, entitlement, light humiliation, alcohol mention, rude behavior, reverse slut shaming.

nene’s note: consider this my comeback after getting my account deleted and going on a short hiatus. i can’t believe i haven’t posted any work since JULY, i’m soooo sorry, forgive me and enjoy 💕

nsfw tags under the cut

oral sex (m!receiving and f!receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation (light), edging (implied), begging, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, possessive dirty talk, squirting, cumshot, light restraint, hair pulling, pussy slapping, consensual power imbalance, mutual fixation. let me know if i missed any.

The headache forming behind your eyes could be because of many things right now—the car is too warm, your heels are way too tight, and also your sister’s bright and unrelenting voice has been clawing at your nerves since you both got in the car this morning.

Outside the tinted windshield you watch the gates of your family’s private airstrip slide open with the kind of smooth efficiency only money can buy, and the sleek shape of the jet comes into view, shining beneath the mid day sun.

"You're going to love it," Dani says, adjusting her sunglasses, she’s said that six times already. "The spa, the food, the water—God, you haven't even seen blue water until you've been to Bali. I swear."

You don't respond, she seems to be forgetting you’ve already been there before.

You cross one leg over the other, staring straight ahead, and pretending you’re not even there.

"Don't be like that," she adds, her voice laced with practiced patience. "This trip is supposed to help. It's for you."

That last part makes you laugh, very humorlessly. "I didn't ask for help."

"No, but everyone around you is tired of you being a miserable bitch, so here we are."

You turn your head just enough to glance at her, her hair is freshly blown out, her designer tote is next to her, and you can catch the glint of thr diamond studs in her ears. Your sister is undoubtedly perfect, effortlessly so.

"Sorry my bad mood's ruining your aesthetic."

"Oh, please." She waves you off like a fly. "You've been impossible lately. And not in your usual, high maintenance, spoiled brat way. This is new. This is dark. And as your big sister, I need to do something about it."

The car slows to a stop beside the jet, and even through your irritation, you notice the way the ground crew moves with precision, bags already being offloaded, a bottle of chilled champagne waiting just beyond the open cabin door.

"You need a reset," Dani continues. "Some sun. Some tequila. And someone with nice hands to put you out of your fucking misery."

You arch a brow. "So this is a sex vacation now?"

"If I have anything to say about it—yes."

The door clicks open, and the humid air rushes in, heavy with jet fuel and heat. You smooth your skirt, step out onto the tarmac, and inhale the scent of luxury like you think it might actually calm you down.

It doesn't.

Even the jet doesn’t calm you down, even the promise of five star everything waiting for you in Bali, doesn’t calm you down.

It’s like no matter how far you fly, you're still going to be you—spoiled, irritable and restless you. And if Dani thinks this trip is going to ‘fix’ you, she's in for a long ass week.

The jet's interior is cool and pristine, all cream leather and polished brass, exactly like you remember it from last month. You barely glance at the steward offering champagne, you just wave him off and sink into your usual seat by the window, crossing your arms as Dani settles in right across from you.

And she's still talking. "You know the problem, right?" she says, kicking off her heels and immediately curling up. "You've got this...thing about control. About standards. You act like you're allergic to normal men."

"I am." You deadpan

"No, baby. You're allergic to effort. Daddy spoils us too much—yes. But you think anyone without a trust fund is beneath you."

You say nothing, because she's not even wrong. Your father has never denied you anything. From private schools to designer wardrobes and cars you barely drive, even property you don’t spare a glance at for years. There's nothing you want that you can't have with a single call—except maybe a man who's not a complete fucking disappointment.

Every eligible guy in your social circle is the same. High bred, well mannered and utterly and completely soulless, devoid even. You've dated heirs to fortunes, sons of politicians, future CEOs, and they all feel like copy paste versions of your father's friends, that is cold, predictable and so boring in bed, if you ever make it that far.

"You could at least try slumming it once," Dani says, picking at her cuticle. "Date a bartender. A barista. A fucking dog walker. Just to feel something."

You scoff. "Is that why I saw the doorman sneaking out of your bedroom this morning?"

She shrugs, so unapologetic. "He was hot. And he had this thing he could do with his tongue—anyway, we're not talking about me. We're talking about you and your miserable, sexless, lonely little existence."

You glare at her, but she's already looking out the window, unfazed by your stare.

"You need to let loose. Just once. Stop acting like the world's going to end if someone who works for a living makes you cum."

You don't even dignify her with a response, because to you it's not about sex—not really. It's more about control, maybe status and standards, sure. You've been raised to expect a certain level of everything, especially from men. So the world can suck your dick cause you don't want some random nobody touching you, and you definitely don't need some vacation fling messing with your head.

But as the jet starts to taxi and you catch your reflection in the glass, you start to wonder about what Dani has been preaching about, what it might feel like to be wanted for something other than your last name?

You focus on the hum of the engines instead, it's steady and surprisingly soothing in a way. You're not sure when Dani stopped talking, maybe somewhere over the ocean, but the silence is welcome. You lean your head against the cool window and stare out at endless blue sky, the kind that stretches forever without offering anything new in sight.

After a moment, you start to drift and all you can think is—God, if one more person tells me to live a little, I might actually scream.

You don't want this vacation, in all honesty you'd rather be at home right now but Dani had always had a way of pulling things out of you. Your eyelids start growing heavy and you sink deeper into the seat, the leather soft and familiar beneath your cheek. Just before you fall asleep, you think—Let's get this over with.

A chime followed by a clear, polite voice filtering through the intercom is what wakes you hours later.

"Ms. Y/N, Ms. Dani—we've just landed. Welcome to Bali, Indonesia."

You stir a little, blinking to adjust your eyes to the light. The atmosphere outside the jet has changed, it's warmer now, more golden too, like the kind of tropical sun people usually only see on resort brochures.

"OH MY GOD." Dani's squeal shatters the quiet and bounces off the cabin walls. "We're HERE!"

You wince.

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

"Bali, baby!" She's already unbuckling her seatbelt, half out of her seat. "Ugh, you're going to love it. White sand beaches, poolside cocktails, and hot locals who've never heard of our father—dare I say perfection."

You close your eyes again for half a second, trying to hold onto that fleeting quiet before reality sets in.

Too late cause the door is already opening and the heat rushes in instantly, you make your way to the jet's steps and are immediately met with the sight of the resorts staff waiting below, their uniforms are crisp and their posture is too perfect. Some of them are already lifting your luggage into the back of a black SUV.

The heat hits you like a wall, as you step off the jet, a rush of tropical air rolls over your skin, it's thick and heavy with salt and sun. You pause at the bottom of the steps, sunglasses sliding into place, and take a very slow breath.

It's beautiful, sure. Bali always is, but to you it's just another vacation in another resort and another week of pretending to unwind surrounded by smiling staff and endless attention from people calling you Miss Y/N.

Dani, meanwhile, is glowing.

"Thank you so much!" she chirps to the steward behind you, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Seriously, you've been amazing."

He beams at her, clearly appreciative of her warmness.

You count the sound of your heels clicking across the tarmac, watching as three staff members rush forward to greet you. One of them offers chilled towels on a silver tray, the other hands Dani a flower lei with a wide smile.

"Welcome to Bali, Miss Dani, Miss Y/N."

"Oh my God, how cute is this?" Dani giggles, looping the lei around her neck. "Thank you."

You accept yours with a nod, but no smile and no warmth. Just a flick of your fingers as someone relieves you of your bag and guides you toward the waiting SUV.

Dani, ever gracious, pauses to thank every person in sight. She's always been charming and easily likable, the type of woman who can make strangers feel seen with just a glance.

You've never been that girl, cause where Dani is light, you are cool steel—composed, distant and impossible to impress, you've heard the comparisons your whole life. Why can't you be more like your sister? She's so sweet. So warm. So easy to love.

As far as you're concerned, Dani's friendliness is performative and as much as you love your sister you can see the mask she's wearing, it's just like yours, maybe in a different color.

"I cannot wait for you to see this hotel," she says, sliding into the seat beside you. "Seriously. The view from the pool alone could make you believe in God."

For someone who's been all over the world, she has the same excitement for each place, even though she's been there before.

You stretch out your legs and glance out the window, letting her voice fade into the background. The city rushes past in lush green blur, yet all you feel is the familiar pressure in your chest.

Everyone expects something from you. Dani wants you to relax, your father wants you to behave and the world wants you to smile and say thank you.

The drive from the airport to the hotel is short, winding through narrow roads flanked by palm trees and flowers in full bloom. Dani's still talking, going on about cocktails and a spa day, but your gaze is fixed on the horizon, with your jaw tight.

You've barely said a word since boarding the SUV.

"You could at least try to have fun," she says eventually growing tired of you ignoring her, her voice is light but pointed now. "I mean, not everyone gets flown to paradise just to sulk in designer sunglasses."

You stiffen uncomfortably at her words but you don’t respond.

"Seriously, Y/N. Most girls would kill to have our life. The money. The wardrobe. The freedom."

You turn to her slowly.

"Freedom?" you echo, watching her lift her shoulder in a shrug, she must think her honesty is being helpful.

"You act like you're in prison when you've never had to lift a finger for anything. You could have any guy you want, any life you want—but you're so wrapped up in your own misery, it's like you don't even know what you want."

There it is, that fucking sting. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, but she does. Maybe that's the problem, isn't it? You don't know what you want, not in any way that matters, the world you live in has never allowed you to figure it out without judgment.

Your brain can’t help but interpret her words as an attack, but you can’t show that you’re hurt so you lash out in retaliation.

"You know what, Dani?" you snap, voice as icy as you can conjure. "Maybe I don't want your idea of fun. Maybe I don't want to 'fuck a bartender' just to feel something, or parade around like some pathetic airhead socialite looking for attention."

Her eyes widen. "Y/N—"

"No, really. Just stop. I don't need your armchair therapy or your backhanded concern. This trip wasn't my idea."

She stares at you, regret and pain flickering over her face immediately, she clearly didn’t mean to upset you. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I didn't mean—"

The car is already pulling into the circular driveway of the resort, sleek and pristine, all marble and fountains and soft lit lanterns. Uniformed staff step forward, ready to open the door for you, but you don’t wait.

Before the car even fully stops, you throw open the door yourself, your heels hitting the pavement hard.

You don't look back at her once.

Your heels strike the marble floor of the lobby with sharp steps, each one echoing off the high ceilings like alarm bells.

Staff scramble to greet you, bowing slightly, offering cool towels and murmuring polite welcomes, but you don't so much as glance their way.

You hear Dani's footsteps somewhere behind you, but you don't care. Someone moves into step beside you.

"Welcome to the beautiful Mandapa, Miss Y/N," a woman says smoothly. Her voice is calm and practiced, with the kind of warmth that's designed to placate even the most difficult guests. "My name is Dewi. I'll be personally assisting you during your stay with us."

You don't answer but she doesn’t even falter. "Your suite is ready. We've ensured full ocean views, as requested, and pre stocked the room with your preferred amenities—Chateau Margaux 1787, still and sparkling water, and fresh fruit flown in this morning."

You blink once behind your sunglasses at her unique efficiency. She's keeping up despite the clear storm in your posture and the speed of your walk. Your silence should dare her to stumble, but she doesn't.

She leads you to the private elevator with a poised smile, keycard already in hand, and steps aside to let you enter first.

"You'll be on the top floor with your sister, of course," she continues, tapping the card and pressing the button for one of the two penthouse suites. "Your bags are being taken care of, and a bellhop will be up with them in just a few minutes."

The elevator dings.

She opens the door to the suite, and the scent of fresh flowers and ocean air fills your nose immediately. It's stunning with long and wide glass windows, silk curtains rippling subtly in the breeze, a private pool just beyond the patio doors.

"Should you need anything," Dewi says, stepping back with perfect grace, "please don't hesitate to call. We're here to make your stay exceptional."

You nod, just once.

"Your bags will arrive shortly." She says then leaves with a curt bow. You pull off your heels and make your way to the balcony, crossing your arms and staring out at the turquoise water.

Your catch your reflection staring back in the glass off to the side.

Difficult.

You've heard that word your whole life.

Dani said it last night, you're so difficult to please, Y/N. Your father's associates murmur it behind your back at gala dinners, the younger one, the difficult one. Even the tabloids love it, heiress Y/N L/N, notoriously difficult, seen storming out of another charity event in Milan.

You're not difficult, yes you’re not easy but isn’t that better? That you’re not easy to please or manipulate? Maybe that’s why you’re always angry, because no one bothers to find out why you're this way. No one's ever actually tried.

The doorbell chimes a sharp and crisp sound. You turn, sighing, letting your eyes flutter shut for just a moment before crossing the room and opening the door.

You don't even look at whoever is standing there. "Finally," you mutter, stepping aside and leaving the door wide open, making no move to help or offer of thanks.

Whoever he is, he's quiet while pushing in the large black luggage cart stacked high with your designer suitcases, your custom garment boxes, the massive Louis Vuitton trunk Dani insisted was too much but you brought anyway.

He's careful you think, until you hear a soft thud that makes you whip your head around, just in time to see one of your vintage hat boxes tip from the top of the pile and hit the floor with a muted, sickening sound.

Your mouth falls open in a gasp.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" you snap, stalking toward him. "Do you even know what that is? That's vintage Dior, you fucking dumbass!"

You scoop it up, inspecting it frantically, eyes narrowed like you might actually commit murder if there's even the tiniest scratch on it. There isn’t, so you finally look up at him and meet his eyes. He stands there tall and silent with his hair pushed back, and seemingly completely unbothered by your outburst.

His gaze flicks to yours and he doesn’t even look the least bit sorry, on the contrary he looks…amused? You’re too angry to decipher whatever emotion is on his face right now, clutching the hatbox like it’s a wounded animal.

"I sincerely apologize, Miss," he says, voice even with his tone betraying nothing. "But I implore you—please refrain from using such words with the staff."

Your spine straightens ever so slowly, your fingers tighten around the box. "Excuse me?"

You blink, absolutely stunned, you’re certain you must’ve misheard him, but then he doesn’t waver.

"Please," he says again, "do not speak to the hotel staff in that manner."

You're silent for a beat cause you can’t believe your ears and the audacity of this fucking bellhop. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He barely flinches at your screeching, just stands there with his hands on the luggage cart and his eyes on yours, maddeningly calm.

"We aim to cultivate a respectful relationship between guests and staff here," he replies smoothly, "and I won't allow the people under my supervision to be spoken to like that."

The words are like a slap like across your face. Under his supervision?

You clench your jaw, trying desperately to quench the heat rising behind your eyes from pure rage. "You're just a fucking bellhop." You hiss the words out, venom dripping from every syllable, clearly in an attempt to degrade him in some way.

You can’t believe he’s still managing to meet your glare without any form of hesitation. "That I am," he says coolly.

You're absolutely seething now. "I'm going to get you fired."

It's not an empty threat, you’ve gotten people fired for less, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at you, like he doesn’t care and that’s what’s enraging you the most.

You don't even know when you start pacing and muttering insults to yourself the moment he shut the door, fueled purely by adrenaline and your pride that’s been wounded.

"Who the fuck does he think he is? A bellhop. A fucking bellhop lecturing me."

You snatch a bottle of water off the minibar, nearly breaking the cap trying to open it. "I'm not wrong. I'm a fucking heiress. I don't get talked to like that. I don't get corrected."

You pace faster, heat simmering under your skin. "The sheer audacity—I should ruin his life."

A knock at the door comes sharp and polite. You whip around, eyes narrowing as you march towards it.

"Dani," you hiss, yanking the door open and lock eyes with her calm ones, she’s looking too at ease with not even a single strand of her perfectly blown out hair out of place and there’s an older man standing next to her in a crisp suit.

And just behind him, him. The fucking bellhop, the sight of him makes the tension inside you snaplike a rubber band stretched too tight.

Dani's voice is light as she speaks, almost condescending even, as if you were a toddler about to throw a tantrum. "Y/N, sweetheart, this is Mr Lew—the hotel's general manager. He came personally to apologize for any inconvenience earlier."

You say nothing, you stay staring at the bellhop and sense Mr Lew step forward with his hands clasped.

"Miss Y/L/N, I want to extend my sincerest apologies on behalf of our staff. This is Mr. Park Sunghoon—one of our senior bellhops. He's been reminded of the appropriate conduct with our valued guests."

You blink at his words. Reminded? He's being let off with a warning?

The bellhop—Sunghoon's expression is, bored, like he can't be bothered with this drama, as though this whole situation is a waste of his precious time.

"I trust there won't be any further issues," the manager adds with a tight smile, but it does nothing cause your pride and your temper—they’re both boiling over.

You're speechless, because the bellhop wasn’t looking at before but now that he is, it’s not just bored anymore, it’s dismissive. Like you're a bratty little problem that isn't even worth his breath.

Does he know who you are?

"I want to hear it from him."

Dani makes a sound that seems like a groan but also a sigh, "Y/N," she warns, voice low. "Please. Can we not—"

"No," you snap, eyes never leaving the bellhop. "He insulted me. He can apologize properly."

Mr Lew clears his throat awkwardly. Mr Park Sunghoon doesn't flinch, but you see the tightening of his jaw and the way his hands flex briefly behind his back.

"I'm waiting," you say smiling.

"Y/N, God," Dani mutters, massaging her temple.

You ignore her, because this is between you and him now. His voice is low, so low you almost don’t hear the words coming out of his mouth, his jaw is clenched so tight you're surprised it doesn't crack.

"I apologize for my earlier conduct, Miss Y/L/N." It's entirely empty, robotic even and it makes your smile widen.

"That's better," you purr, just to watch in satisfaction the flicker of rage in his eyes again.

Dani claps her hands together sharply. "Great! That's settled. Let's all move on with our lives, shall we?" She turns to the manager, giving him a look that begs for this to end.

He nods hastily, already retreating. "If you need anything else, Miss Y/L/N, please don't hesitate—"

"Actually," you cheerily cut in, strolling over to the minibar with dramatic flair, picking up the wine bottle and holding it up like evidence at a crime scene.

"No glasses," you say flatly. "Am I meant to drink straight from the bottle?"

Dani's fourth or fifth groan of the conversation is audible behind you. "Oh my god, seriously?"

You glance over your shoulder, "I'm just saying. It's basic hospitality." You turn to Mr Lew again, smile sugary sweet.

"Send someone up with glasses."

"Actually no, send him."

His eyes narrow, but he doesn't speak.

Mr Lew glances nervously between you and Dani. "Of course, Miss Y/L/N."

Dani gives you a long look, it’s exasperated and she's probably given you the same look a million times since childhood, but she turns to leave anyway, with the two men in tow.

The goes quiet again once they're gone, the silence might be the sweetest sound in the world. You drop to the couch with a kitty like stretch, toes flexing against the plush carpet and you can feel the satisfaction blooming in your chest like a fire being fanned. Dani's face red with embarrassment and pinched with frustration lingers in your mind, you almost laugh to yourself.

She always thinks she can swoop in and smooth things over, always assumes you'll cave because she's the "responsible one." It's honestly insane how she hasn’t learnt that you don't bend for her, or anyone even.

And certainly not for some fucking bellhop.

Your lips curl when you remember the look on Sunghoon's face as he forced those words out. So flat and begrudging, so carefully restrained. You could practically see the muscle twitching in his jaw as he tried to choke it down, and it thrilled you. There's something so incredibly intoxicating about men like him—the ones who think they can stand taller than you, talk down to you, dismiss you like you're just another spoiled brat. You love nothing more than taking that condescension flipping it on its head and watching them squirm when they realize you're untouchable.

You've done it before. At restaurants, boutiques, flights, honestly anywhere someone dared to test the boundaries of your patience or treat you as anything less than royalty. You've perfected it into an art, the stare that makes people quake, the voice that sharpens, the carefully chosen words that remind them exactly who you are and what they owe you.

And Sunghoon is no damn exception.

You shift on the couch, resting your chin on your hand, letting your mind wander to the inevitable moment when he knocks again. He has no choice but to face you again and bring you what you want like the servant he is. The thought makes you warm all over as you can already picture the scene, him standing there, stiff  with the tray in hand, burning with a quiet fury he can't show.

You draw out the anticipation, tapping your fingers lazily against your knee, reveling in the quiet power pulsing through you. You don't just like putting people in their place, you thrive on it in a sick way. Watching someone as stoic as Sunghoon bend, even just slightly feeds something deep in you, something close to a hunger that never really dies down.

When the knock finally comes, you don't jump. You don't even move at first, you sit there smiling to yourself, letting the sound echo once more through the room before you rise, deliberately slow, smoothing the hem of your dress as though you're preparing for a performance.

You open the door to see him standing there in his pressed uniform, tray balanced carefully in his hand, two gleaming glasses set perfectly on it. You lean against the doorframe, smile spreading slow and deliberate.

"Took you long enough."

You speak sharply before even letting him step past the threshold, perched against the doorframe with your chin title high and your tone as haughty as the curve of your mouth.

"Here are the glasses you requested," he says, ignoring your words like they bounce off his skin without so much as leaving a mark. He looks toward the tray balanced effortlessly in his hand. "May I come in to set them down?"

You hate that he asks to that, that he doesn't presume or stumble, he doesn't bend to your sharpness. You want him so flustered and shaken, even burning red with humiliation. Instead, he's so steady, it has your teeth clenched.

"Fine." You shift aside with an annoyed flick of your hand, giving him entrance like you're the queen of some throne room instead of just another spoiled girl in a Balinese hotel suite.

He walks in with that same maddening precision as before, every step of his is measured, his posture is flawless. He sets the tray down on the marble counter without a single clink, as if even the glassware obeys him.

"I apologize again for earlier," he says simply when he straightens, hands folded in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead. And then, as if that closes the matter entirely, he moves to leave.

The sound of his retreating footsteps moving past you sparks something ugly in your chest. The sheer gall of him—walking in here, dropping his stupid little tray, throwing you a half hearted apology like it's a bone meant to pacify you, and then just leaving.

No.

Absolutely not.

Your hand moves before you even think it through. One delicate push against the rim of the nearest glass and it tips off the edge, letting gravity do the rest. The shatter is absolutely exquisite, the crystal colliding with the floor in a violent crash that tears through the silence, echoing through the suite like a gun being fired.

It stops him cold.

You see his spine stiffen mid step, a pause in the rhythm of his departure. He turns his head slowly, just enough to glance back over his shoulder, and when your eyes lock, you feel the air in the room shift.

Anger moves through the calm mask on his face, just a second too quick for him to catch as his nostrils flare, and your lips curl into a smile.

"Oops," you purr, not even trying to feign innocence. "Guess you'll have to clean that up, won't you?"

You sit back on the armrest of the sofa, watching him like a cat who’s finally cornered her prey.

He stares at the broken glass for a long time, lips pressed into a tight line.

"I'll call housekeeping to come clean this up." He says and literally every syllable is weighed down with a withering amount of restraint.

He thinks he can sidestep you, thinks he can hold his dignity intact and walk out untouched and you’ll let him.

You tilt your head, lashes batting as you lace your voice with a false sweetness. "Call someone? To deal with this little mess?" You press a finger to your mouth in mock thought, intentionally looking at the scattered glass on the floor.

"That seems rather unnecessary, don’t you think? I'm sure a broom and dustpan are tucked away somewhere in the bathroom. Why bother another poor staff member when you're already right here?"

You’re so sure you can pinpoint exactly when his composure wavers, there’s a faint twitch in his fingers where they are by his sides, his shoulders square tighter, almost preparing for your provocation.

And God, it thrills you.

Was it even about the glass? No. It’s about the dynamic, it’s the delicious reminder that you can demand, prod, even push all you want and men like him will either bend or break.

You let the silence stretch, your smile curling down wicked at the corners. "Go on then," you add softly, almost a coo. "Don't be shy. Show me how well you can clean up after me."

The scrape of the broom against tile echoes from the bathroom, followed by the soft clatter of plastic as he returns with a dustpan. You can’t help but watch him.

The crisp uniform does so little to hide the way his shoulders fill out the jacket so perfectly, tapering into a trim waist. His sleeves strain slightly at his forearms as he kneels to sweep the shards into a neat pile,

His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, lips pressed firm in concentration. His hair, parted just slightly, looks like it should be styled for an editorial photoshoot, not tucked under the title of bellhop.

He is, infuriatingly, handsome.

It makes Dani’s words creep back into your mind uninvited, “You could at least try slumming it once.”

“Date a bartender. A barista. A fucking dog walker. Just to feel something.”

A bellhop?

The thought makes your stomach turn, you’re an heiress for crying out loud. Men like him aren't options, they're furniture at best. But something still stirs in your chest as you watch the clean line of his throat shift when he swallows, the way his fingers curl steady around the broom handle.

If—if—you were ever to debase yourself, to let someone beneath you touch you in such a way, he wouldn't be the worst choice. You'd never, of course. But still.

The cryptic words slip past your lips before you can stop them. "You'd be a good fuck...if you weren't such an asshole."

The broom in his hands stills, his head lifting slowly, dark eyes snapping to yours, sharp enough to cut.

"Excuse me?" His tone is measured, but it drops low and edged and that makes a little heat prickle at the back of your neck.

You smile attempting to be smug, maybe as unbothered as him too. "I said, if I fucked lowlifes, you'd be one of them."

The corner of his mouth twitches—Is that a smile? He lets out a low chuckle, the sound dark and amused, and leans just slightly on the broom handle.

"You?" His drags his eyes slowly over you, as though he's peeling back layers you never granted him permission to see. "You wouldn't last a minute."

Your head snaps toward him, offense flaring hot in your chest.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

The question leaves your lips before you can rein it in, because how dare he suggest—

"I've seen a hundred of you," Sunghoon says flatly, like he's reciting a fact and not an opinion. His eyes don't waver as he sweeps the last shards of the broken glass into the pan, then stands with a deliberate slowness, meeting your eyes head on. "Bratty little heiresses who've never been touched by a real man before. Sheltered. Pampered. Trust fund babies with too much money and too little experience."

The words strike like open handed slaps, each one way harsher than the last, you almost think you don't deserve it.

There's the tiniest hint of a smirk curling at his lips. "If I were to fuck you..." He starts. "...I'd permanently change your views on sex."

Your stomach twists, molten heat licking its way down your spine like lava, but your pride surges higher, choking the reaction in your throat.

"Too bad," he adds with mock sympathy, wiping his palms slowly on a folded cloth. "You don't fuck lowlifes."

He flings your words back at you, the echo of your own insult and you have to admit it lands deep.

He makes no effort to even wait for you to respond, not even the courtesy of a glance back as he walks to the door. His hand closes around the handle and for a fleeting moment you're frozen, watching the shape of his back, the frustrating calm in every line of his body.

Like somehow he gets the last word, like he decides when this ends.

Your anger clouds your senses and the second glass is in your hand before you even think, and then it's flying, shattering against the wall inches from his head, the sound sharp enough to slice through the quiet. Shards rain down onto the carpet.

"You can't walk out on me!" Your voice rips from your throat, hysterical and shrill enough that it shocks even you. "Do you hear me? You do not get to walk out on me!"

It's bratty, you know but you don't care—because it's the truth. For once, someone is refusing to bend to you and it makes something inside you splinter with fury.

The glass shattering so close to his head and missing him just by a few centimeters doesn’t seem to faze him.

He just stands there, shoulders rising and falling with one long breath, before tilting his head to look at you. The look he gives you isn’t even fear or anger, it’s an assessing stare, similar to watching a spoiled child thrash on the floor of a toy store and it only makes you want to scream louder.

You watch his hand slip from the door handle and his whole body turn to face you. You can see his patience fraying.

"Miss," he says with an even voice, "refrain from any form of violence against the staff. Once was enough."

The words are like a warning wrapped in civility, and it actually makes you stagger back a step. Not from fear but from the sheer audacity of him correcting you. Again.

"You think you know me?" you snap, a hysterical laugh bubbling out. "You think I've never been fucked before? Please. I've been with men who—who know exactly what to do with me. Men who could break you in half and—"

His amused laugh cuts you off in a way that almost feels like a slap. "Sure you have, pretty thing." He drawls, you watch his gaze drag down your body again before snapping back up to your eyes.

The mockery in it makes your whole face burn, a mix of humiliation and something you refuse to acknowledge with a name.

His words are so condescending but so smooth and the look in his eyes—God, he doesn’t even believe you.

You feel yourself shudder as your voice raises. "I have! Been fucked good. Men who—"

"—kissed your hand goodnight and tucked you in?" he interrupts, tilting his head like he's actually curious. "Or men who got you drunk at some fundraiser and left you unsatisfied in the back of daddy’s car?"

You open your mouth to fire back, but he steps forward

"Y-you don't know anything about me," you bite out, voice wavering despite yourself.

"I know enough. You wouldn't be screaming at me like this if any of those men you're so proud of had actually fucked you good."

It hits like a punch, the breath caught in your throat and when he sees you can't think of anything to say, when you just stand there shaking with rage, he chuckles under his breath and shakes his head.

"Didn't think so."

Your lips are parted with the half formed comeback you can't even drag to your tongue, he's closer now, too close even. His shadow falls over you, his height swallowing your whole frame.

"Shaking," he murmurs smugly. "But not walking away. Not calling for security. Not throwing another glass."

"I'm not—"

"You are." He shamelessly looks you over. "You're seething, ready to claw my eyes out. And yet...here you stand. Letting me read you like a book."

Your nails bite crescents into your palms, you hate this fucking bellhop, you hate that he's right, you hate the warmth pooling in your stomach with every word of his.

He’s so close now that if you leaned up even just half an inch you’d be kissing the goddamn bellhop. What the fuck is happening? Why do you want to lean up? Why do you actually lean up? Just slightly that you almost kiss him only that he pulls back at the last moment, your breath goes uneven, shame biting at your ribs.

"Unbelievable." His grin cuts you open. "I'm insulting you, tearing you apart—and you're trying to kiss me?"

"I wasn't—"

"You were." He leans in again, deliberately close, his lips ghosting the edge of your cheek before pulling away once more. "You wanted me to."

Your chest heaves, words stammering. "You're—you're fucking delusional—"

"Oh, princess," he croons, wicked, "if anyone here is delusional, it's you. Standing there, pretending you don't want the same man you just called a lowlife to put you in your place."

"Pathetic. All that privilege, that attitude, at the end of the day you're nothing but a fucking brat begging for attention."

"Truly pathetic, Miss Y/n" he says it so slowly you know he’s savoring speaking to you like this.

"All you have to do is ask. Three little words. Please fuck me."

The audacity of him, the way the syllables drip off his tongue, they sound like something you swore you'd never let infect you.

"Never," you say through your teeth.

He shrugs. "Then this is over." He turns, walking back to the door as if your fury, as if your very existence in that moment means nothing to him.

It breaks you open, because all of a sudden, it isn’t just him you’re fighting. It's Dani's voice echoing about getting laid in your skull again. It's your father's looming shadow, the man who raised you to believe every inch of the world was beneath your feet, who would probably disown you if he knew you were even thinking about begging a fucking bellhop.

It's the tens and twenties of glossy, empty faces of men in your circle. Polished trust fund sons with limp handshakes and even colder beds. Not one of them ever able to make you feel this humiliated and alive.

Your pride screams no, it really does. Every part of your upbringing shrieks to slam the door behind him, call Dani, demand another glass of wine and a new bellhop who'll bow low and never look you in the eye.

But your body— it fucking body betrays you. Your thighs press together, making you burn up with something that feels like desire in disguise.

And before you can stop yourself or have thoughts of rethinking your decision, the words are spilling out of you, completely broken around your pride.

"Please..." Your throat almost closes on the word. You swallow hard, force the rest out. "...fuck me."

The silence that follows is so unbearable, you start to feel regret blooming in your stomach. The weight of it claws at you from inside, hot and humiliating, like you've just set fire to the perfect little cage you've always kept yourself in.

"There she is," Sunghoon says, savoring it, dragging the sound of victory out slow. "I knew I could break you."

You fully expect him to gloat, maybe even grin with pride but he doesn’t, he just studies you before speaking again once he’s right in front of you. "Get on your knees."

You scoff instantly and an ugly laugh bursts right out of you. "You've lost your fucking mind."

Something in you makes you think he’s not going to argue or even repeat himself and he doesn’t, he keeps looking at you, steadily, in the silence of the room like he has all the time in the world just to watch you unravel.

The longer he waits, the hotter your skin burns. The more impossible it feels to stand there with your arms crossed, pretending you don't understand exactly what he's doing to you.

You feel your heart pounding in your ears and then you move, slowly like you’re resisting ever more, you lower yourself. Your knees press against the plush carpet, your chin is tipped high, in an attempt to hold onto the scraps of your dignity, but you're kneeling all the same.

"You're fucking stunning, you know that?"

The words slam into you harder than his insults ever did. Fucking Stunning? A gasp leaves your lips before you can stop it, your eyes widen and you feel your chest tighten a little at the warmth in his tone. It completely disarms you and now you feel exposed.

In this position your face to face with his crotch and you can’t stop yourself from looking at it. There’s the thick line of his cock straining against the front of his slacks. It looks heavy and your stomach twist at the knowledge that it’s for you. Is it the sight of you on your knees for him?

"Do you want to touch me?" His voice dips lower.

You’re staring and you hate it, you hate the heat you feel between your legs, your hands even twitch like they want to reach for him.

You nod and your hand moves, fingers brushing the sharp line of his zipper. The heat radiates through the fabric, thick and undeniable. Somehow, you’re not at all shocked—of course you're not. A bellhop with this much arrogance, this much calm command, couldn't possibly have a small dick.

In fact if he had turned out to be small, you would’ve felt within your rights to slap him across his beautiful face.

Your fingertips trace the length of him, tentative at first, then bolder when he doesn't stop you. The shape alone makes your stomach flip, your thighs press tighter together.

"Mm." His voice rumbles above you, almost warning. "You're sure you want this?"

You look up, your pride wanting to roll your eyes, your body betraying you with the way you nod too fast.

"I'm not gonna be gentle." His gaze is steady, unblinking, like he's promising something brutal.

You nod again, feeling a bit of shame at how easily you fold.

His smirk seems so satisfied. "Then take me out."

The commanding words hang so heavy in the air, so electric. Your fingers fumble at his belt, the quiet jingle of metal almost as loud as your heartbeat in your ears. His eyes don’t leave your face as you drag the zipper down, the heat of him pressing against your palm through the last thin barrier of his briefs.

You slip one hand past the waistband of them, the other one shyly tugs at them. He’s heavy, really heavy and hardening further with every beat of your pulse.

He tilts his head, watching you intently. "There you go," he murmurs. "That's it. Touch me like you've been dying to since I walked in."

Your cheeks burn, you even want to deny it, to spit something cruel, but your hand gives you away, stroking him now that you’ve managed to get his cock out fully.

His hand closes around your wrist firmly, you think he’s about to move you off him but he doesn’t, he tilts your chin up instead, making you meet his eyes.

"Open."

You shock even yourself with how easily you obey, the smile on his face is enough to let you know he thinks there isn’t a thought behind your eyes.

"There we go." His thumb drags across your lower lip, then he presses the head of his cock against your tongue. "That's better. Obedience truly does suit you, angel."

The praise sinks in so deep, it fills out a space you had no idea you had. Something desperate and very foreign grows inside you. You want more—you want him to want more.

You sink forward, reckless, your mouth stretching wide as you take more of his cock in. It's intoxicating, you already feel drunk on the taste of him on your tongue. You push yourself too quickly, driven by the near crippling urge to prove yourself, to make him happy, to be good for him.

You want him to praise you but all you get in return is a laugh, "Woah, woah," Sunghoon drawls, fingers flexing in your hair trying to halt your frantic pace. "Slow down. It's not a straw, princess."

The embarrassment you feel only makes you cling to him tighter.

"Eager little thing," he teases, rocking his hips just enough to feel your throat twitch around him. "Rich girls don't usually try this hard. You trying to impress me, hm?"

His words sting a little, but his hand guiding your head feels like gravity itself—you can't fight it, you don’t bother.

He slides his hand up the back of your head, fingers threaded in the roots of your hair like a leash. "Breathe through your nose. Slow and don't fucking gag." He teaches you, each word as authoritative as the last.

He guides you gently, pushing you, titling your head and in return your lips around his cock that’s not dripping with your saliva and his precum. Your pride melts under his instructions, the obedience tastes oddly sweet. You want him to like it.

When he lets out a low moan, you’re one hundred percent sure is involuntary—it hits you like touching a live wire. You whimper a little, and he freezes, eyes halfway closed, the sound in his chest turning amused.

"Oh?" he says, you can hear the smile in his voice. "You have a praise kink, princess?"

Your mouth keeps eagerly working around him, desperate for another moan. You make a small, dumb noise that’s just pure curiosity before pulling your mouth from him. "W-what's that?" you force out between wet breathes.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, amusement folding into something else. "So clueless." His fingers tighten slightly at the base of your skull. "Keep sucking. You’re doing so good."

You immediately wrap your lips around him again, you don’t expect the sting of a slap on your cheek but you also don’t expect to like it so much. "Come on. You can open up wider for me."

"That's it," he grunts, and the praise is an unexpected drug, it's so addictive. "Daddy's little heiress. On her knees, sucking the goddamn bellhop's cock."

You whine at his words, thinking of what your father would think, but the taste of him on your tongue and trailing into your throat knocks all the thoughts out of your mind.

"Oh—Shit. You tryna make me cum, doll?" He asks through a laugh, you don't even realize he's moved his shoe clad foot between your legs, you don't even know what in you makes you think to hump it—but you do. Your panties are so wet as you start to slide your pussy back and forth on his perfectly polished shoe.

"Such a perfect cock whore." You're a mess now, tears on your cheeks and drool on your chin. "So messy. You're humping my shoe?"

"I'm close, angel." he warns. "Keep going. Down your throat."

"Fuck."

You continue, swallowing around the thickness of his cock, tasting him, tasting your own surrender too. The shame is a hot cloak you wear like a crown as you work to give him what he needs, sucking and licking the best you can.

He pulls free with a soft curse, pumping his cock in his hand and moaning through his clenched teeth. You kneel there completely unsure of what's coming but utterly mesmerized by the view above you. When you feel the hot wetness of his cum splattering across your face, the first sound you makes is a raw gasp, from outrage.

But he keeps going and the first sound you make is a raw, involuntary gasp from outrage and shock, you even start to splutter cause his cum seems to be endless hitting your face—over your eyelids, your lips and even your hair. He's moaning through it and your mouth is open around nothing, your throat raw from taking his cock all while his cum is beading and running down your chin, warm and humiliating. You feel the world narrowing to the slick weight on your skin and the frantic beat of your heart.

You're ready to scream at him, feeling so much anger at the audacity of him to use you like that but his voice cuts through to you, uncompromising like there's no room for options. "Say 'Thank you Sunghoon, for giving me your cum.'"

"Say it," he orders, not shouting but with that same quiet authority that demolished your defenses earlier.

"What?" You try to spit, to shout, your eyes even scan for anything you can throw at him again. How dare he? Your brain scrambles—father, reputation, Dani's ridiculous grin, the glittering life you would never, ever let be public like this. Your pride immediately claws up your throat, how dare he make you beg for that?How dare you even want it?

He leans forward just enough so you can't ignore him since he's right in front of you, his breath ghosts across your cheek. "Say thank you, Sunghoon," he says, one finger tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to lock eyes with him. "Say, 'Thank you, Sunghoon, for giving me your cum.'"

Everything inside you splits, part of you wants to vomit the taste of the words from the back of your throat, part of you wants to melt into his command and never come up for air. You picture your father's face, the hush of a gala, the way your name is always spoken like a thing on a pedestal. You tell yourself you won't be reduced. You're not that kind of girl. You don't say thank you for such disgusting things but somehow your lips move, they tremble with humiliation so hot it's licking at reason.

"Thank you," you croak, the word nearly swallowed by the wetness on your chin. Your throat is rough and raw with the sound. "Thank you, Sunghoon, for giving me your cum."

He watches you, eyes dark and almost fond, as if this admission is some small, private trophy. The corner of his mouth quirks, you can see the satisfied, almost amused softness in it that makes your stomach drop and your pulse stutter like you just took one long, fatal step.

"Good girl," he breathes, there's no tenderness, it's only the kind of praise that pins you further beneath him. For a beat you're left with nothing but the burn of shame and the ridiculous but undeniable ache that's thrummed through you since he first spoke.

You wanted to be untouchable, you somehow still want to believe you’re above this. But the salt on your skin, the sound of your own voice so obedient and ashamed, proves otherwise. And even as outrage sinks hot behind your ribs, another, quieter thing settles in, something similar to a dangerous, aching satisfaction that you'll be ashamed to admit later.

He slowly sits on the edge of the mattress, one knee splayed, that long lean silhouette that’s hard to look away from. One hand is stroking his cock so deliberately, you can feel the strokes in your teeth almost and you can’t help but notice that he’s stayed hard, absolutely no sign of softening even with the amount of cum put on your face. The sound of him stroking himself is obscene in the quiet room, a mix of your saliva and his arousal, you kneel there watching him—a punctuation to your humiliation.

"Take your clothes off," he says in a way that feels like a law.

You do it immediately because you asked for this, you begged for it even, because you're suddenly dizzy with want and shame braided together. You shrug your top off first, the designer fabric slips off your skin so easily, like silk against your skin. You tease, purposely slow, letting the garment slide just enough to leave the ridge of your bra visible, then yank it over your head with a practiced little toss, all in an attempt to regain some semblance of control in this situation.

Your skirt is off next, you unfasten the zipper at the side and hope he doesn’t notice you’re hands are shaking, hip cocked like some caricature of seduction until you step out of it and the hem pools around your ankles. For a breath you consider keeping your bra on, to leave something private for yourself but your pride pushes you to an audacious, maybe even childish move—you take the bra off fling it at him, a wet, careless arc meant to be sexy and defiant at once, like his cum isn’t smeared on your face right now.

He catches it without effort though, one hand snapping out as if catching cigarette ash. His laugh is a low thing, amused and sharp. He dangles it in his fingers by the straps like it's an afterthought, and the way his eyes rake you from head to toe makes your skin flare with heat.

"Expensive?" he asks, voice edged with mock curiosity. "Worth the price tag?"

"Of course," you croak, and the word comes out thin, embarrassed and true. "Expensive for the likes of you, probably."

He snorts, amused. "You still think you can degrade me? I love that, really. All that pride intact like the bellhop's cum isn't caking in your hair." He tucks the bra under his thigh like a trophy and pats the mattress on the space behind. "You gonna get on bed? Or you wanna give me a cost breakdown of every piece of clothing you just took off?"

Your obedience tastes like relief now, so you walk up to the edge of the mattress and raise your knee to lean on it. Your knees dip into the mattress, the soft spring cool against your skin. He watches your face and you know he can see the uncertainty in your eyes, what position am I meant to be in?

He chuckles at your cluelessness, "Need me to position you too?" The way he says it, makes you feel like the spoiled child you've always been, having everything done for you.

"What position did the men that fucked you so good have you in then?" He teases, moving closer and grabbing you by your neck, leaning in so close you think he's about to kiss you, but instead he shoves your face into the mattress. Your palms flatten and clutch at the sheets. Oh, this position?

It's so degrading, his palm smooths down your bareback, pushing you to arch deeper, your panty clad ass high in the air. "There," he says caressing you all over, "Don't you look pretty like this? Messy."

"Stretch out your arms," he orders, the slightest bark of impatience. "And don't move unless I tell you to."

The bed is a stage and you're undoubtedly the performer stripped bare. You press your palms flat to the sheets and lift your chin, waiting for him to decide exactly how much of you he will take and how much of yourself you'll surrender in return. He huffs a low, predatory laugh and rises from the edge of the bed, stepping behind you. Your hands press against the sheets instinctively as he hovers, and for a moment the energy in the room crushes the last shred of your pride. How much pride can you possibly have in this position?

"Stay still," he murmurs, noticing you're fidgeting, the arms he told you to keep stretched out are shifting between curling against your face and obeying his order. You feel his hands glide over your hips, gripping, thumbs brushing along the sensitive swell of your ass. "I said stay still, princess."

You feel his breath against your cunt, the only thing separating his mouth from where you're absolutely aching is your soaked lace panty, you press your chest to the sheets in anticipation. Your back arches even further and you have no idea how you manage to contain your whimper when you feel him kiss your clit, he laughs at your pathetic reaction, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down so slowly you're sure he's trying to torture you.

"Wonder what has you this wet, angel." He says when the last fabric of your clothing is left bunched up at your bent knees. That cry that's been lodged at the back of your throat, tears out when he suddenly spread your cheeks apart and latches his lips to your dripping pussy, "Oh!"

He groans low and hot, almost at the taste of you, his fingers tangling in your hair at the nape of your neck as he leans fully into you. You don't know why you expected the first few seconds to be him giving you tender flicks of his tongue, there's nothing like that present—he is immediately eating your pussy, tongue pushing in, sucking on your clit so deliciously. You can't help the way your palms smack against the mattress, "Fuck! N-No!" You scream, reaching back, trying to push at his head, but he just grabs it and pins it to your back.

Your feet start to kick, it's too much. Every sloppy, messy move of his lips and tongue drags you closer to surrender.

"Now who knew bratty heiress tasted this good?" He says against you, voice muffled against your stupidly soaked folds. The words alone make you shiver, your thighs tightening reflexively, and the sensation of him damn near making out with your pussy is so intense, so consuming, that every rational thought falls away. You're reduced to gasps, moans, little whimpers, all the control you'd barely managed to cling to evaporating with every lick and suck of his mouth in your sensitive pussy.

You feel the hand groping the flesh of your ass lift but you don’t expect the hand to come right back down your cheek. He just spanked me, you think. "You’re not staying very still, you know?" "Not very obedient. What me to stop?" He says, mouth completely off you now. "No! I’m so—Please don’t." You can barely even get the words out but he gets the message anyway.

"Then stay still."

You choke out a noise, something between a whimper and a plea, and it only makes him laugh against your skin, where he kisses the curve of your ass. The power he wields is intoxicating, and the humiliation of being owned and reduced to pure sensation? You’re absolutely drunk on it.

Your back suddenly hits the mattress and it takes you a minute to realize he's flipped you over, he's hovering over you now, you whimper when his fingers twist at your erect nipple, "These real? Or you payed for them?" You gasp at the question, why would he think that? Is it a compliment?

"They're real." You mumble and he hums, "Big perfect titties. Aren't you a lucky girl?" He says as he dips his head between your thighs again, fingers active now. His thumb rubs at your clit and he grunts when you try to close your legs, he uses his other hand to keep you open.

His index finger rubs at your opening and you bristle, he pushes it in and sucks your clit into his mouth, it feels like a most welcome invasion. His one finger has you feeling so full already with how thick it is, you tremble when his finger dips upwards to that particular spot you could never quite reach on your own.

"See, now I don't believe you about all those guys you claim you fucked." "Look how you're clenching on just one finger, angel."

You're dizzy with embarrassment, you can't help it, you don't even realize you're tilting your hips up greedily searching for more. Through your blurry vision you see his head dip again, you mewl when his tongue laps at your swollen clit, mixed with the sensation of his finger hitting just right—you’re embarrassed by how fast you’re about to cum.

"I—I’m gon c—Ah!" Where are your damn words? Why are you so suddenly so speechless?

If he hears your jumbled words, he doesn’t care, in fact he seems to ignore everything else right now, his only focus is your cunt, he’s lapping away, switching between insane licks against your clit and sucking it into his mouth, all while his one finger is about to push you over the edge.

If he feels your hands tugging him closer and pushing him away at the same time, he doesn’t care. But right when you’re on the edge, about to tip over into what you know will be an explosive orgasm, all sensations completely disappear.

"No! Why?!"

He moves his body, hand pumping his hardened cock as he leans over you, "All that shit you said to me, and you think I’m gonna let you cum that easily." "Aren’t you delusional."

You open your mouth to say something but he taps his heavy dick in your sensitive clit, "D—Don’t do that!"

He laughs at your reaction but damn sure doesn’t listen, he does it again and again and again, then he dips the bulbous head into your clenching hole. It’s like he’s giving you a taste of everything and nothing at the same time.

A few more taps at your clit before he dips back in again, deeper this time. He pulls out at thrusts up, sliding himself along your wet folds, his tip rubs at your clit in a way that has you screaming and begging. "Please! Please! Sung—."

"Shh. Your pussy’s so damn tight."

"I’m not even in yet."

Yet doesn’t last much long cause the next dip inside your cunt, isn’t shallow like you expect, he thrusts half of his length into you and if you’re being honest, it’s bigger than any other dick you’ve had. "F—Fuck! It’s so big!"

"Shit. You’re sure you’re not a virgin, angel? You’re gripping me so tight."

"You sure you can take me?" There’s an uncertainty in his voice now, a wave probably brought on by how tight your pussy is clenching around him, it’s obvious you don’t know what to do with it, or yourself.

"Yes! Yes! I can take you. Please!"

He thrusts the rest of his length into you, "So full! So full!"

"Look at you. Daddy’s perfect princess. Taking cock like a champ." He breathes the words out as his hands find the backs of your knees, pushing them up so you’re folded perfectly in half. The change in angle does something, his thrusts hit different like this and you can’t stop yourself from digging your perfect acrylic nails into his biceps.

That’s when you realize he’s still fully dressed, his pants are pulled down just enough that they don’t get in the way him fucking you silly. His white shirt is still on and you have no choice but you tug at it desperately, so suddenly aware of how bare you are, spread open and folded in half, taking cock like a champ.

He keeps pushing until your knees are at your shoulders, you feel so helpless like this. He’s found a steady pace now, slow deep thrusts that have you feeling every inch of him, every vein that runs along the sides of his thick shaft.

"Ngh, feels so good!"

"Yeah? You ever been fucked this good?" He asks, eyes glued to your face, when you shake your head no, he seems unsatisfied and responds with a particularly rough thrust, "Words."

"No! N—Never been fucked this good!"

"Yeah, that’s right."

His speed has picked up now but it’s steady all the same. The sounds are humiliating, you can hear the squelchy wetness of your pussy each time he pushes into you with that unrelenting pace. His hand moves to your hair, pulling your head down so you’re forced to look at the way your pussy takes him, you can see your walls gripping his cock and you immediately close your eyes.

"Open your fucking eyes."

You almost shake your head no but something tells you if you do he’ll stop and you’re so close to cumming that you open your eyes and look. It’s an obscene sight, you can see exactly how he’s stretching out your little pussy.

"There we go. Pretty uh?"

You wonder how he’s barely moaning, if you weren’t going stupid on his cock, you’d almost be insecure from his lack of a reaction to your body. Is he not enjoying this?

Your thoughts quickly fly out the window when he lets out a mina of his own "Fuck, you like that?" His voice borders on the edge of a whimper that makes you wonder if he’s close too. His hand leaves where he has you folded and finds your clit again. "I’m gonna cum!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"F—Faster Please!"

This time he’s the one listening to you, throwing his head back in a moan as his pace increases. You’re so dizzy, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re drooling out the side of your mouth, it’s just too good.

When your orgasm finally hits, it’s life changing, for a second your mind drifts back to how he said he’d permanently change your views on sex. Mission accomplished, you think. Your whole body is trembling like the orgasm itself is too big for your frame.

"Oh my God! Right there!"

Something in you had expected that he’d fuck you right through your orgasm, but he pulls out suddenly and just when you’re about to whine his fingers come down harshly against your cunt, he’s slapping your pussy and your thrashing against his hold.

Before you can even think to predict his next move, two fingers push inside you, immediately hitting that dizzying spot inside you, "Oh shit!" You scream as he fingers you roughly.

"Wait! Wait!" Your hands scramble to push his away but all that earns you is three sharp slaps to your clit and that’s all it really takes—his fingers prodding against you and the slaps against your cunt and you’re cummimg harder than you ever thought possible.

It’s evident in the wetness that gushes out of you, coating his sleeve folded at his elbow. But that doesn’t stop him, his head dips down catching the essence of your cum in his mouth, "Mm. So fucking sweet." He mumbles against you before pulling back and the next you feel is his cock stretching you out again.

"Ah! It’s too much!"

"Is it? I’m so close, angel." "Don’t I deserve to cum too?"

You nod immediately, you want him to cum too, you really do.

"That’s right. Gonna use your tight little cunt to jerk myself off." And that he does, hand in your hair, dragging you back and forth on his cock. "Agh." You hear him grunt before he pulls out, hand frantically tugging and stroking at himself. His head is thrown back and you just think he looks so beautiful, lower lip bitten as his cum coats your stomach and breasts.

"Fuck yeah."

You feel like a canvas of his own, his cum covers almost every surface he’s had access to. Your chest is heaving as he pulls away, a satisfied hum sounds from his throat. He sits back on his heels, eyes moving down your body with so much lazy arrogance that you feel your skin prickle. His hand finds your jaw, thumb swiping across your swollen bottom lip as his mouth curves into a smirk.

"You should probably shower," he taunts, a smile tugging at his lips, maybe the joke is the mess he’s made of you. "Can't have the staff walking in on an esteemed guest like this."

He stands with unhurried movements, adjusting his shirt, tucking it back into his pants. The sight of him putting himself back together while you're sprawled out and completely undone makes something painful gnaw at your stomach.

Is he about to leave?

"Wait," you say, your voice thin and breathless, the word coming out before you even think too much about it. "Where are you going?"

He pauses half way to the door, tilting his head just enough to look over his shoulder at you. The smirk returns, wider this time, as he straightens his cuffs. "What?" he drawls. "You wanna cuddle?"

You stiffen at the teasing edge in his voice, but your silence really betrays you. His amusement deepens, a quiet chuckle spilling out as he leans against the doorframe. "Didn't take you for the clingy type, princess."

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined by the faint tremor in your lips. No way you’re about to cry, why? Because the bellhop didn’t give you aftercare?

He notices the look in your eyes and you swear you see his eyes soften just a little, but it’s not enough to be called kind, it just stings.

"I do have a job, you know?" he says finally, gesturing toward the hallway with a faint shrug. "I actually work here. Bellhop, remember?"

You don't answer, you just keep watching him like maybe if you stay quiet long enough, he'll change his mind and come back, he doesn’t, he reaches for the handle instead and panic curls tighter in your chest.

"You're just gonna leave?" you manage to whisper, your voice cracking at the end.

He glances back once more, eyes catching yours, there's something that feels like a promise in them. His lips twitch again, this time into something smaller.

"Don't worry," he says, voice low and assured. "I know your room number."

You’re not sure why, but the words really do assure you, and as you watch him walk out the door, you’re so certain he’ll come back. It settles you in a kind of fucked up way. Your mind even drifts back to Dani’s words again, "Date a bartender. A barista. A fucking dog walker. Just to feel something."

You have a new one for her to add to her list. Fuck a bellhop.

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©️nephynes 2025

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

[jakeify]

i’ve been waiting for this

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈✨

📱🖤 LONG DISTANCE 🖤📱

Day 10 – Chantober 2025

Content Includes: camming, voyeurism, gn!reader

W/c: 605

You lie back against your pillows, phone propped up at the perfect angle, screen tilted just enough that he sees every inch you want him to. The lights are low, sheets bunched beneath your thighs, your skin warm under the flush of nerves and desire.

Stockings. Bra. That set he always liked, the one he picked out when you were together in Sydney. You wear it now like a promise. Like a gift. Like a silent “I’m yours.”

His face fills the screen. Hoodie off. Hair a little messy. Jaw clenched. Hand resting in his lap, but not moving. Not yet.

“Yeah?” His voice is already hoarse. He’s barely said anything, but you can hear it. The tension in his throat. The crackle of restraint. “You wanna show me how much you missed me?”

You nod once, slow and shy. Your fingers graze along your inner thigh and his eyes drop instantly. He goes quiet. Just breathing.

You’ve never done this before. Never undressed for someone through a screen. Never taken control, not like this. But tonight you want him to watch. Not just because it turns you on, but because you know it’ll unmake him. He’s so far away, and you need him to feel it. Need him to feel you.

Your hands tremble a little as they move, sliding higher. You keep your touch light, teasing. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make his lips part, chest rising with every shallow inhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”

You glance at the screen and find him staring, eyes locked. Face flushed. He hasn’t moved his hand. Not even a twitch.

“Touch yourself,” he says, voice rough now, lower. “C’mon. Don’t make me ask again.”

You obey. Two fingers press against the silk of your panties, stroking slow. His name falls from your lips on a quiet breath. He hears it. His eyes shut for half a second.

“Don’t stop. You hear me? Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

You nod again, harder this time. Shaky. Desperate. The sound of your breathing fills the room, tangled with the rustle of fabric and the soft buzz of the call. You’re soaked already, body strung tight from the thrill of being seen like this. Wanted like this.

His hand finally moves. Slow at first. Just gripping. He’s not stroking yet. Just holding himself there like he’s trying not to break too fast.

You whisper his name again. This time it’s a whimper.

He groans deep, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, it’s different. Hungrier. Unhinged.

“You want me to finish like this?” His hand starts to move then. Measured strokes, controlled, but his jaw is twitching. “Want me to come to you like this, fuckin’ alone in my bed with your name in my mouth?”

You nod again and let your legs fall open wider. Just for him. Just so he can see what he’s doing to you.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Keep goin’. Don’t stop ‘til I say.”

You don’t.

Not until he gasps your name, curses loud, and spills with a strangled cry. Not until you’ve wrecked him with nothing but your voice, your body, and your obedience.

And when you collapse back against the pillows, still catching your breath, he’s still there on the screen. Flushed. Wrecked. Smiling like you belong to him.

Because even when you’re apart, you are.

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[jakeify]

wait this is a gag

[jinilogy]

✿. 𝓣𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝓖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀 一 ( lee heeseung, ೀ )

❝ When the love of your life watches you marry someone else from the shadows, some goodbyes come with closure and the haunting echo of what could have been ❞ x female reader ⁽ˢʰᵉ/ʰᵉʳ ᵖʳᵒⁿᵒᵘⁿˢ⁾

──── 🢒 SYNOPSIS

when lee heeseung watches you marry someone else, and he realizes too late that every moment he didn't choose you was the moment he lost you forever when lee heeseung watches you marry someone else, and he realizes too late that every moment he didn't choose you was the moment he lost you forever

♯📂 🢒 1.235 words ⋆ angst 一 (╥﹏╥) ⋆ masterlist

The church bells ring too loudly.

Heeseung stands at the back of the venue, half-hidden behind a marble pillar, watching as guests filter into the pews with their fancy hats and pressed suits. He shouldn't be here. He knows that. But when the invitation arrived at his door three weeks ago—cream-colored cardstock with elegant gold lettering—he couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

You are cordially invited to witness the marriage of Y/N L/N.

Your name, printed in swirling calligraphy next to someone else's.

He'd held that invitation for hours, reading it over and over until the words blurred together. Part of him hoped it was a mistake, a cruel joke, anything but the truth. But deep down, he'd known this day would come eventually. He just never imagined it would hurt this much.

The venue is beautiful—you always did have impeccable taste. White roses cascade down every surface, their petals catching the afternoon light streaming through stained glass windows. Everything is perfect, exactly the kind of wedding you used to describe to him during those late-night conversations when you were both too young to know what forever really meant.

"I want something timeless," you'd said, lying next to him under a blanket of stars. "Something that feels like a fairy tale, but real, you know?"

He'd laughed and pulled you closer. "As long as I'm there, it'll be perfect."

The memory stings now, sharp and unforgiving.

Heeseung adjusts his tie—black, understated, appropriate for a guest who's supposed to blend into the background. His hands shake slightly, and he shoves them into his pockets. Around him, people chatter excitedly about how beautiful you'll look, how perfect you and your fiancé are together, how this is the wedding of the year.

Each word is a needle in his chest.

The string quartet begins to play, and the chatter dies down as everyone takes their seats. Heeseung remains standing, pressed against the wall where he can see everything but remain unnoticed.

The groom takes his position at the altar, looking nervous and excited and completely, blissfully unaware that someone in this room is breaking apart.

He seems nice. That's what makes it worse. Heeseung has done his research—he couldn't help himself. Your fiancé is successful, kind, comes from a good family. He probably gives you everything you deserve, everything Heeseung couldn't provide when his career was just taking off and his schedule was too chaotic to build a life with someone.

The music shifts.

Everyone stands.

And then there you are.

Heeseung forgets how to breathe.

You're ethereal in white, moving down the aisle like something from a dream. The dress hugs you perfectly, and your smile is radiant—that same smile he fell in love with years ago, the one that used to be reserved just for him. Your hair is styled elegantly, flowers woven through it, and even from this distance, he can see the happiness glowing in your eyes.

You're happy. Genuinely, completely happy.

And it's not because of him.

The realization crashes over him like a wave. All this time, he'd held onto a foolish hope that maybe you still thought about him, that maybe you still wondered "what if" the way he did every single day. But seeing you now, walking toward your future with such certainty, he understands.

You've moved on. You've found your forever.

And it's exactly what you deserve.

Your eyes scan the crowd as you walk, greeting familiar faces with soft smiles. For just a moment, your gaze passes over his hiding spot, and Heeseung's heart stops. But you don't see him—he made sure of that. This isn't his moment to intrude on. This is yours.

He watches as you reach the altar, watches your fiancé take your hands with such tenderness that Heeseung has to look away. The officiant begins to speak, words about love and commitment and two souls becoming one, and each syllable is agony.

"If anyone has reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

The silence stretches.

Heeseung's throat tightens. He could do it. He could step forward, could tell everyone that he's still in love with you, that he never stopped, that losing you was the biggest mistake of his life. He could be selfish just this once.

But then he sees your face again—sees the pure joy there, the certainty, the love you have for the man standing before you—and he knows he could never do that to you.

Loving someone means wanting them to be happy, even if that happiness doesn't include you.

The officiant continues. The vows are exchanged. Heeseung barely hears them through the rushing in his ears. His chest feels tight, eyes burning, but he won't let himself fall apart. Not here. Not now.

"You may now kiss the bride."

The room erupts in applause and cheers as you kiss your husband—your husband, not your ex-boyfriend, not the boy who let his dreams get in the way of loving you properly. The joy is infectious, spreading through the venue like sunlight, and everyone is standing and clapping and celebrating your new beginning.

Everyone except Heeseung, who quietly slips out the back door before anyone can notice the tears on his face.

Outside, the world continues as normal. Cars drive by, birds sing, the sun shines warm and indifferent. Heeseung leans against the stone wall of the church, tilting his head back to stare at the cloudless sky.

He'd come here thinking he needed closure, that seeing you get married would somehow help him let go. And maybe it has, in a way. Maybe this is what letting go feels like—this hollow ache, this acceptance that some chapters close whether you're ready or not.

His phone buzzes. Messages from the group chat, asking where he is, if he's okay. He types out a quick response that he's fine, just busy with work, the same excuse he's been using for months whenever someone asks why he seems distant.

Inside the church, music starts up again—the reception must be beginning. He can hear the muffled sounds of laughter and celebration, can imagine you dancing and smiling and living the happily ever after you always deserved.

Heeseung finally pushes off the wall and starts walking, hands in his pockets, heading away from the church and toward the rest of his life. A life that will continue, that will be full of music and performances and the dreams he chose over you.

He doesn't regret his choice—he can't, because his career is everything he's worked for. But he'll always regret the timing, the way things ended, the fact that he realized too late what he was losing.

As he reaches the corner, he turns back one last time to look at the church. Through the stained glass windows, he can see the warm glow of the celebration inside—your celebration, your joy, your new beginning.

"Be happy," he whispers to the wind, knowing you'll never hear him. "That's all I ever wanted for you."

Then Lee Heeseung turns away and lets you go, carrying the bittersweet weight of a love that was real but not meant to last, a love that will live forever in the quiet corners of his heart where no one else can see.

Some love stories end with fireworks.

His ends with church bells and the sound of his own footsteps walking away.

⋆ @jinilogy,, 2O25 (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) if you want to be tagged or on the taglist, just comment or dm me <3 don't hesitate to comment !