Cleo

Kpop fic recs :D +18

[misfit-nvrfitin]

FIC REC MASTERLIST!

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EN- P1H

Things to know!!!

These are all the groups I'm planning on making fic recs for, feel free to leave your own recommendations of fics you want me to read, authors to check out or artist you want me to search fics for!

I do not own any of these fics, i am just sharing fics that i like, please go and support the authors :)

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The ones that don't have a link are being made, hopefully i can be done with them soon, but i don't promise anything

[xinganhao]

121U 📢 soonyoung x reader.

do you remember the annoying guy from your after-school taekwondo class? you don't even really care much for the sport anymore; you just want to get back at him for making your life a living hell.

ⓘ part of my how is your youth? mini-series. includes: childhood rivals/enemies, cussing, alcohol consumption and intentional typos. a very special shoutout to @sarangcoups, who served as a v.i.c (very important consultant) on the intricacies of spiteful taekwondo. <3

Kwon Soonyoung, taekwondo instructor/personal trainer. 28 years old.

👤 When you think of your youth, what do you think of?

🐯 What are you talking about?! I'm still youthful! I'm one of the kids, you know?

👤 ...

🐯 Jihoon-ah, so uptight~ Fine, fine. My youth— [pauses] Well, some people might think it's sad, but I spent a lot of time in dojangs. Sports have always been a part of me. And it's not sad! Because it's something I loved to do! It's never sad if you're happy to be there. I'm lucky I found what I liked at such an early age, and got to do it for the rest of my life.

👤 How has your youth shaped who you are now as a person?

🐯 ... Huh.

👤 What?

🐯 That's a hard question. Pass.

👤 There is no 'pass'. You signed a contract.

🐯 Did I? I would like to invoke my right against self-incrimination.

👤 ...

🐯 [sighs heavily] Fiiine. How my youth shaped me, huh? Well— [pauses] I know better now.

👤 You know better now.

🐯 Yeah. Hey, hey, hey. Don't look at me like that— pan the camera! Show how disbelieving he looks!— anyway. I know better now. There's a lot of things I could have done when I was younger. Could've been nicer, for instance. Some people run from their past, but I carry my youth with me. It's a constant reminder that while I've gotten far, I've still got much further to go.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ 121U by day6. there is a light that never goes out by the smiths. i bet my life by imagine dragons. maybe by the ridleys. ikaw pa rin ang pipiliin ko by cup of joe. you're gonna go far by noah kahan.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[ncteez]

friends don’t fuck (l.s.m)

Your best friend of several years says that he can share a bed without being weird. Well, he’s a fucking liar. 

or the one where neither of you sees any harm in fucking just to see what it’s like. 

ao3 | minors dni! | kindly leave feedback and reblog, i will kiss your forehead so fucking fast if you do. 

WORDCOUNT― 3.7k

PAIRING― seokmin x afab reader

CONTENT― first time with big boy bestie, crackish, fluffish, mostly just smut 

NOTE― im just in love with him bro. i know that i’m typically more known for writing plot and/or really detailed smut scenes with a bigger word count but i’m having fun relaxing and writing these little fics in my free time (ㅅ´ ˘ `) , which means this is not proof read.

smut tags under cut:: 

Keep reading

[youknowsoobin]

title: come touch the line pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader genre: neighbors to lovers, neighbors au, smut (mdni!!) word count: 23.3k masterlist

summary: your next-door neighbor is both incredibly insufferable and insanely hot.

author's note: really desperately needed to write brat tamer yunho, so here he is! i hope you enjoy. you can find this fic on ao3 here! also I will never not hate making graphics/making these posts cute so I hope u can tolerate that dkfgjskjfs ily guys so much thanks for reading <3

tags/warnings: brat tamer yunho, reader is a menace, reader is a brat, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blow jobs, teasing, general brat/brat tamer dynamic, begging, dirty talk, safe sex (I did it!), multiple orgasms, face-fucking, yunho does the tongue thing, best friends jihyo & wooyoung, hongjoong mentioned

The moment your eyes flew open, it was to the sound of video games and swearing. Unfortunately, from learned experience, there was no waiting this out. No staying in bed until the problem eventually removed itself. This problem loved to overstay its welcome, loved to take a seat on your couch until it rotted there. 

You lay in bed for as long as you could stand the background noise. You tried to fall back asleep, but the sounds of intermittent fucks and sporadic yelling made it entirely impossible. 

When you did finally drag yourself out of bed, still half asleep and grumbling to yourself about the inconvenience, it was in baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt, your hair tied up into a bun. 

Creaking open the door to your bedroom, you watched him momentarily. He didn’t notice the disturbance, just remained locked into the game, lighting up bright colors and explosions on your television. 

Your fingers easily found the spot they always managed to settle on your face when he was around, pinching the bridge of your nose in stress. 

One of your mugs sat on the coffee table in front of him, filled to the brim. You ignored the problem at hand, the man intruding on your living room before noon without your permission, for the second, or maybe third time that week, and walked toward the coffee maker instead. 

He didn’t acknowledge you as you passed, his eyes instead remaining laser-focused on the screen. You didn’t speak either, hoping that maybe if you continued to ignore him, he’d go away. Though, based on past encounters, it never really worked out that way. Though a girl could dream. 

Pulling down a mug from the cabinet, you attempted to place it carefully on the counter before you, tempering your anger. It didn’t matter anyway, even if you slammed the thing down so hard it shattered into pieces, he still probably wouldn’t have looked up. 

It was when you reached out for the coffee pot, hand just barely touching the handle, that the anger bubbled over. 

You whipped around, coffee pot in hand, face screwed up into a scowl that only Jeong Yunho could produce. “Are you serious?” you asked, raising the coffee pot above your head, directing that scowl in his direction—not that he even looked up to see it. 

He was too locked into whatever video game he busied himself playing on your PlayStation. It drove you over the edge, how little regard he had for you. How he used your apartment like a landing ground, a place to escape—and then dared to ignore you while inside it. 

You walked around the counter, coffee pot still in hand, and stopped in front of the television with your arms outstretched. “Earth to fucking Yunho—what are you doing here?” 

You knew the answer before you asked, knew why he was there based on the sheer lack of sleep you’d gotten during the night. 

He shifted to the side in an attempt to see the screen behind you, but you moved with him, waving your arms to get in the way as much as possible. Finally, with a groan and a roll of his eyes—like you were inconveniencing him—he set down the controller. 

With his attention free, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His legs were spread, and he took up way more space than he needed to. 

His eyes dragged over you slowly, making a show out of looking at you. It made you squirm in a self-conscious kind of way. The kind of way that also made you want to chuck something at his head.

With a lazy smile, he finally leaned forward again, balancing elbows on the tops of his thighs. “Good morning to you, too,” he said. 

You closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath to keep yourself from screaming at him this early in the morning. “You know, if you’re going to use my apartment as a hideout, the least you could do is save me some fucking coffee.” 

You had to admit—you understood why his apartment had a constant stream of one-night stands filing in at night and out in the morning. He had this way of looking at someone like they were the only person in the entire universe, like nothing else mattered. He looked at you like that, now. All attentive eyes and half-quirked up lips. 

“Your charm doesn’t work on me,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Because it didn’t. All that charm, it was nice. There were split seconds where you understood, sure. But that feeling always passed even faster when you remembered every other thing about him. 

“Not sure about that,” he teased. It was always this push and pull. Him trying to get under your skin, and you always reacting. 

You pushed past the teasing because you just couldn’t deal with his entire personality that early in the morning. Instead, you got back to the matter at hand. “Is she still in there?” you asked, placing the empty coffee pot down on the table in front of you, simply so you could cross your arms. 

Yunho shrugged, accentuating his uncertainty with a slight lift of his eyebrows. “Why don’t you go over and find out?” 

“We’re not doing this,” you said, looking at him with that same pointed expression. 

“Doing what?” he asked, mocking ignorance. 

This would not be the first time, nor the second, nor the third that you’d provided Jeong Yunho with this kind of turn-down service. The first had been a mistake. Knocking on his door to ream him out for being loud throughout the night. The second time he’d tricked you, asked you to come over. And the third, well, it went something like this. 

“We’re not friends. This is not something I just do for you,” you said. “And stop letting yourself into my apartment.” 

“So, are you going to do it, or?” Yunho asked, one brow raised, and you knew he wasn’t planning on relenting. No, he would be insufferable about it until you gave in. He was always stronger-willed than you in that matter—more stubborn. More annoying. 

“Make some coffee,” you said. It was in exasperation that you turned and stormed out, choosing to face the innocent woman left behind in his apartment rather than continuing to have this conversation. Plus, if there was anything you’d learned, it was that once you’d scared her away, he’d leave, too. 

You didn’t understand why he did it. The whole one-night stand after one-night stand thing. He was charming enough, and any of the many girls you’d kicked out of his apartment probably would have made for a great long-term partner. Even just a situationship. It was his biggest red flag. The thing that turned you off. But you got it, too. Because if he didn’t live next door, if you didn’t get to witness the parade and the payoff, you would probably fall for his tricks and charms just as easily. 

But you’d seen the man behind the curtain. You knew the game. And so you knew, too, that he didn’t give a single fuck about any of those women. Not even enough to reject them himself. 

Even though it wasn’t the first time you’d done this, it still felt strange. Pretending. You knocked on the door. Crossed your arms over your chest. Tapped your foot. Directed the annoyance you felt toward Yunho into pretend anger. 

Someone did, inevitably, answer the door. 

“Hey bab—” the woman started. She had long black hair and warm brown eyes. She wore a long button-up shirt that stopped above her knees. Yunho’s. You witnessed the slow furrow of her brow as she put together the situation before you started whatever badly performed rant you chose this time. 

You scrunched your face up to match, mock irritation appearing in the creases at the corner of your eyes, the slight scowl of your lips. 

“Who are you?” the girl asked. It was always their first question, and sometimes you even felt bad about having to crush their dreams—you shattered the ideal image they had of Yunho in their heads, before he could find a way to do it themselves. You framed them as a mistress, the other half of a cheater. 

Why couldn’t he just reject them himself? Wouldn’t everyone leave with more dignity in that circumstance? You and whatever girl he’d involved included?

But you stood firm, trying to imagine what it would feel like to show up at your boyfriend’s apartment only for the door to be answered by another woman. 

“I’m Yunho’s girlfriend,” you said. You’d said it before. It still felt strange. A label you would never want to have. Probably because it would land you in a situation too close to this one. “Who are you?” you asked. 

“I’m—uh,” the girl said. You didn’t stay to listen, instead pushing past her into the apartment, looking for your cheating boyfriend. It was enough to send her into high gear, throwing her clothes back on and ducking out the front door before you could so much as turn around. 

Once she was gone, you took your time leaving. There was nothing interesting in his apartment, no secrets to glean by snooping. For the most part, he was an open book. All games and pick-up lines, without any actual substance. 

You headed back to your apartment. Yunho stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, waiting for the pot of coffee to brew. 

“She’s gone,” you said. 

He chuckled under his breath, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. The first time, you’d both had a laugh about the situation. The incidental scaring off of the woman he’d invited over. It wasn’t as funny anymore. At least not to you. 

You studied him, watching his face for any shred of emotion, finding none. He truly didn’t care about these women or what happened to them after they left his apartment. It wasn’t like he’d speak to them again, so why would it matter how things ended? 

“Come on,” Yunho said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you said. But you could feel the scowl, still pressed into your features. Disgust. 

He took a step forward, towering over you and craning his neck to meet your eyes. He loved getting into your personal space, like he was trying to figure you out just the same. But if he wouldn’t give away any shred of his real personality, then neither would you. 

He was just an annoyance. A neighbor who thought the two of you were friends. That didn’t mean you actually had to be his friend. 

“Well,” he said. “Say it.” His head tilted slightly to the side, waiting for whatever opinion you so clearly wanted to share regarding his dating habits. 

“You should go home,” you said, instead. “Thanks to you and your little house guest, I didn’t get any sleep last night—and I have to work later.” 

This made him smirk, a slow crawl across his lips as he enjoyed the thought of you listening. It wasn’t that you wanted to listen—because of course you didn’t. But he made it difficult. Your bedrooms shared a wall, and it wasn’t exactly thick. 

“Don’t start,” you said, stopping whatever thought process was going on behind his eyes, whatever words he was planning on using to get even further under your skin. 

He took the hint, holding his hands up in defense. He stepped away from you, taking out the full coffee pot to fill both of your mugs. He scooped one spoonful of sugar into his own mug, stirring it a few times before grabbing the mug and walking out of the kitchen. “Have a good day at work,” he said, before the door to your apartment opened and closed. 

“I just don’t understand what his problem is,” you said, standing behind the bar, mixing a drink. Jihyo sat across from you, nursing the first drink you’d made for her. It was a quiet Thursday night, so for the most part, your bar was occupied by friends and a few other regulars who didn’t require that much attention. 

It was Wooyoung who responded. “Maybe he likes you,” he said. It wouldn’t be the first time this idea was floated by the board. But it only earned an eye roll from both you and Jihyo, who refused to believe this asinine idea. “It’s guy logic,” Wooyoung said. 

“Maybe you should move,” Jihyo suggested. 

You pointed a finger at her, but looked at Wooyoung. “Now these are the types of solutions I’m looking for.” You laughed. “Maybe I should move.” 

Wooyoung and Jihyo have been your best friends for ages, ever since college. They’ve been there for you throughout more challenging circumstances than just Yunho. If anyone were going to help you get through this, it would be them. 

“You can’t move,” Wooyoung pointed out. “Your place is too nice.” 

You’d talked in this circle with them countless times before. There was no obvious solution, aside from putting up with him. 

“I could threaten to call the police,” you suggested. “Next time he shows up in my apartment.” You placed the finished drink on the counter in front of Wooyoung, taking his empty glass. 

Jihyo pressed a finger to her lips. “Or,” she said. “You could lock your door.”

“I do lock my door,” you said. “He just knows where I keep the spare.”

“Okay, so hide the spare somewhere else,” Wooyoung said. 

“I’ve tried that,” you said. 

“Do you really need the spare?” Wooyoung asked. 

“You made me get one,” you said, pointedly. “When I kept locking myself out.” 

“Right, yeah,” he said. “You could give your backup to Jihyo instead—then there’s no Yunho problem, and I don’t have to worry about you calling me at two in the morning when you lock yourself out.” 

Jihyo said, “No, no,” with a wag of her finger. 

With a sigh, you picked up a collection of shot glasses, placing them on the bar between the three of you. They both had regular people jobs—i.e., ones that required them to be up early the next day, but neither did they protest when you started filling the glasses. 

Just as you filled the last of the three, the bell atop the front door chimed. Pushing open the door was the topic of conversation himself. He wore a black leather jacket, snow dusting the tops of his shoulders. His cheeks were a soft pink from the cold, and his eyes found yours immediately from across the room. 

His pleased smile was met by yet another scowl on your end. He closed the distance between the door and the bar in only a few steps, coming up behind Jihyo and Wooyoung. He reached forward and took Wooyoung’s shot as you pushed it forward. 

Wooyoung looked at you, brows drawn together in shared annoyance. You and Jihyo already had your glasses raised, and Yunho was quick to join in on the cheers he hadn’t been invited to participate in. 

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. He just raised the shot to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing the clear liquid as if it were water. 

You watched in stunned shock. 

“Damn,” Yunho said. “You’re hanging out without me?” 

You let your eyes fall shut for a second, trying to process the situation, trying to figure out what words to say aloud without coming off like a complete and total asshole. 

Jihyo took the lead instead. “Why would we invite you?” she asked, a pretty smile appearing on her lips. One that might have looked harmless to an outsider, but you know meant I’ll fucking kill you. 

Yunho placed a hand on his chest. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“You’re delusional,” you said. 

He lifted his eyes to yours and smiled warmly, like he really was that delusional. You poured Wooyoung another shot, holding it while you waited for Yunho to sit anywhere else. Of course, he didn’t, instead opting to sit on the other side of Jihyo, who promptly turned her back to face Wooyoung completely. 

You put the replacement in Wooyoung’s waiting hands.

Just as you were raising the shot glasses, Yunho cleared his throat. “Can I get something to drink, beautiful?” He had one arm on the counter, and he leaned forward over it, looking at you with those big brown eyes. You might even be attracted to him if he weren’t so god damn annoying. 

You ignored him, instead, looking back to your friends. Your shot glasses clinked in the center before you all threw them back. 

“Why is he here?” Jihyo asked in a low voice. 

“He can hear you,” Yunho quipped, and you could hear the smirk in his tone without even looking in his direction. “And this is a public bar. You do know that, right?” 

Jihyo pressed her lips into a tight line, glaring at you because she refused to turn around and glare at the source of the problem. 

“What do you want to drink, Yunho?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and attempting to press a smile to your lips. It was your job, after all, to provide good customer service. You couldn’t be the one asking him why he was there or what he wanted from you. At least not when you were on the clock. You would leave those questions to Jihyo and Wooyoung. 

“Do you know how to make an Old Fashioned?” Yunho asked. 

Jihyo did whip around to face him, then. “She’s a bartender, you idiot. She knows how to make an Old Fashioned.” 

That same slow smile crept across his lips. “You’re pretty when you’re mad,” he said, eliciting an immediate groan from Jihyo. 

“Oh my god,” she said. “What is your problem?” 

You looked to Wooyoung, who attempted to hide a laugh with his hand. This was pretty much how it went whenever the three of you were together. You and Wooyoung stopping Jihyo from getting into yelling matches with whoever didn’t agree with her. It was charming, in its own way. 

“It’s fine,” you said, not wanting to make a scene in front of the four other customers in the bar. “Just ignore him. I do.”

You started making the Old Fashion instead, letting Wooyoung and Jihyo get back to their own conversation. All the while, feeling Yunho’s eyes trailing your hands, watching your movements. 

Maybe Jihyo saw your cheeks turning red, or maybe she was just really curious about your love life, because she diverted the conversation away from Yunho, distracting you from his watchful eyes in one swoop. “How are things going with Hongjoong?” she asked. 

You placed the drink in front of Yunho, saying, “Oh, yeah. They’re good,” while making direct eye contact. There was something quizzical in his gaze that you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t voice whatever question it was that plagued his brain. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”

“Third date, right?” Jihyo asked. 

“Mhm,” you said. 

“I hope he puts out,” Wooyoung said, and Yunho choked on his sip, setting the glass down to cough into the collar of his jacket, hiding the redness blooming on his cheeks. 

Your eyes widened at Wooyoung, a pointed glare. 

“What?” he said, unsure why you were looking at him like that. “You’re the one who said it had been a while—”

Jihyo elbowed him in the stomach, and that was the end of that conversation. 

You printed out Yunho’s receipt and placed it on the table in front of him without meeting his eyes. 

“Actually, can I start a tab?” he asked. 

You grabbed the receipt, crumpling it into a ball. Through gritted teeth, you said, “Of course,” taking his card out of his outstretched hand. 

Customers thinned out one at a time for the next several hours, with Jihyo and Wooyoung finally departing a little bit before midnight. But Yunho stayed. 

At 1am, he was still there, watching you clean up from across the bar. 

“So,” he started. 

You threw your head back in exasperation, even though the conversation had hardly begun. You just knew, because it was Yunho, that it was going to be exhausting. 

“You’re dating,” he said. 

It wasn’t what you expected, and it caught you off guard. The way he said it so casually, aloud to the empty bar.

“Is there something strange about that to you?” you asked. “Me dating?” You tried not to go on the defensive. But there was something so inherently cutting about the way he’d said it. Like he couldn’t believe it. Did he think there was something wrong with you? Something fundamentally unlikable? Or were you just projecting?

“No,” he said. “Of course not.”

Silence. Deafening. Your ears had a heartbeat. 

“So, it’s been a while…?” he asked, and that stupid fucking smirk reappeared on his lips, like he was proud of something. 

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you said. 

“You know, if you don’t remember how to do it, I can give you a crash course,” Yunho suggested, leaning back in his seat. 

“I’ll kill you.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

You took your phone out to check the time, waiting for the numbers to flip forward just enough. When they did, you smiled. “Sorry, we’re actually closed.” You turned to face the register, printing out his receipt. You placed it in a book, then in front of him. 

“You want a ride home?” he asked. 

You couldn’t help the look of surprise that appeared on your face. 

“What?” he asked. “I’m a gentleman.” 

“You are not.” 

“Just because you don’t like me, doesn’t mean I’m not charming,” he said. “So, do you want a ride home or not? It’s cold.” 

He signed the receipt and closed the book. 

You shook your head. “No,” you said. It sounded too firm. “Thanks,” you tacked on. You’d face whatever winter weather you had to in order to get home without his help. 

Yunho stood up, and for some reason, you watched him. You always forgot how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were, until he was standing in front of you. He tossed his leather jacket back on, shoved his hands into his pockets, and left without another word. 

You followed, locking the door behind him. Then, finishing your tasks, you grabbed the book off the counter and pulled out his receipt. On the few drinks he’d ordered, he tipped nearly thirty dollars. And there was a note scrawled across the bottom, too. Sorry for being an ass. You looked at it for a while before putting the tip into the system, storing the receipt, and shutting everything down. 

It was a short walk between the bar and your apartment. Only about ten minutes. There was never any point in getting a car. On weekend nights, you could always count on Jihyo or Wooyoung to bring you home. Other nights, the walk wasn’t so bad. Besides, you kept pepper spray and a knife close at hand in case anyone dared try something with you. It wasn’t masked murderers in the middle of the night that caused a problem, though. 

It was the torrential downpour that came on like a light switch, drenching you in ice-cold rain in seconds. You held one arm above your head as you walked, but it barely shielded you from the storm. 

There were hardly any cars on the road, so when a motorcycle pulled up next to you, you were fairly certain you were about to be kidnapped. 

So when the rider took off his helmet and extended it to you, revealing a quickly drenched Yunho, you couldn’t keep the shock from your face. 

“Come on,” he said. “Get on.” 

“What?” you asked, because your brain wasn’t exactly functioning properly. You didn’t even know he had a motorcycle, and you certainly weren’t going to get on the back of it. 

“Come on,” he said again. “It’s pouring. You’ve made it ten feet. Let me take you home.”

You hated the way he said it, but your clothes were getting heavier as he spoke, so you stepped forward and took it. 

“Isn’t it dangerous?” you asked. “You don’t have another helmet?” 

He shook his head, freeing some of the wet hair that was stuck to his forehead. “Stop talking,” he said. “Just get on.” 

You swung a leg over, keeping your distance from him. “What—how do I?” you asked. 

“Hold on to me,” he said. You hesitated. “Just do it, it’s pouring, if you haven’t noticed, and I’d like to get going.” 

You scooted forward and placed your hands delicately on the sides of his body. One hand at a time, he pulled you forward even more, putting each of your palms on his chest. “You’re such a baby,” he said. “Just hold on to me.” 

“Fine,” you grumbled, pressing your body against his. You hated how large he felt. His back was wide and strong, and his chest felt warm underneath your hands. 

Before you could think about how much you liked being close to him, he started driving. You hardly even had time to worry about him driving without a helmet in the rain before you were pulling into the apartment complex’s garage. 

You were still clutching his chest when he said, “You can let go.” 

“Oh,” you said, not loud enough to be heard through the helmet. You did, however, jump away from him, pulling your arms back and scooting backward before clambering off the bike altogether. 

Your heart raced, and a clamminess had settled on your skin beneath all the layers of drenched clothing. When your hands touched his body—even through his clothes, it felt like being electrocuted. No reason for that could be justified by hatred. But you hated it, still. That he was so hot that just touching him made your body react. You convinced yourself it was purely animalistic. That how much you hated him couldn’t negate how attractive he was. It made you hate him more. 

He turned off the bike and swung a leg over to stand up, reaching a hand out to you. You stared at it for a second too long. “The helmet,” he said. 

Right, you thought. What was making your brain lag behind? Why couldn’t you fucking think straight? Surely it couldn’t be the dripping wet 6’1” man in front of you. 

You took the helmet off and handed it to him. He secured it on the back of the bike, then lifted his hands to grasp his shirt, twisting it. Water fell in droplets onto the floor between you, but your eyes lingered on the patch of exposed skin, the curve of a few abs under the thin shirt. You could barely even process the fact that you were looking, let alone that he looked good. It was only when he cleared his throat that your eyes flicked up to meet his and that stupid smirk that never seemed to fade fully. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you said abruptly before taking a few quick steps away toward the elevator. Unfortunately, he followed, slipping inside before the doors could budge. 

Right, you wanted to say. We’re neighbors. At least you wouldn’t have to listen to him engaging in his usual extracurricular activities that night. Unless he magically found some way to get a girl back to his place in the middle of the night. Maybe he could summon one from the internet with the power of dating apps. You didn’t know how he did it, anyway. 

The elevator immediately felt small, the ride up to your floor longer than it had ever been. Every time you looked up, he was trying to find your eyes, watching you intently. But neither did he say anything—and of course, you kept quiet too. Kept actively trying not to look at him. But you were curious, and you couldn’t help yourself sometimes. Because who was this man? This man who grated on your nerves and got under your skin and was so god damn annoying, but also left you big tips with nice notes and drove you home from work in the rain? This man who was absolutely gorgeous, whose body you wanted to touch again?

“You seem like you’re panicking,” he said.

“What?” you asked, lifting your head to meet his eyes. He leaned casually against the railing in the elevator, watching you with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not panicking. Why would I be panicking?” you asked, but it was immediately too defensive, too much talking. 

He raised a brow, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Right,” he said. “All things someone who isn’t panicking would say.” He kicked off the wall, striding toward you, only to stop a few inches short. 

“What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Just trying to figure you out,” he said. 

“I don’t need figuring out,” you said. 

“Really?” he asked. He reached out, then, because he couldn’t help it. Because he wanted to touch you. His hand skimmed your bicep, and you shivered. He leaned forward. “Are you sure you don’t like me?” 

“Yes,” you said, through gritted teeth, trying to sound as sure of yourself as you possibly could. 

This only elicited a smile and a dry laugh from Yunho. “You don’t sound sure.” 

“I could kiss you, and I would still feel absolutely nothing,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. Who was he to question your feelings, especially when all you’d ever given him were snarky comments and sass? Did he think a few longing looks at his abs equated true desire?

“Prove it,” he said. 

“What?” 

“Kiss me,” he said. 

Later that night, when you struggled to sleep—you’d argue with yourself about the reasons. You’d say it was a matter of impulse. A desire to prove him wrong. But there would be something in the back of your head, too, a nagging, whispering like the devil on your shoulder—you did it because you wanted to. 

When you stepped forward and stood on your toes, you weren’t thinking about any of that. 

It was a challenge, and you weren’t one to back down. Simple as that. 

The kiss started soft. Yunho took a moment to react, his lips still against yours for only a second before he stepped forward into you, forcing you backward into the wall. His hands moved, first grabbing your upper arms, then the sides of your face as he tilted your head back to deepen it—slipping a tongue between your lips. 

You didn’t hold back. Your hands gripped the zippered edges of his jacket, pulling him toward you needlessly. 

The kiss was not kind or soft, but passionate and aggressive, like something pent up was spilling out for everyone to see. 

Only the ding of the elevator reaching your floor was enough to separate you. You pulled away, letting your hands drop from his jacket as your thumb came up to wipe away some inevitably smeared lipstick—probably worse than you could save with a simple action, anyway. 

“See,” you said, rolling your shoulders back. “Nothing.” 

Then, you slipped out from under his grasp and walked out of the elevator, trying to keep your pace even and calm until you were inside your apartment, breathing heavily with your back against the door. 

Yunho turned to watch you leave, but didn’t follow. Instead, he stood stock still in the center of the elevator, fingers touching his lips, until the doors started to close. 

“You what?” Jihyo asked. She leaned against the door frame as you dusted blush across your cheekbones. 

You hadn’t exactly planned on telling her—or anyone—what happened, but it just slipped out. There weren’t really words to explain the situation. You couldn’t figure out why you’d done it, anyway. He’d tested you, and you weren’t one to back away from a dare. You wanted him to know, for certain, that he had no chance with you. 

But why, then, had it been so difficult to stop thinking about him? 

“I don’t know,” you said, because they were the only words bubbling to the surface in your otherwise Yunho-occupied mind. The heat of his lips on yours, the way his hands roamed all over your skin. You were starting to understand why the women he shared a bed with sang his praises all night long. 

“Well—why? How?” she asked. “When?” 

When you didn’t respond right away, Jihyo’s eyes widened expectantly, waiting for you to reveal all the dirty details of the situation. 

With a sigh, you put down the brush and turned, leaning against the sink. “He gave me a ride home last night, after my shift.”

“He stayed that late?” 

“Yes,” you said. “And I thought it was just to get on my nerves—but I don’t know. He left me a big tip and apologized for being such an ass.”

“He what?” 

“He left a note on his check. Sorry for being an ass,” you explained. 

“And then he kissed you?” Jihyo asked, one brow raised. 

You shook your head. “No. He left. I started walking home. It was cold. It started raining. Yunho found me. I don’t know how. Maybe he was waiting. I don’t know. He gave me a ride home on his motorcycle, by the way.” 

“You got on a motorcycle with Yunho?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Is that so unbelievable?” 

“A little bit, yeah,” she commented. 

“Anyway, it’s pouring. He drives me home. We’re in the elevator on the way up, and he just accuses me of looking at him differently.” 

“Were you?” Jihyo asked. 

“Hm?” 

“Were you looking at him differently?” she clarified. 

“Oh.” You hesitated. “Of course not. But I don’t know what I was thinking. The words just kind of came out. I said something along the lines of, I could kiss you and still feel nothing.” You, of course, did remember the exact words you’d spoken—but you were trying to be aloof. Trying to pretend that it wasn’t affecting you. 

You weren’t very good at it. And besides. Jihyo could always see through your bullshit. 

“And then he told me to prove it,” you said, your voice a bit smaller than before, ashamed of the act so many hours past it. An entire night's sleep and you still couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. You should have just laughed in his face. Should have ignored him, like you always did. 

“So you did,” Jihyo said. 

“So I did,” you echoed. 

“But you felt something,” she said. 

“But I felt something.” Your stomach flipped. You turned away from Jihyo, facing the mirror again, your hands gripping the edge. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Jihyo, ever the pragmatic, said, “Well, stop thinking about it. He’s an asshole, remember.” 

You weren’t naive to believe that his apology truly fixed anything. Besides, maybe this was the long con. Step one: apologize. Step two: get you on the back of his bike. Step three: kiss you in the elevator? Then what? 

Who would he send over to kick you out in the morning? Some other neighbor? 

It wasn’t feasible, these thoughts. They couldn’t go anywhere. It almost made it worse—that they just had to stay in your head. Trapped. Because acting on them, well, it was a fucking horrible idea. And he was probably just playing with you, anyway. That’s what he did. 

“I remember,” you grumbled. 

“Do you remember Hongjoong?” she asked, and you could see the way she smiled reflected in the mirror. Pointed, obvious in the point she was conveying. 

You picked up a lip gloss and ran the wand over your lips. “I didn’t cancel the date, did I?” you said. “I’m wearing a cute outfit. I’m going.” 

Jihyo smiled. “Okay. Good.” 

“You know, you can be really judgmental,” you said, a hint of a laugh escaping between words. 

“That’s why you love me.” She smiled big and wide. “Now have fun tonight. That’s an order. And try to get laid, for the love of god.”

You were standing in front of your door, a little bit tipsy, trying to unlock it, when the one down the hall popped open. You couldn’t help the groan that fell from your lips, knowing just who was going to appear in front of you in no time at all. 

He took his time. You had to give him that. He leaned against the door frame to his own apartment for a little while, watching you struggle. Which was annoying in its own way—but at least it was from a distance. 

The distance didn’t last. He got closer. 

You held up a hand in his direction. “No,” you said. You weren’t drunk enough that your words were slurring, just tipsy enough to say exactly what was on your mind. A dangerous thing, considering what was on your mind lately regarding the man in the hallway. “You stay over there.”

Thankfully, you got the key to work, letting the door to your apartment swing inward. Yunho was faster, though, and more determined. He caught it with one hand before it could slam closed. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and those weren’t the words you expected to come out of his mouth. They weren’t suggestive or annoying. He actually seemed genuine. Had you ever met a more confusing man? One who could flip back and forth between strange softness and playful humor faster than you could process it? 

He wore black jeans, the same leather jacket he basically lived in. His near-black hair fell just past his eyebrows, only partially obscuring brown eyes that met your gaze. There was a slight crease between his brows, like he was just as confused as you were about the state of his personality—about the way he was acting toward you. 

“Yes,” you said. Yunho closed the door gently behind him. “And you can’t just invite yourself into my apartment whenever you want.” 

“Date didn’t go well, I take it?” he asked, that playful tone coming back at half power. The smirk that appeared put in a lot of work. 

You pressed your lips into a tight line, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks as you grew embarrassed. Any normal person wouldn’t have commented on the fact that you’d come home alone after a third date—especially after your friends announced so loudly your desire to get laid. 

“Can we not do this right now?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as if to cover some of your obvious discomfort. 

“You know,” he said, taking another step closer to you. You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t. You wanted him closer, even if you wanted to pretend otherwise. And ultimately, your body beat out your mind the moment he intruded upon your personal space. “The offer still stands.” 

Your brain wasn’t working. “What offer?” you bit out. 

He didn’t touch you, but his hands might as well have been all over your body with how hot you felt. “You know—if you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be with someone.” 

It was enough to make you take a much-needed step back, sobering you some. “Oh my god, get a grip, Yunho.” 

He just laughed. It wasn’t a big deal to him. It was just another joke, another way to get under your skin. 

You steeled yourself for the lie you needed to speak aloud, to really get the point across. “I don’t want you. I’ll never want you. I like my men with a little more… dignity.” 

For a split second, you were certain you’d hurt his feelings. His eyes softened, and his shoulders lowered. But then he was back to smiling again, acting like it hadn’t affected him in the slightest. 

When had this turned from him asking you if you were okay to him propositioning you again? And why had you wanted to say yes? If it weren’t for the voice of Jihyo playing in the back of your head, reminding you that he was an asshole—over and over again—you might have let it happen. You were feeling just dejected enough, anyway. 

Hongjoong had basically rejected you. It was rightful, too, since you’d barely paid attention to him during your date. Your mind had been on other things. Other people. And besides, there’d been no spark. He didn’t push your buttons. He didn’t make you laugh. 

“Really, though,” Yunho said, taking a more serious tone again—enough to give you whiplash. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you said. 

“You don’t seem fine,” Yunho said. 

“If I needed a friend, I’d call Jihyo. Or Wooyoung.” 

Again, that look of hurt. Like he’d been struck. 

“Right,” he said. “Obviously.” He took a step away from you, toward the door. “Sorry.” You were too stunned to speak. “I’ll see you later.”

When you woke up the next morning, there was no woman to escort out of Yunho’s apartment. Your apartment sat empty. Quiet. It continued like that for several days. Nearly a week. You let Jihyo and Wooyoung talk you out of going over there, of making sure everything was okay with him. That he hadn’t died or moved out or something. 

No matter what excuses you made up, however, you still couldn’t get him out of your head. Even when he wasn’t around to bother you. You found yourself hoping to catch him around a corner, in the elevator, or by his bike in the parking garage. You didn’t. 

He was strangely absent. 

That should have resulted in better sleep, but you found yourself awake for other reasons, staring at the ceiling. You could find any reason to doubt yourself. Maybe you’d been too quick to judge him. The way his face had fallen the last time you spoke haunted you. Eyes open or closed, you could still see the ghost of his disappointment. The soft tenor of his voice and the way he sounded so genuine. 

Convincing yourself that it was a fluke did not help. 

And somehow, you always ended up back in that elevator, his lips hot on yours. 

Yunho was hot. Of course, he was. You had never questioned that fact. You had explicitly tried to ignore it. But he wasn’t your type. He liked to push your buttons, get under your skin. He didn’t respect basic boundaries. 

Now, he was gone. The firm boundary you’d put in place was being respected, and you found yourself being the one who wanted to cross it. 

Maybe that was growth. Or maybe it was all a part of Yunho’s grand scheme to get in your pants. If you thought about it for too long, you could believe anything. It was the only the long con, a way of getting to you by disappearing when you were finally interested—or, it was the first genuine thing he’d ever done. 

And it made you feel bad. 

Something shot through your nervous system, a realization that you didn’t want to make eye contact. You missed him.

It was nearly a week later when you spotted his door clicking shut just as you were leaving to run a few errands. 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you. But after all the times he’d barged in uninvited, you figure it was okay to intrude on his space just once. Walking the short distance from your door to his, however, did cause a strange anxiety to settle in next to your heart, tucked away in your ribcage. A thrumming that whispered, “What are you doing? Why are you doing it?” over and over again. 

It didn’t stop you from raising your hand to tap your knuckles against the door. 

When Yunho opened the door, he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was fluffier than usual, sticking up in places like he’d spent the last seven days running his hands through it. He looked you up and down. A smile appeared on his lips, but it wasn’t the same as the proud one you’d grown used to. He didn’t say anything, just watched you. 

“Hey,” you said. Attempting to be casual didn’t exactly suit you. 

“Hey?” he repeated. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Hey.” You tried to meet his gaze, but his eyes kept moving away, finding something else to look at whenever you got close. 

He had one hand on the door, holding it open. It would be easier that way, to close it whenever he needed to. Because he wanted to look at you. He wanted to meet your gaze. But there was this ball of anger in the pit of his stomach, too. A tightly wound piece of hatred. Not for you, of course. He couldn’t hate you. No. He hated himself. And he would never say it out loud, not to himself and certainly not to you—but he hated himself for being someone you didn’t want. 

But all he could do was look past your eyes and force a smile. 

Unfortunately, the hatred he felt toward himself manifested as anger. “Do you need something?” 

The sharpness in his tone sliced straight through you. “What?” 

“You made it clear you don’t want me,” he said. 

“Well—” you stammered. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“You have Jihyo and Wooyoung, right? That’s what you said.” He paused and finally met your eyes. Something crossed his face. “Besides, I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh,” you said. The anxiety tucked away in your chest blossomed, and your heart began to race. This was a mistake, then. At least you could leave and pretend it never happened. Why then, were you so frozen solid to the spot in front of his door? Why couldn’t you just turn and walk away? Why could you feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the heat of his palms on your arms? Why couldn’t you look away? 

“You’re afraid to admit it, but I’m not,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, gentle tone once more. The one you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. The one that floated through your dreams like a melody. “I like you.” 

Your lips parted. He leaned forward to look at you on eye level, studying you. He didn’t touch you, just let his eyes bore into yours. It was far too intimate than your racing heart could take. 

“You think I’m all bad,” he said. “I’m not. Let me take you out sometime. I’ll prove it to you.” The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile. Hopeful. 

It was your own self-hatred, your own uncertainty, your own self-consciousness, your own fear, that made you say what you did. “I can’t,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. And that’s what broke you. Not the rejection, but the acceptance. The way his smile turned firm as he stood straight up and stepped away from you, moving to close the door just as you turned to flee. 

Several days passed, but even the passage of time didn’t make you feel any better. 

“It’s good,” Jihyo said. “I don’t trust him.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung echoed. “Me either.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either, given how much you’d been thinking about it. About him. Even your thoughts felt selfish. Because you could have him, if you really wanted to. If you really wanted to have him, you could walk over to his apartment and tell him that. 

But something held you back. 

The fear, mostly. 

The thought that you would just end up like all the other girls he’d engaged in one-night stands with. You weren’t exactly a one-night stand kind of girl. Or, at least, you weren’t certain that was what you wanted from Yunho. You didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe that was the scariest part. 

“You didn’t see the look on his face,” you said, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch. 

It was Wooyoung who eventually said. “If you like him, I guess I don’t really see what the problem is.”

“The problem is he has a different girl over every night,” Jihyo commented. 

“Not every night. Besides, he hasn’t in a while,” you said, which earned you a look from Jihyo. “What? The walls are thin. I can hear everything.”

“Maybe he’s a changed man,” Wooyoung commented. 

“Doubt it,” Jihyo said. 

You could only shrug. “I don’t know. I hardly know him, anyway.” You let out a long, deep breath. “I’ll get over it eventually. So will he. I’m sure it’ll be fine in a few weeks. Maybe we’ll even laugh about it.”

Hours later, when Jihyo and Wooyoung finally left your apartment—you stood at the door, waiting for them to get on the elevator. An old habit. Like making sure they got home safe. The elevator doors opened, and Yunho stepped out. You only saw him at first. 

Then, you saw her. The girl hanging off his arm. Laughing. Smiling. 

Jihyo shot you a look, but you shook your head. It was fine. You didn’t need them coming to your rescue over a man you’d rejected. They got into the elevator and disappeared. You tried to close your door fast, but Yunho spotted you first. You just barely caught him raising a few fingers in a wave, a smile on his lips, before the hastily shut door separated you both. 

Something bloomed in your chest, hot and angry. You’d seen him with other women before. Countless times, in fact. You’d heard them through your walls, escorted them out afterward. And you’d never been angry at anything other than the inconvenience. 

But now the anger flushed your system of coherent thoughts. The tips of your ears turned red as you rested your forehead against the closed door. This wasn’t anger. As much as you wanted to believe it, manifest it into being so—it was so much worse. 

Jealousy. 

It made your skin crawl, the realization. You were jealous. And the worst part was that you had no right to be. He had offered you the same thing he gave all those girls, and you’d turned him down. So why now, did you have your head resting on the door and your eyes squeezed tight? Maybe it wasn’t just jealousy, but anger too. 

Anger at your own poor decision-making skills. Anger at Yunho for—what exactly? Moving on? You were the one who’d been adamant that there was absolutely nothing between you. He’d shot his shot and failed. Had you expected him to retire from the little game he played every weekend? 

You tried to remind yourself what would have happened if you’d gone out with him. That he wasn’t relationship material. That he didn’t want you like you wanted him. 

Fuck. You wanted him. 

You wanted him, and it made you feel like an idiot. 

Is that how everyone who ended up in his bed felt? Confused and annoyed, angry with his charming personality and his ability to sweep pretty much anyone off their feet without really even trying? 

And when had this happened, anyway? He’d moved in a few months ago. You’d been tolerating his presence since—and then things just, well, shifted. 

It didn’t even matter if you ended up as just another one-night stand—you wanted to be in his bed, underneath him, no matter what the outcome was. It was that thought that pulled you away from the door and sent you into the bedroom, diving under the covers and attempting to think about anything other than what was possibly going on in the next room over. 

Damn his stupid motorcycle and the way his shirt, damp with rain and sweat, had stuck to his skin. Damn his stupid, charming smile that shifted between snarky and kind. Damn his everything, every detail that made you look twice, that had you second-guessing every moment, every interaction. 

It was even worse, knowing that he wanted you, too. Knowing that he wanted you, and that you could have just had him, if you weren’t such an idiot. 

And so you oscillated back and forth like that for a while—between being annoyed at yourself for rejecting him and at him for being so charming and so untrustworthy at the same time. 

It went on like that for some time before you eventually fell asleep to thoughts of walking down the hall and throwing the door open, to grabbing him and kissing him—before your mind eventually decided being awake no longer served you. 

Unfortunately, when morning came, it wasn’t with a new, refreshed mind. 

Instead, more thoughts swarmed, and before you could stop and think about what you were doing, you were standing in the hallway outside Yunho’s apartment in your pajamas. 

It wasn’t until you raised your hand to knock that you realized exactly where you were. 

Yunho must have sensed it. The door swung open, and there he was, standing there with that somewhat charming, somewhat obnoxious smile on his face, looking at you like this—whatever you were doing—was, in fact, completely normal behavior. 

He looked just out of bed, messy hair and plaid pajama pants. A white shirt that clung to him and a loose robe overtop. One hand held a mug of coffee, and he leaned against the door frame in such a casual manner as you glanced him over, trying to figure out some excuse for why you’d shown up at his door. 

“Good morning,” he said. There was a coldness to his voice. Something absent from his tone that you didn’t want to linger on. Like he was distancing himself from you. 

Words failed you. 

“I—” you started. You took a step forward, nearly into his body. He didn’t yield against you, instead holding firm in the door frame. You tried to look over his shoulder to see if the girl was still present. Did he not want your help escorting her out?

The smile that fell on his lips was slow, and you watched him figure you out in record time. 

“Looking for someone?” he asked, that cold tone growing warmer, charm seeping back into his words, that familiar enjoyment. A cat playing with a mouse. 

You took a step back. “No.” 

“Seems like you are.” 

“I’m not,” you said, but you weren’t able to keep the defensive note from your voice. It was so painstakingly clear to both of you why you were there and what you were looking for. It became a game, then, of who would concede the space first. Who would give up. You could easily admit your lie, but there was no pride in that. And Yunho, well, he could just as easily call you out on it, but that didn’t seem like the path he wanted to take, either. 

Instead, it turned into a standoff of words loaded into guns and backs turned. Paces counted before firing. Eye contact, before your gaze dropped to his lips, and the slow smile crawling across turned into a smirk of victory undeserved. 

“I just thought you might want my help,” you said, cocking your head back and crossing your arms. A feeble attempt to gain some ground. 

“I don’t,” he said. Sharp. You hated that the simple words cut, even though you would have claimed to hate said help only a week prior. 

“You don’t,” you repeated. 

Your cursed brain. He’d found someone else. Someone else to break the streak of one-night stand girls. He’d found someone else, and it was too late, and you’d ruined everything out of pure indecisiveness and misguided advice. 

Maybe he wasn’t even such a bad guy. 

Maybe your vision had been clouded by jealousy from the very beginning. 

Yunho stepped away from the door, walking deeper into the apartment. You hesitated. He brought down another mug and filled it, pushing it in your direction and eying you to take it. 

“You know,” he said. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.” 

Your brows drew together as you watched him, sipping his coffee and looking over the cup at you, still standing in the hallway. 

“I’m not—” you started, but he just laughed. “I’m really not.” 

“Then why are you here?” he asked, the genuine nature of his voice catching you off guard. “You already rejected me, remember?” 

Your feet carried you into his apartment. You closed the door behind you. 

“I remember,” you said. You stopped across from him and reached over to pick up the mug of coffee, the kitchen island separating you. You looked over your shoulder, eyes wandering toward the open door of his bedroom. 

“You’re funny,” he said. 

“What?” you asked, eyes snapping back to him. 

“There’s no one here,” Yunho said. He set his coffee mug down on the counter and walked closer to you. “And whatever you’re trying to do—you’re not very good at it.”

He reached up and took the coffee mug out of your hands, placing it on the counter next to his. 

“There’s no one here,” you said, repeating his words back to him for the second time. It was easier than finding new ones to say. 

He rolled his eyes, but the annoyance didn’t reach his lips. No, those still held that same pleased smile, like he knew something you didn’t. 

Yunho reached out, closing the distance between you, to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. He looked down at you with a gaze you couldn’t place. Something between admiration and lust. His fingers trailed down your jaw and hooked under your chin. 

His touch froze you. You could only blink and watch, your gaze darting between his mouth and his eyes. 

“Are you jealous?” he asked, holding your chin and looking at you carefully. 

“I don’t know,” you said, because that was the truth. All the thoughts in your mind were jumbled, and nothing made sense when it came to him. 

He raised one brow, skeptical. “Did you need to borrow something?” he asked. “Or yell at me because the TV was too loud?” 

“No,” you said. 

“Then why did you come over?” he asked. He led you toward the answer, walked you there while holding your chin and making sure you kept your eyes trained on his. His voice was gentle, but stern—and you knew he wouldn’t relent until you gave him the truth. 

You sighed, and this small act of giving up only made the corners of his lips turn up. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you said. His lips parted in shock. Because he’d been expecting an admission regarding your jealousy, not the way that he raced through your mind all night. But you kept going, anyway. “And I didn’t mean to come over, I mean—I guess I did. But I left my apartment, and then here I was—and I wasn’t even going to knock, but you opened the door, and then all I could think about was whether or not you had a girl over.” 

His hand slipped from your chin to lay flat against the side of your head, his palm on your cheek and his fingers dipping into your hair. 

Your heart raced faster as his eyes dropped to your lips, and your first kiss played on a loop over and over again until you were stepping closer to him, lifting a hand to touch the one on your cheek. 

He inched closer too, until your bodies were almost touching. 

Yunho’s eyes met yours, then flicked downward. Up and back. Your eyes followed the same pattern, and you moved closer, closer, a centimeter at a time, until his lips were on yours again and everything agonizingly slow kicked into full speed. 

His other hand came up to cup your other cheek as he kissed you slowly. It wasn’t the abrupt, intense heat of the kiss you shared in the elevator, but a soft, molten kiss that sent your nerves firing. 

When he pulled away, it was only a half an inch, barely enough to keep you from recapturing his lips and stopping whatever sentence whirred to life behind hazy eyes. “That’s what I wanted our first kiss to be like,” he said. 

“I liked our first kiss,” you said, without really thinking. 

He dropped his forehead against yours. “Me too.” 

“I liked the second too.” But you didn’t let yourself reach out again, not with the last thought that nagged at the back of your mind. “What about the girl—your date last night?” 

“She didn’t stay long. I couldn’t stop thinking about my neighbor.” He put a half-step’s worth of space between you. 

“How annoying,” you said, laughing under your breath. 

“Yeah, she really is,” he teased. “Kinda hot, though.” 

“Kinda?” you asked, raising a brow at him. 

“Okay, insanely,” Yunho said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So hot she’s driven me mad since the day I moved in. Is that what you want to hear?” 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. “Yes.” 

“Now will you let me take you out?” he asked. 

You hadn’t thought about what would happen after you stormed over to his apartment without invitation, nor what would happen after his lips were on yours. You thought he would try something more, but he kept his distance—asked about dates instead. 

“You look shocked,” he said. 

“I’m not,” you said, and he chuckled under his breath. Apparently, you were easier to read than you thought, or maybe he was just good at knowing what you were thinking. Somehow, that wasn’t as annoying as it used to be. 

“Not jealous, not shocked…” he trailed off. “Not very good at lying, either.” 

“I just didn’t think dating was really your thing,” you said. 

He placed a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me,” he said. “I’m a romantic at heart, you’ll see.”

“Oh, will I?” you asked, “From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like romance.” You tilted your head to the side, looking up at him, watching for the reaction. 

His brows lifted a hair. “You’ve been listening.” 

“The walls are thin, Yunho.” 

“And that’s why you’re jealous?” he asked, reaching out to poke your cheek. “Because of what you’ve been hearing?” 

“No,” you stammered, a crinkle developing between your brows in irritation. 

“I can’t figure you out,” he said. “You think I’m this big player, right? But you’re also up at night with your ear to the wall trying to listen in so—I think you might be the real freak, here.” 

You slapped his arm playfully. “I am not.” 

“We’ll see,” he said, continuing before you could get a word in, “Let me take you out tonight.”

“I’m working,” you said. 

“Tomorrow night.”

You pretended to ponder the availability of your schedule. Since your minor situationship with Hongjoong fizzled out, you hadn’t had plans with anyone but Jihyo and Wooyoung. And they wouldn’t mind a night off from having to listen to your problems. Maybe you’d get an earful from Jihyo about how you were choosing to spend the night, instead, but Wooyoung would come around. 

“Tomorrow night,” you confirmed. 

It was strange how quickly everything turned over in your mind. Maybe you were naive, but one kiss and you’d started to see him differently. That voice that nagged in the back of your mind, reminding you that maybe he was like this with all the girls he brought back, had disappeared completely. Instead, you found ways to justify it all. There was nothing wrong with sleeping around, anyway. 

You’d had more active times in your life, too. And no one had judged you for that, well, experimentation. 

He watched the cogs turn behind your eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asked. 

“Just trying to figure you out, is all.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, rethinking whatever it was he wanted to say. It seemed like you were both playing the same game—trying to understand the other without giving too much away, without making a big deal out of something that hadn’t gone anywhere, yet. 

“So,” you said. A blanket of silence suddenly fell between you, the awkward air of the kiss settling on your shoulders, and the future plans made. 

“So,” Yunho said, much cooler, calmer, than you had. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Definitely.” 

You took a step back, but he reached out to grab your hand before you could get too far. He held it, not too tight, but not exactly with a gentle grasp, either. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “Really.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Me too,” before disappearing from his apartment. By the time you were back home, your palms were sweating. 

Was this a horrible idea? And if it was, why did you want it so badly?

The next 36 hours went by at an unimaginably slow pace. In that time, you managed to spend a good several more hours overthinking, at least thirty minutes on the phone with Jihyo, convincing her that this was, maybe, a good idea, actually, and the rest of the time panicking about your ability to make decisions regarding your love life. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Jihyo said at the end of the call, after retiring her role as devil’s advocate. “It was just a kiss, right? And it’s just a date.” 

“Maybe I want it to be something,” you said. “That’s what scares me. What if he doesn’t?” 

You could hear her shrug over the line. “Guess you’ll have to ask him.”

Wooyoung chimed in from over Jihyo’s shoulder. “Besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen, anyway? You find out if the sex is good, and then he stops showing up at your apartment without permission?” 

You pinched your nose between your thumb and forefinger. “Neither of you are helpful,” you said. 

Hours after the call, however, you couldn’t help but admit that Wooyoung’s words were true. This was a sexual attraction. Yunho was sexy. He had a confusing charm to him that you never understood, and a contagious smile. He was goofy, good at video games, and fun to bicker with—but you didn’t really know him, did you? 

So you decided that’s what the date would be for. 

You’d get to know him. Decide exactly what you wanted. And if that was just sex, well. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, right? Maybe fucking him would get him out of your head, too. Though, you had a feeling that probably wouldn’t be the case. 

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, you were standing in your bedroom, looking in the floor-length mirror, still attempting to determine exactly which outfit was right for the date. 

You’d never been this nervous for a date before. 

It was just a date. Yunho was just a man. 

The knock at the door, however, sent your heart into your stomach—so maybe you were just lying to yourself. Either way, it wasn’t working. 

You smoothed your hands down the front of your shirt, over the sides of your skirt. Was there time to change? He was on the other side of the door, and still, you didn’t feel exactly right. Almost like you were wearing a costume, something to impress him, but not something that was really you. 

The nerves were getting to you, and all you had to do was just open the door. 

Open the door, and he would be there, staring back at you. You knew exactly what he would look like, too. Leather jacket, permanent smirk curling up the corners of his lips, knowing brown eyes scanning you. It was a comfort, almost, this knowing. 

But still, you were frozen. 

Like opening the door was some kind of test of your own nature. He was the same, steady. Predictable. But you? Was he on the other side of the door, telling himself the same thing, that you were there—familiar?

What if he didn’t like this version of you? The one who had spent hours trying to figure out how to look just right, for him. The one wearing a skirt, the one who was excited about the date, who had gotten her hopes up. 

What if he had only ever liked you because you didn’t like him?

You rubbed your temples, trying to quiet the ever-existing anxiety that stirred behind your eyes, a reminder that this was something you fucking cared about, which only made the whole thing worse. You cared, which meant you could screw it up. You could screw it up, and it would hurt. 

“You gonna open the door?” Yunho asked from the hall. He had this weird ability to read your mind, to sense when you were nearby. Like he knew some part of you that even you couldn’t see. 

You opened the door halfway through an eye roll. 

And there he was. 

He looked nothing like you’d imagined in your head. His leather jacket was missing, replaced by a black suit jacket with a white button-up underneath, a skinny black tie cut down the middle. Though you could barely see his torso behind the bouquet of flowers he held in one arm. 

Yunho’s eyes stayed glued to yours. They didn’t wander, as yours did. But that slow smile did crawl across his lips as you took him in, this different version of him. 

“Are those for me?” you asked, looking at the arrangement of tulips and baby’s breath. 

He took a step closer to you, dropping his free hand around your shoulders to place a kiss atop your head, into your hair. It was immediately overwhelming, being in his presence again, especially after so many hours of trying to pretend that he had no effect on you. 

Well, there that effect was. The way your heart immediately beat faster, your nervous system racing into high alert, goosebumps rising on your forearms. You would think that something was truly wrong, the way your body reacted. Like this was something to run away from. But coupled with the feeling of ignition—the warmth of him being close started a fire somewhere deep within you—there was no chance you would run away. 

“Do you have a vase I can put these in?” he said, answering your arguably dumb question as he took a step away from you. 

You moved out of the way, letting him step into your apartment. A place familiar to him. Some place he’d basically broken into over and over again. He moved through it like it belonged to him, walking into the kitchen to grab a vase from under the sink. He filled it with water and placed the bouquet inside, leaving it on the counter. 

“You seem nervous,” he commented as he trimmed away the plastic wrapping with a pair of scissors he’d also known the location of. 

Your arms were crossed over your chest, not in disappointment or contempt, but because you had to hold onto something to steady yourself. Your fingers dug into your biceps only slightly, but he must have caught that, too. 

Or maybe he was just so used to the inner workings of your mind, your body, that he could sense these differences too. 

You had no idea he paid so much attention. 

“I’m not,” you said. But even a stranger would have known you were lying. 

He peeled away the rest of the crinkling plastic and put it in the trash, snipping the rubber band on the bouquet and letting the flowers fall outward. 

“They’re pretty,” you said, as if that could distract from your nerves and his commentary on them. “Thank you.” 

You kept your distance from him, standing just outside the kitchen while he worked. But once finished, he strode toward you again. He stopped just short, not opting to reach for you, just looking. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?” 

You cleared your throat as you nodded. “Mhm.” 

He could only chuckle under his breath. You were standing so straight, holding yourself so tightly. He did reach out, then, peeling one of your hands away from your arm to hold it. He laced his fingers between yours. 

Yunho’s hands were large and warm, and they didn’t serve to ground you any. 

Oh god. What was happening to you? 

You tried to remind yourself of everything you’d said earlier. This was just a date. Yunho was just a man. A really, really fucking hot man. And a man who drove you absolutely insane. A man who knew how to kiss. 

“You ready to go?” he asked, eyes flicked downward, watching your joined hands. He couldnt’t believe it either—was just better at keeping his cool—that this was actually happening. That you’d agreed to it. 

“Yes,” you said, and the pair of you walked out of your apartment together. He made eyes at you in the elevator. 

Were you both thinking about the same thing? The upward quirk of his smile was enough to make you think yes. 

“You are nervous,” Yunho commented as the doors to the lobby slid open. 

“Shut up,” you said. “I’m not.”

He held his free hand up in defense. “Not a very nice way to talk to your date.”

You shot a glare in his direction, but it wasn’t very threatening when paired with the smile gracing your lips. 

He squeezed your hand. “Why?” 

“Why, what?” you asked. 

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you said again, but this time the pointed look was from him. And frankly, it was deserved. “Shut up,” you said again, as the two of you stepped outside. “I’m not nervous, you’re nervous.”

“I’m a little nervous,” he said. 

He kept your hand in his as you walked. He didn’t tell you where you were going, and you didn’t ask. 

“What?” you asked. “The Jeong Yunho, nervous? Haven’t you done this like a million times?”

“Yeah, but never with you,” he said, which only made heat rise to your cheeks. 

You were still not used to this version of Yunho. The charming one. The complement to the snarky asshole who’s been appearing in your apartment for the past several months. 

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” you asked, diverting the conversation from compliments that made your skin turn pink. 

“We’re almost there,” he said. 

There were so many other questions flying through your head, but it was so much harder to form words around him, now. It was easier before, when all those words were full of frustration and anger, when you were making fun of him or reacting to his torment. When he was being kind to you, it only left you speechless and on uneven footing. 

Thankfully, he was right. In only a few minutes of walking, you arrived at a small Italian bistro. A place you’d seen a hundred times on walks home from work, but never stopped into. It wasn’t exactly a bartender’s salary kind of place, unless you wanted to blow an entire month’s food budget on delicious gnocchi. Which, honestly, you’d thought about plenty of times before. 

Booths lined the walls with tables in the center, spread out and quiet, each with its own warm candlelight in the middle, its own dangling chandelier in the center. The tables were preset with wine glasses and cutlery. 

He gave his name at the host stand, and the two of you followed her to a table. Yunho’s hand settled on your lower back as you walked. 

Only the thin layer of your shirt stopped the electricity from knocking you out, dulling it to a mild spark instead. You slid into a booth opposite him. 

The host rattled off some wine specials. 

“Whatever you suggest,” Yunho said, smiling warmly at the woman. 

She disappeared momentarily, then returned with a bottle of red wine with a name you didn’t know how to pronounce. She filled up your glasses, then left the bottle behind. 

“So,” Yunho said, picking up his glass to look at you over it. “I should have said this already, but you look really nice tonight.”

“Don’t,” you said, a knee-jerk reaction to his complimenting. “I mean—”

“You know this is a date, right?” he teased. “You agreed to go on a date with me.”

You laughed under your breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “Sorry,” you said, trying not to laugh. “Still trying to get used to you being like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, one brow raised. 

“Oh, come on. You know like what,” you fired back. You lifted your glass of wine too and took a small sip. It was delicious. Deep and dry. 

He set his wine glass down and leaned slightly forward with both elbows on the table, trying to get closer to you. He tilted his head to the side, watching you curiously. “I don’t,” he said. 

“All charming and nice,” you said. 

“I think I’ve always been charming and nice,” Yunho said. 

You shake your head, taking another sip of your wine to hide the fact that the smile won’t fade from your lips—that being around him made you smile, now. “That’s not true, and you know it, Yunho.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please,” you said. “You can’t pretend that for the last several months you haven’t been trying to get on my last nerve.”

He pursed his lips like he was really, actually taking the time to think about it. “Maybe I just like getting you all hot and bothered,” he said, finally. 

“Wasn’t hot,” you said. “Just bothered.”

“And now?” Yunho asked, leaning even further over the table, as if making direct eye contact would allow him to glean every secret you ever had. 

“Still just bothered, I think,” you teased, lifting your glass to your lips. 

Yunho leaned back in his seat, picking up his own glass and smiling smugly to himself. “I do like a challenge.”

When the waitress came over to ask about starting courses, you were still looking at one another, like you were both trying to place exactly what was going on, exactly what all of it meant. Yunho looked at you like he was trying to read your mind, trying to figure out what you thought about him, and you looked at him like you were trying to piece together a complex puzzle, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. 

It was Yunho who broke eye contact first, who glanced over at the waitress, who ordered a few starters for the table. 

When she walked away, you were still looking at him, watching. Studying, almost. Like you could glean something in the way he talked to others, in whether he chose bruschetta or burrata. 

“So,” he said, lowering his empty glass back to the table. 

“So,” you mirrored. 

It occurred to you then that you knew almost nothing about him, aside from the fact that he liked video games and coffee. Aside from what his mouth felt like against yours. 

You engaged in tense, short, small talk for a little while, until the food came out. How work had been for you, what he’d been up to with his time. Trying to get to know each other even a little bit more. It all came back to pointed glances and tension—both of you guarded against something. Not each other, really, but refusing to let the other in. 

Yunho didn’t give much away about himself, only continued asking about you. And you could only tease him in response. Keeping him at a distance by pushing back, instead. 

As the wine levels lowered, so did your defenses. 

“Is this how it usually goes for you?” you asked, finishing off your second glass of wine while you waited for his answer. He didn’t speak immediately, so you clarified. “Like, on all your dates, is this usually how things go?”

“I don’t know where you got this idea that I go on tons of dates,” he said. 

It only served to stun you. Because—where else would you have gotten that information, aside from the obvious? By living next door. By kicking out said dates the next morning. 

“I mean—” you started. 

“Your impression of me,” he said. “It’s wrong. You think I’m this ladies man, right?” He laughed like he couldn’t even say the words with a straight face. “I’m really not.”

“Oh, please,” you said, because you knew that to be false. You’d met the women. Spoken with them. 

He chuckled under his breath. “Just because they were at my house didn’t mean I went out on dates with them. You know that, right? That you don’t have to go on a date with someone to get into bed with them?” He raised a brow in such a suggestive way that you choked on your saliva. 

“I know that,” you said. Even though it didn’t really occur to you that he wasn’t actually dating anyone. 

“This is the first date I’ve been on in over a year,” he said, offering up something about himself completely unprompted. “So I don’t know how it’s going, really. My date seems a little tense. A little nervous, even though she doesn’t want to admit it.”

“You haven’t been on a date in over a year?” you asked, lingering on the details. “But you’re so—” you started, then realized you had no idea how to finish the sentence. What? Active? 

“Let’s just get this conversation over with,” Yunho said, a bit of tension appearing in the crease between his brows. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to draw attention to it. But you were so obviously curious, and it was so easy to do anything when it was what you wanted. 

“No,” you said, holding a hand up. “It’s okay, really. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It makes sense why you did. The women I’ve been with, they knew what I was looking for. I didn’t trick them or make them think I was looking for a relationship when I wasn’t. We met at bars or clubs or on dating apps. I didn’t date any of them.” 

“Okay,” you said. 

“So, I guess I’m kind of rusty,” he said. “When it comes to stuff like this.”

You laughed. “You’re not rusty at all,” you said. “You’re charming. You’ve always been charming.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Like, annoyingly so.” 

He looked down at the table, but not before you caught the slight blush appearing on his cheeks. Had you actually made Yunho blush?

“I think that makes you the experienced dater in the situation, then,” Yunho said. 

This, too, made you laugh. Because if there was anything you didn’t have experience with, it was dating. All of your dates had ended—with a fizzle and certainly without a bang. Your track record over the past year or two was mostly boring. Boring men who didn’t make you laugh. Boring men who you couldn’t bicker playfully with. Men who wanted more from you than you had to give. Or not enough. 

“I don’t know about that,” you said. Then, “Maybe we’re both losers.”

A bright smile crossed his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

The rest of the dinner went by without as much tension. You learned a few little bits of information about one another. Where he grew up. What you studied in school. What your favorite drink to make at work was. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, refilling your wine when a new bottle appeared at the table seemingly out of nowhere. “Your job?” 

You shrugged. “Most of the time, yes.” You took a small sip. “I like the people. The regulars are mostly cool. And I get this glimpse into people’s lives that I don’t think I could get anywhere else. I only get to see what they want to show me. What they tell me about their day, or whatever baggage they bring to the counter. I like that.”

“Is what they say about bartenders really true?” he asked. “Do people tell you their life stories, their secrets?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Depends on the person, and how many drinks they’ve had. Most people keep to themselves, but I have a few regulars who like to talk.”

“You’re kind of fascinating, you know that?” he asked. 

“What?” you said, exhaling a short laugh. 

“When I moved in down the hall, you were headed out somewhere with Wooyoung and Jihyo—”

You interrupted him. “No, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Why?” he asked. “I like this story.”

You put your hands over your face like you could hide from it, from your own actions several months ago. 

“You walked right over to me and introduced yourself. I thought that was pretty cool.” 

Really? Because you had recounted that interaction several times in the hours afterward, convinced that you had made a complete ass out of yourself, convinced that you were the lamest person in the entire world. 

“Do you remember what you said to me?” he asked. 

“No,” you said. Even though you obviously did. Even though you knew exactly the words you’d said. 

Yunho smiled. “That I could come over any time if I needed something. That you were excited to have a cool, new neighbor.”

You hid your face behind your hands again. “God, that’s so lame.” 

“I thought it was cute.”

“You did not,” you said. 

He took a sip of his wine, eyes not leaving yours as he did. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were certain that this embarrassment was going to kill you. 

“And then you came over whenever you wanted for the rest of forever,” you said. “Just to bother me.”

He laughed again. “I came over because I thought you were cute.”

“I thought you were just trying to get away from the girls in your apartment.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Because they weren’t you.”

You rolled your eyes at him because it was such a line. So something he would say to get what he wanted, to make a girl blush, or make them want him. It was probably something he said to those girls in the bar, to get them to come home with him. Not that he probably had to say much of anything at all. His appearance could do most of the talking. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he said. “I’m being honest here.”

“You are not,” you said. 

His eyebrows raised at your blatant dismissal. “Just because you don’t want to believe me doesn’t make it untrue.”

“Yunho, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” he said. “None of those girls meant anything to me. They knew it. I knew it.”

“How charming,” you said. 

“Are you going to keep judging me for this, or can we move on?” he asked, straight-faced, just as blatant as your words. It must have been the alcohol, making you both so free to talk about what you were really thinking. 

“I’m not judging you for sleeping around. I don’t care about your sex life, Yunho. I really don’t,” you said. “You just can’t expect me to believe that you were thinking about me the whole time. I mean, we didn’t even know each other.”

“I know you wake up at ten on weekdays and eleven on weekends. I know you record more reality TV than any sane person probably should. I know that you like coffee and you hate tea. I know you make a really good old-fashioned. I know you like people. I know you’re kind, but you don’t take people’s shit.”

It was all true. 

“And I know I think about you when you aren’t around. I know that I’m not good enough for you even on my best days.” 

“That’s not true,” you said. “You’re good.”

“Is that why you rejected me?” he asked. 

“No,” you said. “I rejected you because I wanted more than I thought you wanted to give me.”

Something lit up behind his eyes when he smiled. 

The rest of the date went on without incident. You returned to small talk. To easier conversation. To more teasing and taunting. 

When you finally left, both wine drunk and happy, it was with intertwined hands. 

“So nice of you to walk me home,” you joked. 

“Well, I am quite the gentleman,” Yunho said. 

You laughed under your breath. 

“Your place or mine?” you asked as you stepped into the lobby and pressed the button to call the elevator down. 

He looked shocked by this. Like he hadn’t been thinking about it all night, what taking you back to his place would be like. Okay, so maybe he had, but that didn’t mean he was going to act on those feelings. No, he wanted to do this right. 

He didn’t respond fast enough, and it felt like a rejection. 

You played it off. “I just want to make you a drink, Yunho. Don’t be weird,” you said. Even though that wasn’t exactly what you meant. Maybe it meant what he thought it meant. That you were looking for more. 

“Your place, then,” he said, trying to keep the smile off his lips with little success. 

The elevator doors slipped open, and you both stepped inside. 

That same tension returned again. The we-kissed-here tension. 

You were both looking at each other. Wine drunk and smiling. You used your intertwined hands to pull him toward you. He took one confident stride closer. When the doors slid open at your floor, his hands were reaching up to touch your arms, that same darkened look in his eyes. The part of his lips, the way his eyes roamed your face, up and down, unable to stop in any one location. He wanted to kiss you. 

But he remained that step away, instead letting his knuckles glide along your skin. 

You reached out for him, like that first night. Your hands found his lapels as the elevator doors slid closed. You didn’t tug him closer, but just held them. 

He leaned down slowly, eyes shifting between your lips and your mouth. Your lips parted, too, and he captured them like it was an invitation. 

Kissing him felt just as insane every single time you’d done it. There was the urgency and the fear of the first night, the pretending. And days ago, there had only been tenderness in his investigation. This kiss fell somewhere in the middle. 

You could taste the wine on his lips as they moved slowly against yours. He tried to savor every bit of you. But as soon as it was really getting started, he was pulling away, cutting it off. 

Then, his hand intertwined with yours again. He hit a button to make the elevator doors open again, and he led you down the hall, toward your place. 

You wanted to reach for him again, wanted to drag him down for another kiss. But his expression looked like steel. He didn’t look at you, but instead forward at the door while you dug around for your keys. Even when you tried to steal a glance, he didn’t meet it. 

But he let you lead him into your apartment, and once you were inside, he removed his jacket, placing it on the back of one of your chairs. You went to the kitchen, and he followed you, wrapping his arms low around your waist so he could rest his chin on your shoulder. 

It was so domestic that it made your teeth hurt like you were sucking on a sweet candy. 

“What do you like to drink?” you asked. “Do you actually like an old-fashioned, or were you just trying to piss me off?” 

He chuckled in your ear, low and melodic, his breath curling against the shell of your ear. “I like them.”

“But are they your favorite?” you asked. 

“I don’t know if I have a favorite,” he said. 

“Everyone has a favorite,” you said.

“What’s yours?” he asked. “That’s what I want.”

You weren’t going to be able to make anyone anything if he kept holding onto you like that, kept whispering in your ear. 

“I like, um,” you started. “Mai tais. Rum-based drinks in general.” 

“Rum sounds good,” he said. 

You took a step forward, and his arms fell away from you. You collected a few things from the counter, moving them over to the place next to the sink. Yunho stayed close, watching you work as you sliced and juiced a lime. He watched as you filled a shaker with ice and added the ingredients. He watched you shake it, then strain the contents over ice in a lowball glass. He watched as you carefully placed a few cherries atop the drink next to a lime wheel. 

“Wait,” you said. “Finishing touch.” You dug around in a drawer and found a tiny umbrella, which you dropped into the drink for him, before picking it up and handing it to him. 

He took a tentative sip, then smiled. “Damn, that’s good.” 

“Kind of my specialty,” you said, already starting the process over for yours. 

Eventually, the two of you migrated to the couch. You took a seat on the ground, your back to the legs of the couch, your drink on the table adjacent to you. Yunho sat behind you, on the couch itself. 

You already had a controller in your hands, and it didn’t take long before Yunho wandered to the other side of the room to pick up another one. 

While you scrolled through your available games, he said, “Trying to figure out which game you want to lose at?” 

You shook your head, not looking back at him. “Cocky,” you commented. “I think you’ll find I’m better than you think.”

“I play on your account,” he said, which really meant I’ve seen your statistics. 

“Okay, so I’m bad at the games you like to play,” you said. 

He slipped onto the ground next to you. 

“I was thinking something collaborative.” 

You pulled up Overcooked and watched as he rolled his sleeves up. 

“It’s that serious?” you asked, teasingly. 

He laughed. “It’s incredibly serious.” 

You both finished your drinks and played into the middle of the night, yelling at each other about vegetables and recipes. 

It was nearly three in the morning when your eyes started to get heavy, when your head started to hurt, the hangover starting. You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. Neither of you moved for a long time. At some point, his hand came up to stroke long lines into your hair. And when you did, finally, fall asleep like that, he scooped you up and carried you to bed. 

He peeled back the covers and deposited you there, pulling them back up around your body afterward. He pressed a kiss into your hair and disappeared.

When you woke up the next morning, it was to an empty apartment. When you wandered into the living room, there were no empty mai tai glasses to be found, no dishes from your late-night cocktail crafting. Everything was clean and put away. 

You had no choice but to call Jihyo. 

When she answered, it was not with a hello but with the immediate, important questions. “Oh my god, how was it?”

You kicked your feet up on the coffee table, leaned back with arms crossed over your chest, thinking. 

“You’re up later than usual—does that mean it went really well?” Jihyo asked. 

What was this feeling developing in the center of your chest? It couldn’t possibly be disappointment, right? There was nothing wrong with the date. He’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d paid for the meal, walked you home, let you yell at him into the wee hours of the night. He’d even tucked you in and washed your dishes. 

But he’d hardly kissed you. 

“It was… good,” you said. 

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t bad,” you said hastily. “It was really good. It just—I just, I guess I can’t even tell if he really even likes me or not.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

You shrugged, even though Jihyo couldn’t see it. “We kissed again, but that was it—and he didn’t even seem like, eager to continue.”

“That’s… weird,” was Jihyo’s analysis of the evening. You filled her in on the rest of the fine details. The restaurant, the banter, the moments of tension. “Maybe he’s just being careful?” she suggested. “Like he doesn’t want you to think he just wants you for one thing.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe.”

Jihyo laughed. “So what you’re saying is that it was a really good date, but you’re annoyed he didn’t put out?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you said. 

“Kind of sounds like what you’re saying.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you said. 

And you did. 

It wasn’t long before you heard from Yunho again. Before another date was scheduled. Before you were calling Jihyo afterward again to recount the same news. The lack of news. And then it happened again. You were beginning to think the worst, that he didn’t want you. When he pulled away from another kiss on the night of your fourth date, two weeks into whatever it was the two of you were doing together, you threw your hands out in exasperation. 

“Is there something wrong with me?” you asked. 

He folded his arms over his chest. “Hm?” he asked. Then, what you said must have registered with him. “What do you mean?” He might have teased you if you hadn’t sounded so serious. 

You chewed on your bottom lip for a long time, trying to work up the nerve to say the words you really wanted to say. 

“I mean,” you started, but the words died on your tongue. 

He had to know. 

There was no way he didn’t. 

He lifted his hand to your face, curled two fingers under your chin, and lifted, making you hold his gaze. His eyes were sharp, brown, drowning in blown-out pupils. 

“Do you even still like me?” you asked, getting the words out. They weren’t exactly the right words, but the right words made your stomach turn. Even these ones made your heart beat faster, made your fingers twitch. Because it felt so stupid to be asking. Obviously, he liked you. 

And he laughed. 

Because, of course, he laughed. 

It was a stupid fucking question. 

“Of course, I like you,” he said, still holding your chin, still looking at you. Something knowing crossed his features, then, and you wished he would just confirm your worries without you having to actually speak them aloud. 

“Then why don’t you want me?” you asked, voice small and timid. 

His hand moved to the side of your face, his fingers dipping into your hair, holding you. “You think that I don’t want you?” he asked. 

“I mean, it’s the only reasonable explanation,” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“It’s not reasonable,” Yunho said. 

Then, he dropped his hand from your face, slipping his palm into yours instead. He tugged you toward his door, away from your apartment—where he was previously dropping you off for the evening. You don’t even remember what his excuse had been. Something about having to work in the morning. 

You let him lead you down the hall, toward his apartment. You would have followed him anywhere. He didn’t speak, just walked with you trailing behind. The short distance felt so much longer when you had to cross it without knowing what was on his mind. 

As soon as you were inside, the door closed behind you, and he had you pressed against it, the cold metal interior, the doorknob just to the side of your hip. He didn’t kiss you. Just held you caged between his arms, elbows next to your shoulder, forearms resting against the door next to your head. 

You cleared your throat. Breathing felt like an impossibility, like all of the air had been sucked fully and totally out of the room, with his face so close to yours, his eyes studying every movement you made. 

“What were you saying?” you asked, voice just above a whisper. “About it being unreasonable?”

He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and it was so much hotter than it had any reason to be. 

How high did he keep the heat in his apartment? Why did it feel like you were absolutely drenched in sweat? Your hands were clammy, your fingers tense at your side. You didn’t touch him, even though you wanted to. You weren’t afraid of being rejected. You knew that wasn’t what this was, exactly. But you were too curious to move. 

Curious about what he would do—what he wanted. 

Yunho shifted his weight, pressing against the door with one arm, in order to lean slightly back, to run the pads of his pointer and middle finger along your jawline. Your eyes stayed locked on his, watching him as he followed the movement of his hand. They flicked back to you, dark and deep. He cleared his throat, parted his soft, almost heart-shaped lips, to speak. 

“I was trying,” he started, voice still gravely despite his attempt at clearing it. “To be a gentleman.” 

Your lips formed into an oh, and you swallowed thick, trying to gather the confidence to say the next thing. To make the words known. “You don’t have to be.”

His fingers stilled on your jaw, and his dark brown eyes—overflowing with want—caught yours. You tried to keep your gaze neutral, but you could tell by the way he was looking at you that it wasn’t a success. 

One corner of his lips quirked up first, just before the smirk drew across his face. Brows slightly raised, eyes inquisitive. 

He was still so close to you, leaning in just an inch away from your lips. You could have closed the distance if you wanted to, but there was something appealing about this game the two of you had started playing the moment the door to his apartment closed. Like it was something tangible between the two of you that could be grabbed at any moment, but you both tiptoed around it, careful and curious. 

Yunho’s hand fell to your neck, his knuckles dragged downward, skittering over your pulse and making your heart beat faster. 

“So jumpy,” he said. “How long have you been thinking about this?” he asked. “About saying something?” 

Your lips parted, but the confidence in your brain didn’t meet the confidence of the real-life situation, couldn’t face the way he was looking at you. Words died on your tongue, and he looked at you like he could see the entire process. Your struggling only made his smirk more proud. 

“Really interesting,” he said, voice still low and gravely, but soft—too. A tool he used for inspection. “I was trying to be a gentleman for you, and you were thinking about—what?” he asked. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he lowered his lips to the edge of your ear. You tried to collect your thoughts, tried to figure out how to navigate this new situation. This was the Yunho you were more familiar with. The one who poked and prodded at you. Who teased you in the living room, who was downright difficult. 

It was the gentlemanly version of him that you’d been unfamiliar with, that you didn’t know quite how to handle. 

“Oh, now she’s quiet,” he commented. “You had so much to say not even five minutes ago.”

“Five minutes ago, you didn’t have me pressed up against a wall,” you said, trying to steady your voice into something that sounded any semblance of calm, even if you didn’t feel it. 

He slipped his hand into your hair at the base of your neck. “How long have you been thinking about it?” he asked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, tilting your head up as you ran your tongue over your lower lip. 

Yunho laughed dryly under his breath. “Is that right?” 

“That’s right,” you repeated. 

“I was going to be so nice to you, baby,” Yunho whispered, breath curling against your ear. “Was going to treat you so good, too. Now, I’m not sure you deserve it.” 

Your mouth fell open. 

“What?” he asked, pulling back to look at you, to read the shock running its way across your face. “You want to play pretend now—pretend you haven’t been thinking about it, pretend you didn’t just ask. I can play, too.” 

“I just—” you start. “You weren’t—” 

“What wasn’t I doing?” he asked, one brow quirked upward. He wanted actual, tangible answers. 

The way he spoke made everything in your brain stop working. All the lights turned off, and it was just fizzling, crackling energy left behind. Nothing that converted the thoughts into words. You were left just staring at him, mouth opening for a moment before your lips pressed together again. 

Yunho was patient. He didn’t speak. Just kept his hand laced through your hair, kept that same look leveled on you. It didn’t help, but it certainly didn’t hurt, either. 

“Let’s recap,” he said after a moment. “You asked me why I don’t want you. Which, I’m not sure where you got that idea, but that’s not important. And I asked you how long you’ve been thinking about this. And what was it that you said?” he asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

A small smile crept across your lips in delight at the way he spoke, the way his words got faster the more irritated he got with trying to figure you out. It was nice to be the one to get under his skin for once. 

He shook his head in disbelief, but you could see the hint of a smile on his lips, too. He was enjoying this just as much as you were, this back and forth. 

“I don’t,” you said, a proud smile on your lips now. “Know what you’re talking about.”

He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. 

“You know if you keep playing innocent, you’re not going to get what you want. What we both know you want,” he said. 

You pressed your lips into a pout. He couldn’t resist. He removed his hand from your hair and touched the center of your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, dragging gently downward. “You don’t have to pout,” he said. “Just tell me how long you’ve been thinking about it—and don’t lie.”

Speaking didn’t appeal to you. Instead, you parted your lips around his thumb and leaned just slightly forward so the pad landed flat atop your tongue. 

He did it again, ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek in an attempt to mask his frustration. He hummed, a disapproving sound laced with something else. Like he enjoyed it, but didn’t want to indulge. 

“That’s not going to work on me, beautiful,” he said, pulling his thumb slowly out of your mouth. He dropped his hand to the space right below your neck, holding it ever-so-gently. He leaned in slowly, so his lips were only a fraction from yours. 

Your body reacted before you could stop it, leaning slightly forward to try to capture his lips. He pulled back, holding you firm against the door with one hand. “Ah, ah,” he said. 

“You don’t want to kiss me, Yunho?” you asked, pouting. “I mean, I kind of got that impression on our dates, but I thought maybe I was wrong.” 

He ran his tongue over his gums, just under his lower lip, and you could tell you were driving him insane, too. 

But you kept going. “If you don’t really want me, I could just go home,” you said. 

“Never said that,” he said. He took one of your hands, hanging useless at your side, and placed it atop the taut material and the hard length underneath it, lowering his lips to your ear again to whisper, “I want you, but not before you tell me what I want to hear.” 

He didn’t hold your hand to him, but yours lingered, regardless. You moved your palm against him, and he worked hard to keep his expression neutral, to not break immediately underneath your touch. After a few moments, he pulled your hand away, holding it tight in his. 

“Come on, baby,” he said. “How long?” The tip of his nose ran along the shell of your ear, and you shuddered under the sensation. Goosebumps rose on your forearms, and the heat of the apartment had only increased. “How long were you thinking about this while I was focused on treating you right, being a gentleman?” 

He kissed the hinge of your jaw. “I just want to know how long it took,” he said, pressing another kiss lower, along your jawline. “Was it the first date?” he asked. “Or the second?” Another kiss, this time at the top of your neck. You angled your head away from him, giving him better access. He didn’t comment, but you could feel the pride tug at the corner of his lips. “You must have been really frustrated to ask.” He dragged his teeth downward, then bit gently. “Were you frustrated?” 

All the bravado disappeared, and you were left, mouth open, victim to his ministrations, trying to figure out exactly how you could argue against this idea that you had been thinking about him like this nonstop for the past two weeks. 

You could no longer find a good reason to continue frustrating him. 

“The night you drove me home,” you said, your voice just above a whisper, like it was embarrassing to admit. His smile grew against your skin in an instant. 

“Mmm,” he hummed against your skin. “The kiss in the elevator really did it for you?” 

“No,” you said, like it was an instinct to shut him down. 

He only chuckled into the crook of your neck. 

“Is this what I have to look forward to?” he asked. “You being a brat?” 

“No,” you said, cocky smile across your face. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, exasperation seeping into his words, seconds before his lips were on yours. You were all talk. The moment his lips touched yours, you came alive against him. It was a taste of what you wanted, and you immediately didn’t want it to end. You pushed away from the door, letting your arms fall over his shoulders as you pressed your body into his. His hands fell to your waist, then slid around to your back, holding you against him. 

Yeah, sure. Maybe you were impatient. Maybe you’d been thinking about this for weeks. Maybe you didn’t want him to know just how much you’d been thinking about it, how much your body absolutely craved his. But when your hands dropped to the buttons of his shirt, he didn’t complain. He didn’t make you stop to recite the answers to any questions. 

He just smiled against your lips, proud, like he’d won something. 

Your fingers grazed his bare skin as you worked further down. He deepened the kiss, angling forward as he tilted your head back, slipping his tongue between your lips. Yunho’s fingers dug into the cloth covering your hips, and your fingers stalled on his shirt. You reached for his skin instead, wanting to touch anything you could. You put one hand flat on his chest, but he was quick to loop a hand around your wrist and pull it away. 

“Hey,” you mumbled into his lips. 

He gave no response, only laced his fingers through the hand he’d stolen and pinned it back against the door as he continued to kiss you, running his tongue along yours. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said, breaking apart from your mouth, breaths ragged, forehead touching yours. “At anytime,” he said. 

You nodded, but remained silent. Hoping for the continuation of whatever he was doing, his lips on your again, his hands exploring your body. Any of it. You didn’t care. You’d take what he was willing to give. You might even say thank you.

He kissed you again, dragging your lower lip into his mouth as his fingers inched toward the hem of your shirt. One hand snuck underneath it. His knuckles grazed your bare stomach, and you jumped. He smiled into the kiss, and you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. 

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, muttering the words against you between kisses. “I’m barely touching you.”

“I’m fine,” you hissed. His lips found the column of your neck again, however, and you began to question the declaration. 

He chuckled again, letting the sound reverberate through you as his fingers climbed further up your abdomen. 

Your head lolled backward, resting against the door behind you, the rest of your body arched forward into him. 

“You give up on the shirt?” he asked, eyes glancing between the two of you, to the few buttons holding his shirt together. 

“No,” you said. 

His hand still held one of yours pinned to the door. You reached between your bodies with your free one and worked on the button. It kept slipping free from your fingers at the same time as your soft moans. He bit your pulse point, sucking your skin into his mouth gently at first and then harder. Your lids fluttered closed, and the fabric fell out of your hand again. 

“Come on,” he said. 

His other hand slipped under your bra, cupping your breast. You almost had the last button done when his thumb ran over your nipple. “Yunho,” you hissed in annoyance. 

“Want me to stop?” he asked, lifting his lips from your neck just enough to catch your gaze, his thumb still moving back and forth across your nipple inconsistently, making it impossible to get used to. 

“It would be easier,” you said. “If I could use my other hand.” 

“Huh,” he said. “That’s too bad.” Then, he dropped his lips to your neck again, kissing lower, grazing them along the length of your collarbone. 

You finally did get the last button, then used your one free hand to attempt to push the fabric back off his shoulders. You tugged against his hand, trying to free yourself from the grip. He held firm, didn’t even so much as budge. But he felt your attempt, and that had him grinning. 

“Need help?” he asked. 

“Nope,” you said. You had most of his chest revealed, and that was good enough for you. You reached out for it, running just the tips of your fingers down the center. He didn’t stop you this time, letting you explore him. 

He released your hand then, only for his own benefit, to grab the hem of your shirt with both hands and lift it up and over your head. 

You stood apart for a second, looking at one another. His eyes fell to your chest, your cleavage. His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip. You were too busy getting the rest of his shirt off to notice the way he looked at you. 

The break only lasted a moment, but it might as well have been an eternity of not touching one another. Of studying what was before you and wanting it. You both seized forward at the same time, your lips colliding as hands roamed over bodies. Yours found his shoulders, slid down his arms over his biceps, then back up. His went to your waist, around to your back. One fiddled with the strap of your bra before unhooking it in a swift motion. 

He didn’t break the kiss, just took a half-step back as he pulled the straps off your shoulders and down. Once your bra was on the floor in the growing pile of clothes next to you, he pulled away again to look at you. His lips were on your skin again in no time, working downward as his hand moved upward. He rolled one nipple between thumb and forefinger as he kissed a circle around the other. 

Your body tensed under his ministrations, and you were certain this man was going to be the absolute death of you with his knowing looks and his slow touches. Heat started in your stomach and dripped dangerously low at every caress. But you tried to keep your cool, tried to handle it. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being putty in his hands. 

Yunho hummed a sound of happiness as he sucked, flicking your nipple with his tongue. Your hands threaded into his hair. 

His hands fell to your pants, unbuttoning the top button. “Take these off,” he said, and you finished the job, stepping out of them as he kissed back upward, taking his time. His fingers teased at the waistband of your underwear. 

You sucked in a breath, hot and sharp between your teeth. The door pressed cold lines into your back, and Yunho’s fingertips continued to flutter atop the band, teasing. The heat of the moment and the cold of the metal did not grant you equilibrium but only contributed to the building feeling of overstimulation that you know he would absolutely revel in if he could read your mind. 

Maybe he could read your mind, because he smirked against your skin for at least the tenth time in so many minutes, and you were starting to think he knew every nasty thought you’d ever had. 

It was a stalemate, because you knew that he wanted you restless. He wanted you begging. But you didn’t want to voice another word, another request, didn’t want to do what he told you to do. Unfortunately, you also really wanted him to slip his fingers lower. 

He watched you, too, like he knew you were making this calculation. 

He placed his hand across your stomach as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Just say it,” he whispered. “I know you want to.”

He lifted your chin with his fingers as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. His eyes were dark and heavy, full of clear desire. The word no died on your tongue. 

But neither did he wait for you to ask. He held your eye contact as he moved his hand between your thighs, humming as he ran the pads of his fingers along your clothed slit. “Nice and wet for me, hm?” 

He pushed your underwear to the side, dragged his middle finger through your folds, and then slipped it inside of you to the knuckle. 

“See, I can be nice,” he said.

You choked on a gasp and tried to let your head fall back against the door, but he held your chin firm, keeping his eyes on you. He moved his finger slowly as you adjusted. His eyes traced your expression, the subtle part of your lips, the way your eyes rolled slightly backward. And you studied his, too. The hooded gaze as he watched you, the way his smirk got cockier every time you reacted to the movement. 

There was no escaping his careful eye. He caught every soundless gasp, every subtle movement.  

He liked you like this, falling apart and trying to keep yourself together at the same time. Not wanting to give in to him, but wanting everything he had to give. He liked teasing it out of you, that desire. 

Your lids fluttered closed as he stroked just the right spot, curling his finger to meet it. 

“Eyes open,” he said. His voice was firm, but not sharp. Commanding in a gentle kind of way. 

It didn’t make you want to listen. 

“Or what?” you challenged, eyes still closed. 

“Or I’ll stop,” he said. And he did. 

Your eyes flew open, and he couldn’t help the breathy laugh that fell off his lips. 

“You’re trying so hard, baby, but your body keeps giving you away,” Yunho said, a hair away from your lips, before he kissed you. 

He slipped another finger inside of you at the same time, and your body arched forward, your hands reaching for something to hold onto and finding his shoulders with ease. You groaned into his mouth, both at the feeling and his words. 

“God,” you moaned, breaking away from his lips to catch your breath. He didn’t go far, instead dropping his lips to your neck, biting and sucking at your skin until you felt like you were melting. You rolled your hips against his hand, wanting more, and he gave it without a word. His thumb ran over your clit, sending a shudder through your body. “Yunho, oh my god,” you muttered, hands digging into his shoulders. 

It was all too much. His teeth on your neck, his fingers moving fast inside you, curling, and his thumb running circles over your clit at a pace that made everything ache. 

“That feel good, baby?” he asked, voice gravely, breath hot on your neck. 

He didn’t slow his pace, so you could barely voice the words you wanted to say. All that came out was a breathy, “Don’t stop.”

And he was smirking again, running his tongue over your pulse before whispering, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Your hips kept rolling into his fingers, but he managed to keep the dizzing pressure on your clit as you squirmed. He took a step into you, pressing you up against the door again. One of his legs snuck between yours, and he used his upper thigh to hold you in place. 

He had you on the edge, about to teeter over, every muscle in your body so tense you were almost shaking. 

Then, he did exactly what he said he wouldn’t. He stopped. He dragged his fingers out of you slow, removed his thumb from your clit, and met your eyes. He struggled to keep your gaze, his eyes falling to your heaving chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

You groaned and tried to let your head fall back against the door, but he caught it, holding you forward by the neck. 

“Aw, you don’t like being teased, baby?” he asked, looking down his nose at you. 

You whimpered, moving your hips against his thigh in search of something. He only pinned you harder, keeping you from moving at all. 

He lifted his hand, slick with you, and tapped your lower lip. “Open,” he said. 

Your lips fell open, and he placed both of his fingers on the flat of your tongue. You closed your lips around them. He pressed down on your tongue, and you licked from the base of his finger to the tip without breaking the very direct eye contact he made with you. 

“Look at that,” he said. “You can follow directions.” 

You rolled your eyes and bit down gently on his fingers. He hooked his fingertips just behind your teeth and pulled you forward. 

“Mm,” he hummed. “I think I like you like this—unable to talk back.”

You ran your tongue over his fingers again, tried to move your hips again, chasing anything that would give you any kind of satisfaction now that fire danced over every inch of your skin, where he touched you and where he didn’t. 

He pulled his fingers from your mouth slowly as you licked them clean. He replaced his fingers with his tongue, lips crashing into yours—hungrier than before. The entire length of his body pressed up against you, anchoring you in place. You could hardly move between him and the wall, except to reach for him, to grip his arms tight in a grounding kind of way. 

He took a step away from you, dragging his lips from yours like it was the hardest decision he’d ever made. Then, he was grabbing your hand, pulling you deeper into his apartment, past the kitchen, through the living room, toward his bedroom. 

You’d been here before, seen these places before. You’d stalked through his apartment, looking for your fake boyfriend in order to drive off the women he’d slept with, you’d sat on his couch post-date, talking into the late hours of the night. 

The place seemed different now. His bedroom a completely new world. You’d only seen it in the aftermath, or with another woman sprawled out across it, waiting for his return. It was pristine now, the bed made with crisp sheets and a comfortable atop it. Pillows stacked in front of the headboard.

He guided you toward the edge of the bed, and you sat while he towered over you, hands lowering to his belt. You watched with rapt attention, tongue running between your lips. He undid his belt buckle, then the top button of his pants. He worked slowly—slower because he could tell you were watching, waiting. 

Yunho let his pants fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them, and your hands shot out, touching his abdomen but trailing downward for more. You were so interested, so needy. You’d never wanted anyone as much as you wanted him, right then. 

He slipped his hands over yours, and you rolled your eyes before he could open his mouth. 

“Ask for it,” he said, looking down at you. That same smirk playing on his lips. You should have known that being with him would be like this, with all the teasing he did outside the bedroom. All the playful glances he always shot in your direction, all the comments he made. It just never occurred to you that he would be so, well, annoying. 

Why was it so hot, then? If you were so annoyed, why did his words always make that same heat pool between your legs, always make you want him even more? And why did it drive you absolutely insane anytime he asked you anything? 

You pressed your lips into a tight line, determined to be stubborn about this. 

“You don’t have to touch me,” he said. “But if you want to—I’m going to need to hear you ask.” 

He held your hands tight in his to prevent them from going anywhere. 

“You’re—”

“What, baby?” he asked, still looking down at you, not touching you anywhere other than your hands. He cocked his head to the side. “What am I?” 

“Bossy,” you said. “And kind of a pain in the ass.” 

He laughed, a full, deep one that shook his chest. “You want me to stop?” he asked, lifting one hand to tilt your chin upward. “I could be nice to you, instead. Really nice.” 

You hesitated. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said. 

“Shut up,” you said, pushing against his abdomen with your intertwined hands. You grumbled under your breath. You batted your eyelashes at him. “I’d really like to touch you, Yunho. Could I, please?” 

He smirked. “Now, I don’t think you really mean that.”

“Oh, should I get on my knees?” you said, that same expression on your face—fluttering eyelashes, like you’d do anything he wanted if he really wanted it. 

“Only if you want to, beautiful,” he said. He freed your other hand, too. 

You hooked your fingers into the band of his boxers and pulled them down, tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you slid off the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him. He watched, silently, one hand coming up to gather your hair away from your face. 

One of your hands lifted to wrap around him. He was big, you had to admit. And you couldn’t keep the look off your face. Like you were drunk on want. Like he was all you could possibly think about. 

You leaned forward, flattened your tongue against the underside of the tip, eyes flicking up to meet his as you did, watching for a reaction. He didn’t hold back as you did, but let you watch as his lips parted. His hand tightened in your hair, and you gasped as you took him into your mouth—shallow at first, as you got used to the size. 

Slowly, you took him deeper. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re so good.” 

He rolled his hips once, slow, as he held the back of your head. 

“That okay?” he asked, his voice dropping to one much more gentle than how he’d been speaking to you. 

You nodded as best you could with your mouth wrapped around his cock. 

Another slow roll of his hips, and he was reaching your throat. You dropped your hands from him and looked up. You stopped moving, letting him take control instead. He held the back of your head firm and rolled his hips again and again, a little harder each time. 

Each time he hit the back of your throat, your eyes stung. His grip in your hair tightened, and you moaned around him, which only made him thrust into your mouth faster—harder. 

Tears stung in the corners of your eyes, but neither of you stopped. 

“God,” Yunho hissed again, hips bucking, snapping forward into you one more time before he pulled out fast. 

“Get up,” he said, and you stood—no attitude needed. 

He wiped the tears from under your eyes, the drool from your mouth, then spun you around and pressed you down, into the mattress. He reached into the drawer next to his bed, ripped open a condom with his teeth, and rolled it on, keeping one hand on your lower back. 

He guided the tip of his cock to your entrance and dragged it through your folds. “Still so wet, and I wasn’t even touching you,” he said. 

You couldn’t get a single word out. Your face was buried in the bedspread. He pushed just the tip inside of you, and every muscle in your legs went taut, seizing up. 

“Relax, baby,” Yunho said, moving forward another inch, reveling in the stretch, the feeling of tightness as you clamped down hard around him. Your hands were already balled into the fabric next to you, your teeth already biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep from whimpering. You pushed back against him, trying to get more. 

His hands came up to hold your hips, preventing you from moving. He slid forward another inch, slowly, enough to make you ache. 

“Please,” you begged, needing all of him way faster than he was willing to give it. 

You could practically hear the smirk appear behind you as he rolled his hips forward into you, filling you up. 

A jagged gasp escaped your lips. You could feel him pulsing inside of you, twitching, betraying his resolve. But he didn’t move. He kept one hand on your hip, then ran the other down your spine, making you shiver. 

“Yunho,” you whimpered. 

“Something you want, hm?” he asked, voice low and dark, like he was holding back from what he wanted, too, just to break you down even further. 

You gritted your teeth. “Yes,” you said, forcing the word out. 

He traced lazy circles on your back. “Tell me.” 

“Yunho,” you moaned again, trying to move your hips against them again. 

He stilled them once more. “I want to hear you say it.” 

“Say what?” you teased—only punishing yourself. 

He shifted only slightly, enough to remind you what you wanted. He grabbed your shoulder, pulled you back against him, pushing his cock even deeper into you, making you gasp into the blankets. “Tell me what you want from me.” 

“God, Yunho,” you muttered, thighs starting to shake. “I want you,” you said. “I don’t know—I want you, I just want you.” 

He laughed dryly under his breath and rewarded you with a slow roll of his hips. “Not specific enough,” he said. 

You groaned again, exasperated and desperate. 

“I don’t—” you started, another slow, agonizing thrust. “I don’t—” 

“You know,” he said. “You just don’t want to say it.”

He pulled out of you slow, then snapped his hips forward, taking you to new levels of desperation. 

“You’re—” you stumbled over your words. “You’re being so mean.”

He stilled again, giving you time to process, to think. He massaged circles into your hip with his palm. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Yes,” you said, through gritted teeth. He started slow again, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that fell off your lips immediately, giving you away. “I want you so bad, please. Yunho, please,” you begged. 

He didn’t move. 

“What do you want me to say?” you hissed, irritated. “That I want you to fuck me until I see stars?” 

His fingers dug into your hip, and you knew you’d hit the mark. 

“Look at you, so good with your words,” he commented. 

His hips snapped forward again, deeper this time, faster. He established a rhythm. “Fuck—” you started, only to be interrupted by your own gasps. “You.” 

He slammed into you until you were stuttering, barely even able to say his name or mutter any other profanities. Your thighs were still shaking, legs tense and tight, especially as you arched into him, standing on your toes to lift your ass even higher. He put his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place before him, not letting you shift forward with every thrust—instead taking all of him with each deep stroke. 

It didn’t take long for you to start crumbling against him. He’d had you on the line for a long time, and your body could hardly take it anymore. Your thighs clenched, walls slamming down around him. 

“You wanna come, baby?” he asked, voice soft and deep, just above a whisper. You could hear the desire dripping from it, and it only made it more difficult to hold back. 

You nodded, whimpering as he kept up the pace, holding you and slamming forward again and again. He reached forward and grabbed your hair at the root, pulling you back. Your fingers tightened in the bedspread as the orgasm crashed into you, over you, through you, and you pressed yourself back against him as hard as you could, taking everything he could give as everything tightened so hard it was nearly unbearable. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed as you came undone, falling limp beneath him. His pace slowed into long, languid strokes before he pulled out. 

With his hands on your hips, he turned you over, and you let him. Your face was flushed, your chest hot and red, your lips swollen from earlier kisses, and your hair a mess from his hands. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said. 

You let out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to his cock, still hard. You must have read his mind, because as he crawled onto the bed toward you, you moved away, sliding up so you could rest your head atop the pillows. 

Your knees were folded up, thighs pressed together. 

He slipped a hand on the inside of your knee and pushed them open so he could crawl between, moving up your body. Your hands went to his shoulders immediately, looking for something to grab before he touched you anywhere. 

Yunho pressed a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, the side of your nose. 

“Can you take more, baby?” he asked. 

You nodded, lip between your teeth. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that?” he asked. 

You shook your head, and he laughed, dropping his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss, such a stark difference from the previous few and their feverish nature. 

He slipped a hand between your bodies, slipping a finger inside of you quickly, in and then out, before lining himself up with your entrance again. You sucked in a breath before he even moved. In one fluid motion, he sheathed himself fully inside of you. You shared the same gasp, mangled between kisses. 

Everything felt immediately intense. Each stroke lighting a new fire. He seemed intent on wrecking you completely, because his fingers moved quickly to find your clit. He put pressure on it with two fingers, letting the movement of his thrusts provide the friction. 

He sat up and pulled your hips down on him as he slid into you over and over again. 

“Yunho, oh my god,” you said through heavy breaths, the combination of sensations making you dizzy, making it difficult to keep your eyes open. 

Your sounds only encouraged him further, and soon his own grunts joined with your moans. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, not stopping to give you a second to calm down, only taking the sensation higher and higher. You squirmed, trying to get away from him, trying to stop the overstimulation, the feeling of everything being encompassed in wet, hot fire, but he didn’t let you move an inch. 

You threw your head back against the pillow in defeat, letting your hips roll against his. He lifted one of your legs, leaning it against his shoulder as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You had to close your eyes—and he didn’t stop you, didn’t demand your attention, just kept touching and thrusting, and holding you until it was all too much. 

“I can’t—” you started, hips stuttering as your core tightened impossibly, strangling him inside of you. He groaned as you came, and you felt him twitch inside of you at the same time as he fucked you through your second orgasm of the night, until you were lying nearly boneless beneath him. And then he was still, too, collapsing on top of you, gathering you into his arms. 

You breathed heavily together for some time. Yunho pressed soft kisses to whatever skin he could reach and smoothed your hair away from your face. 

It was a long time—intertwined just like that—before he got out of bed to clean up. As soon as he returned, it was to gather you into his arms all over again, to hold you flush against his skin, to kiss your lips soft and slow. 

“That was—” you started, even though there were no words in the known world to finish the sentence properly. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Really was.”

You nestled your face deeper into his neck, and he held you even tighter, like he was worried you were going to go somewhere. 

When he spoke again, it was quiet, just above a whisper. “I really like you, you know.” 

You peeled away from him enough to catch his eyes. There was a bit of worry in them. Your hand shot out to touch his cheek. 

“I really like you, too,” you said. 

He cleared his throat. “Haven’t really—you know, dated anyone,” he said. “In a while.”

The words hung between you for some time. 

“I want to, though. I mean, I want to keep dating you,” he said. 

You laughed under your breath. He was cute when he was flustered. “Good,” you said, touching the tip of his nose with yours before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I want that, too.” 

“Sex was that good, huh?” he teased, and you pushed his shoulder. “Kidding.”

“It was good, though,” you said, pointedly. “But that’s not the only reason. A silver lining, definitely.” 

You tucked your head back into the crook of his neck and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you, thinking this is a good thing, and wondering how you were ever anything other than completely enamored by him. 

[studioeisa]

it’s kind of a funny story 🫧 seungcheol x reader.

just when you think your walk of shame couldn’t get any more shameful… 

★ word count: 1.1k ★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. no explicit smut, but implied sexual content told through flashbacks so! mdni! + romance, humor, fluff -ish. alternate universe: non-idol, mentions of alcohol. ★ footnotes: this is for the loml, @heartepub! (prompt was also from her) nooo viv don't die from thesis you're so sexy aha... 💙

There are three things you register when you wake up.

First: It’s cold. There’s sunlight streaking through the windows and you’re under a blanket— which is decisively not yours, by the way— yet you’re freezing, chilled to the bone. The answer to that question brings you to realization number two. 

You’re stripped down to your underclothes. Every inch of your body is rebelling at you for your mistreatment. The copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed the night before, the consequences of that raging bender. All of which leads to the last but not the least of the facts— 

There’s an arm around your waist, a solid weight pressed against your back. It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to put a name to the body curved around you like a parentheses. 

Cheol, he had told you on the dance floor, his eyes glinting under the low lights. Seungcheol, if you want this to be more than a one-time thing. 

It’s ridiculous, how that sad excuse for a pick-up line had drawn you in. Your memories of last night are a blur. Flashes of hands, of lips, of Seungcheol’s low voice coaxing you apart like a prayer.

Carefully, you peel yourself from the bed. Your body aches in seven different places. Inasmuch as you want to blame all the Long Island iced teas and Cuba libres you’d downed, you know it has less to do with that and everything to do with the man you’re about to walk away from. 

Seungcheol is still asleep, his face buried into his pillow. His chest rises and falls with a kind of steadiness that makes it hard to believe how utterly reckless he’d been with you just hours ago.

All of that blurs together, too. There’s bits and bobs of it in your mind’s eye: His hand in your hair, your knees on the carpet. You wince.

You try to not make any noise as you clean up. This was the name of the game, after all. This was going to be a story you tell your friends on your way home, a tale regaled via a long-winded voice note. An uptick in your body count. Another reason why you should never drink beer before liquor. 

Your dress is crumpled on the floor. You go to pick it up—

The zipper is shredded.

The seam, split clean down the back.

What the fuck. 

Your pulse hammers as you hold up the ruined garment, blinking like that’ll somehow fix it. It’s not like the dress holds any sentimental value. You’d bought it online specifically for your night out, had prepared to outgrow it in a year or two. You didn’t think you’d only get one wear out of it. 

The dress’ demise comes back to you slowly. Seungcheol’s impatient hands, the desperate way he had tugged the fabric when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. 

You remember the way his muscles had rippled underneath the low light. The faint sound of tearing. His muttered curse, his half-hearted apology said right before he dove in to relish in the newly-revealed skin. You’d been too far gone to care, then. 

Now, though? Oh, you care.

You’re still gaping at the dress when you hear the bed creak. “Good morning, beautiful,” the culprit grouses. 

You can tell that it’s his usual pleasantry, his typical cheeky greeting to all of his conquests. All that bravado fades, though, when you face him with the tatters of your dress still in your hand.

“Ah, shit.” Seungcheol’s voice is raspy from alcohol and sleep. He props himself up on his elbows, and— to give him some credit— he looks genuinely repentant. 

His hair is a mess; his face, already a deep red as he registers what you’re holding. 

“I— I can pay for that,” he stutters.

It’s almost comical, really. This is the same man who had you writhing underneath him, who had whispered pure filth into the crook of your neck. Now, he was blushing like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar. 

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, like you haven’t quite decided if you’re going to be angry or laugh. “I don’t even think a tailor could save this.” 

Seungcheol rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know what came over me,” he groans.

One of your eyebrows cock upwards. “I think you do.” 

He peeks at you between his fingers. You watch the way his throat bobs as his gaze flickers over your bare legs, the marks he left blooming across your skin. Claims he shouldn’t be able to make, and yet he’d gone and taken all the same. 

“It’s not funny,” he says into the heel of his palm, but he’s already grinning despite his voice remaining low and rough. 

“It’s kind of funny,” you counter. 

You let the ruined dress drop to the floor. It looks even more pitiful as it pools around your feet, and Seungcheol’s jaw ticks at the blatancy of his misgivings. 

“That’s never happened before,” he notes. Despite the fact he looks worse for wear, you can decipher the sincerity behind his words. 

This was not part of the plan, not a plot point in the usual story. Both of you were far more accustomed to clean cuts. One-night stands with no promises; quiet come-and-go’s. 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, fingers curling in the sheets. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you just know he’s contemplating his next course of action. Loaning you some of his spare clothes would be the way to go. He could also—

Seungcheol’s voice drops like a weight. “You could… stay a little longer.” 

Until what, exactly, you’d love to know. Is he planning a same-day delivery for a replacement dress? Does he intend to hold you hostage until he’s a little more willing to send you off in a shirt he can bear to lose? 

You should be pissed. You should scold him, should rummage through his cabinet yourself and be on your merry way. The name of the game. 

But the way he’s looking at you— wrecked and wanting, like he might split apart if you walk out his door— makes it impossible to do anything but crawl back into his bed. 

He’s still embarrassed. You can tell from the way he tenses when you kiss him, the way his fingers barely ghost over your hip. Seungcheol tastes like cola, like something distinctly him, and like The Biggest Mistake You’re Ever Going To Make. 

To hell with it. 

“Try not to wreck the only clothes I have left,” you say against his mouth, “Seungcheol.” 

You feel his smile instead of seeing it. The way his lips curl around yours, pleased at your choice.

He tugs at the waistband of your underwear, his touch a lot more gentle than last night. As he pulls it off, he mumbles, “No promises.” 

[rain-water-flowers]

Impossible

Synopsis: You and Anton are enemies; the tension between you is constantly charged while competing, but when you're put in the same hotel for a competition, there's not much holding either of you back from breaking that tension.

WC: 5.8k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), trash talk, dirty talk, competitive tension, sexual tension, swimmer anton, condescending Anton, kissing, bruising, fingering, anton is very well endowed, praise, slight degradation, profanity, begging, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, angel, etc.), breeding, creampie, overstimulation, forced orgasm, hinted somnophilia, lmk if i missed anything

A/N: First fic of the RIIZE masterlist, I wrote this a while ago, but I've been itching to share it. I'm very behind on my series, so I'm currently working on it...that being said...Idk when I'm gonna write my next RIIZE fic. Thank you, @midnighthazee, for beta reading.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅-`✮´-⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

There were too many noises, the sounds of the whistle blowing through the air and the swimmers taking off into the water. There was chatter from each of the teams, making the environment seem louder. 

Your coach turns to you to speak, getting his familiar pep-talk ready. “You’ve done this a hundred times. This isn’t anything new. Trust your start, keep your rhythm, and finish strong. You know you’re good — now just go out there and show it.”

You nodded curtly and walked over to your position, the tile beneath your feet is cold and slick with water, but you barely feel it. Your heartbeat is louder than the crowd now, thudding steadily in your ears as you step toward the block. 

You exhale once, sharp and steady, then lift your gaze.

And there he is. 

Anton is already at his block, rolling out his shoulders and infuriatingly calm – as he usually is before a race. His body is all lean lines and strong muscles, but tense. His teammates watch from behind him, trading jokes and last-minute advice, but Anton isn’t really paying attention to any of it. 

He’s too busy looking at you. 

It’s quick, a flicker of his attention locking onto yours almost like it's purely instinctual. His gaze makes a nauseous twist sit in your stomach. His lips lift just barely, an infuriating smirk on his face. Provoking you. 

Maybe it was a challenge, maybe an invitation for something else. You couldn’t tell. You never could with him. 

You force your chin up, refusing to be the one who looks away first. Not today. You held his gaze, refusing to let the flicker of smugness in his eyes burrow further beneath your skin. Anton didn’t blink, didn’t look away, not even when the starter's voice rang out in the humid air calling your attention. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, sizing you up – likely to see if you were the same girl he had beaten last month. He seemed to think he had you all figured out when he broke his gaze and let out a little chuckle to himself. 

The air was thick with the smell of chlorine and the adrenaline coursing through you. 

The whistle blew, the shrill sound cutting through the strong tension between the two of you. You got into position, your muscles coiled tight and ready. For a half-second, your focus drifted back to Anton, the cocky little tilt of his head and the flex in his own muscles as he took position. 

The buzzer sounded. 

You launched yourself, the world narrowing down to the rush of air and the cold feeling of the water on your skin. 

______

You barely had time to breathe and relish in your victory before Anton found you by the bleachers with your team. He started making his way over with the same infuriating smirk that was always on his face. Your skin was still wet as you met him halfway, not wanting your teammates to hear the bullshit he was most likely about to say. 

“Congrats,” he drawled, voice low. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Must’ve been luck, hm?” 

Gosh, he was insufferable. Your cheeks felt hot. 

You glared, pretending you didn’t notice the way his gaze slid over you. You also pretended you didn’t notice the way your skin prickled, blaming it mostly on the water giving you temporary hypothermia. 

“Luck?” you scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “You can call it whatever you want.” Your voice surprised you – a little more breathless than you intended, but solid. 

Anton stepped closer, his presence cutting off the noise of the pool and the shouts of your teammates. You could smell the hint of chlorine and his body wash still clinging to him. For a second, you wondered if anyone was watching from the bleachers. If they could see your tense body language. It would be just your luck to have someone catch you even slightly flustered. 

“Or maybe you’ve just been watching me too much,” you added when he didn’t respond, your chin lifted. 

His mouth curved. It was most definitely a challenge. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said softly, but his gaze lingered on your lips. “I just like knowing you’re not as good as me. Makes it easier to win.” 

He was so close now, the heat of his body radiant against your skin. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you could feel it in your throat. 

You knew the smart thing to do would be to brush him off and walk away, remind him that he’s just a smug asshole who has nothing better to do than annoy you. But you didn’t. You stood your ground, matched him glare for glare, your lips tingling from the way his eyes kept sweeping over them.

“Oh is that what happened today?” you sneered, the words coming out lower than you intended. “Becuase it looked like you were chasing me for a while there. Couldn’t catch up?” 

He laughed, but the sound was softer than you’d expected. You saw his jaw flex, and for a moment the competitive edge in his eyes shifted to something else. Something heavier, darker, and more personal. 

Before you could analyze the look in his eyes, your coach’s voice sounded in your ears, telling your team to pack it up so that you could head out. 

Anton blinked slowly, a lazy grin curling at his lips before he stepped back, leaving you with your pulse jumping and a flush high on your cheeks. You turned and walked away, not daring to look over your shoulder even though you could feel his eyes burning between your shoulder blades. 

Your team packed up, voices buzzing with post-race adrenaline and stupid gossip. The van ride back to the hotel was a blur of tired limbs and damp towels. Only when you stepped into the lobby did you realize Anton and his teammates were sprawled across the armchairs in the lobby, looking perfectly at home. 

Of fucking course. Just your luck. 

Your team found their own places to sit while your coach checked you in. You didn’t dare go anywhere close that asshole, but you could feel his heated gaze on you, never leaving. 

Your coach walked back up to your group and started handing out room keys. 

“Now, since there’s an odd number of us, someone gets their own room.” He grunted out. Your other teammates immediately started asking for it, not wanting to share a room with anyone else. You were too distracted by the gaze on you to partake in the begging. 

“Now, now, I’m giving it to our winner for today. She deserves it.” He said, handing the key out toward you and snapping you out of your daze. You smiled tightly and took the key card from him, your other teammates jokingly booing at you. You laughed and flicked some of them off. 

As you and your team walked up to your floor, you still felt those eyes on you, except this time you didn’t acknowledge him. 

You made your way down the corridor, damp hair still slinging to your neck, the low hush of your teammates' voices fading behind you as you drifted further from their cluster. The key card was thick between your fingers and you spun it around and around, unable to keep the restless energy from your hands or the sense of being watched from crawling up your spine. 

You told yourself you didn’t care. You had beaten him. You’d gotten the solo room. He could look all he wanted. 

The hallway was quiet, carpet muffling your footsteps and the air thick with the lingering scent of pool chemicals and the faint trace of someone’s cologne. Maybe his. You shoved that thought right back down where it came from and pushed your door open. 

The room was bright, a single bed crisply made, and silent except for the echo of your heart in your chest. 

You kicked your shoes off, dropped your bag by the desk, and peeled off your jacket. The adrenaline from earlier was still slightly there, and you sighed as you checked your phone for any new notifications. 

The knock at the door had your head snapping up from your phone to the door. 

They’re already knocking at the door? You saw them two minutes ago.

When you got to the door you pulled on the handle and opened it, ready to make a teasing remark at your teammate about already missing you. Only it wasn’t your teammate. It was Anton. 

He stood in your doorway, as if he belonged there. As if he’d been invited, when you both knew he hadn’t. He filled the space with unapologetic energy, one arm braced casually against the doorframe, his body still lean and strong and his hair slightly darker, like yours, from lingering moisture. The smell hit you: chlorine, the clean scent of his bodywash, and that cologne, subtle and sharp and unmistakably him.

You blinked. For a breathless second, neither of you spoke.

He smiled, slow and deliberate, with a hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes. “Expecting someone else?” His voice was deep, edged with laughter.

You leaned your shoulder against the door, half blocking his view of the room. “You must be lost. The asshole convention’s down the hall.”

He huffed a short laugh, not moving. “I thought I’d congratulate you properly.” His eyes flicked from your face to your neck, to your collarbone. You felt the heat of his gaze like he was physically touching you. For a second, neither of you moved. The air between your bodies felt charged, riddled with tension and something else you couldn’t and didn’t want to name. 

“Funny,” he said, his voice lowering. “But I’m right where I want to be.”

You rolled your eyes, but the gesture felt weak even to you. Up close, his presence was suffocating. The width of his shoulders blocked out the hallway light. His arm, still braced against the doorframe, caged you even as you stood your ground.

“Congratulations delivered. You can go now,” you said, keeping your tone even, your chin up. But you didn’t close the door.

He tilted his head, studying you, and you realized he saw right through the confidence act. “You always this polite to your fans?” he asked, and the words made your skin crawl with irritation. 

But you didn’t take the bait. Instead, you fixed him with that look you’d perfected over the years of racing side-by-side – sharp, unimpressed. He leaned in, just enough that you could see the pretty shade of brown in the details of his eyes, and for a moment you allowed yourself to breathe him in.

“Only the ones who lose as pathetically as you,” you shot back, the words coming out huskier than you meant. It was impossible to ignore the way his eyes darkened at that, the twitch of his jaw as he processed your nearness. He was so close you could count the freckles across his collarbone, could see the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

He didn’t move back, but stepped closer, shifting his weight so that his hips brushed the edge of the door. His arm remained above your head, effectively pinning you in place, but you didn’t shrink away. You could feel the tension in his stare.

It vibrated between you, not quite touching, but almost – like electricity.

You licked your lips. His gaze tracked it, sharp and intent. Every sensible thought in your head told you to make a snarky comment and slam the door in his face, but you just… didn’t. Maybe you liked the way the air got thick when he stepped this close, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to you, just for you. Even if every word was meant to rile you up.

You wondered if he could see your pulse beating in your throat. It felt obvious, loud, like it was beating for his attention.

Anton dropped his face a little nearer, the shadow of his jaw cutting a clean line only inches from yours. “Go on, then,” he murmured, voice low. “Prove you’re better, yeah?”

The words set something wild loose in your chest, and you felt something pulse inside you. You should’ve laughed. You should’ve pushed him out, locked the door and gone straight to the shower and then to bed. But here you were, pulling him into your room and slamming the door shut behind him. 

He barely had a chance to react before you shoved him back, hard, the force of it sending his spine gently to the wall. You caught the flash of surprise in his eyes, but it only made his mouth curve higher. For a second, neither of you moved; you just stood together in that bright, silent room, close enough that your breaths mingled and the tension between you felt raw and almost physical.

He looked at you, really looked, heat pooling in his gaze, and you realized with a fierce jolt that he wanted this as badly as you did. You pressed forward, erasing the last bit of space, and kissed him.

It was nothing like you’d imagined—not soft, not tentative, but fever-hot and reckless, hungry and desperate and the taste of chlorine and him. He caught your lower lip between his teeth, sharp with need, and you felt his hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin.

You let him, for just a moment, because it felt good and right and you wanted to hear what he’d do if you stopped pretending to hate his guts. 

But you didn’t give him all the control – not for a second. You pushed up on your toes, kissed him harder, your mouth parting under his, and the soft surprised sound he made vibrated straight through your chest and down in between your legs. 

His hands slid lower, splaying over your hips and dragging you flush against him, and you knew he was just as breathless and done for as you. 

He kissed like he competed: relentless, greedy, all-consuming. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, not gentle, and he groaned against your mouth, one palm fisting the back of your shirt to pull you impossibly closer. 

The tension was so messy, and when your fingers tangled in his still-damp hair, tugging, he broke away just enough to let out a shaky breath against your cheek. 

You didn’t wait for him to say anything clever. You nipped sharply at his jaw, felt the muscle tense under your teeth, and heart the way his breath hitched. He chased your mouth, catching it again, but you tugged him back by his hair and continued your attack on his neck. 

You could feel the coiled tension in Anton’s arms, the way his fingers curled possessively around your hips, and the way his mouth kept trying to find yours hungrily. 

“Didn’t expect this to be your way of proving you’re better,” he said, a smirk on his mouth and his voice soft against your ear, “is it my turn yet?” 

You scoffed, let your teeth find his earlobe for just a second, sharp enough to make his take in a harsh breath, before you eased back just barely enough to meet his eyes. 

Anton’s hands tightened on your hips once more, bruising, like he was fighting the impulse to just take. The thought made you feel hot and dizzy. 

You wanted him, you wanted this, and the need was suddenly so sharp it scraped through your composure. You dragged Anton toward the bed, not caring how graceless it looked. 

His lips were on yours again, and your hands yanked desperately at the hem of his shirt. He returned the favor, fingers rough and greedy, hauling your clothes over your head and discarding them somewhere behind you. 

Everything was teeth and tongue and fumbling hands, hips bumping against the edge of the bed as the both of you reached for each other's bare skin. You laughed breathlessly when you finally got his shirt off, immediately eating him up with your eyes. You saw him half naked during competitions all the time, but it was different in this context – almost like you were truly seeing him. 

His eyes were devouring you. His hands were already sliding up to your chest, groping you as if he needed to touch every inch at once. You were pressed so close there was no space left at all. 

You felt Anton's fingers drag down your stomach, a rough, greedy slide that had you shivering and arching into his touch. 

“Look at you, already desperate for it,” he murmured, a smug, dark laugh pressed against your neck. He didn’t wait for you to respond, just slipped his hand between your legs, cupping you through your underwear. His fingers stroked you, slow at first, then harder, until you gasped against his mouth. 

“Knew you’d be greedy,” he said softly. “Could feel you looking at me all day. But I didn’t think you’d be this fucking wet, sweetheart.” The words made you clench around nothing, not even able to form a response, and when he finally slid your panties aside and pushed his fingers inside you, you nearly sobbed. 

He stretched you ruthlessly, thumb rubbing hard circles and making you squirm. He ran his other hand down to your waist, pushing down and holding you in place. 

“Please, I need- please…” you begged, needing him inside of you. 

His lips turned up into that infuriating smirk you love. He could tell you just wanted him to fuck you already. 

“I’ve gotta stretch you out first, angel. You can’t take all of me without it.” He said, so soft it was barely above a whisper. You couldn’t catch the hint of condescendence in his tone, you were too far gone already.  

You whined and whimpered until you felt pressure building in your stomach. Anton’s fingers kept their steady pace, his thumb working those intense circles on your clit until you shattered against his hand, his voice gentle and reassuring in your ear. 

“That’s right, show me how good you are. Bet you’ve never cum this fast for anyone else,” he breathed into your ear, and the words burned straight through you. 

You arched helplessly, muscles clenching around his fingers, your body already trembling with aftershocks and the humiliation of how easy he made it look. But you didn’t care – you wanted more, all of it, especially when his mouth found yours again, almost tender now, as if he was tasting just how desperate you were. 

You barely registered the way he manhandled you up onto the bed, dragging you higher so you sprawled beneath him, your legs open and shivering as he slotted his hips between them. 

You could feel his cock, hard and heavy, pressed right against you through his still-clinging briefs. He made no secret of how desperate he was, grinding into you just once, slow, so you could feel every inch. 

You reached for him without thinking, your fingers yanking the waistband down, impatient, and he let you, watching you through his lashes, his eyes heavy and blown as you freed him. 

He groaned softly, the pleasure in his eyes so vivid and unrestrained in the way he looked at you. You wrapped your fingers around him before you even thought about it, desperate to feel his weight and how hard he was for you. 

Anton was so thick and hot against your palm, and his hips jerked forward, the motion desperate and hungry. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely more than a groan, and you felt it everywhere, your body tightening with a new frantic need to have him inside of you. 

He caught your wrist and pinned it above your head, holding you there with holding you there with unsurprising ease. It was primal, the way he wanted to control the pace, and the way he didn’t want to give an inch without making you work for it. 

He finally pulled your panties off, your wetness sticking to them and making them practically see through. He threw them where his pants were on the ground, smirking at you. “I’m keeping those for later.” 

You rolled your eyes and tugged at his shoulders. “Just fuck me already. Please I’m so…please, Anton.”

He bit his lip at the sound of his name, the way it rolled off your tongue in that needy tone, and he swore he would’ve snapped and eaten you up right then and there if it weren’t for his impeccable control. 

“Say it again for me.” He demanded. He definitely wasn’t asking, and he made that clear through the look in his eyes. 

Your own eyes fluttered, breath sharp in your chest. “Anton,” you repeated, and it came out just as thin and just as desperate as the last time. “Please. I need you so bad.”

He looked at you like you’d never been rivals at all m and stripped away the last inch of space between you bodies. His hips slotted flush against yours. He lined himself up at your entrance, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, lubing himself up with all of your slick. You could feel the thick head of his cock pushing, just barely there, not enough, just a tease. 

He leaned over you, his mouth grazing the edge of your jaw, his voice hungry and rough. 

“Good girl.” The praise seared through your nerves. “You want it so bad, don’t you? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t stand tomorrow?”

You nodded, too far gone for words. He grinned that pretty grin of his – all teeth and dimples – and bit his lip. 

He pressed into you. The slight stretch burned, his fingers only helping so much from how thick he was. 

You gasped, the sting of the stretch punching the breath out of you, his cock pressing into you slow and relentless. Anton watched you with a dark, greedy intensity, like he was cataloging every twitch, every whine, every whimper. He eased forward, sinking deeper, the drag of him inside you obscene.

Your thighs were shaking from how good he filled you up. His grip on your waist was bruising, and somewhere in the back of your mind you hoped the marks would show for more than just a few days. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his forhead pressing to yours. You could feel him trembling slightly, his restraint becoming thinner and thinner. He wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t rush, letting you feel every deserved inch as he bottomoned out, hips flush to yours, bodies fused together. 

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He smirked, feeling your cunt squeeze impossibly tighter around him. It was taking every single atom in his body to not pound into you right then and there. 

His hips have a shallow, testing thrust. The friction was dizzying; you arched into him chasing it, desperate for more.

“Look at my pretty girl, hm?” Anton murmured, voice thick with hunger. “Taking it so well for me.” His breath was hot against your cheek, his body bracketed over you. You wanted every bit of him. You wanted him to leave you shaking and full and ruined. 

He pulled out to the tip, slow, and pushed back in so deep you thought he might be rearranging your guts. Each thrust was deliberate, hard enough to jolt the headboard and send a filthy noise into the echoey hotel room. 

You clung to him, nails raking his shoulder blades, and he groaned at the sting, rutting against you harder. The world blurred to the heat of his skin, the weight of his body on yours, and the slick friction with every roll of his hips. 

You tried to fight the sounds spilling from your lips, but it was useless – the moans, the needy, desperate whimpers. Anton ate up every sound, his mouth finding your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp and clench around his pulsing cock. 

“Wanna fill you up so bad. You like this don’t you?” he panted against your throat. He was getting talkative, and that made you think maybe he was going to cum soon. “I know you do, baby. I know.” 

You shuddered, unable to hide it, your legs locking hard around his waist. You wished you could say something – beg for something, dirty talk to him too – but nothing was making its way out of your mouth except the punched out little moans from his deep thrusts. 

The sound you made on a particularly harsh thrust was almost embarrassing, but Anton drank it in, his hips grinding deep and slow, the drag thick and obscene. He kept you pinned with one big hand, the other moving possessively over your throat and jaw. Not tight, just enough to remind you who had you, who was inside you, stretching you so wide it left you breathless. 

“You’re so needy for it, fuck. You keep squeezing me like that, I’m gonna cum.” 

You tightened around him again, just to feel how his hips stuttered inside you, his control fraying with every wet, slick thrust. You wanted to see him lose it, wanted to ruin him the way he’d already ruined you, so you let your hips rock up, catching the thick grind of his cock just perfectly. The sound he made was so raw, desperate. 

“Yeah?” you whispered, voice trembling but so fucking proud. “You gonna cum inside me, Anton?” You said his name like a taunt – or a promise – your lips brushing his jaw, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt and sweat where his pulse pounded. 

“Angel,” he gritted out, mouth hungry on your neck. “You feel so good, you have no idea.” He moaned, hand tightening at your throat just slightly, his big palm spanning across your jaw and cheek as he fucked into you rougher, harder, like he needed to imprint you on every part of his body. 

Anton’s other hand tightened on your hip, possessive. “You gonna take it for me?” he rasped against your mouth, his breath coming out in rough pants. “Let me fill you up?”

You nodded, dizzy, your entire body strung out and your mind gone with all of your thoughts. 

He watched you through hooded, hungry eyes, the lines of his face sharp with focus and something primal. He wanted you full and messy and gasping, and he wasn’t shy about it. With every thick, punishing thrust, he brought you closer to the edge, body pinning you hard to the mattress, his voice rough, but with a certain softness to it, in your ear. 

“That’s it, fuck…Let me feel you.” His hand slid from your throat to your jaw, his thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth, demanding, obsessive, yours to bite or suck or moan around if you dared. 

You did, lips parting so he could press his thumb inside. You sucked at it, greedy, eyes fluttering shut from the obscene pleasure of being taken this way, and Anton nearly came inside you right then and there. 

He swore, voice guttural against your skin, and the pace of his thrusts stuttered for a split second as you sucked at his thumb, greedy and shameless. He seemed to savor it, every slick pull of your mouth, and his hips surged forward with a new, frenzied need. The way he filled you was devastating and relentless – a slow, thick grind that made your entire body tighter in anticipation. 

“Such a good fucking girl, hm? So pretty, so fucking needy for me.” he whispered, forhead pressed to yours, obsession and awe wound together in every syllable. 

“Don’t stop, fuck, please- don’t stop.” You begged, your words slurring together and barely making it out of your mouth. You were so close to coming and you could tell it would be intense. 

The tension inside you built sharp and unyielding, pleasure turning molten, until you could barely hold yourself together. Anton’s body pressed you down, thick cock stretching you so perfectly, and the bed creaked beneath every rough thrust. His thumb dragged out from your mouth, wet with your spit, and he pressed it to your lips, watching the way you chased the touch, needy and shameless. 

The only sound in the room was broken breathing and the slap of skin, the wet pulse of your cunt around him, and the way you whimpered when he hit just right, over and over. You were making him lose his control and his restraint with every squeeze. 

“Listen to yourself,” Anton panted, his fingers digging deeper into your hip. “You’re soaking for me, I can hear your pretty pussy leaking for me.”

You whimpered, the shameful sound muffled by his hand as your body seized suddenly, pleasure snapping so hard you almost sobbed. Anton felt you clamp down and only rutted deeper, his hips never faltering, cock grinding against the spot inside you with brutal, perfect certainty. 

“Fuck that’s it. Knew you’d cum for me, but I didn’t think you’d fall apart this easy,” he taunted, voice rough, and his lips dragging a filthy smile across your jaw. 

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, not when the aftershocks were already too much. Your thighs shook, muscles fluttering uncontrollably, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. 

Instead, his fingers slid down, rubbing your clit mercilessly, circling fast and slick and mean. You jerked, crying out loudly and trying to squirm away, but Anton pinned you flat with his weight, pushing harder. “Sensitive now, aren’t you? Bet you can’t take it, yeah?” he crooned, his hand working you while his cock drove in and out. 

The pressure building in your stomach exploded again, your cunt getting even wetter, helpless under the overstimulation. Anton’s laugh was low in your ear as he forced you through another, even harsher orgasm. 

You writhed, sobbing into his shoulder, everything inside you seizing hard as the orgasm washed over you, pussy fluttering and squeezing around Anton’s cock. He fucking loved it. You could hear it in the way he let out a ragged, triumphant sound. You could feel it in the way his hips ground deeper, reducing to let you go. 

“Fuuuck, that’s it, just like that,” he choked, voice full of awe and hunger. “You’re milking me, sweetheart. Squeezing my cock so fucking perfect.” 

You couldn’t breathe, your nails scraping down his back again as he pounded you through every single trembling aftershock. He didn’t show you any mercy, fucking you even harder, the slap of skin echoing in the hotel room, the sound obscene. 

“Taking it so good, baby. You were made for this, weren’t you?” His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek and wiping your tears away. 

And then he reached up, found your hands gripping tight onto the sheets, and tangled his fingers with yours above your head. His grip was so sure, so grounding, you would have gasped at the intimacy of it if you were present instead of your brain being so fuzzy. 

His pace stuttered, and you felt him shudder above you, holding you through the way his body tensed, every muscle straining and trembling as he fucked you even harder, chasing his own orgasm. 

“I’m gonna fill you up, just like you want, Angel. Gonna make sure you know just who you belong to.” he growled, voice harsh and shaking slightly. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and perfect and sensitive. 

Your whole body arched to meet him, and you could feel his control slipping, unraveling right where you wanted him. 

He slammed into you, harder and harder, his rhythm erratic now and his breath ragged at your ear. “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good,” he gasped, every word running straight through you. “You’re gonna take it, yeah? Gonna let me give you all my cum?” 

You nodded, choking on a moan, your whole body seizing as his hips stuttered inside you one last time and he thrust into you one more time, his cock hitting so deep he touched your cervix. 

The moan he let out was animalistic and guttural, filling the room with raw noise. His body trembled over yours as he came, cock pulsing inside you, spilling himself deep where you ached for it. You felt every spasm of his, and the way he ground his hips down to make sure you took every desperate drop, like he wanted to fucking drown you in it. 

He stayed inside you, not loosening his hold on your hands, his forehead pressed into your neck and both of you panting like you’d just raced the length of the pool. Your whole body trembled, and you felt like the aftershocks were never ending. 

You could sense he was about to pull out, but you needed to be close to him. You couldn’t let him go just yet – not when he had just filled you up like he was trying to impregnate you. 

You freed your hands from his and wrapped your arm around his back, tugging him closer. “Don’t pull out. Wanna stay like this, want you to make sure your cum doesn’t go to waste.”

His cock twitched violently at that, and he let out a groan, his teeth gritted together like he was in pain. “Don’t say shit like that, Angel,” he said. It was already taking everything in him not to get hard again and fuck you through the night. 

But you liked the way his pulse jumped under your palm, the way his cock twitched inside you, overstimulated but still greedy for more. You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, locking him to you and not letting a single drop escape. 

You shouldn’t have said it, but you couldn’t help the way you ached, the way you’d take him over and over if he wanted. You wondered if he could tell, or if he’d just assumed you’d be done after that. But you weren’t. Every inch of you was perfectly sore, oversensitive, still trembling from the aftershocks of him, and yet, still greedy for whatever came next. 

Anton buried his face in your neck, breathing hard. His cock throbbed once inside you, a deep, hungry pulse. “You’re trouble,” he muttered, that pretty smirk on his lips. 

You stroked a slow line down his back. “If you get needy again…you can use me. Even if I’m asleep. Just wake me up, or don’t. I don’t care.”

His breath stuttered, and you felt the way his whole body tensed, the way his cock tried to harden inside you again at the promise. He pressed his lips to your jaw lingering there, claiming you with the press of his body and the heat in his eye. 

“Careful,” he whispered, “I might take you up on that.” 

And if anyone would have told you last week that you’d end up sleeping with Anton from the rival swim team you would have laughed so hard you probably would have suffocated. Because the chances of you falling into bed with that annoying asshole of a man? Impossible. 

[starlightkun]

❥・word count: 17.2k ❥・warnings: cursing, suggestive but no smut (i think that tag is on all my sungchan fics at this point), also i do talk about biting him probably too much, there’s one scene where i have to refer to distance and i use miles im sorry it’s the filthy american in me (convert to km if you must but it’s really not that important) ❥・genre: meet-ugly (like a meet-cute but bad), strangers to lovers, fluff and more fluff good god, forced proximity trope (long car trip, friend group vacation in a cabin, etc.) ❥・author’s note: send help the sungchan brainrot is terminal

“I just don’t trust people that are that hot—Sorry.”

“Are you going to the cabin next week?” Karina asked you, refilling her drink as the two of you chatted in the kitchen of Donghyuck and Mark’s place. The former was throwing a “small get-together” tonight for his birthday, which was already shaping up to be more like the parties you’d attended in undergrad. He’d also invited a hopefully actually small number of your closer friends to spend two weeks in his family’s cabin starting the following Friday.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you nodded, opening the fridge to nose around in there for something to mix with your alcohol.

“Do you know who all he invited?”

“I think the usual, right?” You had secured some cranberry juice and seltzer, and brought them back out triumphantly. “Didn’t he text the details to everyone in a group chat? Check who’s in it.”

“Let me see…” She muttered, scrolling through her phone. “You, me, Hyuck, Mark, Ning, Jeno, Jaemin, Shotaro, Anton…”

“Unless it’s a mansion in the woods, it sounds like half of us will be sleeping on the floor,” you scoffed.

“There’s one person in here that I don’t have saved.” She frowned. “Do you?”

You looked at it on your own phone. “There’s two people I don’t have saved. One of them must be Anton, I just met him the other day when Taro brought him around to… whatever, I don’t even remember now.”

“I don’t have the 512 number.”

You saved the other unknown number as Anton. “I don’t have the 512 number either.”

Karina giggled. “Mysterious.”

“Probably another guy Hyuck and Mark met playing pickup.” You shrugged, following her back out to the living room. “I feel like that’s how they meet all their new friends these days.”

“Rina! Y/N!” Ningning suddenly appeared in front of the two of you, grabbing your other friend’s wrist. “Come dance with me!”

Karina looked over at you. “Y/N?”

“Just topped up.” You lifted your drink. “Maybe later. Have fun, guys.”

As they disappeared into the middle of the room, you drifted off to the side, finding a wall to lean against. You took slow sips of your drink, eyes passing over the crowd. You didn’t mind standing by yourself until either your friends were done dancing and found you again, or you spotted someone you’d rather talk to before then.

“Y/N!” Your voice was called from behind you, and you turned around to greet the birthday boy with a wide smile.

“Hyuck!” You went to hug him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all night!”

“Because you’ve been hiding in the kitchen,” he teased. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen you out here.”

You rolled your eyes as you drew back from the hug. “Whatever, I’m here now. Are you having a good birthday?”

“Great!” He beamed. It was then that you noticed he had someone with him, a tall guy hovering awkwardly behind him. Donghyuck went to introduce him, “This is Sungchan, by the way. He also lives in the complex; Mark and I met him playing pickup.”

Of course.

“Sungchan, this is my friend Y/N,” Hyuck then gestured to you.

You nodded to him politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he smiled back, a bright, heart-stopping smile. You held onto your drink a little tighter, with both hands.

“Hey! Renjun!” Donghyuck suddenly yelled out. “No killing people on the premises! Choke Jisung outside!”

He took off into the crowd, leaving you with his new friend.

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Jungchan, but I’ve got to find my friends.” You slipped away before he could say anything else.

Karina and Ningning were still dancing, and while you briefly debated joining them, you decided against it, heading back to your safe haven instead: the kitchen. It was blissfully empty when you got in there, and you started picking at the bowls of snacks mindlessly.

“That was incredible.” Someone snickered, startling you into dropping a chip onto the floor.

You picked it up, glowering at the newcomer as you went to go throw away the ruined chip into the garbage can. “What are you talking about, Anton?”

“His name is Sungchan, by the way.” He was still laughing, hopping up onto the counter by the bowls of snacks. “Not Jungchan. I happened to have been lucky enough to have overheard that.”

“Oops.” You said flatly, well aware that you didn’t sound very sorry.

“But I’m totally going to use that.”

“You know him from pickup basketball too, I presume?”

“Yup.” He tossed a cheeseball up and caught it in his mouth. “He’s not very good at shooting, but he’s tall, so he’s alright at guarding.”

“Good for him. Or not, I don’t know.”

“So let’s say, hypothetically, I was eavesdropping on the entire conversation—”

“Hypothetically.”

“Of course.” He grinned. “He said like two words to you, and they were barely even hello. Why did you run away like that?”

You sighed, topping off your drink again. After taking a sip, musing over how best to phrase it, you finally decided on, “I just don’t trust people that are that hot—Sorry.”

Anton cocked his head curiously at you. “Who hurt you?”

“Nobody, god.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic and for what?”

“Fun and profit, mostly.”

“You hurt Sungchan’s feelings,” Donghyuck declared, blotting out the sun above you.

You closed your book on your thumb to deal with this. You had been reclining on a chair at your apartment complex’s pool reading in peace when your friend appeared out of nowhere. Outside the pool fence you could see his roommate, and two more of your mutual friends, Jaemin and Jeno. Jeno had a basketball under his arm, which made sense, the courts were right next to the pool, they were probably already heading there when they saw you and decided to detour over here to… interrogate you? Harass you?

“Who? What? When?” You squinted up at Donghyuck in confusion.

“My friend. Last night.”

“The tall one? How? Because I didn’t want to talk about the weather or whatever with him?”

“Apologize,” he demanded, crossing his arms. “And get his name right this time. It’s Sungchan. Not Jungchan.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in your chair. “This is exactly what I was telling Anton last night, you know. I don’t trust people that are that hot because even if they don’t do anything to abuse their hotness directly, or on purpose, other people will just do things for them anyway.”

“He’s the nicest person I know. Hotness be damned. Apologize.”

“No.”

“Really? This is the moral hill that you’re willing to die on?”

“Yup.”

“You’re a true martyr, Y/N,” Hyuck said sarcastically. “The Second Coming herself.”

“The nicest person you know? Really?” You questioned doubtfully.

“Really. And you were mean to him,” Donghyuck confirmed.

“Including Shotaro?”

“Including Taro.”

“Mark?”

“Mark’s my best friend. Doesn’t mean he’s the nicest person I know,” he retorted.

“Jeno?”

“Literally saw him steal candy from a baby yesterday.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Jisung. Same thing.”

“I’m not apologizing to your friend,” you declared, opening your book again.

“This is the stupidest line you’ve drawn in the sand yet.”

“I’m not going out and bullying him! All I said was that I don’t trust hot people!”

“Flaw in your logic: You’re friends with me,” he pointed out smugly.

“Think on that one again, Hyuck,” you replied snidely, looking down at your book as if you were trying to get back to reading.

“Rude.” He looked back at the other three guys waiting for him, apparently getting an idea. “What about Jeno? He’s like, ridiculously good-looking.”

“I like him just fine. I just don’t trust him, or what people will do for him because he’s stupidly attractive,” you argued.

“It sounds exhausting to be you,” he huffed, turning on his heel and leaving the pool deck.

Later that afternoon, you pulled yourself up out of the pool, heading back towards your chair. Grabbing your towel, you wrapped it around yourself to start drying off before heading back to your apartment. You saw someone walking towards you out of the corner of your eye as you were digging through your bag for your phone.

“Hi.” It was Donghyuck’s tall friend from last night, in workout gear rather than swim trunks. Obviously not here to use the pool.

“Hi.” You wiped a drop of water off your phone screen that had fallen from your nose onto it.

“Do you have a second?”

“Sure.”

He scratched the back of his neck as he focused an apologetic smile on you. “Did I do something or say something? At Donghyuck’s place? Because I’m really—”

“No.”

“—sorry if I did—Wait what?” The smile dropped from his face.

“You didn’t do anything or say anything. You were perfectly nice,” you answered honestly.

“Then it really was what you told Anton?” He asked in disbelief.

Of course, Anton must have told him what you said.

“Look, Sungchan, I’m sorry, I just don’t trust really attractive guys right off the bat.”

“I haven’t done anything to earn your distrust other than—”

“—other than being hot, yeah.” You shrugged. “Even if you really are nice, intentionally or not, people treat you differently just by virtue of you being stupidly hot. Gets in your head, whether you think it has or not.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Not at all.”

“How are you any different then?”

“Different than who?”

“You say that people treat me differently because I’m, in your words, ‘stupidly hot.’” He put the phrase air quotes. “That’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”

“How am I treating you different by not immediately falling at your feet? I don’t do that for average looking guys either.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”

“Was I rude to you last night? Bitchy? Outright mean or nasty?” You ticked the adjectives off on your fingers. “No, the most you can accuse me of was being a bit curt. And getting your name wrong, that really was my bad.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to slip your sandals back on and shoulder your tote bag.

“Look, you’re not entitled to my time, attention, or to me,” you told him firmly.

“I didn’t say I was,” he said immediately, his brow furrowing.

“You’ve taken it as a personal affront that I didn’t want to idly chitchat with you last night.”

“I’m just… confused,” Sungchan sighed.

“You’re nice to look at, I’m sure you’re not a complete dud to talk to, it’s probably not torture to make small talk with you at a party. So people do,” you tried to walk him through it. “But it’s not mean for someone to not want to talk to you.”

He was silent again, that same pensive, troubled look on his face, and you found yourself in better spirits than you had been last night.

“This was fun. I would say we should do it again, but I’m afraid I would make you cry and then Hyuck would be really mad at me.” You chuckled, grabbing your keys from your bag. “So, goodbye, Sungchan.”

You were relaxed on your couch that night with a tub of ice cream when a violent banging came at your front door. Pausing the movie you were watching, you rushed to answer it, thinking that it must be the police, or some other kind of emergency. Instead, it was Donghyuck and Mark. You looked at Donghyuck incredulously, the one who had been doing the knocking.

“What is your fucking problem?” He said in lieu of a greeting, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

“What did I do now? Allegedly?” You matched his tone, watching as he started pacing your entryway.

“You know what you did.” Mark was calmer, reminding you of a disappointed parent as he looked at you, his hands on his hips.

“You broke him!” Donghyuck declared.

“Who—Oh, Sungchan?” You finally connected the dots.

“Who else’s soul have you ripped out of their chest and stomped on today?”

“He sought me out,” you defended yourself, crossing your arms.

“And you couldn’t have been a human being and talked to him?”

“We talked. From what you’re saying, it sounds like he didn’t like what I had to say.”

“He’s catatonic!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Only slightly. But he’s not well.”

You scoffed, “If one conversation with me is enough to make him spiral, sounds like he had some other stuff going on before I opened my mouth.”

“So you refuse to take responsibility? For any of this?” Donghyuck regarded you wide, crazed eyes, looking like he was at the end of his rope.

“You’re asking me to what? Fix him?” You snorted in disbelief. “I don’t Mommy grown men, sorry.”

“You are infuriating.” He pointed at you accusatorily. “The party I could’ve let slide—”

“No you couldn’t have, you found me literally the next day demanding that I apologize for not wanting to talk to him,” you spat back.

“Not for that! I’m not going to hold a gun to your head and force you to make small talk with him,” he groaned. “I meant the stuff you were telling Anton, in the kitchen. He heard you.”

“All I said was that I don’t trust people that are that hot. Nothing to have a goddamn mental breakdown over!”

“And he wouldn’t have, if you had just, I don’t know, apologized for the misunderstanding and moved on! But no, you have to take everything to this moral extreme! Honestly, I’m finding it hard to remember what’s even likeable about you in the first place right now,” Donghyuck ranted, running his hands through his hair.

“Hyuck, that was a bit far,” Mark finally spoke up again, stepping forward.

“You really want to die on this hill, Y/N?” Donghyuck just went around his roommate, looking you in the eye. “Then fine. Don’t bother coming on the trip.”

“Hyuck, man, come on—” Mark called after him, but Donghyuck had already stormed out of your apartment.

You watched the empty doorway after him, chest heaving as all the words you’d exchanged finally caught up to you. Looking to your friend that you had been left with, you asked quietly, “Do you think I'm in the wrong, Mark?”

He tilted his head back and forth regretfully. “I think… you’re being a bit abrasive.”

“You agree with Hyuck,” you deadpanned.

“Not entirely. I don’t think he should’ve been throwing Sungchan at you so hard. He should’ve known you weren’t going to take it well, which is probably why he did it in such a weird way.”

“What?”

“He was trying to set you up with Sungchan. But knowing how… you… are, he thought he had to do it with some uh, ‘finesse.’” Mark shrugged one shoulder. “Sungchan wasn’t all that hurt after the party, really. A bit bummed that you brushed him off, sure, but he would’ve bounced back. He’s hard to knock down, literally and metaphorically. Hyuck demanded that you go ‘apologize’ to him so that you’d talk to him again. Same thing with Sungchan talking to you at the pool today, Hyuck told him to.”

“Does Sungchan know that Hyuck’s been trying to set us up this whole time?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“So to him, this has been Hyuck setting him up with, apparently, the biggest bitch he knows,” you winced. No wonder he was so confused earlier.

“I mean…” Mark trailed off sheepishly. “He should’ve told you.”

“And I should’ve been fucking normal,” you groaned, rubbing your face.

“An argument can be made for that, yes.”

“What apartment is Sungchan in?”

According to Mark, Sungchan went on a jog every morning at 8:00, and was usually back by 10:00, so you made sure to knock on his front door at 10:15, just in case.

Sungchan opened the door, wiping sweat from his face with a towel as he spoke, “Anton, I thought we agreed on eleven…”

He trailed off when he opened his eyes and saw who was actually on his doorstep.

“Hi, Sungchan,” you greeted him.

“Oh. Hi, Y/N.” He dropped his hand from his face. In the background, you could hear music playing, and smell food being cooked.

“Uhm, are you busy? I can leave, sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He stepped back, opening the door wider and gesturing you in. You stepped into his apartment with a polite, grateful nod. It looked like he had been in the middle of making breakfast, a blender out on his counter, various fruits on a cutting board, and ingredients sizzling in a pan. He went to pause the music on his phone, and stirred the food that was in the pan. He pointed to one of the stools that was at the bar attached to the kitchen counter. “Do you want to sit?”

“No, thanks,” you shook your head. Shouldn’t take that long. “I just wanted to apologize. I was abrasive, and shouldn’t have been using you to try to draw some moral line in the sand as part of an argument with my friend.”

Sungchan nodded. “Thanks. You did have a point, about the party. I wasn’t used to people not wanting to talk to me, it was a weird experience. But you’re right, I wasn’t entitled to your time.” He went back to the cutting board, chopping up a banana and depositing it into the blender. “Besides, I’m sure you have guys come up to you all the time and you just want to be left alone. No worries.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“People treat you different when you’re stupidly hot, right?” He shrugged, scooping some blueberries into the blender next.

“I wasn’t talking about myself…”

Sungchan just grinned and shrugged again. “So I guess I’ll see you at Hyuck’s family cabin then?”

“No. I was uninvited,” you informed him quietly.

“What? Why?”

“Because of how… poorly I handled this.”

Sungchan’s eyes widened with horror. “What? That’s crazy. I didn’t ask him—”

“Don’t worry, I totally get why he did it. His choice was between the nicest guy he knows—” you pointed to Sungchan, “—and the biggest bitch he knows—” you then pointed to yourself, “—who is a compulsive vibe-harsher. I’d pick you too.”

“Don’t tell me he called you—”

“My words,” you assured him.

“I’ll talk to him. No way you should be uninvited over a misunderstanding like this.” He flashed you an easy-going smile. “I mean, we’ve already worked it out. No hard feelings, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, offering a small smile back. “But really, Sungchan, you don’t have to. He’ll think I just apologized to you to get invited back on the trip.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Then there we go,” he said as if it were already decided. “I’ll talk to him.”

[hyuck: you’re un-uninvited]

[hyuck: sungchan will pick you up at 2:00 on friday]

[you: why is he picking me up???]

[hyuck: you’re the only two who need to leave late on friday. the rest of us are heading up in the morning]

[you: i have my own car??]

[hyuck: you’ve got a shitty sedan with 200,000 miles on it that can barely make it over a speed bump. you’re not making it up a mountain]

[hyuck: consider this your exposure therapy]

Sure enough, Friday at 2:00 p.m., there was a knock at your front door, Sungchan on the other side.

“Hey,” you greeted him, stepping back to grab your small rolling suitcase. “You really didn’t have to come get me, I could’ve met you down at your car.”

“I don’t mind. You need any help with your bags?” He offered, watching you also shoulder a duffel bag as you tried to wedge your memory foam pillow under your other arm.

“Where’s your stuff?” You questioned, noticing his empty hands.

“I already packed it in the car.” He reached for your suitcase, and you willingly let him take it. He held another hand out, and you gave him your duffel bag as well. Without even asking, he picked up the tote that was at your feet, too, leaving you with just your pillow and phone. “You got everything?”

You looked around your apartment, thinking hard. “Mmm… I’m pretty sure.”

“Phone, wallet, keys, charger?”

“Check.”

“Pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, other toiletries?”

“Check.”

“Let’s do it,” he grinned, leading the way to the front door.

[sungchan: picked y/n up! gonna get some gas on our way out of town if anybody has last minute snack requests. eta 5:00 pm!]

[jeno: 👍]

As some of the others’ snack orders came pouring in, you got one text separately.

[hyuck: be. nice.]

After filling up and triple-checking to make sure you had bought everyone’s food, you and Sungchan were back in his car, a modest-size SUV. He plugged his phone in to charge, then handed it to you.

“Here, you navigate.” The directions to the cabin were already pulled up and started.

“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You tried to give it back. “I yap and nap.”

“It’s like five turns total for three hours.” He refused to take it back, starting the car and peeling off. “You can be passenger princess all you want. I even know the first two to get onto the highway on my own. Just need the exit number, the road name, and the house number.”

“Oh god, okay…” You sank down into the passenger seat, clutching his phone with two hands.

“Are you really that nice?” You asked once you had been on the highway for a while. Sungchan and you had been taking turns on aux—right now he had something playing—and there was a comfortable lull in conversation, but you couldn’t help the question that had been nagging at the back of your mind the entire time.

“There is no way for me to answer that and not sound like a dick,” he pointed out. “Either I say no, despite knowing that our mutual friends have apparently hyped up how nice I am to you, in which case it just looks like I’m acting humble. Dick move. Or I say yes, which would make me look like I’m full of myself. Dick move again.”

You looked over at him, feeling the smirk tug at your lips. “You’re fun.”

“Thanks?”

“So if you don’t think you’re that nice, how would you describe yourself?”

“What is this? Speed dating?” He snorted.

“You want to talk about something else? Pick a better topic yourself,” you retorted. “We’re stuck in here for like two more hours.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he quickly went to smooth the conversation over, his tone turning pleasant again. “I just meant… I don’t know how accurate a self-assessment like that would be. Wouldn’t you be biased about yourself? Positive or negative?”

“That’s the fun of it. Even if a person doesn’t describe themselves accurately, understanding how they see themselves can help you understand them a lot better.”

“How would you describe yourself then?”

“I asked you first.” You pointed out. It felt like it had been a long time since you checked the navigation, so you clicked Sungchan’s phone back on to see how much longer you had to go until your exit.

“Fine.” He hummed as he thought. “I like to think I’m… dependable. And a good friend. And patient—”

“That was our exit,” you said abruptly, staring at the constantly refreshing rerouting screen in front of you.

“What?”

“Well, fifty miles ago was our exit…” You winced, watching ‘288’ pass you by. Yours had been 238, apparently. You should’ve known that.

“We missed our exit?” Sungchan clarified.

“Fifty miles back, yeah.”

“And you just decided to tell me?”

“I just noticed! I thought it was 288!” You tried to defend yourself. “I told you not to make me navigate!”

He held a hand out towards you. “Give me the phone.”

“It’s rerouting, I’ll pay attention—”

“Y/N, give me the fucking phone.” His tone was low, with no room for arguing.

You meekly set it in his hand, dropping both your hands in your lap after. He cursed under his breath as he jerked the wheel over, cutting across three lanes of traffic—no turn signal—to narrowly make the next exit. Car horns followed his maneuver, but he ignored them.

“I’m sorry…” You muttered, unable to take the suffocating silence anymore. It was either apologize or tuck and roll, which was honestly still an option at this point.

“Text everyone, let them know we’ll be late,” Sungchan demanded, knuckles red and white around the wheel.

“Okay.” You scrambled to pull out your own phone. “What time should I tell them?”

“Eight.”

You gaped. “Three hours?!”

“Yes, Y/N, we’re on the other side of the fucking mountain now!” He finally snapped and raised his voice, and your eyes went wide. “We can’t just drive through it to get there!”

You took a deep breath, holding his eye contact for a tense, strangling moment before you looked down at your phone to draft your text.

[you: hey guys! uhm, due to an unfortunate series of events, sungchan and i will be a bit late! new eta 8pm]

[anton: did y’all crash or smth wtf]

Again, a separate text from Donghyuck.

[hyuck: i said be nice not fuck him nasty in the backseat for three hours what is wrong with you]

[you: shut UP]

Back in your vacation group chat, you figured you owed everyone an explanation that alleviated Sungchan of any blame.

[you: completely my fault! i’m apparently the worst navigator ever and we missed our exit :/ ]

[rina: damn y/n maintaining the stereotype that women are bad drivers even when backseat driving]

[ningning: the patriarchy thanks u for ur service queen 🫡]

[jeno: i hate when you guys start joking like this, wtf are we supposed to say without looking like assholes]

[hyuck: pour one out for y/n, it must be so hard holding open the gender pay gap like the doors of a subway car all by herself too]

[mark: bro 😭😭😭]

[you: i wish all of you a very fall down the mountain and die <3]

And one more private text from Donghyuck.

[hyuck: okay that’s how i know you didn’t get dicked down]

[hyuck: damn, you really are bad at reading directions huh]

[you: IM BLOCKING YOU]

Sungchan cleared his throat, and you slowly lowered your phone to look over at him again. He smoothly took a curve on the backroad that you were now on, one lane in each direction, that cut between the mountains with trees jutting up on either side of you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sungchan breathed out, readjusting in his seat. “For yelling at you just now. That’s not… like me.”

“Because you’re so nice?” You couldn’t bite your tongue quick enough, still put off from the spat you’d just had.

“I… guess so,” he sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know where that came from, honest. I’m really sorry.”

“I told you I shouldn’t navigate.”

“Yeah, I know that now.”

“I’m really, really sorry for missing the exit. I should’ve been paying attention better,” you shouldered the blame that was yours.

“238 and 288 look almost the same. Easy mistake.”

“That added three hours to our drive,” you sighed, leaning your seat back.

“It’s done, no use pointing fingers at each other anymore,” Sungchan shook his head, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Or yourself.”

“Do you even have enough gas for another three hours? We’re not going to get stuck out here, are we?”

“I’ll stop at the next station I see.”

“How far is the next station?” You mumbled, pulling up your phone to search it up on your own. “Fifty-two miles. How much gas do we have?”

“A hundred miles on the range. See? We’re fine.” Sungchan’s smile dropped off his face right after he said that. “Huh…”

“What?” You sat up as he reached over to put the hazards on and pulled the car off onto the shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Low tire pressure light,” he frowned. “I checked my tires before I grabbed you from your place. Give me a sec.”

He left the car running as he hopped out, and you watched as he walked around the car, squatting down to inspect each of the tires. Finally, he walked up to your window. You rolled it down to talk to him.

“Back right tire has a nail in it. Slow leak,” he explained. “I’ve got to change it.”

“Aren’t you not supposed to drive spares in certain conditions?” You asked as he reached through the open window to unlock and open the door. “Like on a mountain road or whatever?”

With the door open, he rolled the window back up and reached past you to turn the car off, taking the key out of the ignition. “The road’s paved, it’s not like it’s gravel or anything. I’ll have to drive careful and drive slow on the spare, but it’s either that or we’re stranded out here.”

You eyed the sun that was already descending behind the mountains. “Right. Spare it is.”

“Need you to hold the flashlight if you don’t mind.” He opened the glove box in front of you, rooting around and grabbing a flashlight the length of your forearm.

You accepted it from him. “Got it.”

Sungchan took the tools out of the trunk, as well as the spare tire. He first lifted the car up with the jack, and you became acutely aware of how abandoned the road that you were on really was as not a single other car passed by the entire time. Sungchan stood back up once the car was up to peel off his flannel, tossing it into the trunk with the rest of the tools and the spare waiting to be used.

“Y/N.”

“Huh?” You looked down at where he had gotten back on the ground.

“I need to see the lug nuts, not my arms.”

“Sorry.” You shuffled behind him to be able to point the beam directly on the tire instead of where it had drifted to his mostly bare arms under his t-shirt.

“Much better. Thanks.”

You watched as his hands skillfully unscrewed the lug nuts from the tire with the wrench, holding the first two behind him. “Hold these for me?”

“Oh, sure.” You held your hand out for him to drop them into your palm.

Once you had all five in hand, Sungchan pulled the flat off the car and swapped it out for the spare. You tried not to listen to the darkened forest behind you.

“Lug nuts?” He held his hand up from where he was laying on the ground. You deposited a couple back into his hand for him to screw on at a time.

As he alternated between tightening the nuts and lowering the car down off the jack, you dutifully kept the flashlight pointed on the area he was working on. Finally, the car was back on the ground, and he took the jack out from under it. He rolled the old tire around until he could point out the head of a nail embedded in the tread.

“There’s the little fucker.” Sungchan clicked his tongue before he heaved the tire up into the back. He put away all the tools too, then wiped away beads of sweat that had gathered under his bangs with the hem of his shirt.

He grabbed his flannel, tossing it over his shoulder before he shut the hatch on the trunk. He then turned to you with a bright smile and held his hand up for a high-five. “Alright!”

You high-fived him back mindlessly, pointing the flashlight at your feet now. “I didn’t do anything…”

“What are you talking about? I would’ve been fumbling around in the dark without you.” He nodded his head towards the front of the car. “Come on, we’re going to be late as is. We need to find that gas station. Hopefully they’re open late.”

“Hopefully…”

[you: NEW new eta idfk]

[you: we got a flat and need to fill up again]

[you: we might die out here. if this is my last message, just know that i still wish you all a very fall down the mountain and die <3]

[rina: aw ily2 pookie <33]

[you: sungchan probably says hi or smth]

Hyuck texted you individually again.

[hyuck: oh i know that car smells RANK 🫵🫵🫵]

[you: bitch this tire is as flat as YOUR ASS]

[hyuck: so it’s caked up??? my point is made 😌]

[you: delusion]

“The stars are really pretty out here,” Sungchan’s voice took you away from your phone.

He wasn’t driving as fast as before on account of the spare, making your trip even longer. You looked out the windshield in front of you, at a small patch of sky that you could see peeking out in between the mountains and trees. It was hundreds, if not thousands of stars, infinitely more than you could ever hope to see on a perfectly clear night in the city.

“Wow.” You leaned your arms and head forward on the dash to see it better. “That’s crazy…”

“I bet we’ll see even more once we get to the cabin.”

“If we don’t die out here first,” you half-joked. “How much gas do we have?”

“Sixty miles. And the station should be another ten.”

“Online didn’t have any hours for it…” You muttered. “And this is kind of rural…”

“Which means the owner might live on the property, or they have someone work a night shift for weary travelers just like us.”

“Weary travelers?” You repeated with amusement. “You make it sound like we’re going on some long journey and are seeking lodging at an inn.”

“Some of that’s true.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I won’t knock the weary part either.” You laid back in your seat again, letting out a yawn.

“Take a nap,” Sungchan encouraged you. “We’ll still have a while to drive after refilling, especially since we’re driving slow with the spare.”

“I would, but if the station is open, I gotta pee…” You whispered. “And it’s only like ten miles.”

“Then take a nap after.”

Finally, there was a building in the distance, and miraculously, when Sungchan pulled up to the lone gas pump, the lights inside were even on.

“Sungchan?” You walked around to where he was filling up the car.

“Yeah?” He looked over at you from where he had been watching the numbers on the meter go up.

“Uhm, can you go in with me? Into the store?” You asked almost sheepishly. “I just—”

“Of course.” He agreed with no hesitation, nodding towards the building for you to lead the way. The gas continued pumping on its own as he walked away, and you grabbed his arm as you approached the front door. He didn’t say anything as he opened the door for the two of you.

The attendant behind the counter didn’t even look up from his phone at the two of you as you entered. There was exactly one bathroom at the very back of the small convenience store, and Sungchan walked you back through the cramped aisles of snacks. When you were done, he was waiting just outside the door where you’d left him.

“Good?” He asked quietly, offering you the same arm that you’d taken in the parking lot.

You took it gladly. “Good.”

Sungchan gave the store employee a nod of acknowledgement as the two of you left, and the man once again didn’t even look up at you. Back at the car, the gas had clicked off on its own, and Sungchan replaced the pump. He walked you to the passenger side, opening your door and ushering you in, closing it firmly behind you before getting in on his side and locking it behind him.

“Good?” He asked you again.

“Good,” you confirmed, and he started the car up.

Back on the road, the darkness all around you, steady rumble of the pavement under you, and music Sungchan had playing at a low volume was slowly lulling you back towards sleep again. You let out a rather obvious, violent yawn, not even having enough in you to slap your hand over your mouth all that quick.

“Go to sleep, Y/N,” Sungchan said again.

“But you’ve got to drive more,” you argued. “Who’s going to keep you awake?”

“I’ve got it, promise.” He then chuckled to himself. “You’ve yapped, now it’s time to nap.”

“Mm, alright.” You curled up in your reclined seat as best you could, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Wake me up if you need entertainment to stay awake. Love a good car sing-along…”

Your eyes and limbs still felt heavy and sluggish with sleep when you woke up later that night, and you pulled your blanket tighter to you as you tried to settle back in. You took a deep breath in through your nose, and then immediately remembered that you did not go to sleep with a blanket on you, and that this definitely was not yours that was on you right now. You felt at the material bunched in your hand again and recognized it as an article of clothing of some sort, not a blanket. Slowly opening one eye, you saw that it was a big hoodie, the arms wrapped around your shoulders so it didn’t fall off.

You shifted in your seat again, sitting up a little more as you looked at the hoodie that was draped over you a little closer.

“Hey, are you waking up?” Sungchan asked quietly from beside you.

You looked over at him, squinting. “Mm… mhm.”

“Good, we’re almost there. I’d say ten minutes,” he informed you.

“What… time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

“Ugh…” You dropped your head back against the seat. “Feels like two in the morning.”

“I know what you mean,” he chuckled. “I’m going to be ready to sleep as soon as we get there too.”

“Yeah, but you were like driving and changing tires and stuff. I was... whatever the opposite of a passenger princess is, the whole time. A passenger nuisance.”

“You held the flashlight. That was a very important job.”

“I’m going to pretend like that didn’t feel patronizing and say thanks.”

“We both had a long night, Y/N. Being tired is warranted, for everyone involved.”

“Thanks, Sungchan.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, not just for that.” You were interrupted by another yawn as you went to put the back of your seat upright again. “For… driving me, and apologizing for snapping at me earlier, and changing the tire, and walking me to the bathroom, and for the hoodie. You’re…”

“Nice?” He seemed to be bracing himself for the word.

“A good guy.”

“Oh.”

You didn’t say anything else, readjusting his hoodie on you as he continued driving. Finally, he pulled off the road into a driveway, and a cabin came into view. All the lights were on, and he stopped behind a few other cars that you recognized: Mark’s, Jaemin’s, and Karina’s.

The two of you had just started taking your stuff out of the trunk when some of your friends met you outside.

“You survived!” Jaemin cheered.

“Barely,” you groaned, reaching for your pillow.

“What happened to your tire, dude?” Mark asked Sungchan.

“Got a nail in it somewhere,” he explained, taking his phone out to shine the flashlight on it. As they looked it over and talked about the car, the others grabbed both yours and Sungchan’s stuff to take into the cabin.

“So, before you guys got a flat, how exactly did you manage to read the map on your phone so wrong you added three hours to the drive?” Jeno questioned you, your duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Our exit was 238, I misread it, thought it was 288,” you explained with a sigh. “We ended up on the wrong side of the mountain and had to go back around.”

“Damn, it’s a good thing you were with Sungchan when you did that,” Anton laughed, dragging Sungchan’s suitcase in. “Anybody else probably would’ve lost their shit on you.”

“He did.”

Everyone who was within earshot turned to look at you.

“What?” Anton blinked.

“I mean, he didn’t like, go crazy or anything, but he was angry.”

“We’re talking about the same guy, right? Jung Sungchan, right over there?” Hyuck pointed to where Sungchan and Mark were still chatting by the cars further down the driveway. “He got like, actually mad at you?”

“Uh-huh,” you confirmed. “Raised his voice, yelled, whatever word you want to use. Cursed, too.”

“I’ve never even seen him get like, frustrated…” Shotaro whistled.

Hyuck looked between you and Sungchan in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“He apologized,” you added what felt like a pretty important detail.

“I’m sure he did,” Anton snorted, opening the front door. “I’m kind of surprised he’s not still like, begging for your forgiveness.”

“He apologized for getting upset, I apologized for missing the exit, we moved on.” You shrugged, stepping into the cabin. “And the sky didn’t fall.”

“Yet.” Hyuck scoffed. “Who knows, hell might freeze over before we wake up.”

“Speaking of, where exactly are we all sleeping?”

The next morning, you slipped out of the king size bed that you, Karina, and Ningning were all sharing and treaded down the darkened hallway as quietly as possible. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and you winced when a floorboard creaked underfoot as you passed behind the pull-out couch that Shotaro and Anton had crashed on.

There was already light pouring out of the kitchen when you got there, and a tall figure was standing in front of the stove, a tea kettle on one of the old coil burners. Sungchan was illuminated by the stove light, and turned around when he heard the shuffling of your socks across the tile. It looked like he had already showered and gotten dressed, his hair a little damp as it hung in his eyes, and he was in a fresh t-shirt, shorts, and pair of sneakers.

“You’re up early,” he commented, keeping his voice low to not disturb the others in the next room.

“You too,” you replied just as softly.

The kettle began whistling just then, and he immediately flipped open the spout to stop the noise, taking it off the stove. He opened a nearby cabinet to grab a mug.

“Tea?” He offered. “I’m not a big coffee guy…”

“Sure,” you accepted, and he took a second mug down. “What kind?”

Sungchan went to a different cabinet to get a box of tea sachets. “Green.”

He dropped a tea bag into each mug, then poured the boiling water over them. He handed you your mug before leaning against a spot by the sink.

“Thanks.” You wrapped your hands contentedly around the warm drink.

You lifted your bag up and down by the string, letting it steep as your eyes blinked open and closed, your mind still coming to in the early morning hours. Outside the cabin, you could hear birds singing as the forest woke up too, and you smiled to yourself at the thought.

“So, uh—” Sungchan cleared his throat awkwardly. “What’s the difference between a nice guy and a good guy?”

You opened your eyes, lifting your head to look up at him, slightly amused. You hoped this hadn’t kept him up last night. “A nice guy wouldn’t have yelled at me in the first place.”

“Oh.” He looked a bit ashamed, and also like he might try to apologize again.

“But that also would’ve made no opportunity for you to apologize,” you continued. “A nice guy is just nice. A good guy can admit when he’s wrong, because he actually is wrong sometimes. But he fixes it after.”

“Huh…” Sungchan took another sip of his tea. “Are you a philosophy student or something? Gender studies?”

“No.” You laughed. “Just a compulsive vibe-harsher, like I said.”

“I don’t know how being smart harshes the vibe.”

“I… find it hard to take things at face value. I always have to evaluate them through some lens. It’s tough for me to live in the moment, I guess. Doesn’t always make me the most fun at parties.”

“You can’t be that much of a bummer, they keep inviting you places.” He had finished his tea, and turned around to wash out the mug before setting it aside to dry. “I’ve got to go, I found a place that’ll look at my tire. I called and they’re open on Saturdays.”

“I’ll go with you,” you offered. “If you want some company…”

“It’s on the other side of the mountain,” he informed you. “It’ll be an all-day thing, you should hang out here with everyone. I think Hyuck said they were going to take the boat out.”

“But then you’ll be all alone and bored in the car all day.” You tilted your head. “If you just don’t want me to come, tell me. I’ll be okay.”

“No, Y/N, I’d appreciate the company, but are you sure you want to be stuck in the car with me all day again?”

“Just don’t make me navigate and we’ll be good.”

“Never again,” he smiled. “You’ll be there purely for entertainment.”

“Great, let me get changed.”

“Aw, I thought the jammies were cute,” Sungchan snickered, and for the first time that morning you processed what you were wearing.

A pair of Sanrio character-patterned sleep shorts that were originally from a pajama set (the matching button-up top had long disappeared), well-loved, and a big t-shirt that your dad had gotten from his work when you were high school, worn in with a couple holes in one of the sleeves and another low on the bottom hem—not in any scandalous areas, hence why you hadn’t retired it yet, but definitely not your finest attire.

“Shut up!” You hissed, putting your mug down on the counter to cross your arms over your chest. “I’m changing!”

[sungchan: going to get my tire fixed, y/n’s with me. car shop is on the other side of the mountain so we’ll be back late afternoon-ish]

[jeno: 👍]

“I wasn’t kidding, the pajamas were cute,” Sungchan chuckled as he pulled away from the cabin.

The backroads looked much more welcoming and pleasant in the daytime, all tall, green trees and beautiful mountain landscapes.

“Yeah, sure,” you snorted, taking over the aux first.

“Is my hoodie over there by the way?” He questioned, pointing to the passenger seat floor. “It wasn’t in my stuff yesterday, I thought it might’ve ended up on the floor or something.”

“Oh, sorry, I accidentally took it in with me,” you informed him, remembering when you had finally gotten settled into your room late last night and realized you’d brought the article of clothing in with you in the midst of the hecticness. “I’ll give it back to you when we get back to the cabin after this.”

“Don’t worry about it, just wondering where it went.” He waved you off nonchalantly, eyes focused on the road as he navigated a curve.

But you weren’t going to let him chalant around that so easily. “And what does that mean, Sungchan?”

“I like that hoodie and didn’t want to have lost it on a mountain in the middle of nowhere?”

“So, if I were to give it back to you and start borrowing, oh, I don’t know, Jeno’s hoodie…?”

“That’d be weird, because you have a perfectly good one,” he replied simply.

“Mhm…”

“And clearly, I’m trying to establish my dominance over the other males and stake my unofficial claim over you by having you wear my clothes,” he looked over at you, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You held his eye contact for a moment before you both burst out laughing. “What?!”

“Sorry, I tried my hand at harshing the vibe like you,” his eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Just sounded like a fucking weirdo, huh?”

“A bit, yeah.” You wheezed as you tried to catch your breath. “You also can’t sound that sarcastic when you do it. People have to believe that you believe what you’re saying.”

“I didn’t though. I mean, not completely. I think.”

“Either commit to the bit or don’t.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “But… wouldn’t that have made you feel weird? What I just said?”

“Oh yeah, I don’t buy into all that alpha male social hierarchy bullshit. It’s based off one study on a pack of wolves that’s been debunked multiple times.” You shook your head. “But the second part wasn’t an incorrect analysis of flirting and dating dynamics.”

“Damn, you’re good at that,” he chuckled fondly.

“I didn’t know that Donghyuck was setting us up, by the way,” you felt the need to clarify in that moment. “Not until… right before I apologized?”

“I kind of worked that out eventually,” he sighed. “He should’ve told you, by the way.”

“Yeah, then maybe I would’ve been fucking normal.”

“Probably not.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean, it was unfair to you to have been in the dark like that.”

“That’s… generous. Here I thought it was unfair to you to have been subjected to me like that.”

“I was a bit confused as to why Donghyuck told me he had the perfect person for me and then every time I talked to you, you either ran away or seemed to hate me for no good reason,” he admitted.

“I truly wonder what his thought process was…” You mused. “He meets you playing pickup basketball, you turn out to be nicest guy he’s ever met, and his first thought is to introduce you to me? Weird.”

“Why is that weird?” Sungchan tilted his head. “I think you’re cool.”

“I mean, I’m not nice. Or, it’s definitely not one of my defining characteristics. Wouldn’t you want to set up your two nicest single friends with each other?”

“They might get bored of each other,” he muttered.

You looked at him curiously. “Do you think you’re boring, Sungchan?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t that what people say? ‘Oh he’s… a nice guy.’ When they can’t think of anything else about you because you’re boring.”

“I’ve had plenty of fun with you,” you assured him. “Including being stuck in a car with you for six hours and getting a flat tire.”

“I haven’t exactly been my usual self with you…” He confessed quietly.

“Oh?”

“I don’t get upset with people, or tease them like this, or say weird stuff to try to harsh the vibe on purpose.”

You couldn’t help but let out a peal of laughter. “Maybe you are usually pretty boring, then.”

“I think… because you’ve already seen me get mad, and we got past that, I feel like I can try out being things other than nice with you?” He seemed to have been picking his words very carefully. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, Sungchan, it makes sense,” you affirmed. “Are you seriously saying you don’t joke around with the others?”

“I joke around, but I’m not really like… sarcastic, I guess. I don’t want to say something and hurt someone’s feelings either because they didn’t get that it was a joke, or even if they did, because it went too far.”

“That’s fair, but… you have to trust people.”

“Coming from the woman who said she doesn’t trust hot people?” He questioned pointedly.

“Okay, fair,” you chuckled. “But hear me out.”

“Go for it.”

“If your friend said or did something that hurt your feelings, and you didn’t tell them that directly, would you expect them to know?”

He seemed to think about this for a moment, then shook his head. “No, they can’t read my mind. I would need to tell them so we can talk about it.”

“Then why do you have higher standards for yourself as a friend than you have for your friends?”

Sungchan’s mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again, then closed once more as he frowned deeply, his brows knitting together.

You continued, “You have to trust your friends to tell you when they’re hurt by something you say or do. If you spend your whole life assuming what your friends’ feelings are instead actually letting them tell you, you’re just forcing your own expectations onto them without their input. And it’s also not fair to you to constantly be living your life trying to minimize all these perceived slights against people. Not to mention—sometimes someone’s feelings can get hurt and you didn’t really do anything wrong.”

He laughed nervously. “Not philosophy or gender studies grad student; I think I’m going to skip right over psychology and just go straight for all-knowing deity that can see straight into my soul?”

“Been thinking about updating my LinkedIn to Professional Yapper, but I think I like that better,” you grinned, handing his phone back over to him. “Your turn on the aux.”

“It’s fixable,” the tire shop owner confirmed. “Should take an hour or so. It’s just me and my son and we have a couple customers ahead of you. You and your girlfriend are welcome to wait here, or, you know, it’s lunchtime, there’s a restaurant that’s a five-minute walk down the road.”

He pointed in presumably the general direction of it.

“Right, uhm, here’s my number, in case we’re not here when it’s done.” Sungchan wrote his number down on a notepad on the front desk in the small tire shop.

The older man pulled the paper towards him, flashing the both of you a smile. “If you go to lunch, tell Mrs. Han I sent you.”

“Thank you.” He nodded to the man before you both stepped away from the counter, and the owner walked into the back where the cars were.

You looked up at Sungchan questioningly. “I could do lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “Beats sitting here for an hour. After sitting in the car for two days straight, I’d like to walk for a bit.”

There was of course no sidewalk, so the two of you had to walk on the shoulder of the road, the odd vehicle zipping by every so often and kicking up your hair. Sungchan kept himself between you and the road, meaning that you were on the grassier part of the shoulder, but you didn’t mind, taking the opportunity to look for wildflowers by your feet.

“Did we really look like a couple?” You asked, stopping to bend over and pick a yellow wildflower, then continued your walk.

“We were a man and woman alone in the middle of nowhere with car trouble,” Sungchan pointed out. “I don’t think the first assumption would be that we met a week ago.”

“Hm, fair.”

“He probably sees a lot of couples coming out here for romantic getaways breaking down or getting flats or whatever.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a horror movie…” You picked a stalk of small white flowers. “Or the first five minutes of a crime procedural.”

Sungchan grabbed a purple flower and held it out to you. “Truly a miracle that we survived.”

“Are you a mechanic or something?”

“Why? Because I know how to change a tire?”

You shrugged. “It’s a guess. You guessed that I was a philosophy student because I like to yap.”

“Not a mechanic.”

“You going to make me keep guessing?”

“I’ve guessed what you do three times now and you’ve yet to tell me.” He elbowed you. “I think you can handle a little more suspense about me.”

You swatted his arm away. “I don’t know if all-knowing deity should really count…”

“I was being so serious, hand on my heart.” He laid his hand over his chest dramatically.

“Well, I know it’s not pro basketball player,” you hummed teasingly. “Anton says you suck.”

“My three-pointer could use some work…”

“Pretty much our whole complex is grad students or young professionals... Are you in school?”

“You haven’t given me any hints.”

“You haven’t asked for any.”

He watched you step a little further from the road to get a pink flower from a patch before rejoining him. “I’ll answer if you answer.”

“A bargain?” You grinned, taking your gaze off the blue flowers that you had been eyeing up ahead of you and turning it up to Sungchan next to you. “I’ll take it. You first.”

“I’m a student. Your turn.”

“Both,” you answered. “I take night classes.”

“I have to guess two things for you?”

“What do we win if we guess right, anyway?” You asked.

“Y/N...” Sungchan stared you down at you avoiding his question.

“Fine, if you can guess one, I’ll tell you the other,” you acquiesced. “So what’s the prize?”

“Winning isn’t enough?” He questioned.

“You’re the one who turned it into a game.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one who did that, but okay,” he teased back. “I don’t know, what do you think it should it be? You suggested a prize.”

You hummed, stepping away from the road to reach for a bright blue flower, having to lean over to one side as the ground sloped down steeply in this area. A few pieces of gravel under your feet tumbled downhill, and Sungchan grabbed your forearm that was close to him to balance you as you picked the flower. Still hunched over, using your new stability with his hold on you to stretch your arm even further out towards a pretty orange one, you suggested, “Winner picks our first date when we get back home?”

“Date?” He echoed, his grip slipping on you for a moment.

You yelped as you nearly lost your balance, and Sungchan barely caught you from tumbling down the hillside, jerking you back towards him. You landed on your ass at his feet, huffing as you looked up at him.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, moving to offer you a hand up.

You took it, standing back up and brushing yourself off. Picking the orange wildflower first, you then threatened, “If you push me down this mountain for real, I’m taking you with me.”

“Yeah, that’s deserved,” he chuckled. “I was just, uhm, surprised.”

“Donghyuck tried to set us up—failed stupendously, which I mean, it’s Hyuck, what’s new?—but we’ve been flirting, I have your hoodie, unless something goes terribly wrong in the next two weeks, that would be the next step, right?” You pointed out. “I wasn’t planning on overanalyzing this but…”

Sungchan let out a round of giggles, his whole face scrunching up as he laughed. “Oh… you don’t know how relieved I am right now to hear you overanalyze that for me.”

“What…?”

“No offense, but it’s a bit hard to tell when you’re analyzing and when you’re flirting,” he admitted, still looking at you with a wide, fond grin. “I mean, this all literally started with you calling me stupidly hot and that somehow being a bad thing.”

You pursed your lips ruefully. “I can see how that might’ve been confusing…”

“No, it’s great,” he chuckled. “You’re great.”

Finally sitting in a booth in the small roadside restaurant, which only had a handful of other customers, the two of you had put in your orders with Mrs. Han and were sipping on your drinks as you went back to your guessing game from the walk.

“We have to guess before we get back to the cabin,” you determined, folding your hands in front of you. “Other people there know us. They might say something.”

Sungchan nodded from across the table. “Good point. Time limit, I like it.”

“Business major. MBA,” you started immediately.

“What? No,” he snorted incredulously.

“It’s basically Undeclared for people who don’t want to disappoint their parents, I had to guess it, sorry.”

“Literature, writing, MFA, something in there?”

“No, and that was like two guesses, so I get two this time.” You clicked your tongue. “Master’s in education, focus in coaching pedagogy.”

“That was one?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Okay, my second: International Relations.”

“No.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m switching gears, because you seem to know a lot of degrees off the top of your head. You work in the Registrar’s Office?”

“No.”

“Damn! Wait, no, you’re an academic advisor?”

“Nope.”

“Graduate advisor.”

“No, and that was three in a row, Sungchan,” you pointed out humorously.

“I know. Alright, your three?”

“Can I ask a question to narrow it down instead?”

He squinted suspiciously. “What kind of question?”

“To help me narrow the field down. I won’t ask you to tell me the field, they’ll still be yes or no questions.”

“Yes, only if I can ask you the same.”

“It’d only be fair,” you confirmed. “STEM?”

“No.”

“Oh thank God,” you let out a groan of relief.

He laughed. “What’s wrong with people in STEM fields?”

“Listen, love a woman in STEM,” you defended yourself. “Men in STEM… they’re… how do I put this nicely? Insufferable know-it-alls?”

“That’s putting it nicely?”

“Yup.” You took a sip of your drink. “Don’t tell me it’s Finance either…”

“No.”

“Okay, I have one more…” You tapped your finger to your chin. “Is it a Fine Art?”

“No.” Sungchan looked down at the small bunch of flowers that you had set aside on the table. “What are you going to do with those?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Look at them for a while. Take pretty pictures for my Instagram. Toss them eventually, I guess. They’re not gonna live forever.”

Selecting one of the little pink flowers, you reached across the table to tuck it behind Sungchan’s ear. “There.”

He touched the flower, a similar shade of pink dusting his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Your turn to guess.”

“STEM?”

“Math is my worst enemy, numbers were invented to harm me personally,” you retorted. “No.”

“I should’ve known,” he teased.

Mrs. Han brought your food out then, and you both thanked her before she bustled off to take care of a family that had just walked in. There was a pause in your conversation as you started eating. The food was delicious, and as you took another sip to wash it down, you looked out the window next to your table.

“The view is just crazy here,” you gushed, taking in the mountainside dotted with more colorful patches of wildflowers. You patted your pocket for your phone, then frowned when you couldn’t find it. “Where’s my—”

Wordlessly, Sungchan picked it up from the tabletop and held it out to you. You smiled at him. “Oh, thanks! Didn’t even see it.”

After taking a few pictures, you set your phone back down and returned to your guessing game. “Law?”

He shook his head, still chewing, and wiped his face before speaking with a clear mouth. “Nope. Are your job and what you’re studying related at all?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. I don’t think that actually helped me at all.”

“Education?”

“Mm, yes to the field, but I will make you narrow it down further,” Sungchan acquiesced.

You beamed at having finally gotten closer. “So I was on the right track with my second guess!”

“Are you doing a Fine Art?”

“No. Master’s in Early Childhood Education?”

He let out a soft chuckle as he sat back in the booth, holding his hands up in surrender. “You win.”

“Yes!” You cheered quietly, pumping a fist victoriously at eye level. “I was going to start at Early Childhood and keep going up in age bracket until I got a yes.”

“So?” He prompted you. “What do you do?”

“Right now, I’m a primary school teacher and I tutor on the side for some extra cash.” You watched his eyes grow wide as you revealed this. “And I’m taking a mix of night classes and online classes to get my degree in Educational Leadership and Policy Studies.”

“And that’s a…?”

“Doctorate.”

“Wow…” He breathed out. “Donghyuck really didn’t tell me anything about you before dragging me over to you at his party but uh—”

“Maybe he figured he’s got one friend who is a teacher and one who wants to be a teacher, might as well?” You suggested with humor in your tone, reaching for your glass.

“Yeah, maybe,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling as he kept looking at you.

When you and Sungchan finally got back to the cabin, you found it entirely devoid of your other friends.

“No welcoming party this time?” You scoffed, gesturing to the empty living room. “Now I’m thinking we should just keep the free fudge Mrs. Han gave us all to ourselves.”

“Hyuck did say they were going to take the boat out,” Sungchan reminded you, placing the bag containing said free fudge onto the kitchen counter. “And there’s no way the two of us could eat all that by ourselves before they got back.”

You made a small ‘hmph’ sound, moving to the large sliding glass door in the living room that afforded a view of the lake. The sun glistened off the water, and from here you couldn’t even see the next closest neighbor.

“Do you want to go down to the dock?” Sungchan suggested, joining you by the door. “They took the boat, but that doesn’t mean we’re stuck inside.”

“So,” Sungchan followed you down the pathway from the back porch down to the dock. “Once you have your degree, do you still want to be a teacher?”

“Yeah, my kids are why I’m getting it in the first place,” you explained, carefully picking your way down the steep decline. “I want to be able to advocate on behalf of them better, and understand what’s going on when the people who aren’t teachers are making decisions that affect us.”

“What year do you teach?”

“I provide supplemental curricula for all ages. Reading and writing mostly.” You peeked back at him over your shoulder. “Do you have an age you want to teach?”

A giddy smile tugged at his lips. “Little ones. Preschool. They’re so… Everything’s new to them. It’s so much fun seeing the world like that.”

“Yeah, it is.” You could feel that you were smiling too, turning your eyes back down to watch your step.

Soon, you were down on the dock, laid out on your towel as you enjoyed a puddle of sunlight, listening to the sounds of Sungchan splashing around in the water in front of you.

“You’re going to get skin cancer like that.”

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you looked over your sunglasses at where Sungchan had climbed back up the ladder and was sitting on the edge of the dock, pushing his wet hair out of his face. Like you’d said before, stupidly attractive.

“You literally helped me apply my sunscreen,” you drawled pointedly, recalling when he’d so coyly offered to help you get your back. Pushing your sunglasses back into place, you laid down again. “If I do, it’s your fault.”

You could hear him stand up and walk towards you. “I’ve never understood laying in the sun like that. Don’t you get all sweaty?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m cold-blooded,” you replied humorously.

“Well, do you think you can survive one swim, or will your blood turn sludge in your veins as soon as you touch water?”

You snickered, finally sitting up. “Fine, fine, I’ll get in.”

Sungchan watched you get to your feet, then offered his hand out. You eyed it suspiciously.

“I’m getting in,” you promised, pointing to the ladder.

He offered his hand more insistently. “It’s not that bad. Jump in with me.”

You sighed, grabbing his hand. “Fine.”

Stepping up the edge of the dock with him, he swung your clasped hands in time as he counted, “One, two—”

“Three!” You finished, pulling him forward with you.

He rushed to bring his other hand up to plug his nose as you careened the both of you off the dock and into the lake. The water surged up around you, cool but not cold, not too warm to be gross, just refreshing enough. You squeezed your eyes shut as you went under, and let go of Sungchan’s hand so you could paddle back up to the surface. Wiping the water from your eyes, you laughed as he immediately pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“Dragging your heels only to pull me off!” He was grinning too.

“I’m sorry, did I see you plugging your nose?” You teased back. “At your big age?”

“I’m not getting a brain-eating amoeba, thank you,” he retorted. “You were asleep, but there was this billboard we passed on our way here warning people about it.”

“But do you know how to blow nose bubbles, Sungchan?”

“Well, no.”

“Okay, mini-swim lesson,” you declared, waving him closer. “Come on, I used to teach water safety to little kids. If I can teach a two-year-old to stop snorting water, I believe in you.”

“You taught swim lessons?”

“Yeah, it was my first job, in high school.” You locked back into instructing. “You can blow your nose, right?”

He looked at you blankly. “Yes.”

“Hey, some people have body awareness issues, it’s always better to ask.” You held your hands up defensively. “So, same mechanics, air goes out into the water, keep your mouth closed, and don’t inhale through your nose right after while it’s still underwater.”

You did a small demonstration for him, only submerging from your chin to your nose, letting out a slow stream of bubbles. Bringing your face back up, you added, “And try not to exhale all at once.”

Sungchan mirrored your actions, lowering his face until his nose was underwater, slowly exhaling. He uncertainly lifted his head again after, eyes on you.

You smiled and clapped your hands. “Yay! There we go!”

“That was... weirdly easy.” He immediately did it again.

“Now you just have to think about doing it all the time, until you don’t have to think about doing it.” You rolled over onto your back, relaxing as you floated. “Then you’ll never have to worry about plugging your nose again.”

“If you used to be a swim instructor, why didn’t you want to swim?” Sungchan followed after you curiously as you drifted away.

“Because then I do stuff like give grown men lessons on how to blow nose bubbles.”

“That was helpful.”

“And—” You popped up to tread water again, facing Sungchan. “I kind of hate lakes. And oceans. Anything that I can’t see the bottom in, and where stuff lives. Like fish, or brain-eating amoebas. I like my pools.”

His face fell. “Oh, well we can get out—”

“I said kind of,” you cut him off. “I don’t mind, because you wanted to swim, and I’m having fun with you.”

“But—”

“Sungchan.” You held his gaze steadily, keeping your voice calm, inquisitive even. “Have you ever done something you don’t really care for, because your friends or family wanted to?”

“Well, yeah.”

“They’re worth it?”

“Of course.”

You tilted your head with a knowing smile. “So are you.”

His face flushed with what you knew wasn’t the heat of the sun. “Oh...”

The sound of a boat motor in the distance caught your attention. Coming around a bend in the trees was, in fact, a boat, and while you couldn’t make out any individual faces at this distance, the fact that it was headed right towards you, and several of the figures were jumping and waving at you, you could guess that it held all your friends.

“Well, there’s everyone,” you laughed, heading back towards the dock.

Some days later, you were contentedly relaxed in a hammock that had been suspended between two trees in the spacious backyard of the cabin, humming along to a song playing from Ningning’s phone as you half-listened to whatever juicy piece of gossip that the other two were divulging. A cool night breeze passed over your bare arms and legs, pricking up goosebumps in its wake, and you shivered.

“I’m going to grab a sweater or something,” you declared, getting down from the hammock. Picking up your empty drink can from the table nearby, you added, “Not to mention, I’m out of seltzer.”

“Can you see if we have any more chocolate-covered pretzels?” Karina requested.

“Sure.” You grabbed some of the other trash to take in with you.

You passed by the guys playing video games in the living room as you headed for the kitchen, tossing the garbage out first. After throwing on a hoodie from your room, you went back into the living room, fully intending on checking the kitchen for Karina’s snack. Instead, you were met by a desperate, raucous chorus of yells of your name.

“Hm?” You looked up at the guys questioningly, stopping in your tracks.

Mark waved you over fervently. “Come here! We need an even number.”

“What are you guys playing?” You took a hesitant step closer, eyes scrutinizing the game menu.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s a button masher, super easy,” Shotaro reassured you, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the living room. “Sungchan’s not even half-bad at it.”

“Yeah, you can uh, you can even be on Sungchan’s team,” Hyuck said, exchanging a mischievous grin with a couple of your other friends.

“Okay,” you shrugged, plopping down into the space that Sungchan had made for you between him and the arm of the couch. A controller was pushed into your hand. Karina’s pretzels could wait.

“This moves your character around, this one is to jump, this one is to attack, this one is to shield,” Sungchan quietly explained the controls to you as the others started assigning teams, hands hovering over yours on the controller. “There’s some other special moves, but those are the basics. Just uh, stay away from Hyuck.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

“Nice hoodie by the way,” he added, much softer.

“Thanks...” You murmured back, well aware that you were wearing his from the car.

“Alright!” Jaemin announced loudly. “Let’s do it!”

Now, you didn’t exactly consider yourself a gamer. In fact, you spent most of the time either running away from the other guys, or at one point, accidentally falling off the level and losing a life all on your own. You couldn’t even tell if you were even really helping Sungchan at all. But it was fun, and you were kind of maybe starting to get a hang of the controls by the end of the round. To your surprise, the two characters that popped up as winners, however, were yours and Sungchan’s.

“We won?” You questioned, looking at Sungchan in surprise.

“Looks like we did,” he confirmed, smiling down at the controller in his hand.

“Hell yeah!” You held a hand up for him to high five.

“Sungchan, what the hell?” Shotaro smacked his arm from his other side.

“Since when have you been good at video games?” Jaemin interjected from the other couch.

“Have you been sucking on purpose this whole time and just decided to reveal that you were good now?” Mark questioned accusatorily.

“Yeah, we were joking when we said he was only half-bad at this game, he’s actually ass at it,” Anton clarified to you, making you roll your eyes at their apparent plan to give you the worst player.

“Sorry Y/N, he’s on my team next,” Hyuck declared, bringing up the character selections and switching Sungchan’s team color to match his own.

“Hey, change that back,” Sungchan said, his voice level but firm.

Hyuck actually stopped in his tracks, looking back at Sungchan with wide eyes. He held his hands up in surrender.

Sungchan switched his team color back to match yours with no interference from the others. You lightly bumped your leg against his as the room chatter started back up. He bumped your leg back.

The next day, everyone went out on a hike. There was a slightly overgrown trail that went around the mountainside, taking lazy twists and turns through the trees. Said greenery provided you with plenty of shade, and concealed the lake below from you so well it almost felt like you had transported elsewhere. The trail was narrow, however, only fitting three people comfortably at its widest points, but usually only two, so your group was spread out thin along it.

Jaemin and Hyuck were up front, arguing about… something that you couldn’t parse out from your place all the way at the back. Turning to Sungchan beside you, you took your water bottle out of the side pocket of the backpack he was wearing. Somehow he had been burdened with most of the group’s supplies, and while you weren’t exactly doing any sort of survivalist stuff out here, you didn’t see why everyone couldn’t at least carry their own water bottles.

Taking a swig from your bottle, you kept it in your hand as you pointed at him accusingly, “You didn’t suddenly get good at that game out of nowhere last night, Sungchan.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, I mean…”

“Were you sucking on purpose so nobody’s feelings got hurt?”

“I didn’t suck. I was just sort of… okay.” He tried to explain. “I don’t know if it was on purpose, I guess I just didn’t care if everyone knew that I was the best? I’m just not super competitive, really.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hyuck speechless like that before either.” You laughed at the memory. “You don’t ever stand up for yourself with them like that, do you?”

“It’s not like they bully me or anything…”

“You just go with the flow?”

“Yeah, exactly,” he seemed to relax again at your words.

“I had fun playing on your team last night,” you said, taking another sip. “Win or lose. I’m glad you didn’t go with the flow that time.”

“Hey, hold still?” Sungchan requested, reaching a hand out towards your face.

You froze warily. “What is it? A bug?”

“No, no,” he reassured you, brushing your hair back from one side of your head, then the other. “Did you leave the cabin with only one earring in?”

“Shit, no!” Your hands flew up to clutch at your lobes, immediately feeling that one of them was empty. You looked down at the ground around your feet, despite the sinking feeling in your stomach that it was useless. There was nothing around you but dirt and grass. “Damn it!”

Sungchan made an effort to look under him as well, but came up empty-handed too. “I don’t see anything…”

“Well, damn,” you sighed, dropping your hands back down to your sides. “Could’ve been worse, I guess. Could’ve been my grandmother’s pearls or something instead of a pair of earrings I stole from my freshman roommate.”

“Seriously?” He laughed as you continued down the trail.

“It was an accident! Mostly…” You explained. “We borrowed each other’s stuff all the time, and when we moved out at the end of the year, the earrings ended up in my stuff. I told her I had them and she said I could keep them. Apparently they always made her ears itch anyway.”

“Sucks you lost one, though. I thought the little hearts were really cute.”

“Just like you thought my raggedy old t-shirt was cute?” You snorted.

“Exactly.”

“Why do you get shotgun, Y/N?” Anton complained from the backseat, his voice loud to be heard over the wind.

“Because it’s my car,” Sungchan retorted, his thumb tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. “And I said so.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at the image of poor Anton and his lanky limbs squished into the middle seat between Shotaro and Mark. “You could’ve stayed at the cabin, Anton.”

“I was bored.” He crossed his arms. “And I thought Sungchan would’ve at least been sympathetic to his fellow long-legged brethren.”

“But the baby always gets the middle seat.” You turned around to pinch his cheek.

“I am not—”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sungchan sighed, looking out the window. “With the way you’re whining right now.”

Anton’s jaw dropped as the other three of you broke into howling laughter.

Soon enough, you arrived at your destination, a natural park with a huge cave system. The main attraction, however, was that one section of the tunnels was so dark that you couldn’t even see your own hand in front of your face.

A small family, and field trip for what looked like a summer camp had arrived just before you all, and were put in the same tour group as your friends. You watched from afar with amusement as the counselors put the children into buddy pairs before the tour guide officially began the tour.

“Hey, don’t you teach, Y/N?” Shotaro asked curiously as your own group took up the rear of the tour, nodding towards all the kids.

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, the air immediately becoming cooler as you stepped into the caves. “Primary school.”

“Jungchan over here wants to be a teacher too!” Anton informed you cheerily, slapping Sungchan on the shoulder, the sound cracking through the entire cave loudly.

Several heads turned around to look at the source of the noise, and you all looked around at the walls of the cave innocently until they turned forward again. The cave was getting darker and darker, the lights strung up by the park employees getting fewer and further between. Your eyes continued to adjust to the changing light, but your surroundings were becoming less made up of clear objects with definable features and more the vague outline of shapes.

“Oh, really?” You asked mildly, barely concealing the humor in your tone.

“Early childhood education,” he replied calmly, hand sneaking up to pinch your side.

It took everything in you not to squeal as you squirmed away from his hand, elbowing his arm. You could hear the light puffs of his silent laughter next to you. Right as you had lifted your own hand up to retaliate, the tour group came to a stop, everything was pitch black around you, and Sungchan’s hand caught yours, lacing your fingers together. There were no lights in here, and the children’s excited chatter rose as the counselors spoke back to them to confirm that they were still there as well. You held your free hand up in front of your face, and the only way you knew it was there was because you could feel that it was. The only thing your eyes saw was darkness.

“That’s freaky,” Shotaro commented from somewhere behind you.

“What the hell, man?” Mark was somewhere to your other side. “Dude, I can’t see my hand! Just like it said online!”

“Oh! There you are, Shotaro!” Anton breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, I didn’t disappear in the five seconds since we walked in here,” Shotaro grunted. “Did you have to practically climb on top of me to confirm that?”

You reached out tentatively towards Sungchan, your hand eventually bumping into his chest. “Ah, found you.”

“Found me,” he echoed quietly.

The tour guide started ushering everyone out of the sector, and as the light started entering your vision again, your fingers unwound from Sungchan’s. The counselor’s voices floated back to you as they took a headcount of all their kids, who were still dutifully holding onto their assigned buddies.

Soft footsteps at the top of the stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from your laptop at the tall figure hovering there awkwardly. You offered Sungchan a soft smile, waving him into the small attic loft space. There wasn’t much up here except the couch that you were on, a narrow table, and a dartboard. The ceiling was so low that Sungchan had to hunch just the slightest to avoid knocking his forehead into the wooden crossbeams.

“Hey.” You pushed yourself up into a proper sitting position on the couch, your computer moving from your stomach to your lap.

“Why aren’t you out with everyone else?” He sat down in the space that you had freed up. The others had all gathered outside around the firepit to roast marshmallows and drink, but you had other things to tend to.

You nodded to the device. “Ah, I had some grading to do.”

“I thought you were on summer break.”

“Tutoring.” You set the laptop aside on the coffee table, even as your eyes caught on the screen fondly. “One of my students, I mean, she doesn’t need it for her grades. But she just loves writing, so her mom pays for sessions like private workshops. I’m working on her newest story right now.”

“How is it?”

“She’s so creative!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “It amazes me every time. She hasn’t quite figured out resolutions yet, still rushes through them once she’s decided she’s done with the exciting part. But she’s gotten a lot better with dialogue. She used to not write it at all, just tell you what characters said, never putting anything in quotes, you know?”

“It’s typed?” He questioned, looking at the word document on your screen.

“Yeah, she has coordination issues, pencils kind of slow her down,” you explained. “She’s working on it in her occupational therapy. But that’s not what this is for. This is to let her be creative. If I forced her to use a pencil, she’d have to stop writing because her hands were done before her brain was done.”

“That... sounds frustrating for her.”

“There’s other options now. I mean, when’s the last time you actually used a pencil in your everyday life?”

He seemed to think about this for a moment. “...Good point.”

There was a pause as Sungchan just kept looking at you, the moment feeling much like when you were in the restaurant, his dark brown eyes sparkling even in the dim lighting you had now.

“Did you miss me, Sungchan?” You eyed him teasingly.

“Well, yeah,” he agreed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“What did you tell everyone else you were doing when you came looking for me?”

“I didn’t make an announcement or anything.”

“Yeah?” You sat up closer to him, then did a double-take as you noticed a hole in his earlobe. “Hey, I never noticed you had your ears pierced.”

“Only one.” He turned his head to show you the other, unadulterated lobe. “Probably why you didn’t notice, you’ve always been on my other side in the car.”

An idea immediately came to your mind, and you stood up from the couch. “Wait here.”

Traversing through the house, you came back up the stairs with your prize clutched triumphantly in the palm of your hand. You held your closed fist out towards him indicatively. “Here.”

He held his hand out, letting you drop the single red heart stud into it. His eyes widened as he turned it over with a fingertip. “You’re…”

“I washed it, don’t worry.”

Sungchan promptly put the stud in, securing it with the backing and looking up at you again with a delighted, amazed smile.

“Cute,” you commented, tracing the shell of his ear with a fingertip.

“And what does this mean, Y/N?” He asked slyly.

“What am I going to do with only one earring?” You replied with feigned innocence. “And, I was kind of hoping you’d need help putting it on, since there’s no mirrors in here...”

He leaned back against the couch. “And how exactly would you have helped me put it on?”

“Well, I can’t really see from here, so, I would’ve had to get closer—” You stepped forward, putting your hands on his shoulders as you lowered yourself onto his lap. You kept your focus on his face the whole time, watching for any hesitation, any uncertainty, any indication that you should stop. His eyes watched you with rapt attention, big and brown and awe-filled.

“Good?” You asked quietly, your voice barely above a hum.

He swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down, and your eyes followed the movement, before he answered, “Good.”

“Then I would’ve put the earring in—” You once again outlined the outer shell of his ear, continuing down the line of his jaw. “And probably said something about the adorable little freckle you have on the bridge of your nose that I kind of want to bite.”

You tapped said freckle, high up on his nose, nearly between his brows, and his face split into a grin as he laughed breathily.

“Bite?” He repeated, clearly amused at the idea.

“Mhm.” You nodded, looping your arms around his neck. “You’ve got a very biteable nose, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, the whole nose is biteable, not just the freckle,” he chuckled, settling his hands on your hips.

“Well, more than just the nose.”

“Y/N.”

“Mm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You gasped in feigned shock. “Before our first date?”

“Do I need to ask your hand in marriage first?” He was so close that your noses almost touched now, his question mingling with your answer that came soon after.

“No,” you snickered, letting him seal his lips over yours in the next moment.

“You mauled him.”

Turning around from where you were eating a bowl of cereal, you raised an eyebrow at Hyuck. “Good morning to you too, Hyuck. And nice bedhead.”

He didn’t fix his hair that was sticking up in all directions, coming around to flop into the seat across the table from you. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about?” You snorted. Pushing the box towards him, you offered, “Cereal?”

“Care to tell me why Sungchan is covered in hickies and bite marks?”

“Care to tell me how you know that?”

“He sleeps shirtless, don’t try to avoid.”

“Why do you think it was me?”

“He disappeared from the bonfire last night and didn’t return, you didn’t show up at all, he appears the next morning coincidentally looking like he’s been someone’s chew toy. You’re... you.”

You cocked your head at him curiously. “Weren’t you trying to set us up?”

“I was. I still am, kind of,” he sighed. “Like I said, Sungchan’s the nicest guy I know. Don’t... chew him up and spit him out, please.”

“I’m touched you think so highly of me, truly.”

“That didn’t come out right,” he groaned, rubbing his face with two hands. “I meant... Make sure you two are on the same page about what you’re doing and what you want.”

“We are, Hyuck,” you told him quietly.

Hyuck peeked at you over his hands, and based on the crinkles that formed around his eyes, you could perfectly imagine the mischievous grin that was hidden. “So it was you, then?”

Footsteps entered the kitchen then, followed by Sungchan’s voice, deeper with the early hours of the morning, “Oh, morning, Y/N, Hyuck.”

He stopped next to your seat at the end of the table, seeming uncertain of just how close to be to you. He was wearing a longsleeve, which didn’t help much with the few marks on his neck and under his jaw. The red heart stud was still in his ear, which made your chest squeeze and your whole body thrum with happiness.

“Morning, Sungchan,” you said brightly, gesturing to the cereal box. “Cereal? Hyuck didn’t want any.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Sit, I’ll get your bowl.” You stood up, gently pushing him towards the table as you walked by him towards the cabinets.

“Gross, could you not do that in front of me?” Donghyuck made an exaggerated gagging sound.

“Do what?” Sungchan squinted at him in confusion at the same time that you scoffed, “Nobody’s holding you here at gunpoint. Go back to sleep.”

“Maybe I will.” He made a grand display of pushing his chair back and standing up.

“You’ve never been a morning person.” You shook your head at him. “See you in a few hours.”

As he shuffled back out of the kitchen, you returned to your mission of fetching a bowl and the milk, bringing them back to the table for Sungchan. He’d taken the seat next to yours, and you happily plopped back down beside him.

“Thanks,” he murmured, beginning to fix a bowl of cereal for himself.

“Good one sleeping shirtless, by the way. Hyuck had absolutely no questions,” you teased, finger poking one of the hickies facing you.

Sungchan gave you a pointed stare, but made no move to knock your hand away. “Oh and who couldn’t keep her teeth to herself?”

“I told you: You’re biteable.”

He reached up to grab your hand and removed it from where you'd still been messing with the marks you’d left on his throat. Instead of just pushing it away, he brought your joined hands down to rest on his leg. After a beat, he looked up at you, uncertainty in his gaze, as if he were about to belatedly ask permission.

You laced your fingers together, scooting your chair closer to his before picking up your spoon with your free hand.

As the anchor was dropped into the water, there was an excited buzz about the boat, everyone getting ready to get in the water. Hyuck had stopped the boat by a rope swing that was set up in a tree on one of the steep edges of where the mountain met the lake. A few inflatables were tied to the boat so they wouldn’t drift away, and of course, a couple coolers with plenty of drinks were on deck.

“Y/N, can you help me with my sunscreen?” Ningning requested, holding the bottle out to you.

“Ning, I told you to apply it at the cabin,” you sighed, accepting the sunscreen nevertheless as she took her coverup off.

“It’s not my fault we’re currently sharing one bathroom with like five other people!” She pointed out. “I didn’t have time.”

Sudden wolf whistles and dramatic yells from the back of the boat made you snap your head over, anger flooding your body immediately. But you realized that none of them were aimed at you and Ningning. Instead, the guys seemed to all be taunting Sungchan, who had just taken his shirt off, revealing the full extent of the love bites scattered on his skin.

“Dude, did you get mauled by a bear or something?” Mark laughed.

“Or fall down the mountain?” Anton’s eyes were wide as he went to poke one on Sungchan’s shoulder.

Sungchan slapped his hand away. “Personal space?”

“Fall down the mountain after getting mauled by a bear?” Jaemin proposed helpfully, moving behind him as if inspecting a product that he was purchasing at a store. “We got claw marks, guys!”

They all let out teasing cheers, and you could see that Sungchan’s ears were bright red. You shook your head to yourself, going back to helping Ningning with her sunscreen.

She craned her neck to be able to look at you over her shoulder. “Nice one, Y/N.”

“Who, me?” You blinked at her innocently.

“You left that poor boy to deal with those menaces by himself.”

You’d finished up with her sunscreen, handing her the bottle. “One sec.”

Walking over to where the guys were still razzing Sungchan, who now looked prematurely sunburned, you held a hand up to shade your eyes, squinting as you looked off towards the rope swing.

“I bet Shotaro could make it there first,” you commented casually.

“What?!” They all looked over at you, dumbfounded.

“No way!” Anton argued. “I literally used to be a swimmer.”

“But if you’re talking endurance—” Jeno tried to vouch for himself.

“All your big muscles just make you sink, dude,” Hyuck snorted. “You’ve got no buoyancy.”

As they kept squabbling, you were still eyeing the rope swing. “Yeah, but, Taro’s like, halfway there already.”

Their heads whipped around to see that Shotaro had, in fact, been lazily paddling towards the swing all the while they were teasing Sungchan. The guys all rushed to toss off whatever shirts, shoes, hats, or sunglasses they didn’t want to get wet, practically shoving each other in their haste to get in the water and race towards the rope swing. The boat swayed a little with their movements, and you grabbed Sungchan’s arm for stability, the only one of them who hadn’t taken your bait.

Shotaro turned around when he heard all the splashes behind him, confusion turning to momentary panic as they all rushed at him.

“Hurry up! You’re going to lose your head start!” Sungchan yelled out to him.

“What?!” He began backstroking faster. “I didn’t know this was a race!”

Karina was already in one of the inflatables off the back of the boat, and Ningning gracefully dove off the back platform to join in her one of the other ones.

Looking back up at Sungchan, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at how perfectly that had worked. He was laughing too, one of his hands dropping to your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Thanks for the save there,” he chuckled, thumb sneaking under the shirt you were wearing to rub circles into the bare skin above your swimsuit bottoms. “Did you put sunscreen on?”

“Back at the cabin,” you confirmed. “Hate to disappoint.”

“You could’ve lied and said no.”

“I am nothing if not an honest and pure soul,” you put a hand over your heart as your words were laced with sarcasm.

Sungchan snickered at this, his smile so bright you could forget about the sun, leaning in even closer to him.

“Sungchan.”

“Mhm?” He looked down at you, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Can I kiss you?”

“In front of everyone?” He gasped, still teasing.

“That’s a little bit the point.” You couldn’t take your eyes off him—so gorgeous it really was unfair. “And also, I really want to kiss you right now.”

“What a coincidence—I want to kiss you too.”

You grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to yours. He immediately responded in turn, his other hand that wasn’t on your hip going to cup your cheek. The sounds of various taunts, cheers, and whistles all faded out behind the roaring in your ears.

It was your last night in the cabin, and you were of course celebrating with one last bonfire. Your group of friends were spread out between the firepit, the hammock, and the other lounge furniture on the spacious deck. You and Sungchan were tucked onto a small loveseat by the table of food, idly chatting as you sipped your drink and he nibbled off the snack offerings in front of you.

The sliding glass door opened behind you, one of your friends walking out from inside the cabin. Glancing up, you saw that it was Mark, his eyes down on his phone screen as he shut the door behind him.

“Those little rolls from Mrs. Han’s restaurant were really good,” Sungchan sighed happily, hand on his stomach.

“There’s still one more,” you pointed out. “Take it.”

He looked uncertain for a moment, but you nudged him with your foot insistently.

“Everybody’s already had one. Go ahead.”

Sungchan had just reached forward towards the last roll as Mark walked by, eyes on his phone as he swiped it from the plate. The man next to you just sighed dejectedly, sitting back in his seat.

“Hey, Sungchan was going to eat that,” you called after Mark loudly. Not too rude, just making him aware as he clearly hadn’t been paying attention.

Mark turned around, looking at you two, then down at the roll in his hand in confusion. He offered it back out to Sungchan. “Oh, sorry man, I didn’t realize—”

Sungchan waved him off. “It’s okay, you can have—”

You stood up, walked over, and snatched it out of Mark’s hand. “Thanks, bye.”

Mark paused, as if he were thinking about saying something else, but opted not to, walking over to sit with Jeno and Hyuck by the fire.

You sat back down next to Sungchan and placed it in his hand. “Here.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Sungchan was clearly fighting a smile as he looked down at his feet. He tore the roll in half, offering one half out to you.

You took it gratefully, tapping your half against his in a little cheers before you both simultaneously stuffed the whole thing into your mouths in one go. Looking at him with his puffed-out cheeks, knowing that yours definitely looked exactly the same made you burst out laughing, and your hand flew up to cover your mouth and keep any crumbs in. Sungchan was clearly struggling to not spit out his half-chewed food as he started laughing too, turning away from you and slapping his leg.

When you had finally chewed and swallowed the bread without choking, and composed yourself again, you turned back to Sungchan, still well aware of the faint, smitten smile on your lips. He was already facing you, watching you with a fond sparkle in his eyes. He reached out, brushing a couple crumbs from the side of your mouth with his thumb.

“Oh, thanks.” You habitually wiped the other side of your mouth just in case.

“I’m curious…” He said quietly, grabbing one of your hands to gently play with your fingers. “Have you picked out what we’re doing for our first date yet?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t want to spoil anything.” You then added a teasing, “Plus, we have to get home first. Who knows, your car might get another flat on the way back and then we’ll get stranded out here and die.”

He burst into soft chuckles. “Since you won’t be navigating, I think we’ll make it back just fine.”

“I like those odds,” you beamed.

“Me too.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then murmured by your ear, “I like our odds a lot, I think.”

The next day found you in the passenger seat of Sungchan’s car, wearing his hoodie and humming along to whatever he was playing over the speakers. The car had a full tank of gas, four inflated tires, and the maps app was not in your hands.

“You know, I get it now,” Sungchan spoke into the peaceful quiet abruptly.

You lolled your head over to look at him questioningly. “Get what?”

“Why you were suspicious of me at first.”

“You finally realized how stupidly hot you are?” You snorted, reaching over to pinch his cheek.

“I’m thinking I should’ve been more suspicious of you, actually.” He pinched your cheek right back, and you smacked his hand away. He just laughed, grabbing your hand and entwining your fingers over the console.

“Why’s that?”

“We haven’t even been on our first date and I feel like I’ve gone head over heels right down the mountainside.”

You groaned and shook your head. “I was suspicious of you for the wrong reason. You’re not a player or anything, you’re actually too sweet for my own good.”

“Your own good?”

“Yeah, you keep saying shit like that and I’m going to do something crazy like say ‘I love you’ on our first date.”

He laughed, squeezing your hand. “Challenge accepted.”

⤷ masterlist

[taestulipss]

♡ shoot your shot ♡

🏀 a kim woonhak sports romance comedy (aka Unagi no Basuke)

❦ pairing: hs basketball player woonhak x  team manager f! reader ❦ synopsis:  ⤿ in which woonhak keeps trying to confess his ardent love for you and each time he fails hilariously. ~ loosely inspired by the manga Namaikizakari ❦ ft: bnd ot6, chenle(NCT), ricky(zb1), nicholas(&TEAM)  ❦ wc: 11k (but v easy to read, trust) ❦ genre: fluff, comedy, slice of life, hurt/comf, sports romance ❦ warnings: injury, fistfights, light swearing, uncomfortable remarks (not from mcs), bad flirting. ❦ divider cr: @asiatic-apple ❦ song rec: 1 , 2 ❦ notes: *insert mark lee meme* this one's for you ninipie @lovehakie ♡ ~ sorry for ragebaiting you earlier, ily (and ofc special thnx to my other two lovelies @pupillary and @ilysungho who keeps me sane in these trying times T-T) ~ p.s. recommended to be read on desktop/web browser.

IMP NOTE!! : y/n and woonhak are around the same age (a detail about this is mentioned in the fic) - they are max 1 year or lesser apart even if they're in diff grades.

It’s a crisp spring morning when Woonhak falls in love for the first time. 

The first week of high school meant noisy students in brand new uniforms, all neatly ironed, busy teachers flitting about after trouble-makers, banners swaying and snapping in the cool breeze, displaying in bold letters things like: “Join the wrestling club now! (no membership fee)” or “Drama club auditions now open!!!”.

Somewhere in the midst of all the commotion, two boys tussle, their voices carrying through like a boombox.

“Jaehyun hyung, stop whining,” Woonhak groans, attempting to rip the older boy off of him. “There's no way I'm joining the basketball team, I’m loyal to baseball.”

Upperclassmen wave people over to their respective booths, thrusting handmade flyers into hesitant hands with no shame. There’s a booth for free caricatures, free cookies handed out in exchange for signing up for the cooking club, promises of pizza and company from the board-game club; Woonhak chews on a bite of his cookie, which he most definitely did not trade for a fake name, as his eyes search for the sports club recruitments. 

Jaehyun refuses to give way. He clings even harder, locking Woonhak in a bear hug turned gorilla grip.

“Unagi~~” He juts out his bottom lip and widens his eyes for effect, not a shred of embarrassment behind those big brown orbs of his. “Are you gonna let hyung try out all on his own?”

“Taesan hyung and Leehan hyung will be there too!” Woonhak tries to break free so he can eat in peace. “Ah! I have to sign up before all the spots get taken.”

He ends up having to drag a petulant Jaehyun, practically on his back at this point, over to the grounds where posters advertised a variety of school sport, boxes of team merchandise and complementary stationary placed over the makeshift tables. 

Woonhak’s eyes light up at the picture of a baseball bat and ball on top of one of the stalls, where a group of burly looking guys leaned over either to convince passersby to try out for their team, or to flirt with giggling girls. 

He’s halfway to the booth when suddenly a voice calls from behind—”Catch fast!”

Woonhak barely registers the words as he’s turning his head past Jaehyun, when something orange knocks right into his skull—fast and hard. 

The world tilts, his vision blurring before it goes completely black, voices bleeding around his ears like a muffled drone. If this was a cartoon, there would be a string of teeny birds chirping and flying around his head. At the back of his barely conscious mind, he wonders if he’s finally met his end—all sixteen years of his futile life coming to a finish so unceremoniously. 

He can already imagine his obituary, probably courtesy of Jaehyun: Kim Woonhak, high school freshman, dies tragically by a rogue basketball before he's even had his first kiss. 

It’s the sheer embarrassment of the very real possibility of that happening that has him bolting back to life, eyes snapping open violently, not dissimilar to a reanimated corpse.

He opens his mouth with the conviction of a man that needs to complain, only to go tongue-tied when he’s met with the sight of a…an angel. 

Woonhak gapes.

A girl, presumably around the same age as him, in a navy tracksuit and a loose ponytail, a whistle hanging around her neck—face only inches away from his. He loses his breath at the sight. 

Your lips are a straight line, face devoid of any emotion other than a mix of apathy and clinical precision. You’re kneeling next to him, hands behind his hair, and somewhere in the distance beneath the ringing of his ears, he can hear Jaehyun and Taesan saying his name several times.

Belatedly it occurs to him that you’re holding an ice pack to his head, nursing the dull throb that rings inside. 

“Woonhak-ah!” Taesan flicks his forehead, snapping him out of his reverie, “Stop staring at y/n.”

He flushes as bright as a tomato, mouth going slack like a ventriloquist dummy’s; when he tries to speak, he lets out a string of incoherent sounds akin to a flubbering fish. 

Jaehyun guffaws, “Sorry about him, he’s still learning to talk.” 

You don’t dignify his teasing with a response, simply continuing to administer first-aid to the slowly growing bump on Woonhak’s head. 

“What part of ‘catch fast’ did you not understand?” Taesan chides, rolling the basketball between his hands like he hadn’t just knocked a person unconscious with it a second ago. “Our Woonhak is kind of slow, don’t mind him, y/n.” 

Woonhak's ears burn crimson.

It’s mortifying, to be in the presence of a pretty girl—no, the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on—while his friends ruined any reputation that might have preceded him. He wishes he could crawl into a cave and turn to asceticism for the unforeseen future, become a hermit under a vow of abstinence so he’ll never have to look you in the eyes ever again. 

“Hold this,” you say, handing him the ice to pick up your clipboard from the ground and get up. Before Woonhak can think, he reaches out and stops you by the wrist.

You stare at the spot where his hands meet yours, quirking your head in scrutiny. 

“Uh-” He begins to flail for words, “I-I…I’m Woonhak. Kim Woonhak."

Your response doesn’t come quickly; instead, you seem to analyse his tone and intention before deeming him harmless. 

“y/n, manager of the KOZ basketball team,” you say flatly, without even a hint of a smile. 

Somehow, Woonhak finds your aloofness gorgeous.

It’s the way you purse your lips tightly, moving cautiously as though you’re always ten steps ahead of everyone else, the gentle slope of your nose, the sunlight hitting your cheeks at the perfect angle. Church bells ring in the world of his imagination, a choir of cherubic angels harmonizing as he waits at the altar for you—dressed in a veil as sheer as a waterfall, strolling towards him in a picture of perfection. 

It’s love at first sight.

“I’d like to sign up for tryouts!” he blurts out, still holding onto your wrist.

You blink twice. Jaehyun and Taesan exchange sly glances, tucking this moment away for future blackmail. 

Woonhak shamelessly barrels on, “For the basketball team…I want to try out.” 

“Okay,” You simply say, retracting your hands with a wiggle. “Kim Woonhak.” You jot it down quickly onto your clipboard, all the while Woonhak dreamily sighs at the way you say his name. 

“Didn’t you want to sign up for the baseball team?” Jaehyun chooses that instant to speak up.

Woonhak shoots him a furious glare. He then tries to school it into a terrible act of nonchalance as he turns to you. “He’s kidding, haha, basketball is my one true love.”

You don’t seem to believe him, and if you do, you definitely do not care. 

“Cool,” you say before sauntering back to your booth, not glancing back at him even once. 

He feels dizzy, and not from the potential concussion. His chest feels warm and toasty, butterflies sprouting awake in his stomach, making him giddy with joy. Woonhak grips the ice pack like a lifeline, wondering if he really did get sent up to heaven and met an angel in the flesh. 

One sideways look at the demon-spawns that were his friends is all it takes to throw away that idea. 

“So…basketball huh?” Taesan smirks, raising a brow. 

“Oh fuck off,” Woonhak groans, but its useless when he’s already being hauled up to his feet so the other two can pinch his ears and scold him for talking back to his elders and whatnot. Surprisingly, he doesn’t even register the sharp pain to his earlobes when his brain is preoccupied with the image of you, and your lips moulding his name around it. 

The breeze picks up, carding through the strands of his mop of brown hair, bringing tinges of scarlet to the tips of his nose and his cheeks.  

Kim Woonhak falls head-over-heels in love for the first time on a cool spring morning—and like all things associated with him, ridiculous and far-fetched, it comes in the shape of a basketball to the back of his head. 

Tryouts go as well as anyone could hope for.

The indoor court echoes with the squeak of trainers on polished hardwood, the smell of aerosol spray and high-school-boy-sweat mixing unpleasantly around them. The group isn’t too big: some freshmen, others already part of the team, and a few who’d either dropped by to dawdle around before heading back home, or to show off for the girls watching them from the stands—no better than peacocks during mating season. 

Woonhak’s first instinct on arrival is to look around for you. 

He's been jittery all day, tapping his feet under the table, accidentally drawing hearts on his notebooks when he should have been taking notes; every time someone passed by his classroom, his head would turn, hoping that it's you.

He sighs dejectedly when you’re nowhere to be found, already putting a damper on his mood without having you to grace him from the heavens above. 

“She won’t turn up just because you pout.” Taesan ruffles his hair, pressing a basketball into his stomach, which he accepts without verbal complaint. Leehan materialises out of thin air at his other side, nodding along like some sage warrior, making Woonhak roll his eyes until it hurts.

Of course, his business had been aired out in the span of a couple days—if Jaehyun knew, then Sungho knew; if Taesan knew, then Leehan knew, and eventually so did Riwoo.

Taesan and Leehan were already part of the school team, having joined a year before. In spite of them goofing off half the time during school hours, they were quite popular for their positions on the team—the small and power forwards respectively, a chaotic but somehow contained duo, known for their speed and in-game chemistry. 

Outside of the court though, Woonhak would just call them demons in disguise. 

Part of the reason he wasn’t too eager to join the basketball team in the start (other than his complete and utter devotion to the Lotte Giants) was because he knew his friends would torture the living daylights out of him if they had access to his extracurriculars, on top of what he had to endure during lunch breaks and walks back home—his hyungs cooing at him like he was a five year old and not a grown teenage boy towering at six feet, teasing and taunting him until he was stomping the ground in a fit of frustration. 

All in good fun of course, but it didn’t mean that he was willing to let them embarrass him in front of the rest of the student population. And abso-fucking-lutely not in front of you.

A whistle blows from the front, bringing him back to the task at hand.

There’s a shorter blond boy in a matching blue jersey, with a yellow 20 emblazoned on it, rounding up the hopeful wannabes into a semicircular formation with an easy motion of his finger.

“Good evening, men.” He flashes a confident smile, only a tad sinister. “I’m the captain of the boys basketball team, Chenle. But you will call me captain and nothing else on this court, got it?”

This receives several alarmed nods in unison. A chill spirals down Woonhak’s spine at his menacing cadence; it only subsides once the group is told to start with their warm-ups and prepare for some basic drills.

“Where’s Jaehyun hyung?” Woonhak asks Leehan, watching him scribble down a messy dump of player stats on observation alone. He doubts any of it will be legible later, which he assumes is also the reason why Leehan adds onto it with funny and mildly offensive doodles of the applicants. 

“Late.” Leehan replies with a lazy drawl. “He’s running for council VP too this year.”

Give it to Jaehyun to abandon him after practically begging him to join for tryouts together. Woonhak would facepalm himself but Chenle is already beckoning him over for a layup demonstration.

Woonhak takes a quick breath, braces for a smooth run, dribbling the ball easily under his left hand, entering the key from the other side before doing a textbook perfect layup. He even makes the basket without any hassle. When he looks back, the captain wears an amused smile.

“A lefty?” He raises a brow. 

Woonhak shakes his head with a toothy grin, “Ambidextrous.” 

Chenle notes this with a tilt of his chin, ticking something off his clipboard as he curves around to meet the next player in line. 

The rest of the evening is spent doing a series of skill tests—passing, dribbling, a couple free throws and then vertical jumps to check for hang time. Woonhak does exceptionally well in everything, his height only presenting even more of an advantage over the shorter, less quick players. 

They decide to wrap up with a test match—full court, going shirts versus scrimmage vests, and unfortunately, Woonhak gets the short end of the stick when he’s forced to pull on the highlighter-yellow mesh top that suspiciously smells like rotten fish. He winces, ignoring all urges to throw up on spot, obediently lining up for the jump ball.

A wayward thought crosses his mind—had this been baseball, he wouldn't be suffering through the stench of used clothing. He'd be basking in the warm sun, frolicking through the field in his clean uniform and precious new gloves.

But alas! The things he will do to see your beautiful face once more.

If anything, the possibility of meeting you every day henceforth only gives him more determination to nail this.

Woonhak naturally takes the role of the shooting guard, keeping his knees bent, ready for the ball the second the whistle blows and it taps into his hold. He takes easy control of it, using both his hands without the need to think twice, effortlessly faking directions past two defenders, then passing it overhead to the teammate closest to the opponent’s basket. 

A dribble, pivot, one swift shot, and the ball rattles in the hoop with a satisfying spin. 

A grin breaks onto Woonhak’s face, and he’s already shuffling over to high-five his partner in crime—a lanky redhead with the name Ricky branded in cursive on his fancy looking shorts. 

The first quarter ends with 9-2, thanks to a last minute three pointer by Woonhak that lands in the first shot with no rebounds needed. Over the course of an hour, he’s learnt several names and their matching faces—there’s Shen Ricky, obviously, the tallest amongst everyone, standing out far too much with his bright hair and expensive clothes; then there’s the blond, scary captain, the vice captain Nicholas who Woonhak vaguely remembers from school festival dance practices, and a couple other upperclassmen who pat him on the back whenever he makes a trick shot.

It’s the final few minutes, and Woonhak prepares to receive a long pass, arms at the ready for the ball. 

All is going swimmingly well until…until your voice, quiet and airy, breaks through the game and right into his well-attuned ears. And with it, the goddamned imaginary wedding-bells.

His neck jerks at the sound, and while he’s busy trying to decipher your location, the basketball flies, jamming right into the side of his head. Again.

Taesan groans. Nicholas gasps.

Woonhak’s brain spins as he slips and lands on his back, the shame of it hurting more than the floor does.

“Stay down a second, son—don’t move until you know you’re steady.” A man’s voice.

When Woonhak dares to crack open a single eye, he’s standing over him with a water bottle in hand, dressed in the ugliest yellow tracksuit known to mankind. And beside him, carrying a cardboard box, is you—looking entirely unsurprised. 

“Coach, he’s fine.” Taesan rolls his eyes. “He just got distracted because he was too busy gawking at y/n.” 

Woonhak yearns to be hit in the head once more so that he doesn’t have to stay conscious for this moment. He’s actually considering banging his head against something hard when he feels something warm trickle down his nostril.

“Blood ...Ack,” He yelps, bringing a finger to the liquid, coming away stained, “I’m bleeding!” 

“I think I’m gonna faint,” Jaehyun’s voice leaks out from somewhere behind him, and Woonhak has no idea when he got there. Frankly, he has no memory of anything that’s happened between being knocked out blank and waking up to a horde of people looking down at him as though he was on his deathbed. 

“y/n, first aid.” says the coach, but you’ve already magically pulled the kit out of thin air; now that Woonhak thinks about it, you’re less of an angel, and more of a fairy. Never mind that he’s bleeding out onto his hands and chin, the dizziness just amplifies the effect you have on him. When you lightly dab at his face with a soft cloth, he gazes at the downturn of your lashes, the way you don’t say a single word and yet, hold an impossible sort of allure. He could kiss the ball that put a dent in his head and led him right into your soft hands.

“Shouldn’t he go to the nurse’s office, Coach Woo?” Leehan pipes up, shattering all of Woonhak’s fantasies with a single, stupid question.

He ends up being hauled up and away, supported by Leehan on one side, and Jaehyun on the other. And as the distance between you and him widens with every step, he sighs wistfully, the sigh then eventually turning into a full-blown, dramatic groan.

“WHY DO YOU RUIN EVERYTHING, HYUNG?” He explodes at Leehan once they’re outside on the pavement. “I was this close to talking to y/n. And YOU-” he swivels around to a startled Jaehyun, “You went on and on about wanting company for tryouts and you go ahead and ditch me!? Hyung, I’m never trusting you again, the next time you ask me to get your melon bun, I’m spitting on it.”

Silence. Then-

“Woonhak-ah.” says Leehan, too calm that it just riles up Woonhak even more.

“WHAT?” He fumes.

“...you’re bleeding onto your vest, it’s a rental…” 

Woonhak considers a double-homiscide then and there.

//

So it turns out that everyone except for Woonhak just happens to know you.

He’s laying flat on one of the starchy white clinic beds, staring at the bright tubelight above. “You guys are…classmates?” Woonhak questions in a daze.

Jaehyun, who has his arms propped up on the back of his chair, pops a piece of candy into his mouth and lets out a muffled, “yesh.”

“And so are Sungho hyung and Riwoo hyung?” 

“Yep.” Jaehyun pops the ‘p’.

“And,...you were helping her with the boxes because…?”

“Team managers and Student Council work together, duh.” Jaehyun smirks, “We’ve been buddies for like ages now.”

“And you,” Woonhak turns to a bored Leehan picking on the dirt under his fingernails, “You’ve known her for two whole years now?”

Leehan nods, “She is our team manager.”

If Woonhak had been standing up, he’d be throwing his signature tantrum at this moment. Laying supine doesn’t give him that much freedom of motion, so he has to settle for writhing around like a boneless worm, whining into his palm until Jaehyun stuffs a gummy into his mouth to shut him up.

Miraculously, it works.

Woonhak is only pouting now, “Why didn’t you ever introduce me to her?”

Leehan and Jaehyun exchange a careful look that means they know something he doesn’t.

Jaehyun begins slowly, “y/n is,...well,...how do I say this-”

“She doesn’t do romance.” Leehan goes in for the kill, not bothering to soften the blow. “Lots of guys and girls have asked her out,...most of the team actually.”

Woonhak raises a brow.

“Not me. Just the older guys. She’s like my sister, dude.” Leehan clarifies. “y/n turned them all down though,...and she wasn’t even mean about it. Just…unemotional..?”

Jaehyun nods in agreement. “I’ve seen her return a Gucci bag, dude! Do you know how much those cost?? But she was all like ‘sorry, I don’t have time to date. Please return this to the store if they do refunds.’....excuse me? If that was me, I’d take the bag and dip.”

“We know you’re shameless, hyung.” Leehan replies, but Jaehyun barrels on.

“Anyways, It’s best to get over her now. Nip it in the bud before it blooms. You’ll only get hurt otherwise.”

Woonhak sucks in a breath and swallows his food. “...what if I told you it’s already bloomed?”

Jaehyun blinks. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” Woonhak cries, “I really like her, maybe even love her.”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HER UNTIL A WEEK AGO!”

“Love has no time stamp, hyung!” The youngest grips Jaehyun’s hands, his eyes looking like they were about to pop out pink hearts. “She had me at first sight.”

“The first faint, you mean.” Leehan corrects, earning himself a pointed glare.

“I’m serious. She’s so…perfect.” Woonhak is sighing again, melting onto the pillow with thoughts of you clouding his judgement. 

And then the idea pops into his head.

Wait…maybe this was actually a good thing—if all of his friends knew you well enough, that meant he could extract information on how exactly to, for lack of a better term, court you. A foolproof method to weasel his way right into your cold, beautiful heart.

It’s not the most romantic imagery, but he will do with what he gets.

“Jaehyun hyung,” Woonhak purses his lips seriously, and finally demands with the will of ten lions, “I need a favour.”

He gets down to business right away—as soon as his feet hits the fuzzy carpet of his bedroom, he’s pulling out his chemistry notebook (which wasn’t being used anyways, so…), smoothens down a wrinkled page with a fist, and slides his marker across the lines:

“THE COURTSHIP MANUAL: a guaranteed guide on winning y/n’s heart”. He adds a cute heart beside it for good luck. 

He'd spent almost an hour pestering Jaehyun for all your likes and dislikes, and then some.

Did it cost him his already dwindling pride and two weeks of running errands for his hyungs? Yes.

Was it worth having an insider on all matters y/n-related? Yes, a million times, yes!

Despite his embarrassing showcase back at the court, Chenle had insisted they sign him for the team—something about having a left-handed player being favourable for the semi-s and  something else about overlooking the nosebleed shenanigan for Woonhak’s overenthusiastic playstyle.

So Woonhak doesn’t take too long to brainstorm a list of ideas, giggling under his breath like a lovesick girl as he jots down each one-

♡ 1. Device a method to naturally spend more time with y/n. Leehan had said that you biked to school every morning, just in time to unlock the school gym and prepare it before practice. It’s the perfect ploy—all he has to do is the same thing—plant himself and his bike somewhere coincidental enough to run into you, pretend none of it was masterminded by him, and strike up a conversation. It’s infallible. ♡ 2.  Impress her with my epic bball skills (AND my ripped body, duh) No explanations needed there. You’re a basketball team’s manager—which means you like basketball—which also means you likely like basketball players. Which he is. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s been working out (and flexing in front of the mirror for the better part of it); there is no way you’ll be able to resist his level 3 biceps.

♡ 3.  Write a love letter. You’re not one for small talk, and definitely wouldn’t entertain huge, public declarations of love. Jaehyun had mentioned that you’ve previously walked out on cafeteria confessions and embarrassed those poor suitors even further. A letter is considerate, it’s thoughful—and he will be all of those things for you. ♡ 4.  Confess.  In-person. Look you in the eye and tell you that he’s in love—that he’s been in love since the very first moment. He won’t force you to return his feelings, of course not.  But he also knows this might be the last chance he’ll get to tell you his genuine feelings. You’ll graduate this year, along with Jaehyun and the others. And you’ll go off to some prestigious university, because you’re not just pretty, you’re smart. Apparently, you’ve skipped grades before since you were so hardworking and brilliant, and Woonhak belatedly wonders why he’s so late to know about you.  But he won’t waste the time he has left. If one last try is what it takes for his affections to reach you, then he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take it.

Woonhak tears out the page with a newfound determination. Soon, he’ll be one step closer to you noticing him—and maybe even winning your heart somewhere along the journey.

The thing about step 1 is that despite it giving the illusion of ease, there’s a slight miscalculation on his part—human error, if you will—Woonhak, for all intents and purposes, does not know how to ride a bicycle.

The baby blue bike in his hold is not his, it’s Taesan’s, and he had to beg on his knees and hands for him to finally let Woonhak borrow it. After a hurried few minutes of practice, he had trotted off merrily, ready to meet you at the crossroads on the way to school the next morning.

“y/n!” he manages to yell out with the brightest grin he’s allowed to flash you, tires teetering as he pulls up parallel to you. “Good morning!”

You don’t respond. There’s a pair of earphones, one side dangling over your shoulder, and a heavy bookbag at the back of your bicycle. You do however acknowledge him with a tilt of your chin, an action so small that had Woonhak not been smitten with you, he might not have picked it up.

He barrels on, “It’s really early, huh? The sun’s not even up.” 

“...I guess.” You respond softly. “Isn’t it a normal time to be awake?”

Woonhak stutters, not having expected that, “Uh-...haha,” He laughs awkwardly. “I mean, yeah! I always wake up this early, actually. I meant early for you.”

He doesn’t think you’ll entertain his talking, but there you go again, dismantling his expectations- “Are you sure about that?” 

He nods eagerly, “Oh yeah! I’m such a morning person—early bird gets the worm, amiright!? You see, I’m always telling the hyungs that they should learn from m-” He doesn’t foresee the yawn that escapes his mouth right after, unable to stifle it with no free hands. You turn your head to give him a judgemental look.

He burns with shame—he really shouldn’t have stayed up all night doodling your name on his notebook and imagining how this day was going to be perfect.

“Umm…so anyways,” Woonhak attempts to change the topic, “It’s your final year, right.”

You nod.

“Have you decided on what you’ll be doing afterwards?” he asks with a newfound energy at your responsiveness.

“...Whatever offers me a scholarship.”

Oh. Not what he expected, but an answer nonetheless. 

“That’s great! You’re super smart anyways,...I mean-” He flounders again, “I’ve heard you’re smart. In passing. I don’t go around asking about you, haha, what…”

“Okay.”

If Woonhak could facepalm himself right now, he would.

“So,” He tries again, “I’m Woonhak by the way, I never introduced myself to you…I wanted to, duh, but then…”

“You got hit with a basketball.” You finish for him, in the same monotone voice he can never decipher.

“...yeah.”

"I know your name."

Woonhak's heart leaps, "You do?"

"It's on the list...and I have the list."

"Right." It doesn't matter how you know his name, just that you do. His body warms pleasantly at the thought.

“We should speed up, it’s already six.” You push down on the pedals, sweeping past him in one swift motion. 

Woonhak tries to keep up, mimicking your action, but one downward force and his foot misses the pedal, skidding the bike and him right into the bushes on the roadside. He yelps, scrambling as the grass and twigs prickles at his arms, dusting his freshly washed hair in dirt. 

You hear the sound of his voice and stop in your tracks, looking back over your shoulder.

Woonhak dies internally for the third time in front of you. One look at the now blackened bike and he knows Taesan is going to kill him cold.

He starts praying that Taesan goes through with his promise this time, that way he won’t have to look you in the eyes ever again.

//

So step 1 doesn’t go exactly as planned, but Woonhak will still deem it half successful. You know his name—that’s a win in his book.

The second step isn’t that hard. He’s already been making it to every morning and evening practice since, knowing he’ll find you on the sidelines, crossing out things on your trusty clipboard, or making trips to the storage room for towels and balls. Or you’re standing prepared with the first aid kit, ready for any potential accident or injury. 

Your discipline, how responsible you are all the time—...Woonhak finds it insanely attractive.

To the point it starts affecting the way he plays.

Chenle is running shooting drills after school, having the team take turns for three pointers and free throws. On any other day, Woonhak wouldn’t be fazed. And he happens to be doing perfectly well until he spots you in his peripheral vision.

“-got the tournament draw. We’ll be against Belift Academy-” You’re reading out to Coach Woo, flipping through pages as he nods in thought. 

Woonhak doesn’t hear the whistle blow once, then twice, and by the third time, Chenle bounces a ball into the small of his back—not hard enough to injure, yet enough to wound his pride.

“Ow-” Woonhak pouts, but one stern look from the captain is all it takes for him to swallow the whine and get back to practice. Ricky elbows him in the stomach to question his sudden lack of attention, but he only shrugs in response. 

The rest of practice moves in a blur, with an occasional mess up or two but nothing damaging enough to earn Woonhak another scolding. But every time he does make a successful basket, or does a cool crossover, his eyes instinctively search for your reaction. If you happen to be watching, it earns his heart a loud thump, and keeps him going without needing to break a sweat. 

By the time they’re done, all the boys are either panting, heading for their waterbottles, or flopping onto the floor on their backs. At least until the coach comes in to swat them away. 

“y/n, can you fill our bottles?” asks another freshman Woonhak knows by the name of Yujin. You accept without second thought, already gathering up as many bottles as you can between your arms. 

Woonhak lunges for one when it’s about to topple off, “I’ll help.”

“It’s okay, I can manage.” You purse your lips—not unkindly, just drily. 

Woonhak doesn’t budge. He offers a toothy smile in the face of your apathy. “You’ll drop all of it if you don’t take up my offer.”

You seem to consider the consequences for a couple beats, then grant him a nod—the same one you reserve for most of his statements. 

He joins you, splitting the load between the two of you, several bottles now hanging by their handles from Woonhak’s hand off of his shoulder. The refill station is out by the football field, near the grassy patch that glows under the evening sun. It’s quiet, and Woonhak would usually have the need to fill it with mindless chatter, but somehow with you, it feels strangely pleasant.

He takes the opportunity to sneak a glance at your profile, tracing the outline of shadows dancing over your skin.

Sadly, his study is interrupted by rowdy shouts from the football field-

“y/n!” One of the boys jeers, catching your attention. “Hey there pretty, did you come to watch me?” 

Another adds on, “Nah, she’s here for me, obviously. Aw, c’mon y/n-ie, don’t be shy now.”

Several others join in with obnoxious laughs, hooting and whistling with not a care in the world. 

You don’t respond. But Woonhak feels the tension brewing beneath, the slight twitch of your brows, the way you try to tune them out on purpose. He reaches to stomp over to them, wanting to shove their remarks right back into their mouth, but he feels a tug at the hem of his loose shirt.

You shake your head discreetly, pulling him away with you.

It isn’t until you’ve reached the station that you let go.

“y/n,” Woonhak starts, voice clipped, “Are you,..okay?”

“It’s just teasing.” You say it like it's a fact. “No need to fuss.”

You end the conversation just like that, not giving space for a reply or a correction. Woonhak doesn’t know what to make of it, but he comes away with the speculation that maybe, you aren’t all that you pretend to be.

Neither of you speak during the walk back.

//

He doesn’t quit at step one or two, not just yet.

Prelims catches up to them in the tide of a couple months, their days now stacked up with friendly inter-school scrimmages, intense workout sessions, and running laps if they weren’t doing all sorts of drills, on top of the usual daily practices and school work. 

In between his days of team-building and sometimes wishing death upon himself, never seriously, he finds solace in getting those small, tucked-away moments with you.

He now accompanies you to fill the bottles every time you need to, partly because he’s afraid of a recurrence of the previous incident, and partly because he likes your company. Woonhak has managed to learn a lot about you from your quiet, and supposedly throwaway comments—you’re polite, but you’re also snarky when someone acts up; you don’t look agitated when you flip through the record books, but the tension in your shoulders say otherwise; you hum under your breath when you count the bottles after refilling, a sweet melody Woonhak can’t place. 

Things are good, safe, but also stuck in place without any forward motion—until the tournament season kicks off.

Chenle distributes their official jerseys during one morning practice, checking off names and corresponding numbers.

“Hah! 21.” Leehan grins, puffing out his cheeks. 

Taesan is sprawled out next to him on the floor. “22, of course.” He smiles too. “Woonhak-ah, show yours.”

Woonhak flashes his scarlet jersey with a brilliant zero painted on it, his name right underneath. Chenle comes to ruffle his hair and says, “Better be on your best game, our shooting guard needs to come through for prelims.”

He nods enthusiastically, with a salute and a "Yes, Cap'n!", eyes easily drifting to your faint smile towards him from the stands. You do that now—smile at him. And talk more. Even though it's mostly about club activities, and how he should really learn how to tie his shoes up properly before he trips mid-game…again. But that's an improvement!

Morning of the first official match, they’re piled into a rental bus, ushered in by a sleepy Coach Woo, and counted for by a not-at-all sleepy you. Woonhak should be exhausted as well, but today, he’s here with a purpose—and no, he isn’t talking about winning the match.

Today, he will sit next to you on the bus!

The strategy is simple: you won’t enter until everyone else has, which means all he needs to do is loiter for a while, wait for you to take your seat, and sidle up next to you and pretend it was all an accident.

Unfortunately, his amazing strategy doesn’t account for the wildcard by the name of Kim Leehan.

Woonhak is standing at the foot of the bus with his hands buried deep in his jacket, the scarf around his neck barely doing its job. He watches as each of his teammates get inside, one by one, waiting for you to be done with rechecking everything. 

And then, Leehan trods over with a pout and pokes your arm. “y/n, did you see where I left my shoes, I can’t find them anymore.”

You immediately switch to that level-headed tone of yours, “It should be near the lockers. I’ll help you look, come with me.”

Woonhak panics, “-Wait, no, I’ll go-”

But Coach Woo interrupts him with a yawn and a hand around his shoulder, “Son, better get in now if you want to get some sleep in before we reach.” 

The coach doesn't seem to notice, nor care for the disappointed frown that crosses Woonhak’s face. He’d be throwing a tantrum if this was anyone else. But he’s already being ushered in, watching you and Leehan speed-walk over to the locker room in search of his godforsaken shoes.

By the time you return, Woonhak has ended up squished next to Coach Woo, who at first goes on and on about everything from motivational tips to his own personal stories, and at some point he’s just ranting nonsensically as Woonhak tries his hardest to quell the bubbling jealousy he feels when he spots you and Leehan sitting together in the seats diagonal to him.

Once Coach starts dozing off, head bobbing onto Woonhak’s shoulder every now and then, he finds it himself to take a deep breath and decide that he is not ready to give up this easily.

Woonhak wins them the match.

The Gymnasium lights blare down at their skins, glistening with sweat, the widest smiles etched onto their faces. Even Chenle is grinning when he holds up the trophy. 

The opposing team congratulates them amicably, thanking them for a satisfying game and parting after wishing them good luck for quarterfinals. 

“That’s our Unagi.” Taesan comes to muss up Woonhak’s hair, slowly joined in by the rest of his older teammates. Leehan pinches his cheeks, and Woonhak’s anger has already melted away (he won’t mention the fact that he’d been previously picturing Leehan’s face on the backboard to get his targets right). 

“Good job.” You say with a tiny smile when he springs free of the team huddle. 

Woonhak bites down a grin, cheeks already reddened from running around, suddenly shy under your praise. 

Under Chenle’s insistence they celebrate, and after Coach disgruntledly agrees to pay, they decide to get a congratulatory dinner at a nearby 24 hour diner. It smells like syrup and fried food, and a collective grumble of stomachs signals their cue to order almost everything on the menu. Conversation naturally drifts from the match and then to random anecdotes.

Woonhak is in the middle of stuffing his face with pancakes when Taesan pipes up from somewhere in the booth. “Unagi used to be such a brat back in the day, he would stomp around like godzilla if he didn’t get what he wanted.”

His only reply is a muffled grumble through a mouthful of food.

“He’s still kind of like that.” Ricky supplies, cutting into his stack of pancakes like it was a gourmet meal. 

“I like Woonhak’s tantrums,” grins Nicholas and Chenle nods along, “Keeps things interesting during practice.”

“And lightens the mood.”

Everyone collectively agrees to that.

Leehan chimes in, “Trust me, it wasn’t as pretty back when he was in middle school. Oh, y/n, you should hear this.” Woonhak furrows his brows, scared of what’s to come. Kim Leehan was bad news. He sees you turn your attention from your food to Leehan. “He refused to talk to us for a week because Taesan tricked him into trading his melon bread for crackers. There was snot everywhere.”

“And that time when he swore he was moving countries after we refused to tell him an inside joke.” Taesan snickers at the memory. 

Woonhak can only pout. But there’s a small smile on your face, and he finds heat creep up his neck, both in embarrassment and in response to how pretty you looked when you were happy. 

The night bleeds into darkness and they shuffle back into the bus, bellies full and heart content. Woonhak doesn’t think much when he takes the seat in the farthest row from the front, but a gentle push against his knees has him turning his head.

“Can I?” You ask, cold breath ghosting over your scarf, bunched up over your neck and chin and making you look soft.

He barely has the common sense to nod, letting you take the empty spot next to him.

The moon hangs low out through the fogged up window, making everything feel dreamier than it should be. Most of his teammates have slipped into slumber, heads pressed against bags or flopping onto neighbouring shoulders.

It’s quiet, but not unwelcome. Woonhak’s bones are weary enough to drag him down to silence.

“You really did play well.” Your voice is barely a breath, but he hears it all the same. 

“You were watching?” He asks dumbly, before realising that of course you’d be watching. It’s part of your job as the manager. 

But you still nod without correcting him. “And I don’t think your tantrums are that bad.”

“Oh.”

“I used to do it too, throw fits until I got what I wanted.” 

It’s disarming—how you offer something about yourself without needing to be prompted. Maybe you’re just as tired as him, too worn out to put on a front, to hold back. 

“Yeah?” Woonhak asks in a whisper, smiling.

You return it. “Yep. My mom had a hard time with me. She’d put me on time out and I had to go stand in the corner until I was done pouting.”

“I can’t imagine you pouting.” He giggles, letting you lean against him. “You’re always so…put-together.”

You shake your head with a light huff, “Nah. I was a monster back then. Not anymore, though.”

“Yeah? How come?” He teases, feeling your walls drop inch by inch. 

You hum as you think, “Hmmm, growing up, maybe?...and then my mom had my siblings, and I guess I had to toughen up.”

“You have siblings!?” He brightens, “I’ve got a younger sister!”

“I’ve got four—two sisters and two brothers.” The smile on your lips is fond, and your voice sounds excited to talk about them. “They’re menaces, but also too cute to get mad at.”

“I get what you mean. My sister’s always ratting me out, but I love her too much to be annoyed.”

The two of you chat in surprising ease, letting the night blanket over you comfortably, huddled up in the back of the bus like it was a makeshift pillow fort. 

Sometime later, he says, unable to look away from your pleased smile, “You don’t need to be serious all the time, y’know. You can be like this more often.”

You blink, caught off guard, “...I…yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“...It’s just.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, an action so small and unlike you. “There’s the responsibility you know,...being the oldest kid and all,”

Woonhak nods, relating to the sentiment.

“I have to get into a good university, and I can’t worry my parents about the tuition and the expenses that come with it.” You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “...then there’s me wanting to pay for my siblings too one day,...can’t be distracted right now, It’ll ruin everything.”

Woonhak sees it, the slow shift beneath your eyes from carefree chatter to the creeping anxiety about the future. He’d be lying if he said he’s felt the same before, but he’s always been in tune with your feelings from the very start—too observant of your quirks, too concerned. 

So he says, “You can be distracted while you’re with me. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”

You turn at his words, letting the weight of it settle into your bones. It means nothing, and at the same time, everything. 

“Okay.” You reply. And then, you give him the brightest grin he’s ever had from you. 

Woonhak doesn’t think it was possible to fall deeper, but like always, you’re catching him off guard and throwing him headfirst into uncharted waters.

He knows for sure now, he loves you.

He loves you, he loves you, he-

He really loves you.

Not in the shallow way he did when he fell speechless the first time you locked eyes. In an all-encompassing, unadulterated way where he’d spent every day listening to your worries and making it his life’s goal to put a smile on your face.

The problem is,..you don’t see him the same way.

“I’m going to die.” Woonhak whines as he stretches over his desk, picking at the pinched up petals in his hand. “She’s graduating soon and I’m never going to see her again.”

He’s tried everything to beg the universe to give him a sign—counted petals and tried the old ‘she loves me, she loves me not’ trick, asked his question to a magic 8 ball until all the answers came out with a resolute ‘NO’, and even dragged Jaehyun to a shoddy-looking fortune teller with no avail. 

So now he’s slumped over in his classroom, bottom lip jutted out in despair as his hyungs look over him with both pity, and exhaustion. They’d crowded around his table during lunch break, in worries that Woonhak might not make it through the day if they didn’t check up on the poor kid. 

“I don’t think crying about it helps,” offers Sungho unhelpfully, flipping through a textbook, barely giving Woonhak the attention he needs.

Riwoo jumps in before Woonhak can strangle him. “Have you tried…you know, asking her?”

“Are you crazy, hyung!?” Woonhak springs up, his voice high-pitched. “Do you know y/n? She’ll never say yes.”

“You don’t know that,” Riwoo replies. “Plus, it’s better than whatever you’re doing now.”

Touché.

“Have you tried seduction?” Jaehyun pipes up, rolling a piece of gum around in his mouth. 

“Se-seduction?” Woonhak’s brain fries then and there.

“Nothing PG-18 obviously, just like,...i don’t know, sending signals?”

Woonhak had considered this—it was step number 2 actually, but in all honesty, he’d forgotten the details once he started paying more attention to you and not the list. 

But maybe Jaehyun had a point.

“Hypothetically,” Woonhaks begins carefully, feigning nonchalance, “How would someone…send signals?”

Riwoo and Jaehyun exchange menacing smirks. 

“Ohoho, are we glad you asked young Padawan.” Jaehyun wiggles his fingers dramatically. “First things first, you’re a good looking guy—so use that.”

“Umm..thanks?” Woonhak tilts his head.

“He means,” Riwoo adds. “Girls like it when you’re clear about your intentions. But also subtle…don’t overdo it.”

Jaehyun continues, “Compliment her, be heroic,...be cool.”

“Give her a wink,” says Riwoo, demonstrating, “Like this.”

Woonhak tries, but he’s pretty sure it comes out as an ugly twitch rather than a sensual wink.

Riwoo frowns. “...We’ll work on that.”

“Don’t be embarrassed to flex a little too, girls are all over me when I roll up my sleeves during council meetings.” Jaehyun smirks, and then comes an eye-roll from Sungho.

“Be bold,” says Riwoo.

“Be swift,” says Jaehyun.

“Be yourself.” Sungho finally claps his book closed, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “She’ll like you for you.”

“Hyung, that’s,” Woonhak looks up at him, "...absolutely ridiculous.”

Sungho doesn’t prod anymore; he just shakes his head in disapproval and heads back to his own classroom with a wave.

“Our baby’s all grown up.” Jaehyun wipes a non-existent tear off his cheek, “Go forth and make us proud, Unagi."

//

Woonhak finds himself hoping a little now, another wave of determination after being in a slump for so long. 

When he reaches home, he gets right back to the drawing board, pasting his aforementioned sheet of “THE COURTSHIP MANUAL” onto the wall facing his bed—finding its home next to the messy array of band posters and practice schedules.

And so starts the seduction attempts-

First, he tries to throw out compliments at you on occasion—but they don’t quite come out the way he intends for them to.

“y/n,” He jogs over, wiping sweat off his forehead after a particularly gruelling practice. “-ah, I was wondering what that smell was.”

You shoot him a perplexed look.

He grins. “It’s you!...you smell really nice, like flowers.”

Your frown deepens, as though he was making fun of you. “I smell like gym.” You supply.

Woonhak flubbers, “NO! What I meant is,..uh…your hair—your hair looks soft! Like a sheep!”

You wrinkle your face in confusion, “umm,... okay,” and then walk away to pick up the balls before he can save himself.

It doesn’t get better after that.

“y/n, watch this!” He turns around at the free-throw line, trying to make a basket over his shoulder without looking. Unfortunately, it does not go in—instead, it rebounds off the board and right onto the back of his head.

It hits him immediately—the pain, and also the Déjà vu.

You help him ice his head without laughing, and Woonhak hangs his head in shame for the rest of the day. 

Once he gets over that incident, he pulls out other tactics. 

He tries winking like Riwoo taught him, but you end up asking if he’s got something in his eye, and then pull out eye-drops from somewhere, leaving him with the burn of another failed attempt. 

Any time he points at you with a, “y/n-ie, this one’s for you.”, he never actually makes the shot. Taesan couldn’t stop guffawing the last time he failed at it, and it left Woonhak with the unbridled rage to stab him.

When he tries to flirt with you, somehow he gets interrupted by the blow of a whistle or the barrage of annoying teammates that suddenly need his assistance with something.

As the last resort, he even puts aside his dignity and tries flashing his abs for you.

The two of you are at the refill station again, lining up bottles on the ledge. He does a purposeful stretch, letting his shirt ride up a few inches, perfectly angled so you’ll have a good look at him. He’s watching you from the corner of his eyes, waiting for any reaction at all—but you’re too busy counting water bottles.

Then Woonhak leans in towards the bubbler, carefully lifting the hem of his jersey to his cheeks, wiping away non-existent sweat. He feels your eyes on him as he takes a sip of water—but the sudden attention has the liquid go down the wrong pipe, and he ends up choking ungracefully until you’re thumping on his back to help.

He concludes that seduction is not his strong suit.

//

Woonhak decided he should just skip to step 3: write you a letter—something from the heart. As the quarterfinals end with their win and the semi-s edge towards them day by day—he can’t help but feel like he’s running out of time.

So he puts it all down onto a white sheet of paper, in the neatest handwriting he can manage—one not even reserved for his school work, and slips it into your bag pocket on the morning of the match, hoping you’ll find it in time afterwards.

He doesn’t need you to ask you to sit next to him—you do it as second nature now, gravitating towards his presence despite all his awkward blunders. 

“Hi.” He greets you as you meet him with a matching smile.

“Nervous for today?” You ask, settling into the seat.

“Yeah.” He won’t say there are more reasons than one for that. “But I’ve got my good luck charm with me.”

“Hm?” You quirk your head.

He didn’t think he’d need to clarify. “...You,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“Oh.” 

He swears he sees a red tinge on your cheeks, but it could just be the early morning cold. You bury your face deeper into your scarf, sighing pleasantly.

Sunlight streams through the glass window, bathing him in the same kind of warmth he feels inside his chest.

You don’t remember when it started—maybe sometime between Woonhak starting his routine of joining you for the regular water runs, and the time when you let yourself soften under the ease of the diner food and starlight, the first time you really talked about yourself.

It was easy with him. Even if he had the habit of stumbling whenever you got too close. You’ve stopped counting the number of times he’s been almost knocked unconscious because you accidentally caught his eye by moving around, or speaking a little less quietly than you usually did.

For whatever reason, Kim Woonhak got under your skin and not in an unpleasant way. 

You weren’t a stranger to attention—frankly, it was getting exhausting to turn down advances from strangers who had caught sight of you from far away, or classmates who found you pretty enough to pique their curiosity. Maybe it was that they saw courting you as a challenge—a shrew to be tamed. Honestly, none of it mattered because you were leaving this place behind soon and looking ahead to your future.

The only thing that might possibly make you miss it is the team—and particularly, one hyperactive freshman who can’t seem to leave your side.

“y/n, get the score sheet from my bag.” Coach Woo addresses you as the players get ready for warm-ups.

Semifinals take place in a larger stadium, with twice the seating space as a normal away game. The lights are harsher, the crowd rowdier. Ricky and Yujin help each other with sit-ups, Chenle is off somewhere to the side hyping up nervous first-timers, as Nicholas keeps an eye on making sure nobody was left behind out of the court.

Woonhak shuffles over to you in the middle of doing his tricep stretches. “Wish me good luck?” He grins, that same lopsided one he slips into every time you seem to look his way. It’s…distracting. 

You cough lightly, keeping your composure, “You don’t need it.”

He doesn’t budge. “Say it anyways?”

“...Fine,” You look him in the eyes, sparkly with the readiness of a game to be won. “Good luck.”

Woonhak grins like he’d already found victory. The whistle blows, alerting both teams to line up, cheers erupting from the crowd as both schools attempt to outmatch each others’ volume. 

The game kicks off with Woonhak at the center for the jump ball, his brand new jersey flashing his name as he launches upwards for the ball—his fingertips just graze higher than his opponent’s. He slaps it back to Chenle, who snatches it clean and bolts down the court.

The stadium buzzes with the skid of sneakers against polished wood, shouts bouncing from wall to wall. It’s fast and tense, with no room to breathe.

Your eyes map the ball as it zips between hands: guard to forward, forward to the wing. Woonhak runs the lane, feinting left as the defense tightens, past the much broader, taller opponents. He shakes free at the arc, palms up to signal that he’s open.

The ball spins into his grip. With the defender in his face, arms spread wide, he dips low, pulls up at the elbow, body lifting smoothly—hangs for a heartbeat in the air, then releases.

The ball rotates swiftly, silence hanging as everyone watches with bated breaths.

Swish! The net snaps. First basket down. 2 to 0. 

The bench erupts. You scribble at the sheet as the scoreboard blinks. Coach Woo just folds his arms, lips twitching proudly. You wear a matching smile—just softer and much better hidden.

The opposing team wastes no time. They tighten their offense, heading straight for their basket. It’s a tense game, and by the time the buzzer cuts through the gym for the end of the first quarter, the scoreboard reads 16–12 in KOZ’s favour. 

As Woonhak wipes his face with his jersey, panting, you notice the grin tugging at his lips. And for a second, you forget to keep a record of the current score—until Woonhak turns away to prepare for the next quarter.

He’s so…distracting, you think again with a huff.

The other team seems to get more frustrated as the game moves forward, with intentional bumps, shoves, and foul plays creeping into their strategy as time advances. Chenle guides his team with enough conviction to stand their moral ground while still playing well—but it only agitates the opponents. 

It’s neck to neck; a constant push and pull—but Woonhak is never cocky, just confident. Nicholas takes up most of the defense, shutting down passes and giving his teammates just enough breathing room to shoot. 

The scoreboard flickers—both teams refusing to back down. The clock winds down, the crowd buzzing louder with every second. Woonhak receives the ball at the top of the key, his jersey clinging to him with sweat. 

Two steps, a leap; Woonhak rises higher than he thought he could, his hand slams the ball through the hoop. The backboard rattles, sneakers squeal against the floor, and for a heartbeat the world stands still.

The whistle shrieks as the final buzzer sounds. His teammates rush him, shouting, clapping his back, their voices carrying above the roar of the crowd. 

They’ve won.

Woonhak barrels forward, ignoring the excited calls of his team, and heads straight for you—enveloping you in a hug without thinking. 

Your heart stutters. It takes a moment before you relax and pat his back softly. When he pulls back, he’s grinning, unable to hold back his happiness in the midst of victory.

//

You pack up after everyone else has left for the bus, longing to fall asleep after the tiresome match. Woonhak had said he’d be waiting for you outside the locker room, so you gather up your duffle bag and head over to meet him.

Except, your path is intercepted by a small group in bright blue—and it occurs to you that it’s the team that your school had just played against.

“Oh, look who we have here…the cute manager from KOZ.” A stocky, tall guy circles you. 

You grip the strap of your bag, not giving them the reaction they’re hoping for. 

Another joins in. “Aw cmon’, at least give us a smile.” 

You try to swerve out of the way, but he grips you by your upper arm, not tight enough to hurt but close enough that your heart plummets. It didn’t matter that you were calm—there was no way you could physically match up against them.

“I’ve asked you out before you know,” He continues, flashing an eerie smile. “But little miss proud over here wouldn’t even give me a look. What? You think you’re too good for us?”

“Let me go.” You try to wiggle out of his hold, but he doesn’t let you.

His grin widens, like a cat having it’s fun with a mouse. “I bet you play around with every guy who thinks you’re cute, bet you’ve toyed around with most of your team too.” 

When he inches closer, you ready yourself to kick him in the stomach, anywhere you can reach. But you don’t need to when a voice reaches you from behind-

“y/n?” Woonhak stops in his stride, worry etched onto his features, “what-”

You see the exact moment his eyes see red, its usual brightness gone. What you don’t see coming is how quickly his legs seem to move and the fist that comes flying past you and right into the guy’s jaw, letting you free.

“What the fuck!?” One of his teammates yells, and before you know it, a full-blown fight has broken out. You didn’t think Woonhak would have it in him to straight up grab the guy by his hair, digging his knuckles into his stomach. 

You turn to call for Coach, anyone who can make sure Woonhak doesn’t get hurt, but the loud sounds must’ve already alerted them because most of your team rushes in to pull him backwards. Taesan has an arm around his torso, but he still tries to claw his way out, aiming another punch at the now bleeding boy. 

It’s mayhem: there’s staff rushing in at the commotion, both coaches prying the boys apart, and between all of this, Woonhak still has his vice grip on the poor guy’s hair, glaring daggers into his bruised face. 

“STOP THIS ABSOLUTE MADNESS!” yells Coach Woo, finally managing to throw Woonhak off into Leehan’s trusty arms. “Both of you!”

“He was hurting y/n.” Woonhak’s voice is cold as ice as he twists around to get another punch in. 

“Go back to the bus. Chenle, take him,” the coach instructs and the captain does as told, grabbing Woonhak by the scruffs like he was a stray cat, non-verbally asking Nicholas to block his sight of the boy that was sliding onto the ground in a bloody mess. 

Woonhak is seething all the way there, pushed up against the front row where someone can keep an eye on him at all times. What had started off as a pleasant day is now marred by uncomfortable gloom.

“y/n, are you okay?” Coach asks you as you process the shock of the events. You nod, letting him guide you back in a gentle voice.

You end up next to Leehan, who offers you a gummy as his own strange way of consolation—you refuse but not without a thankful smile. The ride back home is unnervingly quiet, not a soul daring to bring up the incident.

To calm yourself down, you reach into your bag to pull out a textbook to read, but your hand brushes against a folded note.

A letter?

It's addressed to you, with a ‘from your Woonhak’ sprawled in small letters beneath it.

Your breath hitches.

You don’t count many times you reread his words, just that you don’t even realise that the bus is pulling up into the parking lot of your school. Coach Woo is talking over the phone, arguing with someone in hushed tones as the rest of you exit one after the other, heading for the locker room or back home.  

Woonhak is gone before you can grab hold of him.

You suppose it’s a good thing that the boy is so predictable—you know exactly where to find him: spread-eagle on the floor of the empty, dark gymnasium, staring up at the lowered basketball net. The only light is from the sliver of space between the almost closed door.

He doesn’t spot you approaching on light feet, quietly breathing out a “Hak,” until he turns to see you. 

“y/n?” Woonhak’s body reacts before his mouth does, already leaning to stand up. But you motion him to sit back down, taking a seat opposite to him, crossing your legs and pulling out the familiar first aid bag.

He might not have mentioned it but you had noticed the wound on his face—a clean cut across the middle of his lower lip, splitting the skin there in two. “Don’t get used to this, I’ll feel like you keep getting hurt just so I’ll tend to you.” You whisper, a hint of mirth there.

Woonhak doesn’t seem to realise. “What are you doing here?”

You give him an obvious glance, wondering why he’d even ask that question. “Coach isn’t mad at you, by the way.” You say instead.

“Ha!” Woonhak flops back onto the ground, his arms spread above his head. “He said they might revoke our trophy,..and the qualification for the finals. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, I can explain to them it wasn’t your fault...I mean,..I’m the one who-”

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence.” He glances sideways with narrowed eyes, voice clipped. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Those guys were the ones who…”

Silence dawns on the space between you, words unsaid but understood anyways. 

You speak after a beat, looking down at your lap. “I got your letter.”

“...Oh.”

“You said you wanted to say something to me if you won today.”

His mouth is parted, breath suspended in the moment of not knowing what he should say. Eventually, he settles for, “We don’t really win if we lose our spot.”

You can’t hold back the small huff of laughter that escapes you, shaking your head at his petulant response. “You’re impossible.”

He pouts. “You already know what I wanted to say to you, don’t you?”

You shrug, taking out your trusty ice pack and ointment, “Come here.”

He obeys, getting up to scoot closer, somehow ending up framing your knees with his legs. You kneel to hold his hands in yours, assessing the reddened scrapes on his knuckles, carefully squeezing out a bit of ointment for the broken skin there. He hisses in pain, but one gentle look from you is enough for him to quieten down.

You hand him the ice pack for his lips so he can take care of it himself. 

“Can I answer now?” You ask as he’s preoccupied, startling him. 

He waits a breath, then nods.

Woonhak doesn’t expect you to take his hand in yours, bringing it closer to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

He gulps, a shiver running down his spine.

You meet his eyes, and see something flicker beneath it, and before you know it, you’re gravitating to meet halfway in the middle—you kneeling with your hands on his shoulders for support, and his hands coming up to hold your waist. He hisses sharply as your mouth tastes metal, right over his split lip—but before you can move away, he’s diving back in desperately.

When you do part eventually, the little shit has the audacity to say, smirking, “So was it my biceps?”

You scoff without any real bite, leaning in to peck the corner of his smile, not managing to kiss it away, “No one's ever taken a hit to the head for me—that has to count for something right?”

Woonhak thanks whichever deity wrote his fate to have Taesan throw a basketball at him on that destined day. 

“Coach told me to say you did the right thing.” You add, brushing away a non-existent blemish on his cheek with your thumb, holding him in place. “And that they won’t take away the trophy from us...,those guys are getting blacklisted off of championships.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, letting his forehead come to rest at your neck. “Thank god.”

You giggle, “And here I thought you weren't afraid.”

“Hey-” His breath ghosts over your neck. “What is this?...” There’s a pinch of nervousness in his voice, as though he’s scared of your answer. “...What are we?”

You hold him closer, letting him nuzzle into your skin, your hands coming up behind his spine. “Anything you want us to be.”

Woonhak sighs again, and even though you can’t see him, you feel him grin against you. In the middle of the empty basketball court, the two of you sit intertwined—two bodies that might as well just be one. 

“y/n, I love you.” Woonhak whispers, mentally ticking off the fourth step off of his guide. 

You smile softly, “I know.” And then a moment, to make sure he knows your words aren’t just an impulse. Then- “I love you too,..Unagi.” 

He presses closer to you, never wanting to be apart again—and even if he doesn’t need to repeat himself, he whispers those three words over and over again, until you’re both a mess of shared breath and pressed skin. 

It’s a golden summer evening when Woonhak falls in love for the second time—and he has no doubt there will come a third time, and then a fourth, and countless others—and that every single time, it will be with you. 

some extra notes on this fic! Reblogs are appreciated!!!!

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[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 25.5k ❧ warnings: cursing, neck/shoulder biting and marking if you’re squeamish about that, talking about like werewolf scenting and stuff, blood, brief kissing with blood on/around mouths, this is a werewolf fic either you’re into this stuff or you’re not lol ❧ genre: fluff, so incredibly fluffy and sweet it should’ve been a warning honestly, established relationship, modern magical creatures au, college au, werewolf sungchan, human reader, ft. siren shotaro, werewolf jeno & various magical neos, same universe as strawberry sunday, sequel to changer ❧ extra info: this is a sequel to changer! it cannot be read as a standalone, you must read changer first! this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday but can be read as a standalone! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe (aside from changer to this one), they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ author’s note: so this is technically the spiritual threequel (fourqual?) to my werewolf jeno fics (pupsick + abh) but you still don’t have to read those to understand this one at all! this is absolutely meant to be read by itself (after changer, ofc), and if you were able to survive changer, then you deserve a medal. and this is that medal, i suppose!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

The whole thing probably lasted just a couple seconds, but to you it felt like minutes, as every one of your heartbeats pounded through you, ricocheted around in your skull and grey matter. Could Sungchan feel that? Feel your pulse in his mouth? Was he scraping at it with his canines? Just one wrong move away from tearing open something vital?

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Sung.” You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, holding him close with no hesitation, even as his own arms were much slower to react. But once they did, he pulled you to him with a nearly crushing force, a strength that could all but make you forget that he was only half-werewolf.

Tonight, he’d let you stay with him for one of his shifts. It was exactly because he was half-werewolf that he’d even considered it in the first place, his shifts were much less intense than full werewolves, generally less violent and possibly dangerous for anybody who happened to be around him. He’d described it to you after the last full moon, that it was more just sort of painful, confusing, and sometimes sort of like when drunk-you left problems for sober-you, like drunk-dialing people or spending too much money online. Except in his case, werewolf-him generally destroyed smaller pieces of property like school notes or clothes. When he said that he always asked Shotaro to leave the night of the full moon, you asked if you could be with him the next time. It sounded terrible to have to do that alone every month. And to your surprise, he’d only responded with a weak ‘please?’

So when you’d arrived this afternoon, you’d taken everything out of his room that you feasibly could that he didn’t want to chew up: his bookbag, textbooks, nice sneakers, photo albums, laptop, etc. And then you’d locked the door, and stayed with him.

Now he was coming out of it—a glance at his bedside clock that had been knocked out of place but was otherwise fine told you that it was almost three in the morning. You cradled the back of his fully-human-again head, not minding the matted, damp hair.

“I’m right here,” you reminded him. “I didn’t go anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt him shudder as he let out what sounded like a whine of pain. It made you worried about him staying up on his own two feet. “Sung? Do you need to lay down?”

He didn’t answer, and you realized he might not be back at the point where he could speak yet. Before you could finish weighing your options of attempting to drag the 186cm still partially-shifted half-werewolf to his bed by yourself, he’d buried his face in your neck, opened his mouth, and was resting his set of sharp canines against the curve of where your neck met your shoulder.

You breathed in through your nose, hand still on his head as he just… waited. For what, you couldn’t say. He was still whining softly, though now there was a slight undertone of need cutting through the pain you’d heard earlier.

Your hand was still resting on his head, and you gently pulled him closer, feeling the dull pressure of his teeth against your skin. “It’s okay, Sung. Whatever you need. I trust you.”

Finally, he closed his jaw. But it wasn’t a bite at all, it was more like a toddler teething on something cold to soothe their aching gums while their new teeth grew in. It didn’t hurt; he certainly wasn’t breaking skin, and you doubted that any marks would be left. The worst damage would be slobber, you were sure. If anything, it just… tickled. Suppressing a giggle at the feeling, you stroked his hair affectionately.

“There you go, Sung. There you go…” You murmured quietly. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You’re okay, baby…”

“Bite…” He finally let out a grunt that sounded akin to a real word.

“What? What was that?” You tried to pull your head back to be able to look him in the face, but he didn’t want to detach from you in the slightest, his whines becoming less pained and more pathetic. Giving up on the task, you shook your head just a little, “Never mind, sorry. But what were you saying, Sung? Something about biting? You didn’t chew anything up this time, actually. We kept you in check pretty well. Your wallet will thank us, I’m sure.”

Sungchan continued to mouth at your neck a couple more times before he gave another full body shudder and tremble, then fell to his knees. As wrapped up in each other as you were, you went down with him, your kneecaps only saved by the fact that he had a nice plush rug. Your forehead wasn’t so lucky, as it got cracked against his on the way down, and you bit your tongue as a result.

“Shit!” You hissed, but couldn’t even focus on your own pain for very long, because Sungchan was now leaning most of his weight forward onto you. You quickly readjusted hold him up by the underarms. “Woah, woah. You alright, Sung?”

“I… bite…” He groaned again.

“You bite your tongue too?” You guessed humorously, scooting to sit on the floor against his bed and ushering him to lay down with his head in your lap. Ideally, you’d be in the bed, not on the floor next to it, but this was close enough.

Sungchan curled up in your lap as if he’d forgotten how big he was, fitting as much of the top half of his body there as he could. It was as he turned over slightly onto his side that you finally got a good look at his face again and saw just how exhausted he looked. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and his skin was warm, flushed, and drenched with sweat. You gently brushed the damp bangs away from his forehead with one hand, reaching your other up towards his nightstand. After fumbling around in the top drawer for a ridiculous amount of time considering you’d put it literally right on top, you finally grabbed the lunchbox filled with cold, damp washcloths and ice packs that you’d stored in there earlier.

Unzipping it, the ice packs were all melted, but the washcloths were still nice and cool, which was what you really needed. Taking the first one, you blotted it along Sungchan’s forehead, cheeks, and neck, following it up with fleeting touches of your hand to assess if it was really helping or not. Judging by the small, soft, not painful sigh he let out, it at least didn’t seem to be hurting.

“Y/N…” He panted, grabbing your wrist as you were pressing the washcloth to his cheek.

“Yep, I’m right here, Sung,” you reassured him, putting your other hand over his. “I’m right here, okay?”

“I…”

“Do you need something, baby? Water? Food?

“I want…”

You dropped the washcloth from his face to listen attentively. “Yeah, Sung?”

His eyes finally opened, letting you see that his irises were still the same glowing, burning amber as earlier in the night. Not quite out of his shift yet. He sat up until he was nearly level with your neck, breathing in deeply. His grip on your wrist tightened, then he all but collapsed back onto your lap again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Mm… I should… We should… I wan’ to…” He was slurring his words like he was drunk, chest heaving with every breath, and his grip on your wrist relaxed until he was loosely holding your hand, pulling it down to cradle your forearm to his chest like it was a stuffed animal. “Wan’… give you my mating bite… Y/N…”

You stared down at Sungchan with wide, dumbstruck eyes. As he slowly blinked, you could see that his eyes were still that same bright gold. He just shifted further up to try to fit more of himself in your lap, though, pressing his head against your stomach and wedging his shoulder in the gap left by your criss-crossed legs.

Even as you were so shocked, you curled up and readjusted to mold your body around him, one hand giving his head a soft, reassuring pat as the other rubbed up and down his arm, soothing over the surely tired muscles.

“You…” You trailed off in your attempt to get clarification, unable to even begin to try to rephrase it yourself. In packs, mated werewolf couples bit each other in elaborate rituals. Neither of you were any of those things. Could Sungchan even give a werewolf mating bite, as a half-werewolf? Could you receive one? You definitely couldn’t give him one back. Wouldn’t he want one back? Or maybe not? Not to mention he wasn’t in a pack and had never been in his life. What did a mating bite mean to him?

God, your head hurt, and you weren’t even the one who had gone through a werewolf shift tonight.

Sungchan took another deep breath, and long, slow blink, his eyes almost back to their normal brown color. “‘Cause I… I love you. I wan’ to… ‘cause I love you… my… Y/N.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and you heard his breathing even out as he finally fell asleep in just a few moments.

It didn’t seem like you’d get the answer to any of those questions tonight. And as much as the idea of going any longer without knowing made your stomach twist into painful, uncomfortable knots, Sungchan needed the rest. He wasn’t in the right state for any sort of conversation like that. There wouldn’t be any way he’d be able to answer your questions even if you could force yourself to ask them.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned over to gently peck his hair. “Your Y/N loves you too, Sung…”

Your back ached. You had a crick in your neck. And another one in your back. And another one in another part of your back. And yet another one in one more part of your back. You groaned, rolling over in bed to try to crack some of the kinks out without having to actually get up.

That gave you pause. There was definitely a mattress underneath you, blankets covering you, and a pillow supporting your head. But you remembered falling asleep on the floor next to Sungchan’s bed after his shift last night.

Squinting one eye open suspiciously, you saw that it was still very dark in his room, but you had without a doubt been mysteriously tucked into his bed. Much too tired to investigate past that, you pulled the blankets up over your head and buried your face in your pillow, very quickly falling back asleep.

When you woke up again, it was brighter outside, and at first you thought Sungchan had put a weighted blanket on you in the middle of the night. Odd choice, considering you didn’t have one on you the first time you woke up, or at least that you could remember. And then you realized that Sungchan was your weighted blanket.

Your boyfriend was fully snuggled up on top of your back, completely passed out, as you were dozing on your front. You couldn’t even roll him over, he was dead weight. With a sigh, you closed your eyes again, wondering if you’d be able to go back to sleep for a second—third?—time this morning.

“You up?” He mumbled in your ear, voice barely above a hoarse grumble.

“You’re awake?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah?”

“So you’re suffocating me on purpose?”

He rolled off onto the mattress next to you, and immediately your lungs could work better. “Oh, so when you do it to me, it’s cute and I’m supposed to enjoy it, but when I do it, it’s attempted murder and ‘Ouch, Sungchan, get off of me, you’re crushing me with your big, huge werewolf muscles.’”

“So I don’t need to ask if you’re feeling better,” you scoffed, but nevertheless shifted onto your side to face him.

He wasn’t pink-faced and sweaty anymore, instead looking unnaturally pale, with dark circles under his eyes like he’d pulled two all-nighters in a row for finals week. You cupped his cheek, gently running your thumb under one of his eyes. His skin wasn’t warm to the touch, instead it felt the same temperature as yours—cold for a werewolf or half-werewolf.

“You’ve got a chill, Sung,” you observed with a frown, taking your hand back as you prepared to get up.

“It’s normal, baby,” he reassured you, grabbing your arm to keep you from leaving. “Just uh… returning to homeostasis or whatever. I’ll be okay.”

“Alright… if you say so…” you sighed, staying put and pressing a kiss to his forehead, sneakily taking note of his temperature that way instead. “You can at least eat, right? Breakfast sound good?”

“Sure. In a minute.”

“You stay here, I’ll go make you something. Breakfast in bed. What’s better than that?”

He pretended to deliberate on this, then grabbed you with two arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest. “This.”

Tucked under his chin, you couldn’t look up to read his face, instead just staring at his t-shirt. “Really? You’re not hungry?”

“A little. But I won’t die if I don’t eat right now.”

“Are you implying that you’ll die if we don’t cuddle right now?”

“Yes,” he replied dramatically. “Absolutely. I’ll simply perish if I don’t get my Y/N time this instant.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at that, finally giving in. Not forgetting about his drop in temperature, you made sure to pull the blankets up around you two before you fully snuggled in, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“Alright, alright. Slow your roll on your imminent decay. I’m right here, Sung. Like I said last night, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He mused, tangling your legs together.

“Yeah, I did.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously. “Uhm… How much do you remember about your shifts?”

“While I’m fully shifted? Not a lot usually. Immediately before and after? Depends. Why? Did I do something?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the feeling of his teeth on your neck, of him asking to bite you, to give you his mating bite. Did he remember that? Sungchan wasn’t bringing it up… Surely he’d mention it again now if he remembered, or was serious about it.

“Well, afterwards… you were kind of saying some stuff. I just didn’t know if you—”

“Hey… look at me?” Sungchan requested as he leaned back from you. When you’d picked up your head to oblige, he looked you in the eye with no hesitation, his face entirely serious now. “Of course I meant it when I said I love you. I’m sorry I said it to you for the first time looking like a hot fucking mess, and again now not in much better shape, but I mean it all the same. I love you, my Y/N. So much. So goddamn much I feel like I could explode if I don’t tell you every 5 seconds. Except you might get kind of tired of me if I did that.”

Despite it not being the words you were expecting to hear, you were beaming from ear to ear, even managing out a choked laugh through the happy tears suddenly welling up in your eyes.

“Woah, hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry with how bad my confession was,” he joked, wiping at the first tear as it slipped down your cheek.

“Oh shut it!” You chastised him. “What have I told you about being a sweetheart?”

“Own up to it or don’t do it at all,” he recited dutifully. “I’m sorry, baby. I love you, so fucking much and I’m going to explode if you don’t say it back maybe? But no pressure? Also, I love you. And no pressure to say it back right now.”

“Oh my god, Sung, I love you too,” you laughed, grabbing his face in both of your hands to pull his mouth to yours. “So fucking much.”

Dr. and Mr. Jung lived in a two-story townhouse just a couple blocks over from campus. The old bricks on the face of it were a warm red, and as you got closer, you saw that there were shimmery flecks mixed into the rogue.

“How old are these buildings?” You asked Sungchan, reaching out to touch one of the bricks around the entryway. “There’s dragon scales in the brick.”

“There’s what?” Sungchan’s eyes widened, and you pointed to a particularly large chunk, about the size of the head of a thumbtack. It reflected amber in the setting sun.

“Dragon scales. They used to be incorporated into building materials to make them more durable. You know, before integration. There’s been really big debates at like, every open-door City Hall meeting about if we should keep buildings up that have dragon scale brick in them or not, since so many dragons had to be killed to make them.”

“Oh my god.”

“So far it looks like they’re going to move towards tearing down abandoned buildings made of dragon scale brick at least.”

“How-How many dragons? Were killed?”

“We have no way to know. And the thing is, you can gather dragon scales without hurting a dragon, it’s just not going to be enough to make dragon scale brick of any usable quantity.”

“So it should’ve never been made.”

“No. It shouldn’t have.” You turned away from the wall with a shake of your head. “Anyway, that’s why I was asking how old these homes are. They’re by the university, so pretty old, I guess.”

“I have no clue. You’d have to ask my parents.” Sungchan ushered you towards the door with a hand on the small of your back.

“I don’t think I will. Not incredible meet-the-parents dinner conversation, really.”

“As much I want to say they’ll love you anyway, which they would, I do have to agree with you. Maybe save the existential horror of the materials of their home for the second dinner.” He kissed the top of your head.

“Will do.” You nodded. “Now, are you going to knock on the door, or are we going to keep standing out here like we’re casing the place?”

“Oh, sorry, you can’t hear that. My mom’s—”

And then the sound of the front door unlocking came, and you looked up at Sungchan questioningly. It was opened by a face familiar to you only from pictures.

Dr. Jung was already beaming at you. “Hello! Oh, I’m sorry if I startled you, Y/N. I was grading in my office and could hear you two coming up the steps, got a bit excited.” She gestured to the window next to the brick that you’d been discussing.

Dr. Jung was an economics professor at your university, though you’d never taken a class from her personally.

“I was about to give you a heads up,” Sungchan patted you on the back. “I heard her footsteps, that’s—”

“—why you weren’t knocking. Of course.” You nodded, then turned your focus back to Sungchan’s mother. “It’s lovely to meet you, Dr. Jung.”

“You too, Y/N.” She was still smiling ear-to-ear as she reached forward to take your hands. “You’ll have to tell me more about the history of these dragon scale bricks, I truly had no idea.”

You looked at Sungchan in alarm, and he just shrugged. But she was already leading you into the house by your hand, your boyfriend trailing behind.

“Mom, I don’t even get a hug? No hello for your own son?” Sungchan complained dramatically, closing the door behind you three.

“Well since you’re going to be a big baby about it.” A man’s voice suddenly joined in as you had emerged from the front hallway into the living room. You turned around towards the stairs to see Sungchan’s dad standing on the bottom step, still not eye level with his son even with the added height. He wrapped his arms around Sungchan with an affectionate fake growl, and your boyfriend eagerly hugged his dad back.

Mr. Jung was a middle school science teacher, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was where Sungchan got his love for science from. He never said it specifically, but he’d told you plenty of stories of doing home science experiments with his dad as a kid.

“Hey, Dad.” He was grinning so brightly as he pulled away, then eagerly gestured to you. “Dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my dad.”

“Jung Yoonseo, how are you?” The other human greeted you. But your gaze got stuck on the dip of Mr. Jung’s shoulder, where his neck met shoulder, and two-thirds of a dark bite mark were visible above the collar of his shirt.

You tore your eyes away from the mating bite to look up at his face, smiling again. “I’m good, Mr. Jung, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m very well.” He nodded to you, starting towards the connected kitchen.

“Oh, honey, Y/N was just telling me that apparently our home is made of dragon scale brick,” Dr. Jung pulled you into the kitchen as well.

Mr. Jung turned around from where he’d started peeling a vegetable to look at his wife curiously. “Sorry, you said dragon scales, Jieun?”

“Yes! Go on, Y/N. I didn’t catch much of what you were telling Sungchan, I came to get you all as soon as I heard that you’d arrived.”

You looked to Sungchan imploringly, but he just shrugged again, then mouthed something that looked like ‘go for it’ to you. So you inhaled, and went for it.

“Dr. and Mr. Jung, do you two know how old your house is?”

“I think that went pretty well,” Sungchan declared as the two of you walked down the sidewalks hand-in-hand later that evening. He had a bag filled with containers of leftovers in his other hand.

“Glad you think so. I felt like Renjun, giving people impromptu lectures at the most out-of-pocket times,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, and they loved it. My parents are big nerds like you.”

“You’re literally a STEM major.”

“Point taken.”

“So your dad wasn’t just being nice when he invited me over for tea, then?”

Your boyfriend looked down at you with wide eyes. “When did he do that?”

“When you and your mom were packing up the leftovers and he was showing me the backyard. I forgot how it came up, but I’d mentioned the boba shop, and he said if I liked tea, then I was welcome to come over for a cup anytime. Since he’s still on summer break and everything.”

Despite the smile that had creeped across his face as you spoke, you furrowed your brow suspiciously.

“What? What are you smiling for?”

He surprised you by smooching your temple loudly. “I was wrong. It didn’t go pretty well. It went great.”

“Being invited over for tea is a good sign?” You asked cautiously.

“Definitely.” He stopped the two of you on the deserted sidewalk, letting go of your hand just to immediately seize your waist, pulling you towards him. The surprised noise you were about to make got muffled by Sungchan sealing his lips over yours. You curled a hand around the back of his neck as the other gripped onto his forearm for some kind of stability as he kissed you breathless.

As he pulled back to look down at you with that same big, tender grin, you couldn’t help but let out an airy giggle.

“And what was that for?”

“I love you. And do I need a reason to kiss my amazing, beautiful girlfriend?” He punctuated each of the last three words with more kisses to your cheek this time, making you giggle again.

“Like that, in the middle of the street? Yes.” You pinched his side teasingly, earning a laugh as he squirmed away from your touch. You made sure to tack on an, “I love you too, Sung.”

“We’re not in the street, we’re on the sidewalk.”

Before you could give your retort, he’d caught your lips in another sweet kiss, and all banter was gone from your mind.

“Are you staying at my place?” Sungchan asked when you’d finally restarted your journey.

“Let’s do my place tonight, hm?” You suggested, squeezing his hand.

He tilted his head, an adorable, confused pout on his face. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have some poor roommate that we’ll be annoying.”

“Says the girl who used to specifically ask if Shotaro was going to be home before she’d agree to come over,” he snickered.

“I did that because I had a huge crush on you and you’d friendzoned me, you ass.” You elbowed him in the side teasingly. “Having Taro there made it easier to ignore the aching hole in my chest whenever I looked at you, you dick.”

You landed a gentle mock punch that was in actuality a light tap to his chest, but Sungchan was no longer laughing. He looked down at you, pensive sadness on his features.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to articulate how much I regret putting you through that. You didn’t deserve to ever feel… an aching hole, because of me.”

“Ah, Sung.” You hugged his arm to your chest, resting your head against his shoulder as you walked. “I know you would’ve never done that to me on purpose. But if we can’t laugh about it—about the uh, admittedly kind of funny scenario we put ourselves in before we started dating—then we’ll never be able to really move past it. We’re together now, and that’s what really matters.”

He sighed. “I agree. I just… I don’t think I’m past the feeling bad part yet.”

“That’s okay.” You squeezed his upper arm reassuringly. “Just don’t beat yourself up on my account. Alright?”

“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the small smile in his voice.

“So, my place?”

“I just remembered that my mom put in some leftovers for Shotaro. Kelp rolls.”

“We should probably take that to him, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Hopefully that’ll be enough to counteract us existing around him.”

Shotaro was enthused to receive his kelp rolls, not even commenting on you staying the night as he excitedly took his food into his room.

“You want something to eat?” Sungchan asked as he put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge.

“No. I ate plenty at your parents’ house.” You shook your head. Stretching and yawning, you started towards the hallway with their bedrooms. “You make your little post-dinner snack. Feed your half-werewolf metabolism. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“Feel free to take a sweatshirt or something.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Your boyfriend found you a few minutes later already curled up in his bed, bundled up in just one of his oversized hoodies. He scooted in next to you, encouraging you to move your head from the pillow to his lap as you went to snuggle up to his side instead.

“Whatcha eating, Sung?” You mumbled, mouth splitting into another yawn. All you could tell was that he had a bowl of some kind of finger food, as he’d brought no utensil in with him.

“Some fruit. Strawberries, honeydew, blueberries… Oh, you want a grape?”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re not trying to fatten me up to eat, you know?” You said teasingly. “Like some mix of the witch from Hansel and Gretel and the big bad wolf from Little Red Riding Hood…”

“Banana slice?”

But you knew it was just his instinct to feed you, so you always indulged him to a certain extent—not so much that you felt like you were going to burst, but enough to calm his need to know that you were well-fed.

“Mm, grape.” You opened your mouth like a baby bird. He deposited the fruit on your tongue, but due to how you were laying, it landed more-so on the inside of your cheek. You had to sit up and prop yourself up on an elbow to chew and swallow properly without choking, but then promptly laid back down, nuzzling your face into his thigh.

Just a few seconds later, he asked you through a full mouth, “Baby? You want another?”

“I’m good, Sung, thank you,” you replied sweetly. “Your dad’s a really good cook, I ate a lot at dinner.”

“Yeah, he is,” he agreed proudly.

“Now finish your food so you can cuddle me to sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And less than ten minutes later, you were laid on your side, pulled flush to Sungchan’s front, your back to his chest and your legs tangled together. You had one of his arms ensnared, fingers laced loosely with his as you wrapped the limb tighter around you. His face was buried in your neck, planting absentminded kisses to your skin as you were gently floating between waking and sleep.

“I used to think you liked him, for a little bit, you know,” Sungchan murmured next to your ear, clearly a sudden blurting from his own train of thought that you weren’t privy to.

Oh, this sounded like a conversation. You squinted your eyes open blearily, turning over in his arms to face him. Throwing a leg over his to pull him closer, you offered him a sleepy smile and asked, “Who?”

He readjusted to keep holding you like that, one hand resting where the bottom of the hoodie had ridden up around your hip, settling on your thigh. His thumb and forefinger messed with the hem of the sweater, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in the dim light as he swallowed.

“Shotaro. Since you’d always ask if he was going to be at the apartment. But your heartrate never went up around him.”

You hummed in amusement, reaching out to gently pinch the tip of his nose. “Endearing that you were listening to my heartbeat to figure out if I liked your roommate.”

“But it did… go up around me sometimes. I knew that,” he confessed, his eyes locking on yours, desperate. Like he was searching, asking you for something. Absolution, penance, maybe. “And it made me happy. Even though I had told myself that I shouldn’t have you. It still… made me happy at first, but then it’d make me sad. That you hadn’t moved on. Because I thought you’d deserved to move on.”

But he’d done no sin that you needed to cleanse him of in your eyes. He was a guy who made a few mistakes and then finally made the right choice. After you smacked him upside the head with it, but nobody was perfect. The person who really needed to forgive him was himself. He was still stuck in the past, seemingly afraid that he could lose you at any moment. But he wasn’t going to, and you wished he would just believe that.

“But you got me now,” you promised, cradling his face and wishing he could feel just how much you really meant those words.

“I do.” He brought his hand up to cover your own, and you felt like you could cry. “I do got you now.”

“And I’ve got you.”

“You’ve always had me. I just hadn’t told you yet. But you’ve always had me,” Sungchan admitted with a bittersweet smile, curling his hand around yours.

You surged forward to close the minute gap between the two of you, kissing him so hard that your lips hurt. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your hands grabbed at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to pull him closer to you. He was hugging you tight to him, thank god, because it felt like you could never be close enough. Your bones ached with a need to break the laws of physics and exist in the same time and space as him, and a tiny part of you believed that if you just wanted it enough, if you tried hard enough, maybe you could.

“You know, I thought all I’d feel was relief when you and Sungchan finally got together, but instead I’m plagued by near constant nausea.”

You stopped in your tracks in the hallway. You’d been trying to quietly pee then hurry back into Sungchan’s room the next morning, but instead, you spun around to face Shotaro, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He was standing in front of his door at the opposite end of the hall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Maybe go see a witch about that. It sounds serious,” you wrinkled your nose teasingly. Thankfully you’d had the wherewithal to pull on a pair of sleep shorts you had stashed in Sungchan’s drawers before leaving his room that morning.

“Yeah, that and my recently developed insomnia, too,” he scoffed. “Three in the morning, Y/N. Some people like to sleep, you know.”

Your skin burned as you started shuffling backwards towards Sungchan’s room. “Sorry! Bye!”

You slammed the door behind you, startling Sungchan awake.

“Huh?” He blinked sleepily, lifting his head to look around.

You launched yourself back into bed, burying your face in the pillow in shame.

“Woah, Y/N, you okay?” Sungchan’s voice was thick and deep this early in the morning, but you couldn’t even focus on that. He rubbed your back soothingly as you shook your head.

You turned your head just enough to clear your mouth to speak. “We should’ve gone to my place... No roommate...”

“Oh, Shotaro giving you a hard time?”

“‘Three in the morning, Y/N. Some people like to sleep.’” You did your best Shotaro impression. “I don’t think it was enough kelp rolls.”

“Ah, I’m-I’m sorry, baby.” Sungchan kept rubbing your back, but you could hear that he was holding back laughter.

You rolled onto your back, shooting him a glare before staring up at the ceiling. “Why do I always let you talk me into staying at your place?”

“Because you love me,” he replied in a sing-song voice, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheekbone, near your hairline.

“Yeah, but I mean, why do we always end up at your apartment, Sung? Why do you never want to come over to mine?”

The teasing dropped from his tone as he straightened up slightly. “It’s not like that, Y/N. I like spending time with you, no matter where we are. We could be in the cold vacuum of space, and I’d be fine with it as long as we were hanging out. And, in space suits so we didn’t die, you know. But, it’s just... I don’t know, I like having you here. In my space. It feels like everything’s right in the universe, like I know everything will be okay, that you’re going to be okay. As stupid as that sounds—”

“No, Sung, it’s not stupid.” You shifted to face him, brushing some hair back from his face. The same anxiety that you’d seen the night before was painted across his features again, and you didn’t like that you were seeing it more and more often. His sentiments weren’t stupid, they were loving, but the root of them concerned you. Was he constantly plagued by worries of something bad happening to you?

“Not at all...” You reiterated softly, running your thumb over the crease between his brows. “Sung? Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you have class today but… can I stay here? While you’re on campus? Then we can do something together when you get back. We can go downtown or something.”

You could feel his face relax again under your touch, and he nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, of course. If you think you can handle being around Shotaro for that long. He’s off work today.”

“I’ll manage, somehow.”

When it was finally time for Sungchan to go to class, though, you encountered an issue.

“Sung, you need to go to class,” you sighed, nudging him from where he had his arms wrapped around you. You’d been lounging on the couch when it struck time for him to finally depart for campus, but you were now dealing with a clingy werewolf.

“The professor doesn’t count attendance for a grade,” he grumbled. “I can skip.”

“You literally said this morning that you had a quiz today.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did, you liar,” you scoffed, trying to wriggle out of his grip. “And you need to go take that quiz.”

Shotaro, meanwhile, was observing the entire thing from the threshold between the living room and the hallway, a fascinating mixture of equal parts disgust and amusement on his features. You looked at him pleadingly for any kind of assistance, and he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless helped you anyway.

“Sungchan, dude, seriously,” Shotaro sighed, his tone on the border of exasperation and understanding. “Y/N’s wearing your clothes, staying in our apartment, and you haven’t let her go for I think the past four hours straight, not even to pee. You’ve scented her up enough to last the next month, a few hours will be fine.”

Your jaw set as there was a sudden spark of recognition in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t follow that train of thought in the moment. Sungchan loosened his grip on you, sitting up and blinking as if woken from a trance. “R-Right. Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay, Sung,” you smiled, standing up and yanking him to his feet as well. You practically dragged him towards the front door, shoving his backpack in his hands. “Now go, you’re going to be late.”

He looked down at you with a small, fond smile as well, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Bye, love you.”

“I love you too.” You got up on your tiptoes to give him a fleeting kiss goodbye, and he wrapped an arm around you for a hug. You were worried that this was about to be another borderline hostage situation, but he took one more inhale near your neck, then let you go and straightened up.

“Okay. See you in a few.” He said, his hand on the door handle.

“Go, Sungchan.”

“Fine, fine. Bye.”

And with that, he was finally gone. You turned back around to Shotaro, letting out a sigh of relief. The siren just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Werewolves, dude.” He flopped onto the opposite side of the couch from where you and Sungchan had just been.

You sat back down, kicking your feet up and pulling out your phone. “Yeah. Werewolves...”

Shotaro started flicking through a streaming service to try to find something to watch. “Hey wait, shouldn’t he be scenting you less since he’s a half-werewolf?”

“I... don’t know,” you admitted. “There’s not really any sort of research on half-werewolves. We don’t know anything about what they ‘should’ be like. Not even one of those unethical case studies from the 1800s.”

“Huh. But like I was saying earlier, you two make me nauseous.”

“Just put on your trashy reality TV that we know you’re going to pick after scrolling around for 30 minutes.”

“The browsing is part of the experience.”

As Shotaro browsed on the TV then eventually picked a show, you searched on your phone. The Real Sirens of Diamond Bay was great background noise as you dug through the internet, and you barely even realized the time until your friend was calling for your attention from the kitchen.

“Hm?” You looked up from the forum post that you’d been reading.

“I asked if you wanted lunch.” He opened the fridge, taking out the containers of leftovers you and your boyfriend had brought home last night. “Or if only Sungchan could feed you.”

“Yeah, sure, I could eat.” You joined him in the kitchen, stretching out your back. “So you noticed that too, huh?”

“Oh, the pre-mating behaviors? Well, you did give me a very convenient list when you were still in your denial phase.”

You punched his arm, making him nearly drop the plates he’d just gotten from the cabinet.

“Ow!” He rubbed the spot with a pout, handing you one of the dishes. “Rude... I’m feeding you food from my fridge.”

“No, I’m letting you eat my leftovers,” you corrected him. “Dr. Jung made us take all the steamed buns because she knew they were my favorite.”

Shotaro had been loading said steamed buns up onto his plate, then started shoveling the rest of them onto yours. “Calm down, I wasn’t taking them all.”

You looked at the empty container with a sigh, putting half of yours back. “Well, we can’t just leave nothing for Sung.”

After you’d made your plates with minimal bickering and warmed them up, you took them to the small dining table in the corner of the living room to eat. Shotaro continued playing the episode he’d been on for ambiance as he engaged you in conversation.

“So what were you so invested in on your phone?” He asked, cracking open a seaweed-infused sparkling tea drink popular with younger sirens. “You usually love Real Sirens.”

You popped the tab on your soda, taking a sip before answering. “I was doing some research, on what we were talking about earlier—”

“I thought you said there wasn’t a lot of research on half-werewolves.”

“Not a lot of scholarly research. But I found some people posting online about their own experiences either as half-werewolves themselves, or dating half-werewolves. About the scenting.” You explained, pausing to take a bite of your food. “And it seems like the general consensus is that most likely because their sense of smell isn’t as great as full werewolves, but they still can smell that kind of stuff, unlike humans, half-werewolves get a little more… intense with scenting behaviors.”

“Gross.”

“I meant the clothes and the hugging, dude.” You soft-balled a kick at his shin under the table. “Not my fault you’re immediately gross.”

“Does it ever stop?”

You grimaced, “Well…”

“No?” Shotaro asked with wide eyes, presumably having the rest of his recently renewed lease flashing before them.

“Again, there aren’t a lot of half-werewolves. Or at least ones talking about it. But there is one half-werewolf/human couple I found who says that the scenting took better, and the behaviors therefore decreased after…” You trailed off, messing with the strings of Sungchan’s hoodie.

“After…?”

“After they followed through with the werewolf mating bite.”

The siren stared at you blankly. “Oh.”

“They’re the only ones I could find online who has done that, so who knows if that’s a guaranteed result, not to mention that at that point they were also human married, and had been together for over five years, so there was definitely just a lot of security in their relationship not to mention they’d been living together for years so they were going to smell like each other anyway—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Shotaro stopped your defensive rambles gently. “You two don’t need to do that for me. Just wear his clothes and be annoying, it’s fine.”

You stabbed your fork into a bun. “Yeah, I know that.”

“That was some weird stressing of your words there, Y/N. Anything you want to share?”

You let out a long, steady breath, your lips just a centimeter away from being pressed together. Your mind was swirling with the memory of Sungchan’s last shift. Of him asking you to take his bite. He hadn’t mentioned it again since, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially because he hadn’t brought it up again since. And seeing his dad’s last night…

“Sungchan mentioned it once, but I don’t know how serious he was being, and he hasn’t brought it up again,” you admitted before tearing into the bun you’d just assaulted. It was filled with delightfully seasoned veggies wrapped in smooth, pillowy dough. God, these really were some of the best steamed buns you’d ever had.

Shotaro practically did a spit take with his tea, dribbling the sip he’d just taken back into the bottle. “He what? When?”

“Shotaro—”

“No, he brought up essentially werewolf engagement to you— What? While you two were playing video games or something? And neither of you mentioned this to me?”

“It wasn’t like that but... sure. I guess.”

“No, no, what was the context? Post-nut confessions or something?”

“God! Why are you like this?” You groaned, dragging a hand over your face in exasperation. “No, he let me be with him for his last shift, it was when he was coming out of it. He wasn’t all there, he was tired, he had all the extra adrenaline and everything else going through his body still.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “So I was right.”

You gave him an unamused look. “Think more like a boxer with a concussion.”

“And you haven’t brought it up with him since?”

“I was just focused on making sure he was okay. And now, I don’t know, he hasn’t mentioned it again. Maybe he wasn’t serious about it?”

“If he was... would you say yes? To be werewolf married?” The siren waggled his eyebrows at you teasingly. “Or half-werewolf married? Half-werewolf half-married?”

“They really need to make like even a single MCS class mandatory in the Gen Ed requirements, because what the hell are you saying to me right now?”

“You know what I mean. Would you say yes?”

“I… need to talk to some other people, I think.” You turned your eyes downwards as you tried to really think about it.

“That wasn’t a no! Hell yeah! I’m so going to be Sungchan’s best man!”

You rolled your eyes. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

As you finished up your lunch, your mind wouldn’t stop turning over what Shotaro had said. If Sungchan had been serious, would you say yes? You knew from class what the bite meant to werewolves within packs, but did it mean the same thing to Sungchan since he was half-werewolf? Did that even make a difference? Not to mention that you weren’t any part werewolf, the exchanging of bites was supposed to be an entire ritual similar to a couple exchanging rings on their wedding day. You couldn’t exactly bite him back. And the couple online was already legally married anyway…

Well, you did know one other werewolf/human couple that you could talk to, at least. You quickly texted Jeno.

[you: hey, are you home right now?]

Miraculously, he texted back almost immediately.

[jeno: yeah, just got back from a run]

[jeno: why?]

[you: mind if i come over really quick? need some advice on something with sung]

[jeno: oh sure]

[jeno: everything okay? should i have tissues out…?]

[you: omg no like werewolf stuff]

[jeno: oh good]

[you: thanks though. be over in a few]

Standing up from the couch, you stood off to the side of the TV so you didn’t block Shotaro’s show as you announced, “I’ll be right back.”

The siren gave a thumbs up in acknowledgement as his focus remained on the screen. You nodded before hurrying to pull your shoes on. The last thing to do before leaving was shoot off a text to Sungchan.

[you: hey sung, i’ve got a quick errand to run. i should be back before you get home from class, but just in case i’m not, i’ll be coming right back to the apartment! love you!]

“Hey, Jeno, thanks for having me over on such short notice.” You offered your friend a nervous smile as you stepped into his apartment.

“I’m not your professor that you’re seeing outside of his office hours, Y/N,” he chuckled, shutting the door behind you. “Don’t worry about it. What’s up? You said it’s something about Sungchan?”

“Is your girlfriend here?” You looked around the living room as the two of you sat down.

Jeno tilted his head curiously. “No, she’s at the bakery this afternoon. Did you need her too?”

“Not necessarily, it’s just...” You dropped your head into your hands, frustrated. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try to start at the beginning?”

“Right. Sung let me be with him on the last full moon.”

“Wow. I haven’t even done that.” Jeno sounded genuinely impressed.

“Well… Uhm, do you know? About Sung?”

He stared at you blankly. “Need you to be way more specific here. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You tried to pick your words carefully to give him enough of a hint if he did know without outright telling him if he didn’t know. You were sure that Sungchan wouldn’t mind if Jeno knew that he was half-werewolf, but you still didn’t feel like that was your place to go around telling people. “About his parents?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Your friend nodded in recognition. “Half-werewolf, that’s why he was able to have you there, duh.”

“Anyway, when he was coming back out of the shift afterwards, he mentioned us... he mentioned the werewolf mating bite.”

His eyes widened as he took a short inhale before slowly starting with, “Well, I can tell that you two haven’t done that.”

“I figured. So, with Sung being half-werewolf, he’s been having a difficult time with the scenting. I think because he can smell it enough to notice it, but not as strongly as full werewolves...”

“He would have a higher threshold for scenting in order to register it, right. Hence your current attire, I’m guessing?” Jeno gestured to the large black leather jacket you were currently drowning in, which was much too hot for the sweltering summer heat that was still going on outside, but still a better option than the hoodie you had previously been in.

You gave a resigned, what-can-you-do smile. “Yeah. And he’s not going to say anything about it, but I know he’s going to be stressed when I see him after this and he can smell you and Jaemin.”

“Oh, definitely.” He snorted lightly, not judgmental, but more sympathetic. “Let me guess: he gets all needy and clingy? Likes to bury his face in your neck?”

“Exactly. And the cuddles would be nice but, I don’t know... I hate seeing him like this, you know? So... anxious. It’s not like him.” You sighed, beginning to feel more guilty the longer you stayed here and got wrapped up in the smells of other people.

“It’s the first time in his life the wolf side is in charge of him and not the other way around. He’s really understanding what it’s like being a full werewolf outside of the full moon, of course he’s not having a good time.”

“Is it like that for you? With her?”

“Kind of. I can smell everything better, so I can smell the subtler things. Without going into too much detail, all those instincts aren’t on edge for me as much as Sungchan’s are right now. And we also figured something else out.”

“Something else?” You asked curiously. Last time you saw Jeno’s girlfriend, you couldn’t remember her having a bite mark. But maybe there was something that hadn’t been covered in your classes. After all, several millennia of the cultures, histories, and customs of fourteen species just couldn’t be fit into one undergrad degree. Your bachelor’s was nothing more than a survey of the two fields, to give you the broad strokes and the tools to start wading in.

Jeno pulled on a leather cord that you hadn’t even noticed was hanging around his neck, bringing a pendant out from under his collar. It was a pale white stone, flat, the size of a coin, with opalescent flecks that caught the light as he showed it to you.

“Moonstone. We have matching ones. They’re even enchanted so that when I…” he wrapped his whole hand around the stone “…hold onto it a little tighter, it reacts, and she can feel hers warm up too. So she knows I’m thinking about her.”

“And it helps with your shifts. That’s really sweet, Jeno,” you said, watching as he tucked it back under his shirt, presumably to keep it in skin-to-skin contact so he could feel if she squeezed her gem back in response.

“But that’s what works for us. It needs to be whatever works for you guys.”

You looked down at your fingers nervously. “But you two haven’t even…”

“I haven’t bit her?” The werewolf said bluntly.

“Yeah, and you’ve been together for a lot longer than us.”

“We’re not you and Sungchan. We may have set you guys up, but we’re not you.”

“You set us up? What?” That little off-hand comment had stolen your focus for the moment.

Jeno’s brow furrowed. “Did you never get the full story of how you got sent on that first blind date with him?”

“I mean, Jaemin had shown me a picture of him from your Instagram account, and I knew that you two knew each other through your girlfriend. But no, I guess I never did get the whole story. Jaemin said something about a deal, I think…”

His wide eyes and ‘oh shit’ face said it all. With a wince, he sighed, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this…”

“What? Jeno, come on,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together in front of you like you were kneeling at an altar.

“Ah, fine, fine.” He gave in easily, regret immediately coming to his features as you perked up, eager to hear the story. “We were all playing soccer one day and her—” he jerked his thumb at the empty space on the couch beside him that the both of you had both been vaguely referring to whenever you mentioned his girlfriend. “—and Sungchan made this bet. You see, something had happened at the park that day. There was another werewolf there, and he called my girlfriend something nasty. And Sungchan was saying that because of stuff like that, he wanted to just stick with dating other werewolves. He also kept saying something about love making my brain rot. It made sense in context. Sort of.”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt Jeno for fear that you’d get him off-track and lose your opportunity.

“Anyway, they made a bet that if she was on Sungchan’s team and did her best in the game against me, then Sungchan would let her set him up on one blind date with anybody, werewolf or not. And he wasn’t allowed to intentionally bomb it, he had to actually put in a genuine effort.”

“And I was that date…” You surmised, several pieces falling into place. Specifically, Jaemin and Donghyuck’s initial pitch of Sungchan to you.

“Jaemin suggested you, and we thought the two of you would be a good fit.”

You added humorously, “And I’m not a werewolf.”

“Well, yeah.” Jeno ducked his head sheepishly like he was a puppy that was afraid you were going to notice the shoes that he had chewed up behind him. “But we really did put a lot of thought into it, I swear. And then when we heard he made you walk out in ten minutes, we were actually going to make him go on another one because we thought that he had sabotaged his one with you.”

“Amazingly, no, I think that really was his best effort at the time.” You snickered.

“Now I feel like I have to apologize for subjecting you to him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, he said he didn’t want to go on another date, he had to fix things with you first. She let up on him after that. Apparently believed his mind had been changed.”

“I don’t know how a ten-minute conversation where he practically accused me of being a werewolf fetishist for dating two werewolves, and I asked about his major and told him about my cheating ex could’ve possibly changed his mind but— Hey, look how far we’ve come.”

“And now you know the story of how you two ended up on that ten-minute, awful, terrible blind date that I almost wish we didn’t send you on now that I’ve heard what happened on it.”

“I’ve had worse dates.”

“But like I was saying. We—” he pointed between himself and the empty space proxy of his girlfriend “—are not you two. Just like in human relationships, the big steps happen at different times for everyone, there isn’t one right answer to when a werewolf couple take on each other’s bites. There’s even less of a blueprint for werewolf-human couples. So as far as I’m concerned, you and Sungchan? A half-werewolf and human couple? You two do whatever the hell you want. You’re unprecedented.”

“Unprecedented…” You repeated to yourself, drumming your fingers along your knee.

You and Jeno chatted for a few more minutes about this and that, but you soon decided that you’d have to be going. Sungchan had texted you the full sequence of finishing class, leaving campus, and arriving home while you’d been talking, and there was a pinch at your heart as you could imagine him getting more anxious with each passing minute that you weren’t there. And then there were the smells that you were going to have to deal with once you did return, too.

As Jeno walked you to the front door, your eyes drifted over to the kitchen, an idea popping into your head.

“Hey, Jeno? Can I have a glass of water?”

“Sung?” You called out into the seemingly empty apartment as you turned to close and lock the front door up. “I’m— oof!”

You were knocked off kilter by 186cm of werewolf, barely catching yourself against the door on your forearms to avoid bonking your forehead into it. Sungchan had his arms wrapped around your waist, already nosing around your hair and neck.

“Hi…” Sungchan said against your cheek, his tone apologetic. He got too excited, he didn’t mean to almost KO you like that.

Slowly, you reached over to finish flicking the deadbolt into the locked position. Then, you blindly stretched a hand back to pat him on the head. “Hey, hey.” You kept your voice calm and soothing.

He was getting down to the collar of the shirt you were wearing—one of his t-shirts, and you could feel him shifting to hold you tighter. He’d definitely noticed something was off.

“You know, I’m really sorry, Sung,” you began, turning your tone mournful and looking down at the wet patch on the front of your shirt. “I know this is your shirt, I feel really bad about this, but I spilled water on myself while I was out. Do you think I can throw this one in your wash here and borrow a new one?”

He immediately perked up at this, “Yeah, of course!”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Success.

After your dinner and night out together in downtown, you ended up back in Sungchan’s room, fitted in your new crewneck sweater—this one for a concert he’d gone to last year. You were reclined between his legs against his chest as you half-watched him game, half-scrolled on your phone, and half-snoozed. You’d been playing the game in multi-player mode with him earlier but put your controller aside some time ago when you’d let out a couple loud yawns. Ruminating thoughts of your conversation with Jeno had kept you from fully falling asleep, though.

“Sung?” You waited for a pause on a loading screen to call for his attention.

“Mm?” He hummed back to let you know he was listening, even as the new map loaded in. He hadn’t moved his character yet, fingers frozen as they hovered over the buttons.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Of course.” Your boyfriend quickly saved and exited the game, setting the controller beside yours on the nightstand.

He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you tighter to him, resting his chin on your shoulder as he waited attentively for you to start with whatever you needed to talk about. You could hear him take a pause to sniff the air around you, and a small, disgruntled sound came from the back of his throat almost immediately.

“Face-to-face?” You requested quietly.

“Right, sorry.”

He loosened his arms, reluctantly letting them fall from around you.

Pushing yourself up off his legs into a full sitting position, you turned around in place, still finding yourself between his thighs. He straightened up a little bit from his spot against the headboard.

You reached out to take his hands in yours. “This is something that really stresses you out, isn’t it? The smells?”

“It’s… I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like…” He took one of his hands back to run his fingers through his hair, and your chest hurt to see the distress on his features. “Imagine being able to constantly see something right in the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head, you can’t actually look at it. You know it’s there, but you can never actually get a proper look. Humans never know it’s there, and werewolves get to look at it head-on. But I don’t get either. It’s terrible.”

“Ah, Sung… That sounds awful, baby.” You grimaced sympathetically, unable to imagine how wound up and panicky he must be all the time. You just wanted to cut this conversation short right now to wrap your arms around him, rub his back and tell him you were never going to leave him again. But for right now, all you could do was squeeze his hand tighter, and hope he got the message.

“I know that sometimes you smell right and sometimes you don’t. But I don’t know why, usually. And it’s not like you smell bad like you need a shower or anything. But like… ah, I can’t describe it.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I don’t even know what I’m smelling all the time. But it’s just—”

“Not right. I get it, that made sense. And it’s better when I wear your clothes, or spend time with you? Here?”

“I’m sorry…” He said weakly.

“Woah, hey, where in there was I asking for an apology? I’m trying to figure this out together, okay? Not make you feel bad for being unable to turn your nose off. I don’t like that you’re this stressed all the time, you know?”

“In my normal, thinking brain I know you should—and I want you to—be able to wear whatever clothes you want to wear. And I’m glad that you’re spending time with your friends, and I want to go wherever you want to go, whether that’s out somewhere, or to your place. I loved our date night out tonight. It’s not those actual things that bother me at all, it’s just that you smell different.”

“I know, I know.” You reassured him, continuing to hold his hand and gently rubbing his forearm with your free hand. “So maybe there’s something more permanent we can do to help you with the smells?”

Sungchan met your gaze uncertainly. “Permanent?”

“You mentioned it after your last shift. Me taking your bite. I found one other half-werewolf/human couple who did it, online, and they said it helped with the scent anxiety.”

“Y/N…” He breathed your name out.

“I understand if you’re not ready for it. I know it’s a really big step for werewolves. But I had to put it out there, if there’s any possibility that it’ll help.”

“This is not how I imagined this conversation going at all.”

“What?”

“The human reassuring the werewolf that it’s okay if the werewolf isn’t ready for a mating bite yet.” He laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh my god. We really are one-of-a-kind, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle too. “When you put it like that, that is pretty funny. You thought you were going to have to convince me, huh?”

“I wasn’t going to badger you into it if you didn’t want it, that’s for sure. But I mean, I didn’t bring it up again after my last shift because I wanted to do it more… I don’t know, romantically than being a sweaty, exhausted, slurring mess in your lap. I just hadn’t figured out how to do that yet because I’ve been too focused on spending every spare second I can with you.”

“I thought you were a very cute sweaty, exhausted, slurring mess when you asked me last time,” you giggled.

“Right, thanks.”

“So, do you want to do it, then?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

Jeno’s words came back to you: You two do whatever the hell you want. You’re unprecedented.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be doing anything any specific way, Sung. We just do it. But if you want to ask me, go for it.” You smiled at him encouragingly. After a few beats of silence, though, you pinched his thigh teasingly, “I’m waiting.”

“What—Right now? Really putting me on the spot.” Sungchan rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Well when else—”

“No, I’ve got it.” He squared his shoulders, face turning serious as he turned his eyes to you. Briefly kissing the back of your fingers first, he began, his voice much shakier than you had expected, “Y/N, I’m ready to give you my mating bite, if you will accept it. But I don’t want it to just be me biting you. I-I want you to do whatever you need to do to make it feel complete to you, too. Since you can’t give me one back. If that’s okay with you?”

Despite you (mostly) knowing what was coming, you still unexpectedly found yourself tearing up as you went to nod your head yes. “Of course, Sung. That’d be perfect, yes. You’ll have to give me some time to figure it out, but yes, I love that.”

“I love you.”

You stood up on your knees to wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss before burying your face in his collar. “I love you, too.”

Sungchan hugged you back tightly, pulling you back with him into almost the same position as before, with you against his chest. He pressed kisses to any part of you that he could access, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your ear. You turned your head enough so that the next one he could plant on your lips, a sweet, loving kiss.

“Ah…” He sighed, his eyes squeezed shut, a bright smile on his face.

“What?” You traced over the smile lines at the corner of his eye.

He was almost nose-to-nose with you when his beautiful brown eyes were open again. Looking at you, he admitted freely, “I’m just… so happy.”

“Me too.” You beamed.

“And I can’t believe I almost let myself miss out on this, on you, so many times.”

“Let’s see… the night we actually got together.” You teased, ticking the instances off on your fingers.

“Mm-hm.” A pink flush was starting to creep up Sungchan’s neck.

“Valentine’s Day at the boba shop. Which you owe me emotional damages for, by the way.”

“Yeah. Sorry…” The pink had overtaken his neck and was starting to flush his cheeks.

“Our first date.”

Completely red-faced, he nodded and sighed. “Like I said, I’m just happy that—”

“Oh, and the bet.”

“Huh?” He was entirely frozen, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

“I saw Jeno today,” you stated.

“Yes, I did smell him when you came home.”

“I finally got the full story of how you ended up on our blind date, Sung.”

“Listen, I am a proud member of the Love-Rotten Brains Club now.” He tightened his arms around you and nuzzled his nose along your cheek and neck as he spoke, making his lips brush over your skin in ghosts of kisses. “I’m the president and the whole board and the social media intern and whatever else. Never have I ever been more proud of being wrong. I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Ah!” You squirmed and laughed as he was over a ticklish spot. “Alright, you don’t have to do that. But I’m glad they pushed you out of your comfort zone.”

Sungchan let up, allowing you to simply rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“To my credit, I was the one who offered the terms of that bet in the first place.”

“Really? You had to know that they were definitely going to set you up with someone who was not a werewolf, right?”

“I knew. I figured I could make polite small talk for an hour and be done with my end.”

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly, from the gut. “Oh, baby, if polite small talk was your goal, then you failed miserably.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he said remorsefully.

“Now, I’ve got to know.” You poked his chest pointedly. “Everyone seems convinced that you were like, in love with me and a changed man from that one plane crash of a conversation. Shotaro says that you kept walking around talking about how you wanted to apologize to me for weeks after. Jeno and his girlfriend didn’t set you up on another date despite you not really holding up your end because she was content that you had changed your mind. So?”

Sungchan’s chest rose and fell under you with a deep breath, and he took a pause as if piecing together his thoughts before responding. “Even if we didn’t end up meeting again, I think that date with you was always going to be an important lesson for me, about getting my head out of my ass. I’m just glad I got to take what I learned back to you and apologize and show you that. Like, yeah, our first date was only a few minutes, but I kind of hate to admit that I thought about it for weeks afterwards, because that sounds like weirdo behavior. I mean, literally until the night we saw each other at the boba place. It’s not that it was even romantic at that point, it was more guilt than anything else. I knew I was in the wrong, and I felt awful that I might not be able to tell you that I knew that.”

“I’m glad you found me again at the boba shop. Not a lot of guys would’ve had the guts to actually apologize. Probably would’ve grabbed their drink and ran. Or ran as soon as they saw me and not even ordered.”

“I just wish I had the guts to actually ask you out that night.”

“Me too. But I’m not entirely blameless either. The start of our relationship isn’t a weight that falls solely on your shoulders just because you’re the guy, or the werewolf, or whatever.” You shrugged. “And we figured it out eventually anyway.”

“Yeah, we did.” Sungchan pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Stopping in front of a familiar red brick townhouse, you ran up the couple short steps to knock on the front door before you could psych yourself out. You and Sungchan had decided to go through with the mating bite after the next full moon in one week, which was a couple days after the end of the summer semester. It gave him time to focus on his finals, and fell in the two-week break between the summer semester ending and the fall semester starting. This was going to be your last year as undergraduates, both you and Sungchan were graduating in the spring. You could hardly believe that you only had two more semesters left of your bachelor’s degree. And then you had grad school.

But right now, you had this: The front door being opened to reveal Mr. Jung to you, a smile immediately crossing his face as he recognized you. Even behind the glasses perched on his nose, you could easily see Sungchan in his features.

“Hi, Mr. Jung,” you greeted him politely.

“Oh, hey, Y/N.” He tucked the pen that was in his hand behind his ear. “Here to see Jieun?”

“Uh, no. Sorry to just drop in, but I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. Do you have time for some tea?”

He backed up, waving you in. “Sure, of course. Come on in.”

“Thank you.” You walked in with a grateful head dip, taking your denim Jasmine & Pearls baseball cap off as you passed over the threshold of the front door.

“Sungchan’s got a hat just like that,” Mr. Jung commented, leading you further into the home. “Or is that one his?”

“Oh, we actually won them in a game at the boba shop that Shotaro works at. We each have our own.” You looked over the purple embroidered logo fondly. “It’s kind of how we met. The second time.”

“Right, the boba tea place that Shotaro works at…” He echoed, recognition in his tone.

You followed Mr. Jung upstairs, which you didn’t get to see the last time you’d been over for dinner. He led you into a room with wallpaper depicting cartoon spaceships, planets, moons, and stars. The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars, and even the curtains were embroidered with star maps. The furniture itself was set up to be an adult’s home office, though, despite the shell having clearly been a child’s bedroom. There were still some shelves on the wall with trophies from science fairs and sports teams.

“Sorry, Jieun doesn’t drink tea, and the electric kettle in the kitchen is busted.” Mr. Jung half-explained why he’d brought you in here, another electric kettle in his hand. “Give me a second, I need to fill this up.”

“Of course,” you nodded, not entirely paying attention to what he was saying. Truly, you were still looking around at what was obviously Sungchan’s childhood bedroom.

Any kids’ furniture was gone and replaced with a desk, laptop, two chairs, and a printer. But you didn’t mind, as you leaned in to read the little engravings on his science fair trophies, and from his soccer teams, and baseball teams, and spelling bees, and mathletes competitions—god, you were dating a mathlete? He’d failed to mention that. There was a picture that looked like it was from a field trip from primary school, of his whole class in front of a space shuttle at the closest space and natural history museum. You squinted your eyes as you studied the picture, trying to figure out which one was your boyfriend.

“Sungchan’s the really tall one that you probably thought was a teacher’s helper,” Mr. Jung said humorously, announcing his return.

You turned around, the picture still in your hand, and your eyes immediately landed on the child he was referring to. Gangly, awkward, nearly a head taller than the rest of the kids, but still smiling so brightly—his crooked smile gap-toothed at that moment in time—because he was just so, so excited to be there.

“Ah, yep. There he is,” you smiled fondly, setting the picture back down.

“He gets his height from Jieun’s father. In case you were curious.”

Mr. Jung set the kettle back on its stand on the desk and started heating it up. He cleared a huge stack of papers off a second chair that was next to the desk, then gestured for you to sit. You did so, watching him take down a couple mugs from the shelves over his desk, and pull open the top drawer to root around in it.

“Jasmine?” He asked.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

He took out one tin, right as the kettle made a small ding to let him know the water was ready. Mr. Jung poured the water into both mugs first, then took out a couple small, empty pouches. He measured out the loose jasmine tea into each before sealing them and dropping them in the water.

“I figured you would’ve wanted to talk to Jieun about the bite,” he said as he handed you your cup. “Also, let me know if you want some honey for that.”

“I’m good on the honey, thanks,” you smiled awkwardly. “So he told you already.”

The other human eased himself down into the office chair in front of you. “Yes, Sungchan’s been keeping us appraised. He was nervous to tell us at first, since you two haven’t been together very long.”

“Well, yes—”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s a decision for you and Sungchan to make, not his parents.”

That put you at ease again. “Thank you.”

“And it did make Jieun laugh when she heard that you were the one who did the mating bite talk with him. She likes you a lot. We both do.”

“Oh, thanks…”

“So why did you want to see me? I’m always happy to have some tea with you, but it sounded like you came with a purpose.”

“I wanted to ask about what it’s like? Taking a werewolf’s mating bite as a human?” You plunged into the conversation head-first. “The only other werewolf/human couple we know hasn’t done it, so I don’t really have a point of reference. Like, in class, I’ve learned about the sociocultural importance of it within werewolf packs for mated werewolf couples, but… Sung and I are a bit different, you know?”

Mr. Jung nodded thoughtfully. “I can tell you what my personal experience is, sure. It may be different for you since Sungchan is half-werewolf.”

“Right, of course.” You sat forward, interested. Blowing over your tea, you took your first sip, the lightness of the jasmine dancing across your tongue.

“The biting itself hurts at first. If we were werewolves, my understanding is that it’s nearly painless since their bodies are prepared for it. Humans, not so much.” He rubbed at his mark absentmindedly. “So it will hurt, which I’m sure my son will feel awful about. The shoulder will be a little sore for maybe half an hour or so after, but he won’t even draw blood. And it heals very fast, too. Then you’ll be left with the mark. Werewolves who receive bites have something happen biologically in them with pheromones or something. Again, we don’t have that going on. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t be meaningful for you at all. That meaning will just manifest differently, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jung. That was really informative.” You took another drink of your tea.

“Of course. And you know that it’s not a one and done, right?” He warned.

You let out a half-chuckle. “I do know that, yes.”

“Again, I don’t know how much it’ll vary since Sungchan is half-human, but the bite will need to be refreshed more often than if you were both werewolves. My guess would be even more frequently than if he were a full werewolf, but that’s just purely speculation.”

“That would make sense. Thanks for the heads up.” You said, watching the metal of his wedding band glint as he lifted his mug to his mouth. “Can I ask… when did you take your wife’s bite?”

Mr. Jung sighed, a bittersweet sort of smile coming to his face. “It was before we were married. We’d been dating for some time at that point, a couple years. When we first got together, there were some… vocally unhappy members of her pack, but they did quiet down after a while. However, I think they hadn’t expected us to last so long, or that Jieun was just going through a phase or something. After a while they started pressuring Jieun to break up with me and date within her pack— or at least another werewolf. We’d discussed the bite once or twice before, and she thought that if I took it on, it would make everyone leave us alone; that we’d look like any other mated pair of werewolves. It ended up doing the opposite. It was way too far in the eyes of Jieun’s pack. I already knew at that point that I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, so from there we eloped, settled down here, eventually had Sungchan a few years later.”

“And you all… have you spoken to her pack again since?”

“No. Unfortunately Sungchan has never been able to meet his family on that side. I suggested it to Jieun when she was pregnant, but she looked me in the eye and asked me if her pack reacted that way just to us being together, then could I imagine what sort of awful things they might think of our child? And would I want to put our baby through that just for some romanticized idea of family? I never brought it up again.”

“What about your family?”

There was no more bitterness in his smile anymore, just pure love and fondness. “They’ve been incredible. Never looked at Jieun or Sungchan as anything other than family. I know Sungchan would probably rather have the pack but—”

“What do you mean?” You couldn’t help but blurt out, furrowing your brow in confusion.

“I know he doesn’t tell people he’s half-human. And really, it’s alright. I get it, being a human isn’t anything to brag about.” Mr. Jung sounded like he really had come to terms with that, that his son would rather not tell people about his dad, about where he came from. Which wasn’t even true.

“That’s not why he tells people he’s only a werewolf. He’s not ashamed of you, or of what he is, on either side. He loves you, a lot. He does that because if he tells people that he’s half-human half-werewolf up front, they take it as a free pass to ask him weird questions.”

The man’s face relaxed, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I never realized that. Thank you, Y/N.”

“And I mean, you didn’t need me to tell you that. Just look around you. It’s not like he’s exactly got wallpaper of spreadsheets and supply/demand graphs in here, right?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at that. “You’re right. It’s… comforting, though, to have outside confirmation.”

“I know, I get it.”

Mr. Jung gazed past you, out the window behind your head wistfully, taking another sip of his tea. “Growing up how he did… we—Jieun and I—were worried about him for a while, you know.”

“Worried how?”

“Well, that he’d spend so much time trying to protect himself from what our life was like, that he wouldn’t actually be looking for what he wanted.” Mr. Jung’s eyes focused back on yours then, and he smiled at you. “But as soon as he brought you home, we knew we could rest easy.”

“Because I’m human?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, lifting his mug to take another relaxed sip of his tea. “We would’ve loved you if you were human, werewolf, fairy, dragon, anything.”

“I’m sorry but… I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“When he was in high school… he and his mom used to get into fights. Teenager hormones, half-werewolf teenager hormones… it was a lot. I know the fact that he was the only half-werewolf at his school, and the only werewolf not in a pack, too, didn’t help either. A lot of it was Sungchan not understanding his mother’s choices, either about leaving her pack, or dating a human in the first place, or not going back to the pack, or whatever else he decided she’d done wrong that day. He’d pretty much always declare that he’d make the ‘better choice.’” Mr. Jung put air-quotes around the last two words. “You know, have a werewolf partner so that his family wouldn’t get harassed, join his future partner’s pack, things like that. Sungchan mellowed out a bit more after he started college, and they started properly getting along again once he moved out last year.”

That mostly lined up with what Jeno had told you about his conversation with Sungchan at the park, his previous policy to only date other werewolves. You frowned thoughtfully, taking a long, slow drink of tea.

“Seeing how Sungchan is with you… he’s not hiding from anything,” he finished fondly.

“I’m sorry I was so dismissive before, Mr. Jung,” you finally said, your voice quiet and contemplative. “When you were talking about Sungchan not telling people he’s half-human. I jumped in completely forgetting that you’ve known him for his whole life… and there could’ve been a lot more reasons why you would’ve thought he was ashamed to be human.”

“Hey, Y/N.” Mr. Jung put his tea down on the desk, perching on the front of his seat to gently place a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, really. For one, I know you meant well. And two, we know Sungchan very differently. Obviously, yes, I’ve known him his whole life, but you were lucky enough to meet him now, when he has some stuff already kind of figured out. And I’m very glad you did. Because trust me, you should not have met Sungchan in high school. I love my son, I’ve always loved him, but I definitely do not think that if you two had met in high school, you and I would be sharing a cup of tea right now.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, thinking not only of the high school version of Sungchan that had just been recollected to you by Mr. Jung, but also of yourself in high school, who honestly wasn’t any more put together. “Yeah… I don’t talk to any of my high school boyfriends anymore. Saw one of their moms at the grocery store last week actually, and she still recognized me, gave me a nasty look, and blocked the aisle with her shopping cart so I couldn’t get by her. I dated her son almost five years ago now, I think?”

The other human laughed, giving your arm a couple pats before taking his hand away and reclining back in his desk chair again. “Not to mention, if we both had known him his entire life, then I wouldn’t get to tell you any of the fun stories about him as a kid. Has he told you he was a mathlete?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Team captain junior and senior year. They were semi-finalists both years he was captain and even won the State series his senior year.”

“Did he have like a little dweebus uniform or something?”

“Polo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, the whole nine.”

“Please tell me you have pictures.”

“Oh yeah, him and Shotaro.”

“Taro too?!”

[you: attached image]

[you: attached image]

[taro: HOW DID YOU GET THOSE?????????]

[taro: WHAT THE HELL I MADE SUNGCHAN PROMISE ME THOSE WOULD NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN]

[you: did you make Mr. Jung promise you though?]

[taro: does sungchan know that you’re getting blackmail material from your new bestie, HIS DAD??]

[you: what do you mean blackmail material?? personally, i think you look SO cute in those pictures in your little mathletes uniform]

[you: i didn’t even know sirens could need glasses and braces]

[you: wait does this mean you wear contacts??? i feel like it’s illegal to know this]

[taro: it is, now i have to kill you]

[you: ooooohh, wait till i tell sung]

[taro: not if i drown you first]

[you: you can’t kill me, i know where Mr. Jung keeps the mathletes photos]

[taro: damn it]

[you: and the ones from your first school dance]

[taro: DOES THIS MAN JUST HAVE A SHOEBOX LABELED “OSAKI SHOTARO BLACKMAIL MATERIAL” OR SOMETHING WHAT THE FUCK]

[you: no it’s labeled “jung sungchan blackmail material” actually but you just happen to be in a lot of the pictures too]

[taro: wait for real?]

[you: no, dumbass, he’s sungchan’s dad, of course he’s going to have a lot of old photos of his son and by extension, his son’s friends]

[taro: don’t get a guy’s hopes up like that, damn]

[taro: alright come on, let me see the bad pics you got of sungchan now]

[you: noooo, they’re not bad, they’re actually really cute 🥹🥹]

[you: attached images(+5)]

[you: like just LOOK at my little guy 🥹 he was so little and cute]

[taro: the FUCK are you talking about]

[taro: he’s clearly like 20cm taller than me and everyone else INCLUDING THE TEACHER SPONSOR]

[you: yeah, and he’s JUST a little guy, so little and cute]

[you: i wouldn’t expect you to get it, taro…………sigh]

[taro: attached image]

[taro: THIS IS YOUR MANS????]

[you: WELL WHEN YOU ZOOM IN ON ANYBODY’S FACE LIKE THAT OF COURSE IT’LL LOOK A BIT OFF]

[taro: the favoritism is so real right now]

[you: i’m so tired of your dramatic ass like what fucking “favoritism” 😭😭 of course i like sung better he’s my boyfriend]

[taro: and??]

[you: you’re not??? the fuck you mean “and??”]

[taro: and i think a good friend should be fair and impartial]

[you: i came here to name and shame you to your face, not to be fair and impartial i don’t know how you could’ve been under any other impression]

[taro: i’m so telling sungchan about this]

[you: don’t forget to leave in the part where i called him cute and you intentionally manipulated a picture of him to make him look worse]

[taro: i regret ever setting you two up]

[you: actually jeno and them did it first]

[taro: and i should’ve left you two crashed and burned and SINGLE where i found you]

[you: love you taro 🫶]

[taro: nice try demon that lives in my apartment and doesn’t pay rent 🫶🫶🫶]

[you: SUNGCHAN DOESN’T LET ME WHEN I TRY TO CHIP IN FOR HOW MUCH I’M OVER THERE I SWEAR]

[taro: i figured, which is why i don’t let him pay more than his half either]

[you: then why are you being mean to me about it 🥺]

[taro: do you feel bad enough that you’ll delete those mathlete photos off your phone now?]

[you: nice try demon that i’m never paying rent to 🫶🫶🫶]

Pushing open the door to the next shop on this street, you were pleasantly surprised by the calm, quaint atmosphere that you were greeted by. The bright red and gold pillars outside of the toy and watch shop had suggested otherwise, but inside of it were a few display cases filled with watches and other pieces of jewelry, while the other half of the shop had shelves upon shelves of toys. Every item in the store seemed handmade, and even to your untrained eye, you could tell that several had magical properties. A girl about your age was behind one of the watch and jewelry counters towards the front of the store, which also had the register on it. She was fiddling with an open watch, and you watched as she readjusted the light of the lamp above her with just a flick of her wrist—not touching a single button or switch on the device. All the jewelry and other accessories she was wearing already made you think she might’ve been a witch, but that just locked it in for you.

Some music played throughout the store, though you couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from, as there were no visible speakers on the ceiling or elsewhere. Briefly dragging your eyes over the display cases as you strolled up towards the employee, you spotted quite a few watches, of course, as well as necklaces, rings, earrings, and small trinkets. But nothing that quite stuck out to you as what you were looking for.

The witch perked up as you came to a stop in front of her, setting her tiny tools down on the small rag alongside the watch pieces. “Hi! Welcome in. Is there something I can help you with?”

“This is a magical kind of shop, right?” You asked curiously. Apothecaries usually stuck out as such, but having a witch and a couple things that glowed didn’t guarantee anything.

“Yep! This place is ran by my coven!” She told you proudly. “We make everything in here by hand in the back, fine tune the mechanics and the magic ourselves. Are you looking for any particular kind of magic thing?”

“Yes, well, sort of…” You trailed off sheepishly. “I’m kind of gift shopping right now.”

“What’s the occasion?”

After a split-second internal debate, you figured this witch had probably dealt with weirder, and you would definitely need her insight and experience when it came to the magical properties of all of the options in front of you.

“My boyfriend is giving me his mating bite in a few days, but I don’t want to show up empty-handed, you know?” You scratched at the back of your neck. “Like, it’s not an engagement-level thing for us, but it’s still big, and I want to be able to give him something too…”

She didn’t seem thrown off in the slightest, instead seeming to ponder this for a moment, tapping her chin, before her features lit up, and she slid over to the other end of the display case. You followed her down.

“Now, I’m guessing you already know about moonstone—” She explained, pulling out a small display of rings. “Helps their shifts.”

You nodded as you looked over the many rings inlaid with opalescent stones like the one on Jeno’s necklace. “Yeah. And, I mean, his aren’t that bad. Just sort of… disorienting and confusing. Though I hate how sickly he gets the day or so after.”

The witch gave you an intrigued look. “He’s… half-werewolf?”

Darting your eyes back up to her, you wondered which part of what you just said had given it away. The less intense shift? The ‘sickly’ bit?

“And half-human?” She took your silence as an apparent cue to finish her guess.

You slowly nodded.

Immediately, the rings were whisked away from under your nose. She was practically alight with excitement as she flitted over to a completely different display case, grabbing just one singular piece from there and bringing it back over to you. It was another ring, a thick silver band of one width, with no obvious gem settings or other such features.

“So, you wouldn’t really be worried about the shift itself, then. Or, at least not the pain part, which is really what the moonstone helps werewolves with. Easing the transition into and during the shift.” The employee rambled enthusiastically. “The symptoms that he really has a problem with are about getting back into balance after. Since he’s half-human, his body has to work a lot harder to return to homeostasis after an ordeal like a werewolf shift.”

“He’s said something about that before. Homeostasis.”

“Then what you really want is something like this—” She offered the ring out for you to take, depositing it onto your palm. You curiously looked it over closer. “Instead of moonstone, like most things designed for werewolves, this has concentrated moonflower essence in the chamber that makes up most of the band.”

You tilted the ring and could in fact see a small amount of mostly clear, but shimmery iridescent cobalt blue liquid shift around in the light. The container that held the liquid must have been incredibly thin to fit along the ring whilst adding negligible bulk.

Moonflower was of course familiar to you from Magical Botany Club. While the plant itself wasn’t magical, it had a slew of magical applications, and could be distilled down to a magical essence. Much like moonstone, which also wasn’t in and of itself magical, it had an effect on magical beings that were also tied to the moon, most notably, werewolves. Moonflower paste was a common ingredient in traditional werewolf medicine, and even in modern pharmaceuticals, many medications with different formulations for werewolves—or formulated to treat diseases that only werewolves got—often had ingredients derived from the moonflower. In addition to healing properties, the smell tended to have a calming effect on them as well, both in and out of their shifts (unlike moonstone, which exclusively aided their shifts).

You had a moonflower plant in your own apartment, which had been useless for any werewolf purposes as of late with Sungchan never coming over, but hopefully it wouldn’t be that way for long. It had been slightly altered so that it would be suited to growing indoors; moonflower was typically a vine, which was difficult to keep in a one-bedroom apartment with limited balcony space, so after a little bit of help from Jaemin, your moonflower grew as a cute little potted bush instead.

But there was still one more feature on the ring that hadn’t been explained to you. A single, silver, almost-circle on one side of the outside of the ring, entirely flush with the top of the container that held the moonflower essence. The outline of the rest of the circle was there, but it wasn’t quite filled in all the way, a small crescent of darkness keeping the silver from being whole.

“And this?” You gestured to the symbol.

“Tracks the lunar cycle. Waxing gibbous, we’re just a couple days away from the full moon. He probably instinctually knows what phase of the moon it is, but it doesn’t hurt to have an extra reminder.”

Turning the ring over in your hand again, you found yourself nodding and smiling. “Yeah. This is perfect.”

“And you said it’s happening in a few days? So after the full moon, right?”

“Oh, uhm, yes.”

“We could totally make another by then, if you wanted a matching set,” she offered.

“Really? So quick?”

“A lot of the initial process is the R&D,” the witch explained with a laugh. “But we already know how to make this one, it’ll be easy. Promise.”

You thought this over for a moment. After telling so many people that it wasn’t marriage or engagement, getting matching rings… But the whole point of exchanging mating bites in the first place was to match. Well, almost, since no two werewolves would have the same bite. To coordinate. To give each other your own version of the same thing. Your own version of the same thing.

“Do you think you could make it without the chamber with the moonflower essence, actually?” You asked. “Like, still with the lunar tracker. Just the main band and the little part that tracks the lunar cycle.”

She lit up. “Absolutely! Should be even quicker, actually. Probably have that done by the end of business tomorrow, morning after tomorrow at the latest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! Say the word and I’ll start as soon as you leave.”

“Yes, please!”

Sungchan hadn’t let go of you once since you arrived at his apartment the evening that you were to be receiving his bite. Either with an arm around your waist, pressed up against your back, or holding your hand. Shotaro had already vacated the premises by the time you’d gotten there, a half-excuse of him staying at Jisung and Chenle’s place tonight being given by the werewolf when you asked.

The two of you ate dinner first. He wanted to feed you, making sure you had eaten and were hydrated before. You were finally taking your class on werewolves this looming fall semester, and had already bought and read ahead in the textbook for it. Specifically, you’d lost count of the amount of times that you’d read and re-read the sections on mating bites, mating bite rituals, and anything else that you could imagine would be relevant to your current predicament.

For mated werewolf couples in packs who were going through the actual ritual, the first step was to usually share a meal consisting of raw meat—fresh kill. Neither you nor Sungchan could or would actually eat that, so you just had a hearty serving of your favorite takeout orders.

Sungchan didn’t even let you sit in your own chair, having insistently pulled you into his lap right at their kitchen table, lifting bite after bite of food to your mouth, always sure to follow it up with your slowly draining glass of water. You were mindful of him, too, making sure he didn’t ignore his half-werewolf appetite in his concern over you.

“‘M full, Sung…” You murmured, gently covering his hand with yours to maneuver the food towards his mouth instead.

He frowned thoughtfully, not parting his lips even as you bumped the spoon against them, looking like a very serious toddler who wasn’t enjoying the game of airplane being played at the moment. “You sure?”

“Yeah, promise.” You nodded with a smile. “It was delicious, and I’m all done. You took good care of me, Sung. Can you let me finish taking care of you, now?”

Your boyfriend’s features softened at that, and he parted his mouth, letting you feed him the spoonful. He happily chewed and swallowed, looking especially blissed out as you gently scratched his scalp with your free hand. In between continuing to feed Sungchan, you finished off your water, and made sure he drank his as well.

Finally, he too declared that he was done eating. Curled up in your boyfriend’s embrace, with a full belly and a full heart, you could’ve almost thought that this was any normal night; nearly forgotten what was going to come next. Nearly.

Sungchan took you to his room next, which wasn’t really necessary, since you had the whole apartment to yourselves. He held you to him with an arm around your waist as he shut the door behind you two. You raised an eyebrow when you heard the door lock.

He buried his face in your neck, wrapping both arms around you now as he half-growled, “Smells like Shotaro out there…”

“Locking the door to keep the smells out…” You hummed in amusement, leaning your head on his shoulder and resting your weight back against him. You decided not to outright point out the flaw in logic there, nor the fact that the two of you could’ve also done this at your place, where there was no smells of Shotaro or anybody else, just you. But of course, you figured it needed to be here because it smelled like Sungchan. It had been so long since Sungchan had been to your home that you were doubtful even a full werewolf would be able to catch a trace of him.

He lifted his head and breathed in like he was about to say something, but you just pulled his arms tighter around you and reassured him, “It’s perfect, Sung. Our own little space. Just you and me.”

Dropping his cheek back down to your shoulder, Sungchan let out a long but shaky breath. Putting your hands over his, your slotted your fingers with your boyfriend’s.

“Sung? Baby? Everything okay?” You asked.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this…”

“Hey, if you’re not ready for this, we can stop. If you don’t want to do it, that’s okay.”

“No, I want to,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. He coughed, his voice softening again but sounding a little strained as he continued, “Really. I mean… I can’t believe I’m doing this with you. I seriously thought I’d royally fucked things up forever. Multiple times.”

“Well, you didn’t,” you told him strongly. “Now, can I go first?”

“You… go first?” He repeated, confusion coloring his voice so clearly. Apparently, he’d forgotten that you’d be doing more than just getting bitten tonight.

“Aw, I would love to, thanks, Sung,” you tittered jokingly, patting his cheek. “Close your eyes, please?”

He chuckled, and a beat later, announced, “Okay, they’re closed.”

You craned your neck just the slightest to be able to peer at him out of the corner of your vision, seeing that he was in fact squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Reaching into your pocket, you retrieved the small pouch that you’d picked up from the coven’s shop this morning. You shook out the two rings inside into your palm, and put yours on your left middle finger first, a simple silver band with the lunar indicator welded into it. It looked almost like a full moon, but you could see just the faintest strip of black showing that it was actually beginning to wane. Next, you gently put the other on Sungchan’s right ring finger, his with a faint shimmer of the moonflower essence.

Holding the side of his head to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you declared, “Done. You can open your eyes.”

He did so, immediately holding up his hand to inspect what you’d done to it. As he looked over the new jewelry, you explained, “It has moonflower essence, all around the band. And the moon design on it will actually change with the phases of the real moon.”

“Thank you, Y/N. It’s beautiful,” he picked up your left hand, bringing it up towards his face that was still hooked over your shoulder—presumably to kiss the back of it—but stopped short as he seemed to have noticed your new accessory as well. His fingers turned your silver band until he could get a good look at the lunar tracker that matched his.

“I got one too,” you added, skin turning warmer and starting to prickle the longer he went without saying anything. “It’s a lot prettier than those phone apps that track the lunar cycle, right?”

Then Sungchan was turning you around by the hips. He grabbed your face with two hands to kiss you, and you got on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly kissing him back. You could feel the cool band of his new ring pressing against your cheek, warming up with every passing second from yours and Sungchan’s bodies.

Breaking the kiss, he reached behind his neck for your left hand with his right, bringing them both down to rest over his chest. He pressed your palm against him firmly, and you could feel his heart beating under your touch.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he said quietly, earnestly, his voice cracking over your name. “So much… that it doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

“What do you mean, Sung?”

“Like, one person shouldn’t be able to have this much love in their body. Or at least, I shouldn’t.”

“What?” You let out a breathy chuckle. “That’s what so beautiful about love, there can only be more of it, it’s infinite. Of course you’re capable of so much love. How could you think anything else?”

“I used to never understand how my mom could choose to fall in love with a human. To doom her family—me—to our life. No safety or identity that comes with a pack. Even after I realized I had fallen for you, I-I was afraid I was so… messed up from thinking like that my whole life that I wasn’t going to be able to love you like you deserved. Like something might’ve been broken in me.”

“Sung…” You touched under his eye with your free hand, where a tear had fallen. “You’re not broken. You’ve never done anything but love me with your whole heart, I know that. You’ve been so good to me, always.”

“I know,” he nodded zealously, accompanied by a sniffle. “I know now, that I’m not broken. That I can have all this overflowing love in me, and it’s so awesome, but also kind of terrifying?”

You chuckled lightly at that. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I love you so much I get a little scared too, because I’ve never loved someone like I love you. And we haven’t even been properly dating for that long, so if I already love you this much, then how much more am I going to love you in six months? A year? Two? Five? Ten?”

He snapped his head up from where he’d been gazing down at your hands, eyes locking on yours. You smiled back at him weakly. The urge to stuff your words back in your mouth was there, but you knew you couldn’t. It was the truth, that you could picture yourself with Sungchan that far ahead in your life. For the rest of it, if you were going to be that honest, but you bit your tongue before you got there.

The two of you had unintentionally moved onto the next part of the werewolf mating ritual: moonlit confessionals. The light of the nearly full moon shone down on the two of you in front of one of his bedroom windows. Your textbook hadn’t been terribly explicit on the exact content of the words exchanged at this point, just that it was an opportunity for the couple to truly bare their souls to each other, make sure there was nothing hidden that would make the other not want to go through with the rest of the ritual.

“After my last relationship… ended like it did, I thought I might be a little broken, too,” you pushed on with your confession. “I was afraid that in my next relationship, I’d just see cheating everywhere. I was honestly a little relieved when our first date blew up, because I thought that if I dated someone again, I’d treat them like a criminal. But never once has it ever crossed my mind with you, never once have I ever doubted you, have I ever felt anything less than absolutely loved and adored.”

“I do, absolutely love and adore you,” he replied. “And I’m so glad you brought up the future, because I think about it, too. Like, all the time. When I imagine my life after college, or what my life is going to be like in five or ten years… I don’t know much, but I always imagine that you’re there. Like, I don’t know what I want to be, other than happy, with you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing him by the neck to yank his mouth down to yours. Pulling him with you towards the bed, you stopped when you felt your legs back up against it.

“Do it, Sung. Bite me,” you murmured against his lips.

He let out a low, throaty groan at your words, tipping his head back as he took a couple deep breaths. You pressed a few more open-mouth kisses to his Adam’s apple and collarbones. Sungchan made another sound that was between a sigh and a grunt.

“We should be sitting down for this,” he stated, though he made no move to follow through on his words.

You removed your lips from his skin to happily plop down into the center of his mattress. The front of you was a bit cold since you were no longer pressed up against him, though you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be for very long.

Sungchan sat down facing you, scooping you up into his arms. You easily settled into his lap, your legs finding familiar places on either side of his hips. Fondly brushing some hair off his forehead, you would’ve been rather content to just stare down at your Sung bathed in moonlight for the next several minutes, so handsome and all yours. But you had something you needed to do tonight.

Grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt you were wearing—Sungchan’s, of course—you shucked it over your head and off onto the floor. That left you just in a tank top with nearly negligible straps. You could see your boyfriend’s eyes zero in on the bare expanse of skin from your shoulder to your neck that you’d just exposed, where his bite was supposed to go.

“I had my turn,” you said, slipping the thin strap off of the shoulder he was staring at, and tilting your head to open up as much space as possible, make it as clear of an invitation as possible. “Now it’s yours. Go on, baby. I trust you.”

Sungchan didn’t say anything more, but he did grab both of your hands by the wrist—his grip surprisingly gentle—to wrap your arms around his waist. You splayed your hands out over his lower back under his shirt, indulging yourself in his warmth, and smoothing a thumb over his skin. He then wrapped his around you to hold you even closer, if that was possible, and you watched him open his mouth, his white teeth catching the pale moonlight, glinting, and looking much sharper than normal— reminding you of how they looked during his shifts.

Then those teeth were biting you, sinking into your muscle.

Renjun had described what being bitten by a vampire was like to you, once. He had a bucket list for that sort of thing—magical encounters. He said it was a small pinch, barely more than the pressure of a needle, then it was all pleasure from thereafter. Vampire venom, of course, was meant to do that so that those they were biting felt so good so they wouldn’t resist while the vampire drank as much as they pleased from them.

Werewolves were predators in an entirely different sense, with the teeth to match. Theirs were meant to grab prey, hold them in their jaws no matter how much they struggled, and rip flesh from bone. As much damage as possible in one go, so that if said prey happened to escape, they wouldn’t be able to get very far with their injuries.

It was visceral pain, the moment Sungchan bit you. You couldn’t hear the noise that you made—only aware that you made one as you felt the gurgle of something in the back of your throat—through the white noise that exploded behind your eyes the instant his teeth hit bone. You were glad he’d directed you to put your arms around him just moments earlier, as your nails were now firmly embedded in the skin of his lower back—you were sure those would’ve been drawing your own blood in your palms if they hadn’t been there.

A memory suddenly flashed in your mind. You were seven, in your backyard with your dad, watching two squirrels chase each other across the grass. Then your neighbor’s dog came out of nowhere—maybe slipped his collar—and got one in his mouth. Your dad couldn’t get his hand over your eyes quick enough. You didn’t want to pet Mr. Lee’s dog when you saw him a couple days later, despite how well he sat, the adorable way his tongue lolled out from between his razor-sharp canines, and how fast his tail wagged.

The whole thing probably lasted just a couple seconds, but to you it felt like minutes, as every one of your heartbeats pounded through you, ricocheted around in your skull and grey matter. Could Sungchan feel that? Feel your pulse in his mouth? Was he scraping at it with his canines? Just one wrong move away from tearing open something vital?

You trusted him, of course, or you wouldn’t have asked him to do this. Not let him; but suggested, encouraged, requested, told him to. Your fingernails dug into his back even harder at the idea, as much to anchor yourself and provide an outlet as to hold him to you as well. Surely you had to be breaking skin at this point.

You had the urge to bite down on something too. It was a need that came from deep in your jaw. Like when people were given something to bite on for painful procedures in old medical dramas. Or maybe reciprocity.

This go around, you kept your teeth to yourself, though, sinking them into your bottom lip. That pain didn’t even register past the supernova radiating out from your shoulder.

Sungchan finally pulled his teeth out from your flesh, and the rest of your senses snapped back into focus. Your eyes fluttered open—when did you close them?—back to Sungchan’s bedroom, your fingers slowly unfurled from where they’d dug into his back, and you could hear him talking to you as he gently inspected the bite wound.

You brought your hands back around in front of you. Your eyes widened minutely as you realized that there was bright red under a couple of your fingernails. And it wasn’t yours. The beds of your nails were perfectly intact, meaning that you really had broken his skin.

“Oh God, Y/N, the blood. I’m so sorry.” Sungchan muttered under his breath, reaching for something on his nightstand.

For half a second, you thought he meant his, and you were about to apologize as you were still staring down at your hands mostly in awe. But then you actually saw his face for the first time as he turned back around, clutching a damp hand towel.

There was a red tint to his lips, and you realized that wasyour blood. Electricity jolted up your spine before the thought had even fully formed.

…he won’t even draw blood. So much for that, Mr. Jung.

His tongue darted out to instinctively investigate the wetness on his mouth, and a sudden thrill shuddered through you as you watched. You decided not to ask how it tasted to him, despite the question certainly popping into your mind.

You pressed a kiss to his cheekbone instead, so far back it was nearly in his hairline. “I’m okay, Sung. I’m okay.”

Without a word, he started gently cleaning up the bite wound, and you had half a mind to ask for another towel for his back, though you knew that would be futile until he got you situated. So, you sat patiently, keeping your head craned to the side to give him plenty of room, and watched his intent face as he worked.

“Sung?”

He sighed, a sound that let you know he was already beginning his mental descent through the seven circles of werewolf hell. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“Can I bite you next time?” You asked simply.

The towel stilled over your bite.

“You… next time… bite… me?” His eyes glassed over as his mouth stumbled to even form around the individual words.

“I know I won’t leave a mark like you but… so I can have something to do?” You used the hand of your unbitten shoulder to trace a line from his ear down his jugular, under his collar, to his shoulder, then back to his collarbone. You took your hand back as you went to joke, “Unless you’re expecting extravagant and meaningful gifts every time?”

“No, no. I mean yes! I mean—” Sungchan took a second to shake his head and blink, clearing his mind. “I don’t expect gifts every time. And yes, you can bite me next time. I didn’t think you would be up for a next time after I… well, after all this.”

He gestured vaguely to the wound that he’d gone back to tending to. A quick glance at it out of the corner of your eye showed you that it had already stopped bleeding and was starting to mend itself. At least Mr. Jung was right about that part.

Even through the acute worry over the unexpected severity of the bite, you could tell that Sungchan was already more clear-headed and overall relaxed, the constant nervous tension in his body gone, replaced just by a determined set of his shoulders, and momentary furrow of his brow as he cleaned up the bite. Brushing his hair off his forehead, you trailed your hand down to cup his cheek fondly. “Sungchan, this is the most yourself I’ve seen you in a long time. Yes, I’m going to keep your bite.”

Just the bright, tender smile on Sungchan’s face—the recognition of being loved and reflecting it back to you—would’ve been more than enough for you to do this again, whether or not it helped the scent anxiety. You could always work on another solution for that. But this you wouldn’t take away for the world.

He set the towel aside again, and you grabbed his hands now that they were free, messing with the brand-new ring adorning one of his fingers.

“Besides, even if I can’t leave a mark like yours next time, I can still mark you up,” you mused quietly, almost as if it were to yourself, except for the fact that you had a werewolf practically chest-to-chest with you. And you knew very well that you did. “They just won’t last as long.”

“Why wait until next time?” He suggested, and you heard the long inhale he took after. You wondered if you smelled any different to him already, or if he just needed to breathe.

You looked up from your hands to him with a smirk. “I like the way you think.”

Sungchan captured your lips in a kiss that tasted of hunger, and love, and metal— your blood was still around his mouth. And you smiled into it before doing as promised and dropping your mouth to the column of his throat, well above his collar, and letting your teeth graze his skin. You could feel his gasp rush in under your lips as his hands pulled your hips firmly down against his.

You decided that Jeno could be a ‘puppy’ all he wanted. You had a wolf, and you were more than happy with that.

“I think I made it out more marked up than you, you know,” Sungchan called out to you from the bathroom the next morning.

“Really?” You replied just as loudly, amusement in your tone as you stretched leisurely in his sheets.

“Shotaro’s going to be concerned for my wellbeing at this rate.”

Sitting up and scooting towards the corner of his bed closest to the mirror, you checked out your own reflection as you imagined he was currently doing, your fingers trailing over the dark bite mark now set into your skin. There was no scab or blood, just the faintest ring of raised skin and distinct outline of teeth. Rolling out your shoulder, you winced as a dull pain radiated out from the bite. Dropping the arm back down, you continued staring at the mark, a certain giddiness fluttering around in your stomach. You’d have this for… who knows how long. The rest of your life, maybe.

Clearing your throat and your mind, you responded to Sungchan with a disbelieving snort, “No he’s not.”

“No, he’s not,” he agreed with a sigh as he walked back into his bedroom just in a pair of sweatpants. Which let you get a great view of the countless blue and purple hickies, love bites, long red scratches, and faded remains of crescent-shaped nail marks that littered his neck, chest, shoulders, and back. You bit down on your bottom lip, a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment welling up in your chest. Sungchan fixed you with a shit-eating grin, putting his hands on his hips. “But my parents will be when we go over for dinner next week.”

“We’re going over for dinner next week?!” You yelped, covering your mouth in horror, panic, and mortification. A lot of the worst of those bruises were well above the collar of all of his shirts. “Why did you let me—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off with a chuckle, lumbering over towards the bed to flop down beside you on the mattress.

You smacked his arm as you hissed, “I’m going to kill you, Jung Sungchan! Don’t do that to me!”

“Ouch, full name.” He pouted.

“God, I was about to preemptively die of embarrassment!”

“So it’ll be fine for them to see that,” he pointed to your shoulder, “but not these?” He gestured from his own neck down.

“Different situational and cultural contexts!”

He nodded slowly, “Oh, right, of course...”

“You’re half-human, Sungchan, don’t pull that ‘I’m-just-a-simple-werewolf’ act on me!”

“I upset you. I’m sorry,” he apologized, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it.

“You better be, Sungchan.”

“I am, baby, I am.” He gave your hand a half dozen more fervent, rapid-fire smooches. “Now are you done calling me that?”

“What? Your name?” You scoffed.

“You know what I mean, baby...”

“So we don’t have dinner with your parents next week?”

“Nope. Two weeks.”

You shook your head and sighed. “And so you live to see another day, Sung.”

“I’m half-werewolf, I would’ve been all healed up by next week, you know,” he pointed out, sitting up behind you and pressing a couple lingering kisses to your shoulder with your new mating bite.

“I know, I know.”

He continued trailing sweet kisses up your neck and jaw. “Which means I’ll also be all healed in two weeks if you were to give me some more…”

“I don’t know, you just played a very mean trick on me, Sung,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest as if you were genuinely deliberating not giving in and absolutely devouring this man right now.

“I know,” he murmured between kisses, gently holding your chin with one hand to turn your head back towards him. “I’m the worst.”

“You are,” you breathed out against his lips.

“So now that we agree on that…”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” You jabbed the crosswalk button repeatedly.

“It’s going to be fine, Y/N,” Sungchan reassured you, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’ve already met your parents before and it was fine.”

“Yeah, once, for like two minutes, as my friend.” You pointed out, banging the button with the side of your fist when it still hadn’t changed.

You were of course talking about a random Sunday afternoon way back in the spring semester, before you and Sungchan had started dating. He had come over that day to help you put together your new coffee table that you’d finally gotten around to buying. Except, upon starting the assembling, the two of you had realized that neither of you had one of the tools required for it. Thankfully, your dad did, and offered to bring it by since he and your mom were about to head out to run errands anyway. Cue some very brief, very awkward introductions between your parents and Sungchan when they’d brought the promised tool. You weren’t counting, but you would’ve bet money that you had called him your friend at least ten times during that less-than-five-minute conversation, with so much stress and nervous emphasis on the word that you wouldn’t have been surprised if your parents had left your apartment that day already thinking that the two of you were dating.

But now you were actually supposed to be introducing him to them as your boyfriend, and you felt like you were going to throw up and pass out and die before you even got there.

Sungchan wordlessly let go of your hand to smoothly step between you and the crosswalk button, picking up your other hand to hold.

“Come on, you said it yourself that they were impressed with me after that two-minute conversation,” he reminded you. “Imagine how great of an impression I’ll leave after two hours.”

“All I said was that my dad told me later that he was surprised that you were a werewolf because you were so calm,” you corrected him. “He’s used to all my friends from high school who had the bouncing-off-the-fucking-walls energy like Jeno.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Which, by the way, I’ve already told them that you’re not in a pack or anything like that, but pretty much all they know about werewolves is from my classmates and friends from when I was in high school. So… apologies in advance for any assumptions or comparisons they make.”

“Right, the two packs you went to school with.”

“Yeah, them. I told them you’re not in a pack, and don’t have any of that going on. It actually made my mom relax a lot more. I think all that stuff kind of scares her.”

“What? Afraid that I’d whisk you away with my big werewolf muscles to my werewolf pack and she’d never hear from her poor little human daughter ever again?”

You burst out into an incredulous laugh. “You have got to stop talking about yourself like that or I’m seriously going to hurt your feelings one of these days, baby.”

“By saying what? It’s not like I’m lying?”

“Your ego is as stupid big as your stupid big werewolf muscles.”

“Ha!” He cheered out victoriously. “So you admit it.”

“Wasn’t falling in love supposed to rot your brain? Make you more docile or whatever? I think it’s just made you even worse…” You tutted, shaking your head.

“How could I not be on an ego trip? I mean, have you seen my girlfriend?” He retorted. “She’s crazy beautiful, and smart, and funny, and so sweet. I’d be jealous of me if I wasn’t me.”

You rolled your eyes, but squeezed his hand tighter. “Alright, you sap. Maybe the ego trip is warranted. But seriously, don’t talk about yourself like that in front of my parents or I’ll die of secondhand embarrassment. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

So far lunch was going okay. Your mom had invited the two of you over for a late Sunday lunch, which always meant sandwiches and lemonade in your house. And it was going okay, aside from the initial reaction you’d gotten when they’d opened the front door. You could still hear your mother’s shocked gasp and ‘Oh my God…’ muttered under her breath as her eyes were glued onto your neck. More specifically, you knew she was staring at your new mating bite. Or, the half of it that she could see— you weren’t exactly hiding it, so you’d picked your t-shirt today only for comfort in the lingering end-of-August-cusp-of-September heat. It was just over three weeks since Sungchan had given you his bite, a couple days shy of the upcoming full moon, and yeah maybe you should visit your parents more often. But in your defense, you’d been a bit busy between getting the bite in the first place, and the new semester starting.

Your father didn’t have much better of a reaction than your mother, eyes going wide behind his thick, frameless lenses before his jaw clenched. There was still a certain tension in his muscles that jumped every time he saw Sungchan touch you, whether it was a brush of arms, holding your hand, or an innocent squeeze of your knee as he stood up to head to the bathroom that he’d just been gestured towards.

Picking your glass of lemonade back up after Sungchan had left the room, you took only a sip before your mom was reaching across the table to gently take your hand in hers.

“Hey, sweetie…” She said softly but with a certain worried tenseness in her tone that made your stomach drop.

You tried to mimic the front she was putting up, smiling back at her brightly and innocently, “Hey, Mom?”

“Listen... We are so happy for you, and we love Sungchan, we really do.”

“Okay, then why does it feel like this is about to go somewhere that I’m not going to like?”

“Don’t you think that the two of you might just be moving a little fast?”

Entirely dropping all sunny pretenses, you narrowed your eyes at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“The-the bite,” she explained with a wince, pointing to her own shoulder.

“That’s sort of like marriage for them, right?” Your dad cut in gruffly.

Despite it being phrased like a question, his tone made it sound much more like an accusation, like he already knew he was right and was just letting you know that he knew the truth—or at least what he thought the truth was. It reminded you of when you’d get in trouble as a kid and he’d ask you if you knew how the vase in the living room got broken despite very much already having a good idea himself. Giving you the opportunity to fess up before he punished you even more severely for the initial bad deed and then lying about it on top of that. But you hadn’t done anything wrong this time.

“Sort of, not really, it depends. In some packs, I guess. But Sung’s not in a pack, you know that,” you reminded them firmly, straightening up in your seat.

Your mom jumped back in, “Right, but still, don’t you think he kind of rushed you into—”

“It was my idea,” you cut her off before she could even finish articulating that thought. You knew you’d get all the way pissed off if she did. It was already taking a lot to dampen your anger now and keep this at a civil conversation. It’s just because they didn’t understand. You had to keep telling yourself that, and do your best to explain, calmly, and make them understand. Not everybody had three years of Sociology and Magical Creatures Studies under their belt like you. Your mom had been a stay-at-home mom all your life, and your dad was just a few years away from retirement, having worked in a human-dominated field for his whole career. An architect.

Those same sharp eyes that would pore over building designs late at night in his home office while you sat in his lap and did your own colorful sketches in crayon—and eventually fell asleep in his arms—were now regarding you with a clear distrust. “Darling, really, it—”

“Look, when we first started dating, Sung was having a really hard time with scent anxiety,” you once again spoke over him authoritatively. “All the usual scenting stuff, it wasn’t working. He was really stressed, and anxious, and just… worried sick all the time about me like spontaneously combusting or something if we were apart for even a second. Me taking his bite was the best solution. And now, the beginning of the semester has gone off without a hitch. Classes, my Magical Botany Club, his astronomy club, his senior thesis meetings, my research mentorship project... I don’t know if we would’ve been able to do all of this apart, clear-headed like… literally a month ago. And yes, I brought it up to him. I’m fine, I promise. This is what I want, he’s what I want.”

The two of them exchanged perturbed, skeptical glances, before your mom nodded, and your father let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, sweetheart. Like we said, we like Sungchan. We just don’t want you two doing anything that you might regret. Either of you.”

“I know, Dad. But we’ve got this. Seriously, it’s… really good with him,” you promised him, a giddy smile coming to your features with your last words.

“We’re happy to hear that, sweetie,” your mom patted your hand.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I don’t want to know anything else about how it happens, but— Does it hurt? Like, right now, does it hurt you?”

“Oh, no, Mom, it’s not painful to the touch or sore or anything,” you reassured her, carefully skirting around the how and instead focusing on the now, pressing on the bite mark to demonstrate that it wasn’t tender like a bruise.

“Good, good, I’m glad.”

The sound of the bathroom door opening echoed down the hall to you, and you turned around to smile at Sungchan over your shoulder as he started back towards you all.

“Well, I think it’s time for the tart I’ve got in the fridge, huh?” Your mom beamed at everyone, standing up from the kitchen table.

“That could’ve gone worse,” you declared as soon as your parents’ front door shut behind the two of you, leaving you and Sungchan on the sidewalk. There wasn’t much in the way of leftovers aside from the berry tart, which your mom sent you off with so that your father wouldn’t eat it all.

“You think so?” Sungchan asked warily. “Because I uh… I did hear what you all were talking about when I was in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I thought you might’ve.” You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry about all that, Sung. I think they get it now. And really, it was my fault for not at least giving them a heads-up about the bite, it didn’t even cross my mind. We just caught them off-guard.”

Sungchan suddenly stopped the two of you on the empty sidewalk. He cupped your cheek in his hand, running a thumb over your cheekbone, then down your jaw, the side of your neck, until he stopped right over where you knew the mating bite was. His thumb once again stroked over your skin, tracing the shape of the bite and pushing aside your collar when needed.

“Hearing you say that this is what you want, I’m what you want… made me really happy,” he declared simply, eyes still locked on the mark.

“It’s true,” you replied.

A bright, giddy smile spread across his face. “I know. And I knew it as soon as I heard you say it, too.”

You grinned back up at him. “That makes me really happy to hear, Sung. I always want you to know how much I love you.”

He leaned in nearer, and you closed your eyes anticipating a kiss, but instead he just dropped a fond peck to your nose before standing up straight. “I think it’s starting to finally uh, get through my thick skull.”

“Finally,” you echoed with a giggle. “Alright, your place?”

“I actually wanted to ask… Can we go to your place tonight?”

“Finally going to give poor Taro some peace?”

“That, yeah. But I wasn’t even thinking about him to be honest. I just… I want to.”

“Okay, Sung. Come on.” You tugged him down the street in the direction of your apartment.

Sungchan had been to your place on several occasions as your friend and your boyfriend, and yet you were drawing a blank for exactly the last time he had been there. Maybe your third date? Or, technically your fourth date, but you and Sungchan had unanimously agreed to not count that first awkward blind date that the guys set you up on as your official first date. Regardless, it’d been… a while since he’d been over. You kicked your shoes off by the door and didn’t bother to turn the lights on as you deposited the leftover tart in the fridge before beginning your nightly plant-tending. There were a few that needed to be misted still, then you could fully relax. You did the majority of your plant care-taking duties during the actual day, there was just the odd handful that needed a couple good spritzes.

Sungchan watched you patiently as you did so just in the moonlight coming in through the sheers you had over a window. Then, once the spray bottle was put back down, you led the way into your bedroom with maybe a little bit of a skip in your step. While you weren’t a werewolf, you were understanding how nice it felt to have your person in a space that you felt safe and warm and good in again. Like everything was going to be okay forever, maybe.

“You want to wear one of my hoodies?” You joked, rifling through your drawers for some pajamas for yourself.

“You have anything that’d fit?” Sungchan perked up from where he was laying on your bed to ask. He’d already located his few pieces of clothing still stored away here, meanwhile you were struggling as it turns out you very much needed to do a laundry day.

“Try that.” You tossed one at him before turning back around to the dresser. After a few moments, you hadn’t heard anything from behind you, though. “Sung? Love? Everything okay back there?” You looked over your shoulder to find a very cozy-looking werewolf in your extra, extra large hoodie—which just fit him regularly. But it was the eyes-closed, soft, happy smile on his face as he had the hood up around his head, his hair strewn about messily, and he held the ends of the sleeves up to his nose that made you stop in your tracks to just take him in.

His eyes snapped open, and he dropped his hands almost sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, all good. It fits. Thanks, baby.”

“Of course.” You nodded, feeling a fond smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

You quickly got into your own pajamas for the night and climbed into bed as well. As you reached over to turn off your lamp, Sungchan stopped your hand.

“Are you going to sleep right now?” He asked.

“Well, no,” you said, an eyebrow raised as you watched his eyes flick between your hand and your neck.

“Can we leave the lights on for just a little longer? You can turn them off as soon as you need to sleep. I just… So I can see it?” He let go of your hand and instead graced a finger over your bite mark.

You dropped your hand, nodding. “Sure, Sung.”

He smiled brightly at you. “Thank you.”

With the added light, you decided to do some reading, and Sungchan kept busy alternating between his phone, and folding and unfolding the same origami heart on your bedside table next to him. But you could feel him look over at you every so often, and you knew he was getting used to the still-new image of you with his mating bite. As you came to the close of a chapter, you tucked your bookmark—the film strip of you two from Valentine’s Day at the boba shop—back in and set the book aside.

“Sung?”

“Mm?”

Now that you’d gotten his attention, you wordlessly opened your arms, and he immediately launched himself into them. You let out a punched-out giggle as you suddenly had an arm- and lapful of werewolf. He settled in with his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder, his lips right against your bite again, his arms wrapped around your waist, and one of his legs slung over you, caging you in. You rested your cheek on the crown of his head, threading the fingers of one hand in his hair as you rubbed your other hand up and down his back. The metal of your lunar ring glinted from among his soft brown locks. Waning crescent.

“Can I turn the light off now, love? I don’t think you can see it from this angle, right?” You requested humorously.

“Hm?” Sungchan made a low, slow, questioning noise in the back of his throat, and you knew he hadn’t even processed your ask.

“Light. Off?”

“Mm, yeah, mkay.”

You could feel him nod against you.

Reaching over towards your lamp was a bit difficult, but you were finally able to stretch your fingers enough to turn it off, plunging your room into darkness. Shifting to relax a bit lower into your pillows, you returned your hand to your boyfriend’s back.

“You’re cuddly tonight,” you commented. Cuddly, not clingy like before the bite. You didn’t feel guilty for reading earlier, he’d been content to do his own thing in the meantime, and you’d been the one to initiate the cuddling now. He’d just been very enthusiastic.

“Don’t you know, Miss MCS Major?”

“How long have we known each other, and you don’t know my major?”

“‘Miss Interdisciplinary Major with a concentration in Magical Creatures Studies’ is a bit long, don’t you think?”

“It’s correct.”

“Miss MCS Student?”

“That’s… acceptable.”

“Anyway, don’t you know about werewolf mating bites, Miss MCS Student?”

“Only whatever was covered in my Intro course, the sociocultural importance of them in packs. We haven’t covered that in my class on werewolves yet. And unfortunately, Dr. Kwon’s Interspecies Marriage class didn’t fit in my schedule last year.”

“Scent swapping. After a werewolf couple exchanges bites, they swap scents until they eventually just have one new one.”

“Ah, so it’s my turn to scent you.”

“Something like that.” Sungchan shrugged. “I know that’s the scientific explanation, like, the magianthropological one or whatever. But really… I just know that being here right now feels right. Like I was never meant to do anything else. Like I could go to class, or go hang out with friends, or something. But after, this is where I’m supposed to be. With you.”

“Home.” You replied simply. “You feel like home.”

“Yeah. You’re my home.”

Unable to come up with anything to say near intelligible, you pressed a long kiss to the top of his head before nuzzling your cheek back into his hair. His arms tightened around you minutely, holding you just that much closer to him.

“And you can’t just start calling me ‘love’ and expect me to just do nothing,” he added teasingly.

“Sung.”

“Yeah?”

The darkness made it so that you couldn’t see Sungchan as the two of you laid together, but every place that you touched felt much more alive, so much more real, connected. “I love you.”

He grabbed one of your hands, just to hold it. You let him.

“I love you, too.” His words didn’t hang in the air, they laid over you like a warm blanket, wound and weaved through your mind like your favorite song, and wrapped around you like a familiar hug. You stayed silent as you basked in them, letting out a soft, content hum as you cradled his head closer to your chest.

“I think I really understand her now,” Sungchan spoke up after some time.

You were used to his non-sequiturs by now. “Who?”

“My mom… Who you love isn’t always a choice, but where you go from there is. The choices you make with that love is up to you.” His hand tightened around yours.

“I can’t wait to be there to make more choices with you, Sung,” you murmured, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles.

Entering Half Moon Bakery with a skip in your step, Sungchan stopped you just past the front door. The two of you had been out and about running various errands all day, and had finally popped into your friends’ workplace for a little breather.

“I’ll be right back.” Sungchan pecked your forehead.

“I’ll go order.” You nodded, watching him disappear around the corner that led to the restrooms.

As you walked up to the counter, you offered the familiar wolf behind the counter a big smile. “Hey Jeno!”

“Hey, Y/N!” He grinned back. “So what can I get—”

He was cut off by a clanging from the kitchens behind him that made you jump out of your skin. The werewolf whipped around, concern etched on his features. He looked to you apologetically, “Sorry, I need to—”

“Go check on her,” you agreed, not liking the distinct lack of cursing that had accompanied the raucous noise. “I wanted to pick something new today anyway, so I’ll need some time.”

“Thanks, be right back!” And with that, he darted into the back.

You did in fact meander over to the display case of pastries, bending at the waist to peer at your options. Humming along to the song playing over the speakers, when you heard footsteps coming up behind you, you figured that it was Sungchan.

“Back so soon, love?” You asked with humor in your voice, standing up straight and turning around. All warmth that was in your chest froze and turned to dread when you saw who was actually behind you.

“Y/N. Been a while since you called me that.” You hadn’t seen your ex in over a year. Not since a week after you’d found out he’d been cheating on you throughout the entirety of your short-lived relationship, when he’d come to pick up what few things he had at your place. But somehow he was at your friends’ bakery now.

“I never did.” You reminded him through gritted teeth. “And clearly I didn’t mean to now.”

Pivoting back around, you crossed your arms and stared straight ahead at the menu board behind the counter.

“Back to your old type, huh?” He was peeling back the collar of your blouse to reveal all of your mating bite.

You snapped around, slapping his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Humans weren’t good enough, so you’re back on the werewolf dick, of course.”

You couldn’t stand to be in here for another second with him sneering at you like this. He wasn’t worth it. You could leave, go around the corner and text Sungchan and tell him where you are and what happened. The two of you could just go somewhere else for the afternoon.

“I’m not going to justify myself to someone like you, so if you’ll excuse me—” You tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

He seized your wrist. “Y/N, come on—”

“Let go of her.” Jeno had appeared at your side, stepping in between you and pulling your ex’s hand off of you.

“Oh, Jeno,” you breathed his name out as a sigh of relief, almost absent-mindedly, as you withdrew your hand back to your chest.

The human was unfazed, though, a sick delight lighting up his eyes as he looked Jeno up and down. “You must be the lucky dogboy. I should tell you, for your sake, she has a type, if you know what I mean. Dated two werewolves before me, and she broke up with me because I just couldn’t satisfy her like she was used to.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed.

“She broke up with you because you’re a cheating scumbag, actually.” Sungchan was back from the bathrooms, and strode up behind your ex, a deep frown already etched onto his features.

“That’s the lucky wolf whose girlfriend you just manhandled.” Jeno pointed up at him.

Sungchan clearly hadn’t witnessed anything, as his eyebrows raised minutely at the word ‘manhandled’ before his frown became a hard glare and he pushed your ex back against the wall by the shoulder. “If you grab her again, you lose the hand and the arm it’s attached to.”

The human looked around Sungchan at you with wide eyes. You nodded firmly in agreement with what your boyfriend had just said. Sounded plenty reasonable to you.

“Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back, we don’t want scumbags for customers,” Jeno growled, folding his arms over his chest.

The human had to wrench his shoulder out from Sungchan’s grip, giving the lot of you a final glare before storming out of the bakery. When you could finally no longer see him, you let out a shaky breath, and Sungchan immediately came over to wrap his arms around you. There was a vein protruding on his forehead that you weren’t used to seeing, and his jaw was still clenched tightly.

“Thanks, Sung.” You pressed yourself into his side, all too happy to be back in his familiar warmth. You weren’t going to forget about your friend that had come to your aid first, though. “You too, Jeno.”

“Yeah, thank you, Jeno.” Sungchan clapped the other werewolf on the back sincerely. “On one hand I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Y/N, but on the other… I’m kind of glad I wasn’t because—”

“You might’ve actually broken his hand if you had been. I know, I know.” Jeno interrupted him humorously, despite how not humorous that outcome would’ve been. Satisfactory in the moment, yes, but ultimately not worth the criminal charges he could’ve pressed against Sungchan. “Try some werewolf meditation apps.”

“They have those?”

“You’ve never had to look into those before. Ha! Mr. Zen Werewolf taking advice on werewolf meditation apps from me! Oh, hold on, she’s going to get a kick out of this one, I’ve got to go tell her.” Jeno pointed to the kitchen over his shoulder with a thumb, turning around and pushing a door open, laughing the whole way back.

As Jeno relayed this hilarious revelation to his girlfriend, Sungchan led you over to a small loveseat in the corner of the bakery, settling the two of you down on it. Judging by the dual cackling laughter now coming from the kitchens, it was going to be a while before you’d be able to get your pastries.

“I know I can’t prevent everything bad ever from happening, but…” Sungchan laced his right hand with your left and rubbed slow circles into your skin with his thumb. “I hope you’ll always let me be there with you after.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, gazing at your lunar rings displaying matching half moons. “Always, Sung. We made a deal, remember?”

“Of course,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

⤷ blog masterlist  ⤷ anthology masterlist

[sincerelyneo]

when did you get hot?| z.cl

“you were an ugly kid, but you’re a sexy man”

💿now playing: when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter

❯ summary: Your best friend’s kid brother is getting married—and his best man just so happens to be ridiculously sexy. Wait. Hold on. Is that Zhong Chenle? When the hell did he get hot?

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: pure filth tbh, smut, childhood friends

❯ words: 7.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, cocky!chenle, submissive!reader, older!reader, lots of wedding references, filthy mouth chenle, spanking, marking, biting, a lot of possessiveness, oral sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampies, rough sex, degradation/humiliation kink, basically just chenle putting you in your place for not realising he’s a top shagger

“I cannot believe my little brother got married before me,” Karina announces, balancing the flask she smuggled into the wedding reception on the sink before tucking it neatly back into her bra. “Before both of us, actually.”

You watch as she throws back the freshly mixed Vodka and Coke in one gulp. Not exactly the most hygienic thing, given you’re both hiding in the bathroom like fugitives from her mother trying to avoid the bouquet toss.

A little sloshes down her chin, slides onto her chest, and vanishes between the satin folds of her bridesmaid dress. Christ.

“Oh yeah, totally. I have no idea how Jeno managed to beat us both to the altar.” Another drip of brown liquid traces her neckline. You sigh. “No idea at all.”

“Shut it,” Karina hisses at your sarcasm. She grabs a tissue and blots herself. First her face, then her cleavage. “Don’t look at me like that. Mummy dearest wouldn’t let Jeno have an open bar because she sees this as a prospect convention for me. No alcohol, no fun, no scaring off potential suitors. I have to do what I have to do.”

That sets you off laughing. It’s exactly the kind of thing her mother would say.

Karina throws her head back, cackling along with you. “It’s not funny, Y/N! She thinks this is eighteenth-century England. She swears I’m going to be sent off to a spinster’s asylum if I don’t land someone tonight. And now—” She gestures violently with the tissue. “Now that my fuckass brother’s tied the knot, she’s become a full-blown monster.”

“Give her a break, Rina.” You peer toward the mirror with a smile, dragging your finger along your bottom lip to blend your gloss. “I think she thinks she’s helping. You used to dream about your wedding day when we were kids. It was your favourite game.”

“That was before I discovered men are sloppy. Awful life partners, and need babysitting ninety per cent of the time.”

You snort, watching her adjust her hair, then frown at herself in the mirror like even her reflection has managed to let her down. For a moment, you think she’s going to start ranting about her mother again, but instead—

“You know,” she says, pausing just long enough to hook your attention. “I always figured you’d get married first.”

Oh, not this again. Everyone figured you’d be the first to get married. You’ve heard the speeches before—the what happened with you and Mark? spiels, the pitiful head tilts, the sympathetic smiles. There’s nothing worse than going from the couple—high school sweethearts, city apartment, golden promise ring—to single in your adulthood with a pathetic love and sex life. 

“Don’t start,” you groan.

“I’m serious. You were always the one in steady re—”

“If you mention any of my failed relationships right now, I will seriously revoke your best friend card.”

“Fine, fine,” Karina chirps, swatting her hand. “I’m just saying, Jeno’s got a lot of friends and a big party of single groomsmen.”

“You date one of them then,” you retort. “In fact, why don’t we find your mother and talk about setting you up—”

“Not fucking funny,” Karina sneers. “You didn’t see her trying to meddle in the ceremony. In the fucking chapel, mind you. I won’t have you planting any ideas during the celebration.”

If only you hadn’t been stuck working. You would have loved to watch Karina squirm under her mother’s matchmaking theatrics.

“I just thought since you’re blowing smoke up these guys’ asses, raving about their hotness, maybe you finally wanted to settle down and date one.”

“Date? Settle down? Me?” She scoffs, sharp as a cork popping. “I will be doing no such thing. Fuck? Maybe.”

You shake your head, laughing. “I can’t stand you.”

“Now, now.” She waggles a finger at you. “This is a judgment-free zone. Women should be sexually liberated. Just because you’ve gone months without—”

“Okay!” You slice the word across hers before she can finish. “No talking about dating for you, and no talking about my lack of sex life.”

The bathroom door creaks open before Karina can needle you further.

“Karina.” Giselle, a friend of the bride’s, voice ricochets off the tiles, all flustered breath and flying strands of brown hair as she braces herself against the doorframe. She looks like she’s sprinted through a wind tunnel to get here. “Your mum’s been looking for you.”

Karina doesn’t even twitch. She leans further back against the sink, calm, smug, utterly unbothered by the looming maternal wrath waiting for her on the other side of the door.

“I know,” she drawls, examining her nails.

“No.” Giselle cuts her off, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to stop a migraine. “The best man speech is starting soon. She needs you out there.”

Karina tilts her head, unhurried. “Do I look like a girl who cares about a best man speech? What’s one of Jeno’s little friends going to do, tell childhood stories? Newsflash, I was there for most of them. Y/N too. It’s hardly riveting for us.”

“I couldn’t care less what you think,” Giselle fires back without missing a beat. “But if you don’t show your face right now, your mother will storm this bathroom and drag you out by your hair. And honestly? I don’t want that to ruin my best friend’s day.” She pauses, scanning Karina like a teacher. “Oh—and grab a mint. I know you’ve been drinking in here.”

Karina gasps, clutching her chest in mock horror. “How dare you slander me on my brother’s holy day?”

“Save it for the priest,” Giselle mutters, already yanking the door open.

“I think the priest has heard enough of my sins today, thanks to that sexy co-worker of Jeno’s sitting in the back pew—ow! Did you just punch me?”

“Yes,” Giselle grits. “Can you stop being horny for five minutes?”

Karina sighs dramatically, pushes herself off the sink, and gives her reflection one last disdainful glance. She slips the flask deeper into her bra, tugging at the satin until the outline is no longer visible. “When did weddings get so serious?”

“They’re literally legally binding, Rina,” you deadpan. “I think they’ve always been—”

She claps her hands, cutting you off, and points toward the door. “To my mother.”

You roll your eyes, but fall into step behind her anyway, Giselle marching ahead like a prison guard escorting two criminals. Fugitives found. 

The reception air hits heavier than the bathroom—perfume, champagne, the clink of glasses and forks against china. Music hums low, elegant, almost stuffy. And there, in the centre of it all, Karina’s mother stands fanning herself with the wedding program, face set and ready for battle.

She spots her daughter, and her cheeks flame red.

Karina mutters out of the corner of her mouth, “Is it too late to do a runner? I’m actually scared of her.”

You pinch her arm, already blotchy from Giselle’s earlier assault. “Smile.”

She pastes one on, bright and fake. “Mother dear—”

“Don’t you Mother Dearest me.” Her mother swats her arm with a clutch bag so forcefully you hear the snap of the clasp.

“Ow—Christ.” Karina jerks back, clutching the offended spot. “Can you people leave my arm alone?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Her mother’s voice drops, eyes honed in. She leans closer to Karina’s mouth, nostrils flaring. “Have you been drinking?”

Karina’s eyes widen, the panic flashing quick. She may be an adult, but nobody, at any age, likes a lecture from their parents. She lunges for distraction. “Hey, Ma—look, Y/N’s finally here.”

Before you can react, she’s shoved you forward like a human shield.

Karina’s mother’s face softens immediately, her whole expression rearranging as if you’ve just solved her problems by existing. She’s always liked you—always treated you like a second daughter. Back then, there wasn’t a single evening after school when you weren’t sprawled somewhere in their house, raiding their pantry or making yourself at home.

She scans you from head to toe, approving of the long fitted dress you’re wearing, then she leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. “Y/N, sweetie. You look wonderful,” she says warmly. “Such a shame you couldn’t make the ceremony.”

You laugh weakly. “I know. Just… lots of work piling up.”

“Ah, I understand, I understand.” She waves her clutch like she’s brushing the excuse aside. “Must be expensive living in the city now you have to fund that apartment on your own.”

The words hit a little too squarely, but before you can swallow the sting, Karina cuts in. “Mum!”

Her mother blinks, genuinely perplexed. “What? I’m just saying it’s a shame, is all.” Then she turns back to you. “I really thought you and Mark were going to get married.”

The mention of Mark lands like a stone in your gut. Your cheeks heat, embarrassment written all over your skin, even though you bite down hard on a smile. You hate that his name still does that to you—still flips you inside out. Because, yeah, you really thought you and him were going to get married, too.

Karina clocks your discomfort immediately. Best friend instinct. Her throat works as she swallows, sharp eyes flicking from your face to her mother. “Ma—” she interrupts. “Where’s that guy you said was interested in me? Renjun? I think he’s cute.”

Her mother startles, her focus snapping back to her daughter. And Karina doesn’t miss her chance. She slides her arm through her mum’s, looping it to steer her away, tossing you a tight smile over her shoulder as they disappear. It’s a lifeline. And you’re so grateful she’s willing to throw herself under her mother’s microscope to pull you out from under it.

From there, you settle into your assigned chair and engage in polite conversation with one of the bride’s friends—Giselle, from the bathroom—when the telltale clink of glass rings out. The sound rolls across the reception, shushing tables one by one until all that’s left is a scatter of half-drunk laughs and the scrape of a chair leg.

Best man speech.

You remember Karina saying it was one of Jeno’s little friends. He had a whole swarm of them growing up—sticky-fingered boys who cannonballed into the pool while you were trying to tan, or burped the alphabet at breakfast, or begged to come to senior parties. 

But then your eyes land on him.

The best man.

And—Christ. There is no fucking way this man was ever one of Jeno’s little friends.

He’s standing there in a perfectly tailored suit, like it was sewn onto him. It had to be sewn onto him, because there’s no universe in which you can buy a simple suit off the rack and get it to fit shoulders like that. His mop of brown hair is perfectly styled in a way you should find respectable—but you don’t. Not at all. Because all you can think about is what it would look like completely messed up—your fingers knotted in it, tugging him down as he settles between your—

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to be standing here celebrating the wedding of my best friend, Jeno, and his beautiful bride…”

The man is talking. His mouth—pouty and full and pink and obscenely pretty—is definitely moving. Words are coming out, you assume, because the crowd laughs in the right places. But you can’t hear him. Not properly.

Because you can’t place that face. And it’s the kind of face you should be able to place. Symmetrical. Striking. Fuck-me perfect.

Your mouth goes desert-dry.

You cough, shifting in your chair, and lean toward Giselle. “Who is that?”

She blinks at you like you’ve grown a second head. Probably because the man just introduced himself—probably because everyone else is listening to his speech while your brain is stuck in the gutter, picturing him with his tie undone and his suit jacket on the floor as you play naked twister back at his place. 

Seriously?” Giselle whispers. She purses her lips, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. “It’s Chenle. Jeno’s best friend. They’ve been inseparable since they were kids. Surely you know Chenle?”

Chenle.

You do know Chenle. 

The name rattles in your head, but it doesn’t match the man standing at the mic. Straight spine, broad shoulders, sinful lips and confidence that shouldn’t fit into someone you remember being younger than you. Chenle was the boy with braces and curly hair under backwards caps. Chenle was Jeno’s annoying friend who made passes at you when it was wildly inappropriate and wrestled you for the remote like a feral little brother. Chenle was not… this.

You cough again, a weak little laugh breaking out of you. “Huh. Right. Of course. Chenle.”

But your eyes betray you, glued to him. Because the Chenle you remember never made your pulse skitter in your throat.

This one does, though.

You need a drink. 

Clearing your throat, you lean toward Giselle. “I’m just—yeah. I need a minute.”

You slip from the table before she can answer, heels clicking against polished floor as you make a beeline for the bar. The room feels too warm, your cheeks feel too warm. Chenle’s voice is still threading through the air even though you’re doing your best not to listen.

“Dirty martini, please,” you tell the bartender. Expensive, but worth it. You’re willing to pay the price despite cursing the cash bar with Karina not twenty minutes ago.

The bartender sets down the glass. You reach for your wallet—only for a sleek black card to swipe across the reader before you can tap yours.

Your head snaps up, and he’s looking down at you. You watch as Chenle licks his lips and slots the card back into his wallet. Something about the way his eyes never leave your face as he does it sends a wave of heat through your system. 

Your chest rises, falls—uneven—because while he’s glued to you, your own gaze betrays you. Decides to track the movement of his hand instead. Long fingers holding nimble plastic. Thick fingers. Fingers you’re almost sure would be enough to—

“Dirty martini, huh?”

Did he just say something? 

You didn’t catch it properly. Surely not. But maybe he did. You wouldn’t know, because your eyes drag down him once. Twice. And then again. You can’t help it. It’s that mouth. A little crooked, but devastating.

“That’s a triple take now, Y/N.” His voice comes out gravelly, deep in a way that makes your stomach dip. Nothing like the squeaky-pitched teenager you remember. “I haven’t changed that much, have I?”

You choke down a sip of your drink, buying yourself a second. “Triple take? Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… surprised to see you, is all. How long’s it been now?”

Chenle’s mouth curves slowly, and he shifts his weight, letting his shoulders relax into the conversation. “Couple years at least,” he says. “Think I still had braces.”

“Ah, yes, well, congratulations on your new improvements.” You wave vaguely toward his face, praying the vodka covers the wobble in your voice. “First thing people notice is either eyes or smiles.”

“Improvements, huh?” His tone dips an octave lower.

Heat creeps up your neck. “I—what?” Your eyes widen. “No—I just meant, braces. Lots of pain. Congrats on getting them off?”

He laughs then. At you. And it should be irritating, but it’s not. It’s rich. Throaty and deep. It makes you think about how much you’d like to get throaty and deep with his co–

“Relax, I’m just teasing you,” he says finally, amusement still twitching on his lips. “Although…I didn’t realise I made you this nervous. Teenage me is proud of myself.”

You bristle immediately. “I am not nervous!”

“Mhm.” He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Maybe not nervous. Definitely flustered, though.”

“I am not flustered.”

“Right,” he says, gaze catching yours, pinning you in place without even trying. His face is just that perfect, smug. How have you never seen the vision before? “Must be reading you wrong.”

“Yeah, well,” you suck in a breath, “you always did have a knack for reading me wrong.”

“Hey now.” He shakes his head, mock wounded. “That’s not fair. I was just a kid with a crush on his best friend’s sister’s hot older friend. I never shot my shot seriously because you never took me seriously.”

“Are you kidding me, Chenle?” You scoff, half-amused, half scandalised. The sound of his name on your tongue makes his throat bob—and you curse yourself for noticing. “You used to say you could ‘give me a ride my boyfriend couldn’t’ and tried to perv on me every chance you got.”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish but still grinning. “Okay, fine. Not my finest moment—but as well as my teeth, my flirting game’s improved.”

“Uh-huh.” You tip back the last of your martini, unimpressed.

A beat passes, just long enough for the air to shift. Then he speaks again. 

“So…where is that boyfriend of yours, anyway?” Your eyes snap to him, blank, and he stiffens. “I mean—the last time I saw your Instagram, you posted a picture of a ring he bought you. I thought you two were engaged, shouldn’t he be he—”

“We broke up.” You throw him a bone, save him from his floundering. “A while ago.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You wave him off with a flick of your wrist. “I know for a fact you’re not.”

His smile breaks then—wide, cocky, infuriating. “Old habits die hard.”

“Clearly.” You sigh, then oddly feel the need to explain yourself. “We weren’t engaged, either by the way. It was just a promise ring.”

You see it instantly—the way his eyes spark like he’s dying to bite back. Because despite the suit and the smirk and the broad shoulders, he’s still Chenle. Awkward, messy, opinionated, incapable of shutting up and hating your boyfriends. Yeah, old habits do die hard.

“Promise rings are corny,” he shrugs. “Honestly? I think you dodged a bullet.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. “You seem to be the only one who thinks so.”

His brows pinch. “How so?”

“Everyone asks me why I let good-natured, sweet Mark Lee go. Everyone thought we were going to get married.”

“I did too,” he admits, no hesitation. Though his jaw tightens when he says it.

“Funnily enough,” you murmur, swirling your empty glass, “you’re the third person to say that to me today. Maybe Karina’s right. Maybe I should just get off with one of Jeno’s groomsmen.”

That wipes the grin right off his face. His head tilts. “Yeah? And which one of them do you think is gonna measure up?”

“W-what?” You blink, pulse skipping. “It was a joke—”

“Didn’t sound like one.” He leans in, close enough that his cologne slides under your skin, heady and clean and far too distracting. God, he even smells hot. “Do yourself a favour—don’t waste your time on any of Jeno’s friends. They wouldn’t give you what you want.”

You force a scoff, hoping he doesn’t notice how your chest rises unevenly. “Big talk. What makes you so sure?”

His smirk resurfaces. “Because they’re all good. Sweet. Exactly like that Mark guy you let go.”

“And that’s not what I want?”

“I know it’s not.” His voice roughens, and then his finger brushes across your cheek, feather-light. The touch sparks through you like a live wire, and you hate how you shiver, how you don’t move away.

Chenle sees it, and his grin darkens. “Because you’ve been ogling me all night. You ordered a dirty martini because you hate how much you’re attracted to me. And now you’re letting me touch you.” He leans just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you want me.”

Your cheeks warm, traitorously, right under his finger. Even if he can’t see the blush, he can feel it—feel exactly how your body responds to this new, devastating version of him. But you don’t want to react. You can’t react. You won’t. This is Chenle. Sticky-fingered, obnoxious, younger Chenle. 

So you scoff instead. “Please. You’re Jeno’s best friend. My best friend’s little brother’s best friend. I don’t want you.”

“Best friend’s little brother’s best friend?” He repeats it with a grin, laughing at the absurdity. “They’re not real stakes, Y/N. There’s nothing forbidden or off limits about it.” He tilts his head. “Or are you just embarrassed to admit you’re attracted to the same boy you used to reject?”

Your mouth parts. “What are you—”

“Is it an ego thing, baby?” He cuts you off, leaning in. “Because I promise I won’t mock you for missing out on all the years we could’ve been fucking.”

Your eyes go wide, but he doesn’t stop.

“But if it’s an age thing…” His fingers trail lower, brushing purposely down the column of your throat, lingering against the bare stretch of skin. “I can’t promise I won’t make you admit I fuck you better than all your older boyfriends.”

God help you—you believe him. Every syllable, every cocky, arrogant drop of it.

Because there’s nothing boyish about the Zhong Chenle standing in front of you now. No juvenility or trace of the kid who used to trail after you. He’s all heat and cut jaw. Dangerous in front of you with how casually he carries himself—like he’s already won. Like, chasing isn’t necessary because he knows you’ll follow.

And you hate him for it.

You hate how much you want him for it.

Your body betrays you, working against your brain. You lean in, a reckless action, tilting up toward that infuriating smirk of his. His mouth is so close, hovering just above yours—close enough to spark fire low in your belly. But…your mouths never connect.

The finger he has on the side of your neck slides into a firm grip on your throat. Not choking, not rough, just enough pressure to anchor you in place. His lips ghost yours, refusing to give you the kiss you crave. The absence is maddening. You swear you’re shaking, yearning. 

Is this what he felt like all those years?

“I’m not doing this here,” he murmurs, roughly.

You blink, dazed. “W-what?”

His thumb strokes lazily at your pulse point, mocking how fast it hammers beneath his touch. “As much as I want every guy in this room to see you all over me…” His mouth skims the edge of your jaw, breath molten, a brand against your skin. “…if you kiss me right now, Y/N, I’ll fuck you right here. Bent over this bar.”

Wetness pools in your panties at the sheer filth of it. The threat. His voice. His mouth. God, his mouth is just as hot as he looks—unapologetically coarse. It’s filthy. It’s everything you’ve secretly wanted and never admitted.

It’s why you’ve been bone-dry for the past year.

Because you don’t want nice. You don’t want sweet. You don’t want the kind of sex that involves careful hands. You don’t want Mark and his gentle kisses that never once made your body ache the way Chenle currently is just by standing close.

You want bad. Rough. Dirty. Everything Mark could never give you. And you’ll be damned if you let this chance slip by.

“So do it,” you breathe. “Bend me over this bar.”

For the first time all night, Chenle falters. His throat works, bobbing in a way that’s so fucking hot you nearly whimper. His grip on your throat tightens— it doesn’t hurt, just holds you still to see the way his eyes darken, go glassy with want.

“Stop it, Y/N,” he grits. “Don’t test me.”

“Why not?” you push, drunk on the power, on him. (And probably the martini.)

His jaw flexes, teeth grinding. “Because I’ve fantasised about fucking you for years, Y/N. And I’m not doing it here, at my friend’s fucking wedding reception—” His mouth brushes your ear. “—and I’m certainly not sharing the view of your legs spread, bare ass, pussy dripping for me… with anyone else.”

Your thighs press together under the bar before you can stop yourself. He notices, eyes dropping, catching the shift of your body, then lets them lift back to your face with a slow, knowing smile.

“See?” he chuckles, mouth curving.“You’re not ready for me. You think you are. But not here.”

You swallow hard, throat dry. “Then where?”

“My place.”

You really hope Chenle doesn’t like that vase on his console table, because as he shoves you through the front door of his apartment—mouth messy, lips pressed hard on yours—your back slams into it. The glass wobbles, thrums, then crashes to the floor.

He doesn’t look like he cares that much. Doesn’t flinch when a picture frame tips off the wall or when the door slams shut behind you. No, Chenle’s got bigger priorities—like hitching your legs around his waist, palming your ass to hoist you up, and carrying you straight to his bed. Fucking you on his bed.

He means, it’s only fair. He’s waited way too long for this—so long he can’t even remember when it started. Years of it. Torturous yearning. But those years don’t hold a candle to the last thirty-six minutes it took him to drive from the wedding back to his place. He could barely hold himself together, hands tight on the wheel, foot pressed to the accelerator, brain playing the same loop over and over: you, giving him the green light to finally take. 

The years felt like a warm-up. Those thirty-six minutes? Pure hell.

A vase his mother gave him is easily replaceable. The marks he’s about to leave on your skin—hickeys, scratches, handprints that brand you his—those are replaceable too. And he intends to replace them, to lay them down again and again until you’ve got no chance of forgetting who put them there. That’s top of his list of replaceable priorities. Not broken glass.

The very second he hauls you into his bedroom, he drops you onto the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking under the sudden impact. Your palms fly behind you, propping yourself up. He nips your kiss-bruised lips before pulling back. You push up just enough to follow him with your eyes—only to find him already lowering to his knees in front of you.

Chenle. On his knees.

Christ.

He grabs your ankle, firmly, pressing a kiss to the delicate bone before setting your heeled foot on his thigh. His fingers work at the buckle—knuckles brushing your skin, callused pads dragging slow over your arch—and judging from the dark glint in his eyes, you know this is the nicest he’ll be tonight.

Sliding your heel off, he drops it behind him with a careless thud before reaching for the other. It’s the same soothing touch, same process. By the time both shoes are gone, your chest is heaving, thighs pressed tight together like you can cage and hide the need pooling between them.

His gaze flicks down. And when it drags back up, it’s different—darker, meaner, hungrier.

“Open your legs, Y/N.”

Not a suggestion. A command. You like being commanded by him. 

Giving him exactly what he wants, your knees fall apart before you even think. Chenle smirks in triumph.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, filthy. “That’s more like it. Finally not acting like I’m still a kid begging to hold your hand.”

Heat rockets up your chest, because he’s right. You used to swat him away, roll your eyes, laugh in his face when he’d orbit around you and Karina, all braces and corny jokes. He was the annoying kid. Jeno’s shadow. Never—this.

He hooks his hands under your knees and drags you forward on the mattress until the edge bites into your ass. His shoulders spread between your thighs and he slips his fingers under the waistband of your panties. He tugs them down, disregarding them somewhere along with your heels.

“You ignored me for years,” he goes on, mouth hovering just shy of your inner thigh. His breath is hot. Mean. And the bastard has the nerve to blow air on your folds. “Made me feel like a fucking joke. And now? Now I’m here—between your legs—teasing this sweet little pussy.”

Your spine bows at the sting in his tone. You want to answer, to beg, to bite back or spar with him—but your pulse hammers too hard, scattering every coherent thought.

His teeth nick the skin on your thigh and it’s sharp. Sharp enough to make you gasp. He looks up, eyes heated. “Why didn’t you want me, Y/N?” he asks. “Why did you choose to never see me?”

You bite your lip. “Because…you were like a little bro—”

“Shhh,” he shushes you with his laugh. It vibrates against your skin as he drags his mouth higher, lips skating closer to where you’re throbbing, but not giving you an inch. “Don’t say that shit when you’re squirming for me. It wouldn’t be very big sisterly of you, would it?”

And then—he bites.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair.

Chenle only smiles against your flesh, tongue flicking over the mark he’s carved into your skin. “Look at that. You’re right—those braces paid off.” A featherlight touch sweeps across your inner thigh, brushing too close. “Such a pretty mark on you.”

He doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. One moment it’s teeth and taunts. The next, his hands clamp onto your hips, jerking you forward like he has every right to put you wherever the fuck he wants.

He buries his face between your legs.

“Chen—holy fuck.”

It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His mouth is hot and greedy, like he’s been starving for this and finally got permission to eat. Tongue dragging through your pussy, lips sealing around your clit and sucking so hard your spine bows clean off the mattress. You claw at the sheets, at his hair, at anything that might anchor you. 

“Shit—fuck!”

He pulls back, just long enough to spit against you. The sound, the heat of it, has you whining before he’s even licked it up.

“Christ,” he rasps, voice wrecked, chin glossy with you. “You taste better than I even imagined.”

Your whole body seizes. “You—what?”

He laughs, all smug, and drags his tongue over you again, making you twitch. “What, you think I haven’t been jerking off to the thought of this? Since you used to sit around in those little skirts, pretending you couldn’t feel me staring?”

“Fuck you,” you bite out, but it’s ruined—soft, breathy, pathetic.

He looks up from between your thighs, eyes blown black. “You are. Right now. And your pussy loves it.”

And then he dives back in, tongue flattening against your clit, fucking you with his mouth, groaning like he’s getting off on every one of your sounds. Your hips buck. You can’t stop them. Can’t stop the way your legs fall wider, offering more, chasing every roll of his tongue like a woman possessed.

“Chenle—god—please!”

He hums, and the vibration shatters you. His hand slides up, presses flat and heavy against your stomach to hold you down when you try to wriggle away from the intensity.

“Don’t you dare run from it now,” he growls into you. “You’re gonna take it. Every fucking second. After all those years of ignoring me? You owe me this, sweetheart.”

The pressure keeps building, an unbearable amount to fight against it, and you know you’re about to break.

“Give it to me,” he orders, dragging his mouth away just long enough to lift his head, puffy lips swollen, jaw slick, eyes burning. “Cum on my fucking tongue, Y/N. Now.”

The words shoot through you, melting you. You moan, and his mouth can’t help but twist into that cocky, wicked smirk before he clamps back down on your clit, sucking like punishment. You scream. You can’t help it. Your hands fist in his hair, dragging, yanking, and he only groans, shoving your thighs wider until your knees knock against the mattress.

Never mind when did he get so hot? The real question is—where the fuck did he learn to eat pussy like this?

Because you’ve never cum so hard in your life.

Your body breaks apart, pleasure detonating through you, and it’s humiliating. The the way you cry out, the way your hips jerk uncontrollably against his face. He doesn’t let up, not once—tongue lapping, lips sucking, chin grinding—forcing it harder, vigorously, like he’s determined to wring every drop out of you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your cunt, voice muffled. “Fucking dripping all over me. Making a mess on my face like a good little slut.”

Your head thrashes, cheeks burning, mortification flooding your veins as fast as the pleasure does. You can’t stop, can’t quiet the broken sounds tearing from your throat.

“Oh my God!”

He pulls back just far enough for you to see him, the absolute state of him—chin, jaw, lips soaked, eyes utterly crazed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. 

“You always this loud when you cum, Y/N?” He asks all raspy. “Good thing I got you out of that wedding and in my room, behind a closed door—because those moans? They’re mine.”

Your stomach flips, cunt still throbbing, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Chenle tilts his head. “That’s it, baby. Blush for me. Squirm for me. I like you messy and embarrassed. I like knowing the roles have reversed.”

“What happened to not mocking me for missing out on all the years we could’ve been fucking?” You manage the question, breathless, throwing his own words back at him.

Chenle wipes his mouth with the back of his hand for a final time before rising from his knees. The weight of him slots between your thighs, caging you in. His eyes peer into yours.

“I said that, did I?” His mouth twitches. “Guess I lied. Because I can’t fucking believe you kept this pretty little pussy away from me all these years… when you could’ve had me whenever, wherever. I think you should apologise to me, Y/N.”

Your laugh comes out defensive. “Are you seriously going to punish me for not seeing the vision?”

He hums, eyes flicking down to linger on your tits spilling out of the top of your dress. The mess he’s managed to make of you—whilst both of you are still clothed, save for your ruined panties on the floor—is obscene.

“I wasn’t,” he admits, head tilting. Then his mouth curls into a filthy smile. “But now you’ve said it. I like the idea.”

His hand snakes around your back, fingers trailing until they catch the zipper of your dress. The slow pull sounds loud in the quiet room, elements separating one by one.

“Because I always saw the vision, baby,” he says, eyes burning into yours. “Knew one day you’d be under me like this—spread out, desperate, begging like my perfect little slut. Even if you did marry that fucker.”

When the zipper finally gives, your dress slips loose from your shoulders. Chenle doesn’t bother with finesse—he tears it down your body, satin pooling around your waist before you can protest. His shirt’s next, buttons scattering like casualties, then his belt snaps open with a metallic bite.

“Clothes off, baby,” he rasps, shoving his suit pants down. “I’m so sick of waiting.”

Your pulse spikes. “Chenle—”

He fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head closer to press his mouth against the shell of your ear. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Dress off. Hands on my headboard. Back arched like the slut I’ve been dreaming about.”

His tone makes you instantly submissive. You’re scrambling to obey before you even think, peeling off the rest of the fabric for him. Then, you brace yourself on his bed, knees sinking into his sheets as your palms fall flat against the headboard.

He groans behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Fuck. Look at you. Finally where you’re meant to be.” His hand drags over your ass, squeezing hard until it slips lower and his fingers slide through your slick folds. 

You whimper, pressing back against his hand. “Please.”

“Not yet,” Chenle stills, two fingers teasing your pussy without sliding in. “I’m clean, but do you want me to put a condom on?”

“No,” you gasp, desperate. “I’m clean. Birth control. Wanna feel you.”

His chuckle is dark. “So fucking pretty and desperate.”

He lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock pushing at you, spreading you slowly until your mouth parts, letting a choked sound spill out.

“So tight, baby,” His voice cracks with restraint. “All those years, ignoring me, acting like I was just a kid—when what you really needed was me stretching you open.”

Your knuckles go white against the headboard. “Chenle—fuck, please.”

“Beg louder.” He thrusts just the tip in, then pulls out, slick dragging out of you as he does. His teasing is too much, your body can’t help but press back, chasing him. 

“Please, Chenle. I need it—I need your cock. Please, just fuck me.”

He slams into you with one brutal stroke, hips snapping flush with your ass. The scream that rips from your throat could shatter glass. Thank God you already broke everything upon entry. 

“Good girl,” he growls, grabbing your hips, driving into you rough, relentless. “That’s what I wanted to hear. My name, your begging, this messy little cunt gripping me like she knows who she belongs to.”

Your forehead presses to the headboard, nails scraping wood as the room fills with the sound of skin on skin, his filthy groans, your cries. He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging wet and messy along your neck.

“You feel that?” he says against your skin. “That’s all me, baby.”

You whimper his name, body arching as his thrusts drive impossibly deeper.

“That’s it. Moan for me. Cry for me. Make it clear who’s ruining this pussy.” His teeth scrape down your throat, then he sucks hard, leaving a bruise that you know will last days. “Gonna paint you in my marks till there’s no hiding I’ve fucked you.”

Your walls spasm around him, and he groans, rutting harder. “Look at that, you’re squeezing me. You gonna cum, baby? Gonna make a mess on my cock?”

“Yes, Chenle—please, I’m so close—”

“Do it,” he snarls, biting into your shoulder, hand snaking between your thighs to circle your clit in messy strokes. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like the needy little slut you are.”

It breaks you. Your scream is guttural, raw. Your body convulses as the orgasm he gives rips through you. Your pussy clamps down around him, soaking his cock, slick running down your thighs and his.

He groans into your shoulder, biting down harder as your orgasm pulses around him. “Fuck—look at the mess you’re making. Dripping all over me, shaking on my cock. That’s mine, baby. You hear me? This body. These sounds. These marks. All fucking mine.”

“Yes,” you moan in agreement.

And even as you’re still twitching around him, even as your legs shake and your body sags forward against the headboard, Chenle fucks you harder, hips snapping with a feral rhythm. Every thrust drags another broken sound out of your throat, but he only smirks against your skin.

His tongue laps over the fresh bruise he just left, soothing and stinging all at once, before he sucks another hickey into your collarbone. “Gonna cover every inch of you till you can’t look in a mirror without seeing me.”

You sob into the headboard, body trembling. “Chenle—”

He laughs, thrusts still pounding into your overstimulated cunt. “That’s it. Keep saying my name. Keep letting me own you. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to fuck you like this.”

You feel light headed, it’s too good. “S-sorry,” you manage. Then swallow. “I didn’t realise you would feel so—fuck!”

“Good?” he finishes for you, lips brushing your ear, his cock slamming into you over and over. “Me splitting you open, fucking you stupid? Is this what you wanted all those years whilst you pretended I wasn’t good enough for the job?”

“Y-yes—” your voice cracks, high-pitched and pleading, but he makes you say it again.

“Say it properly.” His palm cracks against your ass, the sting of a handprint branding hot, just another mark he’s adding to his collection. It’s harsh enough to snap your head back so you can’t bury your face, can’t hide from him. You’re forced to feel every filthy word he growls into your ear. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” you sob, tears blurring your vision as your body gives and gives beneath him. “Please, Chenle, I want it.”

His groan is intense, his hips grinding deep, his free hand gripping your hip so hard you know there’ll be bruises. “That’s my good girl. My perfect little doll. Letting me use you just how I want.”

You whimper, pressing your ass back against him, and he laughs. “Fuck, look at you. So desperate. So fucking pretty when you give up and let me take everything.”

He buries his face in your neck, licking and biting, breath hot and broken as he pounds into you. “You’re mine. You’re gonna stay mine. Gonna let me cum in this tight little cunt and mark you from the inside out so you never forget me.”

Your nails scrape against the headboard, body melting into his as you let him take. His pace turns sloppy, frantic, his hips driving with raw need.

“You want it?” he pants, teeth sinking into your shoulder again. “Want me to fill you up? For me to cum so deep inside you, you’ll feel it every time you move tomorrow?”

“Yes! Please, Chenle, cum inside me—”

That’s all it takes. He snarls, thrusts breaking, and then he’s buried deep, cock pulsing as he spills into you, groaning your name. His grip on you is brutal, anchoring you down as if he could fuse your bodies together and never let go.

“Fuck—fuck, take it,” he moans, shuddering through his release. “Take every drop like a good fucking girl.”

When he’s done, he stays there, still inside you, hips twitching, teeth still pressed into your skin like he can’t stop marking you, even now.You try to shift, thighs trembling, but Chenle clamps his hand down on your hip and snarls into your ear.

“Don’t you fucking move.” His cock is still buried inside you, softening but refusing to slip out. His cum leaks down your thighs, and he hisses at the feel of it. “Keep me right there.”

Your face burns, body shuddering as he presses his chest into your back, teeth chafing the fresh bite marks he left on your shoulder.

“God, look at you,” he rasps. “You’re all marked and dripping with me, baby. You’ve never looked better. Never sounded better. All those years acting untouchable… just to end up under me, begging like a desperate little whore.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortified at how your body clenches at his words. He feels it and chuckles darkly against your skin.

“It’s cute that you’re trying to pretend you don’t fucking love the feel of me inside you. You spent years looking down at me because you’re older, hotter and more experienced—” he licks the shell of your ear again, dropping his voice to a filthy whisper. “—but now you’re just my fucked-out toy. And you’re never gonna forget it.”

Every word he says burrows under your skin, humiliating, intoxicating. He kisses your cheek almost sweetly, then bites down hard enough to make you gasp. Again. 

Finally, finally, he eases his hips back, cock dragging out of your swollen cunt. His cum spills messily down your thighs, and he watches it with a satisfied groan. His thumb swipes some of it, pushes it back in, and you shudder.

"Perfect,” he mutters. “Messy, ruined, and finally mine. So fucking hot.”

taglist: @nosungluv

[pupillary]

study buddy, body study ! — art major!sungho x med student!reader

blurb: best friends study together, sure! sungho just didn’t think it would involve him lying half-naked on your bed while you wrote “latissimus dorsi” across his back

oneshot ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ tags/warnings: fem!reader, bestfriends to lovers (?), academic stress, medical terms (a lot of muscles), friendly banter to sensual tension real quick bc reader is casually tracing sungho's back no big deal, THIS IS SFW OK, so much blushing and eye-widening (i ran out of words sorry), feat. illit’s minju and bnd’s jaehyun and riwoo — wc. 3.2k ₊˚⊹♡

a/n: its already 12am in seoul so HAPPY BDAY YEPPI ✮ ᴗ ✮ i love this fic so much im cacklinggg. i dedicate this to all my fellow med students who hate anatomy with a burning passion (and i’ve been looking for an excuse to write sungho shirtless lmao). ALSO i wanted to make this longer but the idea had already spiraled out of control so i settled with that ending instead. still, i hope you guys enjoy! please do reblog ♡

MURPHY'S LAW STATES THAT anything that could go wrong, will go wrong. If it can’t go wrong, it will go wrong anyway. Multiple studies say that its a humorous way of acknowledging the possibility of failure.

You, on the other hand, disagree. There's nothing funny about Murphy's Law. There’s nothing optimistic about it either, despite how your professors use it as a tool to enforce proper risk assessment. Be prepared, they always say. Have a back-up plan, and then another back-up plan for the back-up plan.

Truly, there’s absolutely nothing funny about expecting things to go up in flames, especially ones that could happen at the most inconvenient of times, and yet when your iPad screen froze mid-zoom on the night of your midterm anatomy practical, you could not help the hysterical laughter that bubbled from your mouth.

The magnified view of the thigh muscles looked less like muscles and more like cartoon ham. Still, you easily identified the gastrocnemius—the juicy bulk of the thigh—and then…

You buried your face into the pillow on your lap and let out a muffled scream.

That was it. You were done for.

…

… Okay, maybe you were being a little dramatic. But the plight of a medical student did not lie with not having spectacular grades. No, those problems lay with persons like Han “I-don’t-think-I-studied-enough” Taesan, whose eidetic memory rivaled that of your professors. He’s one of the outliers–the ones whom you begged not to do too well because it messed with the curve. 

Average medical students, like yourself, relied on keeping up with everyone else. This meant not lagging too far behind, for the bell curve was unforgiving to those that do. And you—or at least, your class standing—was smacked right at the middle of said curve. It was your responsibility to either go up (and with some stroke of luck, you might be able to bump into Taesan’s shoulder at the top) or keep it that way.

Failing a midterm because your only good source of review material froze would not only hurt your standing, but also set you back for the next few exams. A lot of things existed as nightmares for medical students, and backlogs were part of the scarier ones.

Then again, you could always use your atlases. Your flashcards that you painstakingly made days ago. Diagrams you annotated with the messiest handwriting known to man. But everything 2D could only go so far, especially for a visual learner like yourself. You needed to see the structures, to picture their orientations exactly how they are.

Your best friend Sungho, a fine arts major from the same university, had made a miniature skeleton from resin for your previous anatomy exam and you passed that one with flying colors. That had been the back-up plan when you almost gave up and called all the bones of the human body a femur: lower arm femur, upper arm femur, the femur beside the actual femur. It was absolute madness before Sungho stepped up.

But now, you can’t exactly ask him to make you a miniature muscle man in the next hour or so.

And merely identifying the muscles themselves wasn’t the worst part. No, you also had to learn their origins and attachments; what they do when flexed or extended; does the muscle abduct or adduct? 

You stared at the gastrocnemius again. ‘What’s the origin?’ your brain taunted.

When you came up blank, you screamed into the pillow again.

A familiar ping echoed from your desktop speakers. “Are you okay?” 

Right. 

In the midst of your hysteria, you had forgotten you were on Discord call with Sungho. You insisted on having him accompany you online for accountability purposes. When he offered to just come by your dorm instead, you promptly shot down the idea because you needed to “focus.” And so, he agreed to the call.

“Yeah, just questioning my life’s purpose. That’s all.”

Sungho, in a fitted white tank top and black joggers, walked into view. He had just showered—rubbing his wet hair with a towel that hung loosely over his neck. Maybe it was exhaustion, or delirium, or a mixture of both, but when you unabashedly ran your eyes over the curve of his biceps, a brilliant idea popped in your head.

The back-up plan.

“Hey,” you started, tossing your pillow on the bed before leaning close to the camera. “Can you come here real quick?”

He raised an eyebrow. “There, as in, your dorm? Why?”

“I need you to help me study.”

There must have been a crazed look on your face because Sungho unconsciously took a step back. “Wha—?”

“Don’t ask why. I’ll explain when you get here.” You clapped your hands in a chop-chop sort of way. “Come on! Time’s a-wastin!"

"O-kay, do I need to bring anything?"

"Bring yourself!”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you exited the Discord call and began cleaning up your room.

You’ve known Sungho since middle school but have only ever interacted, and eventually befriended him in high school. Back then, he was someone who blended in. Pleasant, a little reserved, but had the most distinct laugh that you’d catch snippets of across the classroom. 

You never expected to be more than just acquaintances, until one particularly boring science class, when your teacher droned on about an upcoming exam. Without thinking, you whispered just loud enough for the row to hear. 

“If my future depends on this exam, then the future doesn’t look too bright.”

The delivery was dry, but the timing was perfect. You expected a few snickers. What you didn’t expect was Sungho, at the very end of the row behind you, suddenly doubling over in laughter so hard he had to cover his face with his sleeve. From that moment on, it was like something had clicked, as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to match your energy.

Your friendship blossomed in the easiest way possible. You were the one who filled the silences with confidence and quick jokes, but beneath it, you carried insecurities that you rarely spoke about. And Sungho somehow always knew when you needed grounding. He laughed at every joke, even the really bad ones, and in return, you found yourself leaning on him more than you’d planned. He’d walk you home when you had a rough day or text you dumb little doodles he made in class just to make you smile. If you forgot to eat, he reminded you. If you spiraled, he brought you back down. He was the voice of reason to your craziness. He was steady where you sometimes wavered.

And Sungho… was beautiful. God, you could stare at him all day if you could (and you did, occasionally). Sometimes, you called him pretty, just to see what he’d do. He’d stammer without fail, his cheeks reddening, and he’d go on a spiel about how you shouldn’t be saying those things. You laughed at him every time. 

The thought of dating him had crossed your mind more than once, and you weren’t the only one. Everyone else seemed convinced you were already together. Sungho never denied it outright. Not really. He’d just laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching then change the subject before anyone could push further. You never called him out on it, and he never offered more, so the two of you stayed in that space where it was easier to just… not ask. Everything’s more comfortable that way.

Familiar… and safe. And maybe that was enough.

Still, sometimes you caught yourself wondering what it would mean if either of you decided to cross the line.

So when he showed up minutes later, eyebrows furrowed, it felt normal. Like it always did. He wore a simple white shirt now, but kept the same black joggers. Your mind betrayed you again, drifting back to him in a white tank top, his shoulders bulkier than you remembered. For the first time in a long time, you wondered if inviting him over, knowing what your back-up plan entailed, was really a good idea.

 “[Y/N], you know I’m an art major, right? Not a med student?”

You pulled him inside before you chickened out. There’s no room for hesitation when your grades are at stake. “This has nothing to do with you being an art major.”

Sungho blinked. “Okay, then why am I here exactly?”

“Remember when you made that miniature skeleton for my anatomy practical of the bones?”

“Yes? Wait, don’t tell me you need me to make you a mini muscle man now?”

“Unless you can make me one in the next hour—” you barely finished your sentence when he shook his head, “—okay, I figured as much. But I do have another idea for a…” You coughed in a pathetic attempt to sound nonchalant about your next sentence. “...3D model to practice with.” 

“Which is?”

You gave him a sheepish smile when you patted his shoulder, resisting the urge to give his bicep a squeeze.

His jaw dropped. “Wait. Are you saying—”

“Yup. Lie down and take your shirt off,” you interrupted, already walking away from him to clear away the space on your bed.

You didn’t need to look at him to know his cheeks turned a deep red, his eyes widened like saucers. “E-Excuse me?!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I've touched your upper body before.”

“WHEN?!”

You spun around and pointed a finger at him. “When I gave you a massage!”

He pointed one back. “Yeah, in high school, when you were supervised by the school nurse. And that did not count as a massage when you were rolling your knuckles into my skin!” He then crossed his arms. “So, no. Absolutely not.”

“Sungho…” you dragged out his name, puppy eyes in full force. You clasped your hands in front of him. “Please? It’ll help me pass. I just need to… write on you a little.”

He inhaled sharply. “Write. On. Me.” His voice cracked.

“Yes. With a marker.” You brandished one in the air like a weapon. “I’m pretty sure this is washable.”

“Pretty sure?!”

 “And you might need to–” you gestured towards him with the marker, “—ahem, flex a little bit. Because, you know, muscle action and... stuff."

His eyes widened so much, you were afraid they might bulge out of his sockets. 

“Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll buy you food or, I don’t know, we can go to that amusement park you always wanted to go to! Or I could buy you those fancy-shmansy paints you couldn’t buy for yourself because you’re too broke–”

You would’ve gone on a long rant if he hadn’t shushed you with his hand. “Adding insult to injury isn’t helping.” He took another look at you, at your jutted bottom lip and almost-teary eyes, and you saw the exact moment he cracks.

“Fine,” he muttered, cheeks already pink when you ripped yourself away from him and cheered. He sighed dramatically. “But if I come out of this looking like a doodle pad, I’m suing.”

Then, without warning, he tugged his shirt over his head. You resisted the urge to spin around to “give him privacy” because what would that do really when you already suggested the idea.

Still, when he stretched out on your bed, face down, hair falling into his eyes, you hesitated again. His back was lean and warm-looking. The lines of his muscles were more defined than you expected. 

You cleared your throat, hyping yourself up before climbing on carefully so you don’t fall off. “Okay… this is purely academic,” you muttered, uncapping the marker.

Sungho’s voice was muffled in the pillow. “Doesn’t feel purely academic when you’re sitting on me.”

Oh my god. You flushed. “Please don't make it weird.”

But when your fingers brushed his shoulder blade to trace the outline, his skin jumped beneath your touch. A trail of goosebumps followed the pads of your fingers. You glanced down. His ears were a deep red again. 

You tried to steady your hand, labeling trapezius neatly across his back. He shifted, as if trying to find a comfortable position. This happened every time you lift the marker after scrawling on a muscle, and every time, the lines would bend just a little. When he adjusted his position again, you finally huffed.

“Stop squirming, you’re making my rhomboids crooked,” you scolded.

“I’m ticklish!”

“You weren't like this when I massaged you!”

“You were punching my back!”

You smacked his shoulder—deltoid. "I said stop! Would you like it if your model moved a lot while you're drawing, huh?"

He stilled, pondered the idea, then grumbled in defeat. He made a few more shifts in his position before he finally settled, moving ever so slightly and only when absolutely necessary.

Two hours passed. With two atlases and a couple of other colored markers by Sungho’s head, you’ve entirely mapped out his back from the deep muscles to the superficial ones, all while trying not to spontaneously combust at the firmness of his back muscles under your touch. You gave him a short reprieve when you climbed off him to label the muscles of his thighs—his freaking gastrocnemius was glorious—but returned to your original position on his lower back to correct some mistakes.

After the initial awkwardness, Sungho had come to terms with the situation and decided to make the most out of it. The entire time, he made dry commentary—”How ironic is this that you, the med student, are drawing on me, the art major?"—or reacted to your jokes in exasperation—”You are not labelling my glutes.”

Nonetheless, he was patient with you. He didn’t comment on the way you mumbled to yourself if you’re labelling things right, but he did scold you for berating yourself when you made mistakes.

After a short bout of comfortable silence, he exhaled slowly. “This is still the most stressful study session of my life.”

“Stressful?” you teased, leaning closer to his head. “You look pretty relaxed now.” Caught up with trying to memorize the muscles by his neck, you didn't notice how your faces were mere inches away from each other.

He suddenly stiffened. “Yeah, well…” His voice dropped, almost shy. Surprised by how close he sounded, you made the mistake of glancing up. You caught his gaze and softly gasped at your close proximity.

His eyes darted down to your lips, then back up. “…maybe not as relaxed as you think.”

Your heart skipped. You forced yourself to sit back up, to focus on fixing your smudged latissimus dorsi instead of the way he bit his lip against the pillow. Something in the air shifted, and you felt like you were in a trance.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

“Hey, Y/N, do you—” Your roommate, Minju, froze mid-step, eyes darting from you to Sungho, mouth agape.

You froze too. You realized the compromising state: you’re straddling his back with your marker hovering mid-stroke. He’s shirtless and flushed, the muscles of his back exposed under your handwriting.

“This is not what it looks like,” Sungho blurted, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

Minju raised a hand slowly, as if excusing herself from class. “…Carry on.” She closed the door with a soft click.

Silence thickened the air.

Then, Sungho buried his face in the pillow, groaning. “I want to disappear.” He sounded close to tears.

The spell was broken. You bit your lip, fighting a smile. “…Or you could just admit you’re the best study partner I’ve ever had.”

He turned his head just enough for you to see his flushed face, his gaze flicking from your marker to your eyes, then quickly away. “…Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

But you caught the tiny smile tugging at his lips, and your heart tripped over itself.

You grinned, uncapping another marker. “Now, flex your arm. I still need to label your biceps.”

YOU STARED DOWN at your exam score, eyes widening. Passed. Passed! With flying colors!

But that's not all. You managed to beat Taesan by a single point.

Happiness flooded through you so hard you nearly stumbled out of the testing hall. The hours of studying, the flashcards, the ugly diagrams, and the mortifying ordeal of doodling on your best friend’s back worked like a charm!

Speaking of Sungho, you needed to find him.

You tracked him down at the quad, where Minju sat with Jaehyun and Woonhak, all laughing about something. And there’s Sungho. Per usual, half-annoyed, half-flustered. He’s in a long-sleeved shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows… and oh god.

Your handwriting. Still faintly scrawled on his forearm, biceps brachii and a crooked arrow pointing toward his elbow. You could’ve sworn you used washable markers!

Jaehyun pointed at it dramatically. “Hyung, you sure you’re an art major? Looks more like you moonlight as a med mannequin.”

Riwoo cackled, leaning over to inspect closer. “Can’t believe you walked around looking like an anatomy chart.”

Sungho groaned, hiding his face in his hand. “I told you guys it’s not what it looks like—”

Minju smirked knowingly. “Didn’t you say that last night, too?”

The group busted into laughter. Sungho looked like he wanted to melt into the grass.

But you can’t stop smiling, giddy with the news bubbling inside you. You practically jogged the last few steps, blurting, “Sungho! I passed!”

His head snapped up, eyes brightening despite the teasing around him. “Wait—you did?!”

“Yup!” You nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on your feet. ”I even beat Taesan’s score!” 

Sungho stood up to give you a hug. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you!”

The joy swelled too big to contain, so before you even thought it through, you leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.

The laughter cut off like someone hit pause. Riwoo’s jaw dropped, while Jaehyun sputtered. Minju’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

You felt Sungho immediately stilling, arms still wrapped around your waist. When you caught sight of his flushed face, the weight of it hit you. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing up your neck. “I wasn’t thinking! I just got too excited—"

This is it. Your friendship was over. God, if you knew you were going to make your feelings obvious, you should’ve waited until you weren’t high off your scores.

But miraculously, Sungho shook his head quickly. “It’s okay! Don’t be sorry. I… That was nice.” His blush deepened as he hesitated, then added with a crooked smile. “If that’s your way of saying thank you, maybe I should.. let you scribble on me more often.”

"What on Earth is he saying?" Minju muttered in confusion, but you didn't care.

The implication landed instantly. Your stomach warmed, and you felt dizzy, but in a good way. Oh, you couldn’t wait to explore what that meant. 

“We should celebrate,” you replied instead, grabbing his wrist and tugging him gently from the group. He followed without protest, still in a daze, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened either.

Behind you, Riwoo whispered loudly. “Did that just happen?”

“… I think we’ve been third-wheeling this entire time,” Jaehyun answered in a low, stunned voice. He then turned to Minju, who was still reeling from this development in shock. “Do you need help with anatomy?”

A smack then reverberated across the campus grounds.

← back to masterlist

[sehunniepotwrites]

CROSSING BRIDGES | JH.S

SYNOPSIS. What was supposed to be a chill day by Munich’s iconic Eisbach River turns into the moment you’ve been waiting for your entire European getaway. Between stolen glances, sunburns, and shirtless mischief, your longtime crush Johnny Suh might finally be ready to turn playful flirtation into something real. But when a dare at the bridge pushes him to make a bold move—will he jump into the river, or into your heart? PAIRING. friend/crush!Johnny Suh x fem!reader GENRE. European Summer!AU | Friends-to-Lovers!AU | Fluff WARNINGS. johnny jumps off a (low) bridge into the water? he's just following the munich locals tbh; jaehyun calls john a pussy lol WORD COUNT. 2.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE. hi, hello! i'm kinda sorta back! i wrote this as a break from the cruise!au i've been working on. thank you to the long weekend and my euro summer shenanigans for fueling my brain. before you read this, check out this video on the eisbach river so you can understand the setting/what exactly the characters are doing hehe! it will really paint the picture for you! the bridge appears at around 3:11 teehe!! enjoy and pls tell me what you think!

Six days into your two-week European Summer trip, your group finally has a slow day. It’s been nonstop sightseeing since the day you stepped foot in Europe, hustling from country to country, so you’re glad to finally have some rest and relaxation time.

You need to thank Yeri for creating the perfect itinerary. Because of her, you’ve been able to stroll the grounds of the famous English Garden–Munich’s large inner-city park– before setting up a picnic by the unique Eisbach River. The river itself is a manmade canal, branching off of the larger Isar River, that features a permanent artificial wave and current created by submerged concrete blocks. When you saw the rough plan of your route, you were ecstatic to see that a Munich stop was planned and begged for a day by the river. You’ve seen countless videos of the area–how surfers come from all over the world to ride the waves  while others jump in the stream to float through the fast current. 

And now, here you are, sitting close to the canal on a stolen hotel bedsheet, watching your friends enjoy their time in the water. You see Jaehyun push an unexpecting Mark into the water. The younger, refusing to go down alone, uses his fast reflexes to drag Jaehyun down with him. Their loud fit of laughter fades as they quickly float down stream and out of your sight.

The sun you’ve been basking in suddenly disappears, a large shadow hovering above you. You frown at the loss of warmth and look up to see a soaked Johnny peering down at you. Your lips twist even more when your friend shakes his wet hair over you, the cold droplets hitting your skin. 

“Hey!” you hiss, drying yourself with the closest thing you can find–his button up. 

When Johnny realizes what you’re doing, he lets out a dramatic scoff and snatches it out of your hands. “That’s not a towel!”

“Well, that’s what you get for getting me wet!” Johnny smirks at your words, his thoughts taking them down a dirtier route, and you roll your eyes at the implication.

“Are you done for the day?” he asks as he takes a seat next to you.

 “Nah, just taking a break, I’ll get back in the water in a few,” you shake your head before gesturing to the abundance of open snacks next to you, “I got hungry.”

He laughs, “I can see that.” Johnny reaches over, his shirtless torso positioned above you for a matter of seconds, to grab the closest snack. You turn your head away, hiding your flushed face from the guy who invaded your space and your heart. 

You’ve had a small crush on Johnny since the day your housemate, Mark, introduced you to his best friend. The guy was easy to get along with–funny, incredibly respectful, and effortlessly handsome with his pretty smile. Despite his strong and somewhat intimidating build, Johnny was so approachable and your heart immediately latched onto him. 

At first, you thought your feelings were unrequited. Then, you began to notice the little things he did around you. Johnny paid close attention to the passing comments you made and brought them up when you least expected it. Once, you talked about loving the new pastry menu from the cafe down the block and the next time Johnny stopped by your house, he brought you a box of pastries just to see you smile. 

Whenever you went out with the rest of the group, he stayed close to you, constantly making sure you were okay. When you were out at a karaoke pub in Salzburg a day or two before, he immediately stepped in to protect you from guys who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He refused to leave your side for the rest of the night, ordering your drinks with his arm permanently circled around your waist. 

Johnny was the type to jokingly flirt with everybody just to fluster people but somehow, it seemed different with you. His brown eyes seem to soften, his words sounding more intentional, his touches light and lingering but you never received a telltale sign that he was into you. Just like now.

Johnny’s smile turns upside down when he sees the redness on your shoulders. His fingers brush against your skin and you flinch at his soft touch. “Your shoulders burned.”

“Shit,” you groan, “I left my cover up at the hotel. I just have my tank top with me.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything else, he just reaches over to grab his button up and drapes it over your shoulders. You shyly slide your arms through the sleeves, noting how his clothes seem so oversized on you. You hide your embarrassed face with the edge of his sleeves and are instantly hit with a whiff of his cologne–a grounding, earthy scent that matches exactly who he is. It’s like receiving a warm hug from him and though the weather is beating you down, you don’t think you ever want to take it off.

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem,” Johnny says back before leaning back on the palms of his hands. 

You steal another glance at him, admiring the way his position highlights the hard work he’s put into keeping fit. His swim trunks hang low on his hips and his upper arms flex while keeping his built torso upright while his wet, tan skin glistens under the sun.

You look away when he turns in your direction, trying to find his phone to check the time. Despite the tension rising between you since this vacation started, you still can’t bring yourself to make a move. You promised Yeri you would before the trip ended but it’s easier said than done. 

“Wanna sit at the water’s edge with me?” Johnny’s voice breaks through the silence. “You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

“Sure,” you smile. 

He gets up first and offers you his hand. You slip your palm into his larger one and butterflies erupt in your stomach when he pulls you up with ease. His hand remains in yours as you walk to the edge, a short distance away from Yeri and Wendy, and gestures for you to take a seat. 

You’re surprised when he steps into the water instead of taking his place next to you. The shock increases tenfold when Johnny, with his wet, black hair and charming smile, settles his arms on either side of you. You can’t say that you’re trapped in between him and the canal’s edge–you can easily wiggle your way out of the situation if you want to–but you feel like you are. 

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” you whisper back. In your nervousness, your feet swing back and forth. They occasionally brush against his leg a couple of times but you can’t stop them from moving–it’s the only thing keeping you calm in this situation of yours. 

“You,” he starts to say. He pauses, one of his hands clutching the concrete railing a bit tighter before dropping into the water.

“Yeah?” you tilt your head.

Johnny’s fingers flex before he reaches up to push a stray hair away from your face. He tucks it behind your ear, his palm coming back up to cup your jaw. His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek while his eyes drift down to your body. His stare focuses on how his big shirt hangs off your shoulders, the sight of you in his clothes forming unspeakable thoughts in his head.

Johnny meets your gaze. “You just look really good in my clothes,” he lets out a low chuckle.

You fix your eyes on his lips for just a second, “I do?”

Before he can reply, Mark and Jaehyun make their way back to you. They swim over and take a seat on the edge with you, which makes Johnny lean back, and end the moment that caused your heart to beat a mile a minute.

“John,” Jaehyun claps the eldest’s back. 

“What?” Johnny snaps, annoyed with how things turned out.

“You gotta do the bridge thing, man!” Jaehyun encourages, “It’s now or never!”

“Never!” Johnny refuses.

“Pussy!” 

“C’mon, we talked about this, dude,” Mark adds with determination seeping through his eyes, like there’s a hidden implication behind the youngest’s words. “You have to.”

“What bridge thing?”

The boys share a look, Johnny trying to silence them with a glare, before he smiles at you. “There’s a low bridge down the way, not that high above the water’s surface. A lot of people floating down the current try to grab it as they pass under it. Some even climb over onto the bridge just to jump off on the other side, it’s a whole thing here.”

“Oh, then you guys have to do it!” you push, “I mean when are we ever going to be back here, right?”

“Yeah, John,” your housemate eggs your crush on, “When are you going to have this chance again?”

Johnny sighs in defeat, turning towards the boys, “Fine.” 

The other two cheer, shaking each other with excitement. They make their way over to the other girls a few steps away and they screech at the news. You don’t know why they’re so pumped for this but regardless, you grin at their antics. 

Your crush turns to you and places a hand on your bare thigh. His palm is cold from the water but your skin turns hot at the touch. Not knowing how much the contact affects you, Johnny gestures to his phone, “Hey, film me on the bridge? It’s just down that way, not too far from here.” 

“And why would I do that?” you tease him with a giggle. Your words suggest one thing but you grab his phone regardless, already getting ready to do the task he’s asking of you.

“Because I’m the one who takes most of your pictures that end up on Instagram anyway,” Johnny rolls his eyes, lightly smacking your thigh, “it’s time for you to return the favor.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “I never asked you to take those photos of me, you know.”

Johnny adds pressure on his palms and pushes himself up until he’s at eye level with you. “What can I say? I like taking pictures of pretty things.”

You place a hand on his chest to create some space between the two of you, hoping he can’t hear your heart beating at the speed of light. “Shut up.”

Knowing he’s flustered you, he grins. “Go on ahead. The current’s pretty strong so we’ll let you girls get a head start and meet you there.”

You nod before following Wendy and Yeri’s lead to the bridge. They jumped off the bridge earlier, while you left the water to eat. Linking arms with you, they teased you endlessly about Johnny. You try to brush them off, stressing that nothing happened, but your girl friends are too stubborn to accept that answer. 

The three of you make it to the bridge in no time, planting yourselves in the middle of the structure. With Johnny’s phone in hand, you aim it at the water and patiently wait for the boys to float along the stream. It isn’t long before you catch sight of the trio, Jaehyun and Mark hyping Johnny up once the bridge comes into view. 

Pressing record, you follow Johnny’s path in the river canal. The camera captures him in high-definition as he swims with the fast current. From down below, the man still finds you and his grin increases tenfold. Your heart stutters in your chest, knowing that smile is just for you. As he approaches the bridge, you quickly lean against the railing and hover your camera over the water. 

The black-haired man extends one arm up to the sky and grabs hold of the bridge with ease. You’re sure the camera picks up the loud gasp you let out as he pulls himself up and out of the water with a confident smirk. This may have been the hottest exertion of his strength you’ve ever seen and you’re certain the moment will stay in your mind for months. 

Johnny reaches his other arm to grip the bridge’s caging to hoist himself onto the bridge. The two of you now stand face to face with just the metal barricade keeping your bodies apart. His sudden close proximity leaves you shellshocked, the hand holding his phone dropping to your side. With one hand on the railing and the other cupping your face, he leans forward, just enough to brush his nose against yours.

Your breath hitches and you sense his eyes searching your face, waiting for your reaction. You know that if you pull away, he’d take it in stride but you, with your pounding heartbeat and butterflies making their home in your belly, lean forward instead and nudge his nose back.

Johnny releases a relieved chuckle. “Finally,” he whispers before closing the distance. 

Johnny’s  kiss is both firm and gentle–everything you imagined it to be. He captures your lips with certainty, like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, but the palm holding your neck in place is feather light. Johnny breaks away for a mere second, just to catch his breath, and you chase after him. You place your hand on his bicep, gripping his wet skin as he steals another sweet kiss from your lips.

“You,” he says in between heavy breaths, “just made me the happiest guy in the world.”

Your hand slides up his arm and rests against his jaw. He lovingly presses a peck on your palm and you finally recognize that familiar gleam in his eyes–the one he only aims at you– as the look of someone in love. 

“And you just made this the best summer ever,” you giggle in his hold. 

“Can I make it even better?”

“How can anything top this?” you ask, looking up at him.

Johnny rests his lips on your forehead and whispers five words into your skin, “Let me be your boyfriend.”

“What?” 

“You heard me,” he reassures you with a hopeful look in his brown eyes, “let me be your boyfriend.”

You answer him with another kiss, your fingers weaving into his short wet hair. He smiles at your eagerness and you feel his grin against your lips. He’s impossible to pull away from but you will yourself to do so, knowing that if you don’t let go now, you’ll most likely end up in the water with Johnny.

Your new boyfriend rests one more lingering kiss against your forehead. You revel in the feeling before he leans back. He sends a flirty wink your way before jumping right back into the fast stream with a cheerful yell. 

As soon as Johnny’s back in the water, Yeri and Wendy attach themselves to you. They scream different variations of “I told you so’s” into your ears as you process what just happened. You bubble with happiness, more giggles spilling from your mouth. You cover your face with your hands, pressing your palms into your cheeks, hoping the pressure will cool you down. 

Johnny Suh, your crush for years, confessed his feelings for you and kissed you for the first time ever. It was a bridge you thought you would never cross and yet you’re bursting at the seams because you’re on your dream vacation and now have your dream man by your side. 

Nothing, you think, can get better than this.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. big thanks to @aquarius-johnny for proofreading and nudging me to write again. v grateful!! to those of you that finished the fic, please tell me what you think! <3

© sehunniepotwrites, 2025

[jjuhyeons]

synopsis you and yushi spend your last day of school trading secrets, hopes, dreams, and desperate kisses.

warnings some teensy-weensy angsty elements, doubt regarding feelings and relationships, kissing, making out, yushi really likes reader’s swimsuit, makes one (accidental) suggestive joke, and i have a tendency to make him moan during kisses 😁

word count 5.6k

notes hi! this very short fic took me a whole two weeks to write, can you believe 😭 anyway, i was in my yushi feels and i recently watched dazed and confused, so this is inspired by it! i hope you lovelies enjoy it, because i probably won’t be able to pump another fic outta me until i’m hit with another prophetic surge of creativity again… cries

THE LAST DAY OF school was always quiet. There was a sort of relaxed energy about the place, the halls silent save for the occasional older teacher making their rounds, peeking their heads in here and there, ensuring that every student was behaving accordingly in their respective classes. Inside the classes, not much happened; much less than what happened during a usual day at Wishful High School. Students often got scolded for their jittery demeanour, teachers often sighed in exasperation and relief that, just a little while longer, then they wouldn’t be seeing these kids until September.

A light, warm breeze filtered through the half-open windows of the classroom, golden afternoon light shining down onto the honey-coloured desks. Your classmates were all occupied with something of more importance than your teacher’s speech, it seemed, some flinging wads of rolled up paper at each other, others colouring in their Maths textbooks—an activity that would delight them until the end of times, because if it causes problems for the next student, they’d know nothing of it, too busy living it up further in the city at university.

You sat in your designated seat at the back of the class, swaying your feet this way and that, the heels of your inside shoes rolling easily against the polished floors, scribbling and doodling nothing of note onto your exam pad, cats and sunny hearts and your best friend. Mrs Kawasaki had been talking about the cultural festival that would take place shortly after the second semester began, and had started to ramble about how the rest of the year would follow; the materials you’d be covering, the process of your university entrance exams. 

All you or anyone else could think of, however, was how close the clock was to striking 15.30. 

The promised hour; the beginning of summer break.

Tokuno Yushi was in a similar predicament. Sitting just a few classrooms away in his dreaded final Social Studies lesson of the day, leaned so far back that his chair almost touched the wall behind him, Yushi’s mind stretched far and wide, none of his thoughts containing a single mention of school, or whatever his teacher was talking about—something to do with university entrance exams. 

Ice cream. Walks along the Sumida river. A drive down to the beach with you. Ice cream again. Sweet bread. The new shorts you bought specially for the beach. Cold noodles. Your pink swimsuit. Has he mentioned ice cream yet?

He felt a twinge of guilt at his gross negligence of Mr Matsuda’s university entrance exam speech, but he couldn’t be bothered to try and tune in now. His mind had already drifted to a near-faraway land filled with gelato and beaches and digicam pictures and jean shorts, blissfully adrift in a sea of fantasy and in no need of rescue back to the monotony of the academic world. His classmates were no better and, stealing a glance at how the professor’s eyes glazed over, how his sentences started to trail off, neither was his teacher.

Yushi ran an easy hand through his hair, eyes flicking to the clock hung right behind Mr Matsuda. So close.

15.28.

15.29.

Almost…!

15.30!

To say that the students shot up out of their seats would be an understatement. They all threw tentative glances in Mr Matsuda’s direction as they made way for the front door, only to find their teacher already gone like the wind; it seems some of them had tired more of the other than they thought. Nonetheless, Yushi was one of the last out of the classroom, ever the unwilling gentleman—shy rather than chivalrous. 

His eyes instinctively or, perhaps, purposely scanned the halls for you; his ears perked for the sound of those just-one-size-too-big inside shoes that would be emerging from class 3A and soon making their way to your shared cubbies right before he spotted you shuffling out of the classroom, one of the last of the bunch.

You didn’t greet each other when Yushi approached you, rather walking to your cubbies in mutual silence, understanding passing like the nod of greeting between the two of you. You retrieved your backpacks, heavily contrasted as they’d always been, yours with a growing collection of charms lining the zippers, pinned into the cloth, Yushi’s simple as ever, only with a few doodles you’d done in chalky marker pen, mostly of his favourite snacks—he never did mind the mess of scribbles decorating his bag. 

You strolled out of the school after pulling on your outside shoes, shoulders occasionally bumping as you hopped down the steps.

“D’you want to take the bus today?” Yushi asked.

Humming, you shook your head. “I feel like taking the scenic route today.”

Your friend nodded, falling into step with you as you headed in the direction opposite of your classmates on their way to the bus station en masse. You made your way along the pavement, adjusting the straps of your backpack as they dug into your shoulders, your black shoes clicking against the concrete. 

You continued to walk in silence as you passed under the pinkish cherry blossom trees, as you bowed gently to an older couple out on a stroll, as you narrowly avoided being caught in a sea of preschoolers as they ran past you, soccer ball being kicked this way and that where you tried to walk. Yushi’s brows furrowed as he narrowly avoided being kicked in the shins, but he stayed happily silent.

The neighbourhood you and Yushi lived in was about fifteen minutes from school, twenty when on foot alongside him. On the way there, you passed by the convenience store to pick up a variety of foods, the majority picked and shoved into your arms by Yushi. Riku, the cashier and your old senior from school, greeted you with a familiar smile while he rang up your items, seeing you off with a mock salute as you opened the glass doors again, your departure being signalled by a small ding!

“Strawberry froyo’s mine,” you declared, snatching the colourful mini container out of his hands. 

Yushi sent you a sidelong glance, eyes slightly widening at the ferocity with which you ripped open your frozen yoghurt, taking small bites of his own sweet treat. “Good thing I bought mint chocolate, too,” he murmured, the end of his pastel plastic spoon balanced between his plump lips.

“I can’t believe it’s summer break already.”

Yushi hummed, slyly glancing at you from his spot on his bed, boredly tossing his soccer ball while you scribbled something into your sketchbook, legs crossed under the other like a yogi. Your lips formed a thoughtful, concentrated pout while you worked and Yushi admired, grateful for your distraction.

Your friend’s room was meticulously decorated, posters of his favourite groups and films lining the walls on one side, his soccer trophies arranged one by one in a neat line on the other, atop his bookcase. Personal pictures stood by his bedside table, from professional school pictures to blurry photos you’d taken at the beach or at school, in between lessons. The walls a pale blue, never painted over since he first took ownership of the room after he was born.

“Did you catch any of what Mr Matsuda told you during Social Studies?” you enquired, your eyes finally meeting Yushi’s—only for him to avert his gaze. “Mrs Kawasaki gave us a speech about the university entrance exams, and the cultural festival at the beginning of the second semester, but I wasn’t fully listening. I take it Matsuda gave you a similar talk?”

“Hmm.” A tilt of the head, bronze irises settling on the distracted form of an unrequited love. “He told us that we’d best start studying for the university entrance exam sometime during summer break, and that was all, I think.”

You hummed. “Nothing we won’t hear again, then.”

“Surely,” Yushi replied. 

His tossing stilled for a moment, gaze fixated on you. He didn’t remember exactly when his furtive glances in your direction went from apprehensive to friendly, from friendly to adoring; he’d just went from not knowing he liked you to knowing it, though he couldn’t recall a certain occasion he’d noticed the difference. Perhaps because, at the end of the day, the same emotion and intensity that fueled fear, fueled suspicion, seemed to fuel desire just as well.

He couldn’t help but notice, then, the strawberry-flavoured sheen of pink coating your lips, still swollen as a side effect of the cold treat. 

“I feel like going down to the beach today,” you said after a beat, laying your sketchbook down and flopping onto Yushi’s bed, arms folded over your chest. “There’s nothing else to do here.”

There was plenty more to do. You had a heap of summer break homework and research ahead of you; Yushi was the proud owner of several vintage video games, as well as an array of comic books that would be able to keep you occupied for most of the month; you could watch that new movie that came out a week ago, some English romcom; you could go second-hand hunting for… things, Yushi supposed, in city centre; you could—

“Yeah, let’s go to the beach,” he agreed quickly. “We could go to Zushi beach, take the four o’clock bus.”

You sighed softly. You’d wanted to go to the beach since summer had graced the city of Tokyo, since the first warm wind passed through the breeze, though you knew there’d be plenty of time to visit it during your school break. You didn’t necessarily need to go today. Besides…

“…Mm. No. It’s too late already,” you complained softly. “It’s almost four o’clock, and the sun sets at six thirty.”

Yushi shrugged, an air of practiced nonchalance clinging to his form. “We can stay past sundown. It’s safe enough, I’m sure.” He was nothing if not determined, if not committed, to go to the beach with you today. “We’ll take the seven o’clock train back, and we’ll be home just before eight. Promise.” He held out his pinky to you then, leaning forward until his face was only a few centimetres from yours, hovering precariously above you.

You snickered, linking your pinky with his.

“You seem more eager to go to the beach than I do,” you observed, watching how he leapt up from his bed the moment his promise to you was sealed, making a beeline for one of the many backpacks laying on his bedroom floor, already halfway to the bathroom to fetch two matching swimming towels.

A trip was made to your house, just a few units down the street from the Tokuno residence, where you changed into your swimsuit and a comfortable cover-up outfit. You’d both raided your family’s respective fridges for food and drink, and had thrown together a feast of sandwiches, mysterious blue bottled liquid with labels that looked like they had blueberries on them, the pitcher of green tea Yushi’s mother kept in the fridge, a variety of no-name pantry treats, and a box of pocky sticks with a grand total of two and a half left.

Your parents glanced at you oddly when you passed by them, both yours and Yushi’s, earnestly informing them of your trip to the beach.

“Summer break’s barely started,” Yushi’s mother had said, chuckling as she heard her kitchen cupboards open and close as they were ransacked by a pair of third years. “You know you’ve got the whole month ahead of you, don’t you?” 

Your mother said something similar, though they both allowed you your freedom, and no later than fifteen minutes into the future, you and Yushi were sitting side by side in a train on its way to the half-mile beach, a cooler bag nestled between your legs.

The car wasn’t too busy, with only a few people around your age loitering on the benches, fluorescent white lights flickering uneasily overhead. Your T-shirt shifted against your shoulder, the worn material soft to the touch. Your eyes flicked to Yushi, and the ridiculous boardshorts he was wearing; a brightly-coloured abomination with glittery dolphins and waves printed in faded ink. He wore it whenever you went to the beach, even though you’d gifted it to him as a joke. Part of you wondered why he even bothered, though a smaller, quieter part of you liked that he did.

Glancing at your outfit, part of Yushi wondered why you always wore that badly tie-dyed shirt he’d made you in Art class the one year you’d taken it together as an extra subject; you only ever wore it when you went to the beach together. Another, smaller, quieter part of him liked that you did.

The hour to Zushi beach was passed playing deadpan games of rock, paper, scissors, observing abnormalities or interesting things through the window as they passed by, or attempting to recall what the beach was like the last time you went. It had been busy, though that had been because you’d went earlier in the day, went later in the holiday. 

“I wonder where all these people are going,” he whispered at one point, glancing furtively at the other train passengers, making sure to keep his voice at a most respectable volume.

You lifted a shoulder. “Maybe they’re going to the beach, too.”

“Only we go to the beach at four o’clock on a Friday,” Yushi murmured, smiling slyly.

Shaking your head, momentarily sharing his grin, you said, “What a pity. It’s a great day for the beach.”

The sun beat down onto the tawny dunes, warming your skin as you glanced up at the sky, the sun sitting perfectly above the blue sea ahead of you. A breeze drifted through the air, light and refreshing in the heat of the afternoon. The joyous laughs and hollers of people around you lit up the atmosphere, infectious smiles making their way to your faces. Yushi sat next to you, the wind easily carding through his hair as he took a sip of the mysterious blue liquid which you’d earlier discovered was blueberry soda. 

“I’d love to live in a seaside town one day,” your friend confessed, “and just be able to cycle down to the beach whenever I wanted.”

You tilted your head. “Wouldn’t you appreciate it less, then? Because it’s so close to you? People get sick of things really quickly.”

“Not me,” Yushi said, glancing at you with a grin. “When I like something, it’s hard for me to stop liking it.”

Snickering, you agreed, “I guess so. I suddenly remembered, every time you get a new favourite song, it’s all we listen to for the next five months. It’s like you’re trying to commit it to memory; or when you take pictures you really like. It’s like you want those things engrained in your psyche, or something.”

Eyes fixated upon your form, old tie-dyed shirt discarded, bubblegum pink swimsuit hugging your form in a way that would’ve normally made his cheeks warm up, Yushi nodded. You didn’t notice, attention on the horizon before you, oblivious to the way he seemed to be committing you to memory.

“I like having beautiful things engrained in my psyche.”

You and Yushi weren’t necessarily best friends, per se. You both got along better with other people—you with your tutor and longtime friend, Osaki Shotaro, and Yushi with his pen pal from Korea, Kim Daeyoung. Your friendship blossomed due to serendipitous circumstance and continued proximity; while you had certain things in common, such as your introverted natures, your tastes in music and movies, or the fact that you didn’t really like putting much effort into school besides the aspects of it that interested you, it wasn’t as if you were twin flames.

You had a perfect amount of similarities and a perfect amount of differences to keep things interesting but not problematic, maintain a friendship that was stable but not dull. Your conversations consisted mostly of school and things like it, and the only aspirations you’d shared with each other was a mutual hope that you’d get fun jobs as adults.

Yet, despite all of your differences, all of your similarities, despite your partnership of convenience, affection blossomed regardless.

Not just friendly affection—shared jokes and core memories, countless hours spent in each other’s presence, genuine connection despite your apparent dissimilarities. Rather, intimate affection and, dare you say, adoration had bloomed in your heart—a warm, festering flame sitting at the bottom of your most vulnerable organ, emboldening you to take risks that you’d never think to take in your life, all for the possibility of reciprocated feelings from the black-haired boy beside you.

You weren’t completely sure what to do about it, these feelings. Did you act on them, and potentially ruin the comfortable friendship you’d been building since junior high, or did you stay friendly, and slowly let your heart wither away as you and Yushi grew older, grew further and further apart until you were a wash-up who peaked in high school, still head over heels for a man who hadn’t thought of you since he was seventeen? You didn’t know. Both options seemed catastrophic whenever you gave them more than a moments’ thought.

“Besides, I really want to be a fisherman.”

Frowning, you turned to Yushi. You hadn’t expected those to be the words to pull you from your reverie, not in the least. “You want to be a fisherman? Since when?”

He shrugged. “Since always. The sea’s always been a lovely place to me, and I wanted a job that would keep me as close to it as possible.”

“…Well, you never told me that,” you murmured. For some inexplicable reason, part of you felt ashamed for not knowing this about your friend.

Yushi turned his gaze from you to the sand beneath his feet when your eyes settled on him, clearing his throat. “We never got around to talking about what we wanted to be. We were always busy with other things. I don’t know what you want to do when you’ve graduated.”

He glanced at you, if only for a moment. “So… what do you want to do after high school?”

You straightened up, answer at the ready. Yushi perked up in expectation, hugging his knees to his chest. 

Only when you’d been sitting in total silence for a full minute, your chest still puffed up as if you’d already answered with confidence, did Yushi start to wonder whether or not you actually had an answer for him.

Deflating, you confessed, “I… haven’t really thought about what I want to do after I graduate. I’ve been so focused on high school that I haven’t really given university much thought.”

“You don’t have to go to university at all,” Yushi pointed out. “Artists don’t need a degree to do what they do.”

You frowned. “You think I’m an artist?”

“Mhm. The best one I know.” He lifted a shoulder, and added, “Okay, the only one that I know. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I’m right; you’re a great painter, and I think you could go far if you pursue it as a career.”

“I could go for a Visual Arts degree, then,” you pointed out.

Yushi pursed his lips. “Mmm…aybe, but whether you get a degree for it or not, I think you should become a painter anyway.”

You snickered. “Then what? If you become a fisherman and I become an artist, who’s going to provide for who if neither of us have white collar jobs?”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t try to provide for us, anyway,” your friend shot back. “Even when we’re both single and poor, I’ll be cycling out to the city to try and sell fish every day. You could try to sell your paintings, too. We’ll live payment to payment like that, living on a boat, not paying taxes, and stuff.”

Cheeks warming, you cast your eyes heavenwards in mock thoughtfulness. “Becoming a tax-evading painter living on a boat with my fisherman friend is not how I ever expected my life to pan out, but it doesn’t sound half bad.”

Yushi smiled in intrigue. “Even if we’d be single and poor?”

Your eyes flicked to the boy beside you. You’re not sure what precisely had emboldened you to say it; perhaps the evening breeze skirting along your skin, or the way Yushi was looking at you, as if he wanted nothing more than for you to say something bold, or perhaps because you’d realised this was your last year of high school and you were already one third of the way done, so you’d might as well make it a memorable year, but you found yourself saying, “Who’s to say we’d be single?”

At first, Yushi could only find it in himself to stare, mouth pressed into a line that walked the thin and flimsy border between a flabbergasted smile and an adoring one. Then, a grin stretched across his face like he’d never imagined ever would, flashing his pearly whites as he laughed, gentle and disbelieving. “You’d… you’d want to be with me, then? Is that what you’re saying? You wouldn’t mind us dating?”

Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, still riding on that familiar high called expressing your true feelings, you coyly confessed, “Maybe.”

Yushi chuckled, that soft, cloying sound that flowed like the golden-pink syrup of romantic allure. “I wouldn’t mind being poor if it meant we were together, either. I’d rather be a penniless fisherman with a beautiful girl by my side than be a rich businessman without you.”

Then came a moment you’d only ever read of in romance novels. You had no idea how to explain it in a manner that didn’t make you sound pathetically seventeen, but it was as if, after the utterance of those soft, reverent words, the tension between you and Tokuno Yushi thickened tenfold, warming the small space between you and knocking the breath straight from your lungs. His eyes met yours, slowly, boldly, his tanned skin tinged mauve by the setting sun, his lips caught between a shy, embarrassed laugh and a confident grin.

You felt the wind more clearly on your skin then, suddenly hyper-aware of the lack of space you’d put between you and your friend, hyper-aware of how warm his hand felt as it touched yours, hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in your swimsuit, as he was in his. Sounds from the rest of the world sounded muffled, tinny and faraway, and there was this urgent ringing in your ears, as if your subconscious was trying to tell you of something important—something like the way Yushi’s face inched closer and closer to yours with every second that passed by. You didn’t mind the closeness.

“I may be reading this wrong,” he breathed, in that voice that sounded like birdsong of the first light, “but I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You could only nod, because the moment you showed signs of wanting it as badly as he did, Yushi’s lips were on yours, soft and sweet from the sips of blueberry soda he’d taken moments earlier.

His free hand slid up to cup your cheek, not before discreetly swiping over your exposed thigh and releasing a shaky breath at the feeling of your warm skin under his fingertips. His lips moved languidly with yours, his forehead bumping softly with your own as he moved forward, tilting your head on his own to deepen the kiss. He tasted of sweet drinks and minty bubblegum, eagerly breathing in the scent of your perfume, chasing the sweet, honeyed taste of your tongue.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, lips momentarily breaking away from yours, “you know that? Not just today. Always. Just as pretty in a swimsuit as you are in uniform or some ratty tie-dye shirt I made you in Art class years ago.” He pressed another kiss to your lips, taking his time to feel your soft skin meld with his. You made a little noise of desperation, unable to keep quiet. “But I gotta be honest…” He smiled breathlessly. “I prefer the swimsuit.”

You smiled against his lips when he kissed you again, your arms winding around his neck as he pulled you close. “You’re pretty, too,” you murmured between fervent kisses, your fingers subconsciously tangling in his hair, carding through the soft locks in a way that made him sigh against you. “No matter what you wear.” He pressed a last longing kiss to your lips before you added, “But I prefer the swimsuit, too.”

He chuckled softly, finally resting his forehead against yours, simply keeping you close for a few moments. He met your eyes gently, his deep brown irises betraying gentle fondness, his lips puffy and pink, swollen from the kiss, still trying to catch his breath.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he breathed. “No idea.”

Still reeling from the kiss, feeling his fingers flex against your warm skin, feeling the tingling sensation on your swollen lips, you retorted, “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that.”

“Well…” He inched closer, lips brushing against yours again. “If we both want it so bad, why on Earth did I stop?”

It was a clash of lips and teeth after that, Yushi surging forward to capture your lips with his. He was bolder this time around, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, grinning slyly when he heard you sigh into his mouth, felt your hands tighten their hold around him. His own hands travelled, one flitting from your thighs to your shoulders to your back while the other one kept a steady hold on your chin, keeping it still between his thumb and forefinger.

He hummed contentedly, pressing a last peck to your lips before finally fully pulling away, eyes searching yours as they shot open in surprise.

“Pretty,” he murmured, almost in amazement. “You are so pretty.”

You smiled shyly, feeling your cheeks warm under his stare. “Don’t sweet talk me, Tokuno Yushi,” you tried. “It makes my legs feel like jelly.”

He laughed genuinely at that, kind eyes crinkling at the sides as his plump lips stretched into a smile. “Good,” he teased. “I want that.”

Your breath hitched. “Oh, you do, do you?”

He hummed. “Yep. Do you want to go swimming?”

Abrupt. Off-topic. So Yushi.

Raising a confused, slightly bewildered brow, you said, “Yushi, the sun is setting. We almost have to go home.”

“And?” He shrugged. “We came to the beach for a reason. I’m gonna be very upset if we don’t get in the water at least once, and no,” he added, glancing at you pointedly, pressing his thumb over your lips to shush you, “we can’t make it better by going to the beach later in summer break. It’s not a trip to the beach unless you get wet.”

A laugh, then a cautious cough as you considered the double entendre.

Yushi pursed his lips awkwardly. “Yeah, that didn’t sound right to me, either.”

You shook your head gently, waving off your initial shock. “Whatever. Let’s go swimming. We only have ten minutes before we have to head home, anyway.”

And those ten minutes felt like some of the best of your life. You waded into the chilly water, your limbs stiffening at the drop in temperature, and Yushi found it in himself to actually laugh at you. You turned from him with a huff and a cross of your arms, and he wound his arms around your waist with a faint apology, words muffled by his own simper as he swayed you in his arms. I’m sorry. Forgive me? I’ll do anything.

You spent some time in the sea, mostly looking for shells or rocks that you could take home, keep in your pockets or place in your rooms among all the other valuable things you’d collected during your time together, and some other time bumping shoulders as you navigated your way through the waves, lips coincidentally brushing against one another’s.

Yushi got his hair wet somehow, you weren’t sure if it was from a wave that had taken him under or from swimming on his own. His lips tasted like sea salt when he kissed you afterwards, fingers lightly grazing over your waist, brow furrowing in concentration.

The silence passing between the two of you as you walked back to the train station was comfortable, familiar as ever. Familiar in the way he bumped his shoulder with yours as he walked alongside you, in the way he looked away—only this time with feigned shyness—when you glanced at him. He’d insisted to carry your picnic basket over his shoulder like a hobo’s bindle, and you almost wanted to cover your face with embarrassment when he grunted under his breath for emphasis, as he’d said, dedication to character.

The ride home was pleasant, your head resting on Yushi’s shoulder while he absently played with your fingers, twirling your friendship ring and bumping it with his own, pressing random kisses to your temple, whispering to you about how long he’s liked you. Four years, he’d confessed. And you? He was surprised when you said six, though he insisted that, while you’d fell first, he’d fell infinitely, undoubtedly harder.

“I know I said you were pretty a few times today,” he whispered, and you knew he’d assumed you were asleep, “but I want you to know you’re not just a pretty face to me. I mean, you’re really pretty. So much so that I’m surprised that you even noticed me the way I noticed you. But… I love that there’s so much more to you. I love that you’re pretty, and artistic, and intelligent, and funny, and caring, and that you spared me even a second glance, much less became my friend.” He grinned. “Much less kissed me back and almost moaned into my mouth on a public beach.”

He discovered you were awake when you jolted up, smacking his shoulder while he laughed at your shocked manner.

You walked home in the dark, your way back illuminated only by the several street lamps lining the path. Your friend’s hand felt warm over yours, his fingers lacing between your own. 

“So, what are your plans for summer break?” he asked, giving a second attempt at his practiced nonchalance. He failed. “You gonna be seeing a lot of me, perhaps?”

You glanced at him through the corner of your eye. “Only if you’re ready to study with me half the time.”

Yushi raised a brow, pouting in question. “Don’t we already to that half the time? Of course I’m ready. Trigonometry, here we come!”

You laughed softly, your hands subconsciously swinging back and forth in his hold. Your hips and shoulders brushed on occasion, and you could feel your cheeks warm with diffidence. Yushi, like the good, attentive friend he was, took quick notice of your shy demeanour. Smiling to himself, he wondered how the tables had turned so drastically. Usually, you were the bold, blunt, outspoken one.

When you arrived at the crossroads between your neighbourhoods, you turned to Yushi, squinting slightly at the sharp street lamp shining from directly above you. “Today was nice,” you said. “Thanks for dragging me to the beach.”

“Hey, you wanted to go first,” he insisted through a smile. “I just complied with your wishes, like I always do.”

“Like you always do?”

“Duh.” 

…

“Are we dating now?”

Eyes shooting up to meet his, you somewhat breathlessly asked, “What?”

“Are we dating?” your friend repeated. “I mean, my tongue’s been in your mouth. I’d say that’s grounds for a relationship.”

You almost wanted to roll your eyes at his severely unromantic phrasing, but were caught between that and smiling like a bashful schoolgirl at the idea of your best friend becoming your boyfriend. Your fantasies didn’t often tend to become reality, and certainly not so quickly.

“I’d agree,” you said slowly. “But, uh, only if you ask me to be your girlfriend.”

You received a feline look of disappointment in response, though you could see in Yushi’s eyes he wanted nothing more than to make that wish come true.

“…Will you, officially, on this last day of first term, hours after after I kissed you for the first, and certainly not last, time, do me the absolute honour of making me your boyfriend?” 

Your boyfriend got his answer in the form of a kiss pressed suddenly and urgently to his lips, his hands coming up protectively behind you as you all but pulled him down to your level, angling your jaw the same way he had on the beach to deepen the kiss. 

You kissed Tokuno Yushi for the fourth and certainly not last time on the first day of your summer break, your last year of high school, after six years of liking him. You kissed him underneath a street lamp, your fingers tangled in his hair, his mouth melding hotly with yours, the kiss soft and slick as it was reverent and incessant.

He kissed you back after four years of liking you, of committing you to memory and entraining your very being into his psyche for the benefit of his own soul, murmuring sweet nothings into your mouth between hungry kisses.

“I love you,” he said, pulling away only enough to be able to utter those reckless words. “Only you.”

“Only you,” I whispered to you

This is a summer story for two of us

@hyuneskkami @jwiloves @bluedbliss @ayukas @rubiiisyeon

[peterm4rker]

CAN I MAKE IT ANY MORE OBVIOUS? ── a maeda riku smau

in which maeda riku just wanted to have a nice summer out at the skate park with his friends once again without thinking of the girl that broke his heart back at college, but he finds out shes dating the guy he has hated his entire life and will be joining his trip.

or

in which yn ln is prepared to have another boring summer at home, but is rudely interrupted by one of her brother's friends skating up to her and calling her babe with what seemed like plea in his eyes and the most stunning smile she's ever seen.

ᯓ pairing ;; skater!riku x reader

ᯓ genres ;; social media au, written parts, summer au, fake dating au, slowburn, fluff, acquaintances to fake dating to friends to lovers.

ᯓ featuring ;; xikers, itzy, le sserafim, other nct units.

ᯓ warnings ;; profanity, sexual jokes and innuendos, death jokes, alcohol use, maybe weed consumption, let me know if there's more!

ᯓ status ;; ongoing!

ᯓ updates ;; new chapters on mondays, wednesdays and saturdays !!

ᯓ taglist ;; open!

ᯓ authors note ;; once again here advocating against the insane lack of content for certain ppl in this app! my goal is to have at least one for each nct unit before i move on to other groups, and who better than riku to make that happen! this is dedicated to the loml @lyvhie btw. also, if i forgot to add someone to the tl OR you want to be added for the profiles coming out next monday let me know under this post!

ᯓ please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

ᯓ reblogs and comments are much appreciated !!!

ᯓ taglist in case i need it ;; @winwintea @neozon3nha @kittydollzz @spacejip @injunnie-lemon @jovialdelusionbouquet @n0hyuck @julsinglee @leejenoenthusiast @morkiee @taroddori @mrsjohnnysuh @sunghoonsgfreal @dudekiss3r @m1ng1swife @grlscrushing @flaminghotyourmom @secretvivii @ballsa420 @sillyyuz @sunghoonsgfreal @insbread @222brainrot @va1entinaa @ayukas @peanutbutterjam505 @jvngw0nlvr @egojo1st @holyhaech @sungie-634 @i-kai @jaeyunss @hollxe1 @hahaechans @channielovbot @haechsauce @vivilovesuu @wooyeouu @jungwonbropls @tae2an @richachaslide @mbella607 @tiurftsrifeht @knrejj + let me know if someone is missing or if you want to be included !!

outfit repeaters || brochachos

zero. MY babies

one. we're out.

two. the creature feature

three. almost normal (written)

four. FUCK YEAHHH

five. new gf kinda nervous🤭

six. soft launch😋

seven. get used to it!

eight. its friday🐶👅

nine. cough.

ten. half bad (written)

eleven. he exploded

twelve. pinky promise

thirteen. On Our Way!

fourteen. oh no (written)

fifteen. not mad just disappointed

sixteen. all power to you

seventeen. throwback thursday

eighteen. you ruined it

nineteen. sick and tired of your shit

twenty. dread (written)

twenty one. gentle parenting

twenty two. GIUSEPPE

twenty three. gang

twenty four. FUCK OFF

twenty five. fairy lights festival (written)

twety six. d-3

twenty seven. tan boobs gang😛

twenty eight. chosen (written)

twenty nine. saur cute

thirty. for real this time🫶

bonus!

one. kiss cam

© peterm4rker, 2025

[yuurayuura]

dead serious

💋 changmin learns your ex never gave you head.

PAIRING 💋 changmin x fem!reader GENRES & AUS 💋 non idol!au, friends to ?, smut WORD COUNT 💋 2.2k WARNINGS 💋 oral sex - MDNI! AUTHOR’S NOTE 💋 im sorry for dipping and then writing something new instead of the three things i have in drafts.......... i feel like this is a little rushed but ive been thinking about it forever so i had to do it ;;

"What?"

Changmin looks at you in the low light, brows raised like he can't believe what he's hearing.

"Yup," you just shrug, taking a sip from the drink, now lukewarm and kind of disgusting.

You can see the gears turn in his head, chewing his cheek like he's unsure if he should say something else or shut up.

It's unclear exactly how you ended up on this subject. Sunwoo stopped by and told some unbelievable and likely exaggerated sex story, which is never surprising from him. Then he grabbed Juyeon and left, leaving only you and Changmin by the table.

Sweet, silly Changmin, with the dimples and honest eyes, glassy from drinking.

Somehow, after talking a bit more, you let it slip that your ex never gave you head, because he didn't like it. Which looks to be the most insane thing Changmin has ever heard.

You two almost never talk about stuff like this — or any sexual stuff, really. But it's easy, like everything is with him. He's not such a dude about it, just genuine and quiet and sweet.

"Never?" he repeats, almost whispering, like it's a secret.

"Not once," you confirm.

He looks like this is offensive to him personally, and stares at you like he's searching for words he can't find.

"That's crazy," he mumbles, looking at his beer. "It's just... Crazy."

"I guess he just didn't like it," you chuckle, amused by his reaction. "Apparently, some guys don't."

"I don't believe that," he says, and there's something about the intense look in his eyes and the hard weight of his words that makes the atmosphere change. You can feel the hair on your arm raising, captivated by his gaze and the stubborn blush on his cheeks.

It makes you want to ask follow-up questions. A lot of them.

But by the time you tear your eyes away from him, Eric knocks into your table, and the rest of the night derails.

It's two days later, and you haven't stopped thinking about that look in his eyes.

Clearly, it was an unexpectedly passionate subject for him, and it hangs in the air like a semicolon. You've never seen him as anything more than a friend, but maybe something changed that night.

You can't believe your eyes when the doorbell rings, and you see him on the monitor, big hat pulled over his hair, fidgeting in the cold. You buzz him up, and put the electric kettle on for some tea. It's unusual for him to show up unannounced.

"I can't let you talk me into watching any more horror movies," you say, in lieu of a greeting, when he pokes his head through the door.

He chuckles, toeing his shoes off in his polite manner.

"Fucks with my head," you continue, watching him hang his coat and take off his hat.

"Alright," he says softly, dimple poking his cheek.

"What's up?" you say, not used to the nervous energy in your body, and so much silence. Usually when he comes around, he's always rambling about a movie, game, or new choreography. He's such a nerd, and it's lovely.

Now he just stops in front of you, all dimple-y and serious.

"I..." he trails off, hands in his pockets, shaking his head and starting over. Is he blushing? "You know at the bar, when you said that thing about your ex?"

"Yeah," you breathe, caught in that look again. He looks like he's fresh from the shower, he smells great, and looks... Good. He's a good-looking guy and he always looks cute, in his hoodies and glasses, his hair tousled and fluffy. This is different. He's in a black t-shirt and jeans, no glasses, his hair parted like it's intentional.

It's like he's made an effort to look this way, and you wish you knew, so you weren't in your usual lazy clothes.

"I was wondering if... If you would let me... eat you out."

He stands there looking intense, as if that isn't an insane thing to say all of a sudden, and you can't help the little yelp/laugh that escapes.

That doesn't deter him, though, and when you stop, he still looks at you dead serious. Blushing, but firm.

"What? You're serious?" you say, suddenly deeply aware of the effect that question had on your body.

He nods, biting the corner of his lip. "I haven't stopped thinking about it since that night."

Well, fuck.

Suddenly, you don't know where to look, eyes darting between the lean lines of his neck and that damn shadow of a dimple.

"It's no pressure, I don't want to overstep, but I just... I'm going a little crazy."

He smiles a little half smile, like he can't believe he's saying what he's saying. To be fair, neither can you.

"Fuck," you breathe, and watch the blush return to his face. When you dare to look him in the eyes again, his pupils are blown wide, intensely fixed on you.

"Is that a 'yes'?" he asks, barely above a whisper. "I trust you to say 'no' if you don't want to."

"Yes."

He exhales, slow and controlled. "Can I kiss you?"

You barely get the word yes out one more time before he snaps, kissing you with such vigor that it knocks you backwards and has you moaning into his mouth.

It never occurred to you that Ji Changmin could move like this, wild and sexy, eyes dark with desire. His hands are everywhere, both desperate and careful, like he's afraid he's taking it too far but can't quite contain himself. It's doing things to you that you haven't felt in what seems like a lifetime.

Maybe it hasn't been quite like this, ever.

"Need you, Min," you gasp, and the noise he makes in response has your knees almost buckling.

You make it to your bedroom somehow, and he slows the two of you down, tugging gently at your clothes.

"Take them off, please," he says, with a deliciously rough edge to his voice.

It's all you can do to oblige. Part of you wants to rip his clothes off, see the muscles you know he's hiding, do things that would make him lose his mind — but the earlier topic lies heavy between you. It's no secret what's about to happen, and you can't pretend it isn't compelling that he wants it so bad.

You're not friends who talk about sex because Changmin isn't the sort of guy to bring it up. It's not like you would mind; you can talk about anything with your friends, but it's nice that he's simply a gentleman like that. He's never talked about exes much, you know he's had relationships, but you're too busy talking about other things, anyways. Or watching his ridiculous scary movies, and the occasional musical.

Now, you can't understand how you haven't seen this in him before. He's got you on your back in the bed, naked, while he's still fully dressed. He looks a little wild, carefully parted hair now tousled and sexy.

"God, you're beautiful," he mumbles, moving down your chest and stomach, taking his time to kiss and caress all the right places. His hands are still careful, and maybe he's like that always, careful and mild, polite. At least until he knows whats okay and not.

But there's still that restrained desperation behind it, the way his eyes roll ever so slightly back when you moan, the tense line of his jaw when your back arches.

The darkness in his eyes.

"I'll make it so good for you," he promises, kissing your pubic mound, slowly pushing your legs up and apart so he can make space for himself.

You're so wet you're almost embarrassed about it, but Changmin looks at you in awe in the low light, breathing labored.

"All for me?" he asks, hungrily, making you shiver.

"Y-yeah," you breathe, lost in it. "All for you."

He groans, from deep in his chest, eyes closing.

He hasn't even touched you yet, not really. So when he does, it's electric, it's incredible.

You gasp and push up on his fingers, his perfect, surprisingly manly hands, for such a lean guy.

It starts with lithe touches to your clit, and you can't bear to watch him, but you know he's looking at you and gauging your reactions, memorizing every twitch and breath.

Then he's applying delicious pressure, circling you with one hand, and pushing into you with the other.

"Oh, fu-uck," you moan, feeling how you clench around his fingers brushing against your g-spot, hearing him groan. Feeling his head fall against your thigh, like he's at his limit.

While he's still (very skillfully) fingering you, slow and calculated and wonderful, he starts kissing your inner thigh. You're already on the verge, gripping on to the sheets for dear life.

"Changmin, please," you plead, to another groan from him before he finally, finally, places a kiss on your clit.

When you gasp at the contact it's like something snaps in him. He full on moans, pushing his whole face in your pussy, hands suddenly holding on to your thighs as if to anchor himself.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he mumbles, licking and sucking everywhere, like he can't get enough.

You brave a look at him and almost come then and there, from the blissful look on his face, his flushed cheeks and seeing, just barely visible, how his hips are grinding against the mattress for friction.

He clearly finds this just as good as you are. Maybe even better.

Now he ups the ante, giving up his vice hold on you in favor of sliding two fingers into you, mouth still working as he pumps in and out. He figures out the angle so it's perfect, making you flutter around him, longing to, hopefully, feel his dick in you like this in the future.

"Pretty girl gonna cum for me?" he breathes, like he could sense you were about to, and that's all it takes for you.

You come harder than you can remember ever doing, back arching almost painfully, seeing white. Changmin works you through it, one hand fucking you slowly, the other pushing down on your stomach to heighten the pleasure even further.

"That's it," he praises, pressing featherlight kisses to your inner thighs, fingers easing out of you before you get overstimulated.

"God, you're perfect," he whispers, climbing up to meet you, hands on your hips to pull you in for a kiss where all you can taste is yourself.

"You're crazy," you smile, kissing him back, feeling like you could die happy just about now. "Don't think I've ever had an orgasm that intense."

"Good," he says, kissing your neck, smiling. "You deserve it. Let me give you another one?"

After round two, and then three, you're about ready to meet an early demise.

"Hold on, pause," you breathe, pulling his hair to get him to sit back.

Your legs are shaking, you pussy aching, and you're starting to feel for Changmin who must be painfully hard at this point with no relief.

"Too much?" he grins, and you sit up to kiss him.

It's messy, his chin is all wet, and you kind of love it.

"Let me return the favor," you say breathlessly, hands wandering to his waist and the front of his jeans.

"Well, I, uh," he starts, when you realize there's a surprising lack of bulge to be found. "I already…"

"You came?" you say, in pure confusion. "From that?"

He blinks, face flushing, and coughs a little embarrassed.

"Fuck," you say, suddenly turned on again beyond belief.

"I'm sorry-"

"No," you interrupt him before he can feel any sort of negative way about it. "That's so fucking sexy. You have no idea."

Changmin blinks in surprise, letting out a breath you didn't know he was holding, and looking devastatingly relieved about it.

"Really, I was just surprised," you assure. "In a good way. I'm so serious."

"Okay," he says, with a happy little laugh. "I can't help it, when it's that good."

"You're killing me," you admit, making him laugh for real.

"You really like that?" he asks, puzzled, smiling at you almost adoringly.

"So much."

"Good. I just… Get carried away. You know?"

You look at him, and feel like it's the first time you're really seeing him. The dancers' frame, the strong shoulders, the long neck. The intense, earnest eyes, the dimples, the beautiful specks of light in his irises. You already know all of it, but now it's like things are making sense.

Instead of saying everything that now burns in your throat, you pull him in for a much sweeter kiss, overcome with emotion.

Gentle, dependable, always-there Changmin.

Who apparently really likes giving head.

"Join me in the shower?" you say, and the room seems so quiet now, foreheads resting against each other. "We don't have to do anything-"

"Oh, but I wanna," he smiles, squeezing your sides. "I want that so much."

"Okay," you say, and it's ridiculous to be feeling shy now, but the way he's looking at you has you squirming in the best way.

"Lead the way," he grins.

"You just wanna see me walk away, naked," you laugh, shoving him.

"Better even it out then," he smirks, pulling his shirt over his head in a smooth motion.

You almost don't make it to the shower.

[pwblant]

is it just me? — kim woonhak

pairing # bff!woonhak x f!reader

warnings # kissing

genre # fluff, two idiots learning that they actually like eachother, half SMAU half written

— this is part 2. find part 1 here

after staring long into the white ceiling, woonhak slowly put his phone down and slid it under his pillow.

“i’ve been thinking about it for a while now actually.” his voice breaks through the soft sounds of the crickets outside.

“about what exactly?” you ask, sounding a little bit sleepier given the time.

“about us.” he starts. “and i just…couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. how you asked if i was like this to everyone.”

you let out a soft hum as an acknowledgment of his words.

“and i realized it, too.” he said. “i don’t give others anywhere close to the amount of care that i give you.”

silence.

“can i ask you something?” he says, voice a little shaky from nerves.

“hm?”

“so. hypothetically, if i kissed you right now…” he paused, covering the blush creeping in with his palms as he let out a deep sigh. “what would you do?”

your heart skips a beat.

“hypothetically?” you asked back. “it depends.”

“on what?”

“on if you’d mean it.”

he doesn’t respond right away, but you feel the bed shift. the rustles of the sheets. and then—

he kisses you.

soft. carefully. like he’s sure but unsure at the same time. like he’s testing the waters even when he’s already halfway drowned in.

you kiss him back.

you hear him squeal a little bit—did he not expect you to like him back? that’s crazy.

as he feels a mix of confidence and butterflies rush through, he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

and suddenly, all the feelings you’ve thrown to the back of your mind come back alive. you do like him. of course you do.

and when he pulls back, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“i’ve always meant it.”

for the rest of the night, things were different. things shifted. feelings were finally spoken.

he pushed his bed next to yours.

“since we’re..” he let out an awkward cough. “basically dating now.. unless we aren’t— i never actually asked—you don’t have to—“

“hak,” you cut in gently, trying not to laugh.

he looks at you, a little nervous, hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

“yeah?”

“ask me properly.”

he blinks. “what?”

“you said you never asked. so…” you say, nudging your knee against his. “ask.”

he exhales through his nose, half laugh, half defeat. then, he straightens up, sitting on the bed across from you. his cheeks turn into the faintest shade of pink.

“okay, here i go…” he says, voice low. “yn, can i… be your boyfriend?”

your heart does this stupid little hop. you knew a confession was coming, but you can’t help it. it’s because it’s him. it’s always been him.

“yeah,” you say, voice a little bit soft. “i’d like that.”

he smiles at your response—really smiles. you could see it in his eyes that it was a genuinely happy smile. it reached his eyes in the way it always does when he wins in a mario kart game or when he would surprise you with a trinket he bought that reminded him of you.

“okay cool,” he says, trying to play it chill and not burst out into a celebratory cry.

“cool,” you echo, trying to stop the situation from becoming too awkward.

and then there’s silence.

not awkward. not like you’re unsure of what to say next.

just warm.

a little shy.

“so now what?” you ask, lying back on the bed with your hands tucked behind your head. “should we tell the others?”

he flops down beside you. “they already know.”

“true.”

another pause.

you look at him.

“you do realize you still have to sleep next to the air conditioning, right? like just because we’re dating now it doesn’t mean you get to finally feel comfortable and warm.”

he grins, eyes still on the ceiling. “no way. boyfriend perks. i get to sleep with YOU hugging me.”

“roommate rules override boyfriend perks.”

“you’re cruel.”

“and yet you still asked me out.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, finally looking over at you again. “and i’d do it again.” he smirks.

you laugh.

he tackles you into a hug and falls asleep in your arms just as he had wished, warm and snug like he truly belonged there.

the next day… 💬

© 2025 pwblant

@yunextdoor @hantaektty @kaixlix @astrae4 

[bambidollies]

Melting - Asakura Jo ✩•̩̩͙*

♫ ͏⠻⢦͏ ✧ ✦

“In which reader is failing one of her most important classes, so she asks the cute nerdy boy for tutoring, no expecting to fall for him”

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x jo, strangers to lovers, nerd! jo x popular! reader, sexual tension, soft vanilla sex, blowjob (m. rec), protected sex, overwhelmed! jo he’s a little mess, fluffy ending.

You looked down at the paper in your hands, your lower lip caught between your teeth. Failed, again. The C- in the corner making fun of you, laughing at you as telling you “Huh, you thought” and the tears threatened to come. Didn't matter how hard you tried, how many hours you spent trying to understand the numbers in your Finance book, you always failed. At this point, you thought about giving up in your degree.

“This is your last chance, Ms. Y/N, you better get a better score next exam, i’m sure you wouldn’t like to see all of your friends graduating except for you”. The professor raised his eyebrow, handing the results to the person behind you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, exhausted. You did really try with this one, you almost conviced yourself that finally you had it all figured out. Turns out you were wrong.

Maybe an economics degree wasn’t the option for you, maybe you were just a dumb pretty girl, shallow, nothing beneath your perfect facade, maybe everyone who doubted you were right, you just thought about how you would tell your parents that you failed them, failed yourself. This was bigger than you. These thoughts consumed you as you walked outside of the classroom, heading towards the cafeteria where your friends were waiting for you, your head down, your pace slow, all you’d been doing is literally study, your baggy eyes were the clear evidence of this.

They turned around to face you once they saw your watery eyes.

“Don’t be sad, we know you did really try”. Sana hugged your shoulders, placing a little kiss on your head, and you sighed again, drying your tears with a napkin.

“A C- isn’t really that bad, right?” Harua scratched his neck, trying to ease the tension, it didn’t work.

You buried your face on the table, letting out a sob, you just wanted to get home and cry yourself to sleep, you were already thinking about finding an informal job to return your parents the money they’d spent in your years of college.

“I’m just tired at this point, tell me the truth, am i really that dumb?”

“Of course you’re not” Sana caressed your hair, talking to you with sweet voice.

“My friend Kei was failing Math last year, he asked this guy for tutoring, a complete nerd, perfect grades, maybe he’ll accept if you offer him a few dollars” You raised your head at Harua’s words.

You thought about it a few seconds. You had tried everything, study groups from other colleges, studying by yourself until late hours at night, even listening to online classes until you feel asleep, none of it had worked, the numbers, formulas, complicated problems just wouldn’t get inside your head.

“I don’t know…”

“What can you loose? Just try it, i heard he’s really patient and good at explaining, maybe he could help you finally understand?”

You bit your lip, it was true, you had nothing to loose, one more try could be worth it.

“Give me his number.”

Later that day you were laying on your bed, a quiet night that was only consumed by your thoughts. Maybe you sounded like a privileged girl, but you really didn’t need anything growing up. Your parents worked hard their entire life to give you everything you wanted, always signing you up in the best schools, dressing you with the most expensive designers, making a perfect lifestyle for you to enjoy. You had promised them you’d get into Economics so you could follow their steps and become a succesful business woman.

This wasn’t going really well.

You took a deep breath, unwrapping the wrinkled paper and staring at the depressing, humiliating score. Then you took out your phone, typing the number Harua had texted you.

Y/N: Hi, is this Jo’s number?

You locked the screen, throwing the phone by your side, waiting for him to answer. You didn’t have to wait so long.

Jo: Hello. Yes, who’s this?

Taking your phone again, you stared at the message a few seconds, going into his contact and zooming in the picture. You grinned softly, he was cute. He had silky, black hair, his features were soft, he was holding a cat in the photo, glasses perfectly placed over his pointy nose.

Y/N: I’m y/n, from Economics? I heard that you offered tutoring sometimes, i was wondering if you could help me? I’ll pay anything please i’m desperate, don’t wanna graduate at 30 :(

You sounded so embarrassing, but it was true.

Jo: You won’t graduate at 30, that’s actually mathematically impossible.

Of course, you forgot you were talking to a nerd for a second.

Jo: But yes, i could help you. Just tell me when you’re free and we’ll meet at the library.

Y/N: Oh god, thank you so much!

Jo: Left you on read.

Guess you had a tutoring lesson to attend next day.

Asakura Jo was the perfect child. Born from a wealthy family, he was the dream son every parent could ask for. His grades were always the best, his manners impecable, the adoration of the grandmas and annoying aunts. But it was mostly just his family who adored him.

He didn’t have many friends, thanks to his very, very lacking social skills, he was just awkward, didn’t talk much, and when he did his voice was always so low, everyone had to ask for him to repeat what he just said, his father would get angry sometimes and tell him to raise his voice like a man. But he was fine with that, he didn’t need other people, he would just get through college and become a succesful accountant for his parents company.

It wasn’t in his plans to start tutoring, to be honest, but people just started asking for it, and when he had too many study sessions per week for him to handle, he started to charge. Not much, just a bit so he could save money to spend in his other hobbies, such as videogames and comics, his guilty pleasures.

He emersed in his book until he felt a shadow right in front of him, raising his eyesight, he saw you standing there.

Everyone on campus knew who you were, the rich girl that everybody loved, always looking so perfect, so… polished. You had numberous friends, like the complete opposite of him, and your reputation was impecable.

So when you texted him the night before asking for tutoring, to be honest, he was quite surprised.

You swallowed, adjusting the coffee cup in your hand. You hesitated for a second, wondering if this was a terrible idea, but then decided—why not?

You placed the coffee in front of him with a soft clink.

Jo looked up, startled, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Uh, thanks, but I didn’t—"

“Decided to bring you a coffee,” you cut him off with a smile, trying to act casual. “I figured it’s the least I could do since you're about to help me survive this class.”

Jo blinked a couple of times, his face unreadable. He glanced at the coffee, then back at you, his expression softening just a little. “You didn’t have to. But… thanks.”

You shrugged, dropping into the chair across from him. “It’s no big deal. I figure if I’m going to survive this torture, I should at least try to make it enjoyable.” You paused, then added, “So, you’re the finance guru, huh?”

You always talked too much, and he seem the kind to stay quiet and just listen. You approached people with so much confidence, tossing your hair and smiling with sweetness. It made him nervous for some reason.

Jo gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I wouldn’t say guru. I’m just a person who doesn’t mind spreadsheets.” He took a sip of the coffee, winced slightly as if he didn’t love it, but then pushed the mug closer to himself. “What exactly are we tackling today?”

You took a deep breath. “Compound interest.” Your tone was light, but there was a flicker of panic in your eyes. “You know, the thing that’s going to make my brain explode.”

Jo’s mouth twitched, as if trying to suppress a smile. “That’s a classic. But don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it seems. You just need to think of it like a snowball rolling down a hill.”

You stared at him blankly. “A snowball?”

He nodded, more confident now that he had a starting point. “Yeah. The snowball starts small, but the longer it rolls, the bigger it gets. Compound interest is kind of the same way—it’s interest on both your initial investment and the interest that’s already been added. The longer it compounds, the bigger it gets.”

You leaned back, tapping your acrilic nails on the table thoughtfully. “Okay, I get that. Kind of like… when you let something sit in your savings account and it just grows slowly, right?”

Jo gave you a quick, almost surprised look. “Exactly. I didn’t think you’d get it so quickly.”

You smirked. “What, you think I’m just here for the ride? No way. I’m not totally hopeless. Just a little directionless.” That was a lie. You paused, a little awkwardly. “But really, I’m just hoping this snowball doesn’t crush me in the end.”

He didn’t laugh, just went back to the notes. He wasn’t mean, but he surely was a little bit dry. You didn’t mind, you were there for tutoring anyways, not being friends.

The once-full coffee cups were now empty, sitting off to the side like forgotten relics. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden rays through the library windows. Your table, once neat, was now a battlefield of open notebooks, scattered pens, and wadded-up scratch paper—most of it covered your handwriting and crossed-out equations.

You et out a groan and dropped your head dramatically onto your notebook. “This is actually cruel and unusual punishment.”

Jo, still calmly scribbling in the margins of a textbook, raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally just division.”

“It’s division with anxiety,” you shot back, your voice muffled against the paper. “Big difference.”

Jo chuckled under his breath, just a breath, you still heard it, and weirdly, it made your heart do a thing. You peeked up at him through your hair.

“I don’t get how your brain just does this. Like, you actually enjoy this?”

“I enjoy solving problems,” he replied, without looking up. “There’s something satisfying about finding the right answer. It’s clean. Predictable.”

“Wow,” you said, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head. He tried not look at how your tank top tightened around your chest, enchancing your figure. “That must be nice. Nothing in my life is predictable. I mean, I accidentally bought three planners last semester and still didn’t show up to my 9AM.”

Jo looked at your eyes then, an amused smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Three?”

“They were color-coded, Jo. I had high hopes.”

He let out a real laugh this time—quiet and quick, but real. It caught you off guard. You blinked at him, startled by how much warmer he looked when he wasn’t buried in formulas like an hour ago.

“What?” he said, noticing you staring, a little awkward under your gaze.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, trying to cover with a shrug. “You laugh. I didn’t think you could. I figured you were like one of those serious, silent types who only speak in finance metaphors.”

“I’m not that bad,” he said, a little defensive but still smiling. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You grinned. “Yeah, well. It’s kind of cute.”

Jo froze, eyes flicking to yours in something close to panic. He wasn’t used to compliments, much less coming from an outgoing, popular girl like you. It made him feel weird.

He cleared his throat, going back to the notes on the table.

“You should try to finish this one before we go.”

You exhaled slowly and refocused, pencil in hand. Your fingers hesitated over the numbers, then moved—slower this time, more carefully.

A minute passed.

Then another.

You put the pencil down.

“…Okay,” you said, tapping the paper with your fingertip. “I think… I think I got it.”

Jo leaned over and glanced at your work. His eyebrows lifted.

“That’s… actually right.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You did it.” He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at each line. “All the steps are there. You even got the decimal in the right place.”

“Oh my god.” You stared at the paper like it was a miracle. “Jo, I just—I did math. Like, real math. Finance math!”

Jo smiled—proud, and maybe just a little impressed. “Told you it wasn’t impossible.”

You looked at him, your smile lingering. “Thanks. For not giving up on me after the third meltdown.”

“You only had two,” he said dryly. “The third was more of a dramatic sigh.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, I deserved that.”

You sat in a comfortable silence for a beat, the kind that only comes after a shared struggle—like you two were on the other side of something now. Different than when you started.

Your first session with Jo ended up and you felt good, you felt you could finally understand all of this He gave you some extra problems for you to practice, and you drove to your house that night feeling extra happy because of your advance.

What started as awkward, caffeine-fueled tutoring sessions in the back corner of the library quickly became a routine neither of you wanted to admit you looked forward to.

At first, it was once a week, strictly business. Notes, formulas, practice problems, rinse and repeat. But somehow, it turned into twice a week. Then three. Then random texts at midnight with memes about interest rates or dramatic “HELP” messages from you right before a quiz.

And Jo, who had once been borderline allergic to human interaction, started replying faster than expected. Sometimes with answers. Sometimes with sarcastic gifs. Sometimes just, “You got this.”

You fell into a rhythm.

Jo would bring snacks, quiet ones, like pretzels or gummy bears, because you claimed loud chewing was “the enemy of focus.” You, in turn, made it your mission to guess Jo’s coffee order correctly (after three weeks and seven wrong guesses, you nailed it: iced Americano, light ice, no sugar).

He learned you couldn’t sit still for more than twenty minutes without some kind of movement, so he’d suggest five-minute walks around the library just to reset. You learned he doodled in the margins of his notes when he thought no one was looking, little geometric shapes and abstract lines, always drawn in blue pen.

You teased him less now. Not because he didn’t deserve it, he was still a total finance nerd, but because somewhere along the line, you’d stopped seeing him as just “the tutor.”

He was Jo. Quiet. Steady. Smart in ways that had nothing to do with textbooks. Surprisingly funny when he let his guard down. And kind, like, really kind.

On a random Tuesday, before a final exam, you two were studying late night in your room, turns out the library closed early that day and you were super nervous because you really needed to nail this test, so you suggested your house. At first Jo was a little hesitant, but he ended up accepting, and now you two were laying on the floor, papers, notes and pencils all accross the place, it was a nerd-mess. The soft light of your night lamp being the only source of brightness, making the air a little cozy.

“I can’t i’m literally gonna fail this.” You groaned, closing your eyes into an stressed expression.

He was laying across from you, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, his hair messy, his glasses above his nose, and he chuckled, he did that now more often around you, teasing you back with confidence.

“You won’t, just keep trying, we both know you’ll get it”

“I think my brain just clocked out” You dropped your pencil, dramatically “Like, fully walked off the job. Filed for early retirement”.

He didn’t look up.

“It’s because you haven’t taken a break”.

“That’s literally what i just said.”

He looked up now, raising an eyebrow.

“You said your brain quit. I’m saying it’s unionizing”.

You rolled onto your back, laughing as you stared at the ceiling, you didn’t notice but your shorts lifted a bit, showing more of your soft skin than before.

“Ok, finance boy, that was funny.”

“I have my moments” Jo muttered. “We can take a break, five minutes. You need to finish this one, is essential for your test.”

“Make it 20 pleaaaaase.”

Jo leaned back against the side of your bed, stretching out his long legs. He looked tired, in that soft, late-night kind of way, his hair messier than usual, hoodie wrinkled, glasses pushed slightly down his nose.

So you started talking about different things, things that weren’t math. Like your interests, hobbies, and passions. He told you about his love for video games, and you teased him about it telling him he couldn’t be more of a nerd. And you told him about your frustrated dream of becoming a ballet dancer.

You turned your head to look at him. “You ever wonder why we do this to ourselves? Like, why are we even taking Finance if it makes us miserable?”

“I don’t know,” Jo said. “I guess I like the certainty of it. The numbers always make sense, eventually. People don’t.”

There was a pause. One of those quiet ones that felt heavy.

“Speaking of people…” You said, turning onto your side to face him, “can I ask you something kind of personal?”

He sighed, raising his shoulders. “It depends.”

“Have you ever dated anyone?”

Jo blinked. Of all the things you could’ve asked, that clearly wasn’t what he expected.

“Uh… no. Not really,” he said slowly. “I’ve… liked people, I guess. But I don’t think it ever got that far. Not for me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, intrigued. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who really saw me. Most people just see the grades. Or the quiet guy in class who they think will do all the group work.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Not exactly rom-com material. Plus, my social skills are nowhere to be found, i could never take the first step.”

You didn’t smile. Instead, you whispered, “I see you.”

Jo looked at you, eyes catching yours in a way that made the room feel warmer, closer.

“What about you?” he asked. “Ever been in love?”

You hesitated. “Once. In high school. I thought it was the real thing. He was charming, said all the right things. But he wasn’t good at showing up when it mattered.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers idly playing with the edge of the rug.

“Since then… I don’t know. I’ve dated, but I think people only see the version of me that’s easy to like. Not the messy parts. Not the parts that panic over exams and cry at car commercials.”

Jo’s voice was soft. “The messy parts aren’t a dealbreaker.”

You glanced up at him, your breath catching slightly at the way he was looking at you, open, gentle, unflinching.

“Yeah?” you said quietly.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence settled again, but it was different now. Heavier. Charged.

You sat up slowly, your legs crossed in front of you, knees brushing his. You hair falling lazily over your shoulders, your round, bright eyes still locked onto his. Neither of you moved away.

The air between you two buzzed with something unspoken, something that had been building over late nights and half-finished coffees and quiet smiles across textbooks.

And then, from one moment to another, he leaned over, and kissed you. It was small, just a little peck, and you flinched, not out of disgust, but because you were surprised. You widened your eyes, and he looked at you embarrassed, already trying to apologize.

“S-Sorry, i shouldn’t have…”

“If you’re going to steal a kiss from me, Asakura Jo, at least do it properly”. You cut him off, a little smirk on your lips.

He blinked, once, twice, lips parted like trying to catch his breath. And then he leaned over again, now really kissing you.

And you melted into the kiss, immediately placing your hands on his cheeks, which were warm, red with blush, and moved your lips above his in a slow dance. It was a soft, slow, tender kiss, his mouth was sweet, his breath warm as he sighed and tilted his head, as if he had been waiting for this moment. As if he had been wanting you.

And who were you trying to fool, you’d been wanting him too.

So you tangled your fingers in his beautiful, dark hair, and he sighed again, you taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, stickinv your tongue out and exploring his mouth, both tangling, a crash of hot breaths and saliva, and you could tell he felt overwhelmed a bit, probably never been kissed like this before. You liked that. So you kept going, breaking the kiss just for a second to take off his glasses, placing them on the floor next to you, and you crashed your mouths again, now moving onto his lap, and he grabbed your hips slightly, still a bit hesitant. His body tensed when you moved in top on him, whimpering in the kiss, and he broke it now, slightly shaking.

"Wait, wait..." He was breathing heavy, his voice low "I... I've never..."

You stared at him, resting your forehead over his.

"We don't have to if you don't want to" your voice was sweet, and he sighed deeply, his hands caressing your hips above the thin fabric of your tank top.

He stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I want to."

Smiling softly, you kissed him again, a little deeper this time, needier. Your tongues were tangling, the sound of your lips crashing along with your shaken breaths, and his hands gripped your waist tighter, making you rock your hips slightly, rubbing yourself against him, making him whimper and tremble, a bulge in his sweatpants starting to built. A shiver went down your spine when you felt it, hard against your crotch covered only by your silky shorts, and you couldn't help but moan low. You grabbed his hands, like giving him permission to touch you and him, with clumsy movements, touched your body, your thighs, your ass, moving up to your torso, squeezing one of your boobs, and the touch made the amusement between your legs bigger, wetness through your panties.

"Let's get into bed." You asked, and he nodded slowly, you getting up from his lap.

His body moved hesitant to the bed, laying, and you locked the door with a little smile, that made him chuckle a bit. You crawled into bed, and placed yourself between his legs, kissing along his jaw and neck, sucking, licking, your warm tongue tracing his burning skin, this made him groan low, tilting his head so you could have more space. Then you placed your hands under his hoodie, and you bit your lip finding a set of perfectly built abs, you traced your fingers along his lines, delighting yourself with his body, and in one movement your slid it out above his head, his bare, milky skin in front of you. You wasted no time in kissin there, going down with your lips, and he was a whimpering mess, his face red, his hair messy. He looked like a whole meal, and you were starving. You lips met with the waistband of his sweats, the bulge inside of them thick, hard, and you looked up at him, like waiting for a confirmation.

He nodded at you, exhaling.

And then you slid down his pants along with his underwear, his thick member in front of you. You didn’t want to sound cheesy, but it was the prettiesr you’d ever seen. Thick, long, veins popping, hard, swollen red tip, your mouth watered at the sight, your eyes sparkly with desire. So you licked, long, slow, from the head to the base, tasting his skin and veins in your wet tongue, and he whimpered loud, shaking, overwhelmed.

You smiled at him.

“You like that?” Your voice was sweet, tender.

“Y-Yeah… please don’t stop” His eyes were sparkly too, and you thought he looked so fucking cute.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Then you spat, wet saliva falling down his length, and he moaned again as you took him in your mouth, wrapping your plump lips around him, bobbing your head so you could take him deep in your throat until your eyes watered and you had to suppress a gag, then repeated the process, sucking him off with skill, but you put a little extra effort since it was his first time, you wanted him to love this. So you moved sloppy, messy, the dirty sounds of you swallowing his dick and his shaky moans being the only ones in the room, you looked up at him, locking your gazes, and he bit his lip, his cock twitching inside of your mouth.

Oh, so the cute nerdy boy liked eye contact.

You took advantage of that, fluttering your eyelashes and smiling as you took him out of your mouth and smiled, stroking him a little easier this time thanks to the saliva that was covering his length, and took him in again, until the head of his cock has deep in your throat.

And Jo, well, we has a mess. Face all red, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath, chest moving up and down, eyes watering as the pleasure took over his whole body.

You loved how he looked.

You moved faster, and his whimpers became needier, desperate. You took him out of your mouth and kissed his tip, his legs twitched slightly. Then you kissed him again, placing your thighs in the sides of his hips, sitting straight on his aching length, an rocked your hips as you kissed, rubbing yourself against him, the wetness in your panties imposible to ignore, and he grabbed your hips and lifted just a bit so he would rub himself too.

His hand reached between your legs, and you let out a surprised gasp when his fingers found your clit above the lace of your underwear, tracing circles, making you squirm and moan.

He looked at you, like not wanting to miss any of your expressions.

“Is this ok?” He asked, voice broken, and you nodded, smiling softly.

That made him gain confidence, so he pulled your panties to the side, his warm fingers making contact with your bare, dripping pussy, and he moved them again, spreading your arrousal all across. You hid your face in his neck as he touched you, suprisingly good for being a begginer, but of course he knew things, he was a nerd after all. A moan left your mouth when he slid a finger inside, your walls clenching around it, needy.

“I-Is this ok?” He asked again, and you chuckled breathless, nodding.

“Yes, baby. It’s perfect.”

So he slid another one, thrusting them in and out of you, creating a wet sound, and you moaned louder, rocking your hips until his knuckles disappeared inside of you. He curled his fingers, and that made you tremble, teasing your g-spot, a jolt of pleasure showering you. So good.

“Fuck, that’s it…” You moaned in his ear and his skin jumped, his fingers moving faster “Need you so bad…”

He moaned at your words, cock twitching beneath you. Then he slid his fingers out, your aching, needy pussy clenching around nothing, then his hands took your tank top and slid it out of you, your bare breasts in front of him, and his eyes shined with lust.

“You are so pretty…” He cupped your breasts, and you whined as he squeezed them. “Is this—

You chuckled again.

“Jo, it is ok. You can touch me all you want, i want you to.”

He smiled softly, a little ashamed, and squeezed your breasts even more, rubbing his thumb in your nipples, and they hardened at the touch, your rocked your hips again, and he groaned low.

Now you took your bottoms off, and stood there, bare, naked in front of him, and the look in his eyes made your whole body shiver, he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

You got on top of him again, kissing him, and he let you do it. You wrapped your hand around his cock, and he whimpered above your lips.

“Wait.” He licked his lips, his face red again. “Do you…? I mean, i’m not trying to offend you or anything i swear, it’s just, could we use… protection? I think it’s safer that way, i-if you don’t mind…”

His nervousness made you melt, and you laughed softly, nodding. Of course, protection, always important. You bent over the bed and stretched your arm, searching inside the cabinet of your nightstand, and put out a condom.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you lifted your shoulders. “What? I’m a cautious girl” He chuckled, rolling his eyes, and you pecked his lips.

You slid the condom around his length easily, and he hissed at the feeling, grabbing your hips tight. Then you grabbed him, and rubbed the tip between your wet, dripping, needy folds, teasing you both. You looked at him again, he was biting his lip, anticipation in his pretty face.

You let yourself fall around him, his cock stretching your walls so good that you had to grab his shoulder for balance, and he moaned too. Your pussy clenched around him, he was big, so it took you a few seconds to adjust to his size, but it felt so good, his thick, throbbing length inside of you.

“F-Fuck…” he whispered, trembling, and you sighed deeply before starting to move your hips, up and down, slowly, your breasts bouncing at the movement.

“Feels good?” You asked, weak voice as whimpers left your lips.

He nodded fast, and you smiled again, biting your lip.

“S-So good… you’re so warm and tight.” His eyes were sparkly, filled with desire and pleasure.

And you started moving faster, jumping up and down on his length, burying deep inside of you, fucking yourself, and he could only moan louder and grab you tighter, his fingers marking the skin of your hips, your skins crashing, sweaty.

He kept groping your body, hands shaky, overwhelmed by the pleasure as you bounced on him over and over, your legs trembling because you were feeling so much pleasure too, everytime he slammed your insides so good, cock so deep, your wetness dripping between your thighs. Jo then kissed your neck, licking while you kept moving, and you moaned and whimpered, loving his lips on your skin.

“You’re so thick, you feel so good inside of me…” He groaned louder at your words, and you jumped, harder, now really riding him.

You breasts bounced with every move, your forehead bathed in sweat, your hair sticked to it. He lifted his hand and removed it, kissing your lips.

“You want to switch?” You talked between gasps, and he bit his lips, nodding.

So you did, you got up from his lap and laid on the bed, legs spread, glistening pussy dripping and he sighed at the view, groaning before holding your legs to your chest, and he slid inside of you again, and you screamed, not caring if your parents would hear. His thrusts were messy, not a clear rythym, but you didn’t care, it felt so good, he stretched you so good. His body was heavy above you, his hips crashing with yours, his groans and moans in your ears.

“I-I can’t… it feels so good, so good” his voice was completely broken, and you moaned and grabbed his hair, feeling him bury his cock deep inside of you.

“I know, baby. Feels so good, you’re so deep and good inside of me.” you talked sweet, whining, staring at his watery eyes.

He looked completely destroyed, his cheeks red, his hair sweaty, his body trembling, his thrusts sloppy but hitting every spot, making you shake and whine and moan his name time and time again. Your hands caressed his body again, touching, burning skin beneath your fingertips, his heart was racing, bumping against his chest. You felt like you were dreaming, your body floating as he fucked you.

“I’ve never felt this… i-i” He was mumbling nonsense, his brain completely shut down, pussy drunk. You just felt so good around him, he never wanted to stop, he wanted to die inside of you.

Then your hand went between your legs, your own fingers finding your aching, swollen clit, and you rubbed them against it, fast, at the pace of his erratic thrusts.

“You’re doing so good baby, fucking me so good…” you praised and he moaned, his head thrown back, slamming in and out of you until his thighs crashed with the back of yours.

You didn’t know why, but you came so fast. The knot on your lower belly exploding in a strong, earth shaking orgasm that made you scream high-pitched and arch your back, walls of your pussy clenching so tight around him, face completely teared apart by the pleasure. And his movements became completely nonsense, sloppy, so you knew he was so close too.

So you pushed his chest, making him stop, and he looked at you a bit confused, but you wasted no time in pushing him onto his back, removing the condom from his member and he knew what you wanted, so he stroked himself fast, whining, hissing, low moans and lip between his teeth as he masturbated in front of your face.

“I’m gonna… fuck, i’m…”

And you felt it. Warm, sticky, wet strings falling on your face, you opened your mouth, tasting him, swallowing his cum as he arched his back and groaned loud, covering you with his orgasm.

Then he stayed still, immobile, chest moving up and down.

You took the leftovers from your cheeks and forehead, licking your fingers clean, and he blushed completely, hiding his face in the pillows.

You chuckled, laying by his side, kissing his face.

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut up.” He said against the silk of your pillowcase, and you laughed loud, clinging to him.

It didn’t take much for you two to fall asleep. Naked, bodies against each other, a silly smile on both of your faces.

You had a good feeling about tomorrow’s exam.

The professor started to hand out the results, and you bit your nail harder, your legs shaking, your heart racing.

This was the final test, this was the moment for you to prove yourself, to prove that weeks and weeks of studying until late night were worth it, that you didn’t waste your time.

That you didn’t waste Jo’s time.

Of course, you did this for yourself, for you career. But a small part of you, really wanted him to be proud of you.

So your heart stopped when the professor stood by your desk, an eyebrow raised. You swallowed, blinking at him.

Then he handed the result, a smirk on his face.

“Good job, Ms.Y/N, looks like you really did put effort”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you looked at the paper. A bright, happy, big, red pen A in the corner.

You almost jumped from your seat. A gasp leaving your mouth. There were no words to describe how you were feeling, finally, finally you did something for yourself, you proved that you weren’t just a dumb pretty girl, that you had infinate potential.

All of your friends were waiting for you as you ran into the cafeteria, waving the paper in your hand and the all cheered you up, wide smiles as they congratulated you.

Then you saw him, he was chewing on a rice ball, eyes sticked to a comic in his hand. You hesitated, but the excitement got you.

So you ran to him, Jo looked up as he saw you approaching, but you gave him no time to react, jumping in his arms and almost making you both fall from the chair, his eyes widened, grabbing you by your waist helping you gain balance.

“I fucking did it!” You screamed, and he laughed, cheeks full of food.

You stared at him, so happy.

And you kissed him. Right there.

His face turned all red, and he glanced at your friends, their faces full of surprise, jaws to the floor. You didn’t care.

Then he chuckled, finally swallowing.

“If you’re going to steal a kiss from me, Y/N, at least do it properly.”

So you did. At the end, he was the cute nerdy boy that not only helped you finally master finances, but the cute nerdy boy who melted your heart.

Jo drabble we cheered!!

i’ll fix the mistakes tomorrow i’m sleeeeepy <3

hope you liked it !!