a/n: happy pride month everyone! I know i have two other fics coming out but here’s a little smth in honor of pride <33 also, i'm really sorry if this ends up being ass, it's my first time actually attempting to write smut
btw this is currently just a preview. i'm going on vacation so i will be uploading the full version later :)
synopsis: hooking up with a beautiful woman in the back of the club
disclaimer: smut, (mdni) porn with a plot, top!lara, switch!reader, established sexualities, queer!lara, queer!reader, brief mentions of cheating, oral (both receiving) pussy eating, fingering, scissoring, use of strap, cum eating, squirting, bush mention, spanking, degradation, nipple play, mentions of nipple piercings, hickeys, mommy kink, choking, face riding, semi-public sex, light aftercare
pairing: fwb!riki x fwb!reader
genre: friends to lovers & fwb (i guess)
wc: to be added
a/n: hi y’all! i’m so excited for this fic to come out, i've been working pretty hard on it so i hope those who read it enjoy it :) this fic is currently incomplete, but i'd like to have it out in early june, if possible. it's also lowkey self-indulgent asf but it's one of my first enha fics so please bare with me lol
Synopsis: After being pressured by your best friend's to attend a mutual friend's gathering that you most definitely did not want to go to, you end up crossing paths with a handsome and mysterious stranger, where you end up finding out you both have more in common than either of you anticipated. So when the line between your friendship starts to blur into something more neither of you are willing to address, both of you find yourselves in a repeating state of limbo. Will either of you be able to withstand the weight of your unresolved feelings for one another or will both of you be willing to grow and transition into something more?
Disclaimer: black!reader, plus!sized reader, (reader has some established features), (riki is canonically blonde & has tattoos), (everyone in this fic is in uni) mature themes, smut (mdni), kissing, eater!riki,big dick!riki, semi-public sex, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, mentions of pussy!print, face sitting/riding, pussy drunk!riki, pussy slapping, choking, spanking, biting/nibbling, praise, lots of aftercare, significant size/height difference, lots of angst,, strong mentions of smoking, alcohol, avoidant!riki,(but he means well & is a genuine sweetheart) brief flashbacks, strong mentions of body image issues, anxiety attacks, (reader is really shy/reserved & a huge overthinker & ends up in their head a lot bc of it) lots of fluff, domestic, happy ending
Playlist:
intro: what am i to you - bts
limbo - keshi
self control - frank ocean
girls need love - summer walker
white tee - lil peep (ft. lil tracy)
nights - frank ocean
all mine - brent faiyaz
nights like this - kehlani (ft ty dolla $ign)
test drive - ariana grande
fri(ends) - v
recognize - partynextdoor
right my wrongs - bryson tiller
change pt.2 - rm
moving on - bts
nobody new - the marías
life goes on - bts
i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys
pairing: fwb!riki x black fem!reader
genre: friends to lovers & fwb (i guess)
wc: to be added
a/n: hi y’all! i’m so excited for this fic to come out, i've been working pretty hard on it so i hope those who read it enjoy it :) this fic is currently incomplete, but i'd like to have it out in early june, if possible. it's also lowkey self-indulgent asf but it's one of my first enha fics so please bare with me lol
Synopsis: After being pressured by your best friend's to attend a mutual friend's gathering that you most definitely did not want to go to, you end up crossing paths with a handsome and mysterious stranger, where you end up finding out you both have more in common than either of you anticipated. So when the line between your friendship starts to blur into something more neither of you are willing to address, both of you find yourselves in a repeating state of limbo. Will either of you be able to withstand the weight of your unresolved feelings for one another or will both of you be willing to grow and transition into something more?
Disclaimer: black!reader, plus!sized reader, (reader has some established features), (riki is canonically blonde & has tattoos), (everyone in this fic is in uni) mature themes, smut (mdni), kissing, eater!riki,big dick!riki, semi-public sex, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, mentions of pussy!print, face sitting/riding, pussy drunk!riki, pussy slapping, choking, spanking, biting/nibbling, praise, lots of aftercare, significant size/height difference, lots of angst,, strong mentions of smoking, alcohol, avoidant!riki,(but he means well & is a genuine sweetheart) brief flashbacks, strong mentions of body image issues, anxiety attacks, (reader is really shy/reserved & a huge overthinker & ends up in their head a lot bc of it) lots of fluff, domestic, happy ending
Playlist:
intro: what am i to you - bts
limbo - keshi
self control - frank ocean
girls need love - summer walker
white tee - lil peep (ft. lil tracy)
nights - frank ocean
all mine - brent faiyaz
nights like this - kehlani (ft ty dolla $ign)
test drive - ariana grande
fri(ends) - v
recognize - partynextdoor
right my wrongs - bryson tiller
change pt.2 - rm
moving on - bts
nobody new - the marías
life goes on - bts
i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys
SUMMARY: Sunghoon was an up-and-coming figure skater with a bright future, but he threw it all away to marry you. Thirteen years later, your marriage has failed, the kids don’t respect him one bit, and all his friends are wildly successful in life except him. He gets a chance to correct the mistakes of his past and change his life when he is miraculously transported back in time, before he even met you. But changing the past might cost him everything.
A/N: This took me so long to finish y'all I started considering actually taking ice skating lessons. PLEASE read for my sake. (Some scenes inspired by the movie 17 Again!)
thirteen years ago.
Sunghoon took a deep breath as the chill air of the rink, even from where he sat in the locker room, sent shivers down his spine. His thin black blouse with rhinestoned sleeves did nothing to shield him from the cold.
He should have been used to it by now. But today would be the most important skate of his life.
The World Championships. The event that would decide his place at the next Olympics.
Just a few years ago, he had missed out on competing completely due to a knee injury. Sunghoon was determined this time to make his dreams come true. His seniors always said that Olympic ice felt different, more real. This would be it. His last chance before the younger, more talented skaters took his spot later down the line.
He was picking at his nails with his teeth, a habit he so desperately needed to let go of. Even with ten competitors ahead of him, Sunghoon was already on edge. You, his good luck charm, had not arrived yet. It wasn't typical of you. In your three years of dating, you never missed the opening skate of any competition he'd been in.
It’s where you first met. You had been in the stands, taping your phone number onto a penguin plushie he’d caught after his award-winning skate. Since then, it's been tradition for you to sit in the same exact seat during local competitions.
His left leg bounced impatiently as he sat on the locker room bench. Sunghoon has sent about 16 texts to your phone already. He shook his head, unlocking his phone for the umpteenth time. Crickets. His phone screen photo of you blowing a kiss into the camera was taunting him now.
Where the hell were you?
Coach Jung patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”
“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replied, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”
Coach Jung rolled his eyes.
“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubted the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”
Sunghoon didn't know if that was meant to be motivating or not, but when Coach Jung left, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form. It's been years in the making. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this. The time he could've spent going on longer dates with you all went to extra hours practicing quads in the rink. He couldn't let his sacrifices go to waste. It would be a disservice to both of you.
He put his hands to his face and repeated a mantra of self-affirmations.
‘You got this, you got this, you-’’
“Hoon?” He heard your sweet voice call out. Your head poked through the locker room door before entering cautiously. Audience members weren’t typically allowed in here, but you always managed to sneak your way in.
He dropped his hands immediately, a wave of relief washing over him.
“There you are,” Sunghoon whispered to himself, rushing to you as fast as he could with skates on the carpet. You let out a small sound as he picked you up by the waist, spinning you around like a princess.
“Where have you been?” Sunghoon sighed happily, setting you down with a kiss to your temple. “I was blowing up your phone! I thought you died.”
You smiled, but he noticed how tight it looked. The light didn't quite reach your eyes, and your lips twitched as if it was almost painful to maintain. He brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
“Everything okay?”
You nodded, resting your hand on his as his thumb drew small circles on your cheek.
“I…” you trailed off. You were looking at the ground, at the ceiling, and even at the trash cans. Anywhere but him. “I want to talk to you about something.”
He raised a brow. Your fingers were quivering, and he noticed redness in the whites of your eyes. Were you crying?
“Of course, baby. You can tell me anything.”
Sunghoon is worried now as he took both of your hands into his. He felt how cold they were, even more so than his.
“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blared into the locker room. That was him. He was one of the last five.
He pursed his lips as he looked towards the door and back at you. Your mouth opened, just as flustered by the announcement.
“Let's wait,” you said in a rush, noticing the sweatiness of his palms. “It can wait.”
Sunghoon shook his head. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let these things linger.
“No, [Y/N]. Tell me what's wrong.” He stood his ground. Your eyes were watering, his gaze unmoving from yours. As you spoke, it was like the world around him went still. His chest felt heavy, throat so constricted he thought he would choke.
“I'm pregnant.”
No, he thought. It can’t be.
“H-how? We never– That’s impossible– We always use-”
His voice trailed off, afraid that if he said anything out loud, it would become more real. You pursed your lips, biting your top lip so hard that it drew blood.
“Don’t you remember?”
two months ago.
You were laughing, he was laughing. You both looked insane, obnoxiously cackling at nothing, in the dimly lit streets that led to his apartment. You were drinking with the guys at a new bar, underestimating the power of tequila compared to the usual shots of soju.
Sunghoon's arm was wrapped around your waist, putting his weight on you to prevent himself from faceplanting on the ground. He had lost too many hands in poker with Jay and Jake, and instead of betting money, he took an extra four shots as punishment. It was a big mistake.
“They got lucky,” he blabbered, “If we played Go Fish, I would have wiped the floor with them.”
He was hiccuping, and that sent you into a further spiral of giggles. Sunghoon was always so darn cute when drunk, so different from his icy exterior. His cheeks were tinged with red, and his pupils dilated. You weren't doing all that well either, with your body so warm from the alcohol that you had shed your jacket on the ground just a few minutes earlier. Where that jacket was now is lost on you.
“Hoon!” you exclaimed, pointing at his apartment gate. “We did it!”
Sunghoon stumbled to get his keys from his pocket. Opening the gate and then going up the steps felt like an hour-long operation with how you two struggled. When he slid down the wall by the entrance of his apartment, you collapsed with him.
The two of you, by his coat rank, staring into each other with heavy-lidded gazes and too far gone to even turn the lights on. By then, your movements were already out of your control.
You traced the moles on his face like divine art, cradling his jaw with such care. Even in the drunkest of states, he looked so heavenly. He was so pretty in the moonlight.
You pressed your lips against his, slowly at first, tugging at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt. Sunghoon made a noise of shock before deepening the kiss, hands roaming everywhere until they met your waist. His lips were so plush against yours, hungry to taste every inch of you. Your tongues danced with an urgency you've never felt before. Nipping at your bottom lip, he coaxed small sounds out of you.
Sunghoon lifted you, firm hands on your bum to sit you atop him.
He broke the kiss to bury himself in the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sunghoon's lips found your pulse point, suctioning around it like he was drawing your heartbeat out of your body. You gripped his soft hair and tilted your head back to give him better access. He lapped at your neck, your collar bone, anywhere his tongue could access. He was addicted to the taste of your skin, to the taste of you. You always smelled so good, had him so riled up even in the most unassuming of moments. He remembered how you looked in the bar with this sparkly red dress. Remembered how it rode up every time you sat down next to him. Fuck.
You felt him then. The tent of his pants and the friction of his hips as they hopelessly jut up to meet yours.
You whined at the contact. He was palming your ass now with both hands, massaging as he moved you up and down on the tightness of his jeans.
“Hoon,” you gasp. “Not here-”
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes so dark and full of lust. He wasn’t having it; you could see it in his face. His deliciously tense jawline. The bead of sweat running down his temple. You felt yourself clench around nothing just at the sight. How could a man be so gorgeous?
“Can't wait,” he hummed. “Need you now.”
He pushed your dress up your body, the material bunched at your waist.
You purse your lips in anticipation. He’s rock hard by now, and you can’t help but take it as an invitation to feel him. Your hands find his bulge, ghosting over his form. It jumped in response when you finally took hold, squeezing cautiously. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of the front of his jeans already damp with your fluids. Sunghoon enjoyed the view just as much as you did, his head tilted back to relish in your ministrations. He couldn’t hold back any longer.
Sunghoon’s hand, large and veiny, moved your panties to the side impatiently.
"Hoon-" you gasped at the skin-to-skin contact.
His fingers traced the slit of your folds up and down, covering his digits with your slick. You found his swollen lips again to suppress your whimpers, saliva running down your joined mouths as you unzipped his painful-looking jeans. He was already prepping you for him, index finger cautiously pushing its way inside your plush walls. He groaned at the feeling of your fluttering warmth. Already, you were sucking him in.
“Always so fucking wet,” he muttered on your lips. You couldn’t help but grind down on him, a roundabout way of telling him to apply more pressure. To go harder. Rougher. To ruin you. He chuckled at your frustration. Needed to see more of it, more of you begging.
Sunghoon tested the waters and pushed in a second. Your moans were drowned out again by his merciless mouth. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, you swore you could feel him at the back of your neck.
He was fucking you onto his hand now, his palm making contact with your clit after every thrust. His forearm was tense, pace so relentless. Animalistic. You were practically bouncing on him, hands digging into his shoulder blades to chase your release. He loved the sight, wanting to hear you come undone just from his measly fingers in your dripping pussy.
“So desperate,” he hummed into your mouth. “Who's making you like this?”
Sunghoon was never this mouthy during sex, usually because he didn’t want the apartment next door to hear through the thin walls. But he had let go of all his inhibitions, the tequila still sitting fresh in his stomach.
“You, Hoon,” you cried out, legs shaking from the harsh pace of his fingers and your incessant grinding. “Please-”
You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but you knew he could give it to you. Knew he was the only one who could. Your mind was filled with Sunghoon and Sunghoon only. The effects of the alcohol had made you a bumbling mess, pleading and begging for more. Your back arches to meet his fingers better, but it wasn’t not enough.
He added a third to relieve you, watching as your mouth opened into a silent scream.
“Hoon– Need it– Please– I need–”
You couldn't find the right words, couldn’t even keep yourself upright without his support. Sunghoon’s hands roamed up your body as one made its way to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he pressed down gently on the pulse point he was nipping at just earlier. His eyes were heavy on you, watching you so intently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as your airways slowly constricted, as his thumb pushed against you. God, you loved the feeling.
“Enjoying yourself, baby?”
Lightheaded, you were practically gripping his bulge at this point. The sounds between your legs were borderline pornographic, his fingers drawing out every wet squelch as they sank and twisted in and out of you. You felt so full of him, three fingers so deep inside you. But you could take more; you wanted to take more.
“Speak up,” he drawled, his voice slurring from the tequila. “Tell me what you want, or I'll stop.”
You sobbed, clawing at his clothed chest as he let go of your neck to let you talk. You gasped for air as you let yourself fall onto him.
“Need you inside me,” you cried as he pistoned his fingers into you harder. You wished he could just rip your underwear so you could feel his rough palm grind onto your bare clit. “Please, please, pl-”
"I am inside you," he teased. And all you could do was wail, shaking your head out of distress.
"Hoon-"
Your movements were forced to stop as Sunghoon's free hand gripped your thigh. His fingers were curved into you, stroking that spongy spot that he always managed to find. He massaged your G-spot at a steady pace, anticipating your climax. You wanted to move, but he held you down roughly. Your eyes were forced to look into his, and you felt the floodgates of your release start to open.
“No-,” you whined.
You were close, so close. But your mind was made up. Well, at least what was left of it.
“Wanna cum with you. Can I, Hoonie? Please?” you beg.
“Fuck-”
His grip on you loosened. His hand slowly left your tight folds, and he admired the slick that coated his long fingers. He brought them to your mouth, motioning you to taste the juices he coaxed out of you. With your doe eyes looking straight at him, you swallowed around him. Tongue flattened and bringing him in deeper.
His other hand reached into the back of his pocket, fiddling around to find his emergency condom. The one that became a necessity to bring around you.
Sunghoon's mind was all over the place. Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking them so harshly. He'd have given anything right now to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead.
He'd almost grabbed the condom until you pulled his boxers down. Your mouth released his fingers with a small ‘pop’ as his painfully hard member slapped his stomach. You positioned yourself closer, adjusting so that his thickness slid against your soiled, clothed pussy. You cursed your stupid underwear for getting in the way again.
“B-baby-” Sunghoon stuttered out as you moved your panties to the side once more, his raw cock lined up to your aching hole. “Just give me a second-”
His hand tried to reach for his wallet again, but you interlocked them with yours instead. You shook your head, grinding against him cautiously. You don't know what's gotten into you. It's like the tequila was letting you act out your deepest, darkest dreams — ones of him fucking his cum so deeply into you that you were dripping wet with his fluids.
“Please?” you asked hopelessly. Your breath hitched. His cock met your clit, his precum spread all over your folds. Fuck it. You were too far gone. “I-I wanna feel you.”
Sunghoon would like to think he had self-control. Would like to believe that he was calmer than most. But the way your pleading eyes looked at him, and how your legs trembled in excitement. His intoxicated brain couldn't tell right from wrong. He wanted to give you everything you asked for.
“Fuck, are you sure?” he groaned as you aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing down slightly to envelop his tip. He lets out a hiss, teeth gritting from the feeling. You were so tight, so fucking perfect for him.
“Mhm,” you mustered, wrapping your arms around his neck as his large hands met your ass again. “It's okay…”
You were sinking onto him now, his head buried into your neck from the sensation. You two had never done it without a condom before, always so careful. But he wondered, as his large cock was slowly sucked into your soaked pussy, why he'd never fucked you raw before. Sunghoon swore under his breath as he felt you clench around him. Fucking you with a condom was ruined for him forever. He could never put one on again.
“Fuck, baby,” he willed himself not to move too fast. The stinging stretch of him had you withering above him, but you didn’t care. Not one bit. You clutched his hair as you impaled yourself on him, so lost in the feeling of him penetrating you so slowly.
He was fully sheathed inside you now. Sunghoon needed a second to recuperate, but you were making it so difficult for him.
"Fuck-" he inhaled sharply as you grinded down on his pulsating cock. You were so impatient, already so worked up from his fingers.
You were suctioning him, trapping him in your walls like you would never let him go. His grip on your hips tightened as he growled into your collarbone.
“Baby,” he said sternly this time, finding some semblance of sanity. “Don't.”
You whined, your hips stuttering through his tight grip on your ass cheeks. You wanted him to plow into you like you were his personal toy. Was there anything wrong with that?
“Why?” you drawled out, desperate for movement, for anything. Your eyes met his, and even through your drunken haze, you understood. He was close, already so on edge from feeling your raw pussy. And that made you want him even more.
You swore your hips moved on their own. You lifted yourself, shallowly thrusting yourself against him as he tried to hinder your attempts.
“N-no,” he grunted. “Too soon-”
You giggled as his hands were on your back now. Despite your protests, he did not stop you in any meaningful way.
His grip on your ass was replaced with him pulling the straps down of your dress and bra to free your bouncing tits. He cupped them as you raised yourself higher, until just the very tip of him was left inside you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself down on him without assistance. You moaned, feeling his heaviness in your lower stomach.
“Fuck-” he cried through clenched teeth. Sunghoon’s head was against the wall now, hands massaging your breasts so eagerly.
He tugged at your nipples, pinching them between his index finger and thumb. Such a sight for sore eyes, seeing him so fucked out underneath you as you bounced on his cock. You wished you could engrave this in your memory. His parted lips and glistening forehead.
You grinded your hips so helplessly against him, hands on his knees as you squeezed him through every downward thrust.
“Baby, s-slow down.”
You're determined now, even as you start to feel that fluttering ache in your core. You wanted to do good for him, wanted to make him lose control like you would whenever he had you pinned to the bed and crying.
“Hoon, speak up,” you teased, mimicking his earlier words. “Tell me what you want or I-”
You couldn't finish your sentence as his hand meets the back of your neck, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands traveled down to your thighs, squeezing them roughly.
He thrusted up into you harshly, his grip on you guiding his movements. His pace was even more merciless than yours, not giving you time to catch your breath as you felt your inner walls contract around him.
No!
He needed to cum first. It was always you who came undone before him. You just needed to hold out, just for a few more seconds-
And in perfect timing, he found it. That part of you that had you practically screaming into his mouth. He smirked against your lips and hoisted you closer, fucking up into you as his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of your thighs. Your insides churned with a tingling feeling, like something needed to be released. You pulled yourself away from his lips.
"No… Hoon-"
"Take it," he grunted. "You want it, right?”
You cried as his thrusts grazed your G-spot over and over again, his tip kissing your cervix at the right angles.
“So fucking take it."
Your eyes roll back, the sensation was stronger and stronger until-
"Oh my god-"
Your climax hit you like a ton of bricks, crashing down on you so unexpectedly that your walls wanted to hold his raw length in place. Sunghoon continued his thrusts, not caring for the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You had your fun. Now, let him have his.
His hands spread your ass cheeks apart, guiding you down onto his painfully hard cock with fervor. Sunghoon felt his high inching closer as he pumped in and out of your wetness, ignoring your cries of overstimulation.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned into your neck. He's there. He felt it. You braced yourself for his sweet release.
“Need to pull out...”
Your eyebrows furrowed, expression laced in devastation. As if on instinct, you clenched around him. You wanted it. Whatever ‘it’ was.
“In me,” you babbled through strained moans. “Please, Hoonie?”
He grit his teeth. That damn pet name. You were evil, so fucking evil. With your pretty tits and batting eyelashes. Who was he to deny you? His thrusts were erratic, admiring as your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”
His hips stuttered up into you. White, hot spurts met your cervix as you reached another orgasm from the sheer feeling of his release, mouth wide open. Your hips gyrated against his, easing both of you through your releases. His head rolled back, jaw clenched, and eyes wired shut as he felt you milk his cock of everything he was worth.
You watched as a white ring formed around his cock was buried deep in you, still a little hard. You rested your body against his. Your eyelids were heavy, so content and warm in ways that only Sunghoon could bring out in you.
“I love you,” he sighed into your hair, his own lethargy getting the best of him. “So fucking much.”
“I love you too.”
And as ridiculous as it sounds, the two of you slept in that position for hours. Two bodies connected at the entrance way of Sunghoon's studio apartment. When the sun came up and you realized what was done in your drunken states, you two panicked for the wrong reason. Did the neighbors hear? What happened to your jacket? Were you gonna get a UTI?
Sunghoon's cheeks reddened from the memory. It had to have been that night.
“A-are you sure?” he stuttered.
You nodded solemnly. You knew it wouldn't be good news for him. It wasn't for you either.
You were almost done with university. It’s supposed to be the year you figured out what you wanted out of a career. So when your first wave of morning sickness hit you just a week earlier, you knew every plan that you had would be forever ripped from your fingers.
To travel the world. To start new hobbies. It would all have to wait. This would be your life now.
When you told your mother, tears streamed down her face. She called you everything underneath the sun. But she knew what it was like to carry a life unexpectedly, so she hugged you through it. Your dad’s reaction was worse. He hadn’t spoken to you yet.
“Two months along,” you whispered. Though he could never regret that night, he realized now how stupid it must have been to ignore the alarm bells in his head. He knew better. You knew better. Why the fuck did it end up like this?
“So…” He gulped. He didn’t know what to say. “What now?”
“I…” you started. Heaving a deep breath, you felt him tense up.
“I want to keep the baby,” you swallowed. Sunghoon’s mouth was parted, and his eyes were blank of emotion.
It made you anxious, his lack of response.
When he didn't reply, you started again. “What should we-”
“Sunghoon Park. Sunghoon Park. Please be on stand-by,” the overhead speaker rang out. He didn't mean to, but like muscle memory, his hand let go of yours. Guilt crashed over him, and he couldn't bring himself to look into your wavering eyes as he walked past you.
The competition. This was his last chance. Coach Jung's voice resounded in his head. Don't mess it up.
“Hoon-”
Your voice fell on deaf ears. His hands covered his face again, trying to refocus. He couldn't throw this away. Years. It took him years to get to this point. He couldn't. He had to skate.
Tears spilled over as you watched his back retreat away from you. You should have waited to tell him, but he had asked. He said he wanted to know.
Your back slumped against the wall of lockers, clutching your stomach as you cried. You couldn't bring yourself to go to the stands and watch him perform.
You knew it was dumb. You weren’t ready, not even close. But still… You wanted to try.
But him. Sunghoon.
You leaned your head back against the cold wall, breath faltering through your tears. What did you even expect? That he'd be happy? Excited?
You let out a shaky laugh.
Of course not. It's not like you were either.
You stood up, dusting yourself off.
You'd figure out a way to do this, you convinced yourself. If it meant that you were by yourself, that was fine. He didn't have to be there. He had big dreams, ones that predated you. You understood, even though it hurt.
“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!”
The cheers that ensued soon after made your chest constrict just a little more. You just couldn’t bear to watch him skate now. It was all too much.
You trudged towards the ice rink's exit, arms crossed around you like you were holding yourself. You were proud of him, so proud. He worked so tirelessly for an opportunity like this. Missed sleep and took a gap year from college to pursue this. He wanted it so bad, and though it was heartbreaking to watch him walk away, you knew why. You could talk later, you convinced yourself.
But the thoughts still echoed in your head.
A professional figure skater couldn’t be a father—not now, not at his age. You knew that. God, you hated that you knew it so well. His life wasn’t what most people imagined. There was no glamor in it.
It was practices at the crack of dawn in freezing rinks and endless flights to cities he barely saw beyond hotel rooms. He could only fund basic living expenses with what little he earned from winning. He had a part-time job working the graveyard shift at a convenience store to even afford competition fees and dates with you.
He gave everything for this dream—his body, his sanity, his youth.
But he tried. In everything he did, he tried. That was the worst part.
Because even with all that trying, you still knew. That there would be no space in his life for the tiny heartbeat inside you.
You knew he'd have to quit. There was no way around it. Raising a child takes too much time away from the rink.
If he stayed, if he chose to be in this child's life, he'd have to give it all up.And it would be because of you.
But this was your life too. Your body. Your future. And no matter how tightly you clung to the image of him at your side, holding your hand in the delivery room, learning how to hold a newborn with trembling fingers—you had to be honest with yourself.
You wanted this baby. Even if it meant letting him go, even if that meant standing alone with a life you never planned for, you’d do it.
Because you knew that if it ever came down to choosing between his dream and you, it would always be-
“[Y/N], wait!”
You stopped in your tracks, stunned to hear his voice so close. Like he was here and not on the ice. You didn’t even notice that music stopped permeating the walls of the rink, that the announcer had moved on to the next contestant. He was running to you, socks thumping on the ground like he had taken his skates off only a moment before.
No. It couldn't be.
He reached you, his arms wrapped around you from behind. You heard his shaky breath against the back of your head. His thumb rubbed your forearms, planting a small kiss on your hair.
“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon blurted out when he felt like the silence between you two was suffocating. “Together.”
You turned around to face him, panicked.
“Sunghoon, no,” you tried to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. “You need to go-”
“No.”
You looked at him, pain etched in every part of his beautiful face.
“But that's your future,” you cried out, mustering everything in yourself to not melt in his embrace. He was making a mistake. He'd hate you for the rest of your life if he-
“No,” he said again, much clearer. More determined. “It’s you.”
His hand drifted to your stomach, and he smiled this time as he looked into your teary eyes.
“You're my future.”
You shook your head incessantly. “Hoon, you're not thinking straight. I should've waited to tell you. You're not in your right mind. You need to go back and-”
He silenced you with his lips, so soft—like it might break you if he were any less gentle. You fell into his touch, unknowingly pulling him closer. He kissed you again and again, hands holding yours until your tremors faded with his touch.
“I love you,” he would say between each peck. “I'm not letting you do this alone.”
And you smiled, a real, genuine smile.
“I love you too.”
You moved in with him in that tiny studio apartment, shortly after, sharing a bed that barely even fit his tall frame. The cradle he built took up the majority of the living area.
But it was nice, waking up with him every day. He talked in his sleep, would whisper your name in that sweet voice of his so lovingly. Some days, Sunghoon wouldn't let you lift a finger, would insist that you needed as much rest as possible before your due date. You had to convince him that your job as a receptionist was certainly not so physically taxing that he had to follow you to it every day.
You also got married. It was simple. Just Sunghoon and you in a courthouse with Jake and Jay, trying not to stifle their laughter as witnesses to your marriage ceremony. You wore the white dress your mother wore, and Sunghoon wore his best suit, tie tied by you.
“Say cheese!” Jake chimed as you two posed with your signed certificate. The two of them cooed at your growing belly.
You were showing now, a small bump that Sunghoon admired each time he saw you do your online classes on the kitchen counter. He never got around to buying a desk, even though he was also back in school full-time.
He had that dreaded conversation with Coach Jung beneath the dim lights of an empty rink. Sunghoon told him quietly, almost like an apology, that he’d be hanging up his skates until further notice. He wanted to be there for you at every step of the pregnancy. If he was going to stick beside you, he was going to do it right.
Coach didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. The disappointment on his face said everything.
And so Sunghoon hadn’t touched the ice since.
He couldn’t bear to set foot in that rink anymore. Not when he knew he’d only be watching from the stands.
Not when the sound of blades carving through the ice was coming from someone else’s skates.
Not when he used to relish in the cold air passing through his body. Now, the only wind on his face came from passing cars as he biked to his second job.
He picked up a shift at a nearby restaurant. Just as a server. The kind of job that reminded him how painfully ordinary he was without his skates. Sometimes, when no one’s looking, he’ll shift his weight just right and practice his landings in the break room, arms out, knees bent.
Other times, he scrolls through YouTube during his graveyard shift at the convenience store, searching up his own name with trembling fingers, watching old performances through a phone screen. Reading comments. Trying to remember what it felt like to matter to people he never met.
You noticed, probably more than you let on. You just tried not to pry. He would get distant when you mentioned it, like that part of himself needed to be tucked away and out of his sight. You knew he was afraid, terrified to look back and see everything he gave up.
But when Sunghee was born, it was like his world started to make sense again. He held her like she was made of glass. Sobbed so loudly the first time he saw her, you thought he was in pain.
But no, he was just overwhelmed. Taken by the way her tiny hand curled around his finger, how her cries quieted the moment he held her close.
He’d protect her, he swore to himself. That this—her—wrapped up in the pink hospital blanket, was his life now.
And maybe, for a moment, he believed that was enough.
But the thoughts never stopped. His eyes would flicker toward the old duffel bag in the closet, where his skates were still packed away. He gave that up. For you. For her. And he’d never say he regretted it. But you knew.
You understood what he was grieving. Because you grieved too.
That girl who used to dream of making art, she felt like a ghost now. Someone you used to know.
Your passions, the things that once lit a fire in you, now sat gathering dust. All shelved quietly the moment your body became a home for Sunghee.
And your parents. You were still trying to reassemble the broken pieces of your relationship with them. Your mother tried to be there for you in her own way, but her disappointment was loud in the quietest moments between you two. And your father… well, he still hadn’t really looked you in the eye since the day you told him.
And though she was born healthy, Sunghee came into the world screaming. She was a loud baby, inconsolable most nights, and the exhaustion had tested Sunghoon and you.
You took turns because you had to. He’d rock her until sunrise, then stumble to his classes. He started falling asleep during his breaks at work, cheek pressed against cold metal tables.
He didn’t care much for his own health, but the bags beneath your eyes pained him. Your face, once bright and curious, had dimmed under all the sleepless nights and rising costs of diapers. You were both burnt out.
He dropped Sunghee off with his parents for one night and dragged you out to see your friends. It was Jake's going-away dinner.
“It’s so hard to meet nowadays,” you sighed. “Feels like I’ve been nursing a migraine for the past three months.”
Jake laughed.
“Sad I won’t get to see her grow up,” he said as he poured himself a beer. “Make sure to bring her to Australia one day. She deserves to see her coolest uncle play football.”
Niki rolled his eyes.
“No one’s paying for that long-ass flight to see you benchwarm,” Niki mumbled, chewing on some chips. “Have her come see me dance instead. At least I’ll be in the center.”
Jake smacks his friend on the back of the head.
“No need for any of that,” Jay chimed in. “She won’t have time for either of you. Papa bear here probably already has her future all mapped out. Skates on before she can walk.”
An awkward silence filled the room. The joke was lighthearted, but it landed too close to a wound no one had dared to touch in the past year. Sunghoon gave a quiet laugh, a hollow one without warmth. He brought the bottle to his lips and didn’t look at anyone when he spoke.
“Yeah... she’ll be a star.”
He eyed the ceiling, pondering what she would look like. Maybe just like him. Graceful. Passionate. “Olympic-worthy. Could probably win gold if we find the right coach early enough.”
You pursed your lips and stared at the condensation running down your glass.
Sunoo cleared his throat, noticing the tense atmosphere. He raised his glass with forced enthusiasm. “To our beautiful Sunghee,” he cheered. “And to Jake’s success!”
Sunghoon smiled, but not really. He was happy for his friend, sure. But behind his facade, envy sat heavy on his tongue.
‘This night could have been for you. They could have been congratulating you. And you gave it all up. Now look at you. You’re a nobody.’
You couldn’t help but watch him throughout the night as he grew quieter, his sips of beer more like chugs now. You rubbed circles on his back like you always did when he got like this, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. But his eyes stayed glued to the back corner of the bar.
As you patted him, he pulled your wrist away. Not harshly. Not angrily. Just a simple tug. He set your hand back on your lap, his gaze straight ahead and away from you.
“I’m okay,” he assured you, but you didn’t believe him. Not then.
Not ever, really.
Though time passed, life never got easier. The weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders with each passing year. And while you both smiled through milestones and made do with the small hiccups in your relationship, you were content with this life. Doing laundry on lazy Sundays, Sunghoon singing nursery rhymes to Sunghee before school.
But after the birth of your second child, Sungjae, it had all started to rot.
Sunghoon’s longing for his old life never faded. It stewed in him, creeping into his thoughts at his corporate job after finishing university, haunting him on bus rides home.
The bills piled higher. Your patience wore thinner. Conversations turned into quiet disagreements and tired sighs. You no longer fought. You didn’t even have the energy for that. Just two ghosts of your former selves moving through the same rooms, sleeping in the same bed, wondering what could’ve been.
thirteen years later. the present.
Sunghoon adjusts his tie, furrowing his brows as he sees how crooked it is from the reflection of the mirror. He gives up halfway through. Fuck it, it would be a no-tie kind of day. He exits the bedroom, his footsteps making loud echoes on the way down the spiral staircase and towards the all-marble kitchen. He inhales slowly as he smells the fragrance of smoked spices dancing around his nostrils. It was enough to make his mouth water.
“What's cooking, good-looking?” he says, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.
“Ew,” a voice rang out, soft and disgruntled. Sunghoon turns the corner and almost laughs at the sight.
“Shut up,” Sunoo scoffs, clad in an apron and silk pajamas. “Don’t say corny shit like that in my house until you get your act together.”
Sunghoon takes a seat on the barstool of the kitchen counter. He watches Sunoo maneuver the wide expanse of the kitchen like an expert.
“I'm a dad,” Sunghoon sighs out. “That’s kind of our thing.”
“Yeah, one going through a divorce,” Sunoo snaps back, monitoring his frittata closely on the stove.
Sunghoon's shoulders slump. Of course, the only friend willing to let him stay for an indefinite amount of time was the one most critical of his life choices. Sunoo insisted, in fact. Said his place was “feeling empty” anyway.
“So,” Sunoo coughs, acknowledging he might have taken it too far with his earlier comment. “Any word from her about the court date yet?”
Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his watch as it nears 8:30 a.m. He'd have to leave soon to get to work. His boring, dull job as a fiscal manager at blah blah blah corporation. Even he barely knows what he does for a living.
“Can I borrow your car?” Sunghoon asks, ignoring his friend's question. He doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to speak anything into existence, even if it was already happening.
You asked for it two weeks ago. A divorce.
He's been living with (mooching off of) Sunoo since.
“Which one? The Bugatti or the Ferrari?”
Sunghoon gives Sunoo a side-eye, and the younger fails to stifle a laugh. He never wastes a second to flex on his friend, the only one out of their friend group who worked at a 9-5 job in total and absolute misery.
Heeseung's a streamer, Jay took over as CEO of his father's company, Jake was still playing football in Australia, Jungwon started his own Taekwondo studio, and Niki was traveling the world as a choreographer. And of course, Sunoo wound up in a big old mansion with his modeling career.
Sunghoon thought he'd end up like them. He got the right experience after university to find a stable job that didn't involve slaving away at customer service gigs like he did before.
He thought he'd move up higher in his company by now. Have a team to call his own, like Jungwon had, or make “small, high-impact decisions” like Jay claims he does. But none of that ever came. His heart was never in it.
Sunghoon sighs.
“Whatever gets me from Point A to Point B,” he mutters. Sunoo cuts a piece of frittata from the skillet and plates it. He slides it over to his older friend and tosses a key from his pocket.
“Take the Kia Soul.”
Sunghoon groans. “You're fucking with me.”
“Mr. Park,” his coworker chirps into his ear. “I was wondering how your KPIs were this week…”
Sunghoon lets him drone on as he types on his computer. No private office, just a cubicle by the elevators. He hates how people tend to gravitate towards him for small talk. He's not very good at it. Never has been. It was a common joke within his family that he skated more than he spoke growing up.
You dragged him out of his shell when you met, cracked him open with your bright-eyed gazes and addictive laughter. He’d planned to keep his head down when he was younger. No distractions and no detours. Just figure skating.
But how could he not fall in love with you?
He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts aside before it settles in too deeply. He reminisces too much.
It’s like the past is all his mind drifts off to these days.
He leaves work on time. Gets stuck in traffic, like usual. And drives to the home you two once shared. A routine he's used to by now.
He sees your car in the driveway and groans. He knew if he sees you, you'd bring up the papers again. Those stupid fucking papers.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he enters the once-familiar home. You've made changes to it since he's been gone. He squints to get a better look. In just two weeks, the kitchen's completely repainted with a soft green instead of gray. The living room was completely rearranged, and family pictures were taken down from the walls.
Sungjae is sitting on the couch, playing with his iPad. He only looks up for a second before he gets back into whatever is playing on his device. Sunghoon knew he should have hidden that thing before he left. Or, he guesses, before you kicked him out.
“Where's your sister?” he asks, practically into the void.
As if on cue, Sunghee walks down the stairs. Her eyes are already rolling, and she's still wearing her pink pajamas and bunny slippers.
“Get dressed, princess. We're gonna be late for your practice!”
Sunghee tsks.
“C'mon,” Sunghoon adds with a forced smile. “You missed the last two practices already. You're gonna fall behind-”
“Dad, I already told you I want to quit,” she cuts in. “Can't you just take a freaking hint?”
Sunghoon stares blankly at his daughter, trying to hold back the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon doesn’t know where she gets the attitude comes from. It's like when Sunghee hit the age of 13, she morphed into a walking stick of dynamite with a terribly short fuse.
“Well,” he begins, voice tight but even. “Why don't we push through it for today, hm? You know, back in my day, I wasn't always up for the challenge, but-”
“We get it dad!” she groans. “'Back in my day' this, 'if I were you' that. No one cares!"
It stings him more than he cares to admit.
"Sunghee," he says, slower this time, the edge creeping into his voice.
She just scoffs at her father's serious expression. She's never been scared of him when he's angry. That was always your role.
"I’m not going," she stands her ground, crossing her arms. "You can't make me. If you wanna go so bad, then go to that stupid ice rink by yourself.”
Sunghoon inhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips to seem more assertive.
From the couch, seven-year-old Sungjae snickers.
“Listen here, young lady-”
“Listen here, young lady…” Sungjae mocks, in a tone much like his father's. Sunghoon whips his head to his iPad kid.
“And you, young man-”
“Sunghoon,” you say sternly as you appear at the staircase. “I already called to cancel. Indefinitely. Even if you take her now, she won't even be able to join the other kids.”
Sunghee sticks her tongue out at her father, prancing to the couch to pinch her younger brother's cheeks.
He blinks, brows knitting together. “What? Why would you do that without telling me?”
"Sorry, was that a decision that needed your approval?" you ask sarcastically. "You can't make her do something she doesn't want to do."
Sunghoon scoffs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. But he stops himself. His gaze flickers to the kids, who pretend like they're not watching from the living room.
He swallows down whatever instinct tells him to argue right here, right now. You two never fought in front of them, an unspoken rule. Even if you were technically separated, he would not break that now.
“Let's talk in our room,” he whispers closely, and you roll your eyes.
“My room,” you correct, already turning to head back up. You don’t see it, but he tries not to flinch at your harshness.
He closes the door behind you two, the air thick with tension. He starts again.
“Why are you making decisions without me already?” he asks, trying to keep his tone level. “You cancel her figure skating classes and repaint the kitchen? Why are you-”
You sigh, already tired.
“We've been talking about repainting that ugly kitchen for years, Sunghoon,” you sigh. "You never wanted to actually get started on it. Sorry, I actually make time for the things I want."
So this is the direction you wanted the conversation to go in? Fine. He can be passive-aggressive, too.
"And Sunghee? Didn't you think to run that by me when I’m the one that pays for those lessons?"
You grit your teeth. He sees where Sunghee gets it from now, your hands crossed over your chest in disdain.
"Have you tried listening to her about practices? She gets injured all the time! Coach Jung is horrible to her. She’s miserable-”
His jaw tightens. “You don't think I was too? Half the time, I hated skating! But that’s what it takes. You think greatness just feels good all the time?! And the kitchen was fine. I don’t get why—”
"She's not trying to be great, Sunghoon!" you cry exasperatedly, your hands thrown up into the air. "She's not trying to be you."
You point your finger at his chest. “And you always think everything's fine. Until it's too late.”
Your words hung in the air, his eyes meeting yours.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says finally, quieter this time.
You retract your hand, nervous under his gaze. It’s intense, familiar in a way that still sends sparks throughout your body, even now. Even after everything.
“Stop trying to force your dreams onto her,” you finally let out, and you see his eyes waver. "Just because it didn't work out for you doesn't mean you can try again through her."
“That's not what-”
“Look,” you interrupt him, turning away from him to face the wall. “All I'm saying is that maybe this is your wake-up call. Things change. Not everything that you want is going to happen. Maybe learn to change with it.”
He scoffs.
You turn back around to face him. He's angry, but his face doesn’t give it away. It’s his trembling hands, how his posture straightens just a little too stiffly.
“A little too late to change when my whole life was already laid out for me,” he says through bated breaths. “It’s not like I ever had a choice where I’d end up.”
Your heart sinks. “And it's all my fault, right?”
Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his gaze softening at your hurt expression.
“I didn't say that-”
“But it's what you think, right?” You try to look strong. You think of all the nights he lay awake replaying his old skating clips in the glow of his phone screen. The way he cheered for Sunghee during competitions, like his voice alone could ignite the passion she didn’t have. The muffled sniffles from the shower after the last Winter Olympics ended. You saw it all. You always did.
Sunghoon is silent, and you fight the sting in your eyes.
“I never asked you to marry me,” you say as low as a whisper, cutting through the silence.
“But I did,” Sunghoon says quickly. Desperately. “And I wanted to.”
You draw out a laugh, bitterness dripping through.
“I'm so sorry, Sunghoon,” you say, sarcasm spilling over your lips. “I'm sorry this isn't the life you wanted. But newsflash: you're not the only one living with regrets. ”
He steps forward, but you move back. The weight of everything presses against your chest now that the words are out. Now that it’s not just his pain taking up space in your relationship.
“You act like you’re the only one who lost something,” you say, softer now. “But I gave up things, too. I had dreams too.”
You don’t mean it cruelly, and he doesn’t take it that way. But it hurts, still.
"And I'm done walking on eggshells around you just because you can't stand the fact that you aren't living the life you wanted.”
You take a deep breath and continue.
“If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met-"
His hand hovers over your cheek. His lips, so dangerously close to yours. “Stop it.”
His voice is shaky.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
You don't pull away, but your gaze does not waver. “I mean it. Genuinely.”
You don’t see Sunghoon’s heart break at that moment. But he feels it. Feels the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes up, like your words were enough to kill him.
“When did you become so cruel?” Hurt laced his voice.
“And when did you start resenting me?” you bite back, but the words barely escape your throat.
He doesn’t answer, just leans in and kisses you. And you let him.
Because maybe this is the last time you’ll feel him like this. Maybe this is the last tender moment you two will share.
His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You feel your own breath catch, and for a second, you almost melt into him.
“I love you,” Sunghoon says, but it sparks nothing in you.
Instead, you hear everything he didn’t say. He didn’t say no or that you were wrong. So maybe he really does, you thought to yourself.
His kisses almost make you forget. Almost enough to blur out the long winters and how distant he gets. How painfully silent he is at the dinner table, eyes always somewhere else.
His lips guide you through it all, each kiss igniting a memory.
How his shoulders sagged the day he started that full-time job. How his smile, once so quick to bring out of him, turned into something you had to search for. How the light in his eyes, so blinding when he was on the ice, dimmed, little by little.
His hands trail under your shirt now as he peppers kisses down your throat.
“I miss you,” he sighs.
How he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and leave without a word, how you’ll see his location is at the ice rink, probably watching the Zamboni circle around. But he'd never bring his skates with him.
His lips meet yours again, deeper this time. His knee finds its way in between your legs.
You couldn’t do this anymore. It’s been far too many times, letting him wiggle his way back into your good graces. This was it. You would choose yourself this time.
Your fingers close around his wrists, gentle but firm. The warmth of his skin against yours nearly breaks your resolve, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. Even though it hurts.
“I think you should leave.”
You release yourself from his hold. Sunghoon's expression is unreadable, but you know by now it's a facade.
You could not carry his pain with you any longer. You needed him to let you go, just as much as you needed to let him go.
“Baby...” he starts, voice fragile.
“Don't,” you say quickly, lips pressed tight. “You can't call me that anymore, Sunghoon.”
His heart aches. He was supposed to be Hoon to you. Your Hoon. When did that change?
But he doesn't ask. He just watches you, eyes dark and full of all the things he never figured out how to say until it was already too late.
“The papers...” you pause, swallowing hard. You see a flicker of panic flash across his face.
“They're on the kitchen counter. Take them before you leave.”
Sunghoon did not take the papers.
In fact, just like Sunghee suggested, he went to the so-called “stupid” ice rink by himself.
He sits in the highest row of the stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The kids glide around the ice below. Parents he used to talk to are filming on the sidelines, their laughter echoing faintly off the cold, hard walls.
Envy coats his skin.
Coach Jung is barking commands at the kids. He sneaks glances up at Sunghoon every so often, trying to be subtle. But he knows what that look means. It’s pity.
At one point, Coach Jung had pulled him aside to tell him that Sunghee wasn't built for the sport. Not like Sunghoon was. She was too stiff, too in her own head about spinning in the air. She never cracked a smile when she was on the ice. She always kept her head low and movements small, as if it was still scary for her after years of practicing.
It's not like Sunghoon didn't notice, but he always thought she’d come around to it. He was pushed into figure skating by his parents, much like he was doing for her. It wasn’t like his passions ignited overnight. ‘It could be her dream if she let it be,’ he thought to himself.
Why couldn’t she let it? Why wouldn’t she even try?
Sunghoon sits in the stands, even after the kids pour out one by one and the lights start to dim. Coach Jung offers one last, forced smile before disappearing into the locker rooms. Sunghoon stays until he’s the only one left under the lights.
The Zamboni comes in, shaving and washing the ice to be used for the next day. When the machine finishes, the driver climbs out and heads up toward the stands. He's in his early twenties with blonde hair and dark eyes. He's moving towards Sunghoon with a smile.
Sunghoon stands up, a little intimidated by the younger man. His back turns to go up the stairs and to the exit, wanting to avoid a conversation.
“You're always here at night, sir,” the guy calls out. “Do you have a special connection to this place?”
Sunghoon stops in his tracks. He used to get recognized all the time. On the streets and in this very place. He used to mean something.
He turns around and gives a polite smile to the young man. He points at one of the many banners that hang from the ice rink walls. “Park Sunghoon” was in bright gold colors on each one.
“I used to train here,” he says, with a hint of pride. “National champion for ten straight years, from when I was 11 up until I was 21.”
The guy whistles softly, impressed.
“We could use you, you know?" he says. "I think they’re looking for a new coach. Heard the old one's retiring soon.”
Sunghoon flinches. “Coach Jung? He hasn't told me yet. My daughter trains with him.”
He can't bring himself to use the past tense with her just yet.
The young man just nods. "I think he's planning to announce it after the next competition."
Sunghoon feels his chest constrict. He shakes his head. Another person leaving.
“I guess everything’s changing…” he whispers, but it did not fall on deaf ears. The stranger moves closer to him. "We're all so old now."
The stranger sighs. “Youth can be so cruel, can't it?”
Sunghoon, in his confusion, scoffs.
“The opposite, actually,” he argues. “Life's easier when you're young. Anything was possible back then.”
He takes a second to continue.
“And it all can be taken from you,” he mutters, more to himself. “Before you even realize it.”
“That's the worst, isn't it?” The young man chimes in. He's sitting where Sunghoon was earlier. “When you wonder what could've been…”
Sunghoon’s mouth twists into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“That's all I think about,” he said, surprised at himself for opening up to a stranger. And it's true.
What if he hadn’t stopped skating? What if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?
He sits back down, next to the Zamboni driver.
“We all have regrets,” the young man says, looking ahead, voice soft.
Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling and lets out a breathless laugh through the silence. Flashes of you overcame his vision. Nights of hushed arguments and facing away from each other on the bed. Nothing went his way after the World Championships. He lost it all. His passion. His dreams. You.
“Why does it have to be that way?” he asks no one in particular.
A silence fills the room. The blonde turns his head to face him. “Maybe you could live a life without one, Park Sunghoon.”
He stills for a second.
“How did you know my na-” And as Sunghoon turns to face the stranger, he is met with nothing. Like the man was never there in the first place.
He's driving in that ugly, neon green Kia Soul, making his way back to Sunoo's egregiously large mansion.
Sunghoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens every time he checks the rearview mirror. He can’t shake the feeling like he’s being watched. That guy… the way he talked, like he knew him. Not just his name, but everything underneath.
But screw that guy and whatever cryptic bullshit he was spouting. Screw his perfect friends, rich and successful. Every time they reunite, it’s like a reminder of everything Sunghoon’s not.
And screw the way Sunghee and Sungjae don’t even look at him like he matters. He tries. God knows he does. But they don’t know him. Don't know who either of you were outside of being their parents.
And you know what? Screw you and those damn papers too-
SCRREEEEE.
In an instant, his world is spinning out of control. Airbags deploy as Sunghoon jostles in a car that tumbles with him. The last thing he remembers is flashing lights and the loud sound of a crash. A sharp pain shoots through the left side of his body, and he feels as if he is coming in and out of consciousness.
Sunghoon's eyes blink open, but he's not lying where he thinks he should be. It’s not the inside of a casket, nor is it a hospital room ceiling. He lies there with a cold and familiar feeling.
Ice.
Instead of the wrinkled suit he threw on that morning, he’s wearing sweatpants and a fitted black top. Not a scratch on him. No blood, no bruises.
Was he dead?
“Is just one axel hard for you now, kid?” a voice calls out.
He recognizes it almost immediately. Coach Jung. Sunghoon sits up, yanking his gloved hands from the coldness. What the fuck was happening?
“Get your ass back up and do it again,” Coach Jung shouts from the sidelines. The music starts again. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut, and he swears it's muscle memory. He knows this routine. The one from that night. The night he met you.
He moves. Instinct takes over. Jumps, spins, the sharp sound of his blades cutting clean into the ice. Every turn and landing exactly where it should be. He’s smiling from ear to ear now, almost childlike.
And if he were dead and this was the last thing he'd ever experience, then maybe dying wasn't so bad. He’d stayed off the ice for years, terrified that if he felt this weightless feeling again, that his regrets would consume him.
“Perform like that and you'll win no matter what,” Coach Jung calls out as the music fades. Even breathless, Sunghoon felt like he could do ten more spins across the ice. His heart was racing. Everything felt so real. The soreness of his muscles, the cold air against his skin, the echoes of Coach's voice.
“What day is it today?” Sunghoon asks abruptly. "And what year?"
He’s pinching his wrist now, nails digging in and almost drawing blood. He flinched. It hurt like hell. Was this not a dream?
“Kid, did you hit your head when you fell?” Coach Jung laughs.
And when he says the exact date, Sunghoon's confused. It wasn’t like today was anything special. Just a random Tuesday. So why would this moment, 16 years ago, be where he ended up after crashing his car?
Looking at the reflection of his younger, more athletic self in the mirror, he just couldn't believe it. No matter how much he slapped his face or banged his head against the locker room door, he was still here. In this younger body.
He's walking home from practice now. His phone buzzes in his pocket of the boys’ group chat, the old one they used to fill with dumb inside jokes before you and the other significant others joined the group. But your name is yet to be in his contacts.
And then he remembers. It’s three days before you’re in the stands of the smaller national competition he won many years ago.
He’s not one to panic, but his thoughts are running in circles. Did he actually go back in time, or is this all in his head?
He sees someone in his periphery. A man around his age, standing near the curb, waving. Casual. Like they’ve met before. And they have.
The Zamboni driver.
He has a sinister smile, one that sends shivers down Sunghoon’s spine. Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He marches forward and grabs him by the collar. “Who the fuck are you? Is this happening because of you?”
The man smirks, clearly amused.
“You wanted to try, right? A life without regrets?”
Sunghoon glares at him, confused. “What?”
“Park Sunghoon,” the blonde says sternly. “This is your last chance. Use it wisely.”
Before he can respond, the man shoves him back.
“What are you talk-”
And as he blinks, the stranger disappears. His head starts throbbing uncontrollably, and ringing sets in his ears. He hears a voice then, yet he can’t recognize it.
“What will you choose in this life?”
Even as the reality of everything he left behind starts to settle, he feels a strange sense of calm wash over his grief.
He knows what to do.
three days later.
Sunghoon sees you in the corner of his eye as he’s tightening his skates. You’re sitting with your friends, ones who had encouraged you to come and watch him. Back then, he was all anyone on campus could talk about. The quiet freshman with Olympic dreams who just missed his opportunity last year. He was skating harder than ever, pushing himself to the edge. Skipping classes. Shutting out everything but the rink.
Until you came along.
He remembers your first date. He'd asked awkwardly, “How come you like me?” because he genuinely didn’t understand.
It’s not like the plushie you threw was the first with a phone number taped to it. Not even the tenth. He got plenty of confessions growing up, but he wanted to know why. What made anyone interested in an introverted and one-track-minded guy like him? He had no hobbies outside of figure skating, no real conversation skills that went past awkward greetings.
Yet, you teased him with that Cheshire grin of yours.
“How could I not?" you say so casually as his heart bloomed. "I’ve never seen someone pour so much love into what they do until I met you. You know what you want. I admire that.”
Your words stuck with him. He’d never forgotten it. And even now, those words echo in his chest as he skates to the center of the ice.
The music starts, and he lets himself get lost in the rhythm. As he glides across the ice, there is nothing on his mind. He just takes it all in. The roar of the audience. The sound of skates hitting ice. It’s all he ever wanted.
The routine, like in the past, was met with a standing ovation. The screams of those in the stands overwhelm him. He goes to each section of the rink, bowing as tears threaten to spill over. It’s all too much. And not enough.
Then, he reaches yours. Sunghoon finds you in the sea of people like he did before. Your hair is down, and your face is softer. He chokes back on his tears, so enthralled by your beauty. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.
He bows, more deeply than to the other sections.
You throw that stuffed penguin through the air at the perfect time as it lands by his feet. And as Sunghoon rises from the bow, your eyes are on him again. Expectant.
You don’t know him yet. Not really. You aren't aware of the pain to come. The fights. The distance. The way he’ll drain all the color from your life.
As he turns to move to the final section, he catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes. A frown is present on your beautiful face. He wants to make it go away, but he can’t. Not in this life.
And so the penguin sits on the ice, lifeless, as he skates off the rink.
That night, he skips the afterparty. He goes straight to his shitty studio apartment, the one with the thin walls and peeling paint, and collapses on the bed.
He buries his face into the sheets, the fabric dampening his sobs. The crowd’s cheers still ring faintly in his ears, but now it all sounds hollow. He screams then, into the mattress, at the thought of Sunghee and Sungjae. His babies. The only pieces outside of you in his old life that made it worth fighting for. Would they ever exist in this version of his life?
He tries to steady himself. Tells himself this was for the best. That your life would be easier without him as your words echoed in his head.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
No years wasted, no sacrifices stacked on top of each other until they became resentment. No nights spent worried about bills or appeasing your parents, who never really quite liked him.
He wants to believe he’s doing you a favor.
But the tears don’t stop. Not when he thinks about the weight of Sunghee in his arms the first time he held her. Not when he remembers teaching Sungjae how to read with his tiny hands clutching the book, his eyes lighting up at each new word.
He’s letting it all go. All of it.
This was supposed to be his second chance. To live his dream without regrets. To see what it felt like.
And it felt like hell.
The next few nights were abysmal. Practice became unbearable. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. His body hit the ice harder whenever he missed a spin, which was every time at this point. Coach Jung eventually pulled him aside, clearly frustrated.
“Go home, Sunghoon. Straighten yourself out and get the hell off my ice.”
But home didn’t feel real. None of this did.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep skating like this, not when every turn reminded him of you.
Sunghoon had to see you. Just once. Just enough to know you were okay. He told himself the kids would still exist somehow, even if your love story started differently in this version of life. That thought was the only thing holding him together.
He freshens himself up to go to campus, not having touched his backpack in weeks. He remembers your route like the back of his hand. Morning coffee at the cafe just off campus, right before your 9 AM. He will intercept you here, at this corner of the street.
Sunghoon's in a black turtleneck, wearing the glasses you would always steal off of him. The one that made you squirm under his intense gaze. The air was chilled, and his hands were buried deep in his navy jeans. He sees you coming into view, and he almost extends a hand to wave.
But he sees him, too.
Beomgyu. Your ex. The one who would ask your friends how you were doing, knowing full well that you were married with kids. The one who eventually became a guitarist for a band he would pretend not to like. Sunghoon had asked you to block him from everything before, and you complied. It hurt to admit that his insecurities were still present even now, in another life.
Sunghoon hides behind a tree as he watches you two struggle through the cold. Your shoulders are close but not quite touching. He feels his heart rate accelerate, his lips pursed to prevent himself from saying anything that would compromise his hiding spot.
“Beomgyu, you don’t have to walk me to class,” he overheard you say with a laugh. “I’m okay, really.”
Sunghoon’s hands balled into fists. Why did your voice sound an octave higher than it usually does?
Beomgyu had the nerve to laugh, and it took Sunghoon everything in himself not to jump out.
You once told him that Beomgyu was your first love. Your high school boyfriend. You had ended things on good terms at the end of high school to find yourselves in college.
“Good,” Sunghoon once said. “Because you found me.”
And now here you were, looking happy. Grinning from ear to ear. What was there to smile about?
“Doesn’t this remind you of old times? You used to stuff your hands in my pockets-”
And though Sunghoon almost wills himself to leave the spot behind the tree, he doesn’t. Because he needed to watch this. Needed to watch you live the life you would’ve had without him. The easier one.
He sees it now in the way your nose would scrunch to laugh at Beomgyu’s jokes. How you playfully hit the boy’s shoulder and hide your giggles with the sleeve of your puffer jacket.
Maybe that’s why the stranger had chosen this year. To taunt him.
Look how happy someone else could make her. Was he the only reason why you were miserable? How much did he really hold you back?
And so Sunghoon steps aside, shoving his hands back in his jeans. The icy wind cuts through his reddened cheeks. He asked for this. And he’ll have to live with it in this life.
Sunghoon turns around to give you one last look. But he also sees Sunghee, in her Elsa costume for Halloween. Sungjae asking for a mountain of kimchi at every restaurant. Your hand reaching for his across the dinner table.
He’ll have to live with it.
In the next three years, Sunghoon put his all into skating. He is consumed by it. Throws himself into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
His professors have to send him emails to remind him not to neglect his studies. His mother scolds him for missing holidays at home because he travels so much for competitions. But Sunghoon doesn’t care.
He loves figure skating. Loves the endless cheers from the crowd when he lands a clean program. Loves the headlines, the trophies lining his apartment shelves, the constant buzz of being "the nation's pride." It’s everything he knew he wanted.
But, there’s always that one seat in the stands. The one you used to sit in during his competitions, holding up a handmade banner and shouting his name louder than anyone.
Now, the face in that seat changes all the time. Some new fan. Some stranger holding a sign that doesn't mean anything to him.
He tells himself the past doesn’t matter. That this version of you, the one who laughs in cafes with Beomgyu, who’s always posting photos from new cities, new hobbies, new lives, wouldn’t even recognize the girl he remembers.
The girl who used to sit cross-legged on his couch, studying while he iced his ankle. Who wept with joy the night he won first at an international competition.
Now you’re in a photography club. A painting class. Pottery? Really?
You travel more now than you two ever did in your 16 years together. He scrolls past your updates with a numb thumb, telling himself he’s glad. He guesses that he did the right thing.
And every time he walks past you with Beomgyu, smiling with all your teeth, it lingers. Those damn words are repeating in his head again.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
Now he gets it. He guessed that he held you back from so much. Look at you with your wonderful friends and the amazing life you live without him! He scoffs. You deserve it.
You adjusted to him and his demanding training schedule, canceling plans with people so that you could maximize the time you had with him in the rare chance that he was in town. Maybe Beomgyu never would’ve asked you to sacrifice like that. Maybe he would’ve waited for you to come home from your clubs, instead of dragging you to cold rinks and rushed meals together in between practice sessions.
Sunghoon's fine. He swears on it.
Wake up. Go to class (if he feels like it). Skate for hours. Push through the pain. Go home. Cry into his pillow. Rinse and repeat.
The Olympics are a year away. The World Championships are in two months.
And the night you two conceived Sunghee is tomorrow.
tomorrow.
He wills himself to stay home, even when the boys suggest he hit up a few bars and clubs. It's the weekend after all.
But Sunghoon is used to making excuses by now. Blames it on his training schedule, his diet, Coach Jung. Whatever would get Jake off his back.
So when Sunghoon hears a knock at his door, and three boys pull up already reeking of alcohol, he’s surprised that he finds himself in that exact bar where he promised himself he wouldn’t be.
It’s just like before. Same music, same sickening smell of spilled tequila and too much cologne from Heeseung. And, as always, he’s bad at poker. Worse than he remembers. He’s downing a shot after every loss until his head is spinning and he can’t remember the rules anymore.
“I’m gonna… go… pee…” he tries to say, but his words get lost in mumbles and drooping eyes. He miraculously stumbles towards the restroom and does his business in the urinal. He’s dousing his face with water after barely washing his hands, and he smiles at his reflection. God, why didn’t he want to go out again?
Sunghoon exits the restroom, shaking his wrists to expel the water from his hands. And his breath catches. He sees you.
Your back’s to him at first, your sparkly red dress riding up on the stool just like it was that night. You’re laughing at something the bartender says. And he swears for a second, time stops.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s the years of missing you bottled up too tight. But he starts walking over before he can stop himself.
“Hey,” he says plainly, elbow hitting the bar. You turn towards him, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
He'll be different in his first impressions this time. More experienced and confident than the shy fool he was when he met you. He'd match this new version of you, too. Show you what you were missing out on.
There’s a confused smile on your face.
“Hi.” He looks at you more clearly, his vision impaired from leaving his glasses at home and the tequila shots in his system.
“You come here often?” He’s too out of his senses to stop himself from saying it. But he doesn’t regret it because you laugh. He does too.
“You say that to every girl, Park Sunghoon?”
His heart skips a beat. “You know my name?”
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the cocktail that the bartender just handed you.
“Call me a fan,” you smile up at him, and he swears he could have melted right then and there. “Your face is everywhere.”
Sunghoon licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I wish I could see more of yours,” he grins. “I think I’d skate ten times better if I saw you in the crowd.”
You scoff jokingly. “And here I thought winning was enough for you.”
It should be. It was supposed to be.
He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. That he’d leave you alone. He would let you go about your life, forget him, and be who you wanted to be. Who you should have been before he came to your life.
But here you are, impossibly close, and every part of him is begging not to let you go.
"You... you single?" he asks, trying to be casual. But his voice catches at the end. He wants to know. Needs to hear from your own lips if you actually chose Beomgyu in this life.
Relief washes over him when you shake your head.
"Wouldn't be talking to you if I was," you say with a teasing grin. Electricity shoots through him as he watches you. Too bright, too much. This short conversation, one he never planned on having, could never satisfy him. He could never get enough of you.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks before he could stop himself, arm outstretched for you to take. Your face stiffens, and he almost thinks you’d say no until your fingers wrap around his arm.
“Where to?”
You barely make it past his front door before he has you up against it. His hands hold yours above your head, pinning your body against his. Sunghoon’s lips move against you ferociously, an unending battle between your tongues. You try to match his movements, but he is starved beyond belief.
You have no idea how badly he missed this.
Three years since he last heard you speak to him. Three years since he’s felt your lips. And the last time was when you asked him to pick up some stupid divorce papers from the kitchen counter. He needs this. Needs this more than breathing, more than eating, more than skating.
Sunghoon lifts you to wrap your legs around his middle. His hands find your bottom, giving a gentle squeeze that has you arching into him. He didn’t want to scare you, but he couldn’t will himself to stop. Your scent was too intoxicating for his mouth to ever leave yours.
You tap at his chest to push him away softly. With bruised lips, you whisper, “Can we go to your bed?”
He could almost moan just from the sound of you. His sweet, beautiful wife. Still so perfect for him.
His grip on your ass tightens as he maneuvers you through the studio apartment you once shared, laying you softly on the bed. Sunghoon wonders why you two just went at it like animals at the entrance way when the bed was only a few steps away back then. This time, he would savor it. Savor you.
He follows you down as he trails kisses on your neck. You crane it for him like you used to, giving him access to your most sensitive spots. His hands trail underneath your dress, teasing the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission. All you could do was nod, opening your legs wide for him to continue. His dick twitches in his pants. You drive him insane.
Sunghoon peppers a few more kisses on your collarbone as his index finger prods carefully at your clothed pussy.
“Already soaked,” he whispers into your skin, pressing the pads of his fingers onto your underwear. Liquid courage still very much in his system.
He feels bold right now, eager to impress. He doesn't know who you've been with in this life, but he'll make you forget them all. Fuck you so good that you forget those experiences. Remind you that he's your husband for a reason. His fingers hook the side of your ruby red panties, gliding them down your plush thighs.
“I bet I’d go in so easily, huh?” his drunken voice slurs out. "So fucking wet."
When you nod again, he tsks. So silent, and for what? His fingers find your clit, ghosting over it. You arch to lean into his touch, but his hand retracts.
“Use your words, baby,” he says darkly. “Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”
You groan, eyes shut in frustration. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He laughs. Always so uncharacteristically vulgar when horny. He loves it. He loves you.
“Can’t I get a taste first, baby?” he says, his face already inching downwards. He pulls your dress all the way off you, so that your breasts are finally exposed. Your satin red bra matched your panties like they were made to be seen tonight. He didn’t know why that fired him up so badly.
Would another man have you like this if he didn't make a move?
He dips his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your clit. You gasp at the suddenness, not knowing how much you’ve angered him just from your underwear choices. His tongue moves downwards, lapping at your folds like a man dying of thirst. His hands pinned your legs to open even wider, and you writhed underneath him.
“Please-” you beg, hands gripping his hair as his tongue plunges into your wetness. Sunghoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation. He could never, ever forget this taste.
He pushes his tongue in and out as deeply as he can with his curled tongue, grinding against the mattress for any semblance of stimulation.
He would make love to you tonight. Until you remember who he was. Until you remember the life you built together.
His tongue does one agonizing lick all the way up to your clit, and your back arches just to feel him better. He’s sucking it harshly, tongue flicking at it in all the right ways.
“Sunghoon-” you cry out, your feet digging into the mattress to push your hips up to meet his ravenous lips. He pulls away and glares up at you. Your hips fall.
“Why’d you stop?” you whine, pushing his hair back down to your core. It takes everything in him not to laugh. He adores you like this. Desperate for him. Needy for him. Shaking in pleasure for whom? Him.
“Don’t call me that,” he whispers into your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. He chuckles at your confused expression. “Hoon. If you’re gonna moan my name while I fuck you, I need you to say it properly.”
Your cheeks warmed. Heaving out a groan, you nod your head anyway.
“H-hoon,” you test out. “Can you please continue?”
He smiles mischievously. “With what?”
You huff out in frustration. “I swear if you don’t fucking make me cum right now I’m going to-”
And his lips smash down on yours to shut you up. His hands replace his tongue as his middle finger draws figure-8s on your clit. He pulls your slickness from your folds and up to that sweet spot, relishing in the indecent noises between your legs.
Your moans are muffled by his tongue, body twitching underneath his. You taste yourself, so sweet on his lips as he caresses the most inner parts of your mouth. So dirty and so wet. He knew every part of you. Knew what made you cry, knew what made you scream. And fuck, he will make you scream.
He pulls away from you to admire his ruthless pace on your clit.
You are clenching around nothing as your nails dig into his shoulders. He coaxes a gasp out of you as a coil in your stomach starts to form.
“Want me so fucking bad, don't you?” he teases, his other hand on the nape of your neck. Sunghoon tilts your head down to show you the mess you were making.
His sheets are stained with your arousal, and his fingers are drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with such fervor. You catch a glimpse of his painfully clothed member.
He was right. You wanted him so desperately, wanted to feel him inside you at that very moment. Your breath hitches. Fuck. You felt something building.
Your hips start to rise again, and it’s hard to formulate a sentence.
“Hoon! Oh my god– Fuck it’s– It’s–” You cry out as Sunghoon’s pace quickens, motivated by the sound of your moans. His other hand tries to anchor your thighs down. You feel it as you start to lose vision in your eyes. His thumb is rubbing so intensely that it draws a whine right out of you.
The coil inside of you snaps.
“Fuuuck…Ngh…”
A wave of pleasure washes over you, and you feel your juices coat your folds, dripping more than before.
You're squirming underneath him, thighs twitching from the stimulation. He slows his pace, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.
His cock was in pain, desperate for it to make contact with any part of you. In this life, one thing he developed over the past three years of watching you in the shadows was patience. And you had none.
“God, just put it in,” you groan so casually, resting your forearm to shield your eyes away from him. You were so fucked out. Hair splayed all over the pillow in messy waves. Lips bruised, your cherry gloss staining your chin and his cheek.
So eager to just have him take you. If he were a weaker man (maybe Beomgyu), he would have listened. But like he said earlier. He would savor this.
His fingers travel down to your folds, one dancing at your entrance to tease you. Sunghoon smirks as you whimper. He pushes a finger in and bites his lip at the feeling. He hasn’t felt you, or anyone for that matter, in ages. In these past three years, he couldn't bring himself to even talk to another woman who wasn't you. It didn't feel right.
All the lonely, and frankly sad, nights touching himself to thoughts of you. Fucking himself on his wrist as he remembers all the nights you’ve shared in your 13 years of marriage. He had plenty of material to work with, with all of your past escapades, but it was nothing like the real thing. Nothing like feeling you again.
“Sunghoon, stop teasing me-”
His finger stilled, and you thought about cursing him out. He pulls your forearm away from your eyes, forcing you to look into his.
“Want to try that again?” he says, threateningly slow. The darkness of his gaze was enough to have you pliant and doe-eyed.
“Hoon?” He smiles, kissing you on the forehead softly.
“Good girl.” And just like that, he dips another finger in, scissoring them into you with precision. You’re a mess underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck. He needed you to be ready for him. His heaviness was throbbing painfully just thinking about how you'd take him after all this time.
How long would it take you to adjust to his size?
Sunghoon’s fingers squelch with each thrust, finding the soft spot he was so familiar with. He’s obsessed, drinking in the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, your hands gripping at his shoulders like your life depended on it. You were so wrapped up in your own pleasure, fucking yourself onto his fingers. Grinding up at him without a care in the world.
“Look at you,” he laughs. “So needy.”
Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you before he brings them to his lips. He hums, relishing the taste. He’d have to go down on you again later tonight. Taste you after his cock has had its fill.
You watch him in anticipation as he takes his pants off. You follow his lead as you unhook your bra, throwing it across his floor, sighing at the feeling of cool air hitting your nipples. Sunghoon pulls his throbbing member out of his briefs, pumping himself languidly.
Sunghoon's eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to your cunt. He's churning something in his mouth, and you almost ask him what he was doing until he positions his mouth just above your folds.
With sultry eyes directly gazing up at yours, Sunghoon lets his saliva drip down onto your pussy.
You throw your head back on the pillow from the sight. Fuck, that was hot. He moves back up to you, guiding his hand to spread his spit with the tip of his leaking cock.
His dick smears your joined liquid in an up-and-down motion, pushing in ever-so-slightly. You gasp and clutch his chest, nails digging in enough to get his attention. He stops.
“I’m not on birth control,” you mutter, like you’re scared to tell him.
“Should I stop?” he asks, even with his tip pulsing so desperately between your folds. You avoid eye contact, though he doesn’t know why.
“Look at me.” he growls.
Sunghoon tilts your chin to face him, and with glossy eyes, you shake your head. He smiles, and a tinge of sadness hits him. You look so soft underneath him, so fucking beautiful.
He’s spent three years stuck in this version of his life, crying over you to avoid this very moment. But he just wanted you so bad. Wanted to feel you at least once again. Then, he’ll let go, he swears. This will be the first and last.
“Use your w-”
You interrupt him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper into you. He groans, collapsing onto his elbows. You dig your heels into his back as you pull him in deeper. Sunghoon's lips leave you to lay his forehead against yours. His breathing grows heavy, so lost in how your hole sucks him in.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, testing the waters with a small thrust after bottoming out. You squeak in response. “Fuck, baby.”
He wraps you in a tight hold, propping his knees underneath your thighs into a mating press. He fucks into you at an agonizing pace. It's so slow, you could feel every part of his rigid cock. His large size. His thick veins. The soft pulsing. It's so slow that you almost flip him over to ride him instead. But the desperation in his eyes stops you. His head buries deep in your hair, and you could hear the shakiness of his breath as he pulls out of you and plunges back in.
Sunghoon relishes the way you clench around him, your tight warmth pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He drives himself into you with languid, but strong thrusts. He wants to engrave his place inside you so that you are ruined for anyone who might come after him. And again, he angers himself.
"You only this good for me?" he asks, searching your eyes for reassurance. But you aren't listening. You meet his thrusts, grinding yourself onto him. You want more. More of his touch. More of his length. Just more of him.
“Faster–” you whine, thighs pushing into his sides with each hard thrust. He was reaching the deepest part of you, your cervix kissing his tip ever so deliciously. Sunghoon doesn’t abide, so you take what he gives you.
"You this desperate for everyone, baby?" he whispers into your ear darkly. You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes.
"No..." you muster out. "Just you."
And even through all the tequila and the self-restraint not to jackhammer into you, he believes you.
His hands are on your tits now, catching them as they bounce with the strength of his slow thrusts. He twists a nipple between his fingers, coaxing a moan out of you. He tugs and pulls, and it's enough to have you moaning underneath him.
You feel that familiar fire build inside of you. An ember that burned in your lower stomach and traveled down to the very tip of your toes.
“Hoon! Please- Fuck- I need... I need-”
You couldn’t form full sentences. His thrusts were so harsh and still so painstakingly slow. His eyes never left your face. He basked in the way your brows furrowed for him. How your lips formed silent screams as he hit that certain spot within you. Again and again.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips so close to yours. “Tell me who you need.”
“You!” you cry out. "Only you!"
He smashes his lips against yours as he finally thrusts into you hard and fast. His hands on your breast travel down to your waist, locking you onto the mattress as he fuck into you.
You feel something pooling, feel the tingling of your toes intensify with his breath against your face. His moans are just as loud as yours, grunting in your hair like a beast.
“You feel so fucking good–” his hips piston forward, brushing against that spot with every movement. Your chest is pressed into his as you claw at his back. The sensation builds and builds as your stomach starts to tighten.
“Hoon- Oh my god- I’m-Angh!”
Your second orgasm rips through you, the tension within snapping like a chord. It's so much stronger than your first one. It hits you in waves as you weep through it, your hips grinding up to meet his unending thrusts. You were so sore, so sensitive, but his pace stayed so relentless.
“Close– So fucking close, baby–” he moans into your hair.
He clutches your hips, driving into you with reckless abandon. Even if you had no idea who he was, he would have your body remember him. Sunghoon, in this life, would be your best one-night stand. He swears on it.
He grunts as he feels you clench around him harder, his hips stuttering against yours.
“I’m gonna–” He tries to pull out, tries to push you away. Tries not to repeat the same mistakes. But your arms pull him downward as legs wrap sternly around his waist. You push him in deeper.
And he comes. Hard.
“Fuck-”
Sunghoon plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips, drowning out his sweet noises as he feels his raw cock twitch deep inside. His hot cum spills deep inside you with thick spurts. Your lips parted at the warm feeling, and he could tell you enjoyed every bit of milking him dry.
Sunghoon pulls away from you with a soft groan. He watches as his cum spills out of you. He brings his finger to your folds, pushing his fluids into you.
As he meets your eyes, he’s shocked to see how concerned you look. Because unbeknownst to him, there were tears streaking down his face. And before he can fully sober up and stop himself, he says it.
"I love you."
You’re gone before he wakes up.
Sunghoon screams into his pillow, recalling his words like a bad nightmare. Stupid. So stupid. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.
That stranger, whoever he was, said this was his last chance. And what did he do? He threw away three years of silent pining just to chase you down on the very night the troubles in your relationship had begun.
Was he a fucking idiot?
You never even said goodbye, never even replied to his confession last night. Didn’t even leave a trace of what last night meant to you—if it meant anything at all. He must’ve looked insane.
Sunghoon grips the back of his neck, exhaling hard. You don’t know him. You aren’t the same girl from his past life. You're different now. Three years. That’s how long you’ve had to become someone else.
And him? He hasn’t changed at all. He’s still chasing ghosts. If it wasn't figure skating in his past life, it would be you in this one.
He sighs and sits up. Practice. He should go to practice.
two months later.
“Are you messing around, kid, or do you actually want to win this thing?!” Coach Jung shouts after Sunghoon falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. His palms sting from the fall, but he barely feels it.
The World Championships are in a week, and he hasn’t heard a single peep from you since you left his apartment. Hasn’t seen you on campus in his usual routes to watch you from afar. He knew he had reached a new level of patheticness when he actually went up to Beomgyu to ask how you were.
Turns out, you two weren't even as close as he thought you were. He smiled to himself after that, but frowned when he realized that it truly was as if you had disappeared.
“Sorry,” he huffs, out of breath from the demanding routine. “One more time?”
Coach Jung pinches the bridge of his nose. “How about ten more, you punk? Get your act together.”
Coach mutters something under his breath and storms off, leaving Sunghoon alone with the cold silence of the rink. He tries again. Falls again. He smacks his gloved hand against the ice, hard enough that the sharp sting shoots up his arm. He should’ve known. The moment he got a taste of you, he knew this would happen.
No matter when or how, he would always bother you. He would always lose himself. He would always manage to ruin everything.
“Are you living the life you wanted, Park Sunghoon?” a voice echoes behind him. He spins on his skates.
There he is again. The blonde prick. Somehow, he’s in his sneakers and standing still on the ice. His hands are smug in his coat pockets.
Sunghoon doesn’t take the time to question it until he’s skating at breakneck speed towards him.
He swings at him, but the stranger disappears into smoke.
“Or do you still have regrets?” the voice is behind him again. Sunghoon turns around to the stranger, giving him that annoying, shiteating grin.
“I want out,” Sunghoon says with a strained jaw. “Bring me back. To Sunghee. To Sungjae. To her. Now.”
The blonde laughs. “You haven’t even done what you set out to do yet. Wasn't this what you wanted?”
Sunghoon lets out a bitter sigh, chest tight.
“I get it, okay?" he says with wavering breaths. "I was selfish. I asked for too much. I get it now. So just... please. Please, send me back.”
The boy steps forward. His sneakers make no sound on the ice. Inches away from Sunghoon now, just a little taller than him.
“You don’t always get what you want in life,” the stranger says with that sick, twisted grin. It sends a rush of dread through Sunghoon's body.
“I thought you would have learned that by now.”
the world championships.
He’s in the locker room. His left leg is bouncing up and down, nail splitting as he gnaws at it incessantly. Only ten contestants ahead of him, but he has the time to panic. Just like he did before.
Coach Jung pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”
Sunghoon shakes his head, unlocking his phone to check the time. The lockscreen, snow falling past a dark streetlight, holds his gaze longer than it should. He sighs.
“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replies, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”
Coach Jung rolls his eyes.
“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubts the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”
And when Coach Jung shuts the door behind him, Sunghoon puts his hands to his face. And instead of self-affirmations, he is trembling. Barely breathing, he replays the memory again. Of him spinning you in his arms. Of your kind smile.
Sunghoon told himself not to expect you. In this lifetime, you'd only met once. Only fucked once. But he still thought... maybe the universe would be kind. Maybe you’d show up like you did back then.
“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blares into the locker room. That's him. He's one of the last five.
There’s no one to hold him back this time. No distractions. Just an aching in his chest.
Sunghoon's by the stands now. He watches with shaky hands as the crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at his competitors’ routines. He hates watching before his turn.
His eyes naturally fall on a seat in the stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating.
Someone sits there. Not a stranger. Not this time. It's you. Your brows furrowed like you were forcing yourself not to enjoy his competitor’s performance. Wearing the same outfit. He huffs a laugh under his breath. What are you doing here?
As the routines passed one by one, he could not take his eyes off you. Even from afar, your eyes glisten so beautifully. The same eyes that once glowed, helping the kids with homework. The same eyes that looked at him across the table after long days and short tempers. His wife. The mother of his children. The version of life he gave up for this one.
Now, he would have to settle for this. Longing stares and a heartbeat he could hear in his ears.
“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!”
He steps onto the ice with a big smile on his face. He forces it out, forces himself to act fine when you cheer at the sound of his name. He takes his pose at the center of the ice.
The music begins. His edges wobble, nerves bleeding into the blade. He practiced day and night, no distractions. Not even you. So why… Why was this happening?
He takes in a deep breath as he prepares himself for the first spin. He’s skating backwards, building up momentum. He pushes off the ice. Toe pick hits.
Sunghoon rose high. He spots himself. One. Two. Three. Almost four– but his shoulders tilt, the axis too loose. The rotation slows. A half-second of weightlessness gives way to gravity, and he’s tumbling onto the ice hard.
Gasps echo through the arena, and then applause as he brushes himself back up and onto his skates again.
He gets up. He keeps going. Muscle memory takes over. The rest of the routine is clean. Almost perfect, but not enough.
The first quad... He fucked it up. He bows, head down, as if apologizing for even trying.
And when the score is announced while he's sitting on the sidelines, his body is limp. He barely reacts, face blank with emotion.
He could blame you for it. Pretend you were the reason why his routine didn't score high. But the truth is, he stopped believing in excuses a long time ago.
Years of hating himself led here. All this time, resenting the path he took, only to fuck this one up, too.
Sunghoon had to laugh. He deserves it. Of course he did. The low score. You leaving him. The heartache.
Everything he thought he was capable of, everything he pushed aside to have this moment. None of it mattered without you.
As he rises from his seat on the floor, he searches for you in the endless crowd of faces. The other competitors pass by him with pity; he sees it in everyone’s faces. But they don't matter.
Because you're gone. Your seat is empty.
"Kid-"
He pushes past Coach Jung without looking back. There's nothing left to say.
Sunghoon pulls his skates off skillfully, breaking into a sprint towards the exit. He runs with only socks separating him from the floor.
Then he sees you, clutching your stomach and moving toward the exit. His breath catches. Somehow, he knows. He's seen it all play out before.
“[Y/N], wait!”
You stop in your tracks, hands trembling. You turn around, and he is already clutching your face, kissing you so deeply. You would have every right to push him away, to call him a creep and spit every insult at him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t understand why.
Instead, you lean into his touch, fingers fisting the thin fabric of his blouse. He’s the first to pull away, forehead resting against yours.
“Why are you here?” he asks. It’s not the only question he has, but it’s the first that comes out. You’re crying now, eyes wide, mouth parted. But why?
“I was just…” You try, but you fail to find the right words. “I just came to support you?”
Sunghoon shakes his head. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let things linger.
“You came to tell me something,” he says knowingly, replaying the scene of the past in his head as it happens right in front of him. He smiles sadly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “What is it?”
You flinch.
“I can’t,” you whisper, the first barrage of tears falling down your face. “It'll ruin you.”
He laughs then. Quiet. Tired. Even in this life, you were so selfless. He doesn’t deserve you. Never did.
“You always say that. Even now.”
He takes your hands into his.
“Are you pregnant?” he asks, taking the words right out of your lips. Your mouth opens in shock.
“How did you-?”
“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon interrupts softly. He was smiling now. Sunghee was here. She was growing inside you. “Together.”
For a moment, something shifts. You search his face like you’re looking for confirmation. And just like that, you pull away. What? It stings.
This didn't happen before. Why were you-
“You went back," you say. "Didn’t you?” Your voice sounds foreign now, laced with hurt. It’s his turn to look confused.
“What do you mean?” he asks, hands reaching for yours again. You avoid them, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“You… You went back in time like I did, right?” Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “That’s how you knew.”
He freezes.
It clicks. Like cold water hitting his skin. He remembers the first time he saw you in this life. How carefully he avoided you. How he left the penguin plushie behind, just like before. How badly you’d looked at him after that. It all makes sense now.
“I didn’t want to avoid you,” he musters. “I had every intention of finding you again. I passed by that damn cafe every day just to see you-”
You shake your head, but he keeps going, vomiting out word after word.
“I even tried to talk to you, but you looked so happy. All I could think about was the last time we spoke. How you said you regretted us. Watching you with Beomgyu, or whatever his name is-"
“Sunghoon-”
“I was fucking miserable-” His voice cracks.
“Sunghoon-” You’ve never heard him talk this much. Never seen him look so broken.
“And I couldn’t even fight the guy who dragged me into this mess. I was stuck. Thinking about you. About us. About Sunghee. Sungjae. God, I missed you all so fucking much it hurt to breathe—”
“Sunghoon, please—”
“And I should’ve just caught that stupid penguin. I should've just relived our memories together. I should’ve been a better man, a better husband, a better father. But I just keep fucking it up. Every single time, even now-”
“Hoon!” you shout, grabbing his face with your hands. His words die off. He finally breathes. You don’t look angry, not at him at least.
“I know,” you say quietly. “Because I didn’t put my number on the penguin.”
His mouth parts slightly. "Wha-"
"I thought I was the one who messed it all up," you confess. “When you didn’t pick up the plush, I thought it was because of me. Because I tried to change things.”
You swallow back your tears as he listens to you intently, your hands sliding to his chest.
“I thought you’d be better off without me, too.”
You let out a bitter laugh.
“I tried to fill the space,” you continue. “Tried to pick up things I couldn't before. But all I think about was Sunghee and Sungjae."
Your eyes waver, lips pressed together tightly.
"And you," you breathe out. "I saw you skating, training so hard, and you looked happy. I couldn’t bring myself to take it away from you again.”
You pause, lips trembling.
“So I made a plan. I thought—if I could just get Sunghee back, maybe one day I’d find you again for Sungjae.”
You both let out a shaky laugh.
"So then I went to the bar," you sigh. "I wore that red dress and I just hoped you would find your way to me again-”
“Of course I would,” Sunghoon interrupts, kissing your temple. “I always do.”
“And it worked.” You look at the ground like you're ashamed. “The test was positive. I wasn’t planning on telling you.”
Sunghoon takes your hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes assure you.
“And then you fell during your routine,” you whisper, a sad laugh slipping out. "I thought… I avoided you all this time for nothing.”
He laughs too. “I wasn’t even going to win anyway.”
Sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, stroking your hair ever-so-softly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For making you ever feel like I regretted choosing you.”
And you didn’t know you needed to hear those exact words until you sob into his chest.
Sunghoon soothes you. He’s had enough crying. All he is now is grateful. The pain, the mourning. It all led him here.
“This time we’ll do it right,” he assures you. “I love you. I’m not letting you do this alone.”
You pull away from him, eyes wet but smiling.
“I love you too.”
And you tilt your head as he reaches down to kiss you. With your eyes both closed, the world around you spins. Just you and him. In each other’s arms. His lips are soft against yours.
And a voice unfamiliar to both of you echoes in the air.
“I hope you can live a life without regrets.”
Sunghoon’s eyes open groggily, pain shooting through his spine almost immediately. All he sees are sterile hospital walls and Jay and Sunoo’s concerned faces.
They hover over the foot of his bed, their faces a mix of worry and irritation.
He blinks, scanning the room. Wires. A blood pressure cuff. An IV drip. Another bed. Then your eyes flutter open too.
“You know, with how the divorce is going, we thought you two crashed into each other on purpose,” Sunoo chirps, unempathetic to the dazed state of his friends. Jay smacks him on the shoulder.
“You’re lucky I managed to get you both a private room,” Jay mutters. “The nurses kept whispering about you two in the ICU.”
Sunghoon turns his head slowly, wincing. You’re awake now, alert, your expression matching his. His chest tightens. And almost in a panicked daze, his head snaps back to his friends.
“Sunghee and Sungjae–” he strains out, pain shooting through his lungs. “Where are they?”
Jay furrows his brows.
“They weren’t in the car with [Y/N], if that’s what you’re worried about,” he starts. “They’re looking for a vending machine with Heeseung and Jungwon-”
You both let out a shaky breath. For a second, relief replaces pain. Your eyes meet his for just a second before the door bursts open.
“Mom! Dad!” Sunghee's voice cries out. She’s running towards you two now, but Heeseung stops them.
“Whoa there, princess. They’re fragile.”
Her eyes are red, as if she had just finished crying. Sungjae's behind Heeseung, tugging at his jacket, worry etched across his little face.
“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” Sunghee blurts in your direction. Sunghoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. “They don’t have it on camera, but they said your car hit Daddy’s!”
He feels something warm bloom in his chest. It’s been a while since Sunghee sounded so protective of him.
You shake your head frantically. “No, darling. My brakes stopped working! I could never hurt your dad. He and I love each other very much-”
You stop yourself, but it's too late—cheeks already warming at the shifting gazes of the four grown men in the room. Jungwon fakes a cough.
“Love? As in, present tense?” he teases.
Sunghoon has the biggest grin on his face, and Sunoo scoffs as his eyes pivot between the two of you.
“Did you both hit your head in the accident?”
Heeseung clears his throat. “So, why don’t we take the kiddos to dinner, hm? Looks like Mom and Dad have some catching up to do.”
Sungjae nods excitedly. “Please! They're so icky.”
The adults usher the kids out, and Jay gives one last wink to the two of you before the doors close. The room falls quiet except for the not-so-steady beeping of the monitors. Sunghoon is the first to speak.
“So... when do you want me to pick up the papers again?”
You laugh softly.
“Oh! I guess if you want to go through with it…”
“No!” Sunghoon shouts, eyes huge. 'He’s so cute when he doesn’t mean to be,' you think to yourself.
You tilt your head, smiling. “Then don’t even think about getting them.”
Your bed is near enough for you to inch your hand towards his forearm. Your touch is featherlight against his skin. It takes all of his strength to intertwine your fingers with his.
“So what does this mean for us?” you say through bated breath. He ponders for a second.
“It means… maybe I can build you an art studio in our garage?” he says cautiously. “And maybe I quit my job? Become a figure skating coach? How does that sound?”
You let out a stronger laugh this time, one that aches in your ribs but still feels good. And in this version of you, older and wiser. He still thinks you’re so beautiful.
“I don’t resent you,” he whispers. And your heart skips a beat, in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. You smile at him. And finally, you find the courage to say it in this life too.
“I love you.”
He brings your fingers to his lips and plants gentle kisses on your knuckles.
In every lifetime, Sunghoon knows. He could be standing on the Olympic stage, the roar of thousands echoing in his ears. He could have everything he ever thought he wanted. But none of it would matter. Not if you weren’t there.
“I love you too," he replies, quietly.
And in every lifetime, he will always find his way back to you. And he will choose you. Over and over again.
epilogue.
Sungjae is on the garage floor, legs crisscrossed as he watches something on his iPad. Sunghoon is installing shelves for your future artist corner while Sungjae's video is strangely on mute.
“What you watching, son?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the tight pull in his lower back.
Sungjae doesn’t look up. “Your skating videos.”
Sunghoon nearly drops the shelf on his eye. “W-what?”
Sungjae shrugs.
“Looks interesting,” he mutters. “Wish I could fly like that.”
Sunghoon sets the shelf down carefully, then crosses the room to crouch beside Sungjaee. On the screen, a much younger version of himself soars across the ice. He remembers that routine. His first national win.
“Didn't think you'd be into it,” he ruffles his son’s hair.
Sungjae shrugs again, but pink tinges his cheeks.
“You never asked.”
The words hit him. He never really did. Not even with Sunghee.
“Do you want to try?” Sunghoon asks slowly. “Figure skating?”
Sungjae finally looks up, eyes wide. “Can I?”
Sunghoon feels tears well up in his eyes, and he coughs them away. What was up with him and crying these days?
“Of course, son,” he says, pulling him into a gentle side hug. “You'll be my first student.”
pairing: model!meret manon x photographer!fem!reader
genre: co-workers to lovers
wc: to be added
a/n: hi everyone! i'm beyond excited to start writing and publishing on this page. this fic is currently incomplete, so this is just the teaser. but i plan to have this out around early june. this is going to be one of the first fics i've ever officially written & published, so i'm very sorry if it ends up being bad lol, i'm learning. i've just been itching to try something different, & i hope my fics can be enjoyable for those reading :)
Synopsis: After moving to a new city for a brand new job offer as a photographer at a well established modeling agency after your failed “situationship” (if you could even call it that) had left you heartbroken; you decide to embark upon this new journey and make the most of your opportunities. Which leads you to a popular gay bar in this vibrant and bustling city you’ve moved to. Whilst wallowing in your sorrows, you end locking eyes with probably the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in all your twenty something years of living. Immediately enticed by the woman, you both end up in a conversation neither of you were expecting to partake in. One thing leads to another and you end up at her place, exchanging a rather mind-blowing sexual encounter that left you both starving for more. Unfortunately enough for both of you, life ended up in the way which left both of you never expecting to see each other again, life carried on. However, things quickly take a turn when one of the most prominent and well established models just so happens to be assigned to the same major campaign you’re supposed to be directing, being none other than the gorgeous, curly-haired, doe eyed woman you hooked up with that chilled, winter night. Meret Manon. You hooked up with THE Meret Manon, the international modeling global sensation. Oh, you were in deep shit, and you truly had no idea how to navigate this. Manon wasn’t much help either between her captivating and sensual gaze or her “not so safe for work” commentary. Of course, being forced to put your biases aside and work together on the latest upcoming modeling campaign for a very prominent fashion brand, will both of you be able to keep things professional, between her very obvious flirting and your awkwardness, despite the complicated history you both share?
Disclaimer: smut, (mdni) angst, top!reader, bottom!manon, established sexualities, queer!manon, lesbian!reader, mentions of cheating, social anxiety, oral (both receiving) pussy eating, fingering, scissoring, use of strap, cum eating, squirting, spanking, praise, nipple play, mentions of nipple piercings, hickeys, mommy kink, choking, masterbation, toy use (vibrator & dildo), face riding, semi-public sex, lots of fluff, reader is lowkey really shy & awkward, manon is a huge flirt but really sweet & welcoming. mentions of cheating, emotional unavailability, neurodivergence, (reader also has adhd), social anxiety, therapy/counseling sessions, happy ending
Playlist:
intro: persona - bts
muse - partynextdoor
like crazy - jimin
tonight - pinkpantheress
les - childish gambino
back of the club - kwn
heaven is a bedroom - tv girl
nights - frank ocean
closer - rm
positions - ariana grande
34+35 - ariana grande
soft spot - keshi
the morning - the weeknd
your eyes only - enhypen
kissing in public - destin conrad
filter - bts
rent free - sailorr
outro: her - bts
》 In the kingdom of Aethera, the shadows whisper tales of revenge, betrayal, and forbidden magic. A cunning witch with a flair for deception, has spent years honing her craft for one purpose: avenging her parents’ deaths at the hands of the King. Disguised as a visiting princess from a distant realm, She charms her way into the castle, weaving lies and illusions to mask her true intent—murdering the king. Her plan is flawless, or so she believes, until she crosses paths with Heeseung, the brooding captain of the royal guard. Tasked with protecting the "princess," Heeseung finds her insufferable, too sharp-tongued and confident for his liking. But as they’re forced to spend time together, her wit begins to spark something deeper in him, despite his better judgment. - THIS IS A REPOST
pairings » witch hunter!heeseung x witch!reader
𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » fantasy » forbidden romance » angst
warnings » smut, oral fem rec, angst, gore, death, murder, dark themes, dark magic, mcd, angst, parental death, 1500s royal ideologies (not entirely accurate), blood, graphic depiction of some death scenes, mainly in reader's pov second person "You" but some scenes in Heeseung's pov, longing, lots of longing.
word count «30.1k »
ONCE UPON A TIME… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was…
Prologue.
The midnight sky hangs heavy over the sprawling coven hall, its black-stone spires clawing at the heavens like skeletal fingers. The air inside is thick with incense and whispered spells, a choking blend of power and menace. You stand hidden among the crowd of robed witches, your heart hammering as your aunt, Mira, ascends the obsidian dais at the center of the room. Mira moves with the precision of a predator, her sharp features twisted into a mask of triumph. Her voice rings clear, cutting through the murmurs of the assembly like the slash of a blade. "Let it be known," Mira declares, her tone dripping with venom, "that my sister, Esme, was a fool. Her lust for power led her to defy the council—to act alone, recklessly, against the king. And now, she is dead."
The word strikes you like a physical blow. Dead. The room blurs as tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to blink them away. You can still picture your mother’s fiery gaze, her defiant smile. Gone? It doesn’t seem real. Mira’s voice rises, commanding the attention of every soul present. "Esme’s actions have left a stain upon this coven, a mark of disgrace that threatens to unravel all we have worked for. The council must act wisely to ensure our survival. As her successor, I motion that we abandon this foolish vendetta against the royal family. Let the king and his ilk live." A wave of murmurs ripples through the hall. Your fists clench at your sides as you listen to the witches’ agreement. Your aunt, the woman who had coldly informed you of your parents’ deaths only hours before, now calls your mother power-hungry and selfish.
"My sister sought glory and brought ruin upon herself," Mira continues, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Let her fate serve as a warning to those who would seek to defy this council." The crowd erupts in murmured assent, some nodding gravely, others casting wary glances at one another. You shrink further into the shadows, your nails digging into your palms until crescent moons of pain etch into your skin. Your mother wasn’t power-hungry. She wasn’t selfish. She had been brave, determined to rid the world of the tyrant king who had oppressed your kind for decades. How dare Mira speak ill upon her only hours after her death. The council’s seal burns bright upon Mira’s palm as she raises her hand, swearing her oath to uphold the coven’s decisions. The crowd roars its approval, but your ears ring with the sound of your own heartbeat. You watch your aunt with burning eyes, feeling the injustice of it all sear into your very soul.
They are cowards, every last one of them. But not you. You won’t let your mother’s death be in vain. You step back into the shadows, your heart a furnace of grief and fury. One day, you vow, you will finish what your mother started. You will avenge your parents and bring the king to his knees—even if it means standing against the coven itself. As the council hall fills with chants and the rustle of robes, you slip away, unseen. Your path is set, your purpose clear. The king’s days are numbered, and you will stop at nothing to see justice served.
The cold night air bites at your cheeks as you sneak through the hidden tunnels beneath the coven hall. Every step echoes in the silence, but you’re too determined to let fear stop you now. The moonlight above guides your way as you slip out into the open, the dark forest swallowing you whole. You’ve heard whispers in the coven—rumors of a royal procession. The king is welcoming a princess from a neighboring kingdom to learn the traditions and history of Athera. The thought is your first glimmer of a plan. If you can reach the castle, you can get close to the king. And if you can get close to the king, you can kill him.
The journey to the village square is long, but you’re light on your feet, moving through the shadows like a wraith. When you arrive, your pulse quickens at the sight of the royal carriage docked outside the saloon. Its intricate gold detailing gleams in the torchlight, and the sound of boisterous laughter drifts from inside as the guards enjoy their meal and drinks. You approach cautiously, your heart pounding. The guards are distracted, but you can’t afford any mistakes. Muttering a quiet incantation under your breath, you weave a charm spell, your words wrapping around the nearest guard like a silken thread. His expression slackens, and he gestures for you to pass, oblivious to the danger. What a punk. So easily taken down, is the king so stupid as to not have his guards under protection that wavers spells. Amateur. You scoffed at your hatred for him.
The carriage door creaks softly as you open it. Inside, the princess sits on a plush seat, her gown shimmering like moonlight. Her eyes widen in alarm when she sees you. Her blonde hair bright under the minimal light seeping through the closed curtains of the carriage. Her chest heaved at the sight of you, clearly frightened. Just how you liked it. A scared little privileged girl who had not even the slightest idea of how cruel the real world is. Growing up with a king for a father and a queen for a mother, spoon fed with a gilded spoon. You tsked at the thought. It made your next move all that easier to accomplish. "Who are you?" she demands, her voice trembling. "Guards!"
Before she can scream again, you lunge forward, your dagger flashing in the dim light. Sinking the knife into the side of her chest without so much as another protest. The struggle is brief, her cries fading into silence. You catch your breath, staring at her lifeless form. There’s no time for hesitation. Stripping her gown, you exchange your rough clothes for her regal attire, pulling the hood of her cloak low over your face. With practiced efficiency, you shove her body to the far side of the carriage. You’ll deal with it soon enough. Moments later, the guards return, oblivious to the change. The carriage lurches forward, and you wait until the village lights are distant before opening the door and pushing her lifeless form out into the night. You had no regrets. None. This is what needs to be done, for your parents. The world is now rid of one less pretty princess who had lived and loved ten times more than you ever had. You fought a smirk from gracing your lips, pure evil instincts kicking in.
The muffled thud of her body hitting the ground is followed by distant shouts of alarm. You don’t look back. The screams of the villagers grow fainter as the carriage speeds toward the castle, carrying you closer to your destiny. You sit back against the cushioned seat, your fingers tightening around the dagger hidden beneath your cloak. Soon, the king will pay for everything. For taking your parents far too early. For being an arrogant, no good tyrant. You couldn't wait to spill his blood. You were actually giddy. The towering gates of the castle loom before you, their iron bars glinting in the moonlight. The carriage comes to a halt, and the driver announces your arrival with a booming voice. You steady your breathing, keeping your head bowed as the door opens. A pair of guards escort you inside, their armored boots clanking against the stone floor. The grand hall is a marvel of opulence. Chandeliers dripping with crystals cast a warm glow over gilded walls and intricate tapestries. Your eyes catch every detail, memorizing the layout as your heart pounds beneath the layers of the princess’s gown.
The king and queen stand at the far end of the hall, their regal presence commanding the room. The king’s sharp eyes study you as you approach, his mouth curling into a welcoming smile. The queen’s gaze is softer, but no less piercing. They are everything you expected—and everything you loathe. Tall, graceful. As hard as stone. Your heart leaped in your chest but you would not allow the disease of anxiety to plague you. You were stronger than that. "Welcome to Athera," the king says, his voice rich and commanding. "We are honored to have you here." You forced a snarl down at his voice alone.
So instead you curtsy deeply, keeping your expression demure. "Thank you, Your Majesties. It is an honor to be here."
"You must be tired from your journey," the queen says, her voice as smooth as silk. "We have arranged for a nursemaid to attend to you. She will show you to your chambers and ensure you have everything you need."
"You are most kind," you reply, forcing a polite smile. Your hands are steady, but the weight of the dagger hidden beneath your cloak reminds you of your true purpose. The king steps closer, his imposing frame towering over you. "We look forward to hearing about your homeland and sharing our traditions with you. Tonight, you will dine with us. It will be a chance to begin your education in the ways of Athera."
"I would be delighted," you say, inclining your head. The thought of sitting across from him at the dinner table, so close yet unable to strike, makes your blood boil. But patience is a weapon, one you are learning to wield. Even if your hatred for him is at an all time high you must remind yourself of the ultimate goal here. Not only do you want to kill the king, you also wish to make him suffer, in the most unimaginable ways. You had never known how your parents died, or what the nature of it was but based on the horrifying stories told about the king's prisoners you could only assume the worst. You were dealing with pure evil, good thing you had been made straight from hell clawing at the cage of your soul to pull him down there with you. A maid appears at your side, bowing low before gesturing for you to follow. You allow her to lead you through the labyrinthine halls of the castle, your mind racing with possibilities. Each step brings you closer to the moment you’ve dreamed of: the moment the king pays for his crimes. For now, you must play the part of the princess, but soon, the mask will come off—and the real game will begin.
The maid leads you to your chambers, a room so grand it feels like stepping into a dream—or a trap. The ceiling arches high above, painted with scenes of celestial beauty, and the furnishings are fit for a queen: a massive canopy bed draped in silk, a polished mahogany desk, and a window seat overlooking the sprawling castle gardens. You fight to keep your expression neutral, though the opulence threatens to overwhelm you. "This will be your room during your stay," the maid says with a bow. "A bath has been prepared for you. Shall I assist you, or would you prefer privacy?" You had never had someone to dote on you, even when your mother was alive. You sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.
You give her a small, dismissive wave. "I can manage for now. Thank you." She nods, retreating with a final bow. Once alone, you let out a breath, shedding the heavy cloak and feeling the weight of your dagger hidden in the folds of your stolen gown. The luxurious bath beckons, but you remain cautious, examining the room for anything amiss. When you’re satisfied that no prying eyes or hidden spells lurk, you strip off the dress and slip into the steaming water. The warmth eases the tension in your muscles, but your mind remains sharp, replaying every moment since you entered the castle. The king’s piercing gaze. The queen’s soft, calculated smile. They seemed so at ease, so secure in their kingdom, but that security would be their downfall. When the water begins to cool, you step out and wrap yourself in a robe. A knock sounds at the door before the maid returns, this time with a tray of delicate bottles and brushes. You're especially jumpy. Learning to be extra cautious. You were in enemy territory completely undetected.
"I’ve come to prepare you for dinner," she says, setting the items down. She moves with practiced efficiency, brushing and arranging your hair into an elaborate style that feels foreign on your head. Her hands are gentle, but the intrusion feels invasive, a reminder that every moment here is a performance. You could never be fully comfortable, fully relaxed. Not under the watchful eyes of the royals and all who serve them. "Do you like it?" she asks when she’s finished, holding up a gilded mirror.
You glance at the reflection of a girl you barely recognize—poised, elegant, nothing like the witch who crouched in the shadows of the coven. "It will do," you say curtly, standing to allow her to help you into another dress. This one is finer than the last, adorned with jewels and embroidery that shimmer in the candlelight.
When you’re finally ready, she steps back with a small smile. "You look lovely, Your Grace. The king and queen will be most pleased." You nod, hiding the dark satisfaction that simmers beneath your calm exterior. Let them be pleased. Let them believe I am harmless. A pair of guards and the nursemaid walk you to the dinning hall where your dinner will take place. The dining hall is a spectacle of wealth and grandeur. A long table stretches the length of the room, laden with golden plates and crystal goblets. Servants move like shadows, ensuring every detail is perfect. The king and queen rise as you enter, their smiles warm and inviting. "Ah, our honored guest," the king says, motioning for you to sit beside him. You glide to the seat, each step measured and deliberate.
"Thank you for this generous welcome," you say, your voice soft but steady. The king studies you as you begin to eat. His questions come slowly at first—polite inquiries about your homeland and upbringing. You answer carefully, spinning a web of half-truths and vague pleasantries.
"And what do you hope to learn during your time in Athera?" he asks, cutting into a piece of roasted meat.
You pause, as though considering your words. "Your Majesty, I wish to understand the traditions and history that make this land so revered. To gain the wisdom that only a kingdom as ancient as yours can provide." The queen smiles at this, but the king narrows his eyes slightly, as if testing the sincerity of your response. Before he can press further, he gestures to a man standing near the far wall.
"This is Captain Lee Heeseung," the king says. "He is my most trusted guard and will oversee your safety during your stay." Heeseung steps forward, bowing slightly with an air of quiet authority. His dark eyes meet yours, and you sense he’s already assessing you, searching for weaknesses.
"An honor to serve, Your Grace," he says. His voice is steady, but there’s a spark of curiosity in his tone. You incline your head, feigning disinterest. "The honor is mine, Captain." The king seems satisfied with the exchange and continues speaking. But when you inquire about magic in the kingdom, his expression hardens. You ask of magical beings he has here, perhaps prying too far but you did not care much. Being here meant making sacrifices.
"Magic is not a matter for you to concern yourself with," he says, his tone firm. "Your focus should be on diplomacy and tradition."
Your lips tighten, but you force a smile. "Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive my curiosity." You bit back every harsh wish you could utter at him, biting your tongue almost to the point of bleeding. The conversation drifts to other topics, but your mind lingers on his dismissal. Magic is none of your concern. The words echo in your thoughts like a challenge, feeding the embers of your anger. You’ll prove him wrong. You’ll prove them all wrong. Magic was your entire being. It coursed through your veins at this very second. Born and bred a witch, the king didn't know the true first thing about what Magic truly was. Not unless the asshole possessed it himself, which he didn't. As far as you heard he did his bidding in the creatures he held captive in this very castle. He was a coward.
The evening wears on, and when the meal concludes, the king rises to offer a toast. His words are full of pride and hope for the future, but you hear only arrogance. You lift your goblet, hiding your true thoughts behind a mask of gratitude. One day, this kingdom will bow to you. One day everyone will know of the Bloodborn witch who outsmarted and conquered the tyrant king. For now, you bide your time. Tonight, you’ve taken your first step into the heart of Athera. Soon, the real work will begin.
After dinner you're more than eager to get out of the confines of your room, you were just itching to scope out the castle and what it entailed. There was just one tiny problem. Your guard dog Heeseung was permitted to walk with you every step you took. The moon hangs high over the castle as you step out onto the garden path, the crisp night air brushing against your skin. The opulent gardens are a labyrinth of perfectly trimmed hedges, vibrant blooms, and marble fountains that glimmer under the silvery light. It should be peaceful, the perfect setting for you to gather your thoughts and refine your plan, but the sound of boots following closely behind shatters the illusion. "Is this truly necessary?" you ask, throwing a glance over your shoulder at Heeseung, who trails a few paces behind.
"The king insisted," he replies, his tone clipped. He doesn’t bother to hide the annoyance in his expression as his dark eyes meet yours. "I don’t particularly enjoy babysitting, either."
You huff, turning away from him and focusing on the path ahead. "I hardly need a babysitter."
"Then why am I here?" Heeseung mutters under his breath. You fought the urge to crack him over the head with a tight closed fist. You didn't need a low life guard treating you like some weak girl who couldn't hold her own head up. Fuck that.
You shoot him a sharp look. One laced with venom, and ash laden tongue. "Because the king is clearly overprotective."
"And because you're a guest," he counters, his voice edged with sarcasm. "Guests don’t wander around royal gardens unescorted, no matter how stubborn they are."
You stop abruptly, forcing him to do the same. "Stubborn?" You crossed your arms over your chest, your nails digging into the skin of your arm to stop yourself from lashing out on him and doing something irreversible. Heeseung folds his arms across his chest, just like you had. "That’s one way to describe it. Most princesses would relish the chance to stroll under the stars with the captain of the guard. You seem more annoyed than honored."
"Honored?" You scoff, your eyes narrowing. "To be followed around like a child who can’t be trusted to think for herself? If that’s what you call honor, I’d rather not have it." Heeseung’s brow arches, and for a moment, his irritation gives way to curiosity. "You’re not like other princesses, are you?"
"Perhaps that’s because I’m not as complacent as they are," you snap, taking another step forward. "I’ve seen enough of this world to know that women are treated like ornaments—delicate, fragile things meant to be admired and controlled. It’s infuriating." His gaze sharpens, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Strong words for someone dressed like a jeweled ornament herself." You let a low hiss leave your lips at your growing frustration.
Your hands clench at your sides, but you hold your ground. "This gown doesn’t define me. And neither does your opinion." Heeseung chuckles dryly, though there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—respect, perhaps, or maybe amusement. "You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But spirit doesn’t mean much in a place like this." He was giving you some kind of rundown you hadn't asked for, treating you like an idiot.
"And why is that?" you ask, your voice icy. Your body cold from the fury swirling in your veins. "Because this kingdom isn’t built on ideals. It’s built on power, control, and tradition." He steps closer, his tone dropping to something quieter but no less intense. "If you want to survive here, you’d better learn to play by the rules."
"I make my own rules," you reply, lifting your chin defiantly. You’d be cursing yourself for your behavior later, but now you couldn't help but let the spit fire fall from your lips. The tension between you crackles like lightning in the air, but neither of you looks away. Finally, Heeseung sighs and takes a step back, his expression hardening again. "You’re going to make my job difficult, aren’t you?" he says, shaking his head.
“Yes.” was all you responded with. And you'd give no other explanation to it. Heeseung probably wondered what kind of trivial trouble he faced ahead but he surely didn't know it was much more dangerous than that. This wasn't just some head strong princess fighting to stay somewhat afloat in a world akin to men. You were a bloodthirsty, wishfully avenging witch who would stop at nothing to see her enemy, the King, dead. He had not even an inclination of a clue. The silence stretches between you as you continue your walk, the garden’s beauty muted by the clash of wills. Heeseung doesn’t speak again, and you’re grateful for the reprieve. Every step solidifies your resolve, every glance at the castle walls a reminder of the kingdom you’ve infiltrated. Heeseung might think he understands power and control, but he knows nothing of the storm brewing inside you. Let him underestimate you. Let them all underestimate you. Soon, they’ll realize the true extent of your will—and the price of underestimating it. When you finally return to your chambers, you glance back at Heeseung, who remains at the door, his expression unreadable.
"Goodnight, Captain," you say, your voice laced with the faintest hint of sarcasm. But also a bit of amusement.
"Goodnight, Your Grace," he replies, his tone matching yours. As the door closes behind you, you can’t help but feel the night has been a small victory. You’ve made your first impression on the castle—and its people. And though Heeseung may prove to be an obstacle, he’s also a challenge, one you’re determined to overcome. For now, you let your thoughts settle as you prepare for the days to come. The game has begun, and you’re ready to play it to win. The heavy oak door closes with a quiet thud behind you, sealing off the noise of the castle. Your chambers are grander than anything you’ve ever known—rich velvet drapes, a bed large enough to drown in, and shelves lined with books whose gilded spines catch the flickering light of the fire. But none of it feels real. The luxury, the warmth, the illusion of safety—it’s all a lie.
You slip out of the heavy gown, casting it aside as if shedding a skin that doesn’t belong to you. Your reflection in the ornate mirror catches your eye, and for a moment, you stare. The princess’s face looks back at you, her delicate features framed by your freshly styled hair, but the defiance burning in your gaze is all your own. You turn away, pulling a well-worn leather satchel from beneath the bed. Its contents are simple but vital: a few personal belongings, a small book of spells, and a dagger you’d hidden before anyone could search your things. The weight of the dagger is comforting as you place it on the bedside table, a silent reminder of your mission. The fire crackles softly as you settle onto the plush rug by the hearth, spreading a stack of books in front of you. You’ve managed to gather a modest collection about the castle, the royal family, and the kingdom’s history—enough to keep your mind occupied, or so you thought.
Your fingers trace the faded ink of an old map of Athera, your lips silently forming the names of its towns and landmarks. But no matter how hard you try to focus, your thoughts keep drifting back to him. Heeseung. The way he’d looked at you in the garden, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable, as if he could see through your every facade. The way he’d dismissed you as stubborn and spoiled, as if you were no different from the pampered nobles he’d sworn to protect. The way his words had challenged you, igniting a spark of defiance you couldn’t shake. You scowl, slamming the book shut with more force than necessary. "Infuriating," you mutter under your breath, as if saying it aloud will exorcise the thought of him from your mind. It doesn’t. Instead, you grab your spellbook, flipping through its pages with restless energy. The familiar symbols and incantations should be a comfort, but even your magic feels dull tonight. You murmur a spell to conjure a small orb of light, watching it hover in the air like a firefly, but the satisfaction is fleeting. The orb winks out, leaving you in the dim glow of the fire.
Why does he bother you so much? He’s just another guard, another obstacle in a castle full of them. And yet, his words linger, needling at the edges of your thoughts. You hate the way he made you feel—challenged, unsettled, seen. Shaking your head, you push the thought aside and return to the books. The king is what matters, not some arrogant captain of the guard. You remind yourself of the plan, of the vengeance that fuels you. You’ll learn everything you can about this castle, this kingdom, and the man who sits on its throne. Heeseung is nothing but a distraction, and distractions have no place in your mission. Still, as the fire dwindles to embers and the castle settles into silence, his voice echoes in your mind: “You’ve got spirit.”
You grit your teeth, shoving the memory aside as you extinguish the lamp. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, and you can’t afford to let him—or anyone else—get in your way. As you lay down, the shadows of the room seem to whisper promises of the chaos you’ll bring to Athera. And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet, infuriating thought remains: Heeseung may not be as easy to forget as you’d hoped.
-
The next morning arrives with the soft knock of your nursemaid, her presence dragging you from a restless sleep. The golden sunlight streaming through the tall windows feels almost mocking, a stark contrast to the cold determination that weighs heavy in your chest. You dress quickly, donning yet another gown far too frilly for your taste, and endure the nursemaid’s fussing over your hair with forced patience. By the time you arrive at the study hall, you’re already in a foul mood. The room is grand, with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in fine silks and shelves brimming with ancient tomes. At the far end of the room, a frail man in scholar’s robes stands by a chalkboard, his spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his nose. His presence is as unimposing as the droning voice that greets you. "Ah, Princess," he says, bowing stiffly. "We shall begin with a comprehensive overview of Athera’s founding and its noble lineage."
You sigh inwardly, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. As you take your seat at the front of the class, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye—Heeseung, leaning against the wall near the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of boredom and irritation. He’s clearly as thrilled about this arrangement as you are. The scholar drones on, his voice a monotonous hum as he recites the kingdom’s history. Something about treaties, alliances, and a war long past. You try to focus, but the words blur together, slipping through your grasp like sand. Your gaze drifts to the window, where the gardens stretch out in the morning light. The vibrant colors of the flowers and the rustling of the leaves call to you, a welcome escape from the suffocating walls of the study. He talks of magical beings. Dragons, werewolves, creatures in the sea, creatures in the sky. "Princess, are you paying attention?" the teacher’s voice snaps you back to the present. His stern gaze pins you in place, and you force a polite smile.
"Of course," you lie, straightening in your chair. But your mind is already elsewhere again, plotting and scheming. How could anyone care about the history of treaties when the present holds so much more promise for chaos? In the corner, Heeseung shifts, his boots scraping lightly against the stone floor. His gaze meets yours for a fleeting moment, and you catch the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Is he laughing at you? You bristle, sitting up straighter.
The teacher drones on, oblivious to the silent exchange. "And so, The King’s unification of the eastern territories laid the foundation for the peace we enjoy today..." You stifle a yawn, your gaze flicking back to Heeseung. He looks as disinterested as you feel, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he leans against the wall.
"Do you find this as thrilling as I do, Captain?" you mutter under your breath, barely audible.
His eyes narrow slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Riveting," he murmurs back, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Though I imagine it’s more tolerable when you’re not staring out the window." Your cheeks heat, and you turn your attention back to the teacher, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a retort. The exchange leaves you flustered, though you can’t quite decide if it’s from embarrassment or irritation. The lesson drags on, and by the time the scholar finally sets down his chalk, you’re convinced an entire day has passed. "We’ll continue tomorrow with the origins of the royal family’s insignia," he announces, as if that’s something to look forward to.
You stand quickly, smoothing your skirts as you prepare to leave. Heeseung falls into step behind you, his presence a constant shadow. As you walk through the corridors, the silence stretches until you can’t bear it any longer. "You seemed awfully comfortable back there," you say, your tone sharp. "Do you always hover like a ghost, or is it just for me?"
Heeseung glances at you, his expression unreadable. "It’s my job to keep you safe. I don’t have to enjoy it."
"Safe from what?" you scoff. "The dust on those books? The unbearable monotony of castle life?"
He stops abruptly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "Safe from whatever danger your enemies might bring. Or," he adds, his voice low, "whatever danger you might bring yourself." The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re at a loss. Then your lips curl into a smirk. "I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Captain." You continue down the hall. Heeseung may be a nuisance, but he’s also observant—and that makes him dangerous. You’ll need to keep your guard up around him, even if he’s nothing more than an obstacle in your greater plan. The day isn’t over yet, and you still have work to do.
After the lesson, you wander down the grand corridors of the castle, the heavy weight of boredom pressing against your chest. The day has been insufferable—yet another dull recounting of history delivered in a monotonous drone, the same names and dates hammered into your skull until they blurred together. You’re not sure if it’s exhaustion or frustration that drives your next decision, but the thought of retreating to your chambers feels unbearable. "I want to go to the library," you declare suddenly, glancing back at Heeseung, who’s trailing behind you with the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own execution.
He raises a brow, not even trying to mask his irritation. "The library? What for? Didn’t you just spend hours listening to all that history nonsense?"
"I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I?" you reply sharply, spinning back toward the hallway ahead. "Some of us like to expand our knowledge." There was a lot you needed to learn about the king and more specifically this castle if you were going to properly find a way to kill him. "You mean some of us like to make other people’s lives harder," he mutters, loud enough for you to hear.
You stop abruptly, turning to face him with an arched brow. "Oh, I’m sorry. Is being my guard not entertaining enough for you? Should I organize a parade in your honor?" Heeseung rolls his eyes, falling into step beside you instead of keeping his distance. "Entertaining is the last word I’d use to describe this job. Babysitting a princess who doesn’t act like one isn’t exactly the highlight of my career."
"Good," you say with a saccharine smile. "Because I’m not a complacent little princess who needs constant coddling." You held your hide with triumph. Heeseung was just another man who had thought you weak, he was in for a rude awakening that was for certain. "That’s obvious," he mutters, but you catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. When you reach the library, the grandeur of the space strikes you all over again. Towering bookshelves stretch to the ceiling, their dark wood polished to perfection, and the scent of parchment and old ink fills the air. It’s quiet, serene, and exactly what you need after the grating monotony of the lesson.
"Stay there," you order, gesturing vaguely to a corner. "You’ll ruin the atmosphere if you breathe too loudly."
"Believe me," he says, leaning casually against a pillar, "I have no desire to ruin whatever grand intellectual pursuits you’re pretending to have." Ignoring him, you approach the nearest shelf, your fingers grazing the spines of the books as you scan the titles. But after a moment, your curiosity gets the better of you. "Speaking of pursuits," you say, casting a glance over your shoulder, "why is it that no one here seems to talk about magic?"
Heeseung’s posture stiffens slightly, the smirk fading from his face. "Why do you care?" It was an odd reaction, one you were watching closely. Why did everyone seem to tense up when magic is talked about? Isn't Aethera filled with endless amounts of magic and creatures unhuman. This was not something that was taboo, it should be normal. "Because it’s fascinating," you say, turning to face him fully. "Magic is power, creation, mystery... Why wouldn’t I care?" You knew everything about magic, how much of magic did Heeseung really understand? It was obvious he did not possess any magical abilities and unless he could shapeshift into a man it didn't seem he was a magical being at that.
"It’s dangerous," he replies curtly. "That’s why." The answer was short and it annoyed you. Who was he to tell you? You had to remind yourself that he didn't know who and what you really were. "Everything is dangerous," you counter. "Swords, fire, ambition. That doesn’t mean we ignore it. I’d think someone like you would understand that."
"Someone like me?" he echoes, his eyes narrowing. "You’re a soldier, aren’t you? A protector. Surely you see the value in power," you press, taking a step closer. "Unless, of course, you’re afraid of it."
Heeseung’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he crosses his arms, his tone clipped. "Magic has its place. But you seem a little too interested in it."
"Why shouldn’t I be? Don’t you ever wonder about it?" you ask, watching him carefully. "Or are you just another guard who sees the world in black and white?" He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches between you. Finally, he sighs, his gaze hardening. "I don’t have magic, if that’s what you’re asking."
The admission doesn't surprise you, causing a laugh to bubble up inside of you "None at all? That’s... unfortunate." The corners of his mouth twitch downward, and his eyes darken. "What’s that supposed to mean?" You decided to tease him, to rile him up a bit.
"It means," you say with a shrug, "I would’ve thought someone with your... demeanor might have at least a little magic. Even the tiniest spark."
"Not everyone needs magic to survive," he says sharply, his voice lowering. "Some of us rely on skill and discipline. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that."
"Skill and discipline?" you echo, unable to resist pushing further. "Is that what you tell yourself while others wield power you can’t touch?" As far as he knew, you didn't possess a magical ability but still teasing him was the highlight of this dreadful day. His glare is sharp enough to cut, and he takes a step forward, closing the distance between you. "I don’t need magic to be stronger than most people you’ll ever meet. And I don’t need it to see through people like you."
"People like me?" you ask, tilting your head. You were appalled at his blatant candor. It was almost insulting. "You hide behind clever words and fake smiles, pretending you’re better than everyone else," he says, his tone as biting as his stare. "But you’re just as flawed as the rest of us—if not more."
His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, you falter. But then you square your shoulders, lifting your chin. "At least I’m not afraid to reach for power when I see it. Unlike you." Heeseung exhales sharply, his frustration visible in the tight set of his jaw. "You think you know everything, don’t you? But let me tell you something, Princess—power without control is just chaos waiting to happen."
"And control without power is just cowardice," you shoot back. Your blood boiling, heat soaring through your veins, heating your cheeks. The air between you crackles with tension, neither of you willing to back down. Finally, Heeseung turns away, his voice quieter but no less firm. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Maybe I don’t," you say, retreating to the shelf you were examining. "But I know enough to see that you’re scared of something you can’t admit." He doesn’t respond, and when you glance over your shoulder, you catch the faintest flicker of something in his expression—resentment, maybe, or something deeper. It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual stoic mask. You pull a heavy tome from the shelf, the weight of it grounding you as you carry it to a nearby table. As you settle into the chair and open the book, you steal another glance at Heeseung. He’s still by the pillar, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. For once, the thought of irritating him doesn’t bring you any satisfaction. Instead, his words linger in your mind, echoing louder than the scratch of your pen against the paper as you take notes. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re here for a purpose, and nothing—not even an infuriating guard—will distract you from it.
-
The sound of boots against marble echoes faintly as Heeseung strides through the castle halls toward the king’s private chamber. He moves with purpose, his posture straight and disciplined, but his mind is far from focused. The conversation with the princess in the library still lingers, her biting words replaying in his head like a song he can’t escape. "Power without control is just chaos," he mutters under his breath, as if reaffirming the truth to himself. He shakes his head, forcing the distraction aside. There are more pressing matters to deal with.
The guards stationed outside the chamber bow their heads as he approaches, stepping aside to allow him entry. Heeseung pushes open the heavy wooden door, the warmth of the king’s study enveloping him. The room is richly appointed, filled with books, maps, and the faint scent of parchment. The king sits behind a wide desk, his imposing frame leaning over a document, but he looks up as Heeseung enters. “Heeseung.” the king greets, gesturing for him to approach. "What news do you bring?" Heeseung crosses the room, bowing slightly before standing at attention. "Your Majesty, the witches have remained quiet for now. The council is still fractured after what happened with Esme. Most of them are cautious, unwilling to draw attention."
The king leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing. "And the daughter?" Heeseung hesitates for a fraction of a second, his expression tightening. "She went missing not too long ago. No one knows where she is or what she looks like. The coven has done an exceptional job of erasing her trail. We’ve searched the surrounding areas, sent informants to neighboring regions, but nothing has turned up."
The king’s lips press into a thin line, and he drums his fingers against the armrest. "That girl is a threat. Her bloodline alone makes her dangerous. If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be biding her time, waiting to strike when we least expect it."
"I understand, Your Majesty," Heeseung says, his voice steady. "I’ve increased surveillance on the coven. If they make a move, we’ll know about it immediately." The king rises from his chair, pacing slowly across the room. His hands clasp behind his back, his expression thoughtful. "Good. But I want you to remain vigilant, Heeseung. The witches are not as divided as they may seem. Their hatred for this crown runs deep, and I will not let another insurgent rise under my watch."
Heeseung nods, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. "Understood, Your Majesty. I’ll continue monitoring them closely." The king stops in front of a display case, its glass gleaming under the warm light of the room. Inside rests a single weapon—a dagger with an obsidian blade that seems to absorb the light around it. The hilt is engraved with ancient runes, and the very air near it feels charged with power. "You haven’t had to use it yet, have you?" the king asks, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity as he nods toward the blade.
"No, Your Majesty," Heeseung replies, his gaze briefly flickering to the weapon before returning to the king. "Not yet." The king exhales, his expression hardening. "Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. But if the girl—or any other witch—dares to challenge us, I expect you to use it without hesitation. That blade is our safeguard against their kind. It’s the only thing that can cut through their spells and end them before they wreak havoc."
Heeseung’s hand unconsciously brushes against the hilt of his sword, though he feels the weight of the king’s words more than his weapon. "You have my word, Your Majesty. I won’t let them get close."
"See that you don’t," the king says, turning to face him fully. His gaze is sharp, his tone commanding. "The witches are not to be underestimated, Heeseung. Their magic is insidious, and they’ve infiltrated kingdoms before. We don’t even know how many of them might be near us, hiding in plain sight. Keep your eyes open—and your blade ready."
Heeseung inclines his head. "Of course, Your Majesty." The king studies him for a moment longer before nodding in dismissal. "Go. Report back to me if there’s any sign of activity from the coven." Heeseung bows deeply before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber. The weight of the conversation settles over him like a shroud, the king’s words ringing in his ears. As he makes his way back through the castle, his thoughts drift to the princess. Her sharp tongue, her probing questions about magic... and the way her eyes seemed to burn with a defiance he couldn’t place. He shakes his head, pushing the thought away. She was a complication he didn’t need right now. The witches were still out there, somewhere, and one of them could be closer than anyone realized. Heeseung tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, his jaw set. He couldn’t afford to lose focus—not now, not ever.
-
The morning sun spills golden light across the castle grounds as you stand by the grand entrance, waiting for your reluctant escort. The crisp air carries the distant hum of the city waking beyond the castle walls—the sound of merchants setting up stalls, the laughter of children, the scent of fresh bread drifting from the bakeries. You can almost taste the freedom of the outside world. Almost. But, of course, you aren’t truly free. A sigh escapes your lips as you hear the familiar sound of armored boots approaching. Heeseung stops beside you, arms crossed, looking as thrilled about this excursion as he has about every other time he’s been assigned to you. His expression is one of pure exasperation, like he’d rather be facing a horde of assassins than babysitting a foreign princess in the city streets. "Let’s get this over with," he mutters, adjusting the sword strapped to his hip. "Where exactly do you need to go?"
You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "I heard there’s a traveling carnival near the market today. I’d like to see it." His brow furrows. "A carnival?" He looks you up and down, as if trying to decide whether or not you’re serious. "You mean to tell me you want to waste time with games and fortune tellers?"
"You say ‘waste time,’ I say ‘cultural experience,’" you counter, offering a saccharine smile. "It would be a shame to visit Athera and not witness such a grand attraction." Heeseung sighs through his nose, clearly debating whether or not to argue. "Fine," he grumbles after a long pause. "But don’t wander off." You hum in agreement, already planning exactly how you’ll do just that. The carnival is a whirlwind of color and sound. Performers juggle flaming torches, musicians play lively tunes, and vendors shout over the crowd, boasting their wares. Children run past, their hands sticky with honeyed treats, and silk-clad fortune tellers beckon visitors into their tents. It’s an assault on the senses—but more importantly, it’s a perfect place to disappear.
"Stay close," Heeseung warns, scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. You pretend to admire a display of glass trinkets, then gasp as if something catches your eye in the distance. "Oh! A mirror maze!" You turn to him, feigning excitement. "Let’s go in!"
Heeseung groans. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
"Oh, come now," you say, grabbing his wrist before he can protest. "Surely a fearless captain of the guard isn’t afraid of a few reflections?" His jaw tightens. "I’m not afraid of anything."
"Then prove it," you challenge, pulling him toward the entrance. His grumble is lost beneath the laughter of passing carnival-goers as you drag him inside. The moment you step into the maze, you’re surrounded by endless versions of yourself, your reflections stretching infinitely in every direction. The air is thick with the scent of candle wax and aged wood, and the flickering lanterns overhead cast eerie shadows along the mirrored paths. You take a slow step forward, the sound of your boots muffled against the carpeted floor. The maze is designed to disorient, to make one question what’s real and what’s merely a reflection. Even the flicker of candlelight bends strangely, making it hard to tell if the passage ahead is truly open or just another illusion.
Heeseung exhales sharply behind you. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, glancing around warily. His reflection appears hundreds of times over, each version of him scowling in frustration. You can’t help but smirk. "What’s the matter, Captain? Losing your sense of direction?"
He glares at you through the glass. "No. But I know a trap when I see one." You press a hand against one of the mirrors, watching as the pressure sends a ripple through the illusion. "And yet, you walked right in with me," you tease, stepping forward with confidence. "That means either you trust me or you’re a fool." Heeseung doesn’t reply, but his silence is answer enough. The two of you move deeper into the labyrinth, the paths twisting in unpredictable patterns. At one point, you think you see the exit, only to step forward and bump into cold glass. Another time, Heeseung’s reflection appears beside you, making you jolt—only to realize he’s actually several feet away. The maze is playing tricks, forcing both of you to second-guess every turn.
But unlike Heeseung, you know exactly what you’re doing. You let your fingers graze the mirrors as you walk, feeling for subtle shifts in temperature and texture. It’s a trick your mother taught you long ago—how to sense when an illusion is stronger, when the air bends just slightly differently. Your way out is clear. You just need to make sure Heeseung doesn’t follow. "Stay close," he orders, his voice firm. You smile to yourself. "Of course." Your voice like silk as you mutter the words.
You take a sharp turn, slipping through a narrow passage where the reflections fold over themselves like endless corridors. You move faster now, ducking under one of the low archways of glass, letting the maze do its work. Heeseung hesitates behind you, briefly lost in the overlapping images. Then, you act. You dart into one of the mirrored alcoves, pressing yourself against the cold surface. The way the mirrors are angled makes it seem as though the passage continues straight, even though you’re standing just off to the side. Heeseung rushes past you, too focused on keeping up to notice that you’ve stopped.
A few seconds pass. Then, his footsteps fade. You let out a slow breath, stepping out of your hiding place. The reflections shift again, swallowing Heeseung deeper into the maze while you double back toward the hidden exit. By the time he realizes he’s been tricked, you’ll already be gone.
You slip through the narrow streets of the market, weaving between clusters of merchants and townsfolk, the scents of roasted nuts, spiced cider, and fresh bread thick in the air. The colorful banners overhead sway lazily in the breeze, casting shifting shadows over the cobblestone path. But your focus remains sharp. You know exactly where you’re going. Behind you, Heeseung is pushing through the crowd, his irritation palpable. He hasn't realized yet that you lost him in the mirror maze on purpose, only that you’re suddenly too far ahead for his liking.
You pick up your pace, slipping into a cramped side alley where a wooden sign hangs above a darkened shop. The paint is faded, but the symbol etched into the wood is unmistakable—an open palm with an eye in the center. The sign of an apothecary. You step inside, and immediately, the scent of dried herbs and aged parchment wraps around you like a cloak. The shop is dimly lit, with shelves stacked high with jars of powders, roots, and liquids. Small bundles of lavender, sage, and bloodroot hang from the ceiling, their fragrance mingling with the faintly acrid smell of something more potent.
A hunched old woman stands behind the counter, her fingers gnarled like tree roots as she grinds something into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle. She doesn’t look up as you approach. "You're late," she rasps.
You hesitate for only a fraction of a second. "Am I?"
Her milky white eyes flick up to meet yours. "No. But I like to keep customers uneasy. It keeps them from wasting my time." You smirk despite yourself. "Then I won’t waste yours."
You lower your voice, leaning in slightly. "I need something strong. A poison. One that can kill quietly, without immediate suspicion." The old woman tilts her head, her sharp gaze scrutinizing you. Then, with slow deliberation, she sets down her pestle and shuffles to a shelf behind her, running her fingers over rows of tiny glass vials. "Death comes in many forms," she murmurs. "Painful or painless. Swift or slow. Do you wish them to suffer?"
“Yes.” You answered honestly. “I want it to hurt.” The words leave your lips like a blade unsheathed, sharp and final. The old woman pauses, then turns slightly, considering her selection. "Painful, then. I have something fitting." She plucks a dark glass bottle from the shelf, turning it in her hands before setting it on the counter between you. "Widow’s Thorn. It seeps through the body like fire, tightening the lungs, sending agony through every nerve. A slow, excruciating death. He will beg for it to end before it takes him."
A cold smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "Perfect." The woman watches you for a long moment. "You carry great hatred in your heart, girl." Her tone was not that of judgment but of curiosity, and i bit of understanding. You meet her gaze evenly. "And he carries greater sins."
She hums in approval before placing her gnarled hand over the vial. "It is not cheap," she warns. "Nor is it a toy." You slide a coin pouch from your sleeve, setting it on the counter with a soft clink. "I understand." The woman studies you for another long moment before removing her hand. You pick up the vial, feeling the cool glass between your fingers.
"You’re no ordinary noble," she muses. "Your eyes are too sharp. Your hands too steady." You meet her gaze evenly. "And you ask too many questions." You hiss, your jaw tense. The old woman chuckles, a dry, rasping sound. "Perhaps. But take care, girl. Poison is a cruel death, and cruelty has a way of staining the soul." You slip the vial into the folds of your cloak, nodding once before turning toward the door.
As you weave your way back through the winding streets, the hum of the carnival grows louder, the scent of roasted nuts and melted sugar filling the air. Lanterns sway overhead, casting flickering patterns along the cobblestone paths. You slip effortlessly into the crowd, blending among the laughter and shouts of eager festival-goers. Just as you step past a fire-breather’s act, a strong hand clamps around your wrist. You spin, already knowing who it is.
Heeseung glares down at you, his jaw clenched tight, his dark eyes burning with irritation. “Where were you?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “I was right where you left me.”
His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his frustration clear. “Don’t play games with me,” he hisses. “You disappeared.” You pull your wrist free, dusting off your sleeve as if his mere touch sullied it. “Maybe you were the one who got lost.”
His brows furrow, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “I wasn’t the one who suddenly vanished into thin air.”
You smirk. “Then maybe you should be better at your job, Captain.” Sending him a mocking nod just to further piss him off. Heeseung exhales sharply, stepping in closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
Your smirk doesn’t falter, but inside, a flicker of unease coils in your stomach. “And what exactly am I doing?” He studies you, his gaze raking over every inch of your face like he’s trying to decipher some hidden code. Then, he shakes his head. “I don’t know yet,” he admits, voice low and firm. “But I will.” You hold his stare, refusing to be the first to look away.
Then, with a casual shrug, you turn on your heel, striding toward the heart of the carnival. “Try not to lose me again, Captain,” you call over your shoulder. His sigh of frustration is lost beneath the clamor of the crowd, but you don’t need to hear it. You know he’s fuming. And you relish it.
The vial of poison sits heavy in your pocket, the glass cool against your fingertips as you walk through the dim corridors of the castle. The evening hums with quiet activity—servants moving about with trays of food, guards standing at their posts, the murmur of distant conversations blending into the ambiance of wealth and order. You keep your pace measured, controlled, your heart steady even as anticipation thrums through your veins. The kitchens are alive with motion, filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasted meats and warm bread. Flames crackle in the hearth, casting flickering light over the bustling staff. No one notices you lingering near the long oak table where steaming pots of stew are being ladled into bowls for the servants' evening meal. No one sees the small flick of your wrist as you pull the vial from your sleeve, tilting just enough for a single drop of the deadly liquid to disappear into the bubbling broth. it dissolves instantly, colorless and scentless. Perfect. Satisfied, you slip away, vanishing into the corridors before anyone can notice your presence.
Dinner in the grand hall is an affair of indulgence and formality. The king sits at the head of the table, the queen beside him, both of them poised in their regal authority. The table stretches long, lined with glistening silver and crystalline goblets brimming with wine. Candles flicker against the polished surface, casting an intimate glow over the lavish setting. You are seated further down, close enough to play the role of the polite, eager-to-learn princess, but not too close to draw unwanted attention. Heeseung stands by the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. You can feel him watching you, though you do not meet his eyes. Your hands rest lightly in your lap, your fingers curling against the fabric of your gown as you wait. And then it happens. The sound of hurried footsteps. A muffled cry from the hallway.
The heavy doors burst open, slamming against the stone walls. A maid stumbles in, her face ashen, her apron twisted in her trembling fingers. Her breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps. “Your Majesty!” she cries, eyes wild. “A-a servant—he collapsed! He’s dead!” The room stills. The queen sets down her goblet with quiet precision. The king barely moves, his gaze turning toward the distraught woman as if she were little more than a nuisance.
“What did you say?” His voice is calm, almost lazy, but there is an undercurrent of something else—something cold, something dangerous. The maid’s throat bobs as she swallows. “T-they say… it was poison, Your Majesty.”
You suck in a breath, widening your eyes just enough to sell the performance. A low murmur rises among the nobles at the table, whispers of concern and speculation threading through the air. “Poison?” you echo, your voice trembling ever so slightly. You place a delicate hand over your chest, as if the very notion disturbs you. The king exhales slowly, setting his goblet down with deliberate grace. He does not look surprised. He does not even look angry. He looks bored.
He lifts his fingers, and the nearest guard steps forward. “Bring me the chef.” The murmurs grow louder as the order is carried out. The tension in the room tightens, a string pulled taut, ready to snap. Servants shift uncomfortably, the flickering candlelight making their faces look gaunt and uneasy. You sit perfectly still, your posture straight, your expression frozen in careful distress. Minutes stretch long before the doors open again, and the head chef is dragged into the room, his face pale with sweat. His apron is still dusted with flour, his hands trembling as he is forced onto his knees before the king. The silence is suffocating.
The chef’s lips tremble. “Your Majesty,” he gasps, bowing his head so low his forehead nearly touches the marble floor. “I swear upon my life, I would never—” The king tilts his head, studying the man as one would study a fly that has landed in their wine. “Do not lie to me.” His voice is quiet, but the weight of it crushes the air from the room. “A man is dead. Someone is responsible.”
The chef shakes his head violently. “It wasn’t me! I have worked in this kitchen for years! I would never—” The king lifts a hand, a simple flick of his wrist. The command is unspoken, but the nearest guard knows what it means. Steel flashes in the candlelight. A single stroke. A sickening, wet sound. The chef’s head hits the polished marble floor with a dull thud. Blood pools in thick, slow streams, spreading out like ink on parchment. A servant gasps. One of the nobles flinches. But no one speaks. You inhale sharply, letting your fingers tremble as you press them to your lips, your eyes wide with horror. Inside, your heart races—not with fear, but with something else. Power.
The king sighs, as if exhausted by the whole ordeal. He picks up his goblet and takes a long, unbothered sip of his wine before turning his attention back to the table. “My apologies for the disturbance,” he says smoothly. “Shall we continue?” And just like that, the feast resumes. Conversation stirs back to life, noble voices rising once more, the clinking of silverware against porcelain filling the void left by the dying man’s last breath. You lower your gaze, the picture of a shaken princess, but inside, your mind is alight with possibility. The poison worked. Now, all that’s left is to decide when the king will drink his own dose. And when he does, you will make sure his suffering is slow. Painful. Unforgettable.
The morning light filters softly through the high windows of your chambers, casting delicate golden patterns across the marble floor. The events of last night linger in your mind like the ghost of a dream, the image of the chef’s head hitting the cold stone floor replaying itself over and over. The king’s lack of hesitation, the way the entire room returned to feasting as though nothing had happened—it only fuels the fire within you. Today, you will continue your plan. After dressing, you step into the hallway where, as expected, Heeseung is not waiting for you.
Instead, another guard stands in his place—a man taller, broader, but lacking the quiet sharpness that Heeseung always carried like a second skin. His armor gleams, freshly polished, his stance stiff and professional. You slow your steps, letting irritation seep into your voice. "Where is Heeseung?" you ask, folding your arms as you tilt your chin up slightly.
The guard, clearly not accustomed to being questioned, hesitates for a moment before responding, "Captain Heeseung is taking a personal day, Your Highness." Your brows lift in surprise. "A personal day?" The words feel foreign in relation to Heeseung. He never struck you as the type to take time for himself, not when he carried that ever-present scowl and duty as if they were armor.
The guard shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable under your scrutiny. "Yes, Your Highness. He did not say when he would return, only that he would be back when needed." You study the man, noting the slight tension in his stance, the way his hand stays a little too close to the hilt of his sword. You’re not the only one unsettled by Heeseung’s absence. “Interesting,” you muse, keeping your voice light, as if this information does not bother you. But it does. Something is off. Heeseung doesn’t just disappear. He doesn't get days off. And though you should welcome the reprieve from his constant watchful presence, you find yourself… unsettled. Not because you miss his company—certainly not—but because Heeseung’s absence means unpredictability. And unpredictability is dangerous.
For now, you will play along. You give the guard a measured look before sighing dramatically. “Well, I suppose that means you will have to endure escorting me today.”
The man straightens. “It would be my honor, Your Highness.” Annoyingly polite. You roll your eyes. “How unfortunate for you.” And with that, you turn on your heel, already planning your next move. Wherever Heeseung is, you will find out soon enough.
-
You had to get away from this guard. He was dumb, unmoving. He didn’t speak and barely moved. You could outsmart him, escape. There’s no time to waste. “I’m going to the washroom” You spoke quickly, not giving him much time to respond. “Wait-” The guard said, hand stretched out.
“Would you really stop a lady who’s in her bleeding from using the bathroom guard?” You had made uncomfortable with your talk of women's duties. He bowed his head, eyes not meeting your own. Coward. Pathetic coward. What kind of man gets squeamish at the thought of blood? The guards stationed outside the hall barely acknowledge you as you sweep past them, your head held high, posture regal. The trick to sneaking around isn’t to skulk in the shadows—it’s to make people believe you belong wherever you are. And right now, you belong anywhere you damn well please. The deeper you go into the castle, the more the corridors narrow, the lavish decorations thinning out as you approach restricted areas. You slow your steps, eyes scanning for anything useful—an unguarded door, an overlooked passageway, something that will lead you closer to the king’s private quarters.
You turn a corner and pause. Through an open archway, the scent of steel and sweat lingers in the air. The sound of a blade slicing through air, followed by the heavy thunk of metal embedding into wood, echoes through the hall. You step closer, careful to keep yourself hidden behind a pillar, and peer inside. There he is. Heeseung stands in the center of the training room, sleeves rolled up, his tunic damp with sweat. His usual pristine appearance is gone—his hair tousled, his expression hard with focus. But it’s his hands that capture your attention. A dagger twirls effortlessly between his fingers, moving so fluidly it’s as if it’s an extension of his own body. He flicks his wrist, and the blade slices through the air before burying itself into the target at the far end of the room.
Bullseye.
Without hesitation, he pulls another dagger from his belt. Spins it. Throws. Another perfect hit. Again. And again. Each throw is precise, calculated, deadly. You watch in silence, captivated despite yourself. You’ve seen skilled fighters before—your own mother had trained you in combat, in magic—but Heeseung moves with an effortless grace that is as infuriating as it is impressive. You wonder if he even realizes how dangerous he looks right now. Then, as if sensing your gaze, Heeseung stills. Your breath catches. For a split second, you think he’s caught you. But he only exhales, rolling out his shoulders before retrieving his knives from the wooden targets. The tension in your body eases slightly, though your mind remains alert. You shouldn’t be here. You should be searching for the king’s quarters, not watching the irritating captain of the guard train like some entranced fool. The rhythmic thunk of steel embedding into wood echoes through the training yard. Heeseung moves with effortless precision, each throw of his blade landing dead center on the target. His stance is steady, his expression unreadable, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes—a quiet intensity that speaks of years of discipline.
You watch from the shadows, hidden behind one of the stone pillars framing the open-air training ground. He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on the fluidity of his movements, the weight of the blade in his grip. But after a few minutes, his motions slow. His shoulders tense ever so slightly. Then, as if some unseen force pulls his gaze, he turns. His eyes lock onto you, narrowing the moment he registers your presence. For a flicker of a second, surprise flashes across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something sharper—anger.
“Why are you alone?” he demands, striding toward you. “Where’s your guard?” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Somewhere, I suppose.” Heesseung looks angry; you wouldn't tell if the redness was from his prior workout or anger. His jaw tenses. “And he just let you wander off?”
You offer him a lazy smile, tilting your head. “I suppose he did.” Heeseung exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” His voice is low with frustration as he moves to usher you back inside. “Come on, let’s go. You shouldn’t be out here.” But you don’t budge. “No.”
His steps falter, his brows knitting together. “No?” You cross your arms. “I want to spar.”
He scoffs. “Absolutely not.”
“I insist.”
“I don’t care.”
You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with something he can’t quite place. “Afraid I might win?”
His expression darkens. “Afraid I’ll break you.”
You step closer, raising your chin defiantly. “Try.” For a moment, he says nothing. There’s a war in his gaze, hesitation battling irritation, but something about your confidence—your audacity—chips away at his resistance. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he relents. “Fine,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders. “A few rounds. That’s it.”
The sparring circle is a wide-open space in the center of the training grounds, enclosed by a low fence. Heeseung steps in first, rolling his sleeves up as he retrieves two training daggers. He tosses one to you without warning, but you catch it easily, twirling it once in your grip. He eyes the movement with quiet appraisal before stepping into position. “Try to keep up,” he says.
You smirk. “Likewise.” Then he moves. He’s fast, striking without hesitation. You barely dodge his first attack, sidestepping at the last second before blocking his next strike with your blade. The clash of steel rings through the air. Heeseung doesn’t let up, forcing you backward, testing your reflexes. You knew he was skilled, but this—this is something else. Every move is calculated, precise. He’s relentless, but so are you. You don’t fight like a princess. You fight like a survivor. And soon, Heeseung realizes that. The match intensifies. You anticipate his strikes, dodging just enough to throw him off balance, forcing him to adjust. He sees it now—the sharp intelligence behind your movements, the way you don’t just react, but plan. And then, just as he thinks he has you cornered—you outmaneuver him.
With a sharp pivot, you twist out of his reach, knocking his blade off course. Before he can recover, you close the distance, pressing your dagger against his throat. Heeseung stills. The only sound is your heavy breathing, the pounding of your heart, the weight of the moment hanging between you. His dark eyes search yours, something unreadable flickering in them. Then, his voice—low, measured. “Who are you?” You tilt your head, pressing the blade just a little closer, enough to make a point. Then, voice soft, you ask,
“I don’t know. Who are you? Do you ever truly know who you really are?” The question lingers between you like smoke, curling into the air. His breath is shallow, his gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment—just a fleeting moment—you both forget yourselves. Your faces are close. Too close. The sharpness of the fight melts into something else, something neither of you acknowledge but feel all the same. His eyes flicker to your lips. Your grip on the dagger tightens. But before anything can happen, before the tension snaps—you pull away. Slowly, deliberately, you lower the blade, stepping back just enough to let the moment pass. Heeseung exhales, something unreadable in his expression. You smirk, tossing the blade back to him. “Good match.” Then, without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him standing in the circle, breathless and utterly at a loss for words.
That night, the castle feels different. A hush has settled over its grand halls, a silence deeper than usual, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. A storm churns in the distance, flashes of lightning illuminating the arched windows, followed by the low rumble of thunder rolling across the land. The wind rattles against the stone, whispering through the cracks, but inside, everything remains still. It is the perfect night to disappear. Hushed whispers of a ball being thrown had been thrown about the castle like a plague. Every staff member was occupied with making it as grand as possible for the king and queen, no one would even notice you moving throughout the castle like a wraith in the night. You move like a shadow through the corridors, your cloak wrapped tightly around you, masking the movement of your form. The guards are stationed at their usual posts, their movements predictable, their patterns unchanged. You’ve studied them, memorized them, and now you slip past with ease, ducking into alcoves and timing your steps to the rhythm of their shifting patrols.
The grand halls of the upper castle give way to narrower passageways as you descend, leaving behind the golden glow of chandeliers for the dim flicker of torches. You pass cold stone walls lined with forgotten paintings, their gilded frames dulled with dust, their subjects long since faded into irrelevance. Down here, the air is thick with something ancient, something heavy that clings to your skin and settles in your lungs. You need to go deeper. You recall the books you pored over in the library, the pages that spoke of the castle’s underbelly—of vaults hidden beneath layers of stone, of corridors long abandoned by those who walk in the daylight. The king is a collector, a hoarder of power. His vaults hold relics of immense magical strength—artifacts stolen, bought, or seized by force. Somewhere in this castle, he has hidden them away, locked behind spells and steel, guarded by something more fearsome than any soldier. The thought of it quickens your pulse. A kitsune.
The old texts mention it only in passing, never in detail. A fox spirit of great power, bound to the king by means unknown. A guardian of his most prized possessions, watching over them with an unwavering gaze. The mere idea of it is enough to make most people turn away, abandon their curiosity. But you are not most people. Your fingers brush against the cool stone wall as you tread carefully down a spiraling stairway, your ears straining for any sound beyond your own heartbeat. The deeper you go, the more the castle shifts. The polished grandeur of the upper levels fades, replaced by something older, something untouched by time’s gentle hand. Here, the walls are raw, uneven, carved by those who built the kingdom’s foundations centuries ago. The torches burn lower, their light flickering against carvings worn down with age. Whispers of history cling to the very air, as if this place remembers all that has passed within its depths.
Then, a feeling washes over you—like a change in pressure, like stepping into the eye of a storm. Magic. It hums in the air, subtle yet undeniable. The taste of it lingers on your tongue, thick and electric, coiling through the corridor like an unseen force. You are close. Your breath is steady as you move forward, every step measured, every sense heightened. You know better than to rush. Whatever lies ahead is more than mere locked doors and guards with steel. This place breathes magic. And somewhere in the depths of this castle, hidden behind layers of spellwork and shadow, the kitsune waits. You continue in the shadows until you come upon a door. The heavy door looms before you, thick with iron reinforcements and etched with sigils of protection. It’s unmistakable—this is where the king hides his most treasured artifacts, his most dangerous secrets. But it’s not unguarded. Two men stand at either side, their hands resting lazily on the hilts of their swords. They’re not expecting trouble—why would they? No one should be foolish enough to wander this deep into the castle, let alone pose a real threat. That works in your favor.
You take a steadying breath, smoothing out the frantic beat of your heart before stepping forward, letting panic seep into your features, widening your eyes, letting your breath hitch as if you've been running for your life "Please!" Your voice is rushed, desperate. "I— I think I’m lost. I don’t know how I got down here, I was just trying to find my way back, and then—" You swallow, letting your hands tremble. "There were voices. I heard something. I got scared."
One of the guards furrows his brow. "How did you even get down here?" He eyes you warily, shifting his stance. "I— I don’t know," you stammer, stepping closer, your body language frantic. "I was exploring, and then I took a wrong turn, and then suddenly I was just… here." They exchange glances, their suspicion flickering into something softer—concern. You’ve played your part well. "You shouldn’t be here, Princess," the other guard says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "This area is off-limits. We’ll escort you back—"
Before he can finish, you move. A whisper of power curls from your lips, the incantation slipping through the air like a snake through grass. The first guard barely has time to react before his head jerks violently to the side, the sickening crack of bone snapping echoing through the stone corridor. His body crumples to the ground. The second guard recoils, horror flashing in his eyes. "Witch!" he bellows, drawing his sword and charging at you. You barely have the strength to lift your hand, but you don’t need much. Another whisper of your spell, and his charge is cut short—his neck twists sharply, and he collapses in a lifeless heap beside his comrade. Your breath comes ragged and uneven. Magic floods through your veins, but it takes from you as much as it gives. Your limbs are heavy, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders like a weight. The price of your power. You don’t have time to dwell on it. Stepping over their bodies, you press a hand to the iron door. Magic thrums beneath your fingertips, woven through the metal itself. The king is cautious—he wouldn’t leave his treasures unprotected. But you are not just anyone.
Summoning what little energy you have left, you press your palm against the seal and begin to whisper another spell. The lock trembles. The air crackles. Then, with a final pulse of energy, the door groans and clicks open. You push forward, slipping inside, knowing your time is running out. The chamber hums with power, its air thick with ancient magic, the weight of centuries pressing down on you. The sconces along the walls flicker with eerie blue fire, casting shifting shadows over the stolen artifacts—daggers humming with curses, crowns still stained with dried blood, vials of glowing liquid that pulse as if alive. Your fingers skim over them, barely paying attention. None of it matters. None of it will help you kill the king.
Then you see it. A small glass case, set apart from the others. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat. Inside the case, a severed finger rests on a velvet cushion. For a moment, your mind refuses to understand. The skin has shriveled with time, the bone just barely visible beneath. But your eyes lock onto the ring—silver, inlaid with dark opal that shimmers with hues of deep purple and green. It was your mothers ring, your mothers finger. A sharp inhale stabs through your ribs. You know this ring better than anything. You remember tracing the intricate metal work as a child while curled up in her lap. You remember the way she twisted it absently when she was lost in thought, the way candlelight flickered against its surface as she cast spells in the dead of night. And now, it sits before you—severed, encased, displayed like a grotesque trophy. Your hands shake as you press your fingers against the glass, breath fogging up the surface. No. No, no, no. A cold, empty feeling spreads through your chest, then morphs—growing hotter, sharper. Your vision blurs, rage and grief mixing into something unbearable.
Your fist slams against the case. Nothing. Again, harder. The glass doesn’t even crack. "Open," you whisper, voice raw. "Open, damn you." The magic inside you stirs, a furious storm barely contained. You summon it, let it coil in your palm before slamming your magic against the case. Sparks crackle against the glass, but it remains untouched. Spell-locked. A sob of frustration bubbles up, but you swallow it down. Hot tears slip down your cheeks, your breathing ragged. They mutilated her. Desecrated her. Took her apart and locked away a piece of her like some sick prize. You grip the edges of the case, nails digging into the wood. The weight of loss, of helplessness, crushes down on you, threatens to drag you under. You want to destroy everything in this room, rip apart the shelves, burn this entire wretched castle to the ground. But you don’t have time. Not now. But soon. Your mother’s ring—her body—will not remain here. You will come back. You will tear this place apart if you have to. But first, the king must die.
Your shoulders heave as you force yourself to turn away, scanning the shelves with red-rimmed eyes. Then, something catches your attention. A slender vial, shimmering deep crimson in the dim light. You reach for it, your fingers brushing over the cold glass. The moment you pick it up, you feel the power inside—dense, ancient, raw. Dragon’s blood. A weapon unlike any other. Your grip tightens around the vial. The grief clawing at your chest hardens, sharp and unyielding. This will have to be enough. With one last glance at the case—the last piece of your mother left in this cursed place—you turn and slip out of the chamber, your pulse a war drum in your ears. You don’t look back. But you swear, with every shattered piece of your heart, that you will return.
The next morning, the castle is a different place. Tension clings to the air like a storm about to break. The usual murmur of servants and guards is replaced with sharp orders and hurried footsteps. Every corridor you pass seems to hold hushed voices, uneasy glances, hands gripping weapons a little too tightly. Something is wrong. When Heeseung arrives at your chambers, his expression is carved from stone. His dark eyes, usually filled with a mixture of irritation and exasperation when he looks at you, are unreadable. "Get up," he says shortly. "You're expected at breakfast."
You stretch your arms above your head lazily, feigning disinterest, but you study him closely. His jaw is tense, shoulders rigid beneath his uniform. "What’s with the fuss this morning?" you ask, tilting your head as you sit up. Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He exhales through his nose, as if debating what to tell you. Finally, he settles on: "There was an intruder in the castle last night." Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. "An intruder?" you echo, feigning mild curiosity. His eyes flick over to you, sharp and assessing. "Two guards were killed. Their bodies were found near the lower levels of the castle."
You force yourself to frown as if this is just terrible news and shake your head. "How awful," you murmur. "Who would be foolish enough to break into the king’s home?" Heeseung is still watching you. Too closely. "They don’t know yet," he says after a moment, his tone carefully measured. "But the king is furious. He’s ordered every entrance locked down. No one enters or leaves without permission."
You hum, slipping out of bed. "Good thing I have no reason to leave, then." Heeseung scoffs, shaking his head as if he finds you exhausting. "Just get dressed," he mutters. "You're not skipping breakfast." As you move to change, your back turned to him, your mind races. They're already searching. They're already tightening security. If they realize why someone broke in—if they even suspect it was for the vault—you might not have as much time as you thought. You press your lips together. No. It doesn’t matter. The plan hasn’t changed. If anything, this only confirms what you already knew—this kingdom is built on blood and fear. You need to be careful, but you won’t stop.
As you fasten the last piece of your attire, you catch Heeseung watching you in the reflection of the mirror. He looks as if he wants to say something—his brow furrowed, his mouth pressing into a line—but he says nothing. You turn to him with a smirk, masking the unease curling inside you. "Lead the way, my dear guard," you say lightly. Heeseung rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. You follow him out into the castle halls, stepping into a kingdom on edge.
You stand before the ornate mirror in your chambers, staring at your reflection. The grand dress draped over your body is a masterpiece—rich fabric embroidered with delicate golden threads, dark as midnight yet shimmering under the candlelight. You look every bit the part of a royal guest, a princess attending a grand ball. But beneath the surface, beneath the layers of silk and jewels, you are something else entirely. Tonight, you are a weapon. Your fingers tighten around the small vial hidden in your palm. The Dragon’s blood. The forbidden elixir, the essence of an ancient and untamed power. You uncork it carefully, the scent metallic and sharp, like the crackle of fire before it engulfs everything in its path. Slowly, you tilt the vial, letting a single drop roll onto your tongue. The effect is instant. A current of heat rushes through your veins, not burning, but igniting something deep within. Your magic, once a slow ember, roars to life, curling through you like smoke, like lightning trapped beneath your skin. Your fingertips tingle, your senses sharpen. You feel more. More alive, more powerful, more capable. The exhaustion from the night before—the drain of breaking into the king’s vault—fades into nothing.
You exhale, gripping the vanity table to steady yourself. You had been unsure, hesitant even, that you were strong enough. But now? Now, there is no doubt. Tonight, you will make your move. You turn back to the mirror, watching as your expression settles into something unreadable. Calculated. Regal. Deadly. The ballroom will be filled with nobles, lords, ladies, and dignitaries from far-off kingdoms. A perfect spectacle. A perfect place for a queen to fall, for a kingdom to be thrown into chaos. For a tyrant to meet his end. Straightening your posture, you give yourself one last look. This is it.
The ballroom is alive with opulence—golden chandeliers dripping with light, polished marble floors reflecting the grandeur of silk and velvet swirling across them. The music is intoxicating, the scent of perfumed nobles and honeyed wine thick in the air. Laughter rings out, conversations swirl around you, but you hear none of it. Your mind is elsewhere. Your pulse pounds like war drums beneath your skin. You move through the crowd with effortless grace, a smile painted onto your lips as if you belong here. As if you’re not plotting the death of a king. But Heeseung is there. As always. His presence is suffocating, shadowing your every step like a second skin. His dark eyes flicker over you, unreadable, his stance tense yet controlled. He doesn’t speak much, but his gaze tells you enough. I’m watching you. You raise your chin, offering him an easy smile before returning to the conversation at hand. A nobleman drones on about trade routes, his voice a low hum beneath the sound of the orchestra. You nod, feigning interest, but your thoughts are far from politics. You need a distraction. Your fingers twitch at your side, hidden beneath the folds of your gown. You reach for the magic simmering beneath your skin, feeling it coil and tighten, waiting to be used. Just enough to pull Heeseung away—to make him focus on something else. You cursed yourself for the tiny bit of shame you felt for using magic on Heeseung but you had to do it, you had no other choice.
You glance toward the great dais, where the king sits, adorned in his gilded robes, his expression that of a man who believes himself untouchable. Disgust coils in your stomach, but you keep your expression neutral. Soon, he will fall. You slip away from the conversation, weaving through the guests, searching for the right moment. The right opportunity. The plan was simple: a small, unseen pulse of magic. A subtle stroke of power, like a whisper through the wind, meant to strike the king down where he sits. Undetected. You reach deep, letting the dragon’s blood hum within you, amplifying the magic you summon. Your lips barely move as you utter the incantation beneath your breath, sending the spell toward the king, unseen and deadly. But something is wrong. The moment the spell leaves your fingertips, something repels it. A force stronger than your own—like an invisible wall caging him in. Your power slams into it, rebounding with such force that the air crackles, sending a ripple of energy through the room.
And then— The chandeliers flicker. The music halts. A gust of unseen force whips through the ballroom, unsettling gowns and ruffling hair. A gasp spreads through the crowd like wildfire, confusion crackling in the air. The king is unharmed. And your magic has failed. Panic seizes your chest. All around you, nobles murmur in confusion, their gazes darting about the room, trying to make sense of the disruption. Chaos brews. Guards immediately rush forward, swords drawn, shouts echoing against the gilded walls. The tension is thick, palpable, the scent of fear curling through the air. "Find the culprit!" someone yells. Your breathing is unsteady, your pulse racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And then A hand clamps down on your wrist, strong and unyielding. Heeseung. And before you can say another word he’s pulling you outside towards the grand doors of the ballroom amongst the chaos. The night air is crisp, wrapping around you in cool tendrils as Heeseung all but drags you out of the grand ballroom. His grip is firm but not bruising, a silent urgency radiating from him as he pulls you through winding hallways and out into the open garden. The moment your feet hit the damp stone path, the doors click shut behind you, muffling the panicked voices and frantic movements inside.
Moonlight washes over the garden, casting silvery shadows across the sculpted hedges and trickling fountains. The scent of night-blooming flowers clings to the air, but there’s no time to admire the beauty around you—not when Heeseung turns to you with that sharp, assessing gaze, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. "Sit," he commands, his voice clipped and breathless. You scoff, arms crossing over your chest. "Excuse me?" Instead of answering, he steps closer, his eyes sweeping over you with meticulous precision. He looks frantic, almost wild, like a man searching for something just out of reach. His hands hover, unsure, before finally settling on your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse as if to confirm that you are, in fact, still alive. "I'm fine," you snap, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens just enough to stop you.
"Stop," he murmurs, and this time, his voice is different. Lower. Almost pleading. Something in you hesitates. His hands move with surprising gentleness, brushing over your arms, ghosting across your shoulders, grazing your waist. Every touch is clinical, precise—searching for wounds, hidden injuries, anything that could explain the tension in his jaw, the way his brows remain furrowed even as he finds nothing. A strange warmth pools in your stomach. You shove it down. "You’re acting like you care," you say, the words sharper than you intend.
His jaw clenches, his fingers twitching before he pulls away like you've burned him. "Don’t flatter yourself," he mutters, raking a hand through his tousled hair. Your lips curl in amusement despite yourself. "Then stop acting like you were about to have a heart attack over me." His gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his expression before it hardens. "You could have been hurt," he grits out, like admitting it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. You blink. The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. A beat of silence stretches between you, thick and charged.
Then, slowly, you step closer, tilting your head up at him. "Were you worried, Heeseung?" His throat bobs. His eyes flicker down to your lips—just for a second, barely noticeable—before snapping back up to meet yours. "I'm doing my job," he says, but the words sound hollow even to him. You hum, unconvinced. "Are you?" Silence. The space between you feels impossibly small. Heeseung is still close, his breath warm against your skin, his scent—something dark and woodsy, laced with steel—curling around you. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the remnants of adrenaline mixing with something else. Something more dangerous. For a fleeting moment, you wonder what would happen if you reached up, if you closed that final inch between you. If you tilted your chin just a little higher— no.
“Yes, doing my job.” He said again not meeting your piercing gaze. You scoff. "Your job? Is your job doting on me like I’m some fragile, innocent, doe-eyed princess?" You take another step toward him, closing the space he’s put between you. "Why are you so obsessed with making sure I’m okay?" Heeseung clenches his jaw, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then— "It’s my duty," he grits out. "As the king’s guard, it’s my responsibility to protect the people."
You roll your eyes. "The people. How noble of you." You cross your arms over your chest. "That doesn’t explain why you—the ever-dutiful Heeseung—seem to be more concerned about me than anyone else." He stares at you, his nostrils flaring slightly, tension coiling in the set of his shoulders. His lips press into a thin line like he’s fighting something, some war within himself. Then, finally, he exhales. And when he speaks, his voice is lower. Rougher. "Because I care about you." Your breath catches. His confession hangs between you, raw and unguarded. He looks almost regretful for saying it, as if the words left his mouth before he could stop them.
You swallow, heartbeat hammering. "You—"
"I care about you," he repeats, like he’s forcing himself to admit it, to say it out loud. His brows knit together, frustration laced in his voice. "And I hate that I do. But I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you." You should say something. You should throw some quip back at him, something sharp and taunting. But the way he’s looking at you now—dark eyes flickering with something intense, something dangerous—steals the words from your tongue. The air between you shifts. Neither of you move, but the gravity between you pulls tighter, like a thread stretched to its breaking point. You can feel the heat of his body, the restrained tension radiating from him like a caged storm. His gaze dips to your lips. You don’t think. You just act. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to you. His lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s desperate. You hadn’t been touched for what seemed like forever, the feeling of a man's hands running up and down your body had felt foreign. You were not experienced but you weren't a virgin eachother. Action was hard to come by in the coven believe it or not. Heeseung makes a low sound in the back of his throat, something between frustration and need, as he presses you back against the stone wall. His hands are on you—gripping your waist, sliding up your arms, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s trying to ground himself, to remind himself that you’re real.
Your own hands tangle into his hair, pulling, needing him closer, needing more. He growls against your lips, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushes against you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pounding just as wildly as your own. The kiss deepens, turns hungrier, more fevered. You nip at his lower lip, and he exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on your waist. His control is slipping—you can feel it in the way his breathing turns ragged, the way his hands grip you like he’s afraid to let go. For a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist. There is no ball, no king, no duty or vengeance. Just this. Just him. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as he backs you against the cold stonewall of the secluded garden. Your breath hitches as the contrast between the chill of the stone and the heat of his body sends a shiver down your spine. Heeseung feels it—his grip tightening, his fingers curling into you as if he wants to pull you closer, eliminating the space between you entirely. You don’t speak your tangle of tongues and teeth speaking for you.
You respond in kind, your hands sliding up his chest, over the rapid rise and fall of his breaths, until they find their way to his hair. You tug—harder this time, just to see what he’ll do. Heeseung groans against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones, and in retaliation, he presses his body flush against yours. A gasp slips from you at the overwhelming sensation of him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fits against you so perfectly it almost feels inevitable. You’re drowning in him, lost in the way his lips move against yours—urgent, searching, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. The air between you crackles with something electric, something undeniable, something that neither of you can ignore anymore. His hands wander, sliding up your sides, over the delicate fabric of your gown. When his fingers skim the bare skin of your arm, you shudder. Heeseung notices. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerously close to reverence. "You shouldn’t do that," you murmur, your voice breathless. "Do what?" he asks, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Look at me like that." Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with something like frustration. "Then stop making it so damn hard."
Your heart stutters. And then his lips are on yours again, softer this time—lingering, savoring. His hands cradle your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his thumbs brushing gentle strokes along your jaw. It’s different now—less rushed, less desperate, but no less intense. He pushes you up against the moss covered wall of the royal garden, his breathing slightly labored. “We should stop.” He pants out his breathing hitting your face, his lips hovering over yours.
“We should.” You nodded, “But I don't want to.” You muttered. You reattach your lips to his refusing to acknowledge the world around you, to ignore the fact that you very well could get caught in this garden with the captain of the king's guard lips attached to yours. You found it hard to care, not when his hands were roaming your body like he owned it. Like he wanted to eat you whole and you’d let him. You’d let him skin you alive, picking at you layer by layer until you laid bare in front of him. You didn't have the time for that. No matter how badly you wanted to take your time with him you simply couldn't. You had to be quick and you had a sharp feeling that wouldn't bother Heeseung much.
“I want you.” You hissed out. Your hands reach to cup his face. “Let me have you.” Heeseung’s face changed from shock to lust in such an instant you thought you might have imagined the change.
“This is wrong.” He shook his head, stepping back not even an inch. It looked like it pained him to move even the slightest. Like it would kill him to not be touching you. You felt the same. “Who cares.” Your voice was light, airy. It almost sounded desperate, a tone you had never heard from yourself. You didn't know whether to be embarrassed or not. Standing here begging a man to take you. You had never been so vulnerable before and it scared you. This wasn't what you were here for, you had one mission and that was to kill the king not fall in love. Your mouth and body seemed to have a mind of its own. You shook your head, stepping forward, your hand landing on Heeseung’s arm.
“It’s Okay.” You whispered. “Do you want me, Heeseung?” You asked, your voice stern as your eyes searched his.
“I-” He started out but you shook your head, asking him once again. “Do you want me?”
“Yes.” Heeseung said without much more hesitation. His lips were back on yours before you could utter another word. His tongue mingled with yours. It was exhilarating and mind numbing, a great escape away from everything that plagued your mind as of late. His hands pawed at your skirts, inching them up slower and slower. It was if he was hinting at it, like you both hadn’t just agreed to do this. Your hands reached for your skirts pulling them up hastily.
“Don’t beat around the bush.” You pant. “Fuck me.” Your words served as a catalyst for Heeseung’s growing lust. His hands worked on his belt and then his pants yanking them down just enough to free himself. Your chest heaved up and down feeling constrained in your very tight corset. “You’ll have to pull out. I cannot become with child Heeseung.”
Heeseung nodded his head but said nothing, almost as if he wanted to ignore the topic. You understood that completely. You didn’t want to stop and think of what the two of you were actually doing and what it would cost if you were caught, no that would be disastrous. It would ruin your entire plans and everything you had worked so hard for you. You shook the thoughts away, you didn't need to over complicate things now. Heeseung’s lips met your neck in a haste. His lips trailed down the column of your neck until it reached your collarbone and lower. His mouth attaching to your cleavage and hands cupping your breasts over your dress.
“Are you ready?” He asked you, his eyes meeting yours. You nodded at him. You needed him to do something, now. You watched only his face as you felt him lift your skirts a bit more for more access. His hands sliding over your bare thighs. His eyes flicked down only for a moment before you felt him at your entrance. The two of you were silent but the sound of your silence was loud enough. You didn’t need words, not when your need for each other spoke for you. You felt him slide into you with slow ease. His breath catching but his eyes never leaving yours.
“Oh god.” You muttered out. Your voice was wispy and almost airy but you couldn't help it, just the initial stretch of Heeseung had felt like a tiny piece of heaven that you hadn't known you needed until you got it. “Is this ok?” He asked as he made shallow thrusts into you with only his tip going in and out of you.
“Yes.” You hissed. “More.” Heeseung’s hips moved faster against yours. You tried your best at keeping your noises low in your throat. You didn't know if guards were wandering around the garden or not. Heeseung’s soft moans are the main source of noise between the two of you as he hurriedly rutted into you like a ravaged dog in heat. Your back bumping against the moss covered all over and over as Heeseung worked himself over you.
You looked up at Heeseung with doe-like eyes. Sweat dripped from his brow, his mouth slightly agape. “That feel good?” You asked him with a slight smirk. Heeseung’s eyes met your own with a bewildered look.
“So fucking good.” He grunted, slamming his lips against yours more rough than before. A squeak left your lips at the contact bracing your hand behind you on the wall. “Such a pretty pussy for a pretty little princess too.” His words caught you off guard, he was dirty talking to you. And it was so fucking hot.
“Yeah?” You asked breathily, running your hands over his clothed chest. “You like using my tight little princess pussy don’t you? Fucking me so good.” Heeseung groaned, groping at your ass over your dress. His thrust became less coordinated, more rushed.
“Fuck. Yes.” Heeseung grunted each snap of his lips bringing you that much closer to your end, heat bubbling in your core ready to explode. And explode it did, like a blinding light you reached your end convulsing around Heeseung’s cock like a starving whore. Your hand stuck to your mouth to cover the sounds that spilled from your lips. Heesung watched you intently, his eyes drinking in your haze of lust like he was under a spell and he didn't care. Soon Heeseung was pulling away in a haste causing a gasp to leave your lips. His hand moved up and down himself, a groan leaving his lips as he spilled his spend all over his hand, making a mess of himself.
Only silence hung in the air after as the both of you caught your breath. Heeseung washes his hands off in the fountain in the garden. Heeseung turns to you, his face flush, he reaches a hand out to you cupping your cheek gently, still no words fading between the two of you. Still, you’re silent, so silent you could hear a pin drop. You stared up at him watching as his eyes intently bounced around your face, probably taking what had just happened between the two of you. You could feel the shifted energy between the two of you. Things have changed, no matter how much you didnt want them to, they did. A distant noise from the castle—a door opening, the faint sound of voices—pierces through the haze, snapping you both back to reality. Heeseung tenses first. He pulls back slowly, his breathing heavy, his lips still parted as if he might say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he releases you and just like that, the spell between you breaks. You stare at each other, caught in a silence thick with unspoken words. Then Heeseung swallows, straightens his posture, and takes a step back. "We should go inside," he says, his voice rough. You nod, though your body still hums with the memory of his touch. Neither of you say anything else as you make your way back toward the castle, but one thing is clear—whatever just happened between you, whatever this is…it’s far from over.
The war room is thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of failure. Heeseung stands rigid before the king, his jaw clenched, hands behind his back in a position of forced composure. Across the long table, the king and queen sit side by side, their expressions carved from stone—one of fury, the other of calculation. "How," the king begins, his voice dangerously even, "was there an intruder in my castle, undetected, and yet none of you useless guards managed to catch them?" No one dares to answer. The other high-ranking guards are present, standing along the edges of the room, their heads slightly bowed in shame. The captain shifts uncomfortably beside Heeseung, but he too says nothing.
The king slams a fist onto the table. "A witch," he seethes. "We know it was a witch. What we don't know is how they got in, how they killed my men, and what the hell they were looking for!" Heeseung remains silent, staring ahead at the flickering torches along the stone walls. His mind replays the scene over and over—the slaughtered guards, their twisted bodies, the power that had killed them. It was magic. Dark magic. "We found no trace of them," The captain finally says, his voice tight. "No lingering presence of a spell, no indication of their path in or out. It's like they vanished into thin air."
"They used magic," The queen interjects coolly, her eyes sharp as a dagger. "That is what witches do." Her tone had Heeseung’s skin prickling with a sense of fear. "Then why didn't we sense it? Why didn’t our barriers—" He started.
"Because they are getting stronger," The king snaps. His gaze falls to Heeseung now, pinning him in place. "You have been keeping tabs on them, have you not? Watching their movements, ensuring they don’t have the power to rise again? Did you fail me, Heeseung?" The weight of the king’s words settle deep in his chest, heavy and suffocating. Heeseung straightens. "No, Your Majesty," he replies firmly. "We have been monitoring the council and the remaining witches closely. There has been no sign of a rebellion, no whisper of an attack. If there is an unknown witch at work, then they are acting alone."
The king's lip curls. "And yet they managed to infiltrate my home." Heeseung has no response to that. The king exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He is furious, but there is something else beneath his rage—something colder, something more dangerous. A deep-seated hatred, burning just beneath his skin. The queen tilts her head, studying Heeseung carefully. "And what of the stolen artifacts?" she asks. "Has there been any sign of what was taken?"
"A vial of dragon’s blood," One of the guards answers. "Nothing else was missing." The room goes deathly silent. Heeseung curses under his breath. The king's fingers twitch against the table. "Dragon’s blood," he murmurs, his tone turning sharp. "And you all think nothing of this? Do you not know what that blood does?!" A shiver rolls through the room. Everyone knows. Dragon’s blood enhances magic. Strengthens it. Sharpens it. The king rises from his seat slowly, his gaze flickering toward the shadows of the room. "This was no ordinary thief," he says, more to himself than anyone else. "This was a witch preparing for something." His voice hardens as he turns back to them. "Find them. I don’t care what it takes—double the guards, search every crevice of the castle, and burn every witch’s den in this kingdom if you have to. I want their head."
A chorus of "Yes, Your Majesty," follows. Heeseung says nothing, simply inclining his head. He should be agreeing. He should be vowing to track this witch down, to put an end to this threat before it grows. And yet, Something gnaws at the edges of his mind, an uneasy whisper he refuses to acknowledge. The magic. The precision. The cleverness. His thoughts flicker—just for a second—to her. To the princess. To her uncanny way of maneuvering around the castle, her endless curiosity, the way she always asks about magic, as if she understands it more than she lets on. The way she had moved against him in their sparring match—controlled, sharp, deadly. And last night. The way he had kissed her. The way she had felt against him when they were intimate. Could it be—? No. He shoves the thought away before it can take root. It’s impossible. The princess was raised in the east, far from the magic-infested ruins of this kingdom. There is no way she could be tied to witches. No way she could have been the one to— No. Heeseung forces the thought from his mind, locking it away. It’s just a coincidence. That’s all. Nothing more.
The castle is restless the next morning, an undercurrent of tension crackling through the air like a coming storm. Servants rush about, their voices hushed, their movements careful. Guards patrol every corridor, hands tight around their weapons. The nobles murmur amongst themselves, their eyes darting toward the throne room as whispers slither through the grand halls. "A witch," someone hisses near you as you glide past. "Inside the castle. Undetected. Can you imagine?" Another voice responds just as high pitched "Brazen enough to try and kill the king!" You roll your eyes, a smirk on your face. "They should burn them all, just like before." Your jaw tightens, your nails pressing into your palms so hard they nearly break skin. You keep walking, silent, unassuming. But with every step, the whispers become harder to ignore. Then– words that would make any daughter break. "It’s just like what happened years ago... with her—with that whore of a witch."
Your breath halts. Ahead of you, a gilded sitting room lies open, sunlight spilling through arched windows onto plush velvet furniture. A small group of noblewomen are gathered there, draped in silks, laughter like chiming bells. They sip from delicate porcelain teacups, their words laced with venom, utterly unaware of the storm they are inviting upon themselves. "She thought she could kill the king—thought she was worthy of a crown instead.”
"And look where she ended up—stripped of her magic, betrayed by her own people, her head taken before she could even beg for mercy." The edges of your vision darken only anger simmering in your blood. You step closer, silent as a shadow. "They should have burned her body instead of scattering it like filth." Your blood roars in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest. "At least the king took a trophy," one of the women sneers, swirling her tea idly. "That ring of hers—how pathetic. As if a simple bauble could ever make a witch a queen." The world around you stills at the realization. Your mother. They were talking about your mother. Your breathing slows. The fire inside you, carefully stoked and contained for so long, now flares into something feral, something uncontrollable.
But they don't know. They don't know who you are, what you're capable of. They don't know that your anger speaks for itself and that your magic is the greatest weapon you yield, but they were about to find out. A slow, measured breath slips past your lips. The air hums with power as you lift your fingers, just enough to let your magic slither through them. Invisible. Deadly. The woman in the center, the one with the sharpest tongue, freezes mid-sip. Her teacup hovers just below her lips. She gasps, eyes going wide but then her whole body stiffens. A shudder rolls through her frame, the muscles in her throat working against an invisible force. The porcelain cup slips from her fingers, shattering against the floor. A single crack, and then—snap.
Her head jerks violently to the side, the sickening sound of bone breaking echoing through the room. She crumples instantly, collapsing forward onto the table, lifeless. There was a moment of silence, a fleeting moment you quite enjoyed. But then– screams. Blood curdling screams that brought you only joy. The other women scramble back, knocking over teacups and trays in their blind panic. One of them shrieks, hands clamped over her mouth as she stares in horror at the limp, twisted form before her. You let the sound wash over you, slow satisfaction curling through your chest. Without a word, you turn on your heel and walk away, your steps light, effortless. The wails of the noblewomen ring through the corridor behind you, a discordant symphony of fear and hysteria, but you don't look back. You don’t have to. Because for the first time in years, you feel like your mother’s daughter.
Evening descends upon the castle, casting long shadows through the stone corridors. You sit by your vanity, absently tracing the rim of a goblet with your fingertip, waiting. The distant sounds of hurried footsteps and hushed voices in the halls tell you the kingdom is still shaken, still trying to piece together what happened this morning, and at the ball. A knock raps at your chamber door and you already know who it is. You can sense, feel him. "Come in," you call, voice smooth, controlled. The door creaks open, and Heeseung steps in, his usual composed demeanor in place, but there’s something tense about the way his shoulders sit. His eyes flick over you—your carefully arranged hair, the gown draped over your form, the utter calmness in your posture. His gaze lingers on your face a beat too long before he clears his throat. "Dinner," he says simply.
You arch a brow. "Just us?" This would be the first time since you’ve arrived where you wouldn't be having dinner with the King and Queen. "The king and queen are otherwise occupied. Security measures." Heeseung mutters his gaze avoiding yours. "How intimate," you remark dryly, standing and brushing past him. His scent lingers—leather, steel, something faintly smoky. You don’t miss the way he exhales sharply, as if steeling himself, before following after you.
The dining chamber is much smaller than the grand halls you’re used to. The table is modest in comparison, only set for two. Silver candleholders flicker between the untouched dishes. The air is thick—too quiet, too heavy with something unspoken. You take your seat, watching Heeseung as he settles into his own across from you. He’s stiff, guarded, too preoccupied with the food before him to even look at you. You let the silence drag, waiting for him to say something. But of course, he doesn’t. You stab a piece of meat with your fork. "Are we going to pretend it didn’t happen?" His eyes snap up to you narrowing slightly as if to dare you to keep going. So, in turn you do. Testing the limits was your favorite pastime after all. You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "The sex," you clarify, twirling the utensil between your fingers. Heeseung tenses. "This is neither the time nor the place."
"Then when is, Heeseung?" You lean forward slightly, voice laced with challenge. "After another failed assassination attempt? Perhaps over breakfast? Maybe I should schedule it between my courtly duties and plotting treason." His jaw tightens. "Don’t," he warns. His cool tone had you hot. You had to remind yourself that this was not the time for that. You roll your eyes, exhaling dramatically. "You’re being ridiculous."
He sets his knife down with a sharp clink, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pushes his chair back. "Come with me." You blink, caught off guard as he stands abruptly and moves to your side. Before you can protest, his fingers curl around your wrist—not harsh, but firm. "Heeseung—"
"Not here," he mutters, already dragging you from your seat. You follow, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum beneath your skin. He doesn’t let go, guiding you through the corridors with determined strides, past watchful guards and dimly lit hallways. Then, The library doors swing open, swallowing you both into the quiet expanse of towering shelves and candlelight. The scent of parchment and ink wraps around you, thick and familiar. Heeseung doesn’t stop until you’re deep inside, far from any prying eyes. He finally releases you, exhaling sharply as he runs a hand through his hair. "You shouldn’t talk about it so carelessly." You cross your arms. "Why not?"
"Because it’s dangerous." His voice is low, but edged with something raw. "Because it shouldn’t have happened."A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "But it did." Heeseung looks at you then—really looks at you. His expression flickers between frustration and something else, something that makes your breath hitch for just a fraction of a second. "Tell me," you continue, stepping closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Are you regretting it?" His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His fingers twitch at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. You tilt your head. "Or are you afraid of what it means?" His silence is answer enough.
The tension in the library crackles like a storm on the verge of breaking. The dim candlelight flickers, casting shadows across the towering shelves and the ancient tomes lining them. Heeseung is still standing stiffly before you, arms crossed, jaw clenched—like if he lets himself relax for even a moment, everything will spiral out of control. “We can’t,” he says finally, his voice tight, like he’s forcing the words out. “If anyone caught us—if the king found out—we’d both be dead.” You let out a soft, amused laugh, tilting your head. “Is that what you’re so worried about?” You take a step closer, watching the way his body reacts—how his breath shortens, how his fingers flex. “Death?” His brows knit together. “It’s not funny.”
“On the contrary,” you murmur, your voice teasing, edged with something darker. “It’s absolutely hilarious. The great Heeseung, right-hand to the king, reduced to a nervous wreck over a kiss and a quick fuck.” His eyes flash with irritation. “That’s not—”
“Not what?” You’re in front of him now, close enough to catch the faint scent of steel and cedarwood clinging to him. “Not true?” He swallows hard but doesn’t move away, anyone could see that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He craved you and you were in no position to deny him of that satiation
“We can’t keep doing this,” he grits out, though the way his gaze flickers to your lips betrays him. “It’s dangerous.” You hum, tilting your head, running your fingers down the front of his shirt like you’re smoothing out invisible creases. His breath catches. “Dangerous is what makes it exciting,” you whisper, fingers drifting lower, pressing lightly against his stomach. His muscles tense under your touch, like he’s fighting himself, fighting this, fighting you. “Stop,” he breathes, though he makes no move to actually stop you.
You smirk. “You don’t want me to stop.” His hands clench at his sides, a war waging within him, but you know you’ve already won. You can feel it in the way his body leans ever so slightly toward yours, in the way his breath turns heavier. “Tell me to go,” you challenge, your voice softer now, but no less daring. “Tell me you don’t want this.” Silence. And suddenly, A sharp inhale, a flicker of something feral in his eyes. And then his hands are on you—gripping your waist, pulling you forward in one swift motion until your back is pressed against the bookshelf behind you. Your breath stutters just as his lips crash into yours, no hesitation this time, no careful restraint. It’s all heat and desperation, months of tension unraveling at once. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s making up for lost time, for all the times he’s told himself no when his body screamed yes.
Your hands tangle in his hair, fingers pulling, dragging him impossibly closer. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, sending heat pooling low in your stomach. You press up against him, feeling the way his body shudders at the contact. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, possessive, like he’s trying to imprint himself onto you. It’s reckless. It’s foolish. And neither of you care. Too caught up on the feeling of one another to carefully consider what you could lose, only what you could gain. The library was quite save for the two of you. Your heavy breathing the only sound in the grand room. Heeseung’s hands gripped at your skirts much like he did the other night.
He lifted them high enough to expose you. “I’ve been thinking about this pretty little pussy since the other night.” He grunted. “We don’t have enough time but I think I can take a little taste can’t i?” You were nodding before he could even get the words out, your head bobbing up and down in excitement. Pure unadulterated excitement. It was comical, almost pathetic but you didn't care, you needed him anyway you could get him. Heeseung fell to his knees, your skirts still tightly gripped in his hands.
“I love when a man kneels to me.” You snicker, a laugh falling from your lips in a cascade. “Just a second ago you were pulling away, now look at you.” You were teasing with him, toying around with him. His small smile told you he didn't really seem to mind your teasing, if anything it fueled his desires for you.
“I may be kneeling princess but soon you're going to be the one begging like a peasant.” He smirked up at you, the edges of his mouth slightly curved sexily. The heat simmerring in your belly only heightened your need for him and soon you were whining, lifting your hips to show him just how much you needed him to do just something, anything. “Don’t you worry.” He tsked “I’m going to take such good care of you.”
Without another words his mouth was on you, his tongue lapping at you like no tomorrow. Your hands found purchase on his shoulder as you steadied yourself. “Oh my god.” You hissed, biting your lip to keep your noises at bay. Heeseung groaned against your core, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine and furthering the pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands found your hips gripping them tightly in his hands under your gown skirts.
Your hands made their way from the bookshelf behind you down your own body until they reached your breasts cupping them in your hands for extra stimulant, Heeseung’s tongue explored every inch of your most sensitive bud sucking on it like his life depended on it. You tried your best to keep your noises at bay as you occasionally let a squeak and small moan out here and there.
Heeseung continued to suck and lick at you, your end hearing like a freight train. “I-i’m almost-” You gasped, finding it hard to cough the words out. “I know.” Heeseung said smugly as he came up for air. Your legs shook, thankful for Heeseung’s hands holding you upright. If it weren't for that you would surely be a puddle of yourself on the floor before you. It took almost no time for your end to slam into you. A single squeak left your lips before you're clamping your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. Heeseung continues to work on you throughout your orgasm granting you a spectacular end.
Heeseung let go of your thighs, straightening himself out as you caught your breath. Much like the garden the two of you only stared at each other in silence, not daring to utter even a single word. The silence was short lived as the sound of rustling outside the library tore the two of you apart, breaking the haze you were currently in. Luckily whoever was outside didn't feel the need to enter the library but the noise itself had Heeseung on edge. “We should get you to your chambers.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out for you to take. You stared at it for a moment as if it were a foreign object you had never seen before. You took his hand in yours letting him guide you out of the library doors.
The candlelight flickers in Heeseung’s chambers, casting restless shadows against the stone walls. He lays on his back in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, his body exhausted but his mind refusing to quiet. He knows what they’re doing is reckless. Stupid, even. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away the memories of her—her scent, her warmth, the way she pressed against him in the library as if she knew exactly what kind of power she had over him. Heeseung has always prided himself on his discipline, on his control. But with her… He groans and turns onto his side, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. His duty is to the kingdom. To the king. To law and order. If anyone found out about this—about them—there would be no mercy. No hesitation. The king would have his head on a spike, and hers—hers would be paraded through the streets as a warning.
His stomach churns at the thought. But then, a far more dangerous thought slithers in, unbidden. What if they ran? The idea is so ridiculous he almost laughs. He doesn’t run. He doesn’t abandon his duty. But then he thinks of her again—of the fire in her eyes, of the way she moves like she belongs to no one but herself. She’s different. Not just from the princesses he’s known—meek, obedient, trained to be silent. No, she’s different from everyone. The way she speaks. The way she carries herself. The way she looks at him like she’s measuring him up, testing him, waiting to see what he’ll do next. The way she knows things—things she shouldn’t. A seed of suspicion takes root in his mind.
What if she’s not who she says she is? He thinks of the whispers, the rumors in the castle, the king’s paranoia about witches. He thinks of the way the attack at the ball had no clear culprit, no weapon, no trace. And then he thinks of her—of the way she smiles to herself when she thinks no one is looking, like she’s keeping a secret the world isn’t ready for. No. Heeseung shakes his head, as if to physically push the thought away. He’s being ridiculous. She’s just… unpredictable. Stubborn. Impossible. But not a witch. He refuses to believe that.
The next morning, the castle is alive with tension. Servants whisper behind cupped hands, guards double in numbers at every corridor, and the heavy clang of armor fills the halls. At breakfast, the king and queen stand before the court, their expressions grave. The king’s voice is sharp, cutting through the uneasy murmurs. "Until we discover the source of this treachery, the castle will remain under lockdown. No one leaves, no one enters without my explicit permission. Anyone found conspiring against the crown will be executed on sight." A chill runs through the room. Your grip tightens around your fork until your knuckles ache. Lockdown. The word presses against you like an iron cage, closing in.
This means you're getting closer. The king is scared. He knows his time is running out. You just need one final way to get to him. But then, your mind betrays you. Because instead of the king, instead of strategy and bloodshed, instead of magic—your thoughts drift to him. Heeseung. You can feel his eyes on you, watching from across the room. Even now, you know he’s keeping track of your every move, shadowing your steps in silence. You remember the way his touch lingered, the way his lips felt against yours, the way he made you forget—just for a moment—who you are, what you are meant to do. And for one foolish, fleeting second, you let yourself wonder. What if things were different? What if you weren’t bound by revenge, by the weight of your mother’s legacy? What if you were just a girl, and he were just a boy? But you are not just a girl. And he is not just a boy. You shove the thoughts down, swallowing hard. You call yourself a fool for falling into something so dangerous, so impossible. For even considering the possibility of anything beyond this mission. You are here for one purpose. And soon, the king will be dead.
The silence between you is louder than it has ever been as you walk to your rooms. The castle corridors stretch long and empty, the flickering torchlight casting your shadows against the cold stone walls. Each step echoes, the sound ringing in your ears, a cruel reminder that this night is slipping away too fast. Heeseung walks beside you, quiet as ever, his posture rigid with something unreadable. But you can feel it. The weight of the things left unsaid. The hesitation in the way he slows his pace just enough, like he’s not quite ready for this walk to end. Neither are you. And yet, the door to your chambers appears before you too soon.
You stop. Heeseung does too, standing just a breath away, his gaze unreadable in the dim lighting. Your heart hammers against your ribs. It feels unbearable—this thing stretching between you. The knowledge that the moment you step inside this room, something will shift. You won’t be able to undo it. So you do the only thing you can. You grab his collar and pull him to you, crashing your lips against his.
Heeseung tenses, his breath catching against your mouth. For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t move, stunned by your sudden desperation. Then, he breaks. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he kisses you back with something raw, something close to ruin. It’s not soft, it’s not slow—it’s everything you’re both afraid to say. It’s everything you’re about to lose. our fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, trying to pull him closer, closer, closer—because this is the last time. You feel it in the way his hands tremble against you, in the way his breath shudders when he pulls away just slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Wait—" he starts, his voice hoarse, hesitant, but you shake your head instantly, your grip tightening on his shirt. "Don’t—" your whisper barely makes it past your lips. Your eyes burn, your throat tight. "Please don’t say anything."
Heeseung swallows thickly. His hands twitch at your waist before they slowly fall away. You take a step back. Then another and the distance feels unbearable. Your fingers ghost over the doorknob, hesitating for a fraction of a second before you turn it, stepping inside. You don’t dare look at him again. You can’t. The door closes between you with a soft, final click. You lean against it, pressing your forehead to the wood, your breath shaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. On the other side, you know he’s still there. You can feel him. Standing in the hallway, hands clenched into fists, fighting the same war you are. Seconds pass. Then minutes. And then—his footsteps, Slow. Hesitant. Fading. When he finally walks away, he takes a piece of you with him. And when you slide to the floor, pressing your trembling fingers to your lips, you wonder if you’ll ever get it back. You wonder if what you were doing was worth it, and you determine it is. This was bigger than you, bigger than what you felt for Heeseung and you had to continue no matter how much it hurt.
You sit there for what feels like hours, your back pressed against the door, your fingers still tingling from the ghost of Heeseung’s touch. You curse yourself. How could you be so stupid? Falling in love with the captain of the guard—the king’s most loyal soldier. It was reckless. Dangerous. A mistake you never should have allowed to happen. You clench your fists against your dress, trying to push away the warmth still lingering on your skin from where his hands had been. But no matter how much you tell yourself it was foolish, your heart still aches. Because for a moment, just a moment, you had allowed yourself to feel. You shake your head, jaw tightening, because love just wasn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough to stop you, it couldn't be. Not when the weight of your mother’s death still sat heavy in your chest. Not when the memories of your people being hunted and slaughtered played over and over in your mind like a curse that would never leave you.
The king needed to die and you needed to be the one to do it. If not for your mother, then for yourself. You push yourself up from the floor, shaking off the weakness trying to sink into your bones. You weren’t weak. You weren’t fragile. You were ruthless. A damn good witch. No matter what your aunt had said. No matter how the coven had doubted you. No matter how Heeseung had looked at you as if you were something to be protected, when all your life, you had fought to stand on your own. You move across the room, mind already calculating. You would need to act fast. The castle was locked down, but that meant the king’s guard would be scattered, spread thin. You could use that. You could use them. A smile, slow and sharp, spreads across your lips. No matter how much your heart screamed against it—no matter how much Heeseung’s face haunted you—you would not falter. Because this was your destiny and you would see it through to the end.
Morning light filters through the grand windows of your chambers, casting golden streaks across the floor, but you don’t move from the edge of your bed. Your plan is set. You should feel ready. Steady. But instead, your hands won’t stop trembling. You press your palms against your lap, willing the weakness away. A knock sounds at your door. You know who it is before he speaks. “Princess.” Heeseung’s voice is firm, but there’s an underlying softness beneath it. “I brought you breakfast.” You force yourself to stand, moving with a measured slowness as you approach the door. You can’t afford to falter now.
When you open it, he’s standing there, tray in hand, gaze unreadable. His dark eyes search yours for something—maybe a sign that you’re okay, maybe something more. You don’t give him anything. You reach for the tray, but before you can grab it, Heeseung’s foot moves forward, blocking the door from shutting in his face. You sigh sharply. “Move.”
“No.” His eyes narrow, suspicion creeping into his voice. “You’ve been locked away all morning. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” You hiss, silently begging for him to just leave. Heeseung scoffs. “You expect me to believe that?”
You glare at him. “Why do you care?” He steps inside before you can stop him, setting the tray on the nearby table. Then, without hesitation, he turns to you and takes your hands in his. You stiffen. “Let go.” He doesn’t. His grip is warm, steady—just like it was the night before when you tried to push him away. “Tell me the truth,” he says. “What’s wrong?” You grit your teeth. “I told you, nothing is—”
“I don’t believe you.” You yank your hands away, stepping back. “Then you’re a fool.” Heeseung exhales sharply. “Maybe I am.” You scoff, crossing your arms. “Everything we did was a mistake.” Something flickers across his face, quick and sharp. Hurt. Good, it's better this way. You’ve been selfishly allowing yourself to fall in love with someone you can never truly have. You lift your chin higher, forcing yourself to deliver the final blow. “I used you, Heeseung. You were convenient. That’s all.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t lash out. He doesn’t give you what you want. He just looks at you. It infuriates you. “You should be angry,” you snap. “You should hate me.”
“I don’t.” He argues, his voice rough with unshed emotion. “Why not?” You asked. You were desperate for him to stop, to give up. But he doesn't. “Because I know you.” His voice is quiet now, but there’s an undeniable strength beneath it. “And I know you’re lying.” Your breath catches.
Heeseung steps closer, gaze never wavering. “If you want to hurt me, you’ll have to do better than that.” You clench your fists. “I don’t care about you.” His lips twitch, and then he laughs. Heeseung’s laugh was a melody you wished you could bottle and keep forever, in a tiny little vial tucked away to keep the memory of this moment and how you felt in it alive. Even if fleeting, it would be worth it. To remember that even when you wished he would give you up and leave, he wouldn’t. “You really expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.” He just stares at you. Unmoved. Unyielding. And then he does something unexpected—he lifts a hand and gently cups your cheek. Your entire body locks up. His touch is careful, hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, voice dropping lower. “Tell me you feel nothing, and I’ll leave right now.” You swallow hard. The words are right there. You can say them. You should say them. But your throat closes up. Silence stretches between you. Heeseung exhales, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, but there’s no humor in it. Just quiet understanding. “You can lie all you want,” he murmurs. “But not to me.” His hand falls away. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he steps back. “If you don’t want me here, say the word,” he says. “And I’ll go.”
“Don’t go.” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, quiet but heavy with meaning. Heeseung freezes. His hand, which had been reaching for the door, stills. The tension in his shoulders tightens as he slowly turns back toward you, his dark eyes searching yours. He looks almost hesitant, like he’s bracing for something. He waits for you to take it back, for you to tell him he misheard. But you don’t do that, instead you stand there looking at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. And maybe, for tonight, he is.
Heeseung crosses the room in a heartbeat. His hands come up to cradle your face, his touch firm yet gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. And then his lips are on yours—hot, desperate, claiming. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You can taste the longing, the fear, the hunger between you, and it terrifies you how much you need this. How much you need him. Clothes fall away, fingers trace over bare skin, mapping out the parts of you no one else has ever touched. His lips leave a burning trail along your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. Every kiss feels like a promise neither of you can keep. This is different from the garden and the library. The emotions are stronger, the need more than just lust. He lays you down with a reverence that makes your chest ache, his body covering yours, warm and solid and real. And for a little while, just a little while, you allow yourself to forget. Forget why you’re here. Forget what you have to do. Forget that you’ll never get to have this again. Forget that, that thought scares you more than anything else. And when it’s over, when you’re lying in his arms, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the weight of reality crashes down on you.
Tears slip from your eyes before you can stop them. Heeseung notices immediately. He shifts beside you, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at you. His fingers trace lightly over your cheek, catching a stray tear. “What’s wrong?” His voice is hoarse, gentle. You shake your head, forcing a small, unconvincing smile. “Nothing.” Cursing yourself for looking so brittle, so weak. His brow furrows, unconvinced. “You’re crying,” he says, brushing another tear away with his thumb. “That’s not nothing.”
You inhale sharply, turning your head away. Because if you look at him—if you really look at him—you’ll break. You can’t afford to break. Heeseung shifts again, his body warm against yours. Then, out of nowhere, he says something that steals the air from your lungs. “Let’s leave.” Your breath catches in your throat. You turn your head back toward him, your lips parting in disbelief. “What?”
“Let’s leave,” he repeats, his voice surer now. “Tonight. Right now. Just the two of us.” You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest. “Heeseung, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Leaving would mean that coming here was for nothing. You couldn't do that, you needed to see this through for your mother. “Yes, I do.” He sits up too, his hands reaching for yours. “We can leave this place behind. Disappear. Go somewhere no one will find us. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Your heart clenches so hard it’s painful. He means it. He really means it, and you’re going to have to deny him. You can see it in his eyes, the unwavering sincerity, the quiet desperation. He’s not just saying it to comfort you. He truly believes you could run away, start over, be free. And for a fleeting moment, you want to believe it too. But you can’t. You squeeze your eyes shut. “You don’t know the real me, Heeseung.” He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh. That goddamn laugh. “Of course, I do.”
“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You don’t.” Heeseung lifts your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. His lips brush against your skin as he speaks. “I know that you hate being treated like you’re fragile. That you sneak out just because you can. That you act like you don’t care, but you do. More than anyone I’ve ever met.” His voice lowers, softer now. “I know you pretend to be heartless, but you’re not. You’re stubborn and reckless and the smartest person I’ve ever known.” Heeseung tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I know you,” he says. “And I love you.” Your breath shudders.
Heeseung has no idea how much those words shatter you. Because for all the ways he knows you—for all the truths he’s uncovered—he’s still blind to the one that matters most. You swallow against the lump in your throat. “I can’t.” His brows draw together. “Can’t what?” You don’t answer. You can’t. He studies you for a long moment, realization flickering in his gaze. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says quietly.
You close your eyes, gripping the sheets beneath you. Heeseung’s voice drops lower. “What is it?” Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. Then, finally, you whisper, “Please… just go.” The pain from the moment was unbearable. Having to turn him away when you didn't want to. When your heart screamed at you to pull him close and never let go. Pain flashes across his face. His jaw clenches, his throat bobbing with the effort to swallow whatever he wants to say. He stands, gathering his clothes in silence. You stay where you are, gripping the sheets, digging your nails into the fabric to keep from calling him back. Before he leaves, he pauses at the door. He turns his head just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.” Then he walks out. And this time, you let him go.
Something was wrong. Heeseung could feel it. Being called to the King’s quarters almost immediately after returning to his rooms after his night with the princess. Something was wrong. Heeseung barely makes it to the king’s quarters before the weight in his chest starts to crush him. The halls are lined with guards, their grips tight on their weapons, their expressions grim. The air crackles with tension, heavy and suffocating. It feels like a noose tightening around his throat. He forces himself forward, each step heavier than the last. The moment he steps inside, he sees them. The King, the Queen And a group of high-ranking officials gathered around a long table, their faces drawn in grim lines. The candlelight flickers ominously, casting eerie shadows across the room. The doors slam shut behind him and Heeseung swears his heart in his stomach bile rising up his throat.
“My king,” he greets, bowing his head. He was trying to be graceful, trying to mask the pure terror coursing through his veins. The king doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he lifts his gaze, sharp and knowing, and says, “Captain. Tell me… what do you know about the princess?” Heeseung’s heart stutters in his chest. He swallows thickly, keeping his voice steady. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?” The king doesn’t answer right away, furthering Heeseung’s racing heart. Something was wrong. Instead, he picks up a folded parchment from the table. Heeseung notices the broken wax seal—an unfamiliar crest pressed into the dried crimson wax. “These letters,” the king begins, “have come from her kingdom.” His tone is measured, calm—but there’s something deadly lurking beneath the surface. “They have been arriving for weeks. All addressed to the princess.”
Something cold curls in Heeseung’s stomach. “Then… why hasn’t she responded?” Heeseung asks carefully, forcing the words past his lips. “That is the question, isn’t it?” the king muses. Then he slams something onto the table. It’s a portrait. The parchment unfurls slightly from the impact, revealing a detailed oil painting of a young woman. Heeseung’s breath catches. It’s her. Or at least… it’s supposed to be. But it isn’t her. Not the woman he kissed. Not the woman he made love to. Not the woman he held in his arms. His stomach twists violently. The girl in the portrait has the same regal posture, the same air of nobility, the same crown resting atop her carefully styled hair. But the features are all wrong. The shape of her nose, the curve of her lips, the sharpness of her jawline—none of them belong to the woman he knows.
The realization crashes into him like a blow to the chest. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head. “That’s not—” “Not the girl staying in our castle?” The King finishes, his lips curling into something almost amused. The room feels like it’s closing in. His lungs won’t fill properly. His ribs feel too tight, too constricted. His world is breaking apart piece by piece. How could she have lied so long? To everyone. To him? Is that what she meant when she said he didn't know the real her? The king leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the wooden armrest. “This is the real princess,” he says, voice laced with cruel amusement. “The one we were supposed to receive.”
The blood in Heeseung’s veins turns to ice. His ears ring. His heart pounds so loudly it’s deafening. “She’s an imposter,” The King states plainly, his voice hard and unwavering. The Queen makes a disgusted noise. “Not just an imposter,” she sneers. “A witch.” The word slices through Heeseung like a blade toppling his world over. Shattering his entire being. A witch? No. It couldn't be. Something.is.wrong. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He can’t.
“She’s been hunting me,” the king continues, his voice dripping with satisfaction, as if he’s already won. “Planning my execution under my very roof.” Heeseung wants to deny it. Wants to fight it. Wants to claim it’s impossible. But deep down, something inside him unravels. Because it is possible. It makes sense. The late-night disappearances. The questions she never answered. The flashes of power he felt but ignored. The way she always seemed to have a secret buried behind her eyes. The realization knocks the air from his lungs. He had suspected. He had wondered. But he never believed. Because believing would mean losing her. And now—Now, he has lost her. A sharp breath rattles through his chest. He forces himself to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable, to keep the pain from showing. But it’s there. It’s tearing him apart from the inside out.
He can still feel her touch, still taste her on his lips. Still hear the way her voice broke when she told him she couldn’t. She had known this moment was coming. That’s why she kissed him like it was the last time. That’s why she cried. She knew. And she let him love her anyway. “Find her,” the king commands, dragging Heeseung back to the present. “Search the castle. The kingdom. I want that witch’s head.” Heeseung stiffens. The words are an execution order. His pulse roars in his ears. He forces himself to bow, to keep his voice steady as he murmurs, “Yes, Your Majesty.” But his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists. Because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. His loyalty is to the king. His duty is to the crown. But his heart— His heart belongs to her. And no matter how much he tries to bury it—no matter how much it kills him— It always will. Heeseung feels like he’s standing outside of his own body, watching the scene unfold as if it’s happening to someone else. The king’s voice slices through the thick silence.
“The body that was found, dumped from the carriage that night…” He leans forward, his expression grave yet victorious, as if he’s piecing together a puzzle he’d been struggling with for too long. “It was her. The real princess.” A sick, suffocating weight crashes down on Heeseung’s chest. He remembers that night. The gruesome discovery. The way the body had been barely recognizable, left for the elements like discarded waste. At the time, they had assumed it was the work of bandits, of those who wanted to send a message to the crown. But it wasn’t. It was her. She had done it. She had killed the princess. Taken her place. Deceived them all. She had deceived him. Heeseung sways slightly, his grip tightening at his sides.
“Captain.” His head jerks up at the king’s call. The king watches him carefully, expression unreadable, before he asks, “Do you have it on you?” For a moment, Heeseung doesn’t understand. Then the king clarifies. “The witch’s knife.” The words nearly send Heeseung to his knees. His fingers twitch at his belt, where the blade sits, unseen but ever-present—a weapon forged to cut through the magic that ran through the veins of people like her. He feels sick. Heeseung grits his teeth, schooling his expression into one of careful indifference. “Yes,” he says, forcing his voice to remain even. “I have it.”
The king hums in approval. “Good,” he says. “Then it’s time to put it to use.” The words ring through Heeseung’s skull like a war drum. “Bring her to me,” the king orders. “I want that witch dragged before me in chains.” His gaze flickers to Heeseung’s belt, where the blade rests. “And you will be the one to strike her down.” The world tilts. Heeseung can hear his own breathing, shallow and uneven. He has killed before. It is his duty. His purpose. His role. But never like this. Never her. Never the only person who has ever made him feel. He forces himself to nod. It is the only response he can manage without his voice betraying him. The king smirks in satisfaction, leaning back in his chair. “Go,” he commands. “Find her.” Heeseung turns stiffly, barely hearing the murmurs of approval from the gathered officials, The Queen’s quiet mutter of disgust. He walks toward the doors, each step heavier than the last. His fingers brush against the hilt of the knife. The one meant for her. The woman he kissed. The woman he loved. His heart cracks wide open, but there is no time to bleed. Because the next time he sees her— He will have to kill her. Something was wrong.
The air is thick with dampness, the scent of mold and stone clinging to your skin as you navigate the winding tunnels beneath the castle. Your heart pounds against your ribs, steady and strong, the only thing grounding you as you press forward. You don’t have much time. If everything goes according to plan, the king won’t see the next sunrise. The thought steadies you. You move like a shadow through the catacombs, tracing the steps you memorized, hands gliding along the rough walls. You can feel the pulse of magic thrumming in the stone, remnants of old spells woven into the foundations of the castle. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear whispers, ghosts of the past murmuring secrets only the dead could know.
You shake off the feeling. There’s no room for hesitation. Not now. Your plan is simple—efficient. Slip into the king’s chambers through the passage hidden beneath the castle, snap his neck, and vanish before anyone can piece together what happened. No spells. No weapons. Just you. Just justice. The idea of feeling his life slip between your fingers, of watching the fear dawn in his eyes when he realizes his power can’t save him—it’s almost intoxicating. But then he flickers in your mind. Heeseung. For a single, damning moment, you think of the way he looked at you last night, the way his hands held you like you were something precious. How his voice had cracked when he told you he loved you. And how you said nothing in return. Your throat tightens, but you shove it down. Love is not enough to stop what must be done. You push forward. The tunnels twist and stretch before you, endless in their darkness, but you know exactly where you're going. The passage that leads into the king’s private chambers is ahead. You’re nearly there— Cold steel presses against your throat.
You stop. Your body tenses, every instinct in you screaming to move, to fight, but the blade is firm, unforgiving. A single wrong move could end it all before you even reach the king. You feel power coming from it. Radiating off of it. It stung like poison. Was this a witch killing knife?
"Going somewhere?" The voice is low, familiar, and it guts you. Your pulse jumps. Slowly, carefully, you tilt your head just enough to see him. Heeseung. Oh god it was Heeseung. His face is carved from stone, eyes dark, unreadable. The knife in his hand does not waver. He looked destroyed, shattered against beyond repair. But he also looked angry, he knew. He knew who you were and even though that should scare you it didn't. You had oddly felt a sense of overwhelming relief. You weren't hiding from him anymore. Your breath comes slow, measured. “Move.”
He doesn’t. You try again, this time sharper, steel behind your words. “Move, Heeseung.” His grip tightens. “Tell me where you’re going.” His voice is quiet, but there’s something underneath it, something raw. A slow, careful inhale. “You already know.” There was no use in lying to him anymore. You refused to do it, you owed him that much at least. His jaw tenses. A muscle in his cheek jumps. But he doesn’t move the blade. The cold metal seeping into your skin stinging you and boiling your blood. A small part of you knew you deserved this. For lying to him for so long, for allowing yourself to fall in love with a man who you could never have. A man who would hate the person, the thing you truly were. He didn't know the real you. You had warned him. for the first time since you entered the tunnels, doubt creeps in. Not in your plan. Not in your abilities. But in him. Would he really stop you? Would he really— would he kill you?
The reality hurt. You’d kill him if you had to, no matter how much you didn't want to. No matter how much it would hurt you, end you even. You'd do it. For your mother and her legacy you'd do what you had to do. It's what you came here for. “You don’t want to do this,” you whisper, softer this time. Heeseung exhales sharply through his nose. “Don’t I?” The words land like a blow. Your fingers twitch at your sides. You could use magic. Could throw him back, run before he can get up. But you don’t. Instead, you say, “I know you.” Heeseung flinches. Not visibly—no, no one else would notice—but you do. You see the slight hitch in his breath, the way his grip falters for just a moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper— “You don’t know me at all.”
The words sink into your skin, cold and unrelenting. Your chest tightens. And for the first time— You wonder if you've already lost. No matter what happened in this tunnel you were losing. The blade at your throat is trembling. Not steady. Not certain. Not like Heeseung at all. His breath is ragged, uneven, as if the very air around him is too thick to swallow. His grip on the hilt of his knife is white-knuckled, his knuckles straining under the force of it, but it’s not just from anger. It’s something deeper—something fragile, teetering on the edge of breaking.
“Is it true?” His voice is hoarse, almost quiet, but the weight of it crashes into you like a tidal wave. You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when you knew he already knew the answer. Vocalizing what he already knew would make it too real for him. You were a betrayer, a murder, a witch. His chest rises and falls too quickly, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His fingers flex around the knife, and when you still don’t respond, something in him snaps. “Is it true?!” His voice cracks, raw and agonized, and it cuts through you like a blade sharper than the one at your throat.
Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your mouth is dry. Your hands are shaking, but you force yourself to meet his eyes—his desperate, frantic, broken eyes. You should lie. You should tell him no. You should take the last remnants of his belief in you and hold on to them—but it’s too late for that. The truth is already there, clawing its way out of you, forcing itself into the space between you. You can’t lie to him anymore. You wouldn’t. Your lips part. Your voice is barely a whisper. “…Yes.” The silence that follows is suffocating. Heeseung stares at you, wide-eyed, as if you’ve just struck him. His grip on the knife wavers, but he doesn’t lower it. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his gaze never leaving yours. He looks at you like he doesn’t know you. Like everything you were to him has just unraveled at his feet, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the ruin of whatever you were. “Why?” His voice is barely there, hoarse and hollow.
The lump in your throat grows, threatening to choke you. You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want to tell him. But there’s nothing left to hide. The weight of your past has already reached him, coiling around his throat just as it has yours. Your hands tremble, your nails digging into your palms, as you force yourself to speak. “He murdered my mother.” but he knew that already? Didn’t he? The words taste like ash on your tongue. You watch as Heeseung’s entire body goes rigid. His expression—pain, anger, disbelief—flickers for only a moment before he schools it into something unreadable, something distant. But you can still see it. The horror. The realization. The unbearable ache. Your voice wavers. “The king ordered her death. He butchered her, Heeseung.” You take a shaky breath, one that barely fills your lungs. “He tore her apart. Took her from me. My father too.”
Heeseung doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. You take a step closer. He doesn’t retreat, but the hand holding the knife lowers—just slightly. “I was just a child,” you whisper. The words crack at the edges. “I had no one. My coven abandoned me. I had to make my own way in this world, and every single day, I have had to live with what he did.” Your breath shudders in your chest. Your eyes burn. “I was never going to be a princess, Heeseung.” There is no anger in your voice anymore. No rage. No fire. Just grief, raw and aching, an open wound that never healed Heeseung clenches his jaw so tightly that the muscles twitch, his hands trembling at his sides. His grip on the knife loosens. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand. Like he’s trying to see you through the haze of betrayal. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he whispers, “I’ll let you go.” Your stomach plummets. His gaze is pained, torn apart at the seams, but he holds it steady.
“I’ll tell them I couldn’t find you.” His voice shakes. His lips press into a thin line as he swallows down something thick and heavy. “I’ll let you escape, just—” He takes a deep breath, ragged and uneven. “Just leave. Never come back.” Your heart pounds, hammering against your ribs with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. His hand twitches. His free hand almost reaches for you, but he stops himself, curling his fingers into a fist instead. “So I don’t have to hurt you,” he murmurs, voice breaking. His eyes flicker over your face, memorizing you. Holding on to the pieces of you he still recognizes. “Please.” You should take the offer. You should run. But you can’t. Not anymore. You were way too far in. You weren’t a quitter. You weren’t weak and you’d fight until your dying breath. Killing the King was the only option for you. Not running. You’d never run. Never.
The silence between you stretches like a blade—thin, sharp, and deadly. Heeseung is still trembling, his breath unsteady, his fingers twitching as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or push you away. His body is tense, wound so tight it looks like it might snap under the weight of what you’ve done—of what you’re about to do. You can see the war raging behind his eyes. The part of him that wants to trust you. The part of him that still loves you. And the part of him that has been trained his whole life to protect his kingdom—to protect the king who raised him. He takes a step closer. The knife is still in his hand, but his grip is loose, uncertain. “One last time,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I’m begging you. Please. Just leave. Disappear. Run. I’ll make sure no one follows you. I’ll say you vanished into the night, that I searched and searched, but I couldn’t find you.” His voice wavers, but the desperation in his eyes is unwavering. “Please,” he begs again, quieter this time. He might as well be on his hands and knees.
For a second you imagined a life where you agreed where you left and lived a hate free life. Where you lived a life not plagued by an unruly anger for the one who took your mother from you. How would it feel to hide away from the rest of the world and be content. Maybe in a small cabin, under the mountains. With Heeseung. Heeseung would be there. And you'd be married with so many children you could never be bored. That life wasn't possible. You’d be an idiot to have such fantasies because life was never fair. The ache in your chest is unbearable. You wish you could lie to him. You wish you could tell him what he wants to hear, just to take the anguish out of his voice. But you can’t. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady the storm inside you, but it’s impossible. “I can’t.” He flinches.
“I’m sorry, Heeseung,” you whisper, your throat thick with emotion. “I can’t leave. Not if he’s still alive.” His expression twists, pain flashing through his face like lightning across a stormy sky. His hands clench into fists, his whole body trembling, and for a moment, you think he might drop the knife. But he doesn’t. His jaw tightens. His breath shudders in his chest. “Why?” His voice is barely a whisper, but the agony in it cuts through you like a thousand knives. “Why is your revenge more important than your life?” You swallow hard, blinking back the tears burning in your eyes. “Because it’s all I have left.” The words hang in the air between you, suffocating. Heeseung stares at you, his face unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes—they are shattered, hollowed out by something deeper than just heartbreak. His grip on the knife tightens.
“My mother deserved better than to die screaming, being torn apart” you whisper, voice shaking. “She deserved justice. And if I don’t do this—if I let him live—then I am nothing. I will have nothing.” Heeseung’s face twists with something you can’t quite name. And then, in a voice so low and broken it barely reaches your ears, he murmurs, “And what about me?” Your breath catches. “What am I to you, then?” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Am I nothing?” The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, slipping silently down your cheeks. “You’re everything to me,” you choke out.
And it’s the truth. Heeseung’s face crumples. His shoulders shake. His entire body is wrecked with the weight of those words, of what they mean—of what they don’t mean. Because love isn’t enough. Not for you. Not for him. Your need to fight for your mother’s memory is stronger than the love blooming between you. And his duty—his oath—to protect his king is stronger than his love for you. It has to be. It has to be. Heeseung lets out a choked breath, somewhere between a sob and a broken laugh. He drags a hand through his hair, gripping at the strands like he’s trying to rip himself out of his own body, as if he can’t stand the weight of his own thoughts. “Tell me you hate me,” he whispers suddenly. You stiffen. “Tell me you used me.” His voice is thick, unsteady. “Tell me none of it meant anything, and I’ll—” He shakes his head, voice trembling. “I’ll let you go.” You squeeze your eyes shut. You could. You could say the words and make it easier for him. You could cut him open and make sure he never has to grieve you. You could turn him against you so he doesn’t have to hurt when this ends. But you’ve already hurt him enough.
You open your eyes, looking at the man who has made you question everything. The man who, against all odds, made you feel again. The man you love—but can never have. And you shake your head. “I won’t lie to you.” A tear slips down Heeseung’s cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. And then, after a long, shuddering breath, he lifts the knife once more.Not trembling this time. Not uncertain. Because if love isn’t strong enough to stop either of you—then neither is hesitation. The dagger slides between your ribs, sinking into your flesh with a slow, devastating finality. The pain is instant—white-hot, searing, an agony unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. But what truly breaks you isn’t the blade. It isn’t even the poison, creeping through your veins like liquid fire. It’s the look in Heeseung’s eyes. So devastatingly beautiful. So, broken. You broke him, you are exactly who you’ve always been. A monster. And you were going to die the death you deserved, in the arms of the man you loved but by the hands of the man you loved.
Tears stream down his face, his lips parted in silent devastation. His hands tremble as he lowers you gently to the ground, cradling you like you’re something fragile, like you aren’t already breaking apart in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice barely more than a breath. He presses his forehead against yours, his body shaking with grief. “I had to. I—I didn’t have a choice.” You can feel the poison sinking its claws into you, stealing the strength from your limbs, making it harder to breathe. The world around you begins to blur at the edges, fading like a dream unraveling into nothing. You reach up with what little strength you have left, your fingers curling over his. He’s still holding the dagger, his grip tight like he can’t bear to let go. Blood spills between your fingers, warm and thick, but you don’t care.
You squeeze his hand. “It’s okay,” you whisper, voice weak, shaking. “This was the only way to stop me.” And it was the truth. You would only give him the truth. Heeseung lets out a broken sound, something between a sob and a gasp. His other hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you before you slip away. “I wouldn’t have stopped,” you confess, blinking through the haze clouding your vision. “You know that, don’t you?” You let out a sharp breath “Because-..because you know me.” You laugh a little, it's short and winded but it's a laugh and it was real. He nods, his shoulders heaving with every ragged breath. More tears slip down your face, mingling with the blood pooling beneath you. “You did the right thing.”
Heeseung flinches, his grip on you tightening like he can somehow keep you here. “No,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.” his voice trembled, tears still falling from his eyes and down his cheeks. “But you did,” you insist, coughing as blood spills from your lips. You can taste the bitterness of it, the iron tang. “You did the right thing, Heeseung. I—I’m glad you did.” Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. The darkness is creeping closer now, curling around the edges of your vision, but you fight to keep your eyes open. Just for a little longer. Just to see him one last time. “I love you.” The words come out in a fragile whisper, but they are real. They are everything. A sob tears through him, raw and wrecked. He presses his lips to your forehead, his tears falling against your skin. “I love you too,” he breathes, voice shaking.
You smile, just barely. And then your body stills. Heeseung feels it the moment you slip away. The last breath leaving your lungs. The way your fingers relax, the light in your eyes dimming until there’s nothing left but the hollow, empty silence. His heart shatters. A broken, strangled cry rips from his throat, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you against him as if that will bring you back. His whole body shakes with grief, his face buried in your hair. The dagger is still in his hand. The blood is still warm. And the weight of what he has done—the weight of losing you—crushes him whole.
Epilogue.
Heeseung kneels before the king, head bowed, hands clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails threaten to pierce his skin. His face is carefully composed—stoic, unreadable—but inside, he is unraveling. “I failed, Your Majesty,” he says, voice low, heavy with carefully measured regret. “The witch is gone.” Silence falls over the throne room, thick and suffocating. The king’s fingers drum against the armrest of his gilded throne, his expression dark with fury. Heeseung does not flinch beneath his gaze, does not waver even as the weight of his own lie threatens to crush him.
“Gone?” the king finally echoes, his tone sharp. “How?” Heeseung lifts his head slightly, just enough to meet the king’s eyes without betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. “By the time we reached the catacombs, she had vanished without a trace. The guards and I searched the tunnels, the corridors, the perimeter of the castle. There was no sign of her.” The queen scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. “And you expect us to believe that a single witch, after all the effort she put into infiltrating our home, simply decided to flee?”
Heeseung forces himself to nod, his jaw tightening. “Yes, Your Majesty.” The king exhales sharply through his nose, his displeasure clear. He shifts in his seat, fingers stilling against the polished wood of his throne. “No trace at all?”
“No.” The lie tastes like ash on Heeseung’s tongue. The king curses under his breath before waving a dismissive hand. “Find her.” Heeseung bows his head again. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He doesn’t wait to be dismissed. He knows the conversation is over. The king is furious, but he believes him. Or, at the very least, he has no choice but to. Heeseung turns on his heel and strides out of the throne room, keeping his shoulders squared and his pace steady. Every step feels heavier than the last. Because the truth is buried deep beneath his feet.
-
The forest is quiet, the only sounds are the whisper of the wind through the trees and the distant calls of night creatures stirring from their slumber. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting silver light over the clearing. Heeseung stands at the edge of the earth he has disturbed, his breath unsteady as he looks down at the freshly turned soil. This was where the king had left her mother to rot. A shallow grave in an unmarked place. Forgotten, discarded like she was nothing. Heeseung couldn’t give her justice. He couldn’t save her. But he could give her this. He had carried her here himself, long after the dagger had stolen the last warmth from her body. He had cleaned the blood from her skin, brushed the hair from her face, whispered apologies that she would never hear. And then, with shaking hands, he had laid her to rest beside her mother. Not in an unmarked grave. Not forgotten. He had carved a name into the wood he placed at the head of the mound of earth. Not the name of the princess she had stolen, not the lie she had lived. Her true name.
The name that had been taken from her the night the king slaughtered her mother. Heeseung takes a shaky breath, sinking to his knees beside her grave. He presses a hand to the cold ground, his vision blurring. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words barely a breath. The wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves like a sigh. Heeseung closes his eyes. For the first time in his life, he wishes he had never been born in this kingdom. That he had never sworn an oath to the king, never pledged his loyalty to a crown soaked in the blood of innocents. For the first time in his life, he wishes he had been brave enough to run away with her. But there are no second chances. No rewinding time. So he sits in silence, keeping vigil over the woman he loved, mourning the life they never got to have. And when the sun begins to rise, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, Heeseung finally forces himself to stand. He does not say goodbye. Because he knows he will return. Because he knows he will never stop loving her. Because even in death, she is the only truth he has ever known.
genre: college au, eventual simp x simp dynamic, smut, slow burn
synopsis: getting partnered with jake, the tall awkward nerd from on of your computer science classes, should've been simple—work on the project, get your grade, move on. except now you're completely obsessed with him and he's totally clueless about it. between tutoring sessions you definitely don't need and "coincidental" dorm hall run-ins, you're pulling out all the stops. too bad jake's more interested in his textbooks than your very obvious flirting.
you've never been rejected before, so this should be fine.
…right?
warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut (oral sex(f. and m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, big dick!jake, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk!jake, dry humping, heavy makeout, whiny!jake), cursing, mild alcohol use, emotional manipulation, jealousy, themes of insecurity, angst, lots computer science related terms(i kind of geeked out here), reader's kind of delulu and a jerk
note: i'm back to my writing style for lighthearted fics for this one hehe. i lovelovelove nerdy shy men tropes sooo much. i did try to keep it a little realistic though. i hope you like this! enjoyyy
word count: 21.8k
taglist | more works!
you were alone in the computer science lab at nearly midnight, which wasn't unusual. assignments had a way of turning the building into a second home. but tonight felt wrong. everything felt too much. the lights buzzed too loud, drilling into your skull with that persistent electrical hum. your eyes burned from staring at your screen for four hours straight, vision going fuzzy at the edges. somewhere around hour three, you'd stopped actually processing code and started just staring through it.
your cold coffee sat forgotten beside your laptop, abandoned but still somehow necessary because the alternative was admitting defeat and going back to your dorm where your roommate and her boyfriend were probably still taking up the entire common space. you'd rather deal with this. the overstimulation. the way every tiny sound felt amplified in the empty lab. the aggressive brightness of your laptop screen. the uncomfortable pressure building behind your eyes that meant you were about to either cry or throw your laptop across the room. probably both.
your code wasn't working. hadn't been working for two days, and you'd tried everything. every forum suggestion, every stack overflow solution, every pathetic office hours visit where you'd explained your problem three times and still left confused. the cursor blinked at you on line two thousand and forty seven, mocking. the compiler kept throwing errors you didn't understand, and you'd rewritten that function six times already. your hands shook slightly from too much caffeine and not enough food. that tight, hot feeling crept up your throat. the one that signalled imminent breakdown.
you pressed your palms against your eyes until you saw spots, trying to reset something in your overwhelmed nervous system. didn't work. nothing worked tonight.
the silence in the lab was the worst part, it was so quiet that it made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your heartbeat, the small wet sound your tongue made against the roof of your mouth when you swallowed. you hated it.
then suddenly, the power cut out. total darkness that swallowed everything in an instant, your laptop screen going black, even the emergency exit signs disappearing. your heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flooding so fast you felt dizzy. you reached out instinctively for your laptop, fingers scrabbling across the desk, needing to confirm it was still there, that everything you'd been working on wasn't just gone.
suddenly you heard footsteps. someone else was in the lab. you hadn't known anyone else was here. the realisation sent fear spiking through your chest because you'd been so certain you were alone. now there was someone moving closer, footsteps uneven and hurried like they couldn't see any better than you. you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could form words there was sudden pressure against your shoulder, hard and unexpected, and then there was the splash of cold liquid, spreading across your lap and chest.
your coffee. the cup tipped and spilt, liquid soaking through your jeans, spreading sticky and uncomfortable across your thighs. panic hit first, pure and primal, because for a split second all you could think was laptop, everything's gone, hours of work, my entire project. your hands flew out in the darkness, patting frantically at the desk, trying to assess the damage. your chest was so tight you couldn't get a full breath.
then came the anger. fast and hot and overwhelming, rising from somewhere deep in your stomach. you wanted to scream. wanted to grab whoever crashed into you and shake them. wanted to cry from sheer frustration because this was exactly what you didn't need tonight, not when you were already hanging on by a thread.
"oh my god, oh my god, i'm so sorry, i didn't see you, i didn't think anyone else was here, i'm so sorry." the voice came rapid-fire from somewhere to your left. male, young, pitched higher than normal with genuine distress.
he kept apologising, words tumbling over each other, and there was something in his tone that didn't sound rehearsed. he sounded actually afraid, like he'd just committed some unforgivable sin.
"i didn't mean to, i couldn't see, the power just went out and i was trying to get to the door and i'm so sorry, did it get on your laptop? please tell me it didn't get on your laptop."
you took a breath, trying to force words past the tightness in your throat, trying to formulate some response that matched the fury still coursing through your veins. your mouth opened, something sharp and cutting right on the edge of your tongue.
the emergency lighting kicked in. not much, just pale green strips along the baseboards casting everything in eerie, insufficient glow. enough to see by. enough to make out shapes, faces.
the guy who'd run into you stood about two feet away, and the first thing you noticed was his hands. hovering in the air between you, trembling visibly even in the dim light, fingers spread like he wanted to help but didn't dare touch anything. he was tall and lean, dark hair stuck up in odd directions like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. glasses had slipped down his nose, and behind them his eyes were wide. genuinely panicked in a way that didn't feel performed at all.
"your laptop," he said, voice still shaking with that same desperate concern. "what model is it? did the coffee get on it? the keyboard is the main concern, if liquid got into the keyboard we need to shut it down immediately and flip it over to drain, we need to know if you had everything backed up."
he was already moving closer, trembling hands reaching toward your desk, and you realised with a start that he hadn't even looked at you properly yet. his entire focus was on your laptop. on the problem he'd created. on fixing it.
"it's fine," you managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. you looked down at your computer. sitting safely to the right of where your coffee had been, completely dry and unharmed. "it didn't get on it."
the relief that washed over his face was so profound you almost felt embarrassed witnessing it. his shoulders sagged. his hands finally dropped to his sides. he let out a long, shaky breath like he'd been holding it since the collision.
"okay. okay, that's good, that's really good." then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes finally moved to actually look at you. taking in your coffee-soaked lap, your tense posture, your expression which you were sure wasn't friendly. "are you okay? did you get burned? that coffee looked hot, if it was hot we should get you to a sink, run cold water on it."
"it was cold," you said. true, but didn't make the situation better. your jeans were soaked through, fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, coffee starting to seep into your chair. you were sticky and irritated and still running on too much adrenaline. but he looked so genuinely distressed that some of your anger started deflating despite yourself.
"cold coffee is still a problem," he said, already pulling his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it with fumbling fingers. "the sugar content means it'll get sticky when it dries, and it can stain, especially on lighter fabrics. i have napkins, i think, or maybe paper towels, i definitely have something."
he was rummaging through his bag now, pulling out crumpled papers, a graphing calculator, several pens, tangled earbuds, talking the entire time in that same rapid, anxious way.
"i'm really sorry, i should have been more careful, i knew the power was out, i should have used my phone flashlight, i just thought i knew the layout well enough to navigate in the dark but obviously i was wrong."
you watched him. something uncomfortable shifted in your chest. you'd been prepared to snap at him, to unleash all your accumulated frustration on whoever had been careless enough to run into you. but he wasn't making excuses. wasn't trying to minimise what he'd done or deflect blame or make some joke to lighten the mood. he was just genuinely, almost painfully concerned about the problem he'd created. the way he kept apologising, kept trying to fix things, made it very hard to stay angry.
"here," he said triumphantly, producing a small pack of tissues from the bottom of his bag. he held them out, then seemed to realise how inadequate they were and let out a frustrated sound. "these aren't going to be enough. we should go to the bathroom, get some actual paper towels. or maybe the kitchen area on the second floor, they have those industrial dispensers that are way more absorbent."
he paused, finally seeming to register that you hadn't moved, that you were just sitting there watching him. his ears went red, visible even in the dim green emergency lighting. "sorry, i'm sorry, i'm doing it again. my sister always tells me i go into problem-solving mode when i'm anxious and it makes people feel like i'm not actually listening to them. are you okay? like, actually okay, not just physically okay?"
the question caught you off guard. nobody had asked you that in days. maybe weeks. everyone just assumed you were fine because you were handling things, meeting deadlines, showing up to class. but this stranger who'd just spilt coffee all over you was looking at you with genuine concern, waiting for a real answer. something in your chest felt suddenly too tight.
"i'm fine," you said, softer than intended. you took the tissues from him, dabbing uselessly at your jeans. he was right. they weren't nearly enough. but the gesture felt important somehow. "it's been a long night."
"assignments?" he asked. when you nodded he made a sympathetic noise. "yeah, same. i've been here since six. had a project deadline at midnight but then the power went out fifteen minutes before and now i don't know if my submission went through because the wifi died with the electricity." he pushed his glasses up his nose. nervous gesture you got the impression he did frequently.
"i'm jake, by the way. jake sim. i feel like i should probably introduce myself since i just, like, assaulted you with your own beverage."
despite everything, ruined jeans and exhaustion and broken code, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. not quite a smile, but close. "assaulted me with my own beverage?"
"well, yeah," he said, looking vaguely embarrassed. "i mean, i weaponised your coffee against you. that's technically assault, right? or maybe battery? i always get those mixed up. my roommate's a poli-sci major, he'd know."
he was rambling now, words spilling out in that same anxious rush, and there was something almost endearing about how completely lacking in artifice it was. he wasn't trying to be charming. wasn't trying to be funny. just genuinely nervous and dealing with it by talking too much.
you told him your name. he repeated it carefully, like he was committing it to memory. "i really am sorry," he said again, quieter this time. "what were you working on? before i interrupted?"
"data structures project," you said. just thinking about it made your shoulders tense again. "it's due tomorrow and there's a bug i can't figure out and i've been staring at it for hours."
his eyes lit up behind his glasses, spark of interest that transformed his whole face. "what kind of bug? runtime error? logic error? is it a pointer issue? those are always the worst, especially with linked lists."
he was already moving closer to your laptop, stopping himself at the last second like he'd realised he was being presumptuous. "sorry, i mean, i could take a look if you want? i'm pretty good with data structures. it's kind of my thing. i'm a TA for comp 201 actually, so i see a lot of common bugs. but also totally no pressure, i know i just dumped coffee on you so you probably don't want my help."
you should have said no. didn't know this guy, didn't owe him anything. you'd been managing just fine on your own. except you hadn't been managing fine. you'd been on the verge of a breakdown in an empty lab at midnight. now here was this nervous, rambling stranger offering help without expecting anything in return, looking at you like your problem was genuinely important to him.
it was disorienting. how quickly your anger had evaporated, replaced by something you couldn't quite name. you found yourself noticing details you shouldn't care about. the way he kept pushing his glasses up. the way his hands had finally stopped shaking now that he had something concrete to focus on.
"okay," you heard yourself say. his whole face brightened in a way that made something flutter uncomfortably in your stomach. "yeah, if you don't mind looking at it."
"i don't mind at all," he said quickly, already pulling up a chair. he left careful distance between you though, hyper-aware of not invading your space again. "show me what you've got."
you turned your laptop toward him. he leaned in, eyes scanning the lines with immediate focus. his expression shifted into something concentrated, intense. this was probably what he looked like when he wasn't tripping over people in the dark and panicking about it. he started asking questions about your implementation, your logic, what you'd already tried. his voice had lost that nervous edge. this was clearly where he was comfortable. in the clean logic of code, in problems that had solutions.
you answered his questions. watched as he nodded, occasionally pushing his glasses up, finger tracing lines of code on the screen without quite touching it. the emergency lighting cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.
you were noticing things you shouldn't notice. but you told yourself it wasn't because you found him attractive. you were just paying attention because he was helping. because he'd disrupted your solitary misery and replaced it with something else. something that felt almost like companionship.
"there," he said suddenly, pointing to a line in the middle of your function. "you're incrementing the counter before you check the condition, but you need to check the condition first. it's causing an off-by-one error. see? you're accessing index n when your array only goes up to n minus one."
you stared at the line he was indicating. slowly, horribly, you realised he was right. such a simple mistake, the kind of thing you should have caught hours ago. but you'd been too tired, too frustrated, too deep in your own head to see it. "oh my god," you said quietly. "that's it. that's the whole problem."
"easy fix," jake said, smiling now. a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "just move that line down two spaces and add the conditional check first. you want me to...?" he gestured at your keyboard, asking permission. you nodded, watched as he made the adjustment with quick, confident keystrokes. "there. try running it now."
you hit compile, holding your breath. for the first time in two days the program ran without errors. the output printed exactly the way it was supposed to. clean and correct and perfect. relief flooded through you so intensely you felt dizzy with it, all the tension you'd been carrying suddenly releasing at once. "thank you," you said, voice more emotional than intended. "seriously, thank you, i've been losing my mind over this."
"it happens to everyone," jake said gently. "sometimes you just need fresh eyes. i've definitely been there." he leaned back in his chair, that nervous energy returning now that the immediate problem was solved. "your code is really clean, by the way. like, really well-structured. that bug was literally the only issue, everything else is solid."
the compliment settled warm in your chest. you realised with a start that you felt calm. actually calm, for the first time all night. your heart rate had slowed. your hands were steady. the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes had eased.
the lab was still too quiet, the emergency lighting still eerie and insufficient, your jeans still soaked with cold coffee. but somehow none of it felt as unbearable as it had fifteen minutes ago. and that was because of him. because jake had crashed into you in the dark and apologised too much and fixed your code and made you feel less alone in this empty building at midnight.
jake was gathering his things, shoving papers and pens back into his backpack with the same energy he'd had while searching for tissues. "i should probably try to find someone about the power situation," he said. "and you should probably change before that coffee stains permanently. there's a campus store in the student centre that's open twenty-four hours, they have overpriced sweatpants but at least they're dry."
"yeah," you said, surprised to find you didn't want him to leave yet. "yeah, i probably should."
he stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and hesitated. "hey, um. if you ever need help with code stuff again, or if you just want to work in the lab at the same time, i'm here most nights. usually not spilling beverages on people, but, you know. tonight was special." he smiled awkwardly. you found yourself smiling back, a real smile this time.
"i might take you up on that," you said. meant it.
jake's expression brightened again. that same transformation you'd noticed earlier. he nodded. "cool. yeah, that would be cool. okay. i'm gonna go now before i accidentally break something else." he gave you a small wave, started toward the door, then turned back. "your code really is good, by the way. i wasn't just saying that."
then he was gone, disappearing into the dark hallway beyond the lab. you were alone again. but that realisation, that awareness that a stranger's clumsy kindness had affected you so much, sat uncomfortable and warm in your chest as you saved your work and finally, finally, packed up to leave.
you walked into your lecture the next morning running on four hours of sleep and caffeine-induced alertness that felt vaguely hallucinogenic. your jeans from last night were balled up in your laundry basket, probably stained beyond saving, and you'd thrown on the first clean thing you could find.
you slid into your usual spot next to yunjin, who was already comparing notes with beomgyu across the aisle. they were your people. your safe zone. the ones you'd suffered through intro courses with, pulled all-nighters with, shared desperate pre-exam breakdowns with.
"you look like death," yunjin said cheerfully, not looking up from her phone.
"thanks. love you too."
"late night?" beomgyu leaned over, stealing one of yunjin's chips. "you missed the group chat meltdown about the algorithms homework."
you hummed noncommittally, pulling out your laptop. your code from last night was still open, that perfect, error-free output staring back at you. you'd submitted it at 12:47 am, seventeen minutes after jake had fixed it. seventeen minutes after he'd disappeared down that dark hallway.
you hadn't told yunjin and beomgyu about any of it. the power outage, the coffee, jake. especially jake. it felt somehow private, like explaining it would cheapen it or make it feel less significant than it had been in the moment.
professor kim walked in, and the room settled into that particular brand of restless attention that morning lectures always had. "alright, alright," she said, pulling up a slide that made half the room groan in unison. "i know you're all thrilled to hear this, but it's time to discuss your semester-long project."
chairs scraped against floors as people twisted around to look at their friends. voices overlapped, people already calling out names, forming pairs out of habit and convenience. you felt yunjin's hand on your arm at the same time beomgyu leaned over.
"partners?" yunjin said.
"obviously we're doing a group," beomgyu added. "the three of us, right?"
you nodded, half-listening, your attention already drifting across the lecture hall. you weren't sure what you were looking for until you found it. him. jake was sitting near the back with a small group of guys you vaguely recognised from other cs classes. he was hunched slightly over his notebook, pen moving across the page, taking notes while everyone else was busy forming alliances. his hair was even messier today, sticking up on one side like he'd rolled out of bed. his glasses kept sliding down his nose and he kept pushing them back up with his index finger, that same nervous gesture from last night.
he looked small somehow, despite being tall. like he was trying to take up less space. one of his friends said something and laughed, nudging jake's shoulder, but jake just smiled politely without really engaging. his attention stayed on his notebook.
you watched him for a moment longer than necessary. watched the way his shoulders curved inward, the way he held his pen, the concentrated furrow of his brow. something in your chest did an uncomfortable little flip.
"so we're agreed then?" yunjin was saying. "i'll handle the frontend, beomgyu can do the database stuff, and you can—"
you stood up. the decision happened before you'd fully processed it, your body moving on instinct or impulse or something you didn't want to examine too closely. your chair scraped loud enough that a few people glanced over.
"actually," you said, already stepping past beomgyu into the aisle. "i'm gonna partner with someone else."
"what?" yunjin's voice pitched up in genuine confusion. "who?"
but you were already walking. moving up the steps toward the back of the lecture hall, weaving between people who were still negotiating partnerships and arguing about skill distributions. you were aware of people watching. of yunjin and beomgyu's matching expressions of confusion. of the way conversations paused as you passed.
jake's friends noticed you first. one of them, a guy with bleached hair, nudged jake's arm and nodded in your direction. another one went quiet mid-sentence, eyes tracking your approach with unconcealed curiosity. jake looked up last, following their gazes, and when his eyes met yours he froze. actually froze, pen suspended over his notebook, lips slightly parted like he'd been about to say something and forgotten how.
you stopped at the edge of their row. suddenly hyperaware of how many people were definitely watching this interaction. "hey," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near awkward. "you have a partner yet?"
jake blinked. once, twice. his friends were staring at him now, then at you, then back at him like they were watching a tennis match. "i—what?"
"for the project," you clarified, gesturing vaguely at professor kim who was still explaining requirements at the front of the room. "do you have a partner?"
"i—" jake's hand came up to push his glasses up his nose even though they hadn't moved. his ears were already turning red. "no? i mean, no, i don't, but—" he glanced at his friends, then back at you, looking genuinely lost. "are you—do you mean—"
"i'm asking if you want to partner up," you said, more directly this time. your heart was doing something weird and arrhythmic in your chest. "for the semester project."
the guy with bleached hair made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. another one of jake's friends just gaped openly. jake himself looked like you'd just spoken to him in a language he only half understood. "you want to—with me?"
"yeah."
"but—" he gestured helplessly toward where yunjin and beomgyu were sitting, both of them now watching with unconcealed shock. "don't you usually work with your friends? i thought—"
"i'm asking you," you said, cutting him off before he could talk himself out of it or before you could overthink what you were doing. "if you already have other plans it's fine, i just thought—" you paused, scrambling for justification that didn't sound insane. "you're good at this stuff. you're a TA. you knew exactly what was wrong with my code last night in like, five seconds. it makes sense. strategically."
strategically. god, you sounded unhinged.
jake stared at you. his friends stared at you. half the lecture hall was probably staring at you at this point. "i—" jake swallowed visibly. "yeah. yes. i mean, if you want to, then—yeah. okay."
"yeah?"
"yeah." he nodded, more firmly this time, though he still looked vaguely shell-shocked. "we can—yeah. that would be—yeah."
his friends exchanged glances that were absolutely loaded with unspoken communication. the bleached hair guy, jungwon you think, was grinning now, looking between you and jake like he'd just witnessed something phenomenal. "well," he said, voice thick with amusement, "this is interesting."
you ignored him. "cool. we should probably meet up sometime this week to go over the requirements?"
"yeah, definitely," jake said quickly, already pulling out his phone with hands that trembled slightly. "i can—do you want my number? or i can get yours, or—we could use email if that's easier—"
"number's fine." you rattled it off, watching him type it into his contacts with endearing focus, tongue poking slightly between his teeth. when he looked up his expression was softer, less panicked. almost shy.
"okay," he said. "i'll text you?"
"sounds good."
you turned to head back down to your seat, acutely aware of the weight of multiple stares following your retreat. yunjin grabbed your arm the second you sat down, eyes wide with questions, but professor kim chose that moment to actually start the lecture and yunjin had to settle for furious whisper-hissing "what the hell was that?" while you studiously ignored her.
you pulled up your laptop, pretending to focus on the slides about project requirements and grading rubrics. but your attention kept drifting. you could feel it, that awareness of jake sitting several rows behind you. you wondered if he was taking notes. if his friends were grilling him. if his ears were still red.
you told yourself this was practical. logical. jake was skilled, focused, clearly knew his stuff. working with him made sense from a grades perspective, from an efficiency perspective. it was a smart choice. strategic, like you'd said.
but the justification felt thin even as you repeated it to yourself. because practical partnerships didn't make your pulse spike like this. strategic choices didn't leave you feeling weirdly breathless, or hyperaware of your phone in your pocket, waiting for a text that might come in an hour or a day. smart decisions didn't come with this flutter of satisfaction sitting warm and dangerous in your chest, the kind that felt unearned and a little reckless.
you'd just chosen jake over your actual friends for a semester-long project. you'd walked across the entire lecture hall in front of everyone to ask him specifically. you'd done it without planning it, without fully understanding why, acting on instinct alone.
your phone buzzed. you grabbed it maybe too quickly, ignoring yunjin's pointed look.
unknown number: hi, it's jake. from the lab? and also from just now. obviously. you know who i am. anyway this is my number.
unknown number: we can meet whenever works for you btw. i'm pretty flexible.
unknown number: sorry i'm rambling over text now apparently. i'll stop.
despite everything, despite the weirdness of the entire situation, you felt yourself smile. properly smile, which made yunjin lean over and whisper, "oh my god, you're blushing," which you absolutely were not.
you saved his number. typed out a response. deleted it. typed it again.
you: library tomorrow at 6?
his reply came almost instantly.
jake: perfect. i'll see you there.
yeah. perfect. that's exactly what this was.
you'd gotten there ten minutes early, which was ridiculous and you knew it, but you'd told yourself it was just to secure a good table. not because you were nervous. definitely not because you'd changed your shirt three times.
jake showed up at 6:02, slightly out of breath like he'd been rushing, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair even messier than usual.
"sorry, sorry," he said, sliding into the chair across from you. "my last class ran over and then i couldn't find my charger and—" he stopped himself, ears going pink. "sorry. you don't need the full explanation. i'm here now."
"you're fine," you said, surprised by how much you meant it. "i just got here too."
it was a lie, but whatever.
he pulled out his laptop, a slightly battered thing covered in tech company stickers, and immediately opened what looked like a meticulously organised project folder.
"so i was thinking we could start by breaking down the requirements," he said, already pulling up the assignment sheet. "if we divide it into modules we can work on different parts simultaneously and then integrate everything at the end. i made a rough outline last night, but obviously we can change whatever you want."
you blinked at him. "you made an outline? already?"
"i—yeah?" he looked uncertain suddenly, like he'd done something wrong. "was that—should i not have? i just thought it would be helpful to have a starting point, but if you wanted to plan it together—"
"no, that's—" you leaned closer to look at his screen, close enough that you could smell whatever soap or shampoo he used. something clean and faintly citrusy. "that's really good actually. you're like, super organised."
"oh." he pushed his glasses up, not quite meeting your eyes. "thanks. i just like having things structured, it makes the actual coding part less chaotic."
you shifted your chair around the table, closing the distance between you under the pretence of seeing his screen better. your knees almost touched under the table. jake didn't seem to notice, already walking you through his outline with the kind of focused enthusiasm that made his whole face more animated. he talked with his hands a little, you realised. small gestures that punctuated his explanations.
it was kind of endearing. he was kind of endearing, in this unpolished, genuine way that made you want to keep watching him talk even though you should probably be paying attention to the actual content of what he was saying.
"—so if we use that framework it'll save us a ton of time on the backend. does that make sense?" he glanced at you, expectant.
"yeah, totally," you said, even though you'd caught maybe half of it. "you're really good at this."
"at what?"
"explaining things. breaking stuff down." you let your voice soften deliberately, the kind of tone you'd use on someone you were interested in. testing. "you must be a really good TA."
jake's expression brightened with genuine pleasure, completely innocent. "oh, thanks! i really like teaching actually. it's really satisfying when something clicks for someone, you know?" he turned back to his laptop. "okay so for the first module, i was thinking we could—"
you felt something deflate slightly in your chest. he'd just. moved on. thanked you politely and redirected straight back to work like you'd commented on the weather.
you tried again twenty minutes later, when he'd finished explaining the database architecture. "seriously, how is your brain even wired like this?" you said, letting your hand rest on the table between you, close enough to his that moving a few inches would mean touching. "like, this would've taken me hours to figure out and you just see it."
"i mean, i've been coding since i was like twelve," jake said, smiling in that self-deprecating way that made your stomach flip. "my dad's a software engineer so i kind of grew up around it. you'd be just as good if you'd had the same exposure."
he grabbed his water bottle, took a sip, completely oblivious to the way you were looking at him. "anyway, should we start on the initial setup? i can handle the repository if you want to draft the pseudocode for the first function?"
"sure," you said, trying not to sound as frustrated as you felt.
it continued like that. you'd find little ways to compliment him, to touch his arm when he said something funny, to lean into his space. and every single time jake would light up with friendly appreciation and then just. keep going. keep working. keep being nice in this utterly platonic way that was starting to drive you slightly insane.
when you suggested taking a break and offered to buy him coffee, he'd said "oh that's so sweet, but i'm good, i don't want to lose momentum." when you'd asked about his hobbies, trying to find some common ground beyond code, he'd given you a genuine answer about gaming and soccer and then immediately asked about your hobbies with the same earnest interest he gave to literally everything.
he wasn't being cold. wasn't being dismissive. he was just. friendly. sincerely friendly in a way that suggested he thought you were also just being friendly and nothing more. the idea that you might be flirting with him clearly hadn't even crossed his mind.
it shouldn't have bothered you. it was one study session. you barely knew him. but there was something about the way he was so completely unaffected that made you want to push harder, try more obviously, make him see you the way you were apparently seeing him.
which was insane. you were being insane.
"okay i think that's a good stopping point," jake said eventually, glancing at his phone. "we got through way more than i expected, honestly. you're really fast at this."
"we work well together," you said, maybe too much emphasis on the together part.
"yeah," he agreed easily, already packing up his stuff. "this is gonna be way less painful than i thought. usually group projects are a nightmare but i think we're pretty compatible."
compatible. he said it like he was talking about software versions.
you packed up your own stuff, trying to shake off whatever weird frustrated feeling had settled in your chest. this was good. you had a competent partner who was easy to work with. that's what mattered. not whether he noticed when you laughed at his jokes or sat closer than strictly necessary.
the library had gotten dark outside while you'd been working, the early winter darkness that feeking too heavy for eight pm. you pushed through the doors together, the cold air immediately biting at your face.
"which way are you headed?" jake asked, adjusting his backpack.
you pointed toward the east side of campus. "miller hall."
jake stopped walking. just fully stopped and stared at you. "wait, seriously?"
"yeah?"
"i'm in miller," he said, and his face did this thing, this open, delighted thing like you'd just told him something genuinely exciting. "i'm on the fourth floor. what floor are you?"
"third," you said, trying to keep your voice normal even though your brain was already racing ahead. same building. same building. you lived in the same building and you hadn't known. "that's—what are the odds?"
"i know, right?" jake fell into step beside you, and he seemed more relaxed now, less formal than he'd been in the library. "i can't believe we haven't run into each other before. though i guess i'm not around that much, i'm usually either in class or the lab or—" he laughed. "okay i'm making myself sound really boring."
"no you're not," you said, maybe too quickly. "i'm the same way. especially during midterms."
"the worst," he agreed. "hey, at least now if we need to meet up for the project it's super convenient. we can literally just knock on each other's doors."
he said it so casually. so normally, like it was just a nice logistical benefit and nothing more. meanwhile your mind was already cataloguing possibilities. you could time your meals to match his schedule. figure out when he usually left for class. find reasons to be in the common areas when he might pass through. it would look natural, coincidental. just friendly neighbors running into each other.
you were already strategising.
the realisation made something uncomfortable twist in your stomach. this was. this was too much maybe. you were thinking about him too much, cataloguing details about him like you were studying for an exam. getting frustrated when he didn't respond to your flirting even though you had no actual reason to expect him to. you'd had one late-night interaction and now one study session and somehow you were already rearranging your mental map of campus to accommodate his presence in it.
"you good?" jake asked, and you realised you'd gone quiet.
"yeah, just tired."
"same." he smiled at you, easy and warm. "thanks for picking me as your partner, by the way. i know you could've worked with your friends and i'm—i'm really glad you asked me instead. i think this is gonna be fun."
fun. he was looking forward to the project because he thought it would be fun. because he liked coding and teaching and he probably thought you were a cool person to work with. he was just. happy to have company. happy to make a new friend.
meanwhile you were over here planning imaginary coincidental run-ins and getting weirdly possessive over someone who didn't even know you liked him.
god, you were pathetic.
"yeah," you managed. "me too."
you reached miller hall, and jake held the door open for you, still talking about some technique he wanted to try for the project. you half-listened, watching the way his hair flopped over his forehead, the animated way he gestured when he got excited about something.
the elevator ride to your floor felt too short. jake got off with you, said he'd just walk up the extra flight of stairs for the exercise. "text me if you think of anything for the project," he said, already heading toward the stairwell. "or honestly just text me whenever. i'm always on my phone."
then he was gone, and you were standing alone in the hallway outside your door, feeling weirdly deflated and wired at the same time.
your phone buzzed before you'd even gotten your key out.
jake: forgot to say this but your idea for the UI was really smart. i think it's gonna make the whole thing way more intuitive.
jake: ok NOW i'm done bothering you. have a good night!
you stared at the messages, that dangerous warm feeling spreading through your chest again. he'd texted you immediately to compliment your idea. with absolutely no prompting.
you were smiling at your phone like an idiot.
yeah. you were definitely pathetic.
"i'm just saying, he's clearly not interested," yunjin said, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary. "like, you've tried everything."
you were sitting in the dining hall, picking at your food while yunjin and beomgyu conducted what was essentially an intervention about your jake situation. an intervention you hadn't asked for and definitely didn't want.
"maybe he's just shy," you said, defensive.
beomgyu snorted. "shy guys still notice when someone's flirting with them. they just get weird about it. this guy sounds like he genuinely has no idea."
"which means he's not into you," yunjin added, gentler now. "and that's fine, you know? you can just be project partners. you don't have to keep torturing yourself."
except the thing was, you weren't entirely convinced jake wasn't interested. or maybe you just didn't want to accept it yet. because he texted you unprompted sometimes, sent you memes he thought you'd find funny, always smiled when he saw you in the hallway. that had to mean something, right?
"i'm not torturing myself," you muttered.
"you've mentioned him like fifteen times in the past hour," beomgyu pointed out.
"have not."
"you literally just told us about how he holds his pen. his pen."
okay. maybe you were torturing yourself a little.
you left the dining hall feeling irritated and restless, your friends' words circling in your head. he's not interested. he has no idea. you're torturing yourself. maybe they were right. probably they were right. you should just focus on the project, get a good grade, and move on like a normal person.
you were cutting through the student centre, not really paying attention to where you were going, when you passed the community bulletin board. the usual chaos of flyers and posters, study abroad programs, club meetings, someone selling a barely-used microwave. your eyes skimmed over it automatically, not really looking.
then you saw his name.
TUTORING AVAILABLE - COMP 101, 201, 301
patient, experienced, flexible schedule
contact: jake sim
there was a row of little tear-off tabs at the bottom with his phone number. several were already missing. the flyer itself was simple, almost plain. you stared at it. people flowed around you, conversations and footsteps and the ambient noise of the student centre, but you just stood there staring at jake's handwritten flyer.
you didn't need tutoring. your grades were fine. good, even. you and jake were in the same advanced class, for god's sake. he'd probably seen your test scores when he was TAing. this would be…obvious. wouldn't it? taking a tab would be transparent and desperate and—
your hand moved before you'd fully decided. the paper tore with a soft sound that felt too loud. you stared at the little strip in your palm, jake's number printed in his neat handwriting even though you already had it saved in your phone.
what were you doing?
you shoved the tab in your pocket and walked away quickly, like someone might have witnessed you doing something incriminating. your heart was beating too fast. this was insane. this was transparent. he was going to see right through it.
but.
but it was also legitimate, wasn't it? people got tutoring all the time, even when their grades were fine. wanting to understand the material better, wanting a different perspective, wanting to be extra prepared. those were all valid reasons. normal reasons. and yeah, maybe you had ulterior motives, but the cover story was solid enough that you could maintain plausible deniability. to him. to yourself.
you made it back to your dorm before you pulled out your phone.
you: hey! i saw your tutoring flyer in the student centre. do you still have availability?
you hit send before you could overthink it. then immediately started overthinking it anyway. he was going to ask why. he was going to point out that you clearly didn't need help. he was going to—
your phone buzzed.
jake<3: oh hey! yeah i have some slots open. but wait, aren't you doing pretty well in class? i've seen your test scores when i'm grading and you're like, consistently in the top range
jake<3: not that you CAN'T get tutoring obviously! everyone can benefit from extra help
jake<3: i just want to make sure you actually need it and aren't just being nice or something
god, he was even considerate about this. checking in to make sure you weren't wasting your time or money on something you didn't need. being thoughtful and genuine while you were over here manipulating the situation to manufacture more time with him.
you felt a twinge of something uncomfortable. guilt maybe. but you pushed it down.
you: i mean yeah my grades are okay, but i feel like i'm just memorising patterns without really UNDERSTANDING the concepts you know? like i can solve the problems but i couldn't explain WHY
you: i just want to make sure i actually get it. especially since the material keeps building on itself
it wasn't entirely a lie. you did sometimes feel like you were pattern-matching your way through assignments. and deeper understanding was always good. these were reasonable concerns. the fact that they weren't your primary motivation didn't make them untrue.
jake<3: oh yeah that makes total sense actually. i see that a lot with students. they can execute but the underlying logic isn't solid
jake<3: okay yeah we can definitely work on that! my rate is $20/hour but honestly for you i'd be happy to just do it for free? since we're already working together on the project anyway
you: no way i'm paying you. you're already helping me so much with the project
jake<3: the project is a two person thing, you're helping me just as much
jake<3: but okay we can argue about payment later. when works for you?
you felt that warm, dangerous flutter again. he'd offered to tutor you for free. just casually, like it was no big deal. like spending extra time with you was something he actively wanted to do, even without compensation.
you: i'm pretty flexible. whenever you have time
jake<3: thursdays at 7? we could do the library again or somewhere on our floor if you want somewhere quieter
jake<3: also i promise i'll actually TEACH and not just fix your code for you like last time lol
you smiled at your phone. somewhere on your floor. which meant his room or yours. which meant private, just the two of you, no other students around.
you: thursdays work for me!
jake<3: cool! we can switch off. i'll bring snacks
jake<3: this'll be fun :)
he'd sent a smiley face. an actual emoticon. it shouldn't have made your heart skip but it did.
you locked your phone and sat on your bed, that satisfaction settling warm in your chest. you'd done it. you'd created a legitimate, recurring excuse to see jake outside of project work. an hour a week, minimum, where you'd have his complete attention. where you could sit close to him in the privacy of a dorm room, help him help you, let those boundaries get just a little bit blurrier.
it was harmless. he was offering tutoring anyway, you were just taking him up on it. and yeah, maybe your motivations weren't entirely pure, but you weren't lying to him. not really. you did want to understand the material better. the fact that you also wanted to be around him more was just. additional context. secondary reasoning.
you were being smart about this, honestly. creating opportunities without being pushy. letting things develop naturally within structures that already existed.
you ignored the small, quiet voice in the back of your mind that whispered this was too much. that you were engineering situations and manufacturing proximity and maybe that wasn't as harmless as you wanted to believe. that jake was offering to help you in good faith while you had an agenda he knew nothing about.
you were good at ignoring that voice.
your phone buzzed again.
jake<3: btw i've been thinking about the database structure and i had an idea
and just like that you were smiling again, typing back, that uncomfortable feeling dissolving into something easier and warmer and more immediately gratifying.
it was fine. everything was fine. this was just tutoring. just spending time with someone you enjoyed being around. there was nothing wrong with that.
nothing wrong with it at all.
you'd been doing the tutoring sessions for three weeks when your roommate officially moved out. well, not officially officially. her stuff was still there, her side of the room still technically occupied. but she'd been spending every night at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment for the past month, and one day she just stopped pretending she was coming back.
"i'm still paying rent," she'd said, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "so like, it's still my room. i'll probably crash here sometimes. but you basically have the place to yourself."
you'd nodded sympathetically while internally celebrating. your own space. privacy. no need to coordinate schedules or deal with her boyfriend's annoying habits. it was perfect.
it took you less than a day to realise it was perfect for other reasons too.
the next tutoring session was supposed to be in the library. thursday at seven, like always. but you'd been sitting in your empty apartment that afternoon, looking at your space with new eyes, and the idea had planted itself so naturally you'd almost convinced yourself it was practical.
you: hey, would you maybe want to do tutoring at my place tonight instead? my roommate moved in with her boyfriend so it's way quieter than the library
you: totally fine if you prefer the library though!
the response took longer than usual. long enough that you started second-guessing yourself. maybe this was too much. too obvious. crossing some line from study partner into something else.
jake<3: oh
jake<3: um
jake<3: yeah that's fine. if you're sure?
jake<3: i don't want to like. intrude or anything
jake<3: but yeah quieter is definitely better for focusing
you: you're not intruding i literally invited you haha
you: i'm in 3B. just come by at 7
jake<3: okay! see you then
you spent the next two hours in a cleaning frenzy you absolutely did not want to examine too closely. you weren't trying to impress him. you just wanted the place to look nice and presentable. the fact that you changed your clothes twice and lit a candle that made the whole apartment smell like vanilla and sandalwood was just. coincidence.
the knock came at exactly seven. jake was annoyingly punctual.
you opened the door to find him standing in the hallway looking uncertain, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a bag of chips. "hi," he said. "i brought snacks. i didn't know what you liked so i just got the variety pack."
"you didn't have to do that."
"i know, but—" he shifted his weight. "i don't know, it felt weird showing up empty-handed."
you stepped back to let him in, watching as he moved into your space with obvious hesitation. he didn't walk in so much as carefully entered, like he was worried about disturbing something. his eyes went immediately to your walls, taking in the art prints you'd hung, the string lights, the bookshelf crammed with novels and textbooks. then to your desk setup, the small kitchen area, the couch that your roommate had left behind.
"wow," he said quietly. "this is. really nice."
"it's just a dorm apartment."
"no, i know, but—" he gestured vaguely at everything. "it's decorated. like, actually decorated. my place looks like a prison cell compared to this." he was still standing near the door, like he hadn't fully committed to being here. "is that an original print?"
you glanced at the framed artwork he was pointing at. "yeah. local artist. i got it at a campus market thing."
"it's really cool." he finally took a few more steps inside, setting his backpack down carefully on the floor like he was afraid it might scuff something. his attention caught on your kitchen counter, where you'd left out the fancy coffee you'd bought yesterday. the expensive cheese and crackers. the fruit you'd pre-cut and arranged in a bowl because apparently you were that person now.
jake went quiet for a second. then he laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable. "okay i have to ask. are you like, rich?"
you felt your face heat. "what? no."
"because this—" he gestured at your apartment again, at the candle burning on your coffee table, the throw blanket artfully draped over your couch, the general aesthetic coherence of the space. "this seems like. i don't know. very put together for a college student."
"i just like my space to feel nice," you said, defensive. "there's nothing wrong with that."
"no, definitely not! i didn't mean—" he ran a hand through his hair, flustered. "i just meant. my room has like, a bed and a desk and some clothes on the floor. this looks like an apartment from a magazine. in a good way," he added quickly. "it's impressive. i'm just. you know. mildly intimidated."
"don't be intimidated," you said, softer now. trying for casual. "seriously, make yourself comfortable. do you want something to drink? i have coffee, tea, juice, those fancy sparkling waters—"
"you have fancy sparkling water?"
"they were on sale."
they were absolutely not on sale. you'd bought them specifically because you remembered jake mentioning he liked trying different flavours. but he didn't need to know that.
"um, sure. i'll try one." he was still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, like he couldn't figure out where he was allowed to exist.
you grabbed two cans from the fridge, handing him one and gesturing toward the couch. "we can work there if you want. or the desk. whatever's comfortable."
"couch is good," he said, finally sitting down and immediately looking slightly less tense. he opened the sparkling water, took a sip, and made a surprised noise. "oh this is actually really good."
"told you." you sat next to him, closer than you would have in the library. not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him next to you. close enough that when he leaned forward to pull his laptop out of his backpack, you caught that familiar scent of soap and citrus.
he pulled up the lesson he'd prepared, something about optimisation algorithms, and fell into his teaching rhythm. you'd noticed this about jake before. when he was explaining code, he became more confident. less apologetic. his hands moved as he talked, tracing invisible diagrams in the air, and his whole face became more animated.
you were trying to focus. really, you were. but you kept getting distracted by the fact that he was here, in your space, sitting on your couch. his knee bumped yours at one point and he apologised even though it was barely contact. you told him it was fine. his handwriting was neat when he sketched out examples in your notebook. he had a small scar on his left hand you'd never noticed before.
"are you following?" he asked, glancing over at you.
"yeah," you said, snapping back to attention. "sorry. just thinking."
"it's kind of a dense topic," he said, apologetic again. "we can take a break if you need."
"no, keep going. you're good at this."
something in his expression softened. "thanks. i—i actually really like doing this. the tutoring, i mean. it's nice having someone to talk through concepts with who actually cares about understanding them properly." he paused, looking around your apartment again like he was seeing it with fresh eyes. "and this is. yeah. this is better than the library for sure."
"yeah?"
"the library's always so loud, even in the quiet sections. and people keep interrupting to ask if they can take chairs from our table." he settled back into your couch slightly, his shoulders loosening. "this is way better. i can actually think here."
you felt that dangerous satisfaction bloom in your chest. this is better. i can actually think here. he was comfortable. in your space. comfortable enough to relax, to take up room, to exist without that careful hesitation he'd had when he first arrived.
"we should do all our sessions here," you said, trying to sound casual. "if you're cool with it."
jake glanced at you, then around the apartment again. for a second you thought he might question it. might recognise this for what it was. but then he just smiled, easy and genuine. "yeah, i'd like that. this is really nice."
"cool," you said. your heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing again.
you went back to the lesson, jake's voice steady and patient as he walked you through increasingly complex problems. his knee stayed pressed against yours. he'd stopped apologising for taking up space. he reached for the fancy crackers you'd set out without asking if it was okay first, just casual and comfortable like he belonged here.
and god help you, you liked seeing him like this. liked having him in your space, surrounded by your things, relaxed and focused and entirely unaware of how much thought you'd put into creating this exact scenario.
he was more comfortable here than he should be. settling into your life with an ease that should have alarmed you but instead just made you want to pull him deeper.
you were playing a game he didn't know existed. creating intimacy in careful increments. manufacturing closeness that felt organic to him but was entirely designed by you.
"okay your turn," jake said, pushing your laptop toward you. "try implementing that function we just talked through."
you pulled the computer into your lap, fingers moving over the keys, hyper-aware of jake watching. of his presence next to you, patient and encouraging. of how easy it would be to let this become routine. thursday nights on your couch, just the two of you, the rest of the world locked outside.
professor kim handed back midterms on a wednesday, and the energy in the lecture hall was exactly what you'd expect. nervous shuffling, people immediately comparing scores, that girl in the front row who always cried regardless of her grade already tearing up.
you flipped your exam over and saw the 100 staring back at you. perfect score. you felt a flush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the grade itself and everything to do with the fact that jake would see it.
"holy shit," yunjin whispered, leaning over to look. "you got a perfect score?"
"apparently."
"that's insane. i got an 87 and i thought i did well." she shook her head, impressed and maybe slightly annoyed. "what did jake think? he must be so proud, that's basically a direct result of his tutoring."
speaking of jake, he was two rows behind you, and you could hear his friends' voices carrying.
"dude, you got a 98," one of them said. "that's insane."
"i missed this one question," jake said, and he sounded genuinely disappointed. "i can't believe i mixed up the time complexity."
you turned around without really thinking about it, catching his eye. he was already looking at you, and his face did this thing, this hopeful uncertain thing. "how'd you do?"
you held up your exam. his eyes widened.
"you got a hundred?" he said it loud enough that a few people glanced over. then he was standing up, moving past his friends, coming down to your row with his exam still in his hand. "holy shit, that's—that's amazing. you—" he stopped himself, looking almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "sorry, i'm like. weirdly excited about this."
"don't apologise," you said, smiling despite yourself. "you sound more excited than i am."
"because i—" he gestured at your exam, then at you. "you understood it. like really understood it. i could tell during our sessions that things were clicking but seeing it actually translate to a perfect score is just—" he ran his hand through his hair, grinning in a way that made your stomach flip. "i'm really proud of you."
the words hit you weird. i'm proud of you. said with such genuine warmth, such unironic sincerity. like your success was somehow his success too. like he was personally invested in your performance because he'd helped you get there.
except you hadn't really needed the help. you'd manufactured the entire situation. you'd been doing fine before the tutoring started and you'd probably have gotten a perfect score regardless. jake's proud smile was based on a false premise. he thought he'd helped you achieve something when really you'd just. used him. used his time and his patience and his genuine desire to help people, all so you could sit close to him once a week.
something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. you shoved it down.
"i couldn't have done it without you," you said, because that's what you were supposed to say. what he expected to hear. even if it made you feel slightly sick.
"i know, i know. it's a good grade. i just hate making careless mistakes." he smiled at you again, softer this time. "but seriously, i'm really happy for you. you worked really hard for this."
"we should celebrate," you said, before you could second-guess it. "both of us. good scores, successful tutoring, whatever. come over tonight? i'll make dinner, we can watch a movie. my treat, as a thank you."
jake hesitated, just for a second. "you don't have to thank me."
"i want to," you said firmly with a smile. "you've been helping me for weeks and not accepting any payment. the least i can do is feed you."
"when you put it that way." he was smiling again, that easy smile that made your heart do stupid things. "yeah, okay. what time?"
"seven?"
"perfect."
...
you went slightly overboard with dinner. not crazy overboard, just. more effort than was strictly necessary for a casual thank-you meal. homemade pasta, the good parmesan, a salad that actually had more than three ingredients. you'd also bought wine, which felt very adult and sophisticated until you remembered you were literally just having your study partner over.
jake showed up at seven on the dot, holding a bag of cookies from the expensive bakery near campus. "i know you said your treat, but i can't show up empty-handed," he explained, handing them over. "it's like, physically impossible for me."
"you're ridiculous."
"i've been told." he stepped inside, immediately more comfortable than he'd been that first time. he knew where to put his shoes now, where to set his bag. he went straight for the couch like he belonged there.
dinner was easy. conversation flowed naturally, jumping from classes to campus gossip to a debate about whether the dining hall pizza was underrated or genuinely terrible. jake argued passionately for underrated, gesturing with his fork, getting sauce on his chin that he didn't notice until you pointed it out. he laughed, embarrassed, wiping it away.
"wine?" you offered, after you'd cleared the plates.
"oh, um. sure?" he looked uncertain. "i'm not really a big drinker."
"me neither. but we're celebrating, right?"
"right." he accepted the glass you poured, taking a small sip and making a face. "god, why do people like this? it tastes like someone made juice go bad on purpose."
you laughed despite yourself. "it's an acquired taste."
"that's what people say about things that are objectively bad." but he took another sip anyway, settling back into the couch as you pulled up netflix.
you ended up on some action movie neither of you had seen, the kind with improbable stunts and a plot that didn't require much attention. which was good, because you weren't really watching it. you were too aware of jake next to you, closer than he needed to be, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. he'd finished his wine faster than you expected and seemed looser now, more animated. he kept making commentary on the movie, pointing out plot holes and questionable physics, his hands moving as he talked.
"—and there's no way that building would still be structurally sound after that explosion," he was saying, gesturing at the screen. "like, basic engineering, you know?"
"you're thinking too hard about it."
"i can't help it. my brain won't turn off." he glanced at you, something warm in his expression. "this is nice though. just hanging out. we're always studying or talking about the project, it's cool to just…exist. without an agenda."
without an agenda. the words hit harder than they should have. because you did have an agenda. you'd had one this entire time. this whole evening was carefully constructed, from the homemade dinner to the wine to the deliberately casual intimacy of it all.
"yeah," you managed. "it's nice."
the movie continued. jake shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours. you didn't move away. his arm ended up along the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close enough that you could feel the warmth of it. neither of you acknowledged it, but neither of you adjusted either.
"can i ask you something?" jake said during a particularly slow part of the movie.
"sure."
"why did you pick me? for the project, i mean." he was looking at you now instead of the screen, his expression curious and open. "you could've worked with your friends. people you already knew. but you walked all the way across the lecture hall to ask me."
your heart kicked up. "i told you. you're good at this stuff."
"yeah, but." he paused, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "it felt like. i don't know. like you went out of your way. and i've been trying to figure out if i'm reading too much into it or if there was something else."
the air felt suddenly thinner. "something else like what?"
"i don't know." he laughed, self-conscious. "i'm probably being weird. forget i said anything."
"jake."
"i just—" he met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made your breath catch. "i really like spending time with you. like, more than i probably should for someone who's just a project partner and tutoring student. and sometimes i think maybe you. i don't know, feel the same? but i'm also really bad at reading these things so i'm probably completely wrong."
oh. oh.
"you're not wrong," you said quietly.
his eyes widened slightly. "i'm not?"
instead of answering, you leaned in. gave him enough time to pull back, to stop this, but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips soft and uncertain against yours. for a second neither of you moved, the kiss chaste and almost careful. then something shifted. his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you pressed closer, your fingers curling into his shirt.
jake made a soft sound against your mouth, surprise or maybe pleasure, and kissed you back with more confidence. his other hand found your waist, tentative at first then firmer, pulling you closer. you ended up in his lap somehow, his hands spanning your back, your fingers threading through his hair. he tasted like wine and something sweet from the cookies he'd brought.
"is this okay?" he whispered against your lips, breathing hard.
"yes," you said, and kissed him again before he could second-guess it.
his hands moved under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you felt him shiver when you rolled your hips experimentally. "god," he breathed, sounding almost pained. "we should—are we really—"
"do you want to stop?"
"no. god, no. i just—" he looked up at you, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "i didn't think this would happen. i'm not. i don't usually."
"it's okay," you said softly, meaning it. "we don't have to do anything you don't want."
jake didn’t stop you. instead, he seemed to melt into the contact, his hands trembling as they slid further up your back, skin hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. when you moved to guide him off the couch and onto the rug, he followed with a sort of dazed compliance, his glasses slightly askew on his face.
you knelt between his legs, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. the movie was still playing—some distant sound of tires screeching—but all you could hear was the ragged, uneven hitch of jake’s breath. when you reached for the button of his jeans, his hand flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but just to steady himself. his knuckles were white.
"are you sure?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "i—i'm not... i don't want to mess this up. our project, the tutoring... i don't want to make things weird for you."
"jake," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "shut up and let me."
he let out a shaky, half-strangled laugh, his head hitting the base of the couch as he let go of your wrist. "okay. okay, yeah. shutting up."
as you eased his jeans down, you realised the lanky, awkward way he carried himself in the halls was a massive deception. he was built with a surprising, heavy sturdiness that the oversized hoodies always hid. his legs were long, his thighs thick with the kind of muscle that suggested he actually did play soccer as more than just a hobby. and when you finally freed him, you couldn't help the small, sharp intake of breath that escaped you.
"jake," you breathed, your eyes widening. "holy..."
he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and covered his eyes with his forearm. "don't. don't look at me like that. i know. i'm sorry, is it... is it too much? i can—"
"it's perfect," you cut him off, reaching out to touch him. his skin was searing, and the moment your fingers closed around him, his entire body jolted like he’d been hit with a live wire.
when you leaned forward to take him into your mouth, jake’s reaction was explosive. he arched off the floor, his fingers tangling desperately in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. he was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed by the sensation that it felt like he was losing his grip on reality.
"oh god," he choked out, his voice high and strained. "wait, wait—that's—you’re so... the pressure, i can't—"
you didn't slow down. you liked the way he lost his composure, the way the articulate, logical TA was reduced to incoherent stutters. you used your hands to keep him steady, your tongue swirling around the head of him, and jake’s hips began to move in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm. he was trying to keep some semblance of control, trying to stay "polite," but the sheer intensity of it was breaking him.
"i'm gonna... i'm actually gonna..." he gasped, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you closer until he was practically burying himself in you. "please, don't stop. don't stop, just like that—right there—"
he hit his limit with a loud, guttural shout that was muffled only by the back of his hand as he bit down on his own knuckles to stay quiet. his body went rigid, muscles in his arms and chest standing out in sharp relief as he came, the force of it leaving him limp and shuddering against the couch.
it took him a long time to come back down. for several minutes, the only sound in the room was his heavy, labouring breath and the flickering light of the tv. you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a fierce, glowing sense of triumph. he looked completely wrecked—hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear, chest heaving.
you felt powerful. you’d spent weeks engineering this, calculating every move, and seeing him like this—totally undone by you—was better than any perfect exam score.
"you okay?" you asked, leaning your chin on his knee.
jake let out a long, shaky exhale, finally moving his arm to look at you. his eyes were hazy, his face flushed a deep, beautiful red. "i... think my brain just short-circuited," he whispered, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips.
"in a good way?"
"in the best way." he reached out, his fingers trembling as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "thank you. seriously. i don't—i don't even know what to say."
you smiled, leaning into his touch. the apartment was warm, the air still smelling of vanilla. "you don't have to say anything. you should just stay."
the words were soft, natural. it felt like the obvious next step. but the second they left your mouth, you felt the shift.
it was subtle at first—the way jake’s fingers went still against your skin. then his pupils, which had been blown wide with pleasure, suddenly constricted. he blinked, the haziness clearing as his internal "problem-solving mode" kicked back in with a vengeance.
"stay?" he repeated, his voice sounding suddenly small.
"yeah. it's late, and it's cold out. just stay over. we can... i don't know, wake up and have coffee. maybe look at the project again."
jake’s eyes darted toward his hands, then to his backpack, then to the door. the relaxation in his shoulders vanished, replaced by a rigid, frantic tension. he looked like he’d just realised he was standing in the middle of a minefield.
"i—" he started, scrambling to pull his jeans up. he was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "i can't. i mean, i should... i have that grading to finish. for kim. and i—i didn't bring my toothbrush. or my meds. and my roommate, he—he'll wonder where i am. he gets worried."
"jake, it’s fine, you can borrow—"
"no!" he said, a bit too loudly. he was fumbling with his belt, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely loop it through. he wouldn't look at you. his face wasn't flushed with pleasure anymore; it was pale, his expression twisted into something that looked dangerously like panic. "no, i really should go. i’m sorry. i just... i realised the time. i have to go."
you stood up, feeling a cold, hollow pit open in your stomach. "did i do something wrong? was it... was it too much?"
"no! no, it was... it was amazing," he said, finally getting his shoes on, not even bothering to tie the laces. he grabbed his backpack, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "it was too amazing. that's the... that's the problem. i'm—i'm not good at this. i think i need to... i need to think. logically. about the implications."
"the implications?" you asked, your voice rising with a sharp, hurt edge. "it was just a night, jake. it doesn't have to be a 'logical problem' to solve."
"i know, i know. i'm sorry. i’m just... i'm a mess." he backed toward the door, his hand fumbling for the handle behind his back. "i'll text you? about the project? we still have that deadline on tuesday."
"jake—"
"goodnight! thank you for dinner. the pasta was really... the texture was perfect. okay. bye."
he practically fell out of the door, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway as he sprinted toward the stairs.
the click of the door closing felt final. you stood in the centre of your perfectly decorated, candle-lit apartment, surrounded by the remnants of the dinner you’d spent hours on. the half-empty wine glasses, the bag of expensive cookies, the rumpled rug.
you felt a hot, stinging prickle behind your eyes. you’d done everything right. you’d been strategic, patient, and kind. you’d gotten him to open up, to trust you, to want you. and yet, watching him run away like you were a bug in his code—something to be deleted or fixed—hurt more than any midterm failure ever could.
you sat back down on the couch, the silence of the room suddenly feeling just as oppressive as it had back in the computer lab. you picked up your phone, looking at his last text. this'll be fun :)
you threw the phone onto the cushions and buried your face in your hands, the smell of his citrus shampoo still clinging to your skin, mocking you.
jake didn't text.
you stared at your phone for the entire next day, watching the screen like you could will a message into existence. the "i'll text you" he'd thrown over his shoulder before fleeing felt increasingly like a polite lie. by saturday afternoon you broke first.
you: hey, you okay?
the message sat there. delivered, but no response.
you tried again sunday morning, going for casual.
you: still on for project work this week?
still no response.
by monday you'd moved past confusion into something that felt uncomfortably like panic. this wasn't how things worked. people didn't just. stop responding to you. they didn't ignore you or avoid you or remove you from their orbit like you were some problem to be managed. you were used to being wanted, pursued, the one who had to let people down gently. this reversed dynamic was unfamiliar and honestly humiliating.
you saw him in the dining hall on tuesday. he was with his friends, laughing at something one of them said, looking completely normal. like nothing had happened. like he hadn't been on your couch four days ago falling apart under your touch.
you started walking toward their table before you could think better of it, but jake's eyes flicked up, met yours for a fraction of a second, and then he was standing, gathering his tray, saying something to his friends. they all got up and left. just. left. walked out the side exit while you stood there holding your lunch like an idiot.
yunjin grabbed your arm. "okay, what the hell was that?"
"nothing," you said, but your voice came out wrong.
"that was not nothing. did something happen with you and jake?"
"no. i don't know. it's complicated."
it wasn't complicated. it was actually pretty simple. you'd pushed too hard and now he wanted nothing to do with you.
wednesday he wasn't in his usual spot in lecture. you spent the entire class scanning the room, finally spotting him in the very back corner, a place he'd never sat before. he kept his eyes on his laptop the entire time, didn't look up once. when class ended he was the first one out the door.
thursday was supposed to be tutoring. seven pm, his room or yours, the standing appointment you'd had for weeks now. you waited in your apartment, laptop open to the half-finished project, telling yourself he'd show up. he was responsible and dedicated. he wouldn't just bail without saying anything.
seven came and went. then seven-thirty. by eight you accepted he wasn't coming.
you: are we still working together on the project? i need to know so i can plan accordingly.
again, no response.
friday morning you were walking to class when you saw him ahead of you on the path. for once he hadn't spotted you first. you sped up, closing the distance, and watched in real time as he seemed to sense your presence. his shoulders tensed. then he took a sharp left turn down a path that definitely wasn't toward any of his classes. he was actively avoiding you. taking different routes. altering his entire routine just to not run into you.
something hot and humiliated burned in your chest.
by next week, you'd had enough. you knew his schedule. knew he had algorithms right before lunch on mondays, in the engineering building, third floor. you positioned yourself outside the classroom before class ended, ignoring the curious looks from other students filing out. you spotted jake immediately when the doors opened. he saw you at the same moment and actually stopped walking, causing someone behind him to bump into his back.
"we need to talk," you said.
"i have—i need to get to—"
"jake." your voice came out sharper than intended. "five minutes. please."
something in his expression shifted. resignation maybe. he nodded once, following you to an empty study room down the hall. you closed the door. the small space suddenly felt suffocating.
"you've been ignoring me," you said.
"i know."
"for a week. you didn't text, you didn't show up to tutoring, you're literally avoiding me on campus."
"i know," he said again, quieter. he wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed somewhere around your shoulder. "i'm sorry. that wasn't— i should have communicated better."
"so communicate now. what's going on?"
jake was quiet for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was careful. measured. "what happened last week. that crossed a line for me."
"we both wanted it."
"did we?" he looked at you now, and there was something in his expression that made your stomach drop. "because i've been thinking about it a lot. about how we got there. and i feel like. i don't know. like maybe i missed something."
"what do you mean?"
"the tutoring," he said. "you didn't actually need it, did you? your grades were already good. and the project. you had friends you could have worked with. people you actually knew. but you picked me." he paused. "why did you pick me?"
the question hung in the air between you. you could lie. deflect. but something about the way he was looking at you, patient and a little sad, made it feel pointless.
"i liked you," you said finally. "i wanted to spend time with you."
"okay." he nodded slowly. "so the tutoring was. what. an excuse? a way to manufacture time together?"
"it wasn't like that."
"wasn't it though?" there was no anger in his voice. just. tiredness. "because from my perspective, i thought i was helping someone who needed help. i thought we were becoming friends. and then suddenly we're… doing that. and i'm trying to figure out when the shift happened and i can't. because maybe there was no shift. maybe that's what you wanted the whole time and i just didn't see it."
"i did want to be your friend," you said, defensive now. "i wasn't. it's not like i was using you."
"weren't you?"
the words hit harder than they should have. because he wasn't wrong. you had used him. used his kindness, his eagerness to help, his complete inability to see through your motivations. you'd engineered situations and manufactured proximity and told yourself it was harmless.
"i like you," jake said, and somehow that made it worse. "i really do. but i feel. god, i don't even know how to explain it. exposed? like you saw something in me that made me an easy target and you just. went for it. and i didn't even realise what was happening until it had already happened."
"that's not—"
"and the thing is," he continued, talking over you gently, "you're so far out of my league. like, objectively. you're smart and pretty and confident and you have your shit together. and i'm just. me. i'm awkward and i ramble and i spend friday nights debugging code for fun. so the fact that you were interested never made sense. i kept waiting for it to click, for me to understand why, and now i think i do. it wasn't about me. it was about. i don't know. the chase? the conquest? i was a project to you."
"no," you said, but your voice came out weak. "jake, that's not true. you weren't a project."
"then what was i?"
you didn't have an answer. or you did, but it was complicated and messy and saying it out loud would mean admitting things you didn't want to admit.
jake sighed. "i'm not trying to be cruel. i'm really not. but being around you right now makes me feel uncomfortable. like i can't trust my own judgement because i didn't see any of this coming. and that's. that's my issue to work through. but i need space to do it."
"what about the class project?"
"we can do it over email. divide up the work, combine it at the end. we don't have to see each other."
"and tutoring?"
"i think we should stop. you don't actually need it anyway."
each sentence felt like a door closing. practical, reasonable, and completely final.
"i'm sorry," you said, and meant it. "i didn't mean to. i wasn't trying to hurt you."
"i know," jake said, and he sounded sincere. "i don't think you set out to do anything malicious. i just think you didn't really consider how it would feel from my side. and now we're here."
"so that's it? we just stop talking?"
"for now, yeah. maybe later we can be normal around each other. but right now i need. distance."
he moved toward the door, his hand on the handle. you wanted to say something, anything that would fix this. some argument that would make him see you differently. but looking at his face, at the quiet certainty there, you knew there was nothing you could say. he'd made up his mind. he'd set a boundary. and you had no choice but to respect it.
"i really am sorry," you said again.
"i know," jake said. "me too."
then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with that same horrible finality. you stood there in the empty study room, staring at the space where he'd been.
you couldn't even argue with his reasoning. everything he'd said was true. you had manufactured situations. you had used his kindness and his obliviousness to get what you wanted. you'd told yourself it was harmless, that your feelings were real even if your methods were questionable.
but intent didn't matter when the impact was someone feeling manipulated and exposed.
you left the study room feeling hollowed out. the campus looked the same. people laughed and talked and went about their days. somewhere out there jake was probably headed to lunch with his friends, relieved to have finally said what he needed to say.
and you were just. alone. with the sharp realisation that you'd ruined something before it even had a chance to be real.
the party was exactly the kind of loud, chaotic mess you needed. bass thrumming through the floors, bodies packed into every available space, the air thick with sweat and cheap alcohol and too many competing perfumes. yunjin had dragged you here, insisting you needed to "get out of your head" after moping around for two weeks straight.
so here you were. red cup in hand, smile fixed in place, laughing at jokes you weren't really hearing. performing normalcy while your brain kept circling the same thoughts on loop. jake's face in that study room. the careful way he'd said i need space. the hollow feeling that had taken up permanent residence in your chest.
"you good?" beomgyu asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.
"yeah, great," you said automatically, taking another drink.
you were on your third. or fourth. you'd stopped counting. the alcohol sat warm in your stomach but hadn't managed to quiet your thoughts yet. maybe if you drank enough you'd stop replaying every conversation with jake, analysing every moment for signs you'd missed, evidence of how thoroughly you'd fucked everything up.
"i'm gonna get another drink," you said to no one in particular, pushing through the crowd toward the kitchen.
that's when you saw him.
jake. standing near the makeshift bar someone had set up on the counter, red cup in hand, talking to a girl you didn't recognise. and he was laughing. actually laughing, head thrown back, completely at ease in a way that made something hot and ugly twist in your chest.
because he never looked like that with you. even before everything went wrong, even during those tutoring sessions in your apartment when you'd thought you were building something real, he'd always been slightly careful and polite, like he was containing himself. but now he was loose and animated, gesturing with his free hand while the girl laughed at whatever he was saying, her hand resting on his arm.
her hand was on his arm.
you watched as she leaned closer, saying something that made jake grin. that specific grin, the one where his eyes crinkled at the corners and you could see his perfect teeth on display. you'd thought that smile was special. something you'd earned. but apparently he was just like this, with everyone who wasn't you.
the jealousy hit so hard it felt physical. burning through your chest, turning your vision sharp and focused. you were moving before you'd decided to, weaving through people, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
jake saw you coming. his smile faltered, something uncertain crossing his face. "hey—"
"who's this?" you said, gesturing at the girl. your voice came out sharper than you'd intended, heavy with something you couldn't quite name.
the girl looked between you and jake, confused. "i'm mina. jungwon's sister remember? we just met like ten minutes ago."
"oh right." you focused on jake, ignoring her entirely. "you look like you're having fun."
"i—yeah?" jake's eyebrows drew together. "it's a party?"
"funny how you can make time for parties but couldn't respond to any of my texts about the assignment."
"i told you we could do it over email—"
"is that what you're doing right now? project work?" you knew you sounded irrational, accusatory, but you couldn't stop. the words kept spilling out, poisoned by alcohol and jealousy and two weeks of feeling like you'd been the only one affected by any of this.
"or are you just. moving on? found someone new to—"
"okay, i'm gonna go," mina said, backing away with her hands up. "this seems like. a thing. nice meeting you, jake."
she disappeared into the crowd. jake stared at you, his expression shifting from confused to something harder. "what the hell was that?"
"you tell me. you've been ignoring me for two weeks and now you're here flirting with random girls?"
"flirting?" jake's voice pitched up slightly. "flirting? i was literally just talking to her. she asked where the bathroom was and then we started chatting about the music. that's—that's not flirting, that's called being polite."
"she had her hand on your arm."
"so?" jake looked genuinely baffled now. "people touch arms when they talk. that doesn't mean anything. and even if it did—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening. "i don't owe you an explanation. you don't get to. we're not together. we're not anything."
the words hit exactly where they were meant to. "right. because you decided we're not."
"no, because you decided we weren't, like a month ago when you started playing games instead of just being honest." his voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through. "and now you're mad because i'm talking to someone else? you don't get to do that. you don't get to manipulate me into something and then act possessive when i try to move on."
"i'm not—" you started, but stopped. because he was right. you were being possessive and irrational. reading intent into a harmless conversation because you wanted there to be something there. wanted confirmation that jake was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.
but he wasn't. he was just living his life. talking to people at parties. laughing easily with strangers. completely unaffected while you spiralled.
"i wasn't flirting with her," jake said, quieter now. tired. "i was just being friendly. that's what normal people do. they don't engineer entire relationships or manufacture situations. they just exist around each other."
"i know," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have. that was out of line."
jake nodded once, already turning away. "yeah. it was."
you watched him disappear back into the crowd, leaving you standing alone by the kitchen counter. your hands were shaking. you downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.
you'd just proven everything he'd said about you. possessive. manipulative. unable to let go. you'd projected your own feelings onto a completely innocent interaction and made a scene because you couldn't handle seeing him okay when you were so thoroughly not okay.
you'd been so certain. so sure he was flirting, that the girl meant something, that you'd caught him in some kind of lie. but you'd been wrong. completely, embarrassingly wrong. because you didn't actually know what jake was thinking. you never had. you'd just assumed, projected, filled in the gaps with your own narrative.
and now he was probably telling his friends what a psycho you were. probably regretting he'd ever let you into his life in the first place.
you grabbed another drink.
…
the party had devolved into that late-night haze where everything blurred together. people you didn't recognise, conversations you weren't part of, music that had gotten somehow both quieter and more invasive. you'd lost track of yunjin and beomgyu somewhere around drink number six. or seven. the room tilted slightly when you moved too fast.
you were trying to find your jacket, ready to call it a night, when you spotted him. jake. sitting alone on a couch in the corner, looking absolutely exhausted. his head kept drooping forward like he was fighting to stay conscious, then jerking back up. his eyes were half-closed, his usual careful posture completely abandoned.
you should walk past him. nothing good could come from another interaction tonight. you'd already embarrassed yourself once. but your feet carried you closer anyway, some magnetic pull you couldn't quite resist even knowing it was a bad idea.
you were almost past him when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "don't," he said, not looking at you. his voice was rough, slurred slightly. "don't leave."
you stopped. "jake—"
"been trying," he mumbled, his grip loosening but not releasing. "trying so hard. but you make it impossible."
"what are you talking about?"
he finally looked up at you, and his eyes were unfocused, glassy with alcohol. "you. i'm talking about you. can't stop thinking about you. it's driving me insane."
your heart lurched. "you're drunk."
"i know but so are you," he said, like that explained everything. "that's the only reason i'm saying this. because sober me knows better. sober me has self-control and boundaries and all that shit." he pulled gently on your wrist, making you stumble slightly closer. "but drunk me is tired. so tired of pretending i don't want you."
"you said you needed space."
"i do need space. because when i'm around you i can't think straight. i can't trust myself." his words were coming out uneven, tripping over each other. "you think i was avoiding you because i was mad? i was avoiding you because if i saw you i'd—" he made a frustrated noise. "i'd do something stupid. like this. this is stupid."
you sat down next to him, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. "jake—"
"you're so pretty," he said, almost accusatory. "and you smell good. and you're smart, like actually smart, not just good at school. and when you laugh it's. it does things to me. and i hate it. i hate that you have this much power over me when i don't even know if you actually like me or if i'm just… convenient."
"i do like you," you said quietly. "i've liked you the whole time."
"but do you?" he turned to face you more fully, his eyes searching yours even though he seemed to be having trouble focusing. "or do you like the idea of me? the nerdy guy you can manipulate? your little project?"
"that's not—" you stopped. "it wasn't like that. it's not like that."
"then what is it like?" he was still holding your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "because i've been trying to figure it out for weeks and i can't. i can't understand why you'd want me. what you get out of this. and maybe i'm just stupid but i need you to tell me. plainly. what do you want from me?"
"you," you said, the word coming out more honest than you'd intended. "just. you."
jake laughed, bitter and tired. "that doesn't make sense."
"i know."
"i'm not interesting. i'm not cool or funny or—"
"you are though," you interrupted. "you are all of those things. you just don't see it."
he went quiet for a long moment. then, so quietly you almost missed it: "i've been trying so hard not to want you back. because i knew—i know it's not good for me. but i can't stop. and i'm so tired of trying."
his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, fingers threading through yours. the touch was so much gentler than you expected, almost reverent. "i deleted your texts without reading them," he admitted. "because if i read them i'd respond. and if i responded i'd end up right back where i started. wanting you. letting you in. getting hurt."
"i don't want to hurt you."
"i know. that's what makes it worse." he leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing. "you don't mean to. you just. do."
you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to fix the damage you'd done or convince him that your feelings were real when your actions had been so calculated. so you just sat there, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of him next to you.
"i missed you," jake said, so quiet you barely heard it over the music. "i fucking missed you and i hated myself for it."
"i missed you too."
"yeah?" he opened his eyes, looking at you with something raw and unguarded. "you missed manipulating me?"
"that's not fair."
"isn't it though?" but there was no heat in his words. just exhaustion. "god, i'm so tired. tired of being angry. tired of trying to stay away from you. tired of pretending i don't want you so badly it hurts."
the confession hung in the air between you. jake was looking at you like he was waiting for something, permission or rejection or maybe just confirmation that you'd heard him.
you leaned in. gave him time to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with none of the careful hesitation from before. this was messy and desperate, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. he kissed you like he'd been holding back for too long, like all that careful control had finally snapped.
you shifted closer, practically climbing into his lap, and he made a sound against your mouth that went straight through you. his hands were everywhere, spanning your waist, sliding up your back, gripping like he was afraid you'd disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.
"been thinking about this," he mumbled against your lips, barely pulling back enough to speak. "every night. hated myself for it but couldn't stop."
"me too," you admitted, kissing along his jaw. "i couldn't sleep. kept replaying everything."
"i lied about the texts i didn't respond to," he said, tilting his head to give you better access. "i read them. all of them before deleting. at like three am. read them over and over."
"why didn't you answer?"
"because i wanted to say things i shouldn't say. like how much i missed you. how i kept going to the lab hoping you'd be there. how seeing you at the party tonight fucking destroyed me even though i pretended i was fine." his hands tightened on your waist. "how i've been so fucking miserable without you."
you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing his words. he responded immediately, pulling you fully into his lap now, and you could feel how much he wanted this, wanted you. it was overwhelming. intoxicating. the desperation in every touch, every small sound he made.
"we should," he said between kisses, "we should probably stop."
"do you want to stop?"
"no. god no." he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips swollen. "but i'm drunk and you're drunk and tomorrow we're gonna regret—"
"i won't," you said firmly. "i won't regret this."
something shifted in his expression. softened. he touched your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "you're gonna break my heart," he said, not quite a question.
"i'm not."
"you will." but he kissed you anyway, softer this time. slower. like he was memorising the feel of you. "and i'm gonna let you. because i'm weak and pathetic and i want you so much i don't even care anymore."
"you're not weak."
"i am though." he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing. "i'm so weak for you. it's embarrassing."
you could feel his exhaustion creeping in, the way his body was getting heavier against yours, his movements slowing. "come on," you said softly, standing and pulling him up with you. "let's get you somewhere you can actually sleep."
"don't wanna sleep," he protested, but let you guide him anyway. "wanna stay with you."
"you will. i'm not going anywhere."
you found an empty bedroom on the second floor, the door unlocked and the bed mercifully unoccupied. jake collapsed onto it immediately, pulling you down with him. he was asleep within minutes, his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck. his breathing evened out, deep and steady.
you should probably feel guilty. taking advantage of his drunken honesty, letting him confess things he'd normally keep locked away. but you were too tired, too overwhelmed by everything he'd said. i want you so badly it hurts. i've been so fucking miserable without you. you're gonna break my heart and i'm gonna let you.
you didn't have answers. didn't have promises you could make. didn't know how to fix the fundamental imbalance between you, the manipulation and hurt that had gotten you here.
but for now, in this quiet room with jake's warmth pressed against you, you could pretend tomorrow didn't exist. could pretend this was simple. just two people who wanted each other, tangled together in the dark, nothing more complicated than that.
you fell asleep still wearing your shoes, jake's arms tight around you, his heartbeat steady against your chest.
you woke to pale morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of jake still wrapped around you. for a disorienting moment you couldn't place where you were. then it came back in pieces. the party. the confrontation. jake's drunken confessions. falling asleep tangled together.
jake stirred against you, his breath catching as he woke. you felt the exact moment awareness returned, the way his body went tense. slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction. his glasses sat crooked on the nightstand. his eyes were cautious but clear.
"hi," he said quietly.
"hi."
he didn't let go of you. didn't immediately scramble away or apologise or retreat into panic like last time. he just looked at you, searching your face for something.
"i said a lot of things last night," he finally said.
"yeah."
"i meant them." his voice was serious, steady despite the embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "i know i was drunk, and i probably shouldn't have said half of it, but. i meant it. all of it."
your heart kicked up. "jake—"
"i like you," he said, cutting you off gently. "i've liked you since that first night in the lab when you were stressed about your code and i got to actually help you with something. and it's been killing me trying to stay away from you because every time i see you i just. want you. so much that it scares me."
"why does it scare you?"
"because i don't know how to want someone this much and still protect myself." he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see you better. "last time i didn't protect myself at all. i just. gave in. and then i panicked because it felt too big, too fast, and i didn't know how to handle it."
"and now?"
"now i'm still terrified," he admitted. "but i'm more scared of not trying. of walking away and spending the rest of college wondering what could have happened if i'd just. been brave enough to give you a real chance."
you felt something tight in your chest start to loosen. "i want that. a real chance. i want to do this right."
"yeah?"
"yeah." you reached up, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. "i'm sorry. for all of it. the manipulation, the games, not being honest about what i wanted. you deserved better than that."
"i know," jake said simply. then, softer: "but i also know you were scared too. just in a different way."
he leaned down, kissing you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. different from last night's desperate intensity. this was slow, careful, almost questioning. you kissed him back, trying to pour everything you couldn't quite say into it. apology and promise and want all tangled together.
when he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown. "i want to try again," he said. "properly this time. but i need you to be honest with me. about what you want. about what this is."
"i want you," you said. "not as a project or a conquest or whatever i convinced myself it was before. just you jake."
something in his expression softened. "okay," he said. "okay. we can work with that."
he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt his weight settle more fully over you. "i want to make it up to you," he murmured against your lips. "for running away before. for making you feel like you did something wrong when i was just scared."
"you don't have to—"
"i want to." he was already kissing down your neck, hands sliding under your shirt. "let me. please."
there was something in his voice, almost pleading, that made you nod. he smiled against your skin, helping you out of your clothes with more confidence than he'd had before. when you were bare beneath him he just. looked. taking his time, hands mapping your body like he was memorising every detail.
"you're so pretty," he said, almost reverent. "i thought about this. about you. so many times."
then he was moving lower, pressing kisses down your stomach, your hip bones, the inside of your thighs. when his breath ghosted over where you needed him most you couldn't help the small sound that escaped.
"tell me if anything's too much," he said, glancing up at you. then he lowered his mouth to you and your brain short-circuited.
he started slowly, almost tentatively, like he was learning you. his tongue moved in careful strokes, testing what made you gasp, what made your hips shift toward him. when he found the rhythm that had your fingers tightening in his hair, he made a low, satisfied sound against you that you felt everywhere.
"jake," you breathed, and he looked up at you through his lashes, pupils blown wide, lips glistening with your arousal.
"tell me," he said, voice rough. "tell me what feels good."
"that—" your words cut off as he did it again, tongue flicking over your clit with that same perfect pressure. "right there. just like that."
he was a quick learner. always had been. he catalogued every reaction, every sound you made, adjusting and refining. except this wasn't detached or analytical. this was hungry. desperate. he sucked your clit into his mouth and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.
"fuck, jake—"
"god, you taste so good," he mumbled against your pussy, barely pulling back enough to speak. his chin was wet, his glasses fogged slightly. "been thinking about this. wanted to do this right last time."
he was getting lost in it now, the careful control slipping into something messier, greedier. he alternated between focused attention on your clit and broad, indulgent strokes through your folds, like he couldn't decide between making you fall apart and simply savouring you. his tongue pushed inside you and you keened, your back arching off the bed.
"oh my god," you gasped. "jake, your mouth—"
he moaned against you, the vibration making your thighs clench around his head. he didn't seem to mind, just gripped your hips harder, pulled you closer, like he wanted to suffocate in your pussy. when his fingers joined his mouth, sliding through your wetness before pressing inside, you nearly sobbed.
"so wet," he murmured, almost to himself.
he crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside you that made you cry out, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue circled your clit. the dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building so fast you couldn't catch your breath. your fingers tightened in his hair, probably painful, but he just groaned and doubled his efforts.
"jake, i'm—fuck, i'm gonna—"
"i know," he said against you, his voice wrecked. "i can feel it. let go for me."
his fingers thrust deeper, faster, his mouth sucking hard on your clit, and you shattered. your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your whole body going taut as pleasure whited out your vision. you were dimly aware of the sounds you were making—high, desperate whimpers and moans—but you couldn't stop them.
jake moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he didn't let up. he worked you through it with devastating patience, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like he was starving for it.
"jake," you gasped, trying to push at his head. "too much—"
but he just whined—actually whined—and gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them spread. "please," he mumbled against your pussy, his words muffled and desperate. "please, just one more. need to feel you come again. please."
"i can't—" but your protest died as he sealed his lips around your clit again, sucking gently, his fingers still working inside you. the overstimulation was almost painful but it was already shifting into something else, something that had you gasping and arching into his mouth instead of away from it.
he was making sounds now—desperate, needy whimpers and moans that vibrated against you. he was rutting against the mattress, you realised dimly, seeking friction while he lost himself in eating you out. his hair was a mess from your fingers, and he looked absolutely wrecked.
"so good," he whined between licks. "taste so good. could do this forever. please let me—need to make you come again—"
he was babbling now, drunk on you, his movements getting messier and more desperate. his tongue worked your clit in frantic circles while his fingers curled inside you, and the pleasure was building again impossibly fast. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming.
"that's it," he gasped, feeling you start to tighten around his fingers. "yeah, give it to me. please, please—"
your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out his name, your thighs clamping around his head. jake moaned like he was the one coming, his hips jerking against the mattress as he worked you through it, tongue lapping up everything, fingers gentling but not stopping until you were actually sobbing from oversensitivity.
only then did he pull back, and when he finally lifted his head he looked completely gone. his face was flushed and wet, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his lips swollen and red. he looked drunk on you, his eyes unfocused and dark.
"fuck," he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "you're so hot when you come. the sounds you make—"
you pulled him up into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he groaned into your mouth. his cock was rock hard against your thigh, leaking and desperate.
"your turn," you said, reaching down to wrap your hand around him.
he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward. "you don't have to—"
"i want to." you stroked him slowly, base to tip, feeling how hot and heavy he was in your palm. precum leaked from the slit and you used it to ease the glide. "you're so hard, jake. does eating my pussy turn you on that much?"
"fuck—" his voice broke. "yes. god, yes. you have no idea."
"tell me." you tightened your grip slightly and he whimpered. actually whimpered. "tell me what you were thinking about."
"i was thinking—" he gasped when your thumb swept over the sensitive head. "thinking about how good you taste. how you were shaking. how i could feel you clenching and i wanted—wanted to be inside you—"
"yeah?" you stroked him faster, loving the way his abs tensed, the way his thighs trembled. "you want to fuck me, jake?"
"so bad," he choked out.
you guided him between your legs, not quite inside yet, just letting the head of his cock slide through your wetness. he made a strangled sound, his whole body shuddering.
"we should—do you have—" he was trying to think through the haze of arousal, being responsible even now. "condom?"
"pill," you said. "i'm on the pill. and i'm clean. tested recently."
"me too. clean, i mean." his cock twitched against you, smearing precum through your folds. "can i—fuck, can i feel you bare?"
"yes," you breathed. "want to feel all of you."
he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head pressing against you, and even that felt like too much. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch was intense. you were wet enough that he slid in smoothly at first, but the sheer size of him was overwhelming.
"oh fuck," you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders. "jake, you're so—you're so big—"
"i know, i'm sorry—" he froze, only halfway in. "am i hurting you?"
"no, don't stop," you urged, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. "just—go slow. need to adjust."
he sank in another inch and you both moaned. he was splitting you open, stretching you so full you could barely breathe. when he finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you, he dropped his forehead to yours.
"oh my god," he choked out. "you're so tight. so fucking tight and wet and—i can't—"
"don't move yet," you managed, clenching around him involuntarily. he was so deep you could feel him everywhere, pressing against spots that made your toes curl. "just let me—fuck—"
"you feel incredible," he said, his voice shaking. "i've never—nothing compares to this."
you tightened around him experimentally and he swore, his hips jerking forward. "sorry, sorry," he gasped. "i'm trying to hold still but when you do that i want to—"
"want to what?" you rolled your hips slightly and he groaned, deep and guttural.
"want to move," he admitted, his control clearly fraying. "want to fuck you."
"then do it," you said.
something in him snapped. he pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, the force of it punching a cry from your lips. he did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that was deep and relentless. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust.
"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "just like that—don't stop—"
"god," he panted, his voice wrecked. "you feel so good."
you looked down between your bodies and moaned at the sight—his thick cock disappearing into you, glistening with your wetness, stretching you obscenely. "jake, oh my god—"
"feel how deep i am?" he thrust particularly hard and you keened.
"yes—fuck yes—"
he wasn't being careful anymore, wasn't being gentle. he fucked into you with abandon, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine. the sounds were obscene—skin slapping against skin, the wet slide of his cock, his grunts mixing with your moans.
"wanted this," he said against your neck, his breath hot. "wanted you. for so long."
"tell me more," you demanded, loving this unfiltered version of him.
"thought about this constantly," he admitted, his thrusts getting harder. "thought about having you like this. making you feel good. hearing you say my name."
"jake—" you were getting close again, that familiar tension building low in your belly.
"touch yourself," he said. "want to feel you come on my cock. need it. please."
you slid your hand between your bodies, finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. the added stimulation made you clench around him and he swore, his rhythm faltering.
"that's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixed on where your fingers worked. "fuck, that's so hot. you're so hot. make yourself cum. let me feel it."
you worked your clit in tight circles, the pressure building faster with each thrust of his cock. he was so deep, hitting all the right spots, the slide of him inside you absolutely perfect. you were making sounds you'd never made before—high, desperate whines and gasps.
"close," you managed. "so close—"
"come for me," he urged, his voice strained. "squeeze my cock. want to feel your pussy milk me. come on, baby, let me feel it—"
the orgasm hit you like lightning, sudden and intense. you cried out his name, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him rhythmically. waves of pleasure crashed over you, so intense you forgot how to breathe.
"oh fuck," jake choked out, his hips stuttering. "you're—i can feel you—i'm gonna—"
he tried to last, you could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his arms were shaking. but your pussy was still fluttering around him, still clenching in aftershocks, and it was too much. he buried himself deep with a broken moan, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. you felt the warmth of it, felt him fill you up, and the intimacy of it made something in your chest crack open.
"fuck," he gasped, collapsing on top of you. "oh my god. that was—i've never—"
you wrapped your arms around him, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. he was still inside you, softening slowly, and you could feel his release leaking out around his cock.
"that was amazing," you said when you could finally speak. "you were amazing."
he lifted his head to look at you, his expression soft and vulnerable. "i think i might be falling for you," he said quietly. "is that okay? am i allowed to say that?"
your throat felt tight with emotion. "yeah. that's okay."
"good." he kissed you gently, sweetly. "because i don't think i could stop even if you told me to."
he pulled out carefully and you both hissed at the sensitivity. immediately he was gathering you into his arms, pulling you against his chest like he couldn't stand not touching you. you fit there perfectly, your head tucked under his chin.
"we should probably talk about this," you said after a while. "about us."
"we will," jake promised, his fingers tracing patterns on your spine. "but can we just stay like this for a bit first?"
"yeah." you pressed closer, breathing in the scent of him. "we can stay like this."
and you did. stayed tangled together as the morning light grew stronger, as the sounds of people leaving the party filtered up through the floor. his cum was still leaking out of you, making a mess on your thighs, but neither of you moved to clean up. you just held each other in this new, tentative peace.
jake changed almost overnight once you started dating. it was like giving him permission to want you openly had flipped some switch in his brain. suddenly he was everywhere.
he'd show up at your door before your 9 am lecture with coffee, your exact order memorised, his hair still messy from sleep because he'd woken up early just to see you. he'd kiss you goodbye and then text you five minutes later with some random thought he forgot to mention. did you know that octopuses have three hearts? just learnt that. thought you should know.
in class he'd sit next to you instead of in his usual back corner spot, his knee always pressed against yours under the desk. sometimes his hand would find its way to your thigh, just resting there, his thumb tracing absent patterns while he tried to focus on the lecture. you'd catch him staring at you instead of his laptop, and when you'd raise an eyebrow he'd just smile, unashamed.
"you're distracting," he'd whisper.
"i'm literally just sitting here."
"i know. it's very distracting."
study sessions became impossible. you'd be explaining a concept and he'd lean over to kiss your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth. "jake, i'm trying to help you."
"i know, keep going," he'd say, already doing it again.
"you're not even listening."
"i am. you were talking about. um." he'd grin sheepishly. "okay i wasn't listening. but you're just so pretty when you're focused."
your friends noticed immediately. yunjin had taken one look at jake's arm slung around your shoulders at lunch, the way he was playing with your hair while talking to beomgyu, and pulled you aside.
"okay so he's like. obsessed with you," she said. "it's actually kind of cute. in a golden retriever kind of way."
"he's not obsessed."
"babe, he just offered to carry your bag even though your apartment is literally three minutes away. and he's been smiling at you for the past ten minutes like you hung the moon. it's obsessed behaviour."
but she said it fondly, and later you caught her telling beomgyu that she'd never seen you this relaxed before. "she's not performing," yunjin had said. "she's just. being."
and she was right. with jake you didn't have to strategise or calculate or perform anything. he wanted you. obviously, openly, without games or subtext. when you showed up to his place in sweats and no makeup, he'd light up like you'd dressed up specifically for him. when you stole his hoodies, he'd just buy more so you could steal those too.
"i like seeing you in my clothes," he'd admitted once, pulling you close. "makes me feel like. i don't know. like you're mine."
"possessive," you'd teased.
"is that bad?"
"no," you'd said, kissing him. "i like it."
jake's friends had their own reactions. you'd been nervous meeting them properly, remembering that disastrous first encounter at the party. but they'd welcomed you easily, even if they did give jake endless shit.
"dude, you're so whipped," his roommate said, watching jake immediately get up to refill your drink without being asked.
"and?" jake had said, completely unbothered.
"and nothing, it's just funny. remember when you said you'd never be that guy who drops everything for someone? and now you're literally—"
"finish that sentence and i'm not helping you with discrete math anymore."
but he was smiling when he said it, and later his roommate told you that jake talked about you constantly. "it's honestly annoying how happy he is."
the thing was, you were happy too. unexpectedly, overwhelmingly happy. jake made you sharper somehow, more focused. when you studied together you actually retained information because he made learning feel collaborative instead of competitive. he celebrated your successes like they were his own, staying up with you before big presentations, bringing you stress-relief snacks, sending you encouraging texts.
and you did the same for him. learnt his patterns, his tells when he was overwhelmed. you'd show up at the lab with dinner when you knew he'd been working for hours. you'd run your fingers through his hair when he was stressed, and he'd melt into your touch, all that tension draining away.
"you make everything easier," he'd told you once, late at night when you were both too tired to filter. "like the world's less heavy when you're around."
"that's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."
"i know. i mean it though."
weeks blurred together in the best way. stolen kisses between classes. jake's hand always finding yours. the way he'd kiss you goodbye at your door and then text you goodnight five minutes later even though he lived one floor up. movie nights that turned into makeout sessions on your couch, jake's glasses getting in the way until you carefully removed them, setting them aside so you could kiss him properly.
he got clingy when he was tired, wrapping around you like a koala, mumbling into your neck. "don't leave."
"i'm just going to get water."
"too far. stay."
"jake, i'll be gone thirty seconds."
"thirty seconds too long."
you'd laugh, running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and feel something warm and settled in your chest. this was what it was supposed to feel like.
the beach had been jake's idea. "there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," he'd said, eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "and i know this spot that's perfect for stargazing. barely any light pollution. we could bring blankets, make a whole thing of it?"
so here you were, sitting on a blanket in the sand while the ocean crashed softly in the background. the sky was impossibly clear, stars scattered across it like someone had spilt diamonds. jake lay with his head in your lap, one of your hands playing with his hair while he pointed up at the sky.
"okay, so see those seven stars there?" he traced a pattern with his finger. "that's the big dipper, which is part of ursa major. but if you follow those two stars at the edge, they point directly to polaris. the north star."
you hummed, only half listening to the actual words. you were too busy watching him. the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, how animated his expressions were when he talked about something he loved. the moonlight caught on his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.
"and that one—" he was still going, completely absorbed. "that's cassiopeia. she was a queen in greek mythology who bragged about being more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so poseidon punished her by placing her in the sky upside down. you can see how the constellation kind of looks like a W? that's her throne."
"jake," you said softly.
"oh, and if you look over there, that really bright one? that's actually venus, not a star. common misconception. planets don't twinkle like stars do because—"
you leaned down and kissed him, cutting off his rambling mid-sentence. he made a surprised sound but responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. when you pulled back he followed your lips automatically, trying to chase another kiss.
"you were saying?" you teased.
"i—" he blinked up at you, slightly dazed. "what was i saying?"
"something about venus."
"right. venus. because of the. um." he lost his train of thought as you leaned down again, kissing him slower this time. "you're distracting me from the meteor shower."
"am i?"
"yeah. very effectively." but he was smiling, pulling you down for another kiss.
you shifted, moving to straddle his lap properly. jake's hands immediately found your waist, sliding under your shirt to rest against bare skin.
the kissing turned heated quickly. jake made these small, needy sounds that drove you crazy, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, anywhere he could reach. when you rolled your hips experimentally he gasped into your mouth, his grip tightening.
"fuck," he whispered. "you're gonna kill me."
you kissed down his jaw, his neck, feeling his pulse racing under your lips. his hands had moved to your hips now, guiding your movements, and you could feel how affected he was. "still thinking about the stars?" you teased.
"what stars?" he pulled you down for another bruising kiss, one hand tangling in your hair. "can't think about anything except you."
you ground down harder and jake made a sound that was almost a whine, his head falling back against the blanket. "please," he gasped. "please, i need—"
suddenly, the loud, insistent beeping of his watch interrupted the moment.
you both froze.
jake's face went bright red as he fumbled with his wrist. "oh my god. oh my god. it's my fitness watch. it thinks i'm exercising because my heart rate—" another beep. "make it stop."
you couldn't help it. you burst out laughing, burying your face in his shoulder while his watch continued its concerned beeping about his elevated heart rate. "it's not funny," jake groaned, still trying to silence the watch. "this is so embarrassing."
"it's a little funny."
"my watch just cockblocked me. there's nothing funny about that."
you kissed his jaw, still giggling. "i think it's cute. your heart rate got that high just from kissing me?"
"you were not just kissing me, you were—" he made a frustrated noise. "yes. okay. yes. you have that effect on me. are you happy?"
"very." you settled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing under your ear. the watch had finally stopped beeping. "for what it's worth, my heart's doing the same thing."
"yeah?" he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.
"yeah."
you lay there together, the ocean providing a steady soundtrack, the stars scattered above you. jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "i love you," he said softly. "in case that wasn't obvious from the way my watch literally staged an intervention."
you lifted your head to look at him. his eyes were soft, open, vulnerable in the moonlight. "i love you too," you said, meaning it completely.
he smiled, that full, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. then he kissed you again, sweet and unhurried, his hands gentle on your face.
"we should probably head back soon," you murmured eventually. "it's getting late."
"five more minutes," jake said, pulling you closer. "just. let me hold you for five more minutes."
you settled back against him, his arms wrapped securely around you, both of you looking up at the vast sky. you'd come here to watch a meteor shower but you'd been too distracted by each other to notice if any had passed.
somehow, you didn't mind at all.
"hey," jake said softly. "thank you."
"for what?"
"for giving me another chance. for being patient with me while i figured my shit out. for. this. all of it." his arms tightened around you. "i know i was difficult at first."
"you weren't difficult. you were protecting yourself. i get it now."
"still. you could have given up on me. but you didn't."
"of course i didn't," you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "you're worth it. you've always been worth it."
jake made a soft, overwhelmed sound, burying his face in your hair. "i'm gonna marry you someday," he mumbled. "just so you know."
"jake—"
"not now. obviously not now. but someday. when we've graduated and figured our lives out and i can actually afford a ring. i'm gonna marry you."
you felt your chest go tight with emotion. "okay," you whispered. "someday."
"yeah. someday."
you stayed like that until the cold started seeping in, until you were both shivering despite being pressed together. finally, reluctantly, you packed up the blanket and headed back to campus. jake held your hand the entire walk, occasionally pulling you close to kiss you at random intervals.
"what was that for?" you asked after the third surprise kiss.
"just because," he said, smiling. "because i can. because i love you. do i need more reasons?"
"no," you said, kissing him back. "no more reasons needed."
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
𝛝𝛠 MIDNIGHT IN MILAN — lhs - @sungbeams (they say love makes you do stupid things...surely fucking your boyfriend in the bathroom at the prada after party when your relationship isn't even public and neither of you can afford a dating scandal isn't that stupid, right?)
𝛝𝛠 ── .✦ WORTH THE WAIT (l hs) - @whjluv (you thought transferring to a new high school for senior year would be a nightmare. who knew you would end up with a genuine group of friends and a boy in need of finding himself again?)
𝛝𝛠 SOBRIETY .. lhs - @yuons (it proves to be easy to fluster your best friend)
𝛝𝛠 WAITING ROOM ──★ ˙ - @heejamas (for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with)
𝛝𝛠 OOPS, IT SLIPPED ✶ 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉 𝗇’ 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 - @byshens (when you and your boyfriend, heeseung, wanted to take things slow in bed but he ‘accidentally’ slips inside)
𝛝𝛠 Heeseung teaching inexperienced reader how to ride him while he sucks on her titties - @yeonzzzn
𝛝𝛠 heesung waking you up with head - @hoonipies (morning sex, oral (f rec), cum eating)
𝛝𝛠 𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 (l.hs) - @i2sunric (who knew an email sent in a moment of range could spark a burning desire between you and your boss?)
𝛝𝛠 sixty-nine - @heesngirl (drunk sex, carpet sex, dirty talk (mild) oral sex (both), p in v, cum eating, unprotected sex, a little soft towards the end)
𝛝𝛠 by the belt - lee heeseung ────୨ৎ──── - @sadmusicprincess (pulling heeseung closer by his belt unexpectedly did something to him)
𝛝𝛠 LOVESONG(demo).wav - @just-nc-tea (Who would’ve thought that stumbling into room 3B-47 crying your eyes out would lead to the best thing that ever happened to you in that cursed HYBE building)
𝛝𝛠 IT'LL FIT - @ikeukiss (Heeseung loves that you're inexperienced. In his words, it's so cute he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes. But when it comes to his own body, he's pretty sure he knows what you will and won't be able to take)
𝛝𝛠 HACKER!STEPBRO HEESEUNG - TRAPPED. - @lassiie (The one where your antisocial stepbro pretends he's not obsessed—while secretly hacking you, jerking off to your secrets, and discovering about your desire. He’s obsessed… And you'll use it)
𝛝𝛠 No Exit, Just Him - @elikajinnie (You’ve lost track of time since Heeseung took you—days, weeks, maybe months. The walls around you close in, suffocating you, broken only by his voice. "Do you love me?" he asks, over and over. And every time, you tell him "No." But Heeseung is running out of patience. And if sweet words and waiting won’t change your answer, he’ll just have to find another way to make you say yes)
𝛝𝛠 THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER !! - @ickbite (It’s okay to get with a guy a few years older than you! Even better when he tries to ignore how beautifully charming you are!)
𝛝𝛠 YOU MAKE ME - @heesdreamer (struck with insomnia your entire life, you’ve taken to exploring the city restless all night. things change when you meet a tall boy with tired eyes and bruised knuckles)
𝛝𝛠 TiARA。 lee heeseung - @soov (princess fem reader & duke heeseung)
𝛝𝛠 off-limits never meant untouchable - @belovedniki (heeseung tells himself it means something. that you’re off-limits because you’re his best friend's girlfriend. but when you smile at him like that, soft, warm and stupidly sweet, he forgets every reason not to want you. and when you look up at him, all innocent and close, he forgets how to stop)
𝛝𝛠 smoke signals ★ ༄.° l.h. - @guppiechuu (rule #1: never fuck your plug. but it’s oh-so hard to remember this rule when your plug is sooo hot and soooo into you)
𝛝𝛠 I WANT YOU SO BAD .ᐟ.ᐟ - @lolliloopsy (obsessed!leeheeseung x fem!reader)
𝛝𝛠 .𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒ helping hand - @pinkjellyz (heeseung had an unusual ritual before every competition as a professional league of legends player. one that his ex-girlfriend could no longer fulfill for him, leaving him desperate enough to ask for your help as his best friend)
𝛝𝛠 ━━━RAGE QUIT 18+ - @guliexe (you started as friends who played games at night—now he’s the one making you moan into his pillow)
SUMMARY: Sunghoon was an up-and-coming figure skater with a bright future, but he threw it all away to marry you. Thirteen years later, your marriage has failed, the kids don’t respect him one bit, and all his friends are wildly successful in life except him. He gets a chance to correct the mistakes of his past and change his life when he is miraculously transported back in time, before he even met you. But changing the past might cost him everything.
A/N: This took me so long to finish y'all I started considering actually taking ice skating lessons. PLEASE read for my sake. (Some scenes inspired by the movie 17 Again!)
thirteen years ago.
Sunghoon took a deep breath as the chill air of the rink, even from where he sat in the locker room, sent shivers down his spine. His thin black blouse with rhinestoned sleeves did nothing to shield him from the cold.
He should have been used to it by now. But today would be the most important skate of his life.
The World Championships. The event that would decide his place at the next Olympics.
Just a few years ago, he had missed out on competing completely due to a knee injury. Sunghoon was determined this time to make his dreams come true. His seniors always said that Olympic ice felt different, more real. This would be it. His last chance before the younger, more talented skaters took his spot later down the line.
He was picking at his nails with his teeth, a habit he so desperately needed to let go of. Even with ten competitors ahead of him, Sunghoon was already on edge. You, his good luck charm, had not arrived yet. It wasn't typical of you. In your three years of dating, you never missed the opening skate of any competition he'd been in.
It’s where you first met. You had been in the stands, taping your phone number onto a penguin plushie he’d caught after his award-winning skate. Since then, it's been tradition for you to sit in the same exact seat during local competitions.
His left leg bounced impatiently as he sat on the locker room bench. Sunghoon has sent about 16 texts to your phone already. He shook his head, unlocking his phone for the umpteenth time. Crickets. His phone screen photo of you blowing a kiss into the camera was taunting him now.
Where the hell were you?
Coach Jung patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”
“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replied, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”
Coach Jung rolled his eyes.
“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubted the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”
Sunghoon didn't know if that was meant to be motivating or not, but when Coach Jung left, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form. It's been years in the making. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this. The time he could've spent going on longer dates with you all went to extra hours practicing quads in the rink. He couldn't let his sacrifices go to waste. It would be a disservice to both of you.
He put his hands to his face and repeated a mantra of self-affirmations.
‘You got this, you got this, you-’’
“Hoon?” He heard your sweet voice call out. Your head poked through the locker room door before entering cautiously. Audience members weren’t typically allowed in here, but you always managed to sneak your way in.
He dropped his hands immediately, a wave of relief washing over him.
“There you are,” Sunghoon whispered to himself, rushing to you as fast as he could with skates on the carpet. You let out a small sound as he picked you up by the waist, spinning you around like a princess.
“Where have you been?” Sunghoon sighed happily, setting you down with a kiss to your temple. “I was blowing up your phone! I thought you died.”
You smiled, but he noticed how tight it looked. The light didn't quite reach your eyes, and your lips twitched as if it was almost painful to maintain. He brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
“Everything okay?”
You nodded, resting your hand on his as his thumb drew small circles on your cheek.
“I…” you trailed off. You were looking at the ground, at the ceiling, and even at the trash cans. Anywhere but him. “I want to talk to you about something.”
He raised a brow. Your fingers were quivering, and he noticed redness in the whites of your eyes. Were you crying?
“Of course, baby. You can tell me anything.”
Sunghoon is worried now as he took both of your hands into his. He felt how cold they were, even more so than his.
“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blared into the locker room. That was him. He was one of the last five.
He pursed his lips as he looked towards the door and back at you. Your mouth opened, just as flustered by the announcement.
“Let's wait,” you said in a rush, noticing the sweatiness of his palms. “It can wait.”
Sunghoon shook his head. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let these things linger.
“No, [Y/N]. Tell me what's wrong.” He stood his ground. Your eyes were watering, his gaze unmoving from yours. As you spoke, it was like the world around him went still. His chest felt heavy, throat so constricted he thought he would choke.
“I'm pregnant.”
No, he thought. It can’t be.
“H-how? We never– That’s impossible– We always use-”
His voice trailed off, afraid that if he said anything out loud, it would become more real. You pursed your lips, biting your top lip so hard that it drew blood.
“Don’t you remember?”
two months ago.
You were laughing, he was laughing. You both looked insane, obnoxiously cackling at nothing, in the dimly lit streets that led to his apartment. You were drinking with the guys at a new bar, underestimating the power of tequila compared to the usual shots of soju.
Sunghoon's arm was wrapped around your waist, putting his weight on you to prevent himself from faceplanting on the ground. He had lost too many hands in poker with Jay and Jake, and instead of betting money, he took an extra four shots as punishment. It was a big mistake.
“They got lucky,” he blabbered, “If we played Go Fish, I would have wiped the floor with them.”
He was hiccuping, and that sent you into a further spiral of giggles. Sunghoon was always so darn cute when drunk, so different from his icy exterior. His cheeks were tinged with red, and his pupils dilated. You weren't doing all that well either, with your body so warm from the alcohol that you had shed your jacket on the ground just a few minutes earlier. Where that jacket was now is lost on you.
“Hoon!” you exclaimed, pointing at his apartment gate. “We did it!”
Sunghoon stumbled to get his keys from his pocket. Opening the gate and then going up the steps felt like an hour-long operation with how you two struggled. When he slid down the wall by the entrance of his apartment, you collapsed with him.
The two of you, by his coat rank, staring into each other with heavy-lidded gazes and too far gone to even turn the lights on. By then, your movements were already out of your control.
You traced the moles on his face like divine art, cradling his jaw with such care. Even in the drunkest of states, he looked so heavenly. He was so pretty in the moonlight.
You pressed your lips against his, slowly at first, tugging at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt. Sunghoon made a noise of shock before deepening the kiss, hands roaming everywhere until they met your waist. His lips were so plush against yours, hungry to taste every inch of you. Your tongues danced with an urgency you've never felt before. Nipping at your bottom lip, he coaxed small sounds out of you.
Sunghoon lifted you, firm hands on your bum to sit you atop him.
He broke the kiss to bury himself in the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sunghoon's lips found your pulse point, suctioning around it like he was drawing your heartbeat out of your body. You gripped his soft hair and tilted your head back to give him better access. He lapped at your neck, your collar bone, anywhere his tongue could access. He was addicted to the taste of your skin, to the taste of you. You always smelled so good, had him so riled up even in the most unassuming of moments. He remembered how you looked in the bar with this sparkly red dress. Remembered how it rode up every time you sat down next to him. Fuck.
You felt him then. The tent of his pants and the friction of his hips as they hopelessly jut up to meet yours.
You whined at the contact. He was palming your ass now with both hands, massaging as he moved you up and down on the tightness of his jeans.
“Hoon,” you gasp. “Not here-”
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes so dark and full of lust. He wasn’t having it; you could see it in his face. His deliciously tense jawline. The bead of sweat running down his temple. You felt yourself clench around nothing just at the sight. How could a man be so gorgeous?
“Can't wait,” he hummed. “Need you now.”
He pushed your dress up your body, the material bunched at your waist.
You purse your lips in anticipation. He’s rock hard by now, and you can’t help but take it as an invitation to feel him. Your hands find his bulge, ghosting over his form. It jumped in response when you finally took hold, squeezing cautiously. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of the front of his jeans already damp with your fluids. Sunghoon enjoyed the view just as much as you did, his head tilted back to relish in your ministrations. He couldn’t hold back any longer.
Sunghoon’s hand, large and veiny, moved your panties to the side impatiently.
"Hoon-" you gasped at the skin-to-skin contact.
His fingers traced the slit of your folds up and down, covering his digits with your slick. You found his swollen lips again to suppress your whimpers, saliva running down your joined mouths as you unzipped his painful-looking jeans. He was already prepping you for him, index finger cautiously pushing its way inside your plush walls. He groaned at the feeling of your fluttering warmth. Already, you were sucking him in.
“Always so fucking wet,” he muttered on your lips. You couldn’t help but grind down on him, a roundabout way of telling him to apply more pressure. To go harder. Rougher. To ruin you. He chuckled at your frustration. Needed to see more of it, more of you begging.
Sunghoon tested the waters and pushed in a second. Your moans were drowned out again by his merciless mouth. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, you swore you could feel him at the back of your neck.
He was fucking you onto his hand now, his palm making contact with your clit after every thrust. His forearm was tense, pace so relentless. Animalistic. You were practically bouncing on him, hands digging into his shoulder blades to chase your release. He loved the sight, wanting to hear you come undone just from his measly fingers in your dripping pussy.
“So desperate,” he hummed into your mouth. “Who's making you like this?”
Sunghoon was never this mouthy during sex, usually because he didn’t want the apartment next door to hear through the thin walls. But he had let go of all his inhibitions, the tequila still sitting fresh in his stomach.
“You, Hoon,” you cried out, legs shaking from the harsh pace of his fingers and your incessant grinding. “Please-”
You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but you knew he could give it to you. Knew he was the only one who could. Your mind was filled with Sunghoon and Sunghoon only. The effects of the alcohol had made you a bumbling mess, pleading and begging for more. Your back arches to meet his fingers better, but it wasn’t not enough.
He added a third to relieve you, watching as your mouth opened into a silent scream.
“Hoon– Need it– Please– I need–”
You couldn't find the right words, couldn’t even keep yourself upright without his support. Sunghoon’s hands roamed up your body as one made its way to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he pressed down gently on the pulse point he was nipping at just earlier. His eyes were heavy on you, watching you so intently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as your airways slowly constricted, as his thumb pushed against you. God, you loved the feeling.
“Enjoying yourself, baby?”
Lightheaded, you were practically gripping his bulge at this point. The sounds between your legs were borderline pornographic, his fingers drawing out every wet squelch as they sank and twisted in and out of you. You felt so full of him, three fingers so deep inside you. But you could take more; you wanted to take more.
“Speak up,” he drawled, his voice slurring from the tequila. “Tell me what you want, or I'll stop.”
You sobbed, clawing at his clothed chest as he let go of your neck to let you talk. You gasped for air as you let yourself fall onto him.
“Need you inside me,” you cried as he pistoned his fingers into you harder. You wished he could just rip your underwear so you could feel his rough palm grind onto your bare clit. “Please, please, pl-”
"I am inside you," he teased. And all you could do was wail, shaking your head out of distress.
"Hoon-"
Your movements were forced to stop as Sunghoon's free hand gripped your thigh. His fingers were curved into you, stroking that spongy spot that he always managed to find. He massaged your G-spot at a steady pace, anticipating your climax. You wanted to move, but he held you down roughly. Your eyes were forced to look into his, and you felt the floodgates of your release start to open.
“No-,” you whined.
You were close, so close. But your mind was made up. Well, at least what was left of it.
“Wanna cum with you. Can I, Hoonie? Please?” you beg.
“Fuck-”
His grip on you loosened. His hand slowly left your tight folds, and he admired the slick that coated his long fingers. He brought them to your mouth, motioning you to taste the juices he coaxed out of you. With your doe eyes looking straight at him, you swallowed around him. Tongue flattened and bringing him in deeper.
His other hand reached into the back of his pocket, fiddling around to find his emergency condom. The one that became a necessity to bring around you.
Sunghoon's mind was all over the place. Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking them so harshly. He'd have given anything right now to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead.
He'd almost grabbed the condom until you pulled his boxers down. Your mouth released his fingers with a small ‘pop’ as his painfully hard member slapped his stomach. You positioned yourself closer, adjusting so that his thickness slid against your soiled, clothed pussy. You cursed your stupid underwear for getting in the way again.
“B-baby-” Sunghoon stuttered out as you moved your panties to the side once more, his raw cock lined up to your aching hole. “Just give me a second-”
His hand tried to reach for his wallet again, but you interlocked them with yours instead. You shook your head, grinding against him cautiously. You don't know what's gotten into you. It's like the tequila was letting you act out your deepest, darkest dreams — ones of him fucking his cum so deeply into you that you were dripping wet with his fluids.
“Please?” you asked hopelessly. Your breath hitched. His cock met your clit, his precum spread all over your folds. Fuck it. You were too far gone. “I-I wanna feel you.”
Sunghoon would like to think he had self-control. Would like to believe that he was calmer than most. But the way your pleading eyes looked at him, and how your legs trembled in excitement. His intoxicated brain couldn't tell right from wrong. He wanted to give you everything you asked for.
“Fuck, are you sure?” he groaned as you aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing down slightly to envelop his tip. He lets out a hiss, teeth gritting from the feeling. You were so tight, so fucking perfect for him.
“Mhm,” you mustered, wrapping your arms around his neck as his large hands met your ass again. “It's okay…”
You were sinking onto him now, his head buried into your neck from the sensation. You two had never done it without a condom before, always so careful. But he wondered, as his large cock was slowly sucked into your soaked pussy, why he'd never fucked you raw before. Sunghoon swore under his breath as he felt you clench around him. Fucking you with a condom was ruined for him forever. He could never put one on again.
“Fuck, baby,” he willed himself not to move too fast. The stinging stretch of him had you withering above him, but you didn’t care. Not one bit. You clutched his hair as you impaled yourself on him, so lost in the feeling of him penetrating you so slowly.
He was fully sheathed inside you now. Sunghoon needed a second to recuperate, but you were making it so difficult for him.
"Fuck-" he inhaled sharply as you grinded down on his pulsating cock. You were so impatient, already so worked up from his fingers.
You were suctioning him, trapping him in your walls like you would never let him go. His grip on your hips tightened as he growled into your collarbone.
“Baby,” he said sternly this time, finding some semblance of sanity. “Don't.”
You whined, your hips stuttering through his tight grip on your ass cheeks. You wanted him to plow into you like you were his personal toy. Was there anything wrong with that?
“Why?” you drawled out, desperate for movement, for anything. Your eyes met his, and even through your drunken haze, you understood. He was close, already so on edge from feeling your raw pussy. And that made you want him even more.
You swore your hips moved on their own. You lifted yourself, shallowly thrusting yourself against him as he tried to hinder your attempts.
“N-no,” he grunted. “Too soon-”
You giggled as his hands were on your back now. Despite your protests, he did not stop you in any meaningful way.
His grip on your ass was replaced with him pulling the straps down of your dress and bra to free your bouncing tits. He cupped them as you raised yourself higher, until just the very tip of him was left inside you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself down on him without assistance. You moaned, feeling his heaviness in your lower stomach.
“Fuck-” he cried through clenched teeth. Sunghoon’s head was against the wall now, hands massaging your breasts so eagerly.
He tugged at your nipples, pinching them between his index finger and thumb. Such a sight for sore eyes, seeing him so fucked out underneath you as you bounced on his cock. You wished you could engrave this in your memory. His parted lips and glistening forehead.
You grinded your hips so helplessly against him, hands on his knees as you squeezed him through every downward thrust.
“Baby, s-slow down.”
You're determined now, even as you start to feel that fluttering ache in your core. You wanted to do good for him, wanted to make him lose control like you would whenever he had you pinned to the bed and crying.
“Hoon, speak up,” you teased, mimicking his earlier words. “Tell me what you want or I-”
You couldn't finish your sentence as his hand meets the back of your neck, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands traveled down to your thighs, squeezing them roughly.
He thrusted up into you harshly, his grip on you guiding his movements. His pace was even more merciless than yours, not giving you time to catch your breath as you felt your inner walls contract around him.
No!
He needed to cum first. It was always you who came undone before him. You just needed to hold out, just for a few more seconds-
And in perfect timing, he found it. That part of you that had you practically screaming into his mouth. He smirked against your lips and hoisted you closer, fucking up into you as his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of your thighs. Your insides churned with a tingling feeling, like something needed to be released. You pulled yourself away from his lips.
"No… Hoon-"
"Take it," he grunted. "You want it, right?”
You cried as his thrusts grazed your G-spot over and over again, his tip kissing your cervix at the right angles.
“So fucking take it."
Your eyes roll back, the sensation was stronger and stronger until-
"Oh my god-"
Your climax hit you like a ton of bricks, crashing down on you so unexpectedly that your walls wanted to hold his raw length in place. Sunghoon continued his thrusts, not caring for the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You had your fun. Now, let him have his.
His hands spread your ass cheeks apart, guiding you down onto his painfully hard cock with fervor. Sunghoon felt his high inching closer as he pumped in and out of your wetness, ignoring your cries of overstimulation.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned into your neck. He's there. He felt it. You braced yourself for his sweet release.
“Need to pull out...”
Your eyebrows furrowed, expression laced in devastation. As if on instinct, you clenched around him. You wanted it. Whatever ‘it’ was.
“In me,” you babbled through strained moans. “Please, Hoonie?”
He grit his teeth. That damn pet name. You were evil, so fucking evil. With your pretty tits and batting eyelashes. Who was he to deny you? His thrusts were erratic, admiring as your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”
His hips stuttered up into you. White, hot spurts met your cervix as you reached another orgasm from the sheer feeling of his release, mouth wide open. Your hips gyrated against his, easing both of you through your releases. His head rolled back, jaw clenched, and eyes wired shut as he felt you milk his cock of everything he was worth.
You watched as a white ring formed around his cock was buried deep in you, still a little hard. You rested your body against his. Your eyelids were heavy, so content and warm in ways that only Sunghoon could bring out in you.
“I love you,” he sighed into your hair, his own lethargy getting the best of him. “So fucking much.”
“I love you too.”
And as ridiculous as it sounds, the two of you slept in that position for hours. Two bodies connected at the entrance way of Sunghoon's studio apartment. When the sun came up and you realized what was done in your drunken states, you two panicked for the wrong reason. Did the neighbors hear? What happened to your jacket? Were you gonna get a UTI?
Sunghoon's cheeks reddened from the memory. It had to have been that night.
“A-are you sure?” he stuttered.
You nodded solemnly. You knew it wouldn't be good news for him. It wasn't for you either.
You were almost done with university. It’s supposed to be the year you figured out what you wanted out of a career. So when your first wave of morning sickness hit you just a week earlier, you knew every plan that you had would be forever ripped from your fingers.
To travel the world. To start new hobbies. It would all have to wait. This would be your life now.
When you told your mother, tears streamed down her face. She called you everything underneath the sun. But she knew what it was like to carry a life unexpectedly, so she hugged you through it. Your dad’s reaction was worse. He hadn’t spoken to you yet.
“Two months along,” you whispered. Though he could never regret that night, he realized now how stupid it must have been to ignore the alarm bells in his head. He knew better. You knew better. Why the fuck did it end up like this?
“So…” He gulped. He didn’t know what to say. “What now?”
“I…” you started. Heaving a deep breath, you felt him tense up.
“I want to keep the baby,” you swallowed. Sunghoon’s mouth was parted, and his eyes were blank of emotion.
It made you anxious, his lack of response.
When he didn't reply, you started again. “What should we-”
“Sunghoon Park. Sunghoon Park. Please be on stand-by,” the overhead speaker rang out. He didn't mean to, but like muscle memory, his hand let go of yours. Guilt crashed over him, and he couldn't bring himself to look into your wavering eyes as he walked past you.
The competition. This was his last chance. Coach Jung's voice resounded in his head. Don't mess it up.
“Hoon-”
Your voice fell on deaf ears. His hands covered his face again, trying to refocus. He couldn't throw this away. Years. It took him years to get to this point. He couldn't. He had to skate.
Tears spilled over as you watched his back retreat away from you. You should have waited to tell him, but he had asked. He said he wanted to know.
Your back slumped against the wall of lockers, clutching your stomach as you cried. You couldn't bring yourself to go to the stands and watch him perform.
You knew it was dumb. You weren’t ready, not even close. But still… You wanted to try.
But him. Sunghoon.
You leaned your head back against the cold wall, breath faltering through your tears. What did you even expect? That he'd be happy? Excited?
You let out a shaky laugh.
Of course not. It's not like you were either.
You stood up, dusting yourself off.
You'd figure out a way to do this, you convinced yourself. If it meant that you were by yourself, that was fine. He didn't have to be there. He had big dreams, ones that predated you. You understood, even though it hurt.
“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!”
The cheers that ensued soon after made your chest constrict just a little more. You just couldn’t bear to watch him skate now. It was all too much.
You trudged towards the ice rink's exit, arms crossed around you like you were holding yourself. You were proud of him, so proud. He worked so tirelessly for an opportunity like this. Missed sleep and took a gap year from college to pursue this. He wanted it so bad, and though it was heartbreaking to watch him walk away, you knew why. You could talk later, you convinced yourself.
But the thoughts still echoed in your head.
A professional figure skater couldn’t be a father—not now, not at his age. You knew that. God, you hated that you knew it so well. His life wasn’t what most people imagined. There was no glamor in it.
It was practices at the crack of dawn in freezing rinks and endless flights to cities he barely saw beyond hotel rooms. He could only fund basic living expenses with what little he earned from winning. He had a part-time job working the graveyard shift at a convenience store to even afford competition fees and dates with you.
He gave everything for this dream—his body, his sanity, his youth.
But he tried. In everything he did, he tried. That was the worst part.
Because even with all that trying, you still knew. That there would be no space in his life for the tiny heartbeat inside you.
You knew he'd have to quit. There was no way around it. Raising a child takes too much time away from the rink.
If he stayed, if he chose to be in this child's life, he'd have to give it all up.And it would be because of you.
But this was your life too. Your body. Your future. And no matter how tightly you clung to the image of him at your side, holding your hand in the delivery room, learning how to hold a newborn with trembling fingers—you had to be honest with yourself.
You wanted this baby. Even if it meant letting him go, even if that meant standing alone with a life you never planned for, you’d do it.
Because you knew that if it ever came down to choosing between his dream and you, it would always be-
“[Y/N], wait!”
You stopped in your tracks, stunned to hear his voice so close. Like he was here and not on the ice. You didn’t even notice that music stopped permeating the walls of the rink, that the announcer had moved on to the next contestant. He was running to you, socks thumping on the ground like he had taken his skates off only a moment before.
No. It couldn't be.
He reached you, his arms wrapped around you from behind. You heard his shaky breath against the back of your head. His thumb rubbed your forearms, planting a small kiss on your hair.
“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon blurted out when he felt like the silence between you two was suffocating. “Together.”
You turned around to face him, panicked.
“Sunghoon, no,” you tried to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. “You need to go-”
“No.”
You looked at him, pain etched in every part of his beautiful face.
“But that's your future,” you cried out, mustering everything in yourself to not melt in his embrace. He was making a mistake. He'd hate you for the rest of your life if he-
“No,” he said again, much clearer. More determined. “It’s you.”
His hand drifted to your stomach, and he smiled this time as he looked into your teary eyes.
“You're my future.”
You shook your head incessantly. “Hoon, you're not thinking straight. I should've waited to tell you. You're not in your right mind. You need to go back and-”
He silenced you with his lips, so soft—like it might break you if he were any less gentle. You fell into his touch, unknowingly pulling him closer. He kissed you again and again, hands holding yours until your tremors faded with his touch.
“I love you,” he would say between each peck. “I'm not letting you do this alone.”
And you smiled, a real, genuine smile.
“I love you too.”
You moved in with him in that tiny studio apartment, shortly after, sharing a bed that barely even fit his tall frame. The cradle he built took up the majority of the living area.
But it was nice, waking up with him every day. He talked in his sleep, would whisper your name in that sweet voice of his so lovingly. Some days, Sunghoon wouldn't let you lift a finger, would insist that you needed as much rest as possible before your due date. You had to convince him that your job as a receptionist was certainly not so physically taxing that he had to follow you to it every day.
You also got married. It was simple. Just Sunghoon and you in a courthouse with Jake and Jay, trying not to stifle their laughter as witnesses to your marriage ceremony. You wore the white dress your mother wore, and Sunghoon wore his best suit, tie tied by you.
“Say cheese!” Jake chimed as you two posed with your signed certificate. The two of them cooed at your growing belly.
You were showing now, a small bump that Sunghoon admired each time he saw you do your online classes on the kitchen counter. He never got around to buying a desk, even though he was also back in school full-time.
He had that dreaded conversation with Coach Jung beneath the dim lights of an empty rink. Sunghoon told him quietly, almost like an apology, that he’d be hanging up his skates until further notice. He wanted to be there for you at every step of the pregnancy. If he was going to stick beside you, he was going to do it right.
Coach didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. The disappointment on his face said everything.
And so Sunghoon hadn’t touched the ice since.
He couldn’t bear to set foot in that rink anymore. Not when he knew he’d only be watching from the stands.
Not when the sound of blades carving through the ice was coming from someone else’s skates.
Not when he used to relish in the cold air passing through his body. Now, the only wind on his face came from passing cars as he biked to his second job.
He picked up a shift at a nearby restaurant. Just as a server. The kind of job that reminded him how painfully ordinary he was without his skates. Sometimes, when no one’s looking, he’ll shift his weight just right and practice his landings in the break room, arms out, knees bent.
Other times, he scrolls through YouTube during his graveyard shift at the convenience store, searching up his own name with trembling fingers, watching old performances through a phone screen. Reading comments. Trying to remember what it felt like to matter to people he never met.
You noticed, probably more than you let on. You just tried not to pry. He would get distant when you mentioned it, like that part of himself needed to be tucked away and out of his sight. You knew he was afraid, terrified to look back and see everything he gave up.
But when Sunghee was born, it was like his world started to make sense again. He held her like she was made of glass. Sobbed so loudly the first time he saw her, you thought he was in pain.
But no, he was just overwhelmed. Taken by the way her tiny hand curled around his finger, how her cries quieted the moment he held her close.
He’d protect her, he swore to himself. That this—her—wrapped up in the pink hospital blanket, was his life now.
And maybe, for a moment, he believed that was enough.
But the thoughts never stopped. His eyes would flicker toward the old duffel bag in the closet, where his skates were still packed away. He gave that up. For you. For her. And he’d never say he regretted it. But you knew.
You understood what he was grieving. Because you grieved too.
That girl who used to dream of making art, she felt like a ghost now. Someone you used to know.
Your passions, the things that once lit a fire in you, now sat gathering dust. All shelved quietly the moment your body became a home for Sunghee.
And your parents. You were still trying to reassemble the broken pieces of your relationship with them. Your mother tried to be there for you in her own way, but her disappointment was loud in the quietest moments between you two. And your father… well, he still hadn’t really looked you in the eye since the day you told him.
And though she was born healthy, Sunghee came into the world screaming. She was a loud baby, inconsolable most nights, and the exhaustion had tested Sunghoon and you.
You took turns because you had to. He’d rock her until sunrise, then stumble to his classes. He started falling asleep during his breaks at work, cheek pressed against cold metal tables.
He didn’t care much for his own health, but the bags beneath your eyes pained him. Your face, once bright and curious, had dimmed under all the sleepless nights and rising costs of diapers. You were both burnt out.
He dropped Sunghee off with his parents for one night and dragged you out to see your friends. It was Jake's going-away dinner.
“It’s so hard to meet nowadays,” you sighed. “Feels like I’ve been nursing a migraine for the past three months.”
Jake laughed.
“Sad I won’t get to see her grow up,” he said as he poured himself a beer. “Make sure to bring her to Australia one day. She deserves to see her coolest uncle play football.”
Niki rolled his eyes.
“No one’s paying for that long-ass flight to see you benchwarm,” Niki mumbled, chewing on some chips. “Have her come see me dance instead. At least I’ll be in the center.”
Jake smacks his friend on the back of the head.
“No need for any of that,” Jay chimed in. “She won’t have time for either of you. Papa bear here probably already has her future all mapped out. Skates on before she can walk.”
An awkward silence filled the room. The joke was lighthearted, but it landed too close to a wound no one had dared to touch in the past year. Sunghoon gave a quiet laugh, a hollow one without warmth. He brought the bottle to his lips and didn’t look at anyone when he spoke.
“Yeah... she’ll be a star.”
He eyed the ceiling, pondering what she would look like. Maybe just like him. Graceful. Passionate. “Olympic-worthy. Could probably win gold if we find the right coach early enough.”
You pursed your lips and stared at the condensation running down your glass.
Sunoo cleared his throat, noticing the tense atmosphere. He raised his glass with forced enthusiasm. “To our beautiful Sunghee,” he cheered. “And to Jake’s success!”
Sunghoon smiled, but not really. He was happy for his friend, sure. But behind his facade, envy sat heavy on his tongue.
‘This night could have been for you. They could have been congratulating you. And you gave it all up. Now look at you. You’re a nobody.’
You couldn’t help but watch him throughout the night as he grew quieter, his sips of beer more like chugs now. You rubbed circles on his back like you always did when he got like this, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. But his eyes stayed glued to the back corner of the bar.
As you patted him, he pulled your wrist away. Not harshly. Not angrily. Just a simple tug. He set your hand back on your lap, his gaze straight ahead and away from you.
“I’m okay,” he assured you, but you didn’t believe him. Not then.
Not ever, really.
Though time passed, life never got easier. The weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders with each passing year. And while you both smiled through milestones and made do with the small hiccups in your relationship, you were content with this life. Doing laundry on lazy Sundays, Sunghoon singing nursery rhymes to Sunghee before school.
But after the birth of your second child, Sungjae, it had all started to rot.
Sunghoon’s longing for his old life never faded. It stewed in him, creeping into his thoughts at his corporate job after finishing university, haunting him on bus rides home.
The bills piled higher. Your patience wore thinner. Conversations turned into quiet disagreements and tired sighs. You no longer fought. You didn’t even have the energy for that. Just two ghosts of your former selves moving through the same rooms, sleeping in the same bed, wondering what could’ve been.
thirteen years later. the present.
Sunghoon adjusts his tie, furrowing his brows as he sees how crooked it is from the reflection of the mirror. He gives up halfway through. Fuck it, it would be a no-tie kind of day. He exits the bedroom, his footsteps making loud echoes on the way down the spiral staircase and towards the all-marble kitchen. He inhales slowly as he smells the fragrance of smoked spices dancing around his nostrils. It was enough to make his mouth water.
“What's cooking, good-looking?” he says, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.
“Ew,” a voice rang out, soft and disgruntled. Sunghoon turns the corner and almost laughs at the sight.
“Shut up,” Sunoo scoffs, clad in an apron and silk pajamas. “Don’t say corny shit like that in my house until you get your act together.”
Sunghoon takes a seat on the barstool of the kitchen counter. He watches Sunoo maneuver the wide expanse of the kitchen like an expert.
“I'm a dad,” Sunghoon sighs out. “That’s kind of our thing.”
“Yeah, one going through a divorce,” Sunoo snaps back, monitoring his frittata closely on the stove.
Sunghoon's shoulders slump. Of course, the only friend willing to let him stay for an indefinite amount of time was the one most critical of his life choices. Sunoo insisted, in fact. Said his place was “feeling empty” anyway.
“So,” Sunoo coughs, acknowledging he might have taken it too far with his earlier comment. “Any word from her about the court date yet?”
Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his watch as it nears 8:30 a.m. He'd have to leave soon to get to work. His boring, dull job as a fiscal manager at blah blah blah corporation. Even he barely knows what he does for a living.
“Can I borrow your car?” Sunghoon asks, ignoring his friend's question. He doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to speak anything into existence, even if it was already happening.
You asked for it two weeks ago. A divorce.
He's been living with (mooching off of) Sunoo since.
“Which one? The Bugatti or the Ferrari?”
Sunghoon gives Sunoo a side-eye, and the younger fails to stifle a laugh. He never wastes a second to flex on his friend, the only one out of their friend group who worked at a 9-5 job in total and absolute misery.
Heeseung's a streamer, Jay took over as CEO of his father's company, Jake was still playing football in Australia, Jungwon started his own Taekwondo studio, and Niki was traveling the world as a choreographer. And of course, Sunoo wound up in a big old mansion with his modeling career.
Sunghoon thought he'd end up like them. He got the right experience after university to find a stable job that didn't involve slaving away at customer service gigs like he did before.
He thought he'd move up higher in his company by now. Have a team to call his own, like Jungwon had, or make “small, high-impact decisions” like Jay claims he does. But none of that ever came. His heart was never in it.
Sunghoon sighs.
“Whatever gets me from Point A to Point B,” he mutters. Sunoo cuts a piece of frittata from the skillet and plates it. He slides it over to his older friend and tosses a key from his pocket.
“Take the Kia Soul.”
Sunghoon groans. “You're fucking with me.”
“Mr. Park,” his coworker chirps into his ear. “I was wondering how your KPIs were this week…”
Sunghoon lets him drone on as he types on his computer. No private office, just a cubicle by the elevators. He hates how people tend to gravitate towards him for small talk. He's not very good at it. Never has been. It was a common joke within his family that he skated more than he spoke growing up.
You dragged him out of his shell when you met, cracked him open with your bright-eyed gazes and addictive laughter. He’d planned to keep his head down when he was younger. No distractions and no detours. Just figure skating.
But how could he not fall in love with you?
He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts aside before it settles in too deeply. He reminisces too much.
It’s like the past is all his mind drifts off to these days.
He leaves work on time. Gets stuck in traffic, like usual. And drives to the home you two once shared. A routine he's used to by now.
He sees your car in the driveway and groans. He knew if he sees you, you'd bring up the papers again. Those stupid fucking papers.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he enters the once-familiar home. You've made changes to it since he's been gone. He squints to get a better look. In just two weeks, the kitchen's completely repainted with a soft green instead of gray. The living room was completely rearranged, and family pictures were taken down from the walls.
Sungjae is sitting on the couch, playing with his iPad. He only looks up for a second before he gets back into whatever is playing on his device. Sunghoon knew he should have hidden that thing before he left. Or, he guesses, before you kicked him out.
“Where's your sister?” he asks, practically into the void.
As if on cue, Sunghee walks down the stairs. Her eyes are already rolling, and she's still wearing her pink pajamas and bunny slippers.
“Get dressed, princess. We're gonna be late for your practice!”
Sunghee tsks.
“C'mon,” Sunghoon adds with a forced smile. “You missed the last two practices already. You're gonna fall behind-”
“Dad, I already told you I want to quit,” she cuts in. “Can't you just take a freaking hint?”
Sunghoon stares blankly at his daughter, trying to hold back the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon doesn’t know where she gets the attitude comes from. It's like when Sunghee hit the age of 13, she morphed into a walking stick of dynamite with a terribly short fuse.
“Well,” he begins, voice tight but even. “Why don't we push through it for today, hm? You know, back in my day, I wasn't always up for the challenge, but-”
“We get it dad!” she groans. “'Back in my day' this, 'if I were you' that. No one cares!"
It stings him more than he cares to admit.
"Sunghee," he says, slower this time, the edge creeping into his voice.
She just scoffs at her father's serious expression. She's never been scared of him when he's angry. That was always your role.
"I’m not going," she stands her ground, crossing her arms. "You can't make me. If you wanna go so bad, then go to that stupid ice rink by yourself.”
Sunghoon inhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips to seem more assertive.
From the couch, seven-year-old Sungjae snickers.
“Listen here, young lady-”
“Listen here, young lady…” Sungjae mocks, in a tone much like his father's. Sunghoon whips his head to his iPad kid.
“And you, young man-”
“Sunghoon,” you say sternly as you appear at the staircase. “I already called to cancel. Indefinitely. Even if you take her now, she won't even be able to join the other kids.”
Sunghee sticks her tongue out at her father, prancing to the couch to pinch her younger brother's cheeks.
He blinks, brows knitting together. “What? Why would you do that without telling me?”
"Sorry, was that a decision that needed your approval?" you ask sarcastically. "You can't make her do something she doesn't want to do."
Sunghoon scoffs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. But he stops himself. His gaze flickers to the kids, who pretend like they're not watching from the living room.
He swallows down whatever instinct tells him to argue right here, right now. You two never fought in front of them, an unspoken rule. Even if you were technically separated, he would not break that now.
“Let's talk in our room,” he whispers closely, and you roll your eyes.
“My room,” you correct, already turning to head back up. You don’t see it, but he tries not to flinch at your harshness.
He closes the door behind you two, the air thick with tension. He starts again.
“Why are you making decisions without me already?” he asks, trying to keep his tone level. “You cancel her figure skating classes and repaint the kitchen? Why are you-”
You sigh, already tired.
“We've been talking about repainting that ugly kitchen for years, Sunghoon,” you sigh. "You never wanted to actually get started on it. Sorry, I actually make time for the things I want."
So this is the direction you wanted the conversation to go in? Fine. He can be passive-aggressive, too.
"And Sunghee? Didn't you think to run that by me when I’m the one that pays for those lessons?"
You grit your teeth. He sees where Sunghee gets it from now, your hands crossed over your chest in disdain.
"Have you tried listening to her about practices? She gets injured all the time! Coach Jung is horrible to her. She’s miserable-”
His jaw tightens. “You don't think I was too? Half the time, I hated skating! But that’s what it takes. You think greatness just feels good all the time?! And the kitchen was fine. I don’t get why—”
"She's not trying to be great, Sunghoon!" you cry exasperatedly, your hands thrown up into the air. "She's not trying to be you."
You point your finger at his chest. “And you always think everything's fine. Until it's too late.”
Your words hung in the air, his eyes meeting yours.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says finally, quieter this time.
You retract your hand, nervous under his gaze. It’s intense, familiar in a way that still sends sparks throughout your body, even now. Even after everything.
“Stop trying to force your dreams onto her,” you finally let out, and you see his eyes waver. "Just because it didn't work out for you doesn't mean you can try again through her."
“That's not what-”
“Look,” you interrupt him, turning away from him to face the wall. “All I'm saying is that maybe this is your wake-up call. Things change. Not everything that you want is going to happen. Maybe learn to change with it.”
He scoffs.
You turn back around to face him. He's angry, but his face doesn’t give it away. It’s his trembling hands, how his posture straightens just a little too stiffly.
“A little too late to change when my whole life was already laid out for me,” he says through bated breaths. “It’s not like I ever had a choice where I’d end up.”
Your heart sinks. “And it's all my fault, right?”
Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his gaze softening at your hurt expression.
“I didn't say that-”
“But it's what you think, right?” You try to look strong. You think of all the nights he lay awake replaying his old skating clips in the glow of his phone screen. The way he cheered for Sunghee during competitions, like his voice alone could ignite the passion she didn’t have. The muffled sniffles from the shower after the last Winter Olympics ended. You saw it all. You always did.
Sunghoon is silent, and you fight the sting in your eyes.
“I never asked you to marry me,” you say as low as a whisper, cutting through the silence.
“But I did,” Sunghoon says quickly. Desperately. “And I wanted to.”
You draw out a laugh, bitterness dripping through.
“I'm so sorry, Sunghoon,” you say, sarcasm spilling over your lips. “I'm sorry this isn't the life you wanted. But newsflash: you're not the only one living with regrets. ”
He steps forward, but you move back. The weight of everything presses against your chest now that the words are out. Now that it’s not just his pain taking up space in your relationship.
“You act like you’re the only one who lost something,” you say, softer now. “But I gave up things, too. I had dreams too.”
You don’t mean it cruelly, and he doesn’t take it that way. But it hurts, still.
"And I'm done walking on eggshells around you just because you can't stand the fact that you aren't living the life you wanted.”
You take a deep breath and continue.
“If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met-"
His hand hovers over your cheek. His lips, so dangerously close to yours. “Stop it.”
His voice is shaky.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
You don't pull away, but your gaze does not waver. “I mean it. Genuinely.”
You don’t see Sunghoon’s heart break at that moment. But he feels it. Feels the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes up, like your words were enough to kill him.
“When did you become so cruel?” Hurt laced his voice.
“And when did you start resenting me?” you bite back, but the words barely escape your throat.
He doesn’t answer, just leans in and kisses you. And you let him.
Because maybe this is the last time you’ll feel him like this. Maybe this is the last tender moment you two will share.
His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You feel your own breath catch, and for a second, you almost melt into him.
“I love you,” Sunghoon says, but it sparks nothing in you.
Instead, you hear everything he didn’t say. He didn’t say no or that you were wrong. So maybe he really does, you thought to yourself.
His kisses almost make you forget. Almost enough to blur out the long winters and how distant he gets. How painfully silent he is at the dinner table, eyes always somewhere else.
His lips guide you through it all, each kiss igniting a memory.
How his shoulders sagged the day he started that full-time job. How his smile, once so quick to bring out of him, turned into something you had to search for. How the light in his eyes, so blinding when he was on the ice, dimmed, little by little.
His hands trail under your shirt now as he peppers kisses down your throat.
“I miss you,” he sighs.
How he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and leave without a word, how you’ll see his location is at the ice rink, probably watching the Zamboni circle around. But he'd never bring his skates with him.
His lips meet yours again, deeper this time. His knee finds its way in between your legs.
You couldn’t do this anymore. It’s been far too many times, letting him wiggle his way back into your good graces. This was it. You would choose yourself this time.
Your fingers close around his wrists, gentle but firm. The warmth of his skin against yours nearly breaks your resolve, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. Even though it hurts.
“I think you should leave.”
You release yourself from his hold. Sunghoon's expression is unreadable, but you know by now it's a facade.
You could not carry his pain with you any longer. You needed him to let you go, just as much as you needed to let him go.
“Baby...” he starts, voice fragile.
“Don't,” you say quickly, lips pressed tight. “You can't call me that anymore, Sunghoon.”
His heart aches. He was supposed to be Hoon to you. Your Hoon. When did that change?
But he doesn't ask. He just watches you, eyes dark and full of all the things he never figured out how to say until it was already too late.
“The papers...” you pause, swallowing hard. You see a flicker of panic flash across his face.
“They're on the kitchen counter. Take them before you leave.”
Sunghoon did not take the papers.
In fact, just like Sunghee suggested, he went to the so-called “stupid” ice rink by himself.
He sits in the highest row of the stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The kids glide around the ice below. Parents he used to talk to are filming on the sidelines, their laughter echoing faintly off the cold, hard walls.
Envy coats his skin.
Coach Jung is barking commands at the kids. He sneaks glances up at Sunghoon every so often, trying to be subtle. But he knows what that look means. It’s pity.
At one point, Coach Jung had pulled him aside to tell him that Sunghee wasn't built for the sport. Not like Sunghoon was. She was too stiff, too in her own head about spinning in the air. She never cracked a smile when she was on the ice. She always kept her head low and movements small, as if it was still scary for her after years of practicing.
It's not like Sunghoon didn't notice, but he always thought she’d come around to it. He was pushed into figure skating by his parents, much like he was doing for her. It wasn’t like his passions ignited overnight. ‘It could be her dream if she let it be,’ he thought to himself.
Why couldn’t she let it? Why wouldn’t she even try?
Sunghoon sits in the stands, even after the kids pour out one by one and the lights start to dim. Coach Jung offers one last, forced smile before disappearing into the locker rooms. Sunghoon stays until he’s the only one left under the lights.
The Zamboni comes in, shaving and washing the ice to be used for the next day. When the machine finishes, the driver climbs out and heads up toward the stands. He's in his early twenties with blonde hair and dark eyes. He's moving towards Sunghoon with a smile.
Sunghoon stands up, a little intimidated by the younger man. His back turns to go up the stairs and to the exit, wanting to avoid a conversation.
“You're always here at night, sir,” the guy calls out. “Do you have a special connection to this place?”
Sunghoon stops in his tracks. He used to get recognized all the time. On the streets and in this very place. He used to mean something.
He turns around and gives a polite smile to the young man. He points at one of the many banners that hang from the ice rink walls. “Park Sunghoon” was in bright gold colors on each one.
“I used to train here,” he says, with a hint of pride. “National champion for ten straight years, from when I was 11 up until I was 21.”
The guy whistles softly, impressed.
“We could use you, you know?" he says. "I think they’re looking for a new coach. Heard the old one's retiring soon.”
Sunghoon flinches. “Coach Jung? He hasn't told me yet. My daughter trains with him.”
He can't bring himself to use the past tense with her just yet.
The young man just nods. "I think he's planning to announce it after the next competition."
Sunghoon feels his chest constrict. He shakes his head. Another person leaving.
“I guess everything’s changing…” he whispers, but it did not fall on deaf ears. The stranger moves closer to him. "We're all so old now."
The stranger sighs. “Youth can be so cruel, can't it?”
Sunghoon, in his confusion, scoffs.
“The opposite, actually,” he argues. “Life's easier when you're young. Anything was possible back then.”
He takes a second to continue.
“And it all can be taken from you,” he mutters, more to himself. “Before you even realize it.”
“That's the worst, isn't it?” The young man chimes in. He's sitting where Sunghoon was earlier. “When you wonder what could've been…”
Sunghoon’s mouth twists into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“That's all I think about,” he said, surprised at himself for opening up to a stranger. And it's true.
What if he hadn’t stopped skating? What if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?
He sits back down, next to the Zamboni driver.
“We all have regrets,” the young man says, looking ahead, voice soft.
Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling and lets out a breathless laugh through the silence. Flashes of you overcame his vision. Nights of hushed arguments and facing away from each other on the bed. Nothing went his way after the World Championships. He lost it all. His passion. His dreams. You.
“Why does it have to be that way?” he asks no one in particular.
A silence fills the room. The blonde turns his head to face him. “Maybe you could live a life without one, Park Sunghoon.”
He stills for a second.
“How did you know my na-” And as Sunghoon turns to face the stranger, he is met with nothing. Like the man was never there in the first place.
He's driving in that ugly, neon green Kia Soul, making his way back to Sunoo's egregiously large mansion.
Sunghoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens every time he checks the rearview mirror. He can’t shake the feeling like he’s being watched. That guy… the way he talked, like he knew him. Not just his name, but everything underneath.
But screw that guy and whatever cryptic bullshit he was spouting. Screw his perfect friends, rich and successful. Every time they reunite, it’s like a reminder of everything Sunghoon’s not.
And screw the way Sunghee and Sungjae don’t even look at him like he matters. He tries. God knows he does. But they don’t know him. Don't know who either of you were outside of being their parents.
And you know what? Screw you and those damn papers too-
SCRREEEEE.
In an instant, his world is spinning out of control. Airbags deploy as Sunghoon jostles in a car that tumbles with him. The last thing he remembers is flashing lights and the loud sound of a crash. A sharp pain shoots through the left side of his body, and he feels as if he is coming in and out of consciousness.
Sunghoon's eyes blink open, but he's not lying where he thinks he should be. It’s not the inside of a casket, nor is it a hospital room ceiling. He lies there with a cold and familiar feeling.
Ice.
Instead of the wrinkled suit he threw on that morning, he’s wearing sweatpants and a fitted black top. Not a scratch on him. No blood, no bruises.
Was he dead?
“Is just one axel hard for you now, kid?” a voice calls out.
He recognizes it almost immediately. Coach Jung. Sunghoon sits up, yanking his gloved hands from the coldness. What the fuck was happening?
“Get your ass back up and do it again,” Coach Jung shouts from the sidelines. The music starts again. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut, and he swears it's muscle memory. He knows this routine. The one from that night. The night he met you.
He moves. Instinct takes over. Jumps, spins, the sharp sound of his blades cutting clean into the ice. Every turn and landing exactly where it should be. He’s smiling from ear to ear now, almost childlike.
And if he were dead and this was the last thing he'd ever experience, then maybe dying wasn't so bad. He’d stayed off the ice for years, terrified that if he felt this weightless feeling again, that his regrets would consume him.
“Perform like that and you'll win no matter what,” Coach Jung calls out as the music fades. Even breathless, Sunghoon felt like he could do ten more spins across the ice. His heart was racing. Everything felt so real. The soreness of his muscles, the cold air against his skin, the echoes of Coach's voice.
“What day is it today?” Sunghoon asks abruptly. "And what year?"
He’s pinching his wrist now, nails digging in and almost drawing blood. He flinched. It hurt like hell. Was this not a dream?
“Kid, did you hit your head when you fell?” Coach Jung laughs.
And when he says the exact date, Sunghoon's confused. It wasn’t like today was anything special. Just a random Tuesday. So why would this moment, 16 years ago, be where he ended up after crashing his car?
Looking at the reflection of his younger, more athletic self in the mirror, he just couldn't believe it. No matter how much he slapped his face or banged his head against the locker room door, he was still here. In this younger body.
He's walking home from practice now. His phone buzzes in his pocket of the boys’ group chat, the old one they used to fill with dumb inside jokes before you and the other significant others joined the group. But your name is yet to be in his contacts.
And then he remembers. It’s three days before you’re in the stands of the smaller national competition he won many years ago.
He’s not one to panic, but his thoughts are running in circles. Did he actually go back in time, or is this all in his head?
He sees someone in his periphery. A man around his age, standing near the curb, waving. Casual. Like they’ve met before. And they have.
The Zamboni driver.
He has a sinister smile, one that sends shivers down Sunghoon’s spine. Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He marches forward and grabs him by the collar. “Who the fuck are you? Is this happening because of you?”
The man smirks, clearly amused.
“You wanted to try, right? A life without regrets?”
Sunghoon glares at him, confused. “What?”
“Park Sunghoon,” the blonde says sternly. “This is your last chance. Use it wisely.”
Before he can respond, the man shoves him back.
“What are you talk-”
And as he blinks, the stranger disappears. His head starts throbbing uncontrollably, and ringing sets in his ears. He hears a voice then, yet he can’t recognize it.
“What will you choose in this life?”
Even as the reality of everything he left behind starts to settle, he feels a strange sense of calm wash over his grief.
He knows what to do.
three days later.
Sunghoon sees you in the corner of his eye as he’s tightening his skates. You’re sitting with your friends, ones who had encouraged you to come and watch him. Back then, he was all anyone on campus could talk about. The quiet freshman with Olympic dreams who just missed his opportunity last year. He was skating harder than ever, pushing himself to the edge. Skipping classes. Shutting out everything but the rink.
Until you came along.
He remembers your first date. He'd asked awkwardly, “How come you like me?” because he genuinely didn’t understand.
It’s not like the plushie you threw was the first with a phone number taped to it. Not even the tenth. He got plenty of confessions growing up, but he wanted to know why. What made anyone interested in an introverted and one-track-minded guy like him? He had no hobbies outside of figure skating, no real conversation skills that went past awkward greetings.
Yet, you teased him with that Cheshire grin of yours.
“How could I not?" you say so casually as his heart bloomed. "I’ve never seen someone pour so much love into what they do until I met you. You know what you want. I admire that.”
Your words stuck with him. He’d never forgotten it. And even now, those words echo in his chest as he skates to the center of the ice.
The music starts, and he lets himself get lost in the rhythm. As he glides across the ice, there is nothing on his mind. He just takes it all in. The roar of the audience. The sound of skates hitting ice. It’s all he ever wanted.
The routine, like in the past, was met with a standing ovation. The screams of those in the stands overwhelm him. He goes to each section of the rink, bowing as tears threaten to spill over. It’s all too much. And not enough.
Then, he reaches yours. Sunghoon finds you in the sea of people like he did before. Your hair is down, and your face is softer. He chokes back on his tears, so enthralled by your beauty. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.
He bows, more deeply than to the other sections.
You throw that stuffed penguin through the air at the perfect time as it lands by his feet. And as Sunghoon rises from the bow, your eyes are on him again. Expectant.
You don’t know him yet. Not really. You aren't aware of the pain to come. The fights. The distance. The way he’ll drain all the color from your life.
As he turns to move to the final section, he catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes. A frown is present on your beautiful face. He wants to make it go away, but he can’t. Not in this life.
And so the penguin sits on the ice, lifeless, as he skates off the rink.
That night, he skips the afterparty. He goes straight to his shitty studio apartment, the one with the thin walls and peeling paint, and collapses on the bed.
He buries his face into the sheets, the fabric dampening his sobs. The crowd’s cheers still ring faintly in his ears, but now it all sounds hollow. He screams then, into the mattress, at the thought of Sunghee and Sungjae. His babies. The only pieces outside of you in his old life that made it worth fighting for. Would they ever exist in this version of his life?
He tries to steady himself. Tells himself this was for the best. That your life would be easier without him as your words echoed in his head.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
No years wasted, no sacrifices stacked on top of each other until they became resentment. No nights spent worried about bills or appeasing your parents, who never really quite liked him.
He wants to believe he’s doing you a favor.
But the tears don’t stop. Not when he thinks about the weight of Sunghee in his arms the first time he held her. Not when he remembers teaching Sungjae how to read with his tiny hands clutching the book, his eyes lighting up at each new word.
He’s letting it all go. All of it.
This was supposed to be his second chance. To live his dream without regrets. To see what it felt like.
And it felt like hell.
The next few nights were abysmal. Practice became unbearable. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. His body hit the ice harder whenever he missed a spin, which was every time at this point. Coach Jung eventually pulled him aside, clearly frustrated.
“Go home, Sunghoon. Straighten yourself out and get the hell off my ice.”
But home didn’t feel real. None of this did.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep skating like this, not when every turn reminded him of you.
Sunghoon had to see you. Just once. Just enough to know you were okay. He told himself the kids would still exist somehow, even if your love story started differently in this version of life. That thought was the only thing holding him together.
He freshens himself up to go to campus, not having touched his backpack in weeks. He remembers your route like the back of his hand. Morning coffee at the cafe just off campus, right before your 9 AM. He will intercept you here, at this corner of the street.
Sunghoon's in a black turtleneck, wearing the glasses you would always steal off of him. The one that made you squirm under his intense gaze. The air was chilled, and his hands were buried deep in his navy jeans. He sees you coming into view, and he almost extends a hand to wave.
But he sees him, too.
Beomgyu. Your ex. The one who would ask your friends how you were doing, knowing full well that you were married with kids. The one who eventually became a guitarist for a band he would pretend not to like. Sunghoon had asked you to block him from everything before, and you complied. It hurt to admit that his insecurities were still present even now, in another life.
Sunghoon hides behind a tree as he watches you two struggle through the cold. Your shoulders are close but not quite touching. He feels his heart rate accelerate, his lips pursed to prevent himself from saying anything that would compromise his hiding spot.
“Beomgyu, you don’t have to walk me to class,” he overheard you say with a laugh. “I’m okay, really.”
Sunghoon’s hands balled into fists. Why did your voice sound an octave higher than it usually does?
Beomgyu had the nerve to laugh, and it took Sunghoon everything in himself not to jump out.
You once told him that Beomgyu was your first love. Your high school boyfriend. You had ended things on good terms at the end of high school to find yourselves in college.
“Good,” Sunghoon once said. “Because you found me.”
And now here you were, looking happy. Grinning from ear to ear. What was there to smile about?
“Doesn’t this remind you of old times? You used to stuff your hands in my pockets-”
And though Sunghoon almost wills himself to leave the spot behind the tree, he doesn’t. Because he needed to watch this. Needed to watch you live the life you would’ve had without him. The easier one.
He sees it now in the way your nose would scrunch to laugh at Beomgyu’s jokes. How you playfully hit the boy’s shoulder and hide your giggles with the sleeve of your puffer jacket.
Maybe that’s why the stranger had chosen this year. To taunt him.
Look how happy someone else could make her. Was he the only reason why you were miserable? How much did he really hold you back?
And so Sunghoon steps aside, shoving his hands back in his jeans. The icy wind cuts through his reddened cheeks. He asked for this. And he’ll have to live with it in this life.
Sunghoon turns around to give you one last look. But he also sees Sunghee, in her Elsa costume for Halloween. Sungjae asking for a mountain of kimchi at every restaurant. Your hand reaching for his across the dinner table.
He’ll have to live with it.
In the next three years, Sunghoon put his all into skating. He is consumed by it. Throws himself into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
His professors have to send him emails to remind him not to neglect his studies. His mother scolds him for missing holidays at home because he travels so much for competitions. But Sunghoon doesn’t care.
He loves figure skating. Loves the endless cheers from the crowd when he lands a clean program. Loves the headlines, the trophies lining his apartment shelves, the constant buzz of being "the nation's pride." It’s everything he knew he wanted.
But, there’s always that one seat in the stands. The one you used to sit in during his competitions, holding up a handmade banner and shouting his name louder than anyone.
Now, the face in that seat changes all the time. Some new fan. Some stranger holding a sign that doesn't mean anything to him.
He tells himself the past doesn’t matter. That this version of you, the one who laughs in cafes with Beomgyu, who’s always posting photos from new cities, new hobbies, new lives, wouldn’t even recognize the girl he remembers.
The girl who used to sit cross-legged on his couch, studying while he iced his ankle. Who wept with joy the night he won first at an international competition.
Now you’re in a photography club. A painting class. Pottery? Really?
You travel more now than you two ever did in your 16 years together. He scrolls past your updates with a numb thumb, telling himself he’s glad. He guesses that he did the right thing.
And every time he walks past you with Beomgyu, smiling with all your teeth, it lingers. Those damn words are repeating in his head again.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
Now he gets it. He guessed that he held you back from so much. Look at you with your wonderful friends and the amazing life you live without him! He scoffs. You deserve it.
You adjusted to him and his demanding training schedule, canceling plans with people so that you could maximize the time you had with him in the rare chance that he was in town. Maybe Beomgyu never would’ve asked you to sacrifice like that. Maybe he would’ve waited for you to come home from your clubs, instead of dragging you to cold rinks and rushed meals together in between practice sessions.
Sunghoon's fine. He swears on it.
Wake up. Go to class (if he feels like it). Skate for hours. Push through the pain. Go home. Cry into his pillow. Rinse and repeat.
The Olympics are a year away. The World Championships are in two months.
And the night you two conceived Sunghee is tomorrow.
tomorrow.
He wills himself to stay home, even when the boys suggest he hit up a few bars and clubs. It's the weekend after all.
But Sunghoon is used to making excuses by now. Blames it on his training schedule, his diet, Coach Jung. Whatever would get Jake off his back.
So when Sunghoon hears a knock at his door, and three boys pull up already reeking of alcohol, he’s surprised that he finds himself in that exact bar where he promised himself he wouldn’t be.
It’s just like before. Same music, same sickening smell of spilled tequila and too much cologne from Heeseung. And, as always, he’s bad at poker. Worse than he remembers. He’s downing a shot after every loss until his head is spinning and he can’t remember the rules anymore.
“I’m gonna… go… pee…” he tries to say, but his words get lost in mumbles and drooping eyes. He miraculously stumbles towards the restroom and does his business in the urinal. He’s dousing his face with water after barely washing his hands, and he smiles at his reflection. God, why didn’t he want to go out again?
Sunghoon exits the restroom, shaking his wrists to expel the water from his hands. And his breath catches. He sees you.
Your back’s to him at first, your sparkly red dress riding up on the stool just like it was that night. You’re laughing at something the bartender says. And he swears for a second, time stops.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s the years of missing you bottled up too tight. But he starts walking over before he can stop himself.
“Hey,” he says plainly, elbow hitting the bar. You turn towards him, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
He'll be different in his first impressions this time. More experienced and confident than the shy fool he was when he met you. He'd match this new version of you, too. Show you what you were missing out on.
There’s a confused smile on your face.
“Hi.” He looks at you more clearly, his vision impaired from leaving his glasses at home and the tequila shots in his system.
“You come here often?” He’s too out of his senses to stop himself from saying it. But he doesn’t regret it because you laugh. He does too.
“You say that to every girl, Park Sunghoon?”
His heart skips a beat. “You know my name?”
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the cocktail that the bartender just handed you.
“Call me a fan,” you smile up at him, and he swears he could have melted right then and there. “Your face is everywhere.”
Sunghoon licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I wish I could see more of yours,” he grins. “I think I’d skate ten times better if I saw you in the crowd.”
You scoff jokingly. “And here I thought winning was enough for you.”
It should be. It was supposed to be.
He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. That he’d leave you alone. He would let you go about your life, forget him, and be who you wanted to be. Who you should have been before he came to your life.
But here you are, impossibly close, and every part of him is begging not to let you go.
"You... you single?" he asks, trying to be casual. But his voice catches at the end. He wants to know. Needs to hear from your own lips if you actually chose Beomgyu in this life.
Relief washes over him when you shake your head.
"Wouldn't be talking to you if I was," you say with a teasing grin. Electricity shoots through him as he watches you. Too bright, too much. This short conversation, one he never planned on having, could never satisfy him. He could never get enough of you.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks before he could stop himself, arm outstretched for you to take. Your face stiffens, and he almost thinks you’d say no until your fingers wrap around his arm.
“Where to?”
You barely make it past his front door before he has you up against it. His hands hold yours above your head, pinning your body against his. Sunghoon’s lips move against you ferociously, an unending battle between your tongues. You try to match his movements, but he is starved beyond belief.
You have no idea how badly he missed this.
Three years since he last heard you speak to him. Three years since he’s felt your lips. And the last time was when you asked him to pick up some stupid divorce papers from the kitchen counter. He needs this. Needs this more than breathing, more than eating, more than skating.
Sunghoon lifts you to wrap your legs around his middle. His hands find your bottom, giving a gentle squeeze that has you arching into him. He didn’t want to scare you, but he couldn’t will himself to stop. Your scent was too intoxicating for his mouth to ever leave yours.
You tap at his chest to push him away softly. With bruised lips, you whisper, “Can we go to your bed?”
He could almost moan just from the sound of you. His sweet, beautiful wife. Still so perfect for him.
His grip on your ass tightens as he maneuvers you through the studio apartment you once shared, laying you softly on the bed. Sunghoon wonders why you two just went at it like animals at the entrance way when the bed was only a few steps away back then. This time, he would savor it. Savor you.
He follows you down as he trails kisses on your neck. You crane it for him like you used to, giving him access to your most sensitive spots. His hands trail underneath your dress, teasing the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission. All you could do was nod, opening your legs wide for him to continue. His dick twitches in his pants. You drive him insane.
Sunghoon peppers a few more kisses on your collarbone as his index finger prods carefully at your clothed pussy.
“Already soaked,” he whispers into your skin, pressing the pads of his fingers onto your underwear. Liquid courage still very much in his system.
He feels bold right now, eager to impress. He doesn't know who you've been with in this life, but he'll make you forget them all. Fuck you so good that you forget those experiences. Remind you that he's your husband for a reason. His fingers hook the side of your ruby red panties, gliding them down your plush thighs.
“I bet I’d go in so easily, huh?” his drunken voice slurs out. "So fucking wet."
When you nod again, he tsks. So silent, and for what? His fingers find your clit, ghosting over it. You arch to lean into his touch, but his hand retracts.
“Use your words, baby,” he says darkly. “Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”
You groan, eyes shut in frustration. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He laughs. Always so uncharacteristically vulgar when horny. He loves it. He loves you.
“Can’t I get a taste first, baby?” he says, his face already inching downwards. He pulls your dress all the way off you, so that your breasts are finally exposed. Your satin red bra matched your panties like they were made to be seen tonight. He didn’t know why that fired him up so badly.
Would another man have you like this if he didn't make a move?
He dips his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your clit. You gasp at the suddenness, not knowing how much you’ve angered him just from your underwear choices. His tongue moves downwards, lapping at your folds like a man dying of thirst. His hands pinned your legs to open even wider, and you writhed underneath him.
“Please-” you beg, hands gripping his hair as his tongue plunges into your wetness. Sunghoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation. He could never, ever forget this taste.
He pushes his tongue in and out as deeply as he can with his curled tongue, grinding against the mattress for any semblance of stimulation.
He would make love to you tonight. Until you remember who he was. Until you remember the life you built together.
His tongue does one agonizing lick all the way up to your clit, and your back arches just to feel him better. He’s sucking it harshly, tongue flicking at it in all the right ways.
“Sunghoon-” you cry out, your feet digging into the mattress to push your hips up to meet his ravenous lips. He pulls away and glares up at you. Your hips fall.
“Why’d you stop?” you whine, pushing his hair back down to your core. It takes everything in him not to laugh. He adores you like this. Desperate for him. Needy for him. Shaking in pleasure for whom? Him.
“Don’t call me that,” he whispers into your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. He chuckles at your confused expression. “Hoon. If you’re gonna moan my name while I fuck you, I need you to say it properly.”
Your cheeks warmed. Heaving out a groan, you nod your head anyway.
“H-hoon,” you test out. “Can you please continue?”
He smiles mischievously. “With what?”
You huff out in frustration. “I swear if you don’t fucking make me cum right now I’m going to-”
And his lips smash down on yours to shut you up. His hands replace his tongue as his middle finger draws figure-8s on your clit. He pulls your slickness from your folds and up to that sweet spot, relishing in the indecent noises between your legs.
Your moans are muffled by his tongue, body twitching underneath his. You taste yourself, so sweet on his lips as he caresses the most inner parts of your mouth. So dirty and so wet. He knew every part of you. Knew what made you cry, knew what made you scream. And fuck, he will make you scream.
He pulls away from you to admire his ruthless pace on your clit.
You are clenching around nothing as your nails dig into his shoulders. He coaxes a gasp out of you as a coil in your stomach starts to form.
“Want me so fucking bad, don't you?” he teases, his other hand on the nape of your neck. Sunghoon tilts your head down to show you the mess you were making.
His sheets are stained with your arousal, and his fingers are drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with such fervor. You catch a glimpse of his painfully clothed member.
He was right. You wanted him so desperately, wanted to feel him inside you at that very moment. Your breath hitches. Fuck. You felt something building.
Your hips start to rise again, and it’s hard to formulate a sentence.
“Hoon! Oh my god– Fuck it’s– It’s–” You cry out as Sunghoon’s pace quickens, motivated by the sound of your moans. His other hand tries to anchor your thighs down. You feel it as you start to lose vision in your eyes. His thumb is rubbing so intensely that it draws a whine right out of you.
The coil inside of you snaps.
“Fuuuck…Ngh…”
A wave of pleasure washes over you, and you feel your juices coat your folds, dripping more than before.
You're squirming underneath him, thighs twitching from the stimulation. He slows his pace, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.
His cock was in pain, desperate for it to make contact with any part of you. In this life, one thing he developed over the past three years of watching you in the shadows was patience. And you had none.
“God, just put it in,” you groan so casually, resting your forearm to shield your eyes away from him. You were so fucked out. Hair splayed all over the pillow in messy waves. Lips bruised, your cherry gloss staining your chin and his cheek.
So eager to just have him take you. If he were a weaker man (maybe Beomgyu), he would have listened. But like he said earlier. He would savor this.
His fingers travel down to your folds, one dancing at your entrance to tease you. Sunghoon smirks as you whimper. He pushes a finger in and bites his lip at the feeling. He hasn’t felt you, or anyone for that matter, in ages. In these past three years, he couldn't bring himself to even talk to another woman who wasn't you. It didn't feel right.
All the lonely, and frankly sad, nights touching himself to thoughts of you. Fucking himself on his wrist as he remembers all the nights you’ve shared in your 13 years of marriage. He had plenty of material to work with, with all of your past escapades, but it was nothing like the real thing. Nothing like feeling you again.
“Sunghoon, stop teasing me-”
His finger stilled, and you thought about cursing him out. He pulls your forearm away from your eyes, forcing you to look into his.
“Want to try that again?” he says, threateningly slow. The darkness of his gaze was enough to have you pliant and doe-eyed.
“Hoon?” He smiles, kissing you on the forehead softly.
“Good girl.” And just like that, he dips another finger in, scissoring them into you with precision. You’re a mess underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck. He needed you to be ready for him. His heaviness was throbbing painfully just thinking about how you'd take him after all this time.
How long would it take you to adjust to his size?
Sunghoon’s fingers squelch with each thrust, finding the soft spot he was so familiar with. He’s obsessed, drinking in the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, your hands gripping at his shoulders like your life depended on it. You were so wrapped up in your own pleasure, fucking yourself onto his fingers. Grinding up at him without a care in the world.
“Look at you,” he laughs. “So needy.”
Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you before he brings them to his lips. He hums, relishing the taste. He’d have to go down on you again later tonight. Taste you after his cock has had its fill.
You watch him in anticipation as he takes his pants off. You follow his lead as you unhook your bra, throwing it across his floor, sighing at the feeling of cool air hitting your nipples. Sunghoon pulls his throbbing member out of his briefs, pumping himself languidly.
Sunghoon's eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to your cunt. He's churning something in his mouth, and you almost ask him what he was doing until he positions his mouth just above your folds.
With sultry eyes directly gazing up at yours, Sunghoon lets his saliva drip down onto your pussy.
You throw your head back on the pillow from the sight. Fuck, that was hot. He moves back up to you, guiding his hand to spread his spit with the tip of his leaking cock.
His dick smears your joined liquid in an up-and-down motion, pushing in ever-so-slightly. You gasp and clutch his chest, nails digging in enough to get his attention. He stops.
“I’m not on birth control,” you mutter, like you’re scared to tell him.
“Should I stop?” he asks, even with his tip pulsing so desperately between your folds. You avoid eye contact, though he doesn’t know why.
“Look at me.” he growls.
Sunghoon tilts your chin to face him, and with glossy eyes, you shake your head. He smiles, and a tinge of sadness hits him. You look so soft underneath him, so fucking beautiful.
He’s spent three years stuck in this version of his life, crying over you to avoid this very moment. But he just wanted you so bad. Wanted to feel you at least once again. Then, he’ll let go, he swears. This will be the first and last.
“Use your w-”
You interrupt him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper into you. He groans, collapsing onto his elbows. You dig your heels into his back as you pull him in deeper. Sunghoon's lips leave you to lay his forehead against yours. His breathing grows heavy, so lost in how your hole sucks him in.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, testing the waters with a small thrust after bottoming out. You squeak in response. “Fuck, baby.”
He wraps you in a tight hold, propping his knees underneath your thighs into a mating press. He fucks into you at an agonizing pace. It's so slow, you could feel every part of his rigid cock. His large size. His thick veins. The soft pulsing. It's so slow that you almost flip him over to ride him instead. But the desperation in his eyes stops you. His head buries deep in your hair, and you could hear the shakiness of his breath as he pulls out of you and plunges back in.
Sunghoon relishes the way you clench around him, your tight warmth pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He drives himself into you with languid, but strong thrusts. He wants to engrave his place inside you so that you are ruined for anyone who might come after him. And again, he angers himself.
"You only this good for me?" he asks, searching your eyes for reassurance. But you aren't listening. You meet his thrusts, grinding yourself onto him. You want more. More of his touch. More of his length. Just more of him.
“Faster–” you whine, thighs pushing into his sides with each hard thrust. He was reaching the deepest part of you, your cervix kissing his tip ever so deliciously. Sunghoon doesn’t abide, so you take what he gives you.
"You this desperate for everyone, baby?" he whispers into your ear darkly. You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes.
"No..." you muster out. "Just you."
And even through all the tequila and the self-restraint not to jackhammer into you, he believes you.
His hands are on your tits now, catching them as they bounce with the strength of his slow thrusts. He twists a nipple between his fingers, coaxing a moan out of you. He tugs and pulls, and it's enough to have you moaning underneath him.
You feel that familiar fire build inside of you. An ember that burned in your lower stomach and traveled down to the very tip of your toes.
“Hoon! Please- Fuck- I need... I need-”
You couldn’t form full sentences. His thrusts were so harsh and still so painstakingly slow. His eyes never left your face. He basked in the way your brows furrowed for him. How your lips formed silent screams as he hit that certain spot within you. Again and again.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips so close to yours. “Tell me who you need.”
“You!” you cry out. "Only you!"
He smashes his lips against yours as he finally thrusts into you hard and fast. His hands on your breast travel down to your waist, locking you onto the mattress as he fuck into you.
You feel something pooling, feel the tingling of your toes intensify with his breath against your face. His moans are just as loud as yours, grunting in your hair like a beast.
“You feel so fucking good–” his hips piston forward, brushing against that spot with every movement. Your chest is pressed into his as you claw at his back. The sensation builds and builds as your stomach starts to tighten.
“Hoon- Oh my god- I’m-Angh!”
Your second orgasm rips through you, the tension within snapping like a chord. It's so much stronger than your first one. It hits you in waves as you weep through it, your hips grinding up to meet his unending thrusts. You were so sore, so sensitive, but his pace stayed so relentless.
“Close– So fucking close, baby–” he moans into your hair.
He clutches your hips, driving into you with reckless abandon. Even if you had no idea who he was, he would have your body remember him. Sunghoon, in this life, would be your best one-night stand. He swears on it.
He grunts as he feels you clench around him harder, his hips stuttering against yours.
“I’m gonna–” He tries to pull out, tries to push you away. Tries not to repeat the same mistakes. But your arms pull him downward as legs wrap sternly around his waist. You push him in deeper.
And he comes. Hard.
“Fuck-”
Sunghoon plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips, drowning out his sweet noises as he feels his raw cock twitch deep inside. His hot cum spills deep inside you with thick spurts. Your lips parted at the warm feeling, and he could tell you enjoyed every bit of milking him dry.
Sunghoon pulls away from you with a soft groan. He watches as his cum spills out of you. He brings his finger to your folds, pushing his fluids into you.
As he meets your eyes, he’s shocked to see how concerned you look. Because unbeknownst to him, there were tears streaking down his face. And before he can fully sober up and stop himself, he says it.
"I love you."
You’re gone before he wakes up.
Sunghoon screams into his pillow, recalling his words like a bad nightmare. Stupid. So stupid. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.
That stranger, whoever he was, said this was his last chance. And what did he do? He threw away three years of silent pining just to chase you down on the very night the troubles in your relationship had begun.
Was he a fucking idiot?
You never even said goodbye, never even replied to his confession last night. Didn’t even leave a trace of what last night meant to you—if it meant anything at all. He must’ve looked insane.
Sunghoon grips the back of his neck, exhaling hard. You don’t know him. You aren’t the same girl from his past life. You're different now. Three years. That’s how long you’ve had to become someone else.
And him? He hasn’t changed at all. He’s still chasing ghosts. If it wasn't figure skating in his past life, it would be you in this one.
He sighs and sits up. Practice. He should go to practice.
two months later.
“Are you messing around, kid, or do you actually want to win this thing?!” Coach Jung shouts after Sunghoon falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. His palms sting from the fall, but he barely feels it.
The World Championships are in a week, and he hasn’t heard a single peep from you since you left his apartment. Hasn’t seen you on campus in his usual routes to watch you from afar. He knew he had reached a new level of patheticness when he actually went up to Beomgyu to ask how you were.
Turns out, you two weren't even as close as he thought you were. He smiled to himself after that, but frowned when he realized that it truly was as if you had disappeared.
“Sorry,” he huffs, out of breath from the demanding routine. “One more time?”
Coach Jung pinches the bridge of his nose. “How about ten more, you punk? Get your act together.”
Coach mutters something under his breath and storms off, leaving Sunghoon alone with the cold silence of the rink. He tries again. Falls again. He smacks his gloved hand against the ice, hard enough that the sharp sting shoots up his arm. He should’ve known. The moment he got a taste of you, he knew this would happen.
No matter when or how, he would always bother you. He would always lose himself. He would always manage to ruin everything.
“Are you living the life you wanted, Park Sunghoon?” a voice echoes behind him. He spins on his skates.
There he is again. The blonde prick. Somehow, he’s in his sneakers and standing still on the ice. His hands are smug in his coat pockets.
Sunghoon doesn’t take the time to question it until he’s skating at breakneck speed towards him.
He swings at him, but the stranger disappears into smoke.
“Or do you still have regrets?” the voice is behind him again. Sunghoon turns around to the stranger, giving him that annoying, shiteating grin.
“I want out,” Sunghoon says with a strained jaw. “Bring me back. To Sunghee. To Sungjae. To her. Now.”
The blonde laughs. “You haven’t even done what you set out to do yet. Wasn't this what you wanted?”
Sunghoon lets out a bitter sigh, chest tight.
“I get it, okay?" he says with wavering breaths. "I was selfish. I asked for too much. I get it now. So just... please. Please, send me back.”
The boy steps forward. His sneakers make no sound on the ice. Inches away from Sunghoon now, just a little taller than him.
“You don’t always get what you want in life,” the stranger says with that sick, twisted grin. It sends a rush of dread through Sunghoon's body.
“I thought you would have learned that by now.”
the world championships.
He’s in the locker room. His left leg is bouncing up and down, nail splitting as he gnaws at it incessantly. Only ten contestants ahead of him, but he has the time to panic. Just like he did before.
Coach Jung pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”
Sunghoon shakes his head, unlocking his phone to check the time. The lockscreen, snow falling past a dark streetlight, holds his gaze longer than it should. He sighs.
“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replies, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”
Coach Jung rolls his eyes.
“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubts the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”
And when Coach Jung shuts the door behind him, Sunghoon puts his hands to his face. And instead of self-affirmations, he is trembling. Barely breathing, he replays the memory again. Of him spinning you in his arms. Of your kind smile.
Sunghoon told himself not to expect you. In this lifetime, you'd only met once. Only fucked once. But he still thought... maybe the universe would be kind. Maybe you’d show up like you did back then.
“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blares into the locker room. That's him. He's one of the last five.
There’s no one to hold him back this time. No distractions. Just an aching in his chest.
Sunghoon's by the stands now. He watches with shaky hands as the crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at his competitors’ routines. He hates watching before his turn.
His eyes naturally fall on a seat in the stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating.
Someone sits there. Not a stranger. Not this time. It's you. Your brows furrowed like you were forcing yourself not to enjoy his competitor’s performance. Wearing the same outfit. He huffs a laugh under his breath. What are you doing here?
As the routines passed one by one, he could not take his eyes off you. Even from afar, your eyes glisten so beautifully. The same eyes that once glowed, helping the kids with homework. The same eyes that looked at him across the table after long days and short tempers. His wife. The mother of his children. The version of life he gave up for this one.
Now, he would have to settle for this. Longing stares and a heartbeat he could hear in his ears.
“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!”
He steps onto the ice with a big smile on his face. He forces it out, forces himself to act fine when you cheer at the sound of his name. He takes his pose at the center of the ice.
The music begins. His edges wobble, nerves bleeding into the blade. He practiced day and night, no distractions. Not even you. So why… Why was this happening?
He takes in a deep breath as he prepares himself for the first spin. He’s skating backwards, building up momentum. He pushes off the ice. Toe pick hits.
Sunghoon rose high. He spots himself. One. Two. Three. Almost four– but his shoulders tilt, the axis too loose. The rotation slows. A half-second of weightlessness gives way to gravity, and he’s tumbling onto the ice hard.
Gasps echo through the arena, and then applause as he brushes himself back up and onto his skates again.
He gets up. He keeps going. Muscle memory takes over. The rest of the routine is clean. Almost perfect, but not enough.
The first quad... He fucked it up. He bows, head down, as if apologizing for even trying.
And when the score is announced while he's sitting on the sidelines, his body is limp. He barely reacts, face blank with emotion.
He could blame you for it. Pretend you were the reason why his routine didn't score high. But the truth is, he stopped believing in excuses a long time ago.
Years of hating himself led here. All this time, resenting the path he took, only to fuck this one up, too.
Sunghoon had to laugh. He deserves it. Of course he did. The low score. You leaving him. The heartache.
Everything he thought he was capable of, everything he pushed aside to have this moment. None of it mattered without you.
As he rises from his seat on the floor, he searches for you in the endless crowd of faces. The other competitors pass by him with pity; he sees it in everyone’s faces. But they don't matter.
Because you're gone. Your seat is empty.
"Kid-"
He pushes past Coach Jung without looking back. There's nothing left to say.
Sunghoon pulls his skates off skillfully, breaking into a sprint towards the exit. He runs with only socks separating him from the floor.
Then he sees you, clutching your stomach and moving toward the exit. His breath catches. Somehow, he knows. He's seen it all play out before.
“[Y/N], wait!”
You stop in your tracks, hands trembling. You turn around, and he is already clutching your face, kissing you so deeply. You would have every right to push him away, to call him a creep and spit every insult at him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t understand why.
Instead, you lean into his touch, fingers fisting the thin fabric of his blouse. He’s the first to pull away, forehead resting against yours.
“Why are you here?” he asks. It’s not the only question he has, but it’s the first that comes out. You’re crying now, eyes wide, mouth parted. But why?
“I was just…” You try, but you fail to find the right words. “I just came to support you?”
Sunghoon shakes his head. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let things linger.
“You came to tell me something,” he says knowingly, replaying the scene of the past in his head as it happens right in front of him. He smiles sadly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “What is it?”
You flinch.
“I can’t,” you whisper, the first barrage of tears falling down your face. “It'll ruin you.”
He laughs then. Quiet. Tired. Even in this life, you were so selfless. He doesn’t deserve you. Never did.
“You always say that. Even now.”
He takes your hands into his.
“Are you pregnant?” he asks, taking the words right out of your lips. Your mouth opens in shock.
“How did you-?”
“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon interrupts softly. He was smiling now. Sunghee was here. She was growing inside you. “Together.”
For a moment, something shifts. You search his face like you’re looking for confirmation. And just like that, you pull away. What? It stings.
This didn't happen before. Why were you-
“You went back," you say. "Didn’t you?” Your voice sounds foreign now, laced with hurt. It’s his turn to look confused.
“What do you mean?” he asks, hands reaching for yours again. You avoid them, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“You… You went back in time like I did, right?” Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “That’s how you knew.”
He freezes.
It clicks. Like cold water hitting his skin. He remembers the first time he saw you in this life. How carefully he avoided you. How he left the penguin plushie behind, just like before. How badly you’d looked at him after that. It all makes sense now.
“I didn’t want to avoid you,” he musters. “I had every intention of finding you again. I passed by that damn cafe every day just to see you-”
You shake your head, but he keeps going, vomiting out word after word.
“I even tried to talk to you, but you looked so happy. All I could think about was the last time we spoke. How you said you regretted us. Watching you with Beomgyu, or whatever his name is-"
“Sunghoon-”
“I was fucking miserable-” His voice cracks.
“Sunghoon-” You’ve never heard him talk this much. Never seen him look so broken.
“And I couldn’t even fight the guy who dragged me into this mess. I was stuck. Thinking about you. About us. About Sunghee. Sungjae. God, I missed you all so fucking much it hurt to breathe—”
“Sunghoon, please—”
“And I should’ve just caught that stupid penguin. I should've just relived our memories together. I should’ve been a better man, a better husband, a better father. But I just keep fucking it up. Every single time, even now-”
“Hoon!” you shout, grabbing his face with your hands. His words die off. He finally breathes. You don’t look angry, not at him at least.
“I know,” you say quietly. “Because I didn’t put my number on the penguin.”
His mouth parts slightly. "Wha-"
"I thought I was the one who messed it all up," you confess. “When you didn’t pick up the plush, I thought it was because of me. Because I tried to change things.”
You swallow back your tears as he listens to you intently, your hands sliding to his chest.
“I thought you’d be better off without me, too.”
You let out a bitter laugh.
“I tried to fill the space,” you continue. “Tried to pick up things I couldn't before. But all I think about was Sunghee and Sungjae."
Your eyes waver, lips pressed together tightly.
"And you," you breathe out. "I saw you skating, training so hard, and you looked happy. I couldn’t bring myself to take it away from you again.”
You pause, lips trembling.
“So I made a plan. I thought—if I could just get Sunghee back, maybe one day I’d find you again for Sungjae.”
You both let out a shaky laugh.
"So then I went to the bar," you sigh. "I wore that red dress and I just hoped you would find your way to me again-”
“Of course I would,” Sunghoon interrupts, kissing your temple. “I always do.”
“And it worked.” You look at the ground like you're ashamed. “The test was positive. I wasn’t planning on telling you.”
Sunghoon takes your hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes assure you.
“And then you fell during your routine,” you whisper, a sad laugh slipping out. "I thought… I avoided you all this time for nothing.”
He laughs too. “I wasn’t even going to win anyway.”
Sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, stroking your hair ever-so-softly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For making you ever feel like I regretted choosing you.”
And you didn’t know you needed to hear those exact words until you sob into his chest.
Sunghoon soothes you. He’s had enough crying. All he is now is grateful. The pain, the mourning. It all led him here.
“This time we’ll do it right,” he assures you. “I love you. I’m not letting you do this alone.”
You pull away from him, eyes wet but smiling.
“I love you too.”
And you tilt your head as he reaches down to kiss you. With your eyes both closed, the world around you spins. Just you and him. In each other’s arms. His lips are soft against yours.
And a voice unfamiliar to both of you echoes in the air.
“I hope you can live a life without regrets.”
Sunghoon’s eyes open groggily, pain shooting through his spine almost immediately. All he sees are sterile hospital walls and Jay and Sunoo’s concerned faces.
They hover over the foot of his bed, their faces a mix of worry and irritation.
He blinks, scanning the room. Wires. A blood pressure cuff. An IV drip. Another bed. Then your eyes flutter open too.
“You know, with how the divorce is going, we thought you two crashed into each other on purpose,” Sunoo chirps, unempathetic to the dazed state of his friends. Jay smacks him on the shoulder.
“You’re lucky I managed to get you both a private room,” Jay mutters. “The nurses kept whispering about you two in the ICU.”
Sunghoon turns his head slowly, wincing. You’re awake now, alert, your expression matching his. His chest tightens. And almost in a panicked daze, his head snaps back to his friends.
“Sunghee and Sungjae–” he strains out, pain shooting through his lungs. “Where are they?”
Jay furrows his brows.
“They weren’t in the car with [Y/N], if that’s what you’re worried about,” he starts. “They’re looking for a vending machine with Heeseung and Jungwon-”
You both let out a shaky breath. For a second, relief replaces pain. Your eyes meet his for just a second before the door bursts open.
“Mom! Dad!” Sunghee's voice cries out. She’s running towards you two now, but Heeseung stops them.
“Whoa there, princess. They’re fragile.”
Her eyes are red, as if she had just finished crying. Sungjae's behind Heeseung, tugging at his jacket, worry etched across his little face.
“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” Sunghee blurts in your direction. Sunghoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. “They don’t have it on camera, but they said your car hit Daddy’s!”
He feels something warm bloom in his chest. It’s been a while since Sunghee sounded so protective of him.
You shake your head frantically. “No, darling. My brakes stopped working! I could never hurt your dad. He and I love each other very much-”
You stop yourself, but it's too late—cheeks already warming at the shifting gazes of the four grown men in the room. Jungwon fakes a cough.
“Love? As in, present tense?” he teases.
Sunghoon has the biggest grin on his face, and Sunoo scoffs as his eyes pivot between the two of you.
“Did you both hit your head in the accident?”
Heeseung clears his throat. “So, why don’t we take the kiddos to dinner, hm? Looks like Mom and Dad have some catching up to do.”
Sungjae nods excitedly. “Please! They're so icky.”
The adults usher the kids out, and Jay gives one last wink to the two of you before the doors close. The room falls quiet except for the not-so-steady beeping of the monitors. Sunghoon is the first to speak.
“So... when do you want me to pick up the papers again?”
You laugh softly.
“Oh! I guess if you want to go through with it…”
“No!” Sunghoon shouts, eyes huge. 'He’s so cute when he doesn’t mean to be,' you think to yourself.
You tilt your head, smiling. “Then don’t even think about getting them.”
Your bed is near enough for you to inch your hand towards his forearm. Your touch is featherlight against his skin. It takes all of his strength to intertwine your fingers with his.
“So what does this mean for us?” you say through bated breath. He ponders for a second.
“It means… maybe I can build you an art studio in our garage?” he says cautiously. “And maybe I quit my job? Become a figure skating coach? How does that sound?”
You let out a stronger laugh this time, one that aches in your ribs but still feels good. And in this version of you, older and wiser. He still thinks you’re so beautiful.
“I don’t resent you,” he whispers. And your heart skips a beat, in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. You smile at him. And finally, you find the courage to say it in this life too.
“I love you.”
He brings your fingers to his lips and plants gentle kisses on your knuckles.
In every lifetime, Sunghoon knows. He could be standing on the Olympic stage, the roar of thousands echoing in his ears. He could have everything he ever thought he wanted. But none of it would matter. Not if you weren’t there.
“I love you too," he replies, quietly.
And in every lifetime, he will always find his way back to you. And he will choose you. Over and over again.
epilogue.
Sungjae is on the garage floor, legs crisscrossed as he watches something on his iPad. Sunghoon is installing shelves for your future artist corner while Sungjae's video is strangely on mute.
“What you watching, son?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the tight pull in his lower back.
Sungjae doesn’t look up. “Your skating videos.”
Sunghoon nearly drops the shelf on his eye. “W-what?”
Sungjae shrugs.
“Looks interesting,” he mutters. “Wish I could fly like that.”
Sunghoon sets the shelf down carefully, then crosses the room to crouch beside Sungjaee. On the screen, a much younger version of himself soars across the ice. He remembers that routine. His first national win.
“Didn't think you'd be into it,” he ruffles his son’s hair.
Sungjae shrugs again, but pink tinges his cheeks.
“You never asked.”
The words hit him. He never really did. Not even with Sunghee.
“Do you want to try?” Sunghoon asks slowly. “Figure skating?”
Sungjae finally looks up, eyes wide. “Can I?”
Sunghoon feels tears well up in his eyes, and he coughs them away. What was up with him and crying these days?
“Of course, son,” he says, pulling him into a gentle side hug. “You'll be my first student.”
genre: hogwarts au, brother's best friend trope, fluff
synopsis: you tried to ignore how ni-ki made your stomach flip. you really did. all you wanted was a normal term at hogwarts. instead, you’re dealing with a love-potion-struck ni-ki, whose clinginess and love struck antics are giving your poor heart(and patience) a workout. your brother thinks it’s hilarious. you think you might combust. and ni-ki? he just wants to snuggle forever.
warnings: lots of kissing, they makeout, hickeys, skin-ship, cringey nicknames, some angst, clingy! lovestruck!ni-ki
note: for the anon who wanted a ni-ki hogwarts au, so sorry for the delay!!😭 halfway into writing this i realised my nonchalant bro ni-ki would NEVER act like this but proceeded anyway since it's fiction so enjoyy reading!!
word count: 7.7k
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
you told yourself this term would be different.
no more stolen glances across the great hall, no more lingering in the library just to catch a glimpse of his messy hair as he flipped through spellbooks. ni-ki was your brother’s best friend—always had been, always would be. that fact was as unchangeable as the house colours on your robes. and yet, every time he slung an arm around your brother’s shoulders, laughing too loud in that carefree way of his, your pulse betrayed you.
it wasn’t fair.
he was everywhere. lounging in the common room like he owned it, tossing a snitch between his hands while your brother groaned about quidditch drills. leaning over your shoulder in potions, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "you’re adding too much lacewing, y/n." his fingers brushing yours when he passed you a vial, the contact brief but enough to send sparks up your arm. you hated how your body reacted—how your stomach twisted, how your cheeks burned when he smirked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.
you were good at pretending. you had to be. when he flicked your quill during study sessions, you rolled your eyes instead of smiling. when he called your name across the courtyard, you waved half-heartedly instead of sprinting to him. when he winked at you—always winking, always teasing—you looked away before he could see the way your breath hitched.
but then there were the moments you couldn’t control. the way your gaze lingered when he stretched after quidditch practise, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. the way your heart stuttered when he ruffled your hair, his laugh ringing in your ears. the way you memorised the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy.
you were pathetic.
this term, you swore, would be different. you’d focus on your studies, on your friends, on anything but him. you’d stop daydreaming about what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looked at the quidditch pitch—like it was the only thing that mattered. you’d stop wondering if he ever thought about you when you weren’t there.
because ni-ki wasn’t yours. he never would be.
and yet, when he slid into the seat beside you at breakfast, his knee pressing against yours under the table, your resolve crumbled all over again.
damn it.
. . .
you should’ve known better than to think this term would be easy.
the common room was its usual mess of noise and warmth—crackling fire, hushed gossip, the occasional shriek of laughter as someone recounted their latest mishap in potions. you were tucked into your favourite corner of the couch, a well-worn copy of advanced arithmancy open in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes. your friends were bickering good-naturedly beside you, debating whether transfiguration or charms was the more practical subject, but you weren’t really listening. your mind kept drifting, as it always did, to the one person you were desperately trying not to think about.
then the door burst open.
a group of seventh-years stumbled in, grinning like they’d just pulled off some grand scheme, and dumped a tray of shimmering, unnaturally bright sweets onto the low table in the centre of the room. the candies pulsed faintly, shifting colours like liquid trapped in sugar shells, looking clearly enchantwd. a few curious hands reached out, but the seventh-years just smirked and said, "dare you to try one," before sauntering off, leaving behind a ripple of nervous excitement.
you barely had time to roll your eyes before the common room door swung open again, and there he was.
ni-ki.
your breath caught.
he was still in his quidditch gear, his hair damp and tousled from the showers, his cheeks flushed from the chill of the evening air. your brother trailed behind him, complaining loudly about some foul during practise, but ni-ki wasn’t listening. he was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face alight with that effortless joy that made your chest ache.
then his gaze flicked to the tray of sweets.
"what’s this?" he asked, already reaching for one, his fingers closing around a candy that glowed a dangerous shade of pink.
something in your gut twisted.
"ni-ki, don’t—" you started, scrambling to your feet, but it was too late. he popped it into his mouth without a second thought, chewing once before his entire expression shifted.
his eyes, sharp and playful, always so alive suddenly went soft and unfocused. then they locked onto you, wide and wondering, like he was seeing you for the first time.
"you’re beautiful," he breathed, voice low and awed, as if the words had been pulled out of him against his will.
the common room went quiet. your friends stopped mid-sentence. your brother blinked, confused. and you? you couldn’t move.
ni-ki didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in three long strides, and before you could even think to step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it stole your breath. his cheek pressed against the curve of your neck, his exhale warm against your skin. his hands were tentative at first, fingers brushing your waist like he wasn’t sure he was allowed—then, as if something in him snapped, they fisted in the fabric of your sweater, dragging you even closer.
you froze.
his heartbeat thudded against yours, rapid and unsteady. his scent—fresh grass and something faintly sweet, like strawberries—flooded your senses. you could feel every shift of his body, every unsteady breath he took, and it was too much. your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to land, but your traitorous heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it.
"ni-ki," you managed, voice embarrassingly shaky. "what are you—"
he didn’t let you finish. he just nuzzled closer, his nose brushing your jaw, and murmured, "you smell nice."
your brother choked on his drink. someone giggled. your face burned.
this was bad. this was so bad.
because even as your brain screamed at you to push him away, to laugh it off like it was nothing, your body betrayed you. your fingers curled into his quidditch jersey, clinging just a little too tightly. your breath hitched when his thumb brushed your hip, absentminded but deliberate. a tiny, reckless part inside of you never wanted him to let go.
the candy was obviously cursed. it had to be. there was no other explanation for the way ni-ki was holding you like you were something precious, like he’d been waiting years to do this.
but then his lips brushed your ear, his voice so soft only you could hear it.
"i’ve wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, and your stomach dropped.
because what if it wasn’t just the candy?
what if, underneath the enchantment, some part of him meant it?
your brother’s voice cut through the haze. "alright, what the hell did you give him?"
laughter erupted around you, but you barely heard it. ni-ki’s arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your skin, and you realised with terrifying clarity—
this was only the beginning.
the next few minutes passed in a blur. your friends were howling with laughter, your brother was torn between amusement and concern, and ni-ki—ni-ki wouldn’t let go. not when you tried to gently pry his fingers from your sweater, not when your brother clapped him on the shoulder and said, "mate, you’ve got to snap out of it." he just held on tighter, his face buried in your hair, murmuring things that made your cheeks burn.
"your hair’s so soft."
"you’re perfect."
"i love the way you laugh."
each word sent a fresh wave of panic through you. because this wasn’t just some silly, fleeting crush anymore. this was ni-ki—your brother’s best friend, the boy you’d spent years pretending not to adore—holding you like you were the only thing that mattered, saying things you’d only ever dreamed of hearing.
and you had no idea what to do.
"we should get him to madam pomfrey," your brother said finally, though he was grinning like this was the best thing he’d seen all year.
ni-ki made a noise of protest, his arms tightening around you. "no," he mumbled against your shoulder. "stay with y/n."
your heart skipped.
your brother sighed. "alright, fine. but you’re coming with me, lover boy."
ni-ki whined—actually whined—but your brother was relentless, peeling him off you with a strength born of years of dealing with his antics. ni-ki’s hands lingered, his fingers brushing yours as he was dragged away, his eyes never leaving your face.
"i’ll find you later," he promised, voice still thick with whatever enchantment had taken hold of him.
your stomach flipped.
as the common room door swung shut behind them, the room erupted into chaos—laughter, theories about what kind of spell had been on those candies, bets on how long it would take for ni-ki to recover. but you just stood there, your skin still tingling where he’d touched you, your heart racing like you’d just run a mile.
when madam pomfrey had examined him the night before, her lips had pursed in that particular way that meant trouble.
"this isn't your standard amortentia variant," she'd muttered, her wand tracing glowing patterns over ni-ki's dazed expression. "it's one of those experimental brews the seventh years keep inventing. it'll have to run its course naturally."
you'd nearly choked when she'd added, "could be a day, could be a week," just as ni-ki blissfully unaware of your internal crisis, chose that moment to nuzzle his face against your hand like an overgrown puppy, his lips brushing your knuckles in a way that sent electric jolts up your arm.
"my moonbeam," he sighed dreamily, completely ignoring madam pomfrey's exasperated eye-roll. "your skin is so soft. are you made of clouds? you must be made of clouds."
your brother, the absolute traitor, was filming the entire thing on his enchanted camera.
but nothing, not even the humiliation of the hospital wing visit could have prepared you for the absolute nightmare that was the next morning.
the morning light filtering through your dormitory curtains was soft and golden, promising a slow, lazy day. you were still half-buried in your blankets, caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking, when the first sign of trouble came.
a faint creak of the door. the rustle of fabric. you assumed it was just one of your roommates returning from an early shower, until—
thud.
a muffled "oof" that you'd recognise anywhere.
your eyes flew open just in time to see ni-ki picking himself up from where he'd tripped over someone's abandoned shoes, his hair sticking up in every direction, still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. when he saw you looking, his entire face lit up like you'd cast the sun itself.
"good morning, sunshine!" he chirped, already climbing onto your bed before you could process what was happening.
the mattress dipped under his weight as he settled at the foot of your bed, beaming at you like this was completely normal.
"i waited outside for two hours. did you know the stairs turn into a slide if you're a boy? so rude. i had to bribe a first-year to tell me the password instead."
you sat frozen, your sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up. behind you, one of your roommates choked on her toothpaste. another pulled her blanket over her head with a groan.
"ni-ki," you hissed, acutely aware of your messy hair and the fact your pyjama top had slipped slightly off one shoulder, "you can't just—"
"but i missed you," he interrupted, as if this explained everything. his fingers found yours, lacing them together with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. "the second you left last night, my heart started aching. is that normal?"
he brought your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the steady beat beneath his shirt. "it feels normal when it's you."
you were going to find those seventh-years and strangle them with their own shoelaces.
his thumb traced the arch of your eyebrow, then drifted down to the curve of your cheek. you stopped breathing. the early morning light gilded his features in soft gold, catching on the tiny scar above his lip from that quidditch accident last year. you'd never been this close before, close enough to count his faint freckles, to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.
before you could react, he was leaning in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple. then another just below your ear. then another along your jawline—each one lingering just a second too long, his breath warm against your skin.
"ni-ki—" you gasped, but he just hummed and continued his lazy path of destruction, his lips brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear that made your toes curl.
"you're so soft here," he murmured against your skin, his free hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as his mouth continued its devastating exploration. "and here." another kiss, this time to the corner of your jaw. "and here." his lips grazed the pulse point beneath your ear, and you swore your heart stopped.
when you tried to squirm away, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you back against him with embarrassing ease.
"where do you think you're going, snugglebug?" he teased, nuzzling into your neck. "i just got comfortable."
you were going to die. actually die. right here in your pyjamas with ni-ki's stupidly perfect lips tracing nonsense patterns across your skin.
"this isn't—you can't just—" you stammered, but your traitorous body was already melting into his touch, your hands fisting in the sheets to keep from reaching for him.
ni-ki pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something you couldn't name.
"can't just what?" he challenged softly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "can't tell you how pretty you look in the morning? can't kiss every single mole on your face?" to demonstrate, he pressed his lips to the tiny one near your eyebrow. then the one by your nose. "can't adore you the way i've always wanted to?"
your breath caught. that couldn't be—he didn't mean—
before you could overthink it, his mouth found yours in a kiss so sweet it made your chest ache. just a brush of lips, barely there, but it shattered you completely. when he pulled away, his smile was brighter than the sunrise streaming through your windows.
"pancakes?" he asked, as if he hadn't just rewritten your entire universe with one kiss.
you could only nod, dazed.
as ni-ki helped you up (his hands lingering at your waist, his lips stealing one last kiss from your cheek), you caught your dormmates' wide-eyed stares in the mirror. one mouthed "holy shit" while another gave you a thumbs up.
you were so, so screwed.
. . .
breakfast in the great hall was nothing short of a public execution.
the moment you sat down, ni-ki was there, sliding onto the bench so close his thigh pressed flush against yours, his arm immediately curling around your shoulders like a possessive, overly affectionate scarf. when you reached for the pumpkin juice, his hand shot out, intercepting yours with a delighted gasp.
"let me," he insisted, pouring it for you with the kind of exaggerated care usually reserved for handling ancient, fragile artifacts.
he even made sure to wipe the rim of the glass with his napkin before handing it to you, his eyes sparkling. "you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, my precious little pumpkin."
you choked on air.
across the table, your brother was already losing it, his spoon clattering into his porridge as he doubled over with laughter. tears were actually streaming down his face.
"oh, this is too good," he wheezed, slapping the table. "this is the best day of my life."
you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. "stop encouraging him."
"encourage him?" your brother gasped, wiping his eyes. "merlin’s beard, i’m taking notes!" to your absolute horror, he pulled out an actual notebook and scribbled something down. "'my precious little pumpkin'—that’s gold."
ni-ki, blissfully unaware of your suffering, was now meticulously cutting your toast into heart shapes with the precision of a master chef.
"you need proper nutrition," he informed you, deadly serious, as if this were a matter of life and death. "how else will you stay as perfect as you are?"
you buried your face in your hands, willing the ground to swallow you whole.
it only got worse. when you tried to take a bite of your eggs, ni-ki intercepted your fork, holding it up to your lips himself.
"say 'ah,'" he coaxed, grinning when you glared at him. "come on, sweetheart. you’ll waste away if you don’t eat properly."
"i can feed myself," you hissed through gritted teeth.
"but where’s the fun in that?" he pouted, leaning in until his nose brushed your cheek. "let me take care of you. just for today."
you caved, because apparently your willpower had abandoned you the second ni-ki decided to turn your life into a romantic comedy. as you reluctantly took the bite, his entire face lit up like you’d just handed him the moon.
"good?" he asked, thumb brushing the corner of your lip to catch a crumb that wasn’t even there.
you were going to combust.
your brother, the absolute traitor, was now narrating the entire ordeal to jake like it was a quidditch commentary. "and ni-ki goes in for the kill—oh! he’s wiping her mouth! ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history!"
you threw a piece of toast at his head.
ni-ki, meanwhile, had moved on to rearranging the fruit on your plate into what appeared to be a smiley face. "you didn’t eat enough blueberries yesterday," he informed you, as if he’d been keeping track. "they’re good for your brain. and your eyes. and—"
"my soul?" you deadpanned.
"exactly," he said, completely serious, popping one into your mouth before you could protest.
by the time breakfast was over, half the great hall was watching your personal nightmare unfold with varying degrees of amusement and envy. ni-ki, still glued to your side, was now insisting on carrying your bag for you, despite your protests.
"you’re ridiculous," you muttered as he slung it over his shoulder, his free hand immediately finding yours again.
"ridiculous for you," he corrected, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
your brother fake-gagged behind you.
you were going to murder them both.
classes were somehow worse. in charms, ni-ki kept whispering ridiculous compliments every time the professor turned his back.
"your eyelashes are like tiny works of art," he sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder. "do they sparkle in the sunlight or is that just magic?"
when you shushed him, he pouted so dramatically that even the professor noticed. "mr. nishimura, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
"just that y/n is the most brilliant witch in hogwarts," ni-ki announced proudly, as if this was a perfectly normal answer. "and possibly the universe."
the class erupted into giggles. your face burned so hot you were surprised your hair didn't catch fire.
by lunchtime, you'd developed a new survival strategy: complete and utter surrender. when ni-ki insisted on carrying all your books (stacked precariously in his arms because he refused to use a charm that might "strain their delicate pages"), you stopped protesting. when he fed you bites of his treacle tart ("you need the sugar, my little sugarplum"), you accepted it with minimal grumbling. when he held your hand everywhere you went, his thumb tracing absent circles on your skin, you stopped trying to pull away.
it was easier this way.
(and if part of you secretly thrilled at the warmth of his hand in yours, well, no one needed to know that.)
the common room was warm, the warmth making your eyelids heavy and your thoughts slow. the fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the scattered books and half-finished homework. you were trying to focus on your essay, really trying, but it was hard when ni-ki kept shifting beside you, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair.
every time you moved, his hand would tighten just a little, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. when you reached for your pen, he intercepted your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a quiet hum.
"your hands are cold," he murmured, bringing them to his lips to blow warm air across your skin. the gesture was so tender it made your chest ache.
across the room, your brother and his friends were playing some loud card game, but you could feel their eyes darting over to you every few seconds, their grins barely hidden. you shot them a glare, but it only made them laugh harder.
"are you comfortable?" ni-ki asked suddenly, his free hand brushing a stray hair behind your ear. his touch lingered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he was memorising it. "you seem tense."
you swallowed. "i’m fine."
he frowned, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he studied your face. then, without warning, he pulled you sideways until your back was pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away.
"better?" his breath was warm against your ear, his voice low and sleepy.
"ni-ki—"
"shh," he interrupted, nuzzling into the space between your shoulder and neck. "just relax. i’ve got you."
one hand traced slow circles on your stomach, the other playing with your hair, his fingers moving in a rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.
it was too much. the warmth of him, the way he smelled like fresh laundry and something sweet, the steady beat of his heart against your back—it was all so dangerously comforting. against your better judgement, you felt yourself sinking into him, the tension leaving your shoulders one breath at a time.
until he spoke again.
"you smell amazing," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "like vanilla and... something else. just you."
his arms tightened slightly. "i could stay like this forever."
a choked noise escaped your throat. the entire common room seemed to be watching now, their conversations forgotten in favour of your humiliation. even the portraits on the walls were leaning in, their painted eyes wide with amusement.
"ni-ki, people are staring," you hissed, trying to squirm away.
he made a soft, wounded sound, his grip tightening. "let them stare," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. then, quieter, just for you: "you’re perfect. why wouldn’t they want to look at you?"
your face burned. "that’s not—"
"i mean it," he continued, undeterred. his chin rested on your shoulder, his voice dreamy.
"the way your eyes get all squinty when you’re trying not to laugh. how you bite your lip when you’re thinking." his fingers found yours again, lifting them to press a kiss to each knuckle. "the little noises you make when—"
"okay!" you lurched forward, nearly falling off the couch in your haste to escape. "i think i left my—my astronomy book in the library!"
ni-ki’s face fell. "i’ll come with—"
"no!" you stood too fast, your vision swimming. "i mean—you should stay. here. with my brother." you shot your brother a desperate look, but the traitor just grinned and raised his drink in salute.
for a long moment, ni-ki just stared at you, his eyes suspiciously shiny. then his lower lip actually trembled.
"you don’t want me to come," he said quietly, and it wasn’t a question.
the entire room went silent. even the fire seemed to pause.
you opened your mouth. closed it. the words "it’s not that" died on your tongue when his expression crumpled, like you’d just kicked a puppy.
your brother sighed dramatically. "just take him with you," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "before he starts crying and ruins my winning streak."
ni-ki’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. he was on his feet in an instant, gathering your books and pens with single-minded determination.
"i’ll carry your stuff," he announced, already stacking your papers neatly. "and your sweater. and that water bottle you forgot yesterday. and—"
you buried your face in your hands as the room erupted into laughter. somewhere to your left, someone whispered, "ten bucks says he proposes by friday."
as ni-ki proudly handed you your neatly stacked belongings, beaming like he’d just won the lottery, you came to a terrible realisation:
you were so, so screwed.
the afternoon sun was warm on your skin as you sat on the weathered wooden bench near the greenhouses, your textbook propped open in your lap for the quiz you had in next period—or at least, it had been, before ni-ki decided your lap made for a much better seat. the spell still hadn’t worn off.
once again he was all up in your personal space, sprawled across you now, his long limbs tangled with yours, his arms curled tightly around your waist like he was afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly. his head was nestled against your shoulder, his soft hair brushing your jaw, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against your collarbone, warm and familiar.
his fingers traced absent, lazy circles on your arm, his touch feather-light but enough to send tiny sparks skittering across your skin. you tried to focus on the page in front of you, really tried, but it was impossible when ni-ki kept nuzzling closer every time you shifted, his lips brushing the curve of your neck in a way that made your pulse stutter. it was ridiculous. embarrassing, even. and yet—despite yourself—you felt your body softening into his, your free hand coming up to card through his hair almost without thinking.
just then, the crunch of footsteps on gravel made you glance up. your brother stood a few feet away, eyebrows nearly in his hairline, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“wow,” he said, crossing his arms, “you two might as well get a room already.”
ni-ki lifted his head just enough to flash him a cheeky smile, his arms tightening around you. “we tried,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence, “but she said she had class.”
your brother barked out a laugh so loud it startled a nearby group of first-years, who scurried away like frightened mice. you, on the other hand, felt your entire face ignite.
“ni-ki,” you hissed, smacking his shoulder, “stop being a weirdo.”
but he only chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against your chest. before you could scold him further, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just a second too long. “you’re too warm to resist,” he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.
you wanted to protest. wanted to shove him off and tell him to quit messing around, to stop saying things that made your heart do stupid, traitorous flips in your chest. but the words died in your throat when he tilted his head up to look at you, his dark eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, his smile so fond it made your ribs ache.
your brother whistled. “yep, i’m definitely telling mom about this.”
“don’t you dare,” you snapped, but your voice lacked any real heat—especially when ni-ki shifted in your lap, his nose brushing yours, his fingers threading through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“let him,” ni-ki said, grinning. “i’ve got nothing to hide.”
you groaned, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. this was a disaster. you were a disaster. and yet—when ni-ki’s laughter rumbled against you, when his thumb brushed over your knuckles in that stupidly gentle way of his—you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
that same evening you decided to sneak off to the library to finally get some studying done, but ni-ki had caught you in two minutes with a pouty look on his face. so, here you were now—at the library which had always been your sanctuary, a quiet place where you could escape everything—until now. the flickering candlelight made the words in your potions textbook blur together, but you hadn't registered anything in front of you in at least fifteen minutes. not with ni-ki pressed against your back like a second shadow, his chin hooked over your shoulder as he lazily flipped through your notes with one hand while the other traced mindless patterns on your thigh.
"you're skipping the good parts," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, his breath warm against your neck. his finger landed on a passage about amortentia variants. "this is where it gets interesting."
you swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. "we're supposed to be researching counters, not reading about how love potions work."
ni-ki hummed, nuzzling closer until his lips brushed the sensitive spot behind your ear. "maybe i like knowing how it works," he whispered. "maybe i want to understand why i can't stop thinking about you."
the book nearly slipped from your hands. "that's—that's just the potion talking."
"is it?" he shifted suddenly, turning you to face him with surprising gentleness. the candlelight caught in his dark eyes, making them glow. "then why did i watch you all last term? why did i always find excuses to sit by you in the great hall? why—"
"shh!" you glanced frantically at the librarian, who was glaring from her desk. "you're going to get us kicked out."
ni-ki only grinned, unrepentant, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "worth it," he breathed. his fingers tangled with yours, squeezing gently. "you're so pretty when you're flustered."
"you're impossible," you muttered, but the protest was weak—especially when he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with exaggerated care.
"only for you." his thumb brushed over your racing pulse. "your heart's going crazy. is that the potion too?"
you couldn't answer. not when he was looking at you like that—like you were the only thing that mattered. not when his free hand came up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering at your jawline.
the moment stretched, fragile and breathless, until ni-ki suddenly yawned, the spell breaking as he slumped against you with a quiet groan.
"m'sleepy," he mumbled, his words slurring as he nuzzled into your neck. "your hoodie smells nice. like... like vanilla and that lavender soap you use."
you stiffened. "how do you know what soap i use?"
he didn’t answer, already half-asleep against you, his arms slipping around your waist like living seatbelts. you tried to return to your research, really tried, but how could you focus when every other page was punctuated by ni-ki's soft murmurs of "love you" and "so warm" against your skin? when his fingers would tighten unconsciously whenever you shifted, as if afraid you'd disappear?
frustrated, you turned another page with more force than necessary, your eyes scanning for anything about countering experimental love potions. that's when you saw it—a faded footnote nearly obscured by water damage:
"when the subject already harbours affection for the potion's target, the effects intensify tenfold, blurring the lines between enchantment and genuine feeling. in such cases, the potion acts not as creator, but as catalyst—removing inhibitions and amplifying existing emotions that the brewer may have otherwise concealed."
the words hit you like a bludger to the chest. your hands trembled as memories surfaced—ni-ki always volunteering to be your partner in potions, his laughter a little too bright when you brushed against him. the way he'd show up in the library "by coincidence" whenever you studied alone. how his teasing had always carried an edge of something warmer, something deeper you'd been too afraid to name.
"y/n?" ni-ki's voice was thick with sleep, but his gaze was startlingly clear as he lifted his head. "you okay? your heart's going crazy again."
"i found something," you whispered.
he leaned in, his nose brushing yours as he peered at the book. too close. always too close. you could count his eyelashes from here, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
"huh," he said after a moment, surprisingly lucid. "so you're telling me i didn't stand a chance?"
"what?"
ni-ki smiled, slow and devastating. "even without the potion," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, "i was already gone for you. this just... made it harder to hide."
his thumb brushed your lower lip, feather-light. "do you hate that?"
you couldn't breathe. couldn't think. the library, the book, the world outside this moment—none of it mattered. not when ni-ki was looking at you like you were his entire universe. not when his confession hung between you, raw and terrifying and beautiful.
the librarian's sharp cough shattered the moment. "if you two can't keep quiet," she snapped, "i'll have to ask you to leave."
ni-ki didn't even glance her way. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his fingers still tracing nonsense patterns on your wrist. "well?" he whispered, so quiet only you could hear. "do you want me to stop?"
that was the problem. you didn't. not really. not when every touch set your skin on fire, not when his sleepy "i love you"s had started to sound like home.
your silence was answer enough. ni-ki's grin could have powered the castle lamps as he tucked you back against his side, pressing one last kiss to your temple before nuzzling into your hair. "knew it," he murmured triumphantly.
and as you sat there, surrounded by dusty books and the steady rhythm of ni-ki's breathing, you realised with terrifying clarity that you had no idea how you would deal with this once he gets back to his normal self.
because somewhere between his whispered confessions and the way his hands always found yours, your heart had stopped questioning whether his feelings were real—and started wondering when yours had become so painfully obvious.
the next morning, you stirred awake to the unfamiliar weight of someone pressed flush against your back, their arms locked securely around your waist like living chains. for one disoriented second, your sleep-fogged brain couldn't process why your bed felt smaller, warmer—until ni-ki nuzzled into the nape of your neck with a sleepy sigh, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent immediate sparks down your spine.
you stiffened, memories flooding back - last night's study session in the library that had stretched too late, your reluctant agreement to let him walk you to your dorm, and then...oh. then his pleading eyes in the dim torchlight, his fingers playing with yours as he'd whispered, "just five minutes? i'll be good." and like the weak-willed fool you were, you'd caved, cracking the door just enough for him to slip in before anyone noticed.
except apparently "five minutes" had turned into him sneaking under your covers when you'd fallen asleep, his body curled around yours like a second shadow. even now, his knee was wedged between yours, his chest rising and falling against your back in a steady rhythm that suggested he'd been awake for a while, just...holding you.
"morning," ni-ki murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you shivered, feeling his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.
you tried to turn, to protest this ridiculousness, but his arms only tightened, pulling you back flush against him with surprising strength.
"don't move," he whined, his breath hot against your neck as he scattered kisses along your shoulder.
his hand slid up from your waist to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. "so perfect."
"ni-ki," you started, but the protest died in your throat when his teeth grazed the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. he soothed the sting with his tongue, then did it again slightly lower, his free hand slipping under your sleep shirt to splay across your stomach possessively.
"mine," he murmured against your skin between kisses that were quickly turning into something more.
his lips travelled up the column of your throat, sucking deliberately until you knew without looking he was leaving marks—dark, unmistakable hickeys that would be impossible to hide later. when you squirmed, he pinned you gently but firmly, his thigh sliding more firmly between yours as he continued his devastating path along your collarbone.
"ni-ki, stop—" you gasped, but it came out breathless, unconvincing even to your own ears.
he lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something that made your stomach flip. "make me," he challenged, voice low and rough. when you didn't respond, too busy trying to remember how to breathe, he grinned that stupid, heart-stopping grin before ducking back down to worry another bruise into your skin, this time high enough that no collar would hide it.
"you're terrible," you managed, but your hands had somehow found their way into his hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands as his mouth worked magic on your throat.
ni-ki hummed, the vibration against your skin making you shiver.
"your terrible," he corrected, punctuating each word with a kiss. he shifted suddenly, rolling you onto your back so he could loom over you, his hands framing your face as he took in the damage—the blooming purple marks scattered across your neck, the flush creeping down your chest.
his expression turned unbearably smug, "pretty."
before you could respond, he was kissing you properly, slow and deep and devastating, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head just how he wanted it. when he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours with a quiet sigh.
"how are you even real," he murmured, the ridiculous nickname paired with the way his thumb traced your swollen lips making your stomach swoop. "my perfect, perfect y/n."
you should've pushed him away. should've reminded him this wasn't real, that it was just the potion. but as the morning light painted gold across his features, as his hands moved over you with a reverence that stole your breath, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
. . .
you didn’t hear it from ni-ki.
it was your brother who told you, somewhere between transfiguration and charms, like it was nothing. like it didn’t matter. he was shoving books into his bag, not even looking at you when he said it.
“potion wore off last night,” he muttered, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
your hands froze around the strap of your bag.
“ni-ki didn’t say anything?” you asked, your voice too light, too careful. your heart was suddenly pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
your brother just shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “he seemed kind of… weird about it.”
and that was it. no grand moment, no dramatic shift. no lingering looks or whispered explanations. just—over. like none of it had ever happened. like you hadn’t spent a week tangled up in him, learning the shape of his laughter against your skin, the way his hands always found yours like they belonged there. like he hadn’t looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
so you did the only thing you could. you pretended.
the next two days you acted like nothing had changed. like you hadn’t once been his entire world. when you passed him in the corridor, you nodded politely, your face carefully blank. when he held the door open for you, you gave him a stiff smile and nothing more. in charms class, you sat two desks away, your eyes fixed stubbornly on your parchment, even when you felt his gaze lingering on the side of your face. and when his shoulder brushed yours by accident in the crowded hallway, you barely let yourself flinch, barely let yourself remember how those same hands had traced every inch of you like you were something precious.
it was fine. it had to be fine. this was just how things were supposed to be—back to normal, back to before. it was safer this way. less humiliating.
(because what if he remembered everything? what if he remembered the way you’d melted into his touch, what if he knew—)
you swallowed the thought down like acid.
it was just the potion, after all.
except—
except sometimes, when you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch him staring. his expression unreadable, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching out. and once, just once, when you turned a corner too quickly and nearly collided with him, his hands came up instinctively to steady you—just for a second—before he remembered himself and let go like you’d burned him.
you told yourself you imagined the way his breath hitched.
you told yourself a lot of things.
but then the same evening after class you were heading towards the common room, nearly at the fat lady's portrait when you felt it—the familiar prickle at the back of your neck that always meant ni-ki was nearby. you quickened your pace instinctively, but before you could turn the corner, arms wrapped around you from behind in a hold so warm and familiar it made your breath stutter. his chest pressed flush against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily against your neck.
"why have you been ignoring me?"
his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it, barely above a whisper, but it resonated through you like thunder. your hands hovered uncertainly over his arms where they were locked around your waist, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
"i haven't," you lied, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
ni-ki hummed, the vibration travelling through your back and settling somewhere deep in your chest.
"you have," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear in a way that made your knees weak. "you stopped talking to me. stopped looking at me like..." his voice cracked slightly, "like i matter to you."
you swallowed hard, staring resolutely at the wall ahead. "i just figured... things went back to normal. this is how we were before."
his arms tightened almost imperceptibly around you. "i thought you were embarrassed," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your neck.
"when the potion wore off, i didn’t know how to face you. i thought—i thought you hated how i acted. how clingy i was. how much i—" he cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "but then you started avoiding me, and i couldn’t just sit there and do nothing."
your heart pounded so violently you were certain he could feel it. "ni-ki..."
"you do know that i like you, right?" his voice dropped lower, more vulnerable than you'd ever heard it.
"you know how love potions work. when someone's already..." he hesitated, his grip on you shifting slightly, "when someone's already in love, it makes everything stronger. more intense. everything i did, everything i said to you—i meant all of it."
slowly, so slowly, you turned in his arms. he let you, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you as you faced him properly for the first time in days. his eyes were darker than you remembered, full of something raw and open that made your breath catch.
"so you actually liked me before the potion?" you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet hallway.
ni-ki sighed, one hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.
"i've liked you since third year when you hexed that sunghoon kid for stepping on my broom," he admitted, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "i just... never thought you'd look at me that way."
your hands found purchase in the front of his robes, clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you upright. "so all that time... the cuddling, the stupid nicknames, the way you'd kiss my forehead when you thought i was asleep—"
"things i've wanted to do for years," he interrupted softly, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. his touch was feather-light, reverent, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he pressed too hard. "the potion just... gave me the courage to actually do them."
you could feel his pulse racing where his wrist brushed against your neck, could see the nervous hope shining in his eyes despite the confident set of his jaw. it was this—this vulnerability from someone usually so self-assured—that finally broke you.
ni-ki's breath hitched when you leaned into his touch, his eyes darting between yours.
"can i kiss you now?" he asked, his voice rough with barely restrained want. "properly? without any potions or excuses?"
your answer was to rise up on your toes and close the distance between you.
his lips were softer than you imagined, moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. one of his hands slid into your hair while the other pulled you flush against him, eliminating what little space remained between you. you could feel the way his breath stuttered when your fingers tangled in his hair, could taste the quiet sigh he let out when you kissed him back with equal fervour.
it was slow and sweet and so devastatingly perfect that you forgot to breathe. ni-ki kissed you like he was memorising you, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment and wanted to savour every second. when you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, his cheeks were flushed and his lips were kiss-swollen and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.
"no more pretending?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
ni-ki grinned, bright and unrestrained, before capturing your lips again in a kiss that left no room for doubt. "never again," he murmured against your mouth, his arms tightening around you.
──── in which ︵ munch!riki distracts you while you’re on the phone.
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“can you stop?”
your voice is slightly breathy and annoyed as you send him a stern glare. he just grins, his corners of his mouth creeping up into that same smirk, the one that makes you want to pull him into a deep kiss.
niki hums lowly, his fingers are dragging up and down your thigh. his expression is both challenging and amused.
you send him yet another glare before focusing back on your phone, holding it tightly against your ear. “sorry, uh so.. what did you say again?”
niki’s fingers continue to trail up and up, you slap his hand away, shaking your head with a strict look on your face as you clench your jaw.
niki pouts, he looks up at you with those big pleading eyes, the ones who always make you fold in the end. you let out a low sigh before covering the phone speaker.
“stop ki, i’m dead serious.” you grit through you teeth, before holding the phone against your ear again.
“okay wish her a happy birthday for me, i’ll try to be there on saturday—“
your eyes widen and the softest whimper escapes you as you feel niki’s finger press on your clit through your clothes. you give him a shocked expression, shaking your head slowly, but spreading your legs wider either way.
niki grins, he presses a kiss on your thigh before moving up and up, his mouth hovering above your best, which is still covered by your pants, thank god.
he dips his fingers inside the waistband of your pants, gives you a look, and when you glare at him but regardlessly lift your hips, niki knows he has you exactly where he wants you.
he pulls your pants down, pressing the softest kisses on your thighs and panties, which are embarrassingly wet already. “yeah, yeah. so what time do i need to be there? eleven or twel— ah…”
it’s pathetic, but you can’t help but escape yet another moan as you feel niki’s fingers playing with your folds. his hands are cold in comparison to your cunt, and it makes you shiver. in the good way.
he pulls your panties down completely, gives you one last look and a sly wink, before burying himself in between your legs. you gasp, struggling to keep the phone in hand. you grasp onto niki’s head desperately, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.
one the other end of the line you can hear vague talking, and you try to reply.
“mhm yeah, yeah i’ll fuck… i’ll be there… right there..” you whimper as niki hits that one spot you like, arching your back and tangling your fingers further into his hair.
you feel niki’s tongue swirl around, he knows what he’s doing, and god he’s good at it. your mouth is agape, soft pants leaving as you keep the phone as far away from you as possible, so it doesn’t pick up any sounds.
when niki sucks on your clit, you lose it. you quickly put yourself on mute and arch your back completely into him, moaning loudly. “niki— fuck!”
he hums satisfied, licking and slurping your juices while moaning satisfied.
“so sweet..” he whispers, before pulling back and wiping his chin, a wicked grin on his face.
you pant and shake your head. “you’re a fucking freak.”
“yeah?” he smirks “you like it, though”
and honestly, nishimura riki was nothing, but a freak. your freak.
you're mr. park's new assistant at manifest, a fashion/magazine company
content: smau ⟡ ceo!jay x assistant!reader ⟡ profanity ⟡ jealousy ⟡ jay is mean
a/n: i lowkey couldn't stop writing so here's another chapter not even 6 hours later LMFAO
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masterlist ⟡ part one ⟡ part two ⟡ part three ⟡ part four ⟡ part five ⟡ part six ⟡ part seven
(if you're viewing this from a reblog please check the original post or my masterlist for updates! (because reblogs don't update when i edit the og post)
୨୧ content tags/warnings: hyung line x reader, reader is horny and desperate, alcohol.
୨୧ explicit content (smut): porn with plot, gangbang, face fucking, facials, nipple play, fingering, oral fixation, unprotected sex, degrading language, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling etc), double penetration, unprotected anal sex, slapping, handjob, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, this is straight up porn but have a potential romance at the end, sex aftercare. lmk if i missed something.
୨୧ WORD COUNT: 9.4K !
spotify suggest: bad idea right? ; Often ; Slow Down ; Señorita
note: English isn't my first language, so if you find any mistakes I apologize, hehe, and I also welcome any corrections or tips from you.
If by some chance you're here and you speak Spanish, let me tell you that I do too, hehe, and that the Spanish version is available here.
"So, how did it go with Niki in the end?" Sunghoon asked, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.
"Oh, she really doesn't want to talk about it," Heeseung replied, sprawled on the sofa. The girl was next to him, a slight blush on her cheeks, her eyes rolling, and sighing.
"It was total shit," she blurted out. "He rejected me for still being 'just a kid.'" Jake, sitting next to Sunghoon, let out a loud laugh. "That doesn't make any sense, does it?"
"Right, I mean, who wouldn't jump at the chance to be with a virgin?" Sunghoon commented, still eating. The girl huffed. —Men,— she thought, forgetting that her best friends were just m e n.
"Don't be rude, Hoon, you're upsetting the poor girl." Jay entered the living room of Heeseung's apartment, where they were having a sleepover, carrying cans of beer and hitting his friend on the back of the head. Sunghoon didn't complain.
"Don’t worry. Someone else will come along who isn’t an asshole, or a jerk, or an idiot, or a creep, or a..."
"I get it, Jay, thanks..." the girl groaned. "I really thought he was interested."
"He was. Just in screwing you hard."
"Sunghoon!" the three guys around him snapped. Sunghoon just rolled his eyes. "Oh, screw you all. Don't act all high and mighty now. It’s the damn truth! Niki just wanted quick sex with her, and since she didn’t put out as easily as he expected, he ditched her."
"Sunghoon, you're not being very kind with your words..." Heeseung put his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Relax, screw Niki, you're a divine woman, beautiful, and you have a big heart, he's the one who's missing out."
"For God’s sake, Hee, there were more subtle ways to be a pussy." Jake teased, taking a sip of his beer.
She laughed; her friends were men, but they were good guys, no doubt.
"At least you didn’t sleep with someone who was just going to mess you around and then vanish. I guess that would’ve been pretty cruel for you, knowing how you are."
Jay was right, that would have been horrible; her friend had strong feelings for that guy and discovering that he only wanted to use her was a blow to her pride.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore. God, it makes me nervous..." There was a brief silence, barely a minute. The guys waited; they knew the conversation wasn't over. "But you know what bothers me the most?"
They chuckled softly; their friend was so predictable.
"God! We were kissing and he lowered his hand, but I pulled away. I GOT COLD FEET, OKAY? “She covered her face with both hands, frustrated. “I felt ready, yes. But I don't know, I don't know what happened.”
“Take it as a sign that this wasn't the right path, that's all.” Heeseung offered her his beer, and she took a long swig, annoyed, frustrated, and flushed. “Slow down.” He laughed.
"Jesus, I must be the only girl on campus who's still a virgin. I need a boyfriend. Introduce me to one of your friends, Hoon. How about that guy with pretty eyes?
"Jungwon´s just like Niki, trust me. He fucks and runs."
"Men! All the same idiots."
The guys laughed loudly, Heeseung gently patted his friend's head. Jay sat down on their other free side, placing a palm on her knee, smiling.
"You don't need to rush; everyone goes at their own pace."
"You say that because you've already done it. You guys have all done it; I've heard every single one of your stories a thousand times."
"Like that time Hoon was screwing a freshman and his grandma walked into the room," Jake recalled, getting a shove from Sunghoon, who complained that they didn't need to bring that up, how embarrassing.
"Shut up, jerk. What about you? That time you couldn't get it up because you were high?"
"Oh, man, that girl was so hot on top of me, I looked like such a loser," he fake-cried, laughing. "But Jay’s right, you don't have to stress about it. It’s just sex. Or what? Are you really that desperate for some dick?"
She opened her mouth to insult him, but closed it, looking away, blushing. She snatched the beer out of Heeseung’s hand and took a gulp. Her friend laughed beside her.
"She is."
"Shut the hell up, idiots, you’re making me uncomfortable."
She huffed in annoyance, leaving the now empty can on the small table in front of her. She took advantage of him getting up to walk out of the room, heading towards Heeseung's room.
"I'm going to go change," she said, heading towards Heeseung's room.
When she returned, now wearing athletic shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her friends were already in comfortable clothes too. She sat back down between Heeseung and Jay, draping her legs over Jay's lap and her head on Hee's. Neither of them said a word or made a move; this familiarity was normal between them; they'd been friends for over ten years.
They watched a movie, chosen by Jake and Sunghoon. They all drank beer and ate chips, occasionally chatting about silly things to share a laugh. She got up from Heeseung's lap, drawing the attention of all four of them.
"I can't take this anymore," she murmured. "Help me, I'm fed up."
Jay, gently stroking her ankles, looked at her, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Sex, Jay. I’ve been thinking... I don’t want my first time to be with some jerk who’s just going to mess me around and then disappear. Maybe it’s better to do it with someone I know won't hurt me. Someone I trust and have a real connection with."
"Are you saying you want to sleep with one of us?" Jake blurted out, stunned. She nodded.
"You guys aren't idiots. Well, sometimes you are. But you wouldn't be cruel to me."
"That’s it, no more beer for you. You're talking nonsense. The alcohol is getting to you." Heeseung took the beer from her hand. She rolled her eyes.
"I'm serious, Hee. It's just sex, right? Jake said so himself." Jake pointed at his own chest, surprised that they were ganging up on him with their eyes.
"Oh, come on! How many times have I let you guys use my room to get between a girl's legs? And all the times I introduced you to friends? I'm only asking for one thing."
Silence fell over the room. No one knew what to say. There was fear, tension, and a sudden, palpable heat. Jake looked at Sunghoon beside him, who was noticeably uncomfortable. Jay looked at his friend, then back at Heeseung behind her, who had stopped stroking her leg.
"With whom?" Jay finally blurted out, looking at her differently now—no longer as just a friend.
She hesitated, avoiding his gaze. She hadn't really thought that far ahead. "Um... I don't know," she replied.
"Any of you is fine. I don't have anyone in particular in mind." Jake stood up, restless, his expression nervous. Heeseung stopped him. "Uh-uh. Not you. You're a savage; you're going to hurt her." Jake rolled his eyes, looking for an excuse to start a stupid argument with his friend.
Just then, Jay stood up, took her hand, and pulled her toward the bedroom.
"I'm borrowing your room, Hee," he called out when they were practically inside. He closed the door slowly, leaving it unlocked. She looked up at him, her nerves spiking.
"I'll ask just to be sure. Are you certain? Nothing's going to happen that you don't want."
She nodded; she was still hesitant, but backing out would only make things awkward. She smiled;an expression he found adorable, her cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol, her skin glowing. God, that did things to Jay. He didn't have to lie to himself: his best friend was breathtaking. The only thing that had held him back before was the friendship, but now that he had her consent—now that it was her idea—he wasn't going to hold back.
He pulled her closer, his hands settling on her waist. He searched her eyes for a few seconds, looking for any sign of regret. Finding none, he smiled and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant at first, but Jay whispered, "Relax, it's okay." She let out a shaky sigh, trying to expel the anxiety, and began to follow his lead. Slowly, patiently. Jay relaxed, pulling back just an inch to breathe.
"Shall we continue?" He sought her silent approval, and she nodded. He shifted, one hand moving to the nape of her neck, the other firm on her waist, pulling their bodies flush together. He kissed her more desperately now, with a hunger that broke through his earlier calm. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of the beer, then pulled away to graze her lower lip with his teeth. He left a trail of kisses across her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, and down to her throat. She squirmed under his touch, letting out a small laugh. "Tickles," she apologized sheepishly. He smiled, pressing a reassuring kiss to her jawline, his lips leaving a damp trail down to the pulse point in her neck. Jay could feel her artery thrumming against his lips. He pulled back slightly, catching her look of disappointment at the distance. "To bed, Darling."
The nickname struck a chord; she felt a jolt of heat pulse through her, and they had barely even begun. She shuffled over to Heeseung's bed under Jay's intense gaze. He shed his shirt, pulling her against him on the mattress. He kissed her again, hungrier, thirstier. His hands drifted down to her waist, caressing the soft skin of her abdomen beneath her shirt. She felt a shiver, not the kind that brings laughter, but the kind that left her aching. Jay hovered over the hem of her shirt, his eyes meeting hers. "May I?"
She nodded, desperate for him to take control, needing to be cared for. He yanked the garment off, his breath hitching as he stared at his best friend’s exposed chest. He licked his lips, devouring her with his gaze. The intensity made her pulse race; she needed his focus to stop lingering on her hardened nipples. He kissed her lips again, moving down with sudden desperation, licking and nibbling at her collarbones. Savoring her scent, he kissed the valley between her breasts, and, looking directly into her eyes, he drew his tongue across one aroused nipple, causing her to moan and tremble. He smiled, resting his teeth lightly against the tip before licking and teasing it, repeating the sequence on the other side, leaving her skin slicked.
He pulled back, his hand moving to the hem of her shorts, slowly dragging them down until they pooled on the floor.
Feeling exposed, she let out a sharp sigh. Jay kissed her thighs, his touch reverent, gradually moving upward. She felt his warm breath against her lace. He pressed a kiss to the center of her panties—soaking wet—and used his fingers to part the fabric, exposing her. He ran his tongue between her lips, a low moan escaping her as she felt the strain of his own desire pushing against his jeans. He focused all his attention on her, kissing and tasting her, feeling her hands tangling into his hair, occasionally pushing him deeper. He was determined to make her feel completely worshipped, finding her most sensitive spot and sending electric shocks through her entire body.
"Jay... it's a lot..." she sighed, breathless. He pulled back just enough to look at her. "It's just the beginning, my love." Jay wet his fingers, guiding them to her entrance. "Breathe..." He pushed inside slowly, feeling her nervousness, tight heat close around him. He kissed her deeply to distract her from the intrusion. As she began to relax, he increased the rhythm, sliding in a second and then a third finger, the sensual sound of fluid and friction becoming rhythmic. Jay kissed her lips, her neck, her belly, massaging her clitoris with his thumb in slow, teasing circles. She began to tremble, her legs shaking uncontrollably until he finally pulled away.
"I'm going in, Darling." He promised his voice raw. "I'll be gentle." He shed his pants and boxers, finally revealing his arousal—hard and throbbing. He moved between her legs, and she wrapped them around his hips, pulling him close.
He stood firmly at the edge of the bed, grasping her hips to pull her closer. He pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance and entered her slowly, watching her face for any flicker of pain. She felt him stretch her; it was a dull, hot burn, but it wasn't pain. She took a deep, shuddering breath to release the tension. Jay pushed all the way in, a low moan escaping his throat as he waited for the right rhythm, easing into it slowly.
"Mhg~ Ja-Jay..." she whimpered, her eyes squeezed shut as her hand traced the muscles of his abdomen.
"Are you okay, darling?"
She nodded, moaning louder as he began to move. He was fully submerged, heavy and rhythmic. "More... more, Jay..." Those words were the green light he needed. He increased the pace and depth, his hips slamming into hers, causing her to cry out. He stroked her clitoris with his thumb in time with his thrusts. She tried to cover her mouth to stifle her screams, but he wouldn't let her. He pinned her wrists to the mattress, increasing his speed. "No, darling. I want to hear from you. Tell me, do you like it?"
"Y-yes... Mhg~ Jay, yes, I like it..." She could barely form the words, her mind clouded by the rush of heat flooding her body. It felt intense, overwhelming, and perfect.
"What do you like? Uhm? Tell me," he demanded, lowering his body until he could taste her lips, their moans blending together.
"Ghk! I like... how you’re filling me... hmh~."
That made him smile against her mouth, tugging at her lip with his teeth. He released her wrists to straighten up, catching her legs and pulling them over his shoulders, driving himself deeper, seeking that impossible connection. "Ugh~ Ja-jay... Ngh~ I’m going to..."
He could feel her body milking him, squeezing him so tightly it forced him to slow down. Her thighs began to tremble violently, and she let out a broken, intense cry. "That's it, baby... Cum on my cock. I love you; I love you..." He accelerated again, the wet, rhythmic slap of their bodies filling the room. "Ugh... I'm close, baby... ahh-ahh... I'm going to cum..."
Jay groaned, his pelvis hitting hers with one final, hard strike. As the tremors of her orgasm raced through her, he pulled back slightly, driving his final thrusts home until he groaned and flooded her abdomen with his warmth. Dazed, breathless, and slick with sweat, he remained still for a moment as the end of his release faded. He tapped his cock gently against her swollen, sensitive lips.
"Hmm... So, tell me, love, is everything alright?" he whispered, blinking through the haze of ecstasy. He brushed her hair away, smiling at her like a fool, and kissed her lips and cheeks with newfound tenderness. "Did you like it? Or was I an idiot?"
"No, Jay, you're not an idiot. Everything's fine... very fine," she answered, her throat dry, her cheeks still flushed. She smiled at him, soft and vulnerable. "I loved it. It met my expectations, and then some. I love you."
"I love you too, darling. Let me clean you up. I'll be right back."
Jay stood up, moving toward the door to grab a towel. He pulled it open, but he froze. Standing right there, staring back at him, was Jake—with his hand already down his own pants, his eyes dark and dilated.
"What are you doing? That’s disgusting," Jay scolded, glancing over his shoulder toward the living room. Heeseung and Sunghoon were in the same state, both handling themselves. "You guys weren't exactly quiet, Jay." Jake countered, still pumping his cock, his eyes flicking toward the girl on the bed. "It's my turn now."
Jake moved to enter the room, but Jay stopped him, grabbing his arm in a possessive, tight grip. "You're not going to fuck her." Jake laughed sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "And why not? You just did! And you made sure we all heard. It’s not fair."
"She asked me to," Jay justified.
Jake shook his head, jabbing a finger at him. "No, she said she was fine with any of us, and you just happened to be the one who took her." Jay sighed; he was too exhausted to argue, but Jake had a point.
"Fine. Ask her. But only if she wants to." Both boys turned to look at her. Under their intense gazes, she instinctively pulled her legs together to cover herself. "Tell him, darling," Jay said, his voice laced with possessiveness. "This savage wants to fuck you. Are you going to say no?"
She blinked, stunned by the irony of it all—having sex with her best friend in another best friend's bed while the other two listened from the living room. She flicked her gaze between Jay and Jake, her nerves burning at her fingertips. She was exposed, still sensitive, and completely overwhelmed. She swallowed hard. "I… I don't know…" Jay smiled, trying to push the other boy back. "See? She doesn't want to. Let's go."
But the Australian wouldn't allow it. He shoved Jay’s arm away, stepped into the room, and loomed over her, devouring her with his eyes. "Come on, gorgeous, don't leave me hanging. A little while ago, you were so eager for a cock you were willing to take any of ours." Jake’s voice was deep, gravelly, barely stroking his cock in front of her. "Why settle for one when you can have all four of us for the night?"
"Jake... I think you're pushing her too hard," Jay warned from the doorway. "Fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'll do it." Silence descended on the room. Feeling trapped, she avoided their eyes, pulling her arms around her chest.
"Say it again," Jake demanded, his hunger palpable. "I need to hear it again, and I swear to God, it’ll be the best day of your life."
"I agree to have sex with you now, Jake," she stated, her heart hammering against her ribs. "And I agree to do it with the others... just for today."
That was all the Australian needed. He grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her roughly, desperately. "Fuck," he groaned against her lips. "I'm not promising to be gentle. But if I do something wrong, you can kick my balls." That made her laugh, a soft, nervous sound. She nodded.
Jake continued kissing her, practically devouring her mouth, seeking to taste every inch of her. He nibbled at her lips, not even letting her breathe. With one hand on her waist and the other cupping her breast, he squeezed hard, pinching her nipple between his fingers until she stifled a gasp. She unconsciously began rubbing her pussy against the sheets, and Jake, noticing the rhythm of her hips, pulled away, halting all action.
"We’re going to do this, beautiful..." He circled the bed, climbing onto the mattress from behind to press his chest against her bare back. "Open your legs for your audience." In front of her, near the door, stood Jay, staring intensely, his cock already hard again. Behind him, Heeseung and Sunghoon were in the same state, watching with hungry eyes. The sheer weight of their attention made her heart hammer against her ribs. Avoiding their gaze, she sat up straight, spreading her legs as instructed.
Jake mirrored her, sitting up behind her. He grabbed her knees, pulling them wide to expose her completely to the other three. He leaned in, kissing and biting at her shoulder. He brought two fingers to her mouth. "Suck," he ordered. She obeyed, licking both fingers until they were slick with her saliva. He teased her mouth for a moment before pulling them out with a wet, sharp pop. He dragged his dripping fingers down to her wet pussy, delivering a stinging slap that made her jump.
"Hmm, look at you, already jumping," he rasped. "I can't even imagine what I’m going to do to you later." He rubbed his fingers up and down the length of her cunt—slowly at first, then suddenly driving them inside with incredible speed.
"Oh—AHH~!" she cried out, her muscles clenching, her legs trying to instinctively snap shut. Jake slowed his pace, circling her entrance with his fingertips before driving his fingers deep again, biting hard into her shoulder to stifle her moan.
"Do you like it, beautiful? Uhm? Do you like how I'm touching you while the others watch? You're so turned on; you're definitely enjoying this."
His fingers worked her entrance roughly, sliding in and out, pausing every few seconds to curl into hooks against her sensitive walls. Heeseung moved closer, climbing onto the bed with his cock already in his hand, guiding it toward her lips. "Suck it," he ordered in a low, rough voice. She didn't hesitate, opening her mouth to receive his swollen length. "Ohh... Umh~ that’s it, baby." He held her head firmly in both hands, setting the rhythm. He pulled her back, only to drive himself deeper into her mouth, letting her tongue swirl around the sensitive tip. "Do it again, and I’ll blow your mouth apart, I swear. You’re going to feel every bit of me."
It was a threat she decided to take as a challenge. She licked from base to tip, leaving a lingering kiss on the head of his cock, locking eyes with Heeseung as she teased him. She swirled her tongue around his opening, and Heeseung trembled on the mattress, his own fist tightening around the base of his shaft.
"Open wide for me, baby. Breathe through your nose." She obeyed, parting her lips as wide as she could without scraping him with her teeth. Heeseung thrust deep into her throat, forcing a gag reflex, but he didn't let her pull away. He began to pound into her mouth, his movements so rhythmic and forceful that his nose brushed against her chin. "Hmh… ohh~, baby, I'm gonna... ugh~, I'm gonna cum." He continued to thrust, his pace becoming desperate. "You're going to swallow it all for me, right? Because you're a good girl, aren't you?." She nodded, her throat working around his cock, her mouth vibrating with every movement, while Jake’s fingers continued their work inside her, leaving her feeling exquisitely overwhelmed. Heeseung thrust his hips a few more times before he spilled inside her, deep and relentless, emptying himself until the very last drop. He pulled his cock from her mouth, which was left swollen and flushed. He smiled, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Beautiful. You’re so beautiful."
"Get off, Jake" Sunghoon commanded, appearing behind him. Jake huffed, pulling his hand away from her and sliding off the bed. Heeseung retreated as well, stepping back to watch. Sunghoon immediately moved in, his skin hot against hers as he stroked her back, leaving a trail of kisses along her shoulder. "Sit on my face, honey."
"Huh?" she breathed, turning to look at him. Sunghoon was completely naked, his expression dark and hungry. He smiled, showing his fangs, and pressed a brief, possessive kiss to her lips. ""Sit on my face, love. I'm going to eat that pussy now." He lay back against the pillows, gesturing for her to straddle him. She positioned her knees on either side of his head, hovering for a heartbeat. Even before she settled, she could feel his warm breath ghosting over her entrance. He gripped her waist, burying his face against her, his nose brushing rhythmically against her clitoris. She let out a broken moan. Sunghoon parted her, his tongue sweeping from side to side before diving deep inside.
"Ohh... God, Hoon... I-I can't," she gasped, her teeth chattering. He was too close, the friction of his nose and the heat of his tongue driving her wild. She buried her hands in her own hair, tugging at the roots as he caught her clitoris between his lips, pulling at it with rhythmic pressure. "Mmm... ohh..." Jay and Jake approached, taking her hands and guiding them to their cocks.
"Make us feel good, darling," Jay whispered, kissing her lips with that familiar, gentle heat. She moved her hands over her friends' erections, her touch growing desperate as she began to masturbate them. Sunghoon reached up, pinching one of her nipples, while Jake leaned in to lick the other.
Her warning came too late. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave—a fluttering deep in her belly and electric tingles that shot straight to her clitoris. Sunghoon didn't let up, catching every shudder and moan. Her legs pressed against his shoulders, trembling as she melted into him, her body completely surrendering to the sensation. Jake, his eyes locked on the spectacle, released his own hand to stroke himself fiercely, his gaze wild with hunger.
"Open your tight little for me, beautiful." She obeyed, parting her lips and letting her tongue tease the air. The Australian gave one final, forceful pump, letting his semen shoot toward her face. Most of it landed in her mouth, with a few stray drops staining her cheeks. When he was spent, he dragged the head of his cock along her skin, collecting the excess, and pressed the still-laden tip against her lips. "Swallow it all, beautiful."
Sunghoon and Jake pulled back, finally giving her a brief respite. Her head was lost in the clouds, her body trembling, still humming with residual heat. Heeseung, sitting against the headboard, patted her thighs, his cock hard once again.
"Up, baby. Show me how well you can ride me." She crawled toward him, positioning herself over his lap. Heeseung guided his tip to her entrance, leaving the responsibility of the connection to her. "I'm all yours, baby. My cock belongs to you now. Jump on me until I can't take any more."
She lowered herself slowly. The angle stretched her in a way Jay hadn't, and as she sank down, she felt him penetrate her to the hilt. Both of them let out a shuddering sigh. She moved her hips in slow, deliberate circles, adjusting to his size, before beginning a steady up-and-down motion that was pure torture for him. Heeseung watched her, his hands kneading her breasts, licking and biting at her erect nipples, his eyes locked on her face as she surrendered to the movement. "Look at me, baby." She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. Heeseung gripped her wrists, pulling them behind her back, and thrust his hips upward to meet her. "Faster, baby. Harder." She used her knees for momentum, bouncing on him, sliding in and out with a wet, rhythmic squelching sound that filled the room.
"Ohh... hah~ Hee... ugh..." Heeseung released her wrists, gripping her hips instead, and adjusted himself to lie flat against the mattress for a better view. He lifted her hips slightly, never withdrawing, and began to thrust upward—hard, fast, frantic. The sound of her buttocks slapping against his thighs stripped him of his control; the sight of her breasts bouncing frantically hastened his second climax of the night. "Ohh... ohh... baby, I'm going to cum." Pressing his hands into her hips, he pulled her down onto him with a rough, final surge. She screamed as he hit the spot she couldn't hide from. "Hee... AAH! There... right there, Heeseung... please!" He smiled victoriously, having found her sweet spot. He accelerated, thrusting harder, faster, deeper, until his own body began to spasm. He held her tight, his balls hitting her rhythmically as he emptied himself deep inside her. The walls of her canal squeezed him, forcing him to hold her close, gasping against her shoulder as he collapsed. He pulled her down, hugging her against his chest, pressing tender kisses to her damp skin. "Good girl. So good, baby. You sucked me dry." He laughed, his voice ragged with exhaustion, as he continued to pepper her shoulder with kisses.
"Okay, that's enough. I've been waiting to sink into that fucking cunt ever since she floated the idea in the living room," Jake complained, standing at the edge of the bed, his hand already on his cock. "Heeseung, off. Now."
Heeseung laughed and moved her off him, pressing one last kiss to her lips before pulling away. Jake climbed onto the bed, naked and predatory, moving her across the sheets. He gave her ass a light, stinging pat. "Lift that ass for me, gorgeous. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name." She shifted onto her hands and knees, face down, feeling the heat rise to her face and neck. The weight of the position felt heavy, exposing her in a way that made her pulse thunder. The other three were watching, their hands working themselves as they stared. Jake grabbed her hips, staring down at her dripping entrance. "It looks better from this angle, no doubt," he rasped. "And you’re soaked." He slapped her right buttock—hard—making her gasp as a red mark bloomed on her already sensitive skin. "So tell me, how does it feel to have the attention of your four best friends? Huh? You like it. You love it. You're giving yourself to us like a total slut. Friend."
"Shut your mouth, Jake," she choked out, her body burning. He slapped her again, and again, his palm stinging against her flesh until her skin was flushed. "Ask me for it." He positioned his cock right at her entrance, teasing her. "Beg me to put it in. Do it." He leaned down to kiss the back of her neck, his hands tracing the line of her spine.
"Shit, Jake... please. Just do it," she whispered, her hips already arching, seeking him. "I don't understand. What do you want? Hmm?"
"Put your cock in me, Jake. Please... fuck me. Hard. Fast."
"Whatever my little girl wants," he grinned.
He thrust in—rough and sudden—practically piercing her. The impact forced a heart-wrenching scream from her lungs. She buried her head in the pillows for a second, and when she looked up, tears were streaming down her cheeks from the sheer intensity.
"Jake! You're hurting her, you idiot!" Jay shouted, his voice laced with anger, while Heeseung stepped forward as if ready to pull him off.
"Of course I'm not. The little slut is just exaggerating," Jake panted, already beginning to move with frantic, heavy thrusts. "She loves it when I ram it in all the way. Right, my love?"
"Ugh... yes... it's—it's okay... shit... just like that... fuck, Jake... ohh..." She was too dazed by the force of him to speak clearly, her voice breaking with every strike.
"Sunghoon. Put your cock in her mouth so this whore stops crying."
Sunghoon approached, crouching down to her level. He caressed her cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs before kissing her tenderly to stifle the moans escaping her. When he pulled back, he brushed his cock against her cheek with a few light slaps. He smiled as she, on her own, sought him out, taking his throbbing length into her mouth and swallowing him whole.
"Ugh... for your first time, you're doing so well, love." He stroked her hair, visibly turned on by the sight of her working on him while Jake’s cock sank deep inside her from behind. She didn't even need to move her hips; Jake’s brutal thrusts did all the work, forcing her onto Sunghoon with every strike. "Ngh... A-Augh!, J-Jake," she sobbed as his thumb suddenly plunged into her ass, forcing the opening. "Sorry, love, but I can't hold back..." he rasped, massaging her in tight circles before pushing his finger deeper, hooked against her walls.
"Gah...! Mmm... ohh... Jake... m-more... please, more! Ahh!" she moaned shamelessly, her voice echoing through the room. By then, Heeseung and Jay were right beside Sunghoon. Jake, still hammering into her soaking pussy, gathered her hair in his fist and pulled her back until her spine pressed against his chest, continuing the brutal rhythm.
"Look at them, love. Look at them touching themselves while they watch us fuck." Jake smiled darkly, biting her earlobe and sucking on her neck. Jay took her hand, guiding it to himself, and she complied instantly. Heeseung and Sunghoon each claimed a nipple. “Ahh… ohh~ , ohh… God, ohh God..” The girl felt that familiar electric shock again—racing from the base of her neck, down her spine, to her abused cunt. She trembled violently under Jake's grip. "Jake! Jake! Jake!" He pushed her down again, forcing her onto her hands and knees and shoving her head back toward Sunghoon’s cock. "Grab it, you whore. If you could see yourself right now... crying and screaming my name while I tear you apart, mouth busy with one cock and hands with another." He laughed mockingly, slapping her ass over and over. " Ahh~ Ahh… Such a fucking slut. And you love it."
Jake pulled out suddenly, leaned down, and spat on her pussy before slapping her sensitive lips hard. Sunghoon, meanwhile, gripped the back of her neck, trembling as he bit his own lip. He pulled out of her mouth and came across her face, splattering her skin. "Ugh... total slut." He ran his fingers over her face, then shoved them into her mouth so she could taste him completely. "Good girl, baby."
"I'm not finished with you yet, though, gorgeous." Jake hugged her from behind, holding her limp, sweaty body against his chest. He took his aching cock and pressed it against her second entrance. "You're going to have to breathe deep, love. I won't get in if you tense up. Come on, darling... open up for me." As he began to slide into her tight opening, Jake groaned, the pressure almost making him lose his mind. "Ohh... Jake... no, I can't... Jake, no... A-Augh! It hurts..."
Jay moved closer, kissing her lovingly to distract her. He took her hands, letting her dig her nails into his skin as she moaned against his lips. "You can do it, love. You're doing great."
He was almost completely inside her now. She felt stretched, irritated, and overwhelmed. For a moment, neither moved. "Beautiful, I’m going to move now. I need you to scream my name as loud as you can, and I'll come just for you." Jake began to move slowly, carefully, waiting for her to relax. Jay took control, kissing her and kneading her breasts while Heeseung gently caressed her clitoris from below. When the tension finally left her shoulders, Jake began to thrust deeper, faster, harder.
"Hah... Jake... Jake! Ohh!" That was it. Jake finally released inside her, his body spasming. Kissing her shoulder and cheek, he pulled out of her aching body and rubbed his cock against her pussy. "God, Jake, don't do that. I'm right here," Heeseung complained from below, having been tending to her the whole time. "Better get off."
The boy, still breathless from his release, laid her down beside him on the bed, peppering her face with kisses. Heeseung moved to switch places with him, leaning his back against the headboard. "Sunghoon, help her... on top of me." Sunghoon gripped her waist, lifting her to sit on Heeseung's lap. He stayed right behind her, his hard cock pressing firmly against the cleft of her ass. "Love, tell me... do you want to take us both at the same time?" Heeseung looked deep into her eyes, that intense, unyielding stare he got when he wanted something. Sunghoon was behind her, his fingers teasing her weak, slick entrance, which was still dripping with the semen of the previous rounds. "I asked you a question. Answer me." He spoke again, but this time his eyes were filled with desire.
"Yes... I will, Hee... both of you. Yes." Heeseung smiled, kissing her lips before affectionately rubbing his nose against hers.
"Like a total slut. Yes." Sunghoon spat on her back, guiding his cock into her before thrusting home. "Ohh... fuck... it's better than any other cunt I’ve ever touched." Without moving, she felt the tip of Heeseung's cock asking for permission to enter alongside him. She writhed, her body stretching to accommodate the two of them at once. They began to move, trying to find a shared rhythm. As one pushed in, the other withdrew, a relentless cycle. "Umh... hmh... guys... it's a lot. T-too much..." Heeseung kissed her desperately, pulling her back against his chest. "You can do it, like the fucking whore you are. You're taking two at once. Two fucking cocks in your cunt. Fucking whore, that's what you are." Sunghoon threw his head back as he moved, his spit landing on her skin. With each thrust, he tried to sink deeper, the friction of their bodies rubbing together becoming almost unbearable.
"Hoon... don't call her that. She's not a whore. She's our little doll." Heeseung defended her. For him, the dynamic was different; he wanted to tear her body apart, but never her feelings. "Ohh... ohh... God, I'm close, love. I'm close!"
"Do it. Do it on us, baby. And we'll fill you up again." Sunghoon roughly squeezed the back of her neck, spreading her cheeks wide as he watched them slide in and out of her together. Her legs trembled for the countless time that night. She buried her face in Heeseung's shoulder as they continued to pump inside her. Heeseung came first, followed quickly by Sunghoon. They thrust a few more times after climaxing, slowly withdrawing from her. The weight of her body went completely limp against them.
She felt defeated, weak, and utterly spent. She clung awkwardly to Heeseung's sweaty frame while Sunghoon pulled away. "Oh God, look at all that semen spilling out of her," Jake remarked from the side. "You asked for one cock and got four. Plenty of girls would kill to be in your place, love."
"Shut up, Jake," she snapped, her voice raspy. Heeseung stroked her head affectionately. "I can't take any more, guys... please."
"One last thing," Jay interjected, his voice firm. "On your knees. Right here on the floor. Now."
She lifted her head, pouting at Heeseung, who only smiled and kissed her forehead. "This is it, and then we’re done, love."
She nodded, awkwardly shifting from Heeseung's lap and getting off the bed to kneel on the carpet, still breathless. She just needed this to be over. The four boys surrounded her like a wall of heat. Jay, who had orchestrated this final scene, pressed his cock against her swollen, pouting lips. "Suck it. You're the only one who hasn't taken care of me with your mouth yet, love."
"You were literally the first one to fuck her, what are you even talking about?" Jake complained, though he didn't move away. She took Jay’s cock in her hand, licking from the base to the tip, where precum was already oozing. She took him deep into her throat, sucking fast and loud, the heat of her mouth drawing a groan from him. Jay pulled out with a wet pop, immediately guiding the back of her neck toward Jake. Jake groaned as he felt her teeth graze his sensitive skin. "Don't bite me, sweetheart. I know you like having a cock in your mouth, but you don't actually eat it." He laughed, his fingers tangling in her hair as he dictated her movements, forcing her to take all of him. He held her there for a few seconds until she choked, then released her abruptly, watching a silver trail of saliva spill from her lips. "Now for your favorite, love." He pushed her toward Heeseung, who was watching her like a predator watching its prey. She opened her mouth for him, but Heeseung pulled back just out of reach, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Oh, look at her, Hee. She gets mad if you don't give it to her," Jake laughed, masturbating beside them. "Ask me for it, love. Ask me to give it to you. Go ahead," Heeseung ordered, his eyes boring into hers. She swallowed hard, her thighs slick. She was exhausted, yet her body still hummed with excitement. He waited, tilting his head. "Please, Hee..."
"Please what? I can't hear you. A little while ago you were screaming with two cocks inside you, and now you can't talk?"
"Please, Heeseung... fuck my mouth. Please, I need it. I need you." His expression softened instantly. He brought his cock to her lips, panting. "Good girl. Now, take a deep breath." Obeying his command, she inhaled through her nose just as the hot tip of his penis hit the back of her throat, forcing a gag. He didn't let her recoil, thrusting steadily. Jay and Jake moved in on either side, taking her hands and guiding them to their own lengths. With clumsy, tired movements, she worked both of them while Heeseung dominated her mouth.
"I have an idea. Just leave the tip in, Hee," Sunghoon interjected, eager for his turn. Heeseung complied, leaving only the sensitive head of his cock on her tongue. Sunghoon immediately pressed his own right next to it. "Suck it. Take both at once, like the slut you are." She rolled her eyes, annoyed by his attitude even now, but that was just Sunghoon. She took both of them as best she could, their tips stretching her mouth to its limit. Her cheeks were strained, and saliva dripped down her chin in a messy, wet display of total surrender.
"Take all four, love. Come on," Jake urged, his fingers tangling in her hair.
She pulled the two cocks from her mouth, switching her focus to the other two. Now, she was masturbating Heeseung and Sunghoon with frantic, tired hands. She let go of Sunghoon for a moment to refocus on Jay, taking him all the way down, swirling her tongue around his tip until he gasped. "Ohh... Keep going with the other one, love," Jay panted, his voice breaking. "We're going to come all over your pretty face." She released Jay, opening her mouth for Sunghoon again. Ella worked him from base to tip, over and over, sucking the head while her hand pumped his shaft. "Damn... almost there, almost there," he groaned, pulling back to let her continue with Jake. Jake forced her mouth to close as tightly as possible around him, thrusting his cock into her cheek until a protruding bump formed against her skin. "Fuck, love... ugh. I could stay in here all day. I love you." The visual was enough to make his muscles lock. He finally let her go, stepping back to finish masturbating on his own.
Finally, she was back in front of Heeseung. He stroked her chin, his thumb trailing over her flushed cheeks and swollen, glistening lips. She didn't expect the slap; it wasn't hard, just a sharp, stinging tap. Under the watchful eyes of the other three—all of them on the verge of climax—Heeseung slapped her other cheek, leaving two distinct red marks on her skin.
"You love this, don't you? You're enjoying it so much," he whispered, his eyes dark with adoration and lust. "I love you. Be a good girl and open your mouth for us." She obeyed, parting her lips and sticking out her tongue, waiting. Jay was the first. He pumped his cock, ejaculating across her face until he was spent. He let her suck the tip one last time before pulling away, making room for Jake and Sunghoon. Both stood on either side of her, spilling their essence over her skin, aiming everywhere but her mouth. When they finished, they both slapped their heavy, wet lengths against her sticky cheeks. Heeseung finished the cycle. He gave his cock one last, desperate stroke before unloading onto her lips, shoving his length deep into her throat one final time as he came. He pulled out slowly, his body sagging with total exhaustion.
A few minutes passed where the only sound in the room was their ragged, synchronized breathing. As the pleasure slowly faded, a heavy sense of shame began to settle in. She ran a hand over her face, trying to wipe away the stickiness that adorned it; one eye stung, and her throat felt like sandpaper. She didn't dare get up, staring at the floor, focusing on the carpet patterns to keep from dying of embarrassment.
Heeseung was the first to move. He took her gently by the waist, carrying her to the bathroom. He turned on the tap, waiting for the water to warm. As he stroked her hair—damp with sweat and fluids—she avoided his gaze, and he didn't force it. He understood the shift; the ecstasy had worn off, and reality had set in.
Once the tub was full, he helped her clean herself, running a sponge soaked in vanilla-scented soap over her aching body. When he reached her lower half, she snapped back to awareness, reflexively closing her legs. She took the sponge from him, rubbing the area herself, her face contorting. It hurt—a dull, throbbing heat. While she worked slowly, Heeseung washed her hair with his coconut shampoo, massaging her scalp. He watched as she closed her eyes and melted into the gesture. He loved taking care of her, even if he wasn't ready to admit how fast it made his heart race.
When he finished, he left her to finish in private, leaving a T-shirt and a pair of his athletic shorts for her. Back in the room, he found Sunghoon and Jake sprawled out, already fast asleep, while Jay sat on the small sofa, dressed in his pants.
"She´s okay?" Jay asked. Heeseung nodded. "God, get dressed. I don't want to see your dick right now—or theirs." Heeseung chuckled, pulling on some clothes.
Ten minutes later, she appeared, swallowed by her friend's oversized clothes, drying her hair with a towel. Clean now, the marks on her thighs and neck were impossible to miss. She realized Heeseung and Jay were staring and felt a wave of panic.
"Okay, stop staring at me. Or I'm going to cry," she complained, pouting. They both laughed; she looked adorable. Jay disappeared into the bathroom, leaving them alone. "Come on, I'll help you," Heeseung offered with a sweet smile. She sat on the sofa, and he positioned himself behind her to dry her hair. "Everything alright? Was there... anything you didn't like? I mean, Jake and Sunghoon were pretty rough... don't take them seriously, they say that stuff to everyone."
"It's fine, Hee. Don't worry." She sighed. "I'm so tired. Even my eye hurts. Look, it's red." He leaned in to check. It was indeed bloodshot. He suspected someone’s aim had been a bit too true during that last round, but he wasn't going to remind her of that now. "I need to sleep for two days straight, I swear."
He began brushing her hair gently. "Hey... would it be weird if I asked for a kiss now? I mean, a real one... don't get me wrong—" She smiled, amused. She loved seeing him nervous. She nodded and leaned in, meeting his lips in an awkward, soft kiss. Heeseung sighed into it, taking her chin to deepen the kiss, making it gentle and full of an affection that had been missing in the chaos. When they broke apart, he peppered her face with kisses—her cheeks, her forehead.
"Hee, stop," she laughed softly, "or we'll start a new round, and believe me, I'm completely out of energy." Heeseung chuckled, nodding as he pulled her close to just hold her.
The next morning, she woke up in Heeseung’s bed, his arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her so tightly it was as if he feared she might disappear. They were the only two left in the room. She tried to sit up, but his grip on her waist only tightened. "Hee, wake up," she whispered, her voice raspy. She had to clear her throat and gently shake his shoulder to pull him from sleep. "Are you awake yet?"
"Good morning, beautiful," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep. She felt her cheeks burn a bright pink. He stared at her with an intensity that made her heart skip—as if something had permanently clicked in his mind. He only snapped out of it when she tried to stand and stumbled backward with a sharp groan.
"Uh... Ouch!" she cried out, clutching her lower abdomen. Heeseung was on his feet in a second, eyes wide. "Damn it, are you okay? What hurts? Did we... did we hurt you? I swear, if we did, I’ll go and cut their dicks off right now."
She laughed despite the pain, shaking her head. "I'm fine. I mean, yes, it hurts, but it's not life or death. I just really need to pee. Urgently." She scrambled toward the bathroom, but Heeseung wasn't convinced—especially when he spotted a small bloodstain on the sheets and more evidence in the bathroom trash. He decided to keep it to himself for now; he didn't want to embarrass her in front of the others.
Jay cooked lunch for the group. They all sat together in the dining room, the atmosphere a strange mix of domesticity and lingering tension. "Slow down... you're going to choke," Jake teased, watching her eat with a desperate energy. "Shut up. I'm obviously starving," she snapped, a piece of meat still in her mouth as she glared at him. "So... how are you feeling?" Jake asked, leaning in.
"Holy crap! Could you... just stop asking me? Please."
"We're just worried about you, darling," Jay said smoothly, placing a fresh piece of steak on her plate with a smile. "I'm fine, guys. Really."
"Exactly. You don't have to be embarrassed; we're your friends, after all," Jake said, patting her head. "Well, the concept of 'friendship' has escalated quite a bit, hasn't it?" she muttered, rolling her eyes. Sunghoon held out a piece of vegetable with his chopsticks, offering it to her. She shook her head. "I have my own, thanks."
"Eat," Sunghoon commanded, moving the chopsticks closer. "Last night you were all excited; don’t start acting delicate now."
"Hoon, leave her alone," Heeseung scolded. She sighed and took the bite. "Ah! I just remembered," Jake murmured, lowering his voice. "I didn't... hurt you, did I? I mean, you know. Back there." She choked on her water, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. "Everything’s fine. Just... a little pain. I hope it goes away soon because I’m trying really hard to stay seated right now."
Jake laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Sooooo sorry. I got carried away. But at least tell me you liked it. Come on, tell me. Please." She hesitated for a second, tapping her chin as if deep in thought. "It was awful. I'm never letting it happen again."
Jake looked genuinely wounded, his face contorting with mock offense while the other three roared with laughter. "You're such a liar. Do I really have to remind you how you were screaming my name? 'Stick your dick in me, Jake, please, fuck me,'" he mocked, pitch-shifting his voice to an exaggerated, breathy tone.
He immediately received a punch to the chest. Annoyed and blushing, she turned to Heeseung for help. "Hee! Jake's bothering me. Say something to him!"
"Jake, bother her again and I'll cut your dick off, I swear. The knife is right here," Heeseung scoffed, gesturing toward the kitchen counter. "Party pooper. Fine, I'll shut up," Jake muttered, though he was still grinning.
"What's going on with you two, anyway? You're being all lovey-dovey," Sunghoon pointed out, leaning back. "Heeseung literally kicked us all out of his room so he could sleep alone with you. And now you're asking him to defend you? Please. Last night it was all, 'Please, Heeseung, fuck my mouth with your cock—'"
"Okay! That’s it. I’m leaving," she snapped, standing up and ready to grab her things. "I hate you all. Don't ever speak to me again." But before she could take a step, Heeseung’s hands caught her wrists, pulling her back into a firm hug. She let out a huff but buried her face in his chest anyway. "Shut your mouths or I’ll hit you," Heeseung warned the others. "And no, we're not 'in love.' It’s called being considerate, Sunghoon. You should try it sometime."
After the drama settled, the others finally headed to their respective homes. Jay offered to drive her, but she refused, choosing to stay a little longer. Heeseung was at the sink washing the dishes when he felt her arms wrap around his waist from behind. He stopped, drying his hands to turn around and cup her face. He gave her a quick, sweet kiss. "Hee..." she murmured. "Tell me, baby."
"You're the best. I just wanted to tell you... thanks for taking care of me. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome, baby," he chuckled softly, his thumb stroking her cheek. "It's the least I could do after everything we did. Besides, I love you. You're my best friend... I'd be an idiot if I wasn't kind to you."
"Uhm, yeah... best friends..." She looked at him intently, her brow furrowing. "Why do I feel different with you? I mean, I don't know... this feels... ugh. Never mind. Forget it."
He smiled, tilting her chin up to kiss her again—this time faster, with more hunger and a depth of feeling that hadn't been there before. "Fuck it," he whispered against her lips. "You can't be just my 'best friend' again after this. I mean, I had my cock in your pussy and your throat. There’s nothing friendly about that." She punched his chest again, though there was no force behind it. "Heeseung! Don't remind me!"
"New round? Just you and me?" he teased with a mischievous grin. "No. My ass hurts. Literally."
He laughed, kissing her cheeks and pulling her back into a protective hug. That night, they stayed alone in the apartment, simply sharing the silence and each other's presence. There were no ulterior motives, just the occasional passionate kiss. They had both realized that the attraction was much more than a one-night stand—it was real. But they were still too dazed to confront it.
That would be a problem for another day.
AAAH I finally published it! I hope you liked it. It's the first time I've written something like this, and so long, to be honest, hehe.
Your requests, ideas, questions (or anything else) are welcome.
you're mr. park's new assistant at manifest, a fashion/magazine company
content: smau ⟡ ceo!jay x assistant!reader ⟡ profanity ⟡ jealousy ⟡ slow burn thats burning extremely slow
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masterlist ⟡ part one ⟡ part two ⟡ part three ⟡ part four ⟡ part five ⟡ part six ⟡ part seven
(if you're viewing this from a reblog please check the original post or my masterlist for updates! (because reblogs don't update when i edit the og post)
Synopsis: You grew up being a loner, never being able to talk to anyone. You were forced to train over and over, and when you finally got onto the air, you were eliminated, a failure. And so you went dark, you changed and eventually you made a name for yourself, and saw an old face. And some new problems. Worst part is? You feel CRAZY around her.
Tags: fluff, angst, Paige as reader, smut (mdni on those chapters)
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