jealous softdom!jungwon. thatâs it, ik you get it
i hope this is good... my brain gave out on me but i hope u get what i'm putting out ><
contains: softdom bf jungwon x sub reader, jealous wonnie, p in v, multiple orgasms implied, overstimulation
âyou know iâm the one who loves you the most right? that iâm the one that will give you anything and everything you want?â
head bobbing continuously to affirm every question he asks, your body shakes with pleasure as your boyfriend thrusts deep into your pussy. his hand pushes down into your lower stomach, making sure you feel all of his moves because the last thing he wants is for you to forget every single feeling he gives you.
it all started with your friend jokingly saying that sheâs the one who knows you best, that no one will care about and love you more than her. it wouldâve been fine if you just laughed and moved on, but no, you had to agree with her, and thatâs what made jungwon jealous. a petty reason and person to let jealousy consume over him, but a reason nonetheless.
now, heâs molding you to remember him, a desperate need in his voice filling the room, along with all the lewd sounds that get produced. âp-please jungwon, i c-canât anym-more,â you weakly whimper out, but heâs lost count of how much youâve cum.
instead, he only hushes you, his hand holding your face tenderly as his thumb wipes away the tears. âshh itâs ok baby, you can. you can do anything, you will do it all for me right? you love me right? come on baby, i know you can do it.â jungwonâs anything but rough, guiding you through orgasm after orgasm as his dick pulses a heartbeat into your body.
âi know my sweetest love can do anything. just keep me as your first, alright?â
⥠content: jay x fem!reader, doctor!jay, ex boyfriend!jay, my attempt at angst, some fluff, based on the song undressed by sombr
⥠disclaimer: this is a lot of narrative and thus word vomit. might have inaccuracies on becoming/being a doctor lol. i would love to hear your thoughts <3. i mean no harm to any of the members, this is purely a work of fiction.
⥠word count: +2.2k
⥠part two here!
jay convinced himself that he was contented, perhaps even happy.
he had finished his pediatric residency from the most prestigious hospital in the country, finding routine in the endless cycle of hospital rounds and clinic duty. he gets to see the adorable faces of kids every single day, witness all different kinds of charm and personality.
so why does he still wake up and reach out to your side of the bed only to be greeted by the cold every single day. or why does he get frustrated every time he can't get his neck tie on the right way when he should've been out the door ten minutes ago.
maybe because whether he admits it or not, he knows that something, or a certain someone is missing.
°ââ.àłàż*:
"love~, you have to wake up or you'll be late for your first day!" jay heard your sweet voice from down the hallway. rubbing out the sleep in his eyes, he realizes for the millionth time of how lucky he was to have you, when the smell of his favorite breakfast wafted around his apartment.
you were just about done with preparing breakfast when when jay wrapped his arms around your waist, snuggling his nose into your neck, trying to memorize your scent to prepare him for the long day ahead of him.
"you didn't have to do all of this, love, i know how tired you are from closing up late last night," jay mumbled into your neck, peppering soft kisses as a form of apology. you worked as a florist at a small flower shop in town, and this week had been busier than usual.
you smiled before turning your head to him. "i don't mind, love. because one day i'll be the wife of one of the top pediatricians in the country, i wouldn't need to work another day of my life!" you said, teasing him. "now get dressed and eat your breakfast, big day ahead!"
jay didn't know if it was sleep deprivation or nerves, but he kept tying and untying his neck tie in front of the mirror. he was fresh out of medical school and was about to take on his one year of post-graduate internship. though it was only one step out of the many before he reaches his dream of being a pediatrician, he wanted to make a good first impression.
you could sense jay's nerves from a mile away, so you came up to him and started tying his tie for him. "you will do great today and all of your tomorrows. i'm already so proud of you," you said as you finished up his tie, smoothing out his dress shirt with your hands. you grabbed his white coat for him and helped him put it on.
"thank you for all that you do, my love. i'll work hard for the future that we both want. i'll make all of this worth it, i promise," jay said before he kissed you on the lips on his way out.
°ââ.àłàż*:
now today, jay was rushing out of the door, biting down on a piece of toast, reminiscing of what his life was when you were still in it. it had always felt as if it was the two of you against the world. and that it would all be worth it, as long as you were together.
jay would think of those moments fondly. how you always treated him with the same patience, love, and care that you had reserved just for him.
°ââ.àłàż*:
jay was late to yet another dinner that he had promised he'd make it to. you stared at the spread you had eagerly prepared for him, making sure that he had his favorites waiting for him after a long day at his internship. you understood that he was busy, you really did. and you were so proud of the person that he was becoming. but sometimes you couldn't help but feel left behind while he was out there chasing his big dreams.
you were lost in thought when you heard keys jingle from behind the front door. you quickly approached the door, eager to greet jay and welcome him home.
"long day?" you said as you quickly pecked his cheek in greeting, ready to take his things and usher him inside. when he quickly dropped all of things to hug you towards him, dropping his head into the side of your neck.
"i'm so sorry. i'm such a bad boyfriend," you barely heard him say as he sank deeper into your neck, not even thinking it was possible. your heart warmed at his confession, knowing that he never really meant to hurt your feelings, and that he was just trying his best at the end of the day.
"it's okay, love. the food can be reheated. and i'll always be here waiting for you. that's a promise."
°ââ.àłàż*:
but perhaps somewhere down the line, your patience grew thin. between managing the shop that was quickly growing in popularity and being met with disappointment after disappointment with jay in keeping his promises, you were bound to snap eventually. jay was just too blind to see it.
jay noticed the first few rain drops land on his windshield on his drive to work, his mood becoming sour. perhaps it was because the rain would always bring him back to that night.
°ââ.àłàż*:
it had been pouring hard that night. you were stuck at the flower shop, unable to book a ride because of the weather. you looked at your phone at yet another failed call to jay, hoping for any sign that he'd be able to pick you up, since his hospital duty should have ended a while ago already. finally deciding to give up, you prepared yourself and your measly umbrella to run through the rain.
on the way home, you had thought of jay, hoping that he would drive safely in the rain, already expecting that he had to stay in late at the hospital again. only to be greeted by light peeking through the bottom of the door to your shared apartment, knowing full well that you made sure all of the lights were off before you left.
you scrambled to get inside, only to find jay on the couch, scrolling on his phone. dry, warm, and hadn't even noticed your presence until you stood in front of him.
"jay? i thought you were at the hospital?" you asked, the ugly feeling clawing at your chest overpowering the cold that ran through your body.
jay startled, finally looking up from his phone to you. "oh, i just got home a couple of minutes ago," he said, distracted and tired.
"and you didn't bother to text me? answer my calls? wonder how i'd get home in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm?" you exclaimed, wondering how he could be so self-centered. wondering where the jay you used to know went.
"look, today was a long day at the hospital, okay? i had a lot on my mind already," he mumbled towards the end, clearly wanting to get away from this conversation.
"maybe you forgot, jay, but i have a job-," you started, but jay had cut you off immediately, rising to his feet.
"well, some people have real life jobs, okay? jobs that require actual effort and whose other people's lives depend on!" he shouted, staring you down in your spot. "what happened to being supportive, huh? i thought you wanted this future with me," he tried to remind you.
you tried to stand your ground as his words sink into your mind. real life jobs? you couldn't even recognize the man in front of you, the one who used to always cheer you on and never made you feel ashamed of pursuing your passions in life.
"i'm tired jay, let's just talk about this another time," you said defeated. you didn't have the energy to deal with this tonight, especially with where this conversation seemed to be going.
"oh wow, you're tired? for sure. what would you even be tired about?" he said as you started retreating to the bedroom. but then something snapped inside you.
facing him, you finally said the words that you have kept to yourself for the last couple of months. "of course i'm tired, jay! how could i not when every time you come home you seem to drain the little life i have left in me. you go on and on about this future that you want when i don't even know if you still want me in that future. because you sure don't act like it! all of the missed dates, anniversaries, even my own fucking birthday! i'm tired of acting that i can put up with this shit for a future that we came up with years ago," you exclaimed, your breath starting to shake.
"well maybe it would be easier that way," jay said under his breath.
"what?" you asked, giving him a chance to take back what he said.
"i said that maybe it would be easier if you weren't in my future," he said to you with eyes cold as ice.
and that was all you needed to walk out of his life.
°ââ.àłàż*:
jay entered the hospital, shaking off the rain from his umbrella and any droplets that got onto his clothes. on his way to his clinic, he would breathe deep breaths. trying to shake you off of his mind, just for a few hours.
"good morning, doc! only four patients today. just reminding you of the one dr. lee referred to you, since he's still on vacation," jay's secretary, jake, said in greeting, without taking his eyes off of the documents in front of him. jay somewhat remembered the patient he was referring to, heeseung had asked him if he could accommodate a baby coming in for his one-year check-up, or something along those lines.
jay went through the first few appointments without a hitch, smiling and entertaining all of his patients, while listening intently to the concerns of their parents. he would comfort the ones who came in for the booster shorts, letting them choose which character band-aid they wanted to put on their shoulder.
after the waving goodbye to his third patient, a sweet little girl, jay needed a few minutes to compose himself. he had always enjoyed the company of children, especially when he had nieces and nephews of his own, which is why he chose this profession in the first place. there was something about meeting them when they were only an infant, and getting to see them grow and gain their own personalities. he loved listening to all of their stories and trying to answer their questions that seemed out of this world.
but even if his days were supposed to be filled with pure joy and happiness, he couldn't help but feel empty every time he'd pack up his things and leave his clinic. because deep down, he knew he was supposed to enjoy all of this with you.
he softly smiled when he remembered the times you would keep him awake at night with endless lists of baby names you would insist on discussing with him right before bed. jay never really gave much thought as to what name he would give his children, he'll let you have your fun on that. the only thing he wanted was a baby that had your eyes.
your eyes. he closed his own so he could attempt at remembering what yours looked like. not like he ever forgot them in the first place. he still remembered the warmth he felt when he first laid his eyes on yours. it felt that as if the two of you were frozen in your own little bubble, while the rest of the world kept spinning.
jay always thought of reaching out to you. thought of making it up to you, especially now that he has achieved the dreams that you once shared with each other. he'd think of all of the ways on how to win you back, desperately hoping that you had not found somebody else. somewhere in his selfish and lonely mind would hope that you were somewhere out there, still waiting for him.
because whether he'd admit it or not, he was a coward. because he knew that it was his own fear that broke your relationship.
fear of disappointing you, was one thing. but your ability to disarm him like it was nothing was what truly scared him.
it scared him how willing he was to throw out everything that he had worked for if that was what you wanted. but between the pressure he got from his superiors, colleagues, and family, he chose what seemed at that time the easy way out. even if it meant breaking your heart and his own in the process.
late at night, he would face your side of the bed and reach out to it as if you never left, thinking what his life would be like now had he not given up on you. would the two of you have gotten married and have kids of your own? would it be a little boy or a girl?
his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the wind chime he had at his clinic door. he was lucky that his examination room was separated from the waiting area, so he had time to collect himself and put on a smile for his next patient.
but nothing could prepare him for the sight that he was about to see, his smile immediately faltering when his door slid open.
you were there. after all of these years, here you are, standing in the middle of his clinic.
but with a baby boy attached to your hip, whose features belonged to another, but with eyes that were unmistakably yours.
synopsis : living next door to lee heeseung has always been a nightmare loud, cocky, and impossible to ignore until one reckless night at a party leaves you waking up in his bed and running before it can mean anything you try to forget it ever happened, until two lines change everything, and suddenly the one person you canât stand is the one you canât escape.
pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader
trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity
word count : 19.6k
warnings : heeseung is a an absolute asshole, accidental pregnancy, alot panic and guilt, abortion / termination discussion, fear of the future, alcohol use, one night stand, dirty talking, cursing, foreplay, dry humping, oral, drunk sex ( consent is present ) , unprotected sex, mild degradation, hair pulling, creampie
đŻïž JOâs NOTES < đ»ââïž 3 ! : omggg finallyy juno part one is out, hope you have an absolute amazing time when reading. navi did the proofreading for me ilysmm <3333
The bass from the apartment next door was so loud it made your pencil roll off the desk for the third time tonight thump thump thump. Each beat vibrated through the thin wall like it was personally trying to ruin your life.
You stared at the half finished notes in front of you, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Midterms were in two weeks. Two weeks and Lee Heeseung, the campus golden boy, basketball captain, and your personal nightmare of a neighbor was throwing another one of his legendary parties like tomorrow didnât exist.
This was the nth time. The nth damn time since youâd moved in six months ago. With a sharp exhale, you shoved your chair back and stormed out of your apartment, not even bothering to change out of your oversized hoodie and sweatpants. The hallway reeked of spilled beer and expensive cologne.
You could already hear the chaos before you even reached his door. Laughter, glasses clinking, some girlâs high pitched giggle cutting through the music.
You banged on the door harder than necessary. It took a few seconds before someone inside yelled over the noise, âYoo Heeseung! Someoneâs banging at your front door!âThe door finally swung open.
Heeseung stood there in all his infuriating glory tall, broad shouldered, black hair slightly tousled like heâd been running his hands through it. His button up was half undone, revealing a silver chain that rested on his collarbones and a glimpse of toned chest. Behind him, the party pulsed with red solo cups, dim lights, and at least half the basketball team.
A pretty girl with long hair and a tight dress was pressed close to his side, her hand resting possessively on his arm. Heâd clearly been in the middle of charming her into his bed by the end of the night.
The second his dark eyes landed on you, that signature cocky smirk curved his lips.âHi, miss morals,â he drawled, voice low and teasing, like heâd been waiting for this exact interruption.
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didnât get stuck. âCan you turn it down? The music is too loud.â
Heeseung didnât move. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. The girl behind him shifted, clearly annoyed at the sudden attention shift, but Heeseung didnât spare her a glance now.
âMiss morals strikes again,â he laughed, the sound rich and mocking. It sent an unwelcome spark of irritation down your spine. âWhatâs the problem this time, neighbor? Come to bless us with your righteous presence?â
âIâm serious, Heeseung,â you said, voice sharp as you folded your arms tightly across your chest. âNot everyone has the pleasure of partying all night. Others have to actually study to pass their exams whereas others can just have daddy pay for everything when they fuck up.âThe words hung in the air between you.
Heeseungâs smirk faltered instantly. His jaw tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. For a split second, something raw annoyance, maybe even hurt flashed across his face before he quickly shoved it back into that indifferent mask. His eyes darkened, the playful glint gone.
âWhatever,â he muttered, voice suddenly flat and cold. âIâll lower the volume.âHe said, âThank you,â you replied curtly, refusing to let the small victory show on your face even though your heart was hammering.
Heeseung didnât say anything else. He simply stepped back and shut the door right in your face with a firm click that echoed down the empty hallway.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed wooden door, fists clenched at your sides. The music inside dropped almost immediately, not completely off, but low enough that you could finally breathe. Muffled laughter and voices still filtered through, but at least your walls wouldnât shake anymore.
âAsshole,â you whispered under your breath, turning on your heel and heading back to your apartment.As you closed your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, eyes closed. Why did he always have to make everything so difficult? Why did one look from him always manage to crawl under your skin like this?
You shook your head, forcing the thoughts away. Back to studying. Back to pretending Lee Heeseung didnât exist. But deep down, you already knew tonightâs silence between you two had just gotten a little louder.
You were halfway through rewriting your notes when your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a new message.
yunjin : you know sunghoon righttt? heâs throwing a massive party after midterms and he personally invited me. pleeease come with me?? i donât wanna go alone đ„ș
You stared at the text, already feeling the familiar dread settle in your stomach. Another party of course. You typed back quickly
you : No thanks im good have fun tho
The two dots appeared immediately.
yunjin : babe come onnnn
yunjin : itâs after midterms!! you deserve to relax
yunjin : sunghoonâs parties are actually fun i swear
yunjin : thereâll be good music, free drinks, and i heard the basketball team is coming too đ
You groaned, rubbing your temples. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near the basketball team especially not after tonightâs lovely encounter with their captain.
you : exactly why Iâm not going pass
yunjin : please please please i really like sunghoon and this could be my chance
yunjin : iâll owe you big time iâll even help you study for the next round of exams iâll buy you that expensive matcha you like for a month!!
You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip. Yunjin was relentless when she wanted something. And honestly she had been there for you through every late night breakdown this semester. Saying no felt a little cruel the pleading texts kept coming
yunjin : i wonât leave your side the whole night ( she is lying )
yunjin : we can leave early if you hate it , pretty please with cherries on top?? đ„șđ
You sighed deeply, already knowing you were about to lose this battle.
you : fine, ONE HOUR thatâs it if it sucks, weâre out.
yunjin : YESSSSS!!! youâre the best i love you so much
yunjin : we can dress up together at my place okay , see you tomorrow <33
You tossed your phone onto the desk and dropped your head into your hands. Great, just what you needed. Another night surrounded by loud music, drunk athletes, and the very real possibility of running into the Lee Heeseung again.
You glanced at the wall that separated your apartment from his. The music was still playing faintly, but at least it was bearable now. Just one party, you could survive one party right?
The next morning, the art history lecture hall was already filling up with the usual mix of sleepy students and last minute crammers when you slipped into your regular seat in the middle row.
The faint scent of fresh coffee and old books lingered in the air. Yunjin dropped dramatically into the chair on your right, her long hair still slightly damp from her morning shower, eyes bright with far too much excitement for a 9 am class.
On your left, Soobin settled in quietly, tall frame folding gracefully into the seat. He placed his neatly organized notebook on the desk and pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil, offering you a soft, reassuring smile.
Soobin was always like this calm, steady, the kind of friend who showed up without making a fuss. He was the complete opposite of the loud, chaotic energy that seemed to follow Heeseung everywhere.
Yunjin, however, was already completely distracted. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her hand, openly staring toward the front rows where Sunghoon sat chatting with a couple of friends. Her gaze was soft and dreamy, a tiny smile tugging at her lips every time he laughed at something.
You nudged her arm with your elbow, voice low and teasing. âYouâre oogling him again itâs getting embarrassing at this point.âYunjin didnât even pretend to deny it. âIâm not oogling, im appreciating art,â she whispered back, still not tearing her eyes away. âLook at him heâs literally perfect.â
Soobin let out a quiet chuckle beside you, shaking his head as he flipped open his notebook. âSure âappreciatingâ thatâs why half your notes from last week were just little hearts around his name.â He teased her, to which she replied,
âTraitor,â Yunjin hissed playfully, finally glancing at both of you as her cheeks flushed pink. âYou two are supposed to be on my side.âThe light banter continued until Soobin turned to you, lowering his voice a little. âHey, I heard there was a party at Heeseungâs last night, did you survive the noise?â
You let out a long, dramatic groan and slumped back in your seat, the memory of last nightâs confrontation still fresh and irritating. âBarely. That idiot had the music blasting so loud my textbooks were literally vibrating on the desk. I had to march over there in my hoodie and sweatpants like some angry neighbor from a sitcom again.â
Soobin listened attentively, his expression patient and sympathetic. He never interrupted your rants or told you to just ignore it. He just nodded along, dark eyes focused on you, making you feel genuinely heard.
It was one of the many reasons you treasured his friendship he was thoughtful, kind, and never loud or arrogant for the sake of it. The polar opposite of Heeseung.
âAnd of course he answered the door half dressed with some girl hanging off his arm like a trophy,â you continued, voice dripping with annoyance. âCalled me âmiss moralsâ like itâs the funniest joke in the world.
Then when I pointed out that not everyone has a rich daddy to bail them out when they party instead of studying, he got all pissy, sucked in this dramatic breath, and slammed the door right in my face. Heâs such an entitled asshole.â
Soobin hummed softly, a small frown creasing his brow. âThat sounds exhausting, you shouldâve texted me you know, i couldâve come over with snacks and we couldâve studied together instead of dealing with his nonsense alone.â
You smiled faintly at the offer, warmth cutting through the irritation. âNext time, maybe at least someone in this building has basic human decency.â
Yunjin finally tore her gaze away from Sunghoon long enough to grin at you. âHeeseungâs just bored and likes getting a rise out of you if you stopped reacting, heâd probably get bored and stop.â
âEasy for you to say,â you muttered, crossing your arms. âYou donât have to live next door to the human equivalent of a walking migraine.âThe professor walked in moments later, cutting off any further complaints.
The next hour passed in a blur of projected slides on Renaissance techniques, quiet note taking, and the occasional whispered comment from Yunjin whenever Sunghoon shifted in his seat.
When class finally ended, the three of you packed up your things and joined the stream of students flowing out into the crowded hallway. The air was filled with chatter about upcoming midterms, weekend plans, and the usual campus gossip.
As you walked side by side, Yunjin suddenly looped her arm through yours, her excitement bubbling over again. âSo, about Sunghoonâs party after midterms youâre definitely coming, right? And Soobin you should come too! Itâll be so much more fun with all three of us there.â
Soobin blinked, surprised, his eyebrows raising slightly. âWait youâre actually going?â He looked at you, genuinely shocked. âI thought you hated parties, especially ones thrown by the popular crowd.â
You shrugged, already regretting your decision a little. âYunjin begged a lot and guilt tripped me with matcha promises. One hour max, if it sucks, Iâm dragging her out.â
Yunjin squealed happily and squeezed your arm. âSee? Sheâs coming! So you have to come too, Soobinn please?âBefore Soobin could respond, a familiar voice cut through the hallway noise from behind you.
âCanât imagine miss morals at a party but Iâm looking forward to seeing you there.â Your stomach dropped, you didnât even have to turn around to know who it was.
Heeseung was leaning casually against a set of lockers a few feet away, arms crossed over his varsity jacket, that signature cocky smirk playing on his lips. He must have overheard the entire conversation.
His dark eyes locked onto yours with clear amusement, like he lived for these moments of catching you off guard.
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Heat crept up your neck partly from annoyance, partly from the embarrassment of him hearing your plans.
Yunjin stifled a laugh beside you while Soobin just shook his head quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth.
Heeseungâs low chuckle followed you as the three of you kept walking, but you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw tight. God, you really, really hated that guy.Midterms week stretched into a brutal two week marathon, and as an art curator major, you felt every single hour of it in your bones.
Your apartment had become a war zone of curated chaos towering stacks of books on museum exhibition design, printed slides from Art Conservation and Curatorial Practices, mood boards pinned to the wall for your upcoming gallery proposal project, and color coded flashcards scattered across every surface.
Late nights blurred into early mornings as you hunched over your laptop, drafting proposals for hypothetical exhibits while trying to memorize the intricate history of 19th century European collections. Sleep was a distant dream. Caffeine was your only reliable companion.
And then there was Heeseung.
He didnât blast music or bring girls over every single night that would have been almost predictable. No, he was crueler than that. He chose random days, like he knew exactly how to keep you off balance, turning your already exhausting study schedule into a minefield of unwanted interruptions.
The first time hit on the second night of midterms. You were deep into analyzing a case study on museum ethics when the wall behind your desk started to vibrate faintly. At first it was just low music.
Then came the giggles two distinct female voices, breathy and flirtatious. Heeseungâs deep laugh cut through it all, followed by the unmistakable sound of bodies moving against furniture.
âFuck, Heeseung youâre so good at this,â one of the girls moaned loudly, the words carrying crystal clear through the thin shared wall. The headboard started thumping a slow, steady rhythm against your wall rhythmic, insistent, growing faster.
You could hear the wet slap of skin, her exaggerated gasps turning into full throated cries every time he thrust.You yanked your noise canceling headphones on so hard the band dug into your temples, cranking the volume until classical music drowned most of it out.
But you could still feel it, the steady bang bang bang vibrating through your desk, through your chair, through your skull. Your cheeks burned with secondhand embarrassment and pure rage.
'Of course heâs fucking some random girl while Iâm trying to memorize the difference between Baroque and Rococo curation techniques.' You thought bitterly, stabbing your highlighter across the page. Must be nice to have zero responsibilities except basketball and dick appointments.
It stopped around 2 a.m., but the damage was done. You only managed three hours of sleep before your 8 a.m. lecture.
The next morning, you were running on pure spite and too much coffee when you caught Heeseung in the hallway just as he was stepping out of his apartment. He looked annoyingly fresh â hair still damp from a shower, varsity jacket slung over one shoulder, that perpetual cocky smirk already in place.
You stopped right in front of him, arms crossed tightly. âKeep it down next time,â you said flatly, voice low but sharp. âSome of us are actually trying to pass our midterms instead of auditioning for porn.â
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. âAw, miss morals heard everything? Didnât know you were such a light sleeper.â You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks. âJust tone it down, the headboard banging is ridiculous.â
He chuckled lowly, the sound sending another spike of irritation through you. âNoted.â Then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. âThough from the sounds of it last night, she seemed to enjoy the banging.â
You rolled your eyes and walked away without another word, his soft laugh following you down the hall.The next disruption came four days later. A random Thursday when you had a massive group project due on modern curatorial strategies.
Youâd just settled in with your laptop open to a half finished exhibition proposal when his door slammed open down the hall. One girl this time, but she was even louder.
The moment they got inside, the sounds started again her high pitched whimpers, Heeseungâs low, cocky murmurs âYeah? You like that? Tell me how much you want itâ followed by the unmistakable wet sounds of them going at it on what sounded like his couch first, then migrating to the bed.
The headboard slammed against the wall so hard your framed print of Van Goghâs Starry Night rattled. Her moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure, each one punctuated by Heeseungâs grunts and the filthy slap of bodies. âHarder fuck, right there, Heeseung donât stopââ
You ended up studying in your bed instead, laptop balanced on your knees, pillows stacked around you like a fortress. Headphones on full blast. Still, every thrust made the wall tremble.
Every moan crawled under your skin and made focusing on your notes feel impossible. By the time they finally finished (or at least quieted down) around midnight, your eyes were burning and your proposal was only half done.
You hated how your body reacted sometimes not with attraction, but with pure, simmering resentment that made your stomach twist.That same night, after the noises finally stopped, you grabbed your phone in a fit of exhausted anger and texted him.
you : keep the noise down, some people are trying to study for actual grades, not coast on basketball talent and daddyâs money
His reply came faster than you expected. A picture popped up first. A close up selfie of Heeseung lying in bed, shirtless, messy hair, lazy smirk on his face, with the caption
heeseung : sorry, miss morals hard to stay quiet when they scream my name like that
heeseung : next time iâll try to fuck quieter or maybe you can just join and tell me how to do it right?
You stared at the message, face flaming with a mix of rage and disbelief. You immediately blocked the image from your mind ( and definitely did not linger on the way his abs looked in the dim lighting ) before typing back a single furious reply
you : delete my number, asshole
The worst random night came during the final stretch, just three days before your last exams.
You were pulling an all nighter on your capstone project a full digital mock up of a contemporary art exhibit youâd spent weeks perfecting when the noises started again around 11 p.m. This time it was two girls.
Their laughter spilled into the hallway first, then straight through your wall. Heeseungâs voice was low and teasing, the kind of filthy charm that probably worked on every girl on campus.
Soon the bed was creaking loudly, headboard banging in a frantic rhythm while both girls moaned in tandem one breathy and high, the other deeper and more desperate.
âHeeseung oh god, yes fuck me like thatââ mixed with wet, obscene sounds that left zero doubt about exactly what was happening next door. The wall vibrated so intensely your coffee mug slid an inch across the desk.
You sat there in your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, staring at your glowing screen, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every moan, every dirty encouragement from Heeseung, every rhythmic thud felt like a personal attack on the one thing you actually cared about your future.
Your grades, your dream of curating real exhibitions someday. While Iâm over here trying not to fail out of the only thing Iâm good at, you thought, fingers flying angrily across the keyboard, heâs over there living his best life with a rotating cast of girls screaming his name.
You wore the headphones until your ears rang. You even tried white noise apps, earplugs underneath nothing fully blocked it. The sex noises went on for nearly two hours that night, loud and shameless, until they finally quieted around 1:30 a.m.
By the end of the two weeks, you were running on fumes dark circles under your eyes, caffeine shakes in your hands, and a permanent knot of irritation lodged in your chest whenever you passed his door.
The random nights had been spaced out just enough to feel like psychological warfare instead of constant chaos.Heeseung never once toned it down. Never once seemed to care that someone on the other side of the wall was actually trying to build a future that didnât involve daddyâs money or NBA scouts.
When Friday morning finally arrived and your last exam was over, you dragged yourself back to the apartment building, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The hallway was quiet for once. Heeseungâs door looked innocently closed.
You unlocked your own door, stepped inside, and immediately collapsed face first onto your bed, still in your clothes midterms were done.But the resentment toward the boy next door had only grown sharper and Sunghoonâs party was tonight. You groaned into your pillow one hour in and out. Just donât kill Heeseung on sight.
You took the quickest shower of your life, and changed into the first comfortable outfit you could findâa simple black crop top that showed just a sliver of your midriff and your favorite pair of dark jeansâcomfortable, practical, safe.
You texted Yunjin that you were ready to head over to her place to âget ready together,â secretly hoping she wouldnât make a big deal out of your clothesâbig mistake. Yunjinâs apartment was only two blocks away, and the second you stepped inside, she took one look at you and gasped like you had personally offended her.
âNo no absolutely not,â she declared, hands on her hips, eyes scanning you up and down with pure horror. âYou cannot go to Sunghoonâs party looking like that.â
You glanced down at yourself, confused. âWhatâs wrong with this? Itâs cute itâs comfortable.ââCute? Comfortable?â Yunjin repeated, already dragging you toward her bedroom like a woman on a mission.
âBabe, weâre going to a party, not the library. You just survived two weeks of hell tonight youâre supposed to look hot, not like youâre about to give a museum tour.â
Before you could protest, she flung open her closet and started pulling out clothes with frightening speed. She held up a black mini skirt dangerously short, made of soft leather like material and a sheer black button up shirt that was practically see through.
âTry these,â she ordered, shoving the hanger into your hands. You stared at the outfit like it might bite you. âYunjin, no way, that skirt is barely legal and the shirt is see through iâm not wearing that.â
âYes way, you are,â she sang, already pushing you toward the bathroom. âYou agreed to come to the party that means youâre under my styling jurisdiction for tonight go change nowâ
You argued the entire time you were changing. âThis is ridiculous! im going to freeze, people are going to stare i look like Iâm trying way too hardââ
But Yunjin was relentless. The second you stepped out in the mini skirt and sheer shirt ( with a black bralette underneath so you werenât completely exposed ), she clapped her hands and squealed.
âOh my god, yes! Look at you!â She spun you around in front of her full length mirror. The skirt hugged your hips and ended high on your thighs, making your legs look longer.
The sheer shirt draped softly over your shoulders, the black bralette visible underneath in a way that was teasing but not outright scandalous. âYou look insane like, dangerously hot.â
You tugged at the hem of the skirt, cheeks burning. âI feel naked. Can't I at least wear the jeans over this or something?ââNo,â she said firmly, already sitting you down in front of her vanity. âWeâre doing makeup now sit still.â
For the next twenty minutes, Yunjin worked her magic. Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, soft smoky eyes, a touch of highlighter on your cheekbones, and a bold red lip that made your mouth look fuller. She even styled your hair into loose, effortless waves that framed your face perfectly.
When she finally stepped back, she let out a satisfied sigh.âAnyone would worship the ground you walk on looking like this,â she said, grinning proudly. âTrust me tonight, youâre not the stressed out art curator girl who yells at her neighbor. Youâre the girl who turns heads even Heeseung wonât know what to do with himself when he sees you.â
You rolled your eyes, but a small flutter of nerves mixed with reluctant confidence settled in your stomach as you looked at your reflection. The outfit was way bolder than anything youâd normally wear, but you had to admit it looked good.
âFine,â you muttered, smoothing down the skirt one last time. âBut if I hate it, weâre leaving early and if Heeseung says one word about âmiss moralsâ in this outfit, Iâm pouring a drink on him.âYunjin laughed and linked her arm with yours. âDeal now letâs go make Sunghoonâs party unforgettable.â
You and Yunjin barely made it out of her apartment before your phone buzzed with a text from Soobin saying he was already waiting downstairs. The three of you had agreed he would drive so none of you had to worry about getting home later.
The elevator ride down felt too short. Your heart was already beating a little faster than usual partly from the unfamiliar outfit, partly from the knowledge that you were actually going to a party after surviving two brutal weeks of midterms.
The black mini skirt kept riding up slightly with every step, and you kept tugging nervously at the hem while Yunjin wouldnât stop complimenting how good you looked.
When you stepped out of the building into the cool evening air, Soobinâs car was parked right in front, engine idling. He was leaning casually against the driverâs side, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up and saw the two of you approaching, his eyes widened noticeably.
Especially when they landed on you. Soobin froze for a second, his usual calm expression cracking into pure, genuine shock. His gaze traveled slowly from your loose waves and sharp winged eyeliner, down to the sheer black shirt that subtly revealed the black bralette underneath, then to the dangerously short leather like mini skirt that made your legs look endless.
He blinked once, twice, before quickly clearing his throat and straightening up, ears turning a light shade of pink.âWowâ he said, voice a little higher than his normal soft tone. âYou both look really nice like, really nice.â
Yunjin grinned triumphantly, looping her arm through yours and squeezing. âSee? Told you! Even Soobin is shook, she looks hot, right?â
You felt heat creep up your neck and quickly crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware of how different you looked from your usual oversized hoodie and jeans self.
âItâs all Yunjinâs doing. She basically held me hostage in her room until I changed. I tried to wear my normal clothes and she acted like I committed a crime.â
Soobin gave a small, shy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened the back door for both of you like the gentleman he was. âNo, it really suits you, you look great tonight.â His compliment was sincere and gentle, making the awkwardness feel a little softer. âReady to go? Sunghoonâs place isnât too far from here.â
The car ride was filled with easy, light chatter that helped calm your nerves. Yunjin sat in the front passenger seat, already buzzing with excitement about seeing Sunghoon, while you sat in the back, occasionally tugging at your skirt and staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
Soobin kept the conversation flowing comfortably, light complaints about how brutal midterms had been, predictions about how wild the party might get, and Yunjinâs endless teasing about how
Sunghoon had âpersonally invitedâ her. Every now and then Soobin would glance at you through the rearview mirror, still looking a little flustered whenever your eyes met.
Before you knew it, Soobin was pulling up to a large off campus house that was already pulsing with loud music and flashing colored lights. Cars lined both sides of the street, and groups of people were laughing and chatting on the front lawn, red cups in hand.
The three of you climbed out of the car, and the heavy bass from inside immediately hit you like a wave. The night air smelled like a mix of cheap beer, sweet perfume, and fresh cut grass. Yunjin practically bounced on her heels with excitement as the three of you walked up the pathway toward the front door.
Sunghoon was standing right at the entrance, playing the perfect host in a simple black shirt and jeans. His sharp, handsome features broke into a warm, genuine smile the moment he spotted your group approaching.
âHey! You guys actually made it,â he greeted cheerfully, voice carrying easily over the noise from inside. His eyes lingered on Yunjin for an extra beat, a soft grin tugging at his lips. âYunjin, glad you came and you brought friends, nice.â
He gave Soobin a friendly nod and then turned his attention to you, eyebrows raising slightly in pleasant surprise as he took in your bold outfit. âHey! you clean up really well. Welcome to the party, hope you guys have fun tonight.â
You managed a small, polite smile, still feeling slightly out of your element. âThanks for inviting us.âSunghoon handed each of you a red solo cup filled with something fruity and strong smelling a sweet cocktail that had a sharp kick of alcohol when you took your first cautious sip.
âDrinks are flowing inside help yourselves to whatever you want. Thereâs food in the kitchen, beer pong in the living room, and dancing. Pretty much everywhere enjoy!â
Yunjin thanked him brightly, her cheeks already a little flushed with excitement, and steered you and Soobin further into the crowded house. The interior was packed wall to wall with people.
Students were laughing loudly, dancing in the middle of the living room, playing intense games of beer pong, and making out in dimly lit corners. The music was loud but not yet overwhelming, colorful lights flashing across the walls and bodies.
For the first few minutes, the three of you stuck close together, weaving through the crowd while sipping your drinks. Soobin stayed protectively near your side, occasionally leaning down to say something quiet and reassuring whenever he noticed you looking a bit overwhelmed by the chaos.
Then you felt it. That familiar, annoying prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. You turned your head slightly, and there he was.
Heeseung was leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, a red cup dangling from his fingers. He was surrounded by a small group of his closest friendsâBeomgyu laughing at something on his phone, Jake with his usual bright smile, and Jay nursing his own drink while scanning the room.
Heeseung looked effortlessly good tonight in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His hair was styled in that signature messy but perfect way.
The moment his dark eyes found you across the crowded room, his conversation with the guys stopped mid sentence.
His gaze dragged slowly and shamelessly down your body, taking in the short black mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs, the sheer shirt that teased the black bralette underneath, the way the outfit accentuated your curves before snapping back up to your face.
For once, his usual cocky smirk didnât appear instantly. Instead, there was a flash of genuine surprise, followed by something darker, more heated, and appreciative.
He pushed off the wall and started walking straight toward your group, completely ignoring whatever Beomgyu was saying behind him.
âWell, well, well,â Heeseung drawled when he was close enough, his voice cutting smoothly through the music. His eyes were still shamelessly roaming over you. âLook who decided to show up. Miss morals in a mini skirt i almost didnât recognize you damn.â
You felt your stomach twist with that familiar mix of irritation and unwanted warmth. Before you could even open your mouth to snap back, Yunjin jumped in defensively, stepping slightly in front of you with a bright but sharp smile.
âExcuse me, Heeseung? She looks amazing, and she doesnât need your backhanded compliments,â Yunjin said, tilting her head with fake sweetness.
âUnlike some people who only know how to throw loud parties and bring random girls over during midterms, maybe focus on your own game instead of commenting on her outfit.â
Heeseung chuckled lowly, clearly amused by Yunjinâs quick defense, but his eyes never left you. Jake, Beomgyu, and Jay were now watching the exchange from a few feet away, Beomgyu smirking like he was enjoying the show and Jake looking mildly entertained.
âRelax, Yunjin,â Heeseung replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup. âIâm just saying that she cleaned up dangerous tonight, didnât think our neighbor owned anything shorter than ankle length. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay back me up here. She looks good, right?â
Beomgyu grinned and raised his cup in a lazy toast. âYeah, she do be looking fire tonight.âJake nodded with a bright laugh. âFor real, new look suits you.âJay just shook his head with a small smile, staying quiet but clearly entertained.
You rolled your eyes, lifting your red solo cup to your lips to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. âDonât start with me tonight, Heeseung iâm only here for one hour, and Iâd rather not spend it dealing with your nonsense.â
Heeseung tilted his head, that signature cocky smirk fully back in place now as he took another slow step closer. The way he was looking at you made the noisy room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.
âGonna dance tonight, or are you just here to supervise everyone elseâs fun like usual, miss morals?â
You didnât even give Heeseung the satisfaction of a proper reply. Instead, you flipped him off with a sharp middle finger, turned on your heel, and grabbed Yunjinâs arm. âCome on, letâs go.â
Yunjin laughed loudly, clearly proud of your reaction, and let you drag her deeper into the crowded house while Heeseungâs low chuckle followed behind you. Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay were already teasing him in the background, but you refused to look back.
For the first half hour, the party actually felt manageable. You stuck close to Yunjin and Soobin, sipping from your red solo cup and people watching from a quieter corner of the living room.
The music was loud, the lights flashed in rhythm with the bass, and the alcohol slowly started to loosen the tight knot of stress that midterms had left in your chest. Then Sunghoon appeared again.
He approached your group with that easy, charming smile, eyes mostly locked on Yunjin. âHey want to dance?âYunjinâs face lit up like heâd just offered her the moon. She turned to you quickly, squeezing your hand. âYouâll be okay for a bit, right? Iâll be right back!â
Before you could even answer, she was gone, disappearing into the sea of bodies on the dance floor with Sunghoonâs hand on her waist, now it was just you and Soobin.
You tried to keep the conversation light, but the longer you stood there, the more the party energy started to pull at you. The drink in your cup was strong and sweet, and after two weeks of pure academic hell, the idea of letting loose felt dangerously tempting.
âFuck it,â you muttered under your breath. You downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn sliding warmly down your throat. Then you grabbed another cup from a passing tray and started sipping again. Why not? Midterms were over. You deserved this.
Soobin noticed and raised an eyebrow, but he didnât judge. He stayed beside you, chatting quietly, making sure you werenât completely alone. But after a while, you started feeling guilty. He was sweet, always listening, always there and here he was babysitting you instead of enjoying the party.
âGo talk to your friends,â you told him, giving him a gentle push toward a group of guys waving at him from across the room. âSeriously, Soobin iâll be fine, i donât want you wasting your night stuck with me. Go have fun iâll text you if I need anything.â
He hesitated, looking concerned, but you begged him with your best pleading eyes until he finally nodded. âOkay but stay safe, text me if anything feels off.â
Once Soobin walked away to join his friends, you let yourself drift toward the dance floor. The alcohol was hitting nicely now a warm, fuzzy buzz that made the music feel better and your body lighter.
You moved to the edge of the crowd first, swaying gently, then slowly worked your way deeper into the pulsing bodies.
You didnât notice him at first. But Heeseung had been watching you the entire time. From the moment Yunjin disappeared with Sunghoon, his eyes had followed you. He watched you down your drinks. He watched you convince Soobin to leave.
And now he watched as you finally stepped fully onto the dance floor, hips moving to the heavy beat, the short black mini skirt riding up just enough to draw attention, the sheer shirt catching the flashing lights.
Heeseung set his cup down and started moving through the crowd toward you, slow and deliberate. When he was close enough, he didnât just grab you like most guys would. Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice low and surprisingly respectful against the loud music.
âHey can I dance with you?â
You turned your head, alcohol making you bold. Your eyes met his, and for once, you didnât immediately snap at him. The buzz in your veins, the way he was looking at you like he couldnât look awayâŠit made something reckless spark inside you.
You nodded âYeah okay.â Only then did Heeseung step closer. The moment he did, the space between you disappeared. His body pressed lightly against yours at first, hands hovering respectfully before you started moving together.
The music was sensual, slow and heavy, and your bodies naturally fell into rhythm. It didnât stay innocent for long. Heeseungâs hands gradually grew bolder one sliding to your waist, the other brushing up your side, fingers grazing the sheer fabric of your shirt.
You moved closer, hips rolling against his, the short skirt brushing against his thighs. His touch grew hotter, palms sliding down to grip your hips, then slowly roaming over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him.
The air between you thickened. Your breathing grew heavier. Every brush of his body sent sparks through your skin. Heeseung leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low. âfuck, not being able to kiss you right now is actual torture.â
The words hit you like a shot of pure heat. The alcohol, the weeks of built up tension, the way his hands felt all over your body everything crashed together in one reckless moment.
You didnât think, you just acted. turning your head as you grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed your lips against his.
The kiss was messy, desperate, and instantly wild. Heeseung groaned into your mouth the second your lips met, one hand flying up to cup the back of your neck while the other tightened possessively on your waist, pulling you even harder against him.
You kissed like you were angry at each otherâteeth clashing, tongues sliding hot and deep, lips moving with raw hunger.
Heeseung kissed like heâd been waiting for this exact moment. His mouth was demanding, devouring, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. You moaned softly against him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging, which only made him kiss you harder.
The dance floor disappeared around you. The music faded into background noise. There was only the heat of his body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and the way his hands roamed greedily over your curves sliding up your back under the sheer shirt, gripping your hips, pressing you so close you could feel exactly how much he wanted you.
The makeout was crazy sloppy, passionate, breathless. You bit his lower lip, and he responded with a low growl, sucking on your tongue before kissing you even harder.
Your bodies moved together to the beat, grinding slowly while your mouths stayed locked in a heated battle.
When you finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting, lips swollen and shiny. Heeseungâs eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.
âShitâ he breathed, forehead resting against yours. âYouâre going to kill me tonight.âThe kiss finally broke, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening under the flashing party lights.
Heeseungâs forehead rested against yours, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid youâd disappear if he let go.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown with want, and the way he looked at you sent another rush of heat straight through your body.
You didnât think. The alcohol, the weeks of hating him, the way his hands had felt all over you everything made you reckless. You leaned in closer, voice low and breathless against his ear. âWanna go back to your apartment?â
Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a dangerous smirk tugging at his swollen lips. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, but it quickly melted into pure hunger.
âFuck yesâ
He didnât waste another second. His hand slid down to grab yours firmly, fingers lacing tight as he started pulling you through the crowded dance floor. People moved out of the way as Heeseung cut a path toward the front door, his grip on you possessive and urgent.
You barely had time to register anything else Yunjin and Soobin were somewhere in the house, but right now, none of that mattered.The cool night air hit your flushed skin the moment you stepped outside, but it did nothing to calm the fire burning in your veins.
Heeseungâs car was parked a little down the street. He didnât let go of your hand the entire way, and the second you reached the passenger side, he opened the door for you with surprising speed before rounding the car and sliding into the driverâs seat.
The moment the doors closed, the tension exploded again. Heeseung started the engine, but you were already growing impatient. The short drive back to your apartment building felt too long. Every red light, every stop sign made the ache between your legs worse.
You kept stealing glances at him his jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel, the way his shirt was slightly undone from your earlier tugging. At the third red light, you couldnât hold it in anymore.âFuck this,â you muttered.
Before Heeseung could react, you unbuckled your seatbelt, climbed over the center console, and straddled his lap in one swift motion. The mini skirt rode up high on your thighs as you settled on top of him, your hands immediately cupping his face as you crashed your lips back onto his.
Heeseung groaned loudly into the kiss, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. The kiss was even wilder than on the dance floor desperate, messy, all tongue and teeth. You rocked your hips against him, grinding down slowly at first, then harder, feeling him harden beneath you through his jeans.
His hands roamed greedily, one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast over the bralette, the other gripping your ass and pulling you tighter against his growing bulge.
âShit youâre driving me crazy,â he muttered against your mouth between kisses, voice rough and wrecked.
You moaned softly, grinding down harder, the friction sending sparks through your entire body. The car windows started to fog up as you moved together, lips never leaving each other for long.
Heeseungâs tongue slid against yours, deep and filthy, while his hips bucked up to meet your movements, the steering wheel pressing into your back.
You were completely lost in him hands in his hair, tugging, lips sucking on his bottom lip, hips rolling in desperate circles when the sharp sound of honking suddenly pierced through the haze.
Once, twice, then a chorus of angry car horns blaring behind you reality crashed back in.
You pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, breathing ragged. The light had turned green, and the cars lined up behind you were laying on their horns, some drivers shouting out their windows.
Heeseung let out a breathless laugh, his hands still gripping your thighs tightly. His eyes were dark, hair messy from your fingers, lips red and kiss bitten.âFuck,â he rasped, voice hoarse. âWeâre gonna cause an accident if you keep this up.â
You quickly scrambled back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal.
Your skirt was hiked up dangerously high, and you tugged it down with shaky hands while Heeseung adjusted himself in his seat, clearly struggling to focus on the road.
He shot you a heated sideways glance, smirk returning as he pressed the gas pedal.âAlmost home,â he said, voice low and promising. âTry not to jump me again until weâre inside or donât. I'm not complaining.â
The rest of the short drive was torturous. The air in the car was thick with tension, both of you stealing glances, the memory of your grinding still fresh and electric.
When Heeseung finally pulled into the parking spot outside your shared apartment building, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes blazing.
The second you were both out of the car, he grabbed your hand again and practically dragged you toward the entrance, the promise of what was about to happen hanging heavy between you.
The second the door to Heeseungâs apartment slammed shut behind you, all restraint vanished.He had you pinned against the wood before you could even catch your breath, mouth crashing back onto yours in a filthy, open mouthed kiss.
His hands were everywhere one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast roughly, the other gripping your ass and yanking your hips flush against the hard line of his cock already straining in his jeans.
âBeen thinking about this since you walked in wearing that tiny fucking skirt,â he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. âLook at you acting like such a good girl all semester and now youâre begging to get fucked in my bed.â
You didnât deny it you couldnât. The alcohol and weeks of pent up hatred had turned into pure, desperate need. You tugged at his shirt buttons, popping a few open in your haste, and Heeseung chuckled darkly before ripping the rest off himself.
The shirt hit the floor. Yours followed a second later, then your bralette, leaving your tits exposed to the cool air of his apartment.
Heeseungâs mouth was on your neck instantly, sucking a mark right below your jaw while his hands squeezed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they were hard and aching. âSo fucking pretty when youâre needy like this,â he muttered, voice low and rough. âBet youâre already soaked for me, huh?â
You whimpered when he shoved the mini skirt up around your waist and cupped you over your panties. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, rubbing slow circles over your clit.
âShit you are dripping already.â He smirked against your throat. âSuch a dirty little secret youâve been hiding, miss morals.â
You didnât have time to snap back. Heeseung dropped to his knees right there in the entryway, hooked your panties to the side, and buried his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged a long, nasty stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you.
âOh my godââ Your head thunked back against the door as he licked and sucked like a man starved, two fingers sliding inside you easily because you were so wet.
He curled them perfectly, pumping fast while his tongue flicked mercilessly over your clit. The sounds were obscene wet, sloppy, loud and he didnât care. He ate you like he wanted to ruin you.
You came hard on his tongue within minutes, thighs shaking, fingers yanking at his hair as you cried out his name. Heeseung didnât stop until you were trembling and pushing at his head, then he stood up, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself.
âBedroom now,â he ordered.
He didnât wait for you to walk. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the short hallway while your legs wrapped around his waist.
Your skirt was still bunched around your hips, panties shoved to the side. You could feel his cock pressing against your soaked core with every step.
The second he kicked his bedroom door open, he dropped you onto the bed. You barely had time to bounce before he was stripping the rest of his clothes off. His jeans and boxers hit the floor and his cock sprang freeâthick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.
Your mouth watered at the sight. Heeseung climbed over you, caging you in with his arms. âYou want this?â he asked, voice dark, one hand stroking his cock slowly as he looked down at you. âTell me you want it.â
âI want it,â you breathed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. âFuck me, Heeseung.âThat was all it took.
He shoved your legs apart wider, lined himself up, and pushed in with one long, brutal thrust. You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out inside you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
âFuck, so tight,â he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. âTaking me so well already.âThen he started moving hard fast and filthy.
The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust, the same wall that separated your apartments. The irony wasnât lost on you, but you couldnât bring yourself to care.
Heeseung fucked you like heâd been imagining this exact moment for months.Deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce and your breath hitch.
He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could fuck you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
âLook at you,â he rasped, eyes locked on where his cock was disappearing inside you. âTaking every inch like a good little slut, who wouldâve thought the girl next door gets this fucking nasty?â
The degradation was light, just enough to make your pussy clench harder around him. You moaned louder, hips trying to meet his thrusts.
Heeseungâs hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while he pounded into you.
âCome on, baby. Come on my cock again, wanna feel you squeezing me.â You shattered for the second time, back arching, walls fluttering around his thick length as your orgasm crashed through you. Heeseung fucked you through it, hips never slowing, chasing his own release.
âFuckâ Iâm close,â he growled, voice strained. âWhere do you want it?â He asked, âInside,â you gasped, still riding the high. âCome inside me.â
Heeseung cursed loudly, thrusting a few more brutal times before he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. You felt every pulse, every hot spurt filling you up as he groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
For a moment the only sounds were both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.
Heeseung stayed inside you for a long minute, forehead pressed to yours, before he finally pulled out slowly. A trickle of his cum leaked out of you onto the sheets, and he watched it with dark, satisfied eyes then collapsed beside you.
Instead of pulling away, Heeseung immediately reached for you. He wrapped one strong arm around your waist and tugged you against his chest, your back flush to his front in a tight, warm hug. His other hand gently pulled the duvet up over both of you, cocooning your naked bodies in soft warmth.
You were still sticky with sweat and cum, thighs trembling, but the way he held you possessive yet surprisingly gentle made something soft flutter in your chest despite everything.
Heeseung pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.âStay,â he murmured, voice already thick with sleep as he tightened his arm around you. âJust stay.â
Exhausted, fucked out, and strangely comforted by his warmth, you let your eyes drift shut. His steady heartbeat against your back and the heavy duvet wrapped around you lulled you quickly into sleep, safe in Heeseungâs arms for the night.
The first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains making everything feel hazy. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red 4:28 a.m.
Your mouth was dry, throat scratchy, and a dull throb pulsed behind your temples the unmistakable aftermath of too many drinks and not nearly enough sleep. You shifted slightly under the heavy duvet, and thatâs when you felt it.
A warm, solid body pressed against your back. An arm draped heavily over your waist, holding you close skin against skin. The faint scent of cologne, sweat, and something distinctly masculine filled your senses.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Memories from last night crashed over you like ice water.
The party, the red solo cup dancing. Heeseungâs hands all over your body on the dance floor. The reckless invitation. The car ride where youâd climbed into his lap like you had no shame.
The way heâd pinned you against his door, dropped to his knees in the entryway, fucked you hard on his bed until you were crying out his name. The filthy sounds. The way heâd filled you up. The way heâd pulled you against his chest afterward, hugging you tight under the duvet as you both drifted off.
You had fucked Lee Heeseung
You had fucked your loud, cocky, insufferable neighbor the basketball captain youâd spent months complaining about, the one who called you âMiss Moralsâ like it was the funniest joke in the world.
Mortification burned hot through your entire body. Your stomach twisted violently. What the hell had you been thinking? The alcohol had stripped away every ounce of common sense, and now you were lying naked in his bed, his cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, his arm wrapped around you like you belonged there.
Heeseung was still sound asleep behind you, breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. His face was relaxed in sleep no smirk, no cocky grin but you knew the second he woke up, everything would change.
He would never let you live this down. The teasing would be relentless. âMiss moralsâ would turn into something far worse. Heâd smirk every time he saw you in the hallway, make dirty little comments about how loud youâd been, how desperate youâd sounded begging for him.
The walls between your apartments were thin heâd probably bring it up every time you complained about his noise again. Your life next door would become a living hell.You couldnât stay here.
Panic clawed up your throat. You had to leave before he woke up. Before this became real. Before he opened his eyes and looked at you with that knowing, satisfied smirk.
Carefully, so carefully, you lifted his arm from your waist. He stirred slightly but didnât wake, murmuring something incoherent under his breath. Your heart hammered as you slowly slid out from under the duvet, the cool air hitting your naked skin and raising goosebumps.
You moved like a ghost around his room, gathering your scattered clothes as quietly as possible. Your sheer black shirt, the black bralette, the dangerously short mini skirt, your panties all crumpled on the floor where theyâd been tossed in the heat of the moment.
You dressed as fast as you could, fingers trembling as you buttoned the sheer shirt and tugged the mini skirt down your thighs. Your hair was a mess, makeup probably smudged, but you didnât care. You just needed to get out.
Barefoot, shoes in hand, you tiptoed toward the bedroom door. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening. You glanced back once at Heeseung still asleep, one arm now stretched across the empty space where youâd been, dark hair messy against the pillow.
A strange, unwelcome pang twisted in your chest, but you shoved it down hard. This never happened.
You slipped out of his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you. The living room was dark and silent. You navigated through the unfamiliar space, heart racing, until you reached the front door. The lock clicked softly as you turned it.
The hallway was empty and dimly lit when you stepped outside. The cool air felt like freedom. You didnât even bother putting your shoes on yet you just hurried the few steps to your own apartment door next door, fumbling with your keys until they finally slid into the lock.
The moment you were inside, you locked the door behind you, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor, breathing hard.
Your body still ached in the best and worst ways. Thighs sore, a faint bruise forming on your hip from his grip, the ghost of his touch lingering everywhere. You could still feel him inside you, still taste the heat of his mouth.
You buried your face in your hands, mortified beyond words. What had you done?You had slept with the one person you couldnât stand and now you had to live right next door to him, pretending it never happened.
Because if Heeseung ever found out youâd run away like this, the teasing would only get worse much, much worse. You spent the rest of that early morning in a haze of denial.
Your phone vibrated then again. You reached for it with a heavy sigh, squinting at the bright screen.
yunjin ( 3 new messages )
yunjin : babe where did u go?? one second u were dancing and then u disappeared đ
yunjin : sunghoon said he saw u leave with someone?? pls tell me ur okay
yunjin : im worried call me when u wake up!!
soobin ( 4 new messages )
soobin : hey, you okay? you left pretty suddenly last night without telling both of us yunjinâs freaking out a bit
soobin : let me know if you got home safe
soobin : if you need anything or want to talk, iâm here no pressure
soobin : hope youâre resting well â€ïž
You stared at the messages, throat tightening. The kindness in Soobinâs texts and Yunjinâs worried energy made fresh tears prick at your eyes. They had no idea what you had done. No idea you had spent the night in Heeseungâs bed, letting him touch you, kiss you, fuck you like youâd lost all common sense.
You typed back with trembling fingers, keeping it short and vague
you : got home safe, just drank too much and needed to leave early sorry for worrying you guys iâm okay, just tired talk later â€ïž
You sent it and immediately turned your phone on silent, burying your face in your hands the memories wouldnât stop replaying. Heeseungâs hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck. The way he had groaned your name when he came inside you.
How safe and warm his arms had felt when he pulled you under the duvet afterward. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push it all away this never happened.
After sliding down your front door and sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours, you finally dragged yourself to the shower.
You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash away every trace of Heeseung his scent, his touch, the sticky evidence of what youâd done between your thighs. The hot water did nothing to erase the soreness or the vivid flashbacks that kept playing on loop in your head.
By the time the sun came up, you had made a decision this never happened. You would bury it so deep that even you would start to believe it. No one needed to know. Not Yunjin, not Soobin, not even yourself on most days.
You would go back to normal go to classes, focus on your art curator projects, complain about the noise next door like always. And most importantly, you would avoid Lee Heeseung at all costs.
Heeseung stepped out of his apartment with a half empty water bottle in hand, planning to grab the last box from his car before the evening practice. The hallway was quiet until it wasnât.
A girl came rushing around the corner, arms overloaded with a massive cardboard box that completely blocked her line of sight. She collided straight into his chest with a startled gasp.
The box flew out of her hands and crashed to the floor, spilling books, notebooks, and what looked like art supplies everywhere across the hallway carpet. Heeseung instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backward.
She looked up at him, flushed and clearly annoyed, strands of hair falling across her face from the chaotic move. She was pretty, sharp eyes, determined expression the kind of girl who didnât seem impressed by campus status.
A smirk tugged at his lips before he could stop it.âEasy there, neighbor,â he drawled, voice laced with amusement. âYou always run into people like youâre trying to tackle them, or am I just lucky?â
She blinked, then quickly crouched down to gather her scattered belongings, avoiding his gaze.âSorry,â she muttered, tone tight and clipped. âDidnât see you.â
Heeseung crouched down as well, picking up a thick book on museum curation that had slid toward his foot. He turned it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow.âArt stuff, huh?â he asked casually. âYou moving in next door?â
âYeah just today,â she replied shortly, snatching the book back from him with a little more force than necessary.
He stood up first and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he watched her struggle to reorganize everything into the box. Most girls would have smiled, maybe even recognized him as the basketball captain.
This one? She looked like she already wanted nothing to do with him.âIâm Heeseung,â he said, flashing his most charming grin. âLee Heeseung, your new neighbor. Need help carrying that? Looks heavy.â He offered,
âIâm good thanks,â she answered without even looking up, standing quickly and slinging the tote over her shoulder.
Heeseung didnât move out of the way. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. There was something refreshing about her indifference that it made him want to push a little harder.
âJust so you know,â he added, voice dropping into a teasing tone, âThe walls here are pretty thin, try not to be too loud when youâre studying or doing whatever it is, serious art curator girls do at night.âHer eyes finally snapped up to his, narrowing with clear irritation.
âIâll keep that in mind,â she said flatly. âAnd maybe you can try keeping your parties down some people actually have to study to pass their classes.â
Heeseung let out a low, genuine laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. She had bite and he liked that.
âWelcome to the building, miss morals,â he called after her as she turned toward her door, the nickname slipping out naturally. She didnât respond. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked her apartment, and slipped inside without another word, the door shutting with a firm click.
Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, still grinning to himself. The girl next door already hated him, and he hadnât even thrown his first party yet. This was going to be interesting.
The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic bounce of basketballs. Afternoon practice was in full swing, but during a water break, Heeseung leaned against the bleachers, towel draped over his shoulders, a cocky grin already plastered on his face.
Jay tossed him a bottle of water. âYou look way too happy for someone who just ran suicides.âHeeseung laughed, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. âCanât help it ran into the new neighbor again this morning.â
Beomgyu perked up immediately, spinning the ball on his finger. âThe girl next door? The one who already hates your guts?â
âmiss morals herself,â Heeseung confirmed, his smirk widening. âI was just leaving for practice when she came out, i told her the walls are thin and she should try not to be too loud at night. You shouldâve seen her face, she looked like she wanted to throw her coffee at me.â
Jake, who was stretching nearby, let out a loud laugh. âDude, youâre obsessed! thatâs like the third time this week youâve mentioned her.â
âIâm not obsessed,â Heeseung shot back, but his grin betrayed him. âItâs just too easy. She gets so worked up over the smallest things. Last week I had a couple of people over, nothing crazy and she banged on my door at midnight like the apartment was on fire, called me an entitled asshole who only passes because âdaddy pays for everything.ââ
The group burst into laughter. Sunghoon shook his head, amused. âSheâs got balls, most girls on campus would be throwing themselves at you the second they find out youâre the captain.â
âExactly,â Heeseung said, tossing the towel aside. âThatâs what makes it fun, she doesnât give a single fuck who I am. No flirty smiles, no asking for tickets to games, nothing. She just glares at me like I personally ruined her life by existing next door itâs hilarious.â
Beomgyu grinned mischievously. âSo whatâs your plan? Keep annoying her until she moves out?â
âNah,â Heeseung replied, bouncing the ball once. âIâm just getting started, next time the musicâs on, I might turn it up a little louder to see how long it takes before she comes marching over again. Bet sheâll have that cute little angry face on.â
Jake, who had been quietly listening while stretching his hamstrings, suddenly straightened up with a knowing look.âDonât you think youâre in love with her or something?â he asked casually, but loud enough for the whole group to hear.
The gym went quiet for half a second before the guys exploded with laughter and teasing whistles. Heeseung nearly choked on his water. âWhat the fuck, Jake?â
Jake shrugged, completely unfazed. âThink about it, sheâs literally the only girl who doesnât give a shit about you no ego stroking, no chasing after the basketball star. She treats you like any other annoying neighbor and instead of leaving her alone, you keep poking at her like a kid with a new toy. That sounds like a crush to me.â
âBullshit,â Heeseung scoffed, but his ears turned slightly red. He dribbled the ball harder than necessary, trying to play it cool. âIâm not in love with her, sheâs just entertaining. It's fun watching her get all riled up, thatâs it.â
Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. âSure âEntertaining.â thatâs why you bring her up every single practice.â
âExactly,â Jake added with a grin. âIf she suddenly started being nice to you, youâd probably be bored in a week but because she ignores you and calls you out, you canât stop thinking about her.â
Heeseung pointed the ball at Jake threateningly, though his smirk was fighting to stay hidden. âKeep talking and Iâll make you run extra laps, Sim.â
The team laughed again, but Jake just held up his hands in surrender, still smiling. âIâm just saying, man. One day youâre gonna realize youâre not annoying her because itâs funny, youâre doing it because you like the way she fights back.â
Heeseung rolled his eyes and turned away, dribbling the ball toward the court to end the conversation. But as practice resumed and he sank a clean three pointer, Jakeâs words lingered in the back of his mind longer than he wanted to admit.
Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth to it. Or maybe he just really, really enjoyed getting on your nerves.
The laughter from the team slowly died down as practice resumed. Heeseung shook off Jakeâs teasing comment, channeling the slight irritation into sharper shots. He sank another clean three pointer, the ball swishing through the net with satisfying precision.
For a few minutes, the court felt like the only place where everything made sense no annoying neighbors, no complicated feelings, just the game. Then the gym doors swung open with a loud bang.
Everyone turned as a tall, sharply dressed man in a tailored coat strode in, his presence immediately sucking the casual energy out of the room. Coach paused mid instruction, nodding respectfully.
Heeseungâs stomach dropped the moment he recognized the figure his father. Mr. Lee didnât smile. He never did when he showed up unannounced like this. His eyes scanned the court with cold calculation, lingering on Heeseung with clear disapproval.
âTake five, boys,â Coach called out, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over, jaw already tight. âDad what are you doing here?âMr. Lee stopped a few feet away, arms folded behind his back. His voice was low but carried easily across the quiet gym.
âI came to see if my son is actually putting in the work thatâs supposed to get him into the NBA,â he said flatly. âFrom what Iâve been hearing, it doesnât look like it.âHeeseungâs friends lingered nearby, pretending to drink water but clearly listening.
âIâve been at every practice,â Heeseung replied, keeping his tone even. âCoach said my shooting percentage is up this weekââ
âDonât make excuses,â his father cut him off sharply. âYour brother Heedo was never this distracted at your age, he was laser focused top scorer captainfull ride to the best program in the country. And you? Youâre out here laughing with your little friends during water breaks, probably thinking about parties and girls instead of the game.â
Heeseungâs grip tightened on the basketball until his knuckles turned white.âIâm not distracted,â he said through gritted teeth. Mr.Lee stepped closer, voice dropping into that familiar, cutting tone that always found its mark.
âYouâre good for nothing if you canât even focus on what matters. All that talent wasted because youâd rather play around and act like some campus king. You think the scouts care about your popularity? they donât, you will never be enough if you keep this up and you will certainly never be better than your brother.â
The words landed like punches. Heedo â the golden child. The one who had already made it pro overseas. The one their father never stopped comparing him to.Heeseungâs jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted to snap back, to defend himself, but years of this had taught him it was useless. His father never listened.
Mr. Lee straightened his coat, expression unchanging. âFix it or donât bother coming home for the holidays, i didnât raise a failure.âWithout waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the gym, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him with a final, echoing thud. The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Heeseung stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, chest tight with anger and something heavier he refused to name. The team slowly went back to practice, but the energy had shifted. Jake shot him a concerned look, but Heeseung ignored it, dribbling the ball harder than necessary as he moved back onto the court.
Inside, the familiar bitterness churned.His fatherâs words echoed louder than any cheering crowd ever could. You will never be enough. You will never be better than your brother. Heeseung sank another shot, but this time it didnât feel satisfying.
All he could think about was how easy it was to annoy the girl next door because at least when she glared at him and called him an entitled asshole, he felt something other than this hollow, crushing weight.
The heavy gym doors swung shut behind Mr. Lee, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The team tried to resume practice, but the atmosphere had soured.
Heeseung stood frozen for a few seconds, staring at the spot where his father had been. The familiar sting of those words good for nothing, never enough, never better than your brother settled heavy in his chest like lead.
Jake jogged over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. âHey, man donât let him get to you, your dadâs always been like that youâre killing it out here.â
âYeah,â Beomgyu added, spinning the ball on his finger. âIgnore him, youâre the one whoâs gonna make it to the NBA, not Heedo.â Jay nodded. âCome on, letâs run some more plays weâll crush the next game.âHeeseung forced a half smile, but it didnât reach his eyes. âYeah sure.â
He went through the motions for the rest of practice dribbling, shooting, defending but he was quiet. No cocky jokes no teasing his teammates no loud laughter. Every time someone tried to pull him into conversation or hype him up after a good play, he gave short, one word replies and kept his head down. The usual spark was gone.
Even Coach noticed, shooting him concerned glances but saying nothing.The moment practice officially ended, Heeseung grabbed his bag and left first, ignoring the calls from his friends asking if he wanted to grab food. He needed air. He needed to get away from the echoes of his fatherâs voice.
You were sitting alone at a corner table near the window, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and your laptop. Your hair was tied up messily, a pen between your teeth as you frowned at something on the screen. You looked focused serious and annoyingly cute in that concentrated way of yours.
A small, familiar spark ignited in his chest the one that always appeared whenever he spotted you. Before he could think better of it, Heeseung walked straight over and slid into the seat across from you without asking.You looked up, startled at first, then your expression quickly shifted into pure annoyance.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â you asked, voice sharp but low enough not to disturb the other customers. You closed your laptop slightly, glaring at him. âThis is my table, go sit somewhere else.â
Heeseung leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, that signature smirk slowly returning despite the heavy weight still sitting in his stomach. Seeing your irritated face felt lighter somehow. Easier than dealing with everything else.
âRelax, miss morals,â he said, voice teasing. âIâm not here to ruin your precious study time. Just saw you and thought Iâd say hi to my favorite neighbor.â
You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive. âFavorite? We barely tolerate each other and Iâm trying to work unlike some people who can afford to slack off because âdaddy can pay for everything.ââ
The jab shouldâve stung more, especially after his fatherâs visit, but instead it made Heeseungâs smirk widen. There, it was that fire. That complete lack of care for who he was or what people usually said to him. You didnât tiptoe around him. You didnât try to impress him. You just called him out.
It felt strangely nice. Not in a romantic way, just refreshing ( liar liar liar he is totally in love with her ) He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. âOuch straight for the throat today. What are you working on thatâs got you so grumpy? Another museum thing? Planning to curate an exhibit called âWhy Heeseung Should Shut Upâ?â
You gave him a flat look, clearly not amused. âItâs for my capstone project and yes, if it helps keep loud neighbors quiet, I might include a whole section on it.â
Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound genuine even if it was quiet. For the first time since his dad had shown up, the tight knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. He realized something in that moment. Your company wasnât bad.
In fact, sitting here watching you get all annoyed and snappy at him felt better than sitting alone with his fatherâs words ringing in his head. It was simple predictable in the best way. You gave him a reaction real, unfiltered and for a few minutes, it made everything else fade into the background.
He loved annoying you. Not because he wanted to hurt you but because when you pushed back, it reminded him he was still here. Still capable of feeling something other than pressure and disappointment.
âFine,â he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though he made no move to leave. âIâll behave for now but only if you tell me what that exhibit is actually about.â You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, clearly debating whether to kick him out or just ignore him. Heeseung waited, smirk still in place, secretly hoping youâd keep arguing with him a little longer.
His eyes opened slowly, the soft gray morning light filtering through the curtains. His body felt sore in places that reminded him immediately of last night a dull ache in his shoulders, the faint stickiness between the sheets, the faint scent of sex still hanging in the air.
He turned his head to the side the bed was empty. The spot where you had been lying was cold, the pillow slightly dented but untouched now. No clothes scattered on the floor no shoes by the door nothing.
Heeseung sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. The memories came back in quiet, unflinching flashes the party you in that short black skirt.The heated dancing that turned into something reckless.The desperate makeout in his car while horns blared behind you.
How heâd carried you inside, how urgently you both had moved against each other against the door, then on this bed.The way you had moaned his name.The way he had finished inside you.
And how, afterward, he had pulled you close under the duvet, your back against his chest, both of you falling asleep in silence.
Now you were gone. He glanced at the clock. 7:23 a.m. You must have woken up in a panic sometime in the early hours and slipped out while he was still asleep. The realization settled in his stomach like a stone heavy, uncomfortable, and strangely final.
Heeseung let out a long, tired breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. This was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake.
You had always made it clear how much you couldnât stand him. The constant complaints about his noise, the glares in the hallway, the way you called him entitled behind his back.
Last night had been nothing more than too much alcohol and bad judgment on both sides. You waking up and running away only confirmed it.He didnât blame you. If anything, he felt a quiet wave of regret wash over him. He should have known better.
He should have stopped things before they went that far. Now things between you two were already tense, this was going to be even more awkward.
Heeseung stood up and walked to the bathroom. While the shower heated up, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were faint scratch marks on his shoulders and a small bruise near his collarbone. Physical proof that last night had really happened.
He stepped under the hot water, letting it run over his face and shoulders. It never happened, he told himself. That was the only way forward.He would forget about it. Pretend the entire night was a blur he couldnât quite remember.
No teasing no comments in the hallway no bringing it up ever again. You clearly wanted to erase it, and honestly so did he. The last thing he needed right now was more complications in his life especially with someone who lived right next door.
After the shower, he got dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants. He made coffee in the kitchen, moving on autopilot. The apartment felt too quiet now.
Heeseung leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and stared at the wall that separated his place from yours.From now on, things would go back to normal. You would keep avoiding him like you always did.
He would keep his music at a reasonable volume when he remembered. And neither of you would ever speak about what happened last night. It was better this way, cleaner and simpler.
He finished his coffee, rinsed the mug, and set it in the sink. Last night was a mistake and as far as Heeseung was concerned, it was already forgotten.
For the next two weeks, you turned your life into a carefully orchestrated mission of avoidance while your body slowly started betraying you in ways you couldnât ignore. The mantra remained the same this never happened.
Every morning began the same way. Your alarm went off at 6:15 a.m., pulling you from restless sleep. The moment you sat up, a familiar wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, not violent, but persistent and queasy, making the room feel slightly off balance.
Youâd sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, breathing slowly through your nose, waiting for it to pass. Some mornings it did. Others, youâd rush to the bathroom and dry heave over the sink, nothing coming up except bitter bile and a metallic taste that lingered on your tongue.
Once the worst of it subsided, youâd quickly get ready, choosing simple, comfortable clothes that wouldnât draw attention. Then came the listening part. Youâd press your ear to the front door, heart beating a little too fast, straining to hear any sound from Heeseungâs apartment next door.
If you caught even the faintest click of his lock or the low murmur of his voice on a phone call, youâd wait sometimes ten minutes, sometimes twenty pretending to reorganize your bag or check your notes until the hallway was silent again.
Leaving became a tactical exercise. You slipped out as quietly as possible, taking the side staircase instead of the main hallway whenever you spotted his car in the parking lot. The fatigue hit hardest during these moments.
Your legs felt heavier than usual, and by the time you reached campus, you were already drained, needing to sit down in the library for a few minutes just to catch your breath. Coming home was even more stressful.
You started timing your returns obsessively. If practice usually ended around 6 p.m., youâd stay late at the library or in an empty classroom, working on your capstone exhibition proposal until you were sure Heeseung was either out with friends or already inside. One evening, the dizziness caught you off guard.
You had just turned the corner into your hallway when the world tilted slightly. You had to lean against the wall, breathing shallowly, while a strong wave of nausea made your stomach churn.
The faint scent of someoneâs dinner cooking nearby sent you rushing the last few steps to your door. The moment you got inside, you barely made it to the toilet before vomiting actual, forceful vomiting that left you trembling on the cold tile floor.
You told yourself it was stress. The constant hyper vigilance. The lack of proper sleep. The emotional weight of pretending that night had never occurred. But the symptoms kept creeping in, growing harder to dismiss.
Even the scent of your own shampoo sometimes triggered a gag reflex. Food tasted strange too salty, too sweet, or completely off. You lost interest in meals altogether, surviving on small portions that you could keep down.
The fatigue settled deep in your bones. Youâd come home from classes, collapse on the couch, and wake up hours later feeling like you hadnât rested at all.
Your breasts felt tender and slightly swollen, brushing against your shirt making you wince. Mood swings hit at random. One minute you were focused on your work, the next you felt inexplicably teary or irritable. All of this made the avoidance even more draining.
One Thursday night, your timing failed you had stayed late at the library, hoping Heeseung would already be inside. When you finally dragged your tired body back to the building, the hallway lights felt blindingly bright.
Just as you reached your door, fumbling with your keys, you heard the unmistakable click of his lock opening.Panic surged through you. Your hands shook so badly that the keys nearly dropped. You managed to slip inside just as his door opened, pressing your back against the wood, heart hammering wildly.
You held your breath, listening to his footsteps pass by. The moment they faded, the nausea hit like a wave. You barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, knees weak, tears stinging your eyes from the force of it.
Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your forehead resting on your knees, breathing shakily. This was getting worse.You were exhausted from the constant calculation when to leave, when to return, which route to take, how long to wait in the stairwell. The thin wall between your apartments felt like a constant threat.
Youâd hear him moving around sometimes. The low sound of his music ( mercifully quieter these days ), the murmur of his voice when he was on the phone, the occasional laugh. Every sound made your stomach twist with anxiety and unwelcome memories.
You became hyper aware of everything. You avoided cooking anything with strong smells. You did laundry at 2 a.m. when you were sure he was asleep. You even changed the time you took showers, worried the sound of running water might coincide with him coming home.
Yunjin and Soobin noticed the changes. âYouâve been canceling plans a lot,â Yunjin said during one quick lunch. âAnd you look really tired, are you sure youâre okay?â
âIâm fine,â you lied, forcing a weak smile while fighting the nausea brought on by the smell of her food. âJust stressed about the capstone deadline itâs taking everything out of me.â
Soobin watched you quietly, concern clear in his eyes, but he didnât push. Inside your apartment, the symptoms continued to build.
Mornings were brutal. Youâd wake up with tender breasts and that persistent queasy feeling. Some days the vomiting was so bad you had to keep a small bucket discreetly by your bed.
The fatigue made it hard to focus during lectures. You'd find yourself zoning out, head heavy, fighting the urge to lay your head on the desk. Yet you refused to connect the dots .Itâs just stress, you told yourself repeatedly. The avoidance the guilt the lack of sleep.
You pushed through, continuing your careful dance of avoidance. You timed every exit and entry with military precision. You became an expert at predicting Heeseungâs schedule ( she should become a dispatch employee )
You kept your headphones on to drown out any sound from next door. You buried yourself in your art curator work, sketching exhibition layouts late into the night until your eyes burned.Two full weeks passed in this strange limbo.
You were pale, exhausted, and constantly on edge. The nausea came in unpredictable waves. The fatigue made simple tasks feel monumental. And the fear of accidentally seeing Heeseung in the hallway kept you trapped in this self imposed isolation.
Deep down, a small, terrified voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was very wrong. But you silenced it the same way you silenced every memory of that night this never happened.
You would keep avoiding him. You would keep pretending everything was normal.Even as your body screamed louder and louder that nothing was normal anymore.
âUgh, my period is literally killing me today,â she groaned, stirring her iced latte with a pout. âCramps are so bad, I can barely sit straight why does it always hit the worst during the worst season? I swear my uterus hates me.â
Soobin chuckled softly, offering her a sympathetic smile. âDo you want me to grab you some painkillers from the convenience store?â You tried to smile and nod along, but the words barely registered.
Her period is killing herâŠ..
The sentence echoed in your head like a siren your own period. You mentally counted the days. It should have come a full week ago. Seven days late. Maybe more.
You had been so caught up in avoiding Heeseung, dealing with the constant nausea, fatigue, and vomiting that you hadnât even noticed the date slipping by. Your heart started beating faster.
You pulled out your phone under the table and quietly opened your cycle tracking app. The screen glowed with the familiar calendar. A bright red notification stared back at you
period : 7 days late
You stared at the words until they blurred. No no, no, no. You tried to push the thought away immediately. It had to be stress. The irregular sleep, the constant anxiety of avoiding Heeseung, the vomiting all of it could easily throw your cycle off. That was normal right?
But then the symptoms started flashing through your mind like warning lights. The persistent nausea every morning. The vomiting that left you weak on the bathroom floor. The crushing fatigue that made it hard to stay awake in lectures.
The dizziness, sensitivity to smells, tender, swollen breasts. Your stomach dropped, could you be pregnant?
The word felt foreign and terrifying in your head. No. Absolutely not. You wouldnât get pregnant from one night. One reckless, stupid night. People had unprotected sex all the time and nothing happened.
You were on the pillâŠwait, were you? You had been so stressed with midterms that you couldnât even remember if you had taken it properly that week. The thought made bile rise in your throat again.
Across the table, Yunjin and Soobin were still talking something about upcoming assignments and a group project. Their voices sounded far away, like you were underwater.You couldnât focus on a single word they were saying. Your mind was spinning, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it.
Yunjin waved a hand in front of your face. âHello? Earth to you! youâve been spacing out the entire time are you okay?âYou blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. Your mouth felt dry.
âIâyeah, sorry just tired,â you mumbled. âGuys, I think Iâm gonna head home early today my headâs killing me.âSoobin frowned, concern clear in his eyes. âDo you want me to walk you back?ââNo, itâs fine,â you said quickly, already standing up and grabbing your bag. âIâll text you later promise.â
Inside the store, you felt like every camera was watching you. You moved quickly through the aisles, heart hammering, until you found the family planning section. There were several pregnancy test kits.
You grabbed the most reliable looking one with trembling fingers, not even reading the brand properly. The cashier gave you a neutral look as you paid, but you couldnât meet her eyes.
Bag clutched tightly to your chest, you practically ran the entire way back to your apartment building. You took the side stairs again, praying Heeseung wasnât around. The moment you were inside your own apartment, you locked the door twice and leaned against it, breathing hard.
You pulled the kit out of the bag with shaking hands. The box felt heavy dangerous. You read the instructions carefully, twice. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line = not pregnant. Two lines = pregnant simple but terrifying.
You went to the bathroom, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears. You followed every step exactly, hands trembling so badly you almost dropped the test. When you were done, you placed the stick on the counter and set a timer on your phone three minutes.
You paced the small bathroom, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every second felt like an hour. The nausea was back, but this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. It was pure fear.
What if it was positive?
What if you were actually pregnant with Heeseungâs baby?
The thought made your knees weak. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the cold tile floor, staring at the test on the counter like it was a bomb about to go off.The timer was still counting down.
Two minutes left. You hugged your knees to your chest, eyes fixed on the small plastic stick that now, held your entire future in two little lines. You were so scared.
The timer on your phone hit zero with a soft chime that felt deafening in the small bathroom. You stayed frozen on the cold tile floor for several long seconds, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the pregnancy test lying face up on the counter like it was a live grenade.
Slowly, you pushed yourself up on shaky legs and stepped closer. One line was already dark and clear the control line. The second line was faint at first, but unmistakable. A pale pink line slowly darkening right beside the first one.
two lines = positive
You blinked hard, once, twice, as if the result would magically change if you stared long enough.âNoâŠâ you whispered, voice cracking. âNo, that canât be right.âDenial crashed over you like a wave. You snatched the test off the counter and held it closer to the light, turning it at different angles. Maybe it was a faulty test.
Maybe the line was an evaporation line. Maybe you had read the instructions wrong. You grabbed the box again and reread the instructions three more times, your hands trembling so badly the paper shook.
But no matter how many times you checked, the two lines stared back at you, clear and undeniable. It was positive. You were pregnant. The reality slammed into you all at once.
Your knees buckled. You sank back down to the bathroom floor, the test still clutched tightly in your hand. A sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as the full weight of what this meant crashed over you.
You were pregnant with Heeseungâs baby. The boy you couldnât stand. The neighbor you had spent months avoiding. The one person you had sworn to pretend never touched you.
A broken sound escaped you half sob, half laugh of pure disbelief. Your free hand moved instinctively to your stomach, pressing lightly against the still flat surface. There was a life growing inside you right now. A tiny, real consequence of one reckless, drunken night.
The crying came harder. You curled in on yourself, forehead resting on your knees as sobs wracked your body. All the symptoms you had tried to blame on stress the nausea, the vomiting, the fatigue, the dizziness suddenly made perfect, terrifying sense.
You were going to have a baby. And the father was the last person on earth you wanted to be tied to. After several long minutes, the tears slowed, leaving you drained and hollow. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, staring blankly at the two pink lines.
You made a decision right there on the bathroom floor. You were not telling Heeseung anything, not a single word.He didnât need to know. He would never know. Telling him would only make everything worse the teasing, the drama, the forced proximity, the endless complications with someone you already couldnât stand.
You could barely handle living next door to him as it was. Bringing a child into that mess was unthinkable. This was your problem. Your body, your choice. You would handle it quietly. You would get rid of it.The thought made fresh tears sting your eyes, but you forced them back. There was no other option.
You were still in school, chasing your dream of becoming an art curator. Your life was barely stable right now. A baby, especially one with Heeseung as the father would ruin everything.
You stayed on the floor for a long time, clutching the test, letting the weight of the decision settle over you.
Eventually, you stood up on unsteady legs. You wrapped the test in toilet paper and hid it deep in the trash can under some tissues. You washed your face with cold water until the redness in your eyes faded a little.
You looked at your reflection pale, exhausted, terrified and whispered to yourself âThis never happened.â You would schedule an. appointment. You would end this quietly.You would move on with your life and never speak of that night again.
But as you turned off the bathroom light and stepped into your silent apartment, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever. You were pregnant. And for the first time since that night, the wall between you and Heeseung felt like it was closing in.
The decision sat heavy in your chest like a stone. You werenât going to tell Heeseung. You were going to end this quietly and move on with your life. The very next morning, you tried to make the appointment.
You sat on your bed with your laptop open, hands shaking as you searched for clinics near campus that offered termination services. Your stomach was already churning with nausea again, but you forced yourself to focus.
You found a few options a womenâs health clinic downtown and a Planned Parenthood branch about twenty minutes away. You clicked on the booking page for the first one. The form asked for your name, date of birth, contact number, and reason for visit.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. You couldnât do it. Every time you tried to type your real information, panic surged through you. What if someone recognized your name? What if the clinic called or sent confirmation texts while you were near Heeseung?
What if the appointment somehow got back to campus gossip? The thought of walking into a clinic alone, explaining your situation to a stranger, and going through with it made your throat close up.
You closed the laptop without saving anything. You told yourself youâd try again tomorrow when you felt calmer. But tomorrow came and went. Then the next day. And the next. Meanwhile, the symptoms grew worse.
The nausea was no longer just morning sickness it hit you at random times throughout the day. The smell of food in the cafeteria made you gag. Even walking past the coffee shop near campus triggered violent waves that left you rushing to the nearest bathroom.
You started carrying saltine crackers and a small bottle of ginger ale everywhere, but they barely helped anymore.
Vomiting became more frequent. One afternoon during a lecture, you had to excuse yourself midway through and barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.
You returned to class pale and sweaty, mumbling something about food poisoning when Yunjin looked at you worriedly.
Fatigue wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. You fell asleep in the library twice that week, waking up with your cheek stuck to your notebook. Simple tasks like climbing the stairs to your apartment left you breathless and dizzy.
Your breasts were constantly tender, and your mood swung wildly one moment you were numb, the next you felt like crying over nothing. Yunjin and Soobin started noticing. During lunch on Thursday, Yunjin set her chopsticks down and stared at you.
âOkay, something is seriously wrong,â she said, voice firm but concerned. âYouâve been looking like a ghost for days, you barely eat anything, you keep disappearing to the bathroom, and you look exhausted even when you say you slept are you sick? Is it stress? Talk to us.â
Soobin nodded, his gentle eyes filled with worry. âYouâve been canceling plans and spacing out a lot. If somethingâs going on, you donât have to deal with it alone. Weâre here.âYou forced a weak smile, pushing your untouched food around your plate. The smell of it was making you nauseous again.
âIâm okay, really,â you lied, voice quieter than usual. âJust⊠really behind on my capstone. The deadline is stressing me out more than I thought. Iâll be fine once I catch up.â
They didnât look convinced, but they let it drop for the moment. Still, you could feel their eyes on you for the rest of the meal. Even Heeseung started noticing something was off.
You had managed to avoid direct contact with him for weeks, but it was impossible to hide everything when you lived next door.
One evening, you were coming home later than usual after another failed attempt to book the appointment online. You felt dizzy and nauseous, moving slowly up the hallway with your keys already in hand. As you reached your door, Heeseungâs door opened.
He stepped out, wearing a simple black hoodie, hair slightly messy like heâd just come back from practice. His eyes landed on you immediately.
You froze for half a second, then quickly turned your face away and fumbled with your lock, trying to get inside before he could say anything. But Heeseung didnât tease you this time.
Instead, he paused in his doorway, brow slightly furrowed as he watched you. You looked pale. Thinner. There were dark circles under your eyes, and the way you moved seemed off fragile.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, the usual cocky remark didnât come.âYou good?â he asked quietly, voice lacking its normal edge.
You didnât answer. You finally got the door open and slipped inside without looking at him, shutting it quickly behind you
Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, staring at your closed door with a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest. Something wasnât right with you. He could see it.But after everything after that night you both had silently agreed to forget he didnât know if he had the right to ask.
Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, breathing hard. Fresh tears stung your eyes as another wave of nausea hit you. You slid down to the floor, hugging your knees. You still hadnât been able to book the appointment.
The symptoms were getting worse every day, your friends were worried and now even Heeseung had noticed something was wrong. You pressed your forehead to your knees, whispering to yourself again and again
âThis never happened⊠this never happenedâŠâ But the lie was starting to feel impossible to keep. Heeseung had noticed. For the past two weeks, it had become painfully obvious that you were avoiding him like the plague.
At first, he thought it was the usual the cold shoulder after that night you both had silently agreed to forget. But it quickly went beyond that. You timed your movements with military precision.
He would hear your door open and close at odd hours, always when he was either inside or already gone. You took the side stairs. You left earlier than usual in the mornings and came back much later at night.
Even at university, catching a glimpse of you had become nearly impossible. You seemed to disappear into the library or empty classrooms the moment practice ended.It was clear you were doing everything in your power to never cross paths with him.
Heeseung told himself it didnât bother him. He had decided to forget that night too. No teasing. No bringing it up. Just normal or as normal as things could be when you lived right next door
But something was wrong. You looked terrible lately. He first noticed it in passing the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders seemed to slump with exhaustion. Then it got worse you moved slower.
Your face was paler than usual. You barely left your apartment except for classes, and even then you looked like you were running on empty.
One evening, after a long basketball practice, Heeseung was walking back to the apartment building, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sun had already set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the path. Thatâs when he saw you.
You were a few meters ahead, heading toward the entrance. Your steps were unsteady, one hand pressed lightly against the wall for support.
Even from behind, he could tell something was very wrong. Your posture was slumped, your breathing looked shallow, and you looked like you were barely holding yourself upright.
Heeseungâs stomach tightened. He quickened his pace without thinking and caught up to you just as you reached the building door.âHey,â he said, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual teasing tone. âAre you alright?â
You turned your head slightly, eyes glassy and tired. The moment you recognized him, your expression hardened.âI donât have time for your teasing right now, Heeseung,â you muttered weakly, trying to push past him toward the elevator.
Heeseung felt a flash of annoyance, not because you were dismissing him, but because he was genuinely worried and you clearly didnât believe it.âIâm not teasing,â he said, more sharply than he intended. âYou look like youâre about to pass out.â
You didnât respond, just kept walking toward the elevator. Heeseung followed, stepping in right after you. The doors closed, trapping the two of you in the small space. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. He could hear your breathing too fast, too shallow.
When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out first. But the moment your feet hit the hallway, your legs buckled. You swayed dangerously, one hand reaching out blindly for the wall as the world spun around you. Heeseung moved fast.
He dropped his gym bag and caught you before you could hit the floor, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other supporting your back. Your body went limp against him for a few terrifying seconds.
âShitââ he muttered, heart pounding. âHey, stay with me.â You were half conscious, mumbling something incoherent about being fine. Heeseung didnât waste time arguing. He adjusted his grip and lifted you carefully into his arms in bridal style, your head lolling against his shoulder.
Your apartment was right next to his. He fumbled for a moment with your keys ( which had fallen from your hand ) until he managed to unlock the door. He carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and headed straight for your bedroom.
The room was neat but clearly lived in textbooks stacked on the desk, a half finished sketch on the table, a small trash can near the bed. Heeseung gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your face was pale, forehead slightly damp with sweat.
He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. You looked so small and fragile like this. Nothing like the fiery girl who used to bang on his door and call him an entitled asshole.
Heeseung grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and placed it on your nightstand. Then he pulled up the chair from your desk and sat down beside the bed, watching you carefully.
Your breathing slowly evened out. The tension in your face relaxed as you slipped into a deeper sleep. Heeseung stayed there, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. He didnât know what was going on with you.
He didnât know why you looked so sick. He didnât even know if youâd want him here when you woke up. But right now, leaving you alone didnât feel like an option. So he stayed quietly waiting.
Until your breathing became steady and deep, and he was sure you were fully asleep. Heeseung stayed. He told himself heâd only wait until you fell into a proper sleep, but the longer he sat there watching your pale face and shallow breathing, the harder it became to leave.
You looked exhausted, truly exhausted in a way that went beyond simple tiredness. Dark circles under your eyes, lips slightly chapped, skin lacking its usual color. Something was clearly wrong, and the protective instinct he didnât know he had kept him rooted to the chair.
After almost an hour, when your breathing had deepened into steady, even inhales, Heeseung stood up quietly. He couldnât just sit there doing nothing. He moved silently through your apartment, careful not to make noise.
Your kitchen was small and neat, but the fridge was nearly empty a few bottles of water, some crackers, and not much else. Heeseung frowned. No wonder you looked so drained. He opened the cupboards and found rice, a couple of eggs, and some ginger.
Simple gentle on the stomach. He decided to make congee something light that his mom used to make for him when he was sick.
He worked quietly, chopping what little he could find, boiling water, and stirring the pot on low heat. The smell of ginger and warm rice slowly filled the small apartment. He hoped it would help when you woke up. Maybe it would make you feel a little better.
He kept glancing toward the bedroom every few minutes, making sure you were still resting. Almost two hours later, you started stirring.
Heeseung was just turning off the stove when he heard movement from the bedroom. He poured some congee into a bowl, added a bit of water to make it lighter, and was about to bring it to you when
You bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with sudden panic. The smell of the food hit you like a wave. Your face went even paler, hand flying to your mouth as nausea surged violently. Heeseungâs eyes widened. âHeyââ
You didnât wait. You scrambled off the bed on shaky legs and ran straight to the bathroom, barely making it in time.
Heeseung followed right behind you, worry spiking through his chest. He reached the bathroom door just as you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and started throwing up violently.
âShitââ He moved quickly, kneeling beside you without hesitation. One hand gently gathered your hair, holding it back from your face. His other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back. âItâs okay Iâve got you, just breathe.â
You retched again, body trembling with the force of it. Heeseung stayed right there, murmuring quiet reassurances, his hand never stopping its gentle motion on your back.
When the worst of it seemed to pass, he reached over and flushed the toilet, then grabbed a clean towel from the rack and dampened it with cool water.âHere,â he said softly, handing you the towel. âWipe your face.â
You took it with trembling hands, still breathing hard. Heeseung stood up briefly to get a glass of water from the sink and brought it back to you.âSmall sips,â he instructed, crouching down again. âDonât drink too fast.â
While you rinsed your mouth and took careful sips, Heeseungâs eyes wandered around the small bathroom, looking for anything that might help. His gaze landed on the trash can beside the sink. Something white and plastic was poking out from under some tissues.
Curious, he reached down and pulled it out, it was a pregnancy test. Two distinct red lines stared back at him clear, unmistakable, and positive. Heeseung froze.
His brain short circuited for a second. The test felt heavy in his hand as the reality sank in. Positive you were pregnant. He slowly turned his head toward you. You were already looking at him.
Your eyes were wide with pure terror, face drained of all color, lips parted in shock. You looked caught completely and utterly caught like the worst secret in the world had just been ripped open. The glass of water trembled in your hand.
Heeseungâs mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His gaze flicked between the test in his hand and your terrified expression.
The pieces clicked together horribly fast the avoidance, the exhaustion, the vomiting, the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together for the past two weeks.
This wasnât just stress this was because of that night because of him. Heeseung swallowed hard, his voice coming out quieter than he expected.
ââŠIs this yours?â The bathroom fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. You were still staring at him, tears already gathering in your eyes again, looking like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
Heeseung didnât know what to say. He only knew that everything had just changed. Heeseung stared at the two red lines on the pregnancy test for what felt like an eternity.
The bathroom was deathly quiet except for your shaky breathing. When he finally looked up at you, your face was pale, eyes wide with pure terror, tears already spilling down your cheeks. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.
ââŠAre you pregnant?â he asked, voice low and rough. You didnât speak at first. Your lips trembled as fresh tears rolled down your face. Then you gave a small, barely noticeable nod.
Heeseung felt something twist sharply in his chest. He looked back down at the test, then at you again. His next question came out quieter, almost hesitant.
âIs the baby mine?â The moment the words left his mouth, your face crumpled completely. You broke into heavy, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your mouth with one hand.
âIâm sorryâŠâ you choked out between cries. âIâm so sorry⊠I didnât want this to happen, i never meant for any of this, it was just one stupid night and Iâ Iâm planning on getting rid of it. I wonât bother you with any of this, i wonât get in your way. You donât have to worry about anything, iâll handle it quietly.â
Heeseungâs expression shifted the instant you said those words. Hurt flashed across his face raw, unguarded hurt. His brows drew together, jaw tightening as he processed what you were saying.
The idea that you were planning to terminate the pregnancy without even telling him felt like a punch to the gut. His hand holding the test lowered slowly to his side. You kept crying, words tumbling out faster now, desperate and apologetic.
âIâm really sorry. I know you didnât ask for this. I didnât ask for this either, iâll take care of everything. You can just forget about itâŠi promise I wonât drag you into anything.â
Heeseung stayed silent for a long moment, staring at you as you sat on the bathroom floor, looking small and devastated.
The hurt in his chest mixed with something heavier confusion, disbelief, and a strange ache he couldnât quite name. Finally, his voice came out low and strained.
Pairing: senior!heeseung x loser!fem!reader
Genre: slowburn, college!au, smut MDNI, comedy, fluff, socially challenged fem!reader, misunderstanding, he fell first he fell harder
Synopsis: The hopeless romantic you are decided to confess and give a heartfelt letter to your all time crush but fate decided otherwise and made you confess to the wrong person...the so-called womanizer of campus, Lee Heeseung. Maybe you should have just keep your feelings to yourself...or maybe it was a sign from the universe.
Warnings: footjob, swearing, oral (fem!rec), fingering
WC: 17k
Note: This one is a long one guys (just so you know), I really wanted to try putting more efforts in my writing and do something longer than I usually do, I don't know if people tend to read the shorter or longer fics but well... I'm really proud of myself for writing more detailed and polished fics, especially knowing that I'm a lazy person who usually do the bare minimum.
"You're a disaster...but God help me if I don't want to be a disaster with you for the rest of my life"
Youâre staring at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the girl staring back looks like sheâs about to either throw up or ascend to another dimension. Maybe both. In that order.
The letter is clutched so tightly in your hand that the pale lavender envelope is starting to crease, and you force yourself to loosen your grip before you ruin the one thing youâve spent three weeks perfecting. Three weeks. Thatâs twenty-one days of drafting, crossing out, rewriting, Googling âhow to write a love letter without sounding like a desperate loser,â and then rewriting again. Youâve used up an entire pack of stationery. Youâve watched so many calligraphy tutorials that the YouTube algorithm thinks youâre training to become a medieval scribe. All for this one moment. This one letter. This one massive, terrifying, possibly life-ruining leap of faith.
You are a hopeless romantic. Hopeless being the operative word.
Itâs not that you donât believe in love. You do. Desperately, overwhelmingly, with every fiber of your first-year STEM student soul. You believe in meet-cutes and slow burns and the exact moment when two people look at each other and the entire world goes soft around the edges. Youâve read about it a hundred times. Youâve watched it play out on every screen you own. Youâve composed entire daydreams about it during particularly boring chemistry lectures. Love is your favorite subject, the one youâve studied with more dedication than calculus or physics combined. Thereâs just one tiny, inconvenient, absolutely infuriating problem.
Youâre terrified of it.
Not the idea of it. The idea is lovely. The idea is safe. The idea lives in your head where everything unfolds exactly the way you want it to, where you always say the right thing, where you never trip over your own feet or laugh too loud at the wrong moment or stand frozen in a doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. But real love? The kind that requires vulnerability and eye contact and actually speaking words out loud with your mouth? That kind of love makes your palms sweat and your heart race in a decidedly unromantic, fight-or-flight kind of way. You are, and this is the most embarrassing part, a coward. A romantic coward. You dream of grand gestures but can barely manage a coherent sentence when an attractive person so much as glances in your direction.
Which brings you back to the letter.
The letter is your loophole. Your workaround. Your way of confessing your feelings without actually having to say them, because writing them down felt manageable in a way that speaking never has. You can be eloquent on paper. On paper, you can say things like âthe first time I saw your smile, it felt like someone had turned on all the lights in a room I didnât even realize was darkâ without immediately wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and live out the rest of your days an hermit. On paper, youâre brave. On paper, youâre the kind of person who goes after what she wants.
In reality, youâve been hiding in this bathroom for fifteen minutes, and your hands are shaking so badly that a passing person would think you are having an epileptic seizure.
âOkay,â you whisper to your reflection. âOkay. You can do this. You are a woman on a mission. You are a warrior. You are-â
A toilet flushes in one of the stalls behind you, and you nearly launch yourself through the ceiling.
A girl you vaguely recognize from your introductory programming class emerges, gives you an odd look as she washes her hands, and leaves without saying anything. You wait until the door swings shut, then press your forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and contemplate every life choice that has led you to this moment.
His name is Jungwon.
Yang Jungwon. Second year. Undeclared major but leaning toward something in the humanities, which you know because you may have done a bit of light, respectful, completely non-creepy research. He has a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and a laugh that sounds like sunshine if sunshine could make noise, and he holds doors open for people even when theyâre still like ten feet away, which creates that awkward situation where the person has to speed-walk to not seem rude, but he never seems to mind. You first noticed him at the campus library during midterms when he quietly slid a pack of gummy bears across the table toward you at 2 AM, muttering something about glucose being good for brain function, and then went back to his book like he hadnât just fundamentally altered the trajectory of your entire emotional existence.
That was four months ago. Youâve been pining ever since. Pining, yearning, longing, youâve run through the entire lexicon of unrequited affection, and youâre exhausted. Today, youâve decided, is the day it ends. One way or another.
You push yourself off the mirror, square your shoulders, and march out of the bathroom with the determination of someone going to war. The envelope is slightly damp from your grip, but itâs still intact, and the words inside are still true, and somewhere on this campus, Yang Jungwon is about to receive the most heartfelt confession letter ever written by a first-year student who has consumed an unhealthy amount of romance media.
Now you just have to find him.
âââââ
The hallway is bustling with students, the usual midday chaos of people rushing to classes or huddling in groups to complain about assignments. You scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face that might point you in the right direction, and your eyes land on a guy leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with the dead-eyed expression of someone who has just finished a three-hour lab.
âExcuse me,â you say, and your voice comes out about an octave higher than normal. You clear your throat. âSorry, um, do you know where I can find Yang Jungwon? Second year?â
The guy looks up, blinks slowly, deciding whether or not to acknowledge your presence, and then shrugs. âPC room, I think. Saw him heading there like twenty minutes ago.â
The PC room. Of course. Itâs in the engineering and informatics building, a place youâve rarely ever been to. But you know where it is, roughly, and you thank the guy with what you hope is a normal smile and not the rictus grin of someone rushing toward emotional catastrophe.
The walk across campus takes approximately seven minutes, and you spend every single one of them rehearsing what youâre going to say. Youâve already written the letter, so technically you donât have to say anything, you can just hand it over and flee but you want to say something. Something cool. Something memorable.
âHey, Jungwon, this is for you.â Simple. Direct. Good.
âI wrote you something. No pressure, just read it when you have time.â Casual. Low-stakes. Excellent.
âHi, Iâve been emotionally compromised by your existence for several months, please accept this paper rectangle of feelings.â Okay, maybe not that one.
The engineering building looms in front of you before youâre ready. You push through the main doors and immediately feel out of place. The students here move with a different energy, less frantic, more focused, the kind of people who probably know what a server is and have opinions about programming languages youâve never heard of.
You follow the signs toward the PC room, your footsteps echoing in the corridor, and with every step, your heart climbs higher up your throat. This is it. This is the moment. Youâre going to walk in there, find Jungwon, hand him the letter, and then whatever happens happens. At least youâll have tried. At least youâll have been brave, even if itâs only for thirty seconds.
The door to the PC room is slightly ajar, and you can hear voices inside, multiple voices, which gives you pause. You assumed heâd be alone. Or with maybe one other person.
You hesitate. Your hand hovers over the door handle. Every instinct is screaming at you to turn around, go back to your dorm, and spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. And maybe you would, if not for the small, stubborn voice in the back of your mind that says: Youâve already come this far. Donât you want to know? Donât you want to be the kind of person who actually does the thing instead of just dreaming about it?
Yes. Yes, you do.
You squeeze your eyes shut, take a breath so deep it makes you lightheaded, and push the door open with more force than strictly necessary. It slams against the wall with a bang that makes approximately twelve heads swivel in your direction, and for one horrifying moment, you are the center of attention in a room full of strangers.
But you donât see any of them. You only see the figure sitting at the computer closest to the door, his back half-turned to you, hair falling over his forehead, the exact silhouette youâve been looking for. Or at least, the exact silhouette you think youâve been looking for.
You donât stop to confirm. You donât let yourself think. You just march forward, thrust the letter out in front of you like a shield, and launch into the speech youâve been rehearsing for three weeks.
âThis is for you. Iâm sorry if this is weird or sudden but Iâve liked you for a really long time and I couldnât keep it to myself anymore. You donât have to respond right away. You donât have to respond ever, actually. I just wanted you to know that someone out there thinks youâre wonderful and I wrote it all down because Iâm better at writing than talking and honestly I might pass out if I keep standing here so please just take this and Iâll go-â
You finally look up.
And the face staring back at you is absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent not Jungwon.
The boy in front of you is taller than Jungwon. Broader shoulders. Sharper jawline. Different eyes, darker, deeper, currently widened in a mixture of surprise and something you canât quite read. His lips are parted slightly, as if he was about to say something before you launched into your emotional word-vomit, and heâs holding a half-eaten protein bar thatâs now frozen halfway to his mouth.
The room has gone completely, utterly silent.
You can feel the stares of every single person boring into the back of your head. Someone coughs. Someone else whispers something that sounds suspiciously like âdid she just-â before being shushed by their neighbor.
And then the boy, the very handsome, very wrong boy, sets down his protein bar, takes the letter gently from your trembling hand, and says in a voice thatâs low and smooth and completely unfamiliar: âWow. Okay. Whatâs your name?â
This is the worst moment of your entire life. You are going to die right here, in this PC room, surrounded by computer monitors and half-empty energy drink cans and a dozen witnesses who will spread this story to every corner of the university within the next three hours. Your obituary will read: here lies Y/N, the loser who canât even recognize her ultimate crush.
âY/N,â you croak, because your mouth is apparently still functioning even though every other part of you has shut down. âL/N Y/N. First year. STEM.â
You donât know why you said STEM. He didnât ask for your department. Youâre offering information nobody requested. This is a disaster.
But the boy, heâs looking at you with an expression you canât decipher, his head tilted slightly to the side like youâre a puzzle heâs trying to figure out. Heâs wearing a dark hoodie with the informatics department logo on it, and thereâs a pair of expensive-looking headphones draped around his neck, and his hair is slightly mussed in a way that suggests heâs been running his fingers through it while concentrating. Heâs absurdly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that makes you simultaneously want to stare and look away, and youâre only now noticing the way several girls in the room have been watching him since you entered, not just because of your blunder, but because theyâve been watching him.
âIâm Heeseung,â he says, and thereâs a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âLee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.â
Lee Heeseung. The name registers somewhere in the back of your panic-addled brain. Itâs familiar in the way that campus gossip is familiar, attached to words like hot and player and donât get your hopes up because heâll charm you and then move on. Youâve heard girls in your dorm talking about him in hushed, giggling tones, trading stories about brief encounters and misinterpreted invitations. And you, in your infinite wisdom, have just handed a love letter meant for someone else directly into his notorious hands.
You have to fix this. You have to tell him it was a mistake. You have to-
âIâm flattered,â Heeseung says, and his smile widens slightly, not quite a smirk but definitely approaching smirk territory. âReally. This is... I mean, no oneâs ever confessed to me with an actual letter before. Itâs kind of old school.â He turns the envelope over in his hands, examining it with what seems like genuine curiosity. âThe handwriting is really pretty. Did you do the calligraphy yourself?â
âYes,â you say, because you are physically incapable of lying when put on the spot, and also because your brain has apparently decided that the best course of action is to just answer whatever questions he asks like this is a normal conversation and not the emotional equivalent of a tornado.
âImpressive.â He looks at you, really looks at you, and something shifts in his expression. The teasing edge softens just a fraction. âA confession is a lot, though. I mean, Iâm honored, but we donât even know each other.â
This is your opening. This is the moment where you say âactually, thatâs because this letter wasnât meant for you, thereâs been a terrible misunderstanding, Iâm so sorry, please forget this ever happened.â The words are right there, lined up on your tongue, ready to go.
But the room is still watching. A dozen pairs of eyes. The whispers have stopped, but the staring hasnât, and you can feel every single gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. If you correct him now, in front of everyone, youâll have to explain. Youâll have to admit that you walked into a crowded room and confessed to the wrong person like an absolute buffoon. Youâll become a campus legend for all the wrong reasons: the girl who was too stupid to even identify her own crush. The story will follow you for the rest of your university career. Youâll never live it down.
But if you just... let him believe it... if you just nod and agree and leave as quickly as possible... you can fix this later. Privately. Without an audience. You can find him tomorrow, or send him a message, or do literally anything other than humiliate yourself further in front of all these people.
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
âI know,â you hear yourself say. âItâs a lot. I know.â
Heeseung nods thoughtfully, like youâve said something profound. âBut Iâm not against it. Starting slow, I mean. If you want.â
What.
âWhat,â you say, but it comes out more like a statement than a question.
âIâm okay with starting slow,â he repeats, and now the smile is definitely back, a little crooked, a little curious. âYouâre cute. And clearly brave. I like that. So if you want to, I donât know, get coffee sometime and see where this goes... Iâm open to it.â
Someone in the room lets out a low whistle. Someone else says âHeeseung, are you serious right now?â in a tone of utter disbelief. But Heeseung doesnât look away from you. Heâs waiting for your answer, his gaze steady and warm, and you are standing in the epicenter of a complete and total catastrophe with absolutely no idea how to get out.
Say no. Say it was a mistake. Say the truth.
âOkay,â you whisper.
Okay?! Okay?!
âOkay,â he echoes, and the smile breaks fully across his face, transforming him from handsome to devastating. âGood. Iâll find you. Y/N, first year, STEM, right?â
You nod mutely.
âCool.â He tucks your letter carefully into the pocket of his hoodie, like itâs something precious, like heâs planning to read it later, and the gesture makes your stomach twist with guilt so intense you think you might actually be sick. âIâll see you around, Y/N.â
You donât remember leaving the room. You donât remember the walk back across campus or the elevator ride to your floor or the moment you collapsed face-first onto your dorm bed. All you know is that one moment you were standing in the PC room, and the next you are here, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single agonizing second on an endless loop.
You confessed to the wrong person.
You confessed to the wrong person.
And for some reason that you absolutely cannot comprehend, he said yes.
Across campus, in a PC room that has finally returned to its normal hum of activity, Lee Heeseung pulls a slightly crumpled lavender envelope out of his hoodie pocket and stares at it for a long moment.
âDude,â says his friend Jay from the next computer over, not bothering to hide his grin. âWhat just happened?â
âI donât know,â Heeseung says honestly. And he doesnât. Heâs used to attention, he knows how to handle it, how to smile and nod and gently redirect without hurting anyoneâs feelings. Itâs a skill heâs developed over the years, the only way he knows to deal with the unfortunate side effect of his people-pleasing tendencies. Heâs nice to someone, he helps them with an assignment, he holds a door open or offers a pen, and suddenly theyâre looking at him with stars in their eyes, and he doesnât know how to tell them that he was just trying to be polite without sounding like an arrogant jerk. So he lets them down easy, or he avoids the situation entirely, and his reputation grows in ways that donât reflect the truth at all.
But this, this is new. A letter. An actual, physical, handwritten letter, with swooping calligraphy and a lavender envelope and a girl who looked so terrified that he thought she might actually pass out right there on the linoleum floor.
She looked at him like he was a natural disaster. Like she was watching a building collapse in slow motion and couldnât do anything to stop it.
And then she said okay anyway.
âSheâs interesting,â Heeseung murmurs, more to himself than to Jay, and carefully opens the envelope.
âInteresting how?â
He doesnât answer. Heâs too busy reading, his eyes moving slowly across the carefully penned words, the ink slightly smudged in places where the writerâs hand might have trembled. Itâs beautiful. Itâs earnest. Itâs the kind of letter that someone writes when they mean every single word, when theyâve poured their entire heart onto the page without holding anything back.
Heâs never received anything like it before.
And he wants to know more about the girl who wrote it, the girl who burst into his afternoon like a hurricane of nerves and feelings.
âJay,â he says, still staring at the letter, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. âI think something interesting just walked into my life.â
He doesnât notice the way his friend shakes his head and mutters something about âhere we go again.â
Heâs too busy wondering when heâll see Y/N next.
âââââ
The following forty-eight hours of your life can be accurately described as a masterclass in strategic avoidance and tactical regret.
You skip two classes. Not on purpose, exactly, you just canât bring yourself to leave your dorm room when every shadow in the hallway might be Lee Heeseung coming to collect on that coffee date you apparently agreed to in a moment of temporary insanity. You survive on instant noodles and the protein bars your friend left on her desk with a sticky note that said âFOR EMERGENCIES ONLY,â which this absolutely qualifies as. You watch three entire seasons of Bridgerton without retaining a single moment because your brain is too busy replaying the PC room incident on a continuous, merciless loop.
âIâm Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.â
âIâm okay with starting slow.â
âYouâre cute.â
You bury your face in your pillow and scream, but it comes out muffled and pathetic, like a small animal giving up on life.
By day three, youâve developed a system. You only leave your room during off-peak hours, skittering through campus, your head on a constant swivel. Youâve memorized the locations of every vending machine in buildings Heeseung is unlikely to frequent. Youâve started taking the long way to your remaining classes, cutting through the art department and the greenhouse and once, memorably, a service corridor that smelled strongly of bleach and soap. Youâve become a ghost. A phantom. A creature of the shadows who survives on granola bars and instant noddles.
But the problem with running away from your problems is that your problems donât actually go anywhere. They just wait. And think about you. And eventually, when you least expect it, they catch up.
It happens on a Thursday.
Youâre crouched behind a potted plant near the science building, scanning the courtyard for any sign of tall, attractive informatics students, when your phone buzzes with a text from your best friend, Yunjin.
Yunjin: heard youâve been living like a sewer rat. want me to bring you real food?
You: canât. iâm in the middle of a crisis
Yunjin: Youâre executing what we talked about yet?
You: itâs in process
Yunjin: at the end of the day, you will have to tell him
You stare at the message for a long moment. Itâs such a simple solution. So elegant. So reasonable. And yet, every time you imagine yourself walking up to Heeseung and saying âactually, I meant to give that letter to someone else,â your entire body physically recoils like youâve touched a hot stove. The humiliation would be astronomical. The look on his face, surprise, then confusion, then that horrible moment of realization that he was never supposed to be the recipient would haunt you for the rest of your natural life. And youâd still have to explain the Jungwon part. And Jungwon would find out. And then youâd be the weird girl who couldnât even confess to the right person, and Heeseung would be the guy who got accidentally confessed to, and everyone would laugh about it for weeks, and-
Your phone buzzes again.
Yunjin: i can hear you overthinking from across campus. just rip off the bandaid. whatâs the worst that could happen
You type back a single message: he could tell everyone and iâd have to transfer schools and change my name and become a farmer in New Zeland
Yunjin: dramatic. but valid. good luck with your plant hiding
You shove your phone back into your pocket and peek around the potted plant again. The courtyard is clear. This is your window. You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and scuttle out from behind the foliage.
The plan for today is simple: find Heeseung, explain the misunderstanding, and disappear forever. Youâve spent the entire morning psyching yourself up for this. Youâve practiced the speech in the mirror seventeen times. Youâve even written a script on your phone that you can refer to in case of emergency. Itâs thorough, itâs clear, it leaves absolutely no room for misinterpretation, and it ends with a sincere apology and a polite request that you both pretend this never happened. Itâs perfect. Itâs foolproof. All you have to do is locate the target.
Easier said than done. Youâve been looking for him since yesterday, not to talk to, but to observe from a safe distance so you could plan your approach and the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has made him completely unfindable. Itâs like he vanished off the face of the earth the moment you actually wanted to see him. Three days ago, you couldnât walk three feet without catching a glimpse of him, but now? Now heâs a ghost. A myth. A concept rather than a physical entity.
Youâre going to have to ask for help.
This is, objectively, a terrible idea. Asking for help means talking to people, and talking to people about Heeseung means potentially revealing that youâre looking for him, which means potentially revealing why youâre looking for him, which means the whole campus could know about the letter situation by lunchtime. But youâre running out of options, and youâre running out of granola bars, and you canât live behind potted plants forever.
You find your informant near the engineering building, a girl with neon green headphones and a laptop covered in stickers, sitting on a bench and typing furiously at something that looks like code. She seems approachable. She seems like she wonât ask too many questions. You approach with what you hope is casual confidence and not the desperate energy of someone who has been living on protein bars.
âExcuse me,â you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly normal. Points for you. âDo you know where I can find Lee Heeseung? Third year, informatics?â
The girl looks up, her eyes flicking over you with mild curiosity. She doesnât ask why youâre looking for him, which makes you want to hug her. âHeeseung? Yeah, I think I saw him heading to the quad about ten minutes ago. Something about meeting up with some people before his next class.â
The quad. Of course. The most open, public, exposed location on the entire campus. The place where literally everyone congregates. The absolute last place you want to have a conversation about accidental love confessions.
âGreat,â you say, and your voice is definitely an octave higher now. âGreat. Thank you. Thanks. So much.â
The girl gives you a weird look, shrugs, and goes back to her coding.
Youâre already moving, your feet carrying you toward the quad before your brain can catch up and talk you out of it. This is fine. This is progress. Youâll find him, youâll pull him aside, youâll give him the speech, and then youâll be free. Youâll be a normal person again. Youâll be able to walk through campus without checking every corner for a tall informatics student who thinks youâre cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date.
The quad is bustling when you arrive, clusters of students sprawled across the grass and gathered around the stone benches near the fountain. The afternoon sun is bright and warm, the kind of weather that makes everyone want to be outside, which is lovely and picturesque and deeply inconvenient for your purposes. You squint against the glare, scanning the crowd for a familiar dark-haired figure.
No Heeseung.
You circle the perimeter, weaving between groups of friends and dodging a frisbee that comes sailing dangerously close to your head. You check near the fountain, near the big oak tree, near the cluster of food trucks thatâs set up along the east edge. Still no Heeseung. Your informant said ten minutes ago, he should be here. Unless he already left. Unless you missed him. Unless this is a sign from the universe that you should give up and commit to the farmer life plan after all.
Youâre so focused on your search that you donât notice someone approaching until a shadow falls across your path, and a voice, warm, familiar, the exact voice youâve been daydreaming about for four months, says:
âY/N? Hey, it is you!â
You look up.
Yang Jungwon is standing right in front of you, smiling like the sun just came out from behind a cloud, and every single coherent thought in your brain immediately evaporates.
Heâs wearing a soft-looking cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his dark hair is slightly windswept, and thereâs a tiny mole near his chin that youâve never noticed before but is now seared into your memory forever. Heâs holding a book, something with a cracked spine and a title in a language you donât recognize and heâs looking at you with genuine, undiluted pleasure, like running into you is the best thing thatâs happened to him all day.
âItâs me,â you say, because you are a conversational genius. âI mean. Yes. Hi. Hello.â
Smooth. Flawless execution. Ten out of ten.
Jungwon doesnât seem to notice your complete lack of verbal grace. His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in exactly the way youâve catalogued in your mental Jungwon database. âI thought I recognized you. Youâre in my philosophy elective, right? Front row, near the window?â
He knows where you sit. He knows where you sit. This is both the best and worst information youâve ever received, because on one hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, but on the other hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, and now you have to be a normal human being and not the disaster you currently are.
âFront row near the window,â you confirm, nodding a little too vigorously. âThatâs me. I like the natural light. For... note-taking purposes.â
âMakes sense.â He shifts his weight, tucking the book under his arm. âYou take really detailed notes, by the way. I sat behind you once, and I was honestly impressed. Your color-coding system is no joke.â
Jungwon has looked at your notes. Jungwon has been impressed by your notes. Your brain is short-circuiting at approximately the speed of light, and you have to physically resist the urge to fist-pump in the middle of the quad.
âThank you,â you manage. âI have a lot of highlighters. Maybe too many. Is there such a thing as too many highlighters? I donât think so, but Iâve been told my stationery collection is concerning.â
Oh no. Why are you talking about stationery? You need to say something charming. Something witty. Something that will make him see you as more than the girl with the aggressive color-coding system.
âI donât think itâs concerning,â Jungwon says, and thereâs a teasing lilt to his voice that makes your knees go weak. âPassionate, maybe. Dedicated. I respect it.â
âPassionate and dedicated,â you repeat faintly. âThatâs... yeah. Thatâs my brand.â
He laughs, and itâs exactly like you remember, bright and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you want to do whatever you just did again and again just to hear it on repeat. âI like it. Passion is underrated.â He tilts his head, studying you with an expression you canât quite read. âSo what brings you to the quad? You usually eat lunch in the science building courtyard, donât you?â
Your heart stutters. He knows where you eat lunch. Heâs observed your habits. This is either a sign of mutual interest or youâve accidentally become the subject of a sociological case study, and at this point youâre willing to accept either outcome.
âIâm, um, looking for someone,â you say, and the confession letter debacle comes crashing back into your consciousness like a wrecking ball through a glass window. Right. Youâre supposed to be finding Heeseung. Youâre supposed to be fixing the misunderstanding. Thatâs why youâre here. Not to bask in the radiant warmth of Jungwonâs attention like a lizard on a sunny rock.
âAnyone I know?â Jungwon asks, and thereâs something in his tone, curiosity, maybe.
âProbably not,â you say quickly. âJust a... just a person. A random person. Not important.â
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but before he can press further, a new voice cuts through the afternoon air like a knife through butter.
âThere you are.â
You freeze. Your blood turns to ice. Every cell in your body screams in unison: run.
Lee Heeseung is walking toward you across the quad, his headphones hanging around his neck and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket. He looks exactly as devastatingly attractive as he did three days ago, which is deeply unfair. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and when his eyes meet yours, that slight smile, the one thatâs not quite a smirk but definitely is a smirkâs second cousin, curves across his lips.
âI heard youâve been looking for me,â he says, coming to a stop beside Jungwon like this is the most natural gathering in the world. âYou know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just messaged. I would have given you my number at the PC room.â
Jungwon looks between you and Heeseung with visible confusion, his earlier smile fading into something more guarded. âWait. You two know each other?â
This is it. This is the moment the universe has been building toward. Every terrible decision, every act of cowardice, every misguided attempt to avoid embarrassment, itâs all led here, to this exact spot on the quad, with the wrong guy standing next to the right guy and your entire romantic future hanging in the balance.
âI wouldnât say know,â you begin, but Heeseung is already talking over you, apparently immune to the desperate telepathic signals youâre trying to beam directly into his brain.
âShe confessed to me two days ago,â Heeseung says, and his tone is so casual, so conversational, like heâs discussing the weather or what he had for lunch. âWalked right into the PC room, handed me a letter, told me sheâd liked me for a long time. It was very romantic. Very old-school. I was impressed.â
Silence. Jungwon stares at Heeseung. Then at you. Then back at Heeseung.
âShe... confessed to you,â Jungwon repeats slowly, and his voice has gone flat in a way that makes your heart splinter into approximately seven thousand pieces.
âFull confession,â Heeseung confirms, still smiling. âIâm thinking weâll start with coffee. Keep it simple, you know? Sheâs shy. I donât want to overwhelm her.â
This is a nightmare. This is a waking, breathing, actively-unfolding nightmare, and you are trapped in it like a fly in amber, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch as every possible future with Jungwon crumbles to dust before your eyes.
Because hereâs the thing you realize in that horrible, crystal-clear moment: you canât correct Heeseung now. Not in front of Jungwon. Not when Jungwon has just been told, in no uncertain terms, that you confessed to someone else. If you explain the truth, that the letter was actually meant for Jungwon, that the whole thing was a catastrophic mistake, then what? Jungwon would know youâd been planning to confess to him, but heâd also know that you somehow managed to mess it up so spectacularly that you confessed to his friend instead. Youâd look incompetent at best and completely unhinged at worst. And Heeseung would be humiliated, and Jungwon would be awkward, and youâd be the epicenter of a social catastrophe so immense that all three of you would have to avoid each other for the rest of your academic careers.
You are trapped. Completely, utterly, irreversibly trapped.
âInteresting,â Jungwon says, and the word is so neutral that it cuts deeper than any insult ever could. âI didnât realize you two ran in the same circles.â
âWe donât,â you croak. âWe really, really donât.â
âWeâre just getting started,â Heeseung says cheerfully, and he has the audacity to wink at you. Like this is some kind of adorable inside joke instead of the emotional apocalypse it actually is.
You have to get out of here. You have to escape before the sob building in your chest forces its way out and makes everything infinitely worse. You can feel it pressing against your ribs, hot and insistent, and if you donât leave right now, youâre going to burst into tears in the middle of the quad in front of both of them, and then the disaster will be complete.
âI have to go,â you blurt out, and youâre already backing away, your feet moving before your brain can issue any kind of warning. âI have⊠a thing. A class. A lab. A lab class. Itâs very important. I canât miss it. I have to go.â
Heeseungâs brow furrows slightly. âWait, I thought you wanted to talk to-â
âNope! No talking! Weâre good! Everythingâs fine! Bye!â
You spin around and power-walk toward the nearest exit, which happens to be in the direction of the fountain, which you only realize when your foot catches on the low stone ledge and you go sprawling forward with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.
Your knee hits the ground. Your dignity hits the ground approximately three feet to the left. Several people turn to look.
âY/N!â Thatâs Jungwonâs voice, concerned and moving closer, and you absolutely cannot handle that right now.
âIâm fine!â you shriek, scrambling to your feet with adrenaline-fueled desperation. âTotally fine! Happens all the time! Iâm very clumsy! Itâs part of my charm!â
You donât look back. You canât look back. If you look back, youâll see Jungwonâs worried expression and Heeseungâs confused one, and youâll have to confront the full magnitude of what just happened, and your fragile emotional state simply cannot withstand that kind of pressure. So you run. Not jog, not power-walkâŠrun. Across the quad, past the food trucks, through a gap between two buildings, and out onto the main campus pathway like the hounds of hell are snapping at your heels.
You donât stop until you reach the arts building, and you donât start breathing normally until youâve locked yourself in a practice room on the third floor, surrounded by soundproof walls and a piano thatâs seen better days. You slide down against the door, pull your knees up to your chest, and let out a sound thatâs halfway between a groan and a wail.
Everything is ruined. Everything. You had one chance, one single, solitary chance to fix the misunderstanding and salvage your dignity and maybe, just maybe, preserve the possibility of something with Jungwon somewhere down the line. And instead, you let your hopeless romantic heart get distracted by a five-minute conversation about philosophy notes and highlighters, and now youâre the girl who confessed to Lee Heeseung, and Jungwon thinks youâre interested in someone else, and there is no conceivable way to untangle this mess without making everything exponentially worse.
Youâre going to have to transfer schools. Youâre going to have to move to another country. Youâre going to have to fake your own death and start a new identity as a goat farmer in New Zeland.
The door handle jiggles behind you. âOccupied!â you yell, your voice cracking.
âY/N? Is that you?â
Your best friend Yunjinâs voice filters through the door, muffled but unmistakable, and the sound of it is enough to crack the dam youâve been desperately trying to hold together. You scramble to your feet, fumble with the lock, and yank the door open to reveal Yunjin standing in the hallway with a cup of bubble tea in each hand and an expression of profound concern on her face.
âI saw you running,â she says, her eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. âLike, truly running. Iâve never seen you run before. You once told me running was for people who donât appreciate the journey.â
âYunjin,â you crumble, and your voice is so pitiful that she immediately sets down both drinks and pulls you into a hug.
âOkay,â she says, steering you back into the practice room and closing the door behind her. âOkay. Sit down. Tell me everything. What happened? Did you talk to Heeseung? Did you fix it?â
You laugh, but it comes out wrong, high and wobbly, on the edge of hysteria. âFix it? Fix it? Yunjin, I made it so much worse. I made it so much worse that I think I actually created new dimensions of worse. Scientists are going to have to invent new words to describe how badly I messed this up.â
She settles onto the piano bench, and you collapse onto the floor in front of her, crossing your legs and burying your face in your hands. The story spills out of you in a torrent, the quad, the search for Heeseung, the unexpected appearance of Jungwon, the conversation that made your heart soar, and then the moment Heeseung appeared like a harbinger of doom and casually announced your confession to the one person you never wanted to know about it.
âAnd then I fell,â you finish miserably. âIn front of both of them. And I ran away. And now Jungwon thinks I like Heeseung, and Heeseung thinks I like Heeseung, and I canât correct either of them without making everything even weirder, and my life is a romantic comedy written by a petty incel.â
Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she lets out a long, slow breath. âOkay. Thatâs... thatâs a lot.â
âI know.â
âAnd youâre telling me you couldnât just say, hey Heeseung, sorry for the mix-up, the letter wasnât for you, my bad?â
You look up at her, your eyes rimmed with red. âIn front of Jungwon? After Heeseung already told him I confessed? What would Jungwon think of me?â
Yunjin considers this. âThat youâre a disaster, probably.â
âExactly!â
âBut a lovable disaster,â she adds. âDisasters can be endearing.â
âYunjin, please focus.â
She holds up her hands in surrender, but thereâs a glint in her eye that you recognize, the one that means sheâs about to drop some wisdom on you whether youâre ready for it or not. Yunjin has been your best friend since orientation week, when you both accidentally joined the wrong club meeting and ended up spending two hours in a competitive gardening seminar before realizing your mistake. Sheâs practical where youâre dreamy, decisive where youâre hesitant, and sheâs talked you down from approximately four hundred anxiety spirals since the semester started. If anyone can find a way out of this mess, itâs her.
âOkay,â she says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. âLet me present you with an alternative perspective.â
âIâm listening.â
âLee Heeseung,â she says, ticking off points on her fingers, âhas a reputation. A big one. Everyone knows it. Heâs the guy whoâs super nice to everyone, especially girls, and then they fall for him and he gets all surprised when they expect something more, and then things fizzle out because he wasnât looking for anything serious.â She makes air quotes with her fingers. âSound familiar?â
You blink. âI mean... Iâve heard things. But he didnât seem like-â
âThatâs his whole thing,â Yunjin interrupts. âHe doesnât seem like it. Thatâs why it works. He likes when everyone is after him. But nice doesnât equal interested, so girls get the wrong idea and then they get hurt. Itâs a cycle.â She pops a tapioca pearl into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. âMy point is, you donât need to do anything. You donât need to fix this. You just need to wait.â
âWait for what?â
âFor him to get bored.â She says it like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. âThink about it. Youâre not actually interested in him, right? Youâre not going to fall all over yourself trying to get his attention. Youâre not going to be waiting outside his classes or accidentally showing up wherever he hangs out. Youâre not going to be like every other girl whoâs chased after him.â
You frown. âSo... what, I just... do nothing?â
âNo, you do the opposite of chasing.â Yunjin grins, and itâs slightly wicked. âYou make yourself as uninteresting to him as possible. Youâre awkward, youâre weird, youâre clearly not trying to impress him. You donât dress up when you know you might see him. You talk about boring things. You mention, I donât know, your extensive collection of vintage stamps or whatever nerdy hobby you can think of. You make yourself boring.â
âI donât have a stamp collection.â
âThen make one up! The point is, Heeseung is used to girls who want him. If you clearly donât want him, his interest is going to fizzle out faster than a cheap sparkler. Heâll move on to the next girl who bats her eyelashes at him, and youâll be free. No confrontation necessary.â
You turn this over in your mind. Itâs... not the worst idea youâve ever heard. In fact, compared to your current strategy of blind panic and tactical fleeing, itâs practically genius. If you canât correct the misunderstanding without making everything worse, maybe you can just... let it die on its own. Let Heeseungâs fabled short attention span work in your favor. Become so aggressively unappealing that he loses interest within a week and never thinks about you again.
And once heâs out of the picture, once enough time has passed, maybe you can try again with Jungwon. Properly. With better aim.
âYouâre a genius,â you tell Yunjin, the hope creeping back into your voice. âAn absolute genius. I could kiss you.â
âPlease donât, youâre covered in grass stains.â She nudges one of the bubble teas toward you with her foot. âDrink your tea. Hydrate. And then weâre going to brainstorm all the ways you can make yourself seem as unappealing as possible to a hot third-year informatics student.â
You grab the drink and take a long sip, the sweetness settling something in your chest. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than panic. You feel strategic. You feel determined. Lee Heeseung might think youâre cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date, but he hasnât met the version of you thatâs about to emerge, a version so bland, so uninteresting, so aggressively mediocre that heâll run in the opposite direction before the week is out.
âOkay,â you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. âOkay. Letâs do this. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested starts now.â
Yunjin raises her bubble tea in a toast. âTo being boring.â
You clink your cup against hers. âTo being boring.â
Somewhere across campus Heeseung is still standing in the quad with a confused expression on his face and a lavender envelope in his pocket, wondering why the girl who supposedly has a crush on him just sprinted away like she was being chased by bears.
Heâs not used to this. Heâs not used to any of this.
And that, he realizes with a small, bemused shake of his head, is exactly what makes it so interesting.
âââââ
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested lasted exactly four days before it encountered its first major obstacle.
That obstacle is approximately six feet tall, has flowing hair that falls perfectly across his forehead, and is currently walking directly toward your table in the cafeteria with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face that suggests he has absolutely no idea he's supposed to be losing interest in you.
You spot him approximately 2.3 seconds too late. By the time your brain registers the approaching danger, you are already mid-bite into a sad cafeteria sandwich, your mouth full of bread and lettuce and the dawning realization that you are trapped. There is no escape route. Your table is in the corner, surrounded on three sides by walls and on the fourth side by Heeseung's rapidly approaching form. You are a cornered animal. A very stupid, very panicked cornered animal with mayonnaise on her chin.
"Y/N!" Heeseung says your name like it's his favorite word, bright and warm and entirely too enthusiastic for someone who's supposed to be a notorious womanizer with a short attention span. "I was hoping I'd run into you. Mind if I sit?"
Mind if he sits? Of course you mind. You mind immensely. You mind with every fiber of your being. Sitting with Heeseung is the exact opposite of what Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is supposed to accomplish. Sitting with Heeseung means talking to Heeseung, and talking to Heeseung means opportunities to accidentally charm him, and charming him is categorically Not The Goal.
But Heeseung is already pulling out the chair across from you, and his smile is so genuine, and there's a tiny bit of what looks like grease on his cheekbone that suggests he's just come from some kind of engineering lab, and you are weak. You are so, so weak.
"Go ahead," you hear yourself say, and then immediately want to punch yourself in the face.
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested, Day Four, 12:34 PM: catastrophic failure already in progress.
Heeseung settles into the chair with an easy grace, setting his tray down and immediately stealing one of your fries like you're old friends who share food on a regular basis. You watch the fry disappear into his mouth and feel a small part of your soul leave your body.
"So," he says, leaning back and studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You ran away from me pretty fast the other day. Should I be worried? Do I have something on my face?"
He doesn't. He absolutely doesn't. He has the kind of face that belongs on a billboard, all sharp angles and soft edges and that one little mole on his forehead that you are definitely not noticing because noticing things about Heeseung's face is counterproductive to the mission.
"No," you say quickly. "No, you're fine. Your face is fine. I mean, you don't have anything on your face. I just remembered I had somewhere to be. Very suddenly. It was urgent."
"An urgent⊠lab class?" Heeseung's lips twitch. "That's what you said, right? An urgent lab class on a Thursday afternoon?"
Your face heats. "Yes. Exactly. Lab class. Very urgent. Science doesn't wait."
"Mmm." He pops another one of your fries into his mouth. "Well, the good news is, you don't look like you're in a hurry right now. So we can actually talk. You know, like normal people who are supposedly getting to know each other?"
Right. Getting to know each other. Because you confessed to him. Because he thinks you like him. Because you're living in an elaborate lie of your own making.
This is your chance, though. This is the perfect opportunity to implement Phase One of the Make Him Uninterested plan: Be Weird and Off-Putting. You just have to be the most boring, strange, unappealing version of yourself that you can possibly imagine. How hard can it be?
Pretty hard, as it turns out, because your brain chooses this exact moment to go completely blank.
"So," Heeseung says, apparently unbothered by your silence, "tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun? Besides writing beautiful love letters and then running away from the recipient?"
You choke on your own saliva. Just⊠straight up choke on nothing, like a cartoon character. "I don'tâŠthat wasn'tâŠI do normal things. Normal fun things. Like⊠watching paint dry. And counting ceiling tiles. Very relaxing. You should try it."
"There are forty-seven in this cafeteria," you say, doubling down with the desperate energy of someone who has already committed to the bit. "Forty-eight if you count the one that's partially covered by that vent over there. But some people don't count partial tiles. It's a philosophical debate, really."
"Fascinating," Heeseung says, and the worst part is that he sounds like he actually means it. "What else?"
What else? What else can you say that will make you sound completely unappealing? You cast around for inspiration, your eyes landing on your sandwich. Okay. Fine. If words can't do the job, maybe actions can.
You pick up your sandwich with both hands and take the weirdest bite you can physically manage, mouth open slightly too wide, chewing with exaggerated jaw movements, making an unfortunate amount of noise in the process. You feel like a cow. You look like a cow. You are embodying the spirit of a cow, and surely, surely, this is enough to make any self-respecting hot informatics student run for the hills.
Heeseung watches you chew. His expression doesn't change.
"Good sandwich?" he asks mildly.
"Mmf," you say, still chewing, still being a cow. "Very good. I love-"
And then the lettuce hits the back of your throat.
You don't know how it happens. One moment you're chewing normally, well, abnormally, but in a controlled way and the next moment a piece of lettuce stages a rebellion and lodges itself directly in your windpipe. Your eyes go wide. Your hand flies to your throat. You make a sound that is somewhere between a wheeze and a honk.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's amused expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"
You are not okay. You are choking. You are choking on lettuce in front of Lee Heeseung in the middle of the cafeteria, and this is how you're going to die.
Heeseung is on his feet now, moving around the table with surprising speed. "Hey, hey, can you breathe? Do you need me to-"
You shake your head frantically, still making dying cow noises, and grab your water bottle with shaking hands. The first gulp does nothing. The second gulp, by some miracle, dislodges the lettuce just enough for you to cough it up into a napkin with all the grace and dignity of a cat hacking up a hairball.
Silence.
The entire cafeteria, you're convinced, is staring at you. In reality, probably only a few nearby tables have noticed, but it feels apocalyptic. You sit there, red-faced and teary-eyed, clutching a napkin full of your own near-death experience, and want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Heeseung kneels beside your chair, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he isn't sure if touching you would be welcome. "Hey. You're okay. You're okay, right? Do you need me to get you anything? More water? A doctor? A new sandwich without lettuce?"
His voice is gentle. Genuinely gentle. Not the smooth, charming tone you expect from someone with his reputation, but something softer, something that sounds almost like real concern.
"I'm fine," you croak, your voice ravaged. "I'm fine. That happens. All the time. I'm very bad at eating. It's one of my traits."
"One of your traits," Heeseung repeats, and the corner of his mouth twitches despite his obvious worry. "Being bad at eating?"
"It's a lifestyle choice."
He laughs. Not a polite chuckle or a mocking snicker, but a real laugh, surprised and bright and completely unguarded. He sits back down in his chair, shaking his head, and looks at you with something that is definitely not boredom or disinterest.
"You're really something else, you know that?"
You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You just sit there, still clutching your napkin of shame, and wonder how Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has somehow resulted in him laughing at your jokes and looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's encountered all week.
"So," Heeseung says, propping his chin on his hand, "I've been wondering. What made you decide to confess to me? Was there a specific moment? Something I did?"
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
This is the worst possible question he could ask. You can't tell him the truthâŠI didn't mean to confess to you, I meant to confess to your friend, you just happened to be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, please don't hate meâŠbut you also can't just⊠not answer. He's looking at you expectantly, his dark eyes curious and open, and you have approximately three seconds to come up with a convincing lie before the silence becomes too awkward to recover from.
"Your⊠kindness," you say, grasping at straws. "You're very⊠kind. To everyone. I noticed."
Heeseung tilts his head. "My kindness?"
"Very kind," you repeat, nodding vigorously. "So kind. The kindest. I saw you⊠hold a door open for someone once. It was⊠inspiring."
"I held a door open."
"A door. Yes. It was a very heavy door. And you held it. For a long time. Multiple people went through. It was very impressive."
Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and you stare back, your face burning, your soul evacuating your body. This is it. This is the moment he realizes you are completely unhinged and decides to never speak to you again. This is the victory of Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested.
"That'sâŠ" Heeseung starts, and then pauses. "That's the first time anyone's ever confessed to me because I held a door open. Usually I get compliments about my face. Or my voice. One girl told me I had a nose made to be sat on, which I still don't fully understand."
"Your node is⊠fine," you say weakly. "I didn't notice your nose. Or your face at all. Just the door. The door was the important part."
"A door," Heeseung says, and that smile is spreading across his face again, the one that makes him look less like a notorious player and more like someone who has just found a particularly entertaining puzzle. "You wrote me a three-page love letter because I held a door open."
"The calligraphy alone took a week," you say, and immediately regret it.
Heeseung laughs again, and this time it's softer, almost wondering. "You're not what I expected," he says. "At all."
"Is that⊠good or bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." But he's still smiling, and his eyes are still fixed on you with that curious intensity, and you're starting to get the sinking feeling that everything you do, no matter how strange or off-putting you try to be, is having the exact opposite effect of what you intend.
You need a new strategy. Something foolproof. Something so aggressively unappealing that even the most determined people-pleaser can't pretend to be interested.
And then, like a gift from the gods of social awkwardness, the topic of video games comes up.
Heeseung mentions something about blowing off steam after a tough assignment by playing a few rounds of something, and the question slips out before you can stop it: "Wait, do you play League of Legends?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. You?"
And that's it. That's the moment the dam breaks.
You don't mean to start geeking out. It just happens. One moment you're thinking be boring, be uninteresting, be bland, and the next moment you're fifteen minutes deep into an impassioned monologue about the current meta, the problems with the jungle role, and why Riot Games needs to nerf a specific champion into the ground before she single-handedly destroys the competitive scene.
"-and don't even get me started on the new items, because the balance team clearly doesn't play their own game, which is fine, whatever, it's not like I have strong opinions about it except I absolutely do, and I wrote an entire essay about it on the subreddit that got like two thousand upvotes, so clearly I'm not the only one who thinks the armor penetration scaling is completely broken-"
You stop.
You stop because you have just realized, with dawning horror, that you have been talking for an incredibly long time without letting Heeseung get a single word in. You have been gesticulating. You have been making sound effects. At one point, you're pretty sure you drew a diagram on a napkin to illustrate the optimal jungle pathing route.
This is it. This is definitely, absolutely it. There is no way a hot third-year informatics student wants to listen to a first-year STEM girl rant about video game balance for fifteen straight minutes. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has just achieved its first genuine success.
You brace yourself for the polite excuse, the awkward glance at his phone, the slow backing away.
Instead, Heeseung leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and says: "Okay, but hear me out, what if the armor penetration scaling isn't the problem, and it's actually the base damage values that need to be adjusted? Because if you look at the win rate data across different elos, the issue isn't consistent at all levels of play."
You blink.
"I main ADC," he adds, as if this is a perfectly normal confession. "So trust me, I feel your pain about the jungle situation. Do you know how many times I've been left to solo dragon because my jungler was AFK farming? Too many. Too many times."
"You⊠main ADC?"
"Vayne and Kai'Sa mostly. Sometimes Jhin if I'm feeling dramatic."
You have no response to this. Your brain has short-circuited somewhere around the phrase "win rate data across different elos," and it's still rebooting.
"Your essay on the subreddit," Heeseung continues, pulling out his phone. "What was the title? I want to read it. I love seeing well-reasoned arguments about game balance, and honestly, most of what gets posted is just people complaining without any actual data to back it up."
"It was⊠it was called The Current State of Armor Penetration: A Statistical Analysis and Why I'm Losing My Mind," you say faintly.
Heeseung types something into his phone, scrolls for a moment, and then his face lights up. "Found it. Two thousand three hundred upvotes and fourteen awards? That's impressive. Wait, you made graphs? You made graphs?"
"I was very passionate about the subject."
"Passionate," Heeseung repeats, looking up from his phone with an expression you can't quite read. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that about you."
He tucks his phone away and smiles at you, and it isn't the smooth, practiced smile you expect from the campus womanizer. It's something smaller. Something realer. Something that makes your stomach do a weird, traitorous flip that you immediately try to suppress.
"You know," he says, tilting his head as he studies you, "you remind me of a mouse."
Your brain screeches to a halt. "A⊠mouse?"
"Yeah. A little field mouse. The way your nose scrunches up when you're thinking, and how you get all twitchy and skittish when you're nervous. It's cute. It's really cute."
Cute. He calls you cute. He compares you to a rodent and somehow makes it sound like a compliment, and worst of all, worst of all, you can feel a traitorous blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire.
"I'm notâŠI don'tâŠmice are not cute. Mice are pests. They carry diseases. I'm basically a health hazard."
Heeseung laughs, and it's the same genuine laugh from before, and he's looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's seen in years. "A health hazard. Right. Well, consider me warned."
He stands up, gathering his tray, and for one beautiful, hopeful moment, you think the ordeal is over. But then he pauses, looking down at you with that unreadable expression, and says the words that haunt you for the rest of the day:
"I was interested before, but now?" He shakes his head, still smiling. "Now I'm really interested. See you around, little mouse."
And then he walks away, leaving you alone at your corner table with a half-eaten sandwich, a napkin full of regurgitated lettuce, and the sinking realization that Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is not only failing, it's backfiring spectacularly.
You try to be weird, and he calls you cute.
You try to be boring, and he engages with your niche gaming opinions.
You try to choke to death in front of him, and he kneels beside your chair with genuine concern in his eyes.
You bang your forehead against the cafeteria table once, twice, three times, not caring who sees. This is a disaster. This is an unmitigated, unprecedented, absolutely catastrophic disaster. Hana's plan was supposed to work. Heeseung was supposed to get bored. He was supposed to move on. He was not supposed to look at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, or call you a mouse in a tone of voice that makes your heart do gymnastics, or read your League of Legends essay and compliment your graphs.
You need to regroup. You need to call an emergency meeting with Yunjin. You need to figure out a new strategy before this situation spirals even further out of control.
But first, you need to go to the library and return the books that are due today before you accrue another fine, because no matter how catastrophic your love life becomes, the university library shows no mercy.
âââââ
The library is your sanctuary. It always has been, a quiet, climate-controlled haven where the smell of old paper and the soft hum of fluorescent lights can soothe even the most tensed of nerves. After the cafeteria incident, you need sanctuary more than ever. You slip through the main doors with your stack of books clutched to your chest, inhaling the familiar scent of knowledge and dust, and feel some of the tension begin to ease from your shoulders.
Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. You return your books, you find Yunjin, you regroup, and you figure out a way to-
"Y/N?"
The voice comes from somewhere to your left, and you know that voice. You know it the way a flower knows the sun, the way a compass knows north, the way a hopeless romantic knows the exact cadence of her crush's greeting.
Jungwon is sitting at a table near the history section, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and loose papers. He's wearing glassesâŠglassesâŠand his hair is slightly mussed from what you assume is hours of intense studying, and he's looking at you with that smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your entire nervous system short-circuit.
"Hey," he says, waving you over. "What are you doing here?"
Existing in the same space as you, you think. Breathing the same air. Trying not to spontaneously combust.
"Returning books," you say, holding up your stack as evidence. "I have some overdue ones. The library fines are no joke."
"Tell me about it. I had to pay fifteen thousand won last semester because I forgot about a book I'd checked out for a research paper." Jungwon winces at the memory. "My wallet still hasn't recovered."
"That's brutal."
"The library giveth, and the library taketh away."
You laugh, and it comes out surprisingly normal, not too loud, not too high-pitched, just a regular human laugh from a regular human person who is definitely not having an internal meltdown about how good Jungwon looks in glasses.
"Hey," Jungwon says, glancing at the empty chair across from him, "if you're not in a hurry, do you want to study together? I've been here for three hours and my brain is starting to melt. It would be nice to have some company."
Your heart stops.
Yang Jungwon, the Yang Jungwon, the owner of the smile and the laugh and the gummy bears at 2 AM is asking you to study with him. This is the kind of moment you've daydreamed about for months. This is a meet-cute in progress. This is the universe throwing you a lifeline after the cafeteria disaster, a chance to actually spend time with the boy you've been pining over since midterms.
"Yes," you say, before your brain can remind you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "Yes, I'dâŠI'd love to. Let me just return these first."
You practically skip to the returns desk, your heart doing a full backflip in your chest. By the time you make it back to Jungwon's table, your philosophy textbook and notebook spread out in front of you, you've convinced yourself that this is exactly what you need. Some time with Jungwon. Some time to remember why you wrote that letter in the first place. Some time to reconnect with the feelings that got buried under the chaos of the Heeseung situation.
The only problem is that you can't focus on studying at all.
You try. You really, genuinely try. You open your textbook to the assigned chapter. You uncap your highlighter. You fix your eyes on the page and attempt to absorb information about ethical frameworks and moral philosophy. But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you.
Jungwon is studying. Actually studying, not fake studying, not pretending to study while secretly watching you the way you're watching him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his pen moving steadily across his notebook as he takes notes. Every so often, he pauses, taps the end of his pen against his chin, and then resumes writing with renewed focus. The late afternoon light slants through the window behind him, catching the highlights in his dark hair and making him look like he's stepped out of a painting.
He is beautiful. He's so beautiful that it makes your chest ache, a soft, sweet ache that you've been carrying around since the moment you first saw him in this very library. You watch the way his fingers curl around his pen, the way he bites his lower lip when he's thinking, the way his glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them back up with an absent gesture.
"I can feel you looking at me," Jungwon says, not glancing up from his notebook.
Your entire body jolts like you've been electrocuted. "I wasn'tâŠI was justâŠthere's a clock behind you. I was checking the time."
Jungwon looks up then, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach do a slow, somersaulting flip. "The clock is to your right, Y/N. Not behind me."
You look to your right. Sure enough, there's the clock, hanging on the wall in plain view, which you would have noticed if you'd spent even one second actually looking for it instead of gazing at Jungwon's face like a Renaissance painter studying their muse.
"I'm⊠directionally challenged," you say weakly.
"Uh-huh." Jungwon sets down his pen, and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth is soft and teasing and absolutely devastating. "Come here for a second."
"What?"
"Just come here. Lean forward a little."
Your body obeys before your brain can intervene. You lean across the table, your heart hammering so loudly you're certain the entire library can hear it. Jungwon leans forward too, closing the distance between you, and you catch a faint whiff of something clean and subtle, laundry detergent, maybe, or the kind of fragrance that just smells like him.
His hand reaches out, and before you can process what's happening, his index finger gently pokes your cheek.
"Boop," he says.
You make a sound. You don't know what the sound is supposed to be. Maybe a laugh, maybe a question, maybe a plea for mercy. What comes out is something closer to a squeak, a small, strangled, completely undignified squeak that would be embarrassing if you had any brain cells left to feel embarrassment.
Jungwon's smile widens, and his finger lingers on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary. "You had an eyelash," he says. "Right there. But also, you just looked really cute staring at me like that. I couldn't resist."
Cute. He calls you cute. That's twice in one day that a devastatingly attractive boy has called you cute, and your hopeless romantic heart doesn't know whether to celebrate or go into cardiac arrest.
"I wasn't staring," you whisper, but it comes out completely unconvincing.
"You were absolutely staring." Jungwon withdraws his hand, but his smile stays, warm and fond and knowing. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's kind of nice, actually. Being looked at like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something worth looking at."
The words settle into your chest like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through your entire body. He thinks it's nice. He thinks you're nice or at least your staring is nice and he pokes your cheek and calls you cute and now he's going back to his studying like he hasn't just fundamentally altered your brain chemistry.
You try to return to your textbook. The words swim in front of your eyes, meaningless and blurry. You highlight a sentence at random, realize you have no idea what it says, and highlight it again for good measure. The page is now approximately forty percent highlighter ink.
"You're going to run out of highlighter at that rate," Jungwon observes, not looking up.
"I have backups," you say. "I always have backups."
"Of course you do."
The studying session continues for another hour, and you absorb approximately zero information about ethical frameworks. What you do absorb is a comprehensive catalogue of Jungwon's study habits: the way he organizes his notes with color-coded tabs, the way he mutters to himself when he's working through a difficult concept, the way he absentmindedly drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking. Every detail is another entry in your mental Jungwon database, another thread in the tapestry of your affection.
By the time you pack up your things and say goodbye, "See you in philosophy," Jungwon says, and you respond with something that might be words or might be a series of enthusiastic nods, you are floating. You are literally, physically floating, your feet barely touching the ground as you drift out of the library and across campus toward your dorm.
Jungwon pokes your cheek. Jungwon calls you cute. Jungwon says he likes being looked at by you.
You are winning. Despite the Heeseung disaster, despite the cafeteria catastrophe, despite everything, you are winning.
By the time you reach your dorm room, you are a mess of giddy energy with nowhere to go. You close the door behind you, throw your backpack onto your desk chair, and then proceed to wriggle across your bed like an ecstatic worm, kicking your feet and muffling your squeals into your pillow.
"He called me cute," you whisper to your empty room, your voice muffled by fabric. "He poked my cheek. He did the boop thing. The boop thing, you guys. Who does the boop thing? Adorable people, that's who. Perfect people. People with beautiful smiles and kind eyes and-"
You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. The ceiling has forty-three tiles in your room. You counted them on your first night in the dorm. But right now, all you can see is Jungwon's face, the way he looked at you across the library table, the way his finger felt against your cheek, the way his voice went soft when he said like I'm something worth looking at.
You are going to marry him. You are going to marry Yang Jungwon and have a beautiful wedding with string lights and wildflowers and a three-tier cake, and you will tell the story of how you stared at him in the library and he poked your cheek and-
You stop wriggling.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
You can't marry Jungwon. You can't even confess to Jungwon, because Jungwon thinks you confessed to Heeseung. Jungwon thinks you're interested in someone else. Jungwon was sweet and friendly and maybe a little bit flirty, but that's just his personality. He's nice to everyone. He gives you gummy bears at 2 AM; he probably gives gummy bears to everyone who looks tired. You aren't special. You are just⊠there.
The giddiness begins to drain out of you, replaced by the familiar weight of reality. You are still trapped in the Heeseung situation. You are still the girl who confessed to the wrong person. And no matter how many times Jungwon pokes your cheek, that fundamental fact isn't going to change.
With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself through your evening routine: shower, skincare, the episode of the baking show you're halfway through and finally crawl into bed around midnight, your emotions a tangled knot of hope and despair.
Sleep comes slowly, a gradual descent into darkness, and then-
âââââ
You are in the PC room again.
But this time it's different. The lights are dimmer, the computers all dark, the chairs empty. It's just you, and the door is swinging shut behind you, and there's someone waiting at the computer closest to the door.
Heeseung.
He's sitting in the chair, facing away from you, his headphones around his neck and his shoulders relaxed. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, and his expression isn't surprised or amused or curious. It's something else entirely. Something darker. Something that makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You're here," he says, and his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, a rumble that vibrates through your bones. "I've been waiting for you, little mouse."
"I'm not-" you start, but he's already standing, already moving toward you, and you can't seem to make your feet work. You're rooted to the spot, watching him approach with a mixture of fear and something else, something you don't want to name.
He stops inches away from you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that you can see the individual strands of his hair and the curve of his lips and the way his eyes, God, his eyes are fixed on your mouth.
"You know what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs, and one of his hands comes up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your temple. "I've been thinking about that letter. The way you said you only had eyes for me. The way you said you couldn't stop thinking about me."
"That wasn't-" you try, but your voice comes out as barely a whisper, and Heeseung's thumb is tracing along your jawline now, feather-light and devastating.
"I can't stop thinking about you either," he says, and his face is getting closer, closer, and you can feel his breath against your lips. "Do you want to know what I think about?"
Your heart is hammering. Your skin is on fire. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stare up at him with wide eyes as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and solid and pulling you closer.
"I think about this," he whispers, and then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss isâŠit'sâŠ
It's intense. It's consuming. It's the kind of kiss that erases every rational thought from your brain and replaces it with pure, unfiltered sensation. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your knees weak. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you make a sound against his mouth, something small and breathless and completely involuntary.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is rough. "Youâre what Iâve been looking for my whole life, Y/N. Youâre my miracle."
And then his lips are on your neck, trailing fire down to your collarbone, and your head falls back, and his name escapes your mouth in a way you've never said it before-
He kneels before you, his movements fluid and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours as he unzips his jeans, freeing his already hard cock. It stands proud and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He takes your foot in his warm hand, bringing it to his shaft.
"Look what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He wraps your foot around his length, his thumb pressing against your arch as he begins to move your foot up and down his cock. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips.
The sensation of his hot skin against your sole sends shivers through your body. You watch, mesmerized, as he uses your foot to pleasure himself, his hips thrusting in rhythm with the movements of your foot. His other hand moves to your ankle, his grip firm but gentle, his fingers stroking your sensitive skin.
His eyes open, locking with yours again, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "You're so beautiful," he breathes, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. "Youâre perfect the way you are."
His breathing grows ragged, his muscles tensing. With a guttural moan, he comes, his hot release spilling over your foot and his hand. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste his own cum from your skin, his movements slow and sensual. He licks your foot clean, his tongue tracing patterns on your arch, between your toes, sending waves of pleasure through your body.
Then he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to taste you," he says, his voice rough with need.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He tosses them aside, then leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh.
His tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair. He chuckles, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Patience, little mouse," he murmurs against your skin.
His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, building your pleasure gradually. He alternates between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks of his tongue against your clit. His fingers join in, one, then two, sliding inside you, curling to hit that spot that makes you cry.
Your hips buck against his face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Heeseung," you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair.
He responds with increased enthusiasm, his tongue working faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. The pressure builds inside you, a coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it snaps.
You come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. But Heeseung doesn't stop. He continues his assault on your senses, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the edge again.
And then you are squirting, your release flooding his mouth and chin as he drinks you in, his movements never faltering. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he laps up every drop.
When he finally pulls away, his face glistening with your juices, he crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it sends another wave of desire through you.
"Tell me youâre only thinking of me," he whispers against your lips, his hands roaming your body. "and not Jungwon."
You wake up.
You wake up in your dorm room, in your bed, at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday morning, with your heart pounding and your skin flushed, your panties soaked and your sheets twisted around your legs like they've been through a battle.
For a long moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Did you just⊠did you just dream about⊠did Lee Heeseung, the guy you're supposed to be making uninterested in you, the guy you've been trying to avoid and ignore and repel, just star in what can only be described as an extremely obscene dream? The virgin you are just cringed at the memory.
You press your hands to your burning cheeks and let out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a scream.
"No," you whisper to the empty room. "No, no, no. This isn't, this can'tâŠI don't even like him. I like Jungwon. Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon for four months. I wrote a letter to Jungwon. I have a color-coded mental database of Jungwon's habits. I want to marry Jungwon and have a three-tier wedding cake with wildflowers!"
But your brain, traitorous and unhelpful, keeps replaying fragments of the dream, the way Heeseung's eyes go dark, the way his voice rumbles against your ear, the way his hand feels on your waist, the way his tongue is warm and-
You grab your pillow and press it over your face, screaming into it with all the force your lungs can muster.
This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You are a Jungwon girl. You've always been a Jungwon girl. You don't think about Heeseung like that. You don't think about Heeseung like anything. Heeseung is an obstacle. Heeseung is a problem to be solved. Heeseung is the guy you're actively trying to repel, not the guy who shows up in your subconscious and does things that make you blush in the privacy of your own bed.
"I'm a psychopath," you say to your pillow. "I'm a complete and utter psychopath. Who dreams about this with a guy they're supposed to be making uninterested? A psychopath, that's who. A deranged lunatic. A person with a broken brain."
Your pillow, predictably, does not respond.
You drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. You don't want to look at yourself. You don't want to see the evidence of the dream still lingering in your flushed cheeksâŠand between your legs.
This is a problem. This is a Major Problem with capital letters and possibly a warning siren. You can't afford to be having dreams about Lee Heeseung. You can't afford to be thinking about Lee Heeseung at all. Your entire strategy, Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested depends on you being able to keep a clear head and a steady heart, and neither of those things is going to be possible if your subconscious keeps ambushing you with extremely vivid, extremely inappropriate content.
You need to talk to Yunjin. Immediately. Before your brain can conjure up any more unauthorized imagery.
But as you grab your phone and type out a frantic message, EMERGENCY MEETING REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY CODE RED REPEAT CODE RED, you can't quite shake the lingering sensation from the dream.
The way Heeseung's thumb traces along your jawline.
The way he calls you little mouse in that low, rumbling voice.
The way he says you were perfect the way you were like he means it, like it's true, like he's been into you his whole life and hasn't even known it.
You shake your head violently, flinging droplets of water across the bathroom mirror.
"Nope," you say out loud. "Nope, nope, nope. We're not doing this. We're not thinking about this. We're going to go to class and eat lunch and avoid all tall informatics students, and we're going to get our brain back on the Jungwon track where it belongs."
But even as you say it, even as you try to mean it, a small, treacherous part of you wonders if maybe, just maybe, the Jungwon track isn't the only track worth following anymore.
You shove that thought into a mental box, lock it, and throw away the key.
You have a plan. You have a strategy. You are going to make Heeseung uninterested, and you are going to figure out a way to untangle the misunderstanding, and you are going to end up with Jungwon like you were always supposed to.
The dream is just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything.
You refuse to let it mean anything.
(But when you catch yourself glancing toward the informatics building on your way to class, you walk a little faster, and you definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent do not wonder what Lee Heeseung is doing right now.)
âââââ
The dream haunts you for three days.
Not in a supernatural, ghost-in-the-corner kind of way. More in an I-can't-make-eye-contact-with-my-own-reflection kind of way. Every time you close your eyes, fragments of it flicker behind your eyelids like a movie you hadn't asked to watch. The dark PC room. The way Heeseung's voice drops to a rumble. The phantom sensation of his tongue on your clit, his hand on your ankle, his look-
You physically convulse every time the memory resurfaces, which is approximately every forty-five minutes. Your philosophy notes become a graveyard of distracted doodles, half of which look suspiciously like the curve of someone's jaw. You have to throw away an entire page because you accidentally write "little mouse" in the margin instead of "moral relativism."
Yunjin is no help whatsoever.
"So you had a wet dream about the hot guy who youâre supposedly getting bored of," she says over bubble tea the day after the incident, her expression thoroughly unimpressed. "This is a problem becauseâŠ?"
"Because I don't like him, Yunjin! I like Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon since midterms! Jungwon is the goal! Jungwon is the three-tier wedding cake!"
"And Heeseung is�"
"A temporary obstacle! A misunderstanding with legs! A very tall, very inconvenient plot twist!"
Yunjin sucks on her tapioca pearls with the air of a therapist who has heard it all before and is no longer surprised by anything. "You know what they say about protesting too much."
"I am not protesting too much. I am protesting exactly the right amount. I am protesting a perfectly calibrated quantity."
"Sure." She pats your hand with condescending sympathy. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Oh wait-"
You throw a tapioca pearl at her face. It sticks to her cheek for a solid three seconds before falling off, and the look of absolute betrayal on her face is the only bright spot in your otherwise nightmare-plagued week.
But now it's Thursday. Thursday, 2:15 PM. You're stationed in the science building's main hallway, crouched behind a bulletin board that is absolutely not wide enough to hide your entire body, waiting for the coast to clear so you can sprint to your next class without encountering any tall informatics students.
You're just about to make your move, a quick dash to the stairwell, then up two flights, then a straight shot to classroom 307, when you hear it.
"Hey, is Y/N L/N in there?"
Your blood freezes. Your muscles lock. Your soul briefly departs your body and then slams back into it with force.
That's Heeseung's voice. That's unmistakably, undeniably, catastrophically Lee Heeseung's voice, and it's coming from approximately ten feet to your left, where the door to your department's main office stands open.
You press yourself harder against the bulletin board, praying for invisibility, praying for a sudden power outage, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you into its merciful embrace. None of these things happen. Instead, you hear the department secretary respond with cheerful obliviousness.
"Y/N L/N? First year, STEM? I think I saw her in the hallway just a minute ago. Let me check, oh, there she is! Y/N! You have a visitor!"
The secretary is pointing directly at your bulletin board. Your bulletin board that is not hiding you at all. Your bulletin board that is, in fact, leaving approximately seventy percent of your body completely visible to anyone who happens to look in that direction.
Heeseung turns.
Your eyes meet.
Time stops.
There are moments in life that feel like they stretch into eternity, moments so profoundly awkward, so cosmically embarrassing, that the universe itself seems to pause and take notice. This is one of those moments. You are frozen in a half-crouch behind a bulletin board, your backpack dangling from one shoulder, your hair escaping from the ponytail you threw it into this morning, your expression one of pure, unfiltered terror. Heeseung is standing in the doorway of the department office, looking unfairly attractive in a simple black hoodie and jeans, his eyebrows rising slowly toward his hairline.
A small crowd of students has paused in the hallway to watch. You can feel their eyes on you like a physical weight. Someone whispers something to their friend. Someone else pulls out their phone.
You are going to die. You are going to perish right here in the science building hallway, and your ghost will be doomed to haunt this bulletin board for all eternity.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's voice is a mixture of confusion and amusement. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively take a step back, which results in you bumping directly into the bulletin board and causing several flyers to flutter dramatically to the ground. "Were you⊠hiding behind that?"
"No," you say, too quickly. "No, I wasâŠI dropped something. A contact lens. I was looking for my contact lens."
"You don't wear contacts."
"I might! You don't know my life!"
"Your glasses are literally on your face right now."
You reach up and touch your glasses, which are indeed sitting on your nose, clearly visible, doing their job of correcting your vision. You have no response to this. There is no response to this. You have been caught in a lie so transparent it's essentially a window.
Heeseung's lips twitch. "You know, most people who have a crush on me don't run away and hide behind furniture. This is very confusing for my ego."
The crowd is still watching. Why is the crowd still watching? Don't they have classes to go to? Midterms to study for? Lives to live that don't involve spectating your public humiliation?
"I wasn't hiding from you specifically," you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently from your brain. "I was hiding from⊠the sun. It's very bright in here. I'm photosensitive."
"You're a STEM student hiding from the sun in a basement hallway with no windows," Heeseung says slowly. "That's⊠a new one."
"It's a medical condition. It's very serious. My doctor says I need to avoid direct fluorescent lighting."
"The fluorescent lighting is what's getting you."
"Absolutely. It's my greatest enemy. Well, second greatest. After-" You stop yourself before you can say after incredibly hot informatics students who keep appearing in my life like a recurring nightmare.
Heeseung waits. When you don't finish the sentence, that smile, the one that's definitely a smirk's second cousin, maybe even its first cousin at this point, spreads across his face.
"Well," he says, "now that I've found you and dragged you out of the shadows, literally, I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee. With me. Right now."
Every single person in the hallway is looking at you. The secretary is looking at you from the office doorway, her expression one of grandmotherly delight at what she clearly perceives as a romantic overture. The students who stopped to watch are exchanging glances and whispers. One girl gives you an encouraging thumbs up.
You are trapped. You are cornered. You are a mouse being offered coffee by a very tall, very persistent cat.
And just like every other time Heeseung has put you on the spot, you open your mouth and the wrong words come out.
"I love coffee," you say. "Coffee is my favorite liquid. After water. And possibly juice. But it's definitely in the top three."
every comment, like, and reblog is appreciated, and please go support these amazing authors!
birthday post to mr smooth operator
note : this took so long omg why did I start this seriesđ jk hope u enjoy!
please reblog if you liked any of my recs! thank you
24 fics for 24 y.o pjs
JAY
all eyes on you by @jongst4r
pairing: husband!jay x fem bombshell!reader
themes: smut, slightly public sex, creampie, slightly possesive!jay, a lot of body worship, praise, dirty talk, strong language
wc: 2k
ooh no words đźâđšï»ż
ME AND MY HUSBAND by @bywons
pairing: cold fiance!park jongseong x fem reader
themes: arranged marriage au, angst, fluff, hurt & comfort, âshe fell first but he fell harderâ vibe (?) slowburn-ish
wc: 19.5k
who doesn't love a good 'she fell first but he fell harder' trope
all that glitters pt. 1 by @stllmnstr
pairing: park jongseong x fem reader
themes: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn
wc: 19.6k (pt. 1 only)
I love how jay is rich in every single universe
㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀OVERDO㠀㠀㠀㠀 by @courire
pairing: actor!jay x fem actress!reader
themes: after au, making out, skinship
wc: 890
belift, please actor jay juseyo đ„ș
JAY : NSFW! by @misolhee
pairing: sugar daddy!jay x college student!reader
themes: unprotected sex, breeding, fingering, oral sex (reader giving), rough sex, spanking, soft & romantic sex, praise kink, use of pet names all along the fic
wc: 3.1k
sometimes I think about engenes that don't know Tumblr, just living their lives and never knowing fics like this exist
My Sheriff by @mintokyoon
pairing: sheriff!jay x fem wife!reader
themes: smut, praise kink, possession themes, oral sex, vaginal penetration, orgasm control / edging, spanking / impact play, rough sex, breeding / impregnation talk
wc: 1.3k
I absolutely love sheriff!jay or just sheriff!enhypen in general đ«°đ
BEST PART. by @jjwoned
pairing: dad!jay x fem mom!reader
themes: fluff, reader is pregnant, nicknames,
smt yall don't know abt me is that I DONT play abt dad!enhypenđđźâđš
BAD FOR ME by @jeongspetal
pairing: ex!park jongseong x fem reader
themes: smut, soft!dom jay, p in v, cheating, pet names
wc: 1.4k
im so sorry jay please take me back I didn't mean it, please take me backkkk đđđđđđ
its not sex by @endoll
pairing: childhood bsf!jay x fem reader
themes: munch!jay cursing, smut obviously, oral (f + m receiving), handjob, cum eating
so when do they get married? đ
SPORTS CAR by @avtrns
pairing: f1 driver!jay x fem reader
themes: smut, one night stand, porn with plot, car sex, oral (m receiving), cum eating, he's a head pusher, riding
wc: 2.2k
AND it has multiple partsđđđđ
In The Dark;; by @kpoptrashlord-007
pairing: yandere!jay x reader
themes: yandere themes, dark themes, violence
wc: 2k
never knew this was an option..đ€
THE HIGH LIFE by @lac4ygal
pairing: musician!jay x fem nepobaby!reader
themes: angst, smut, toxic relationship, musician au, nepo baby au, addiction, tragedy, no happy ending :(
wc: 22.3k
i cried
babysitter by @jaysbaefie
pairing: chaebol!jay x fem younger bratty babysitter!reader
themes: smut, rich dad au, age gap, brat x tamer, mean dom jay, possessive jay
wc: 22.4k
we need more fics of dad!jay on this planet
the only one for you by @v3lv3t-th1rst
pairing: bsf!jay x fem reader
themes: smut, softdom!jay, bigdick! jay, daddy jay
wc: 2.8k
i love love love possessive jay
Twisted Love by @nishirikiluv
pairing: yandere!jay x reader
themes: fear, drugging, a bit of noncon
pt. 1, there are multiple parts
stop I love this so muchđ
Play dates by @sundives
pairing: ex-lover ceo!jay x fem reader
themes: ceo au, ex-lovers, fake dating, miscommunication, yearning, smut, fluff, angst
wc: 25k
this is so beautiful đ„Č
đ«đ đłđ€ đČđŻđ±đđđŠ by @yunpupp
pairing: yandere!pjs x fem reader
themes: abuse, smut, angst, hitting / kicking, mentions of bruises, violence, noncon, dead dove do not eat, impact play, oral (m! receiving), degradation, character death, blood kink, bodily horror
wc: 1.3k
đ€
EoO by @mcwilla
pairing: jay x reader
themes: smut, public sex (yikes), fingering, dirty talk
wc: 1.5k
deliciosođ
LIKE A ROCKSTAR by @sagro
pairing: jay x reader
themes: smut, rockstar au, unrequited love
wc: 12k
please read this
instinct of a sinner by @beevitae
pairing: priest!pjs x fem reader
themes: heavy mentions of religion, blasphemous themes, smut
wc: 11.3k
this fic + lucifer on repeat đ„Ž
đšđĄđ§đđ§đđđ„đđ by @noirellee
pairing: park jongseong x fem reader
themes: fluff, established relationship, kissing, skinship
wc: 950
this is so healing
Always. by @fullsunberry
pairing: jay x reader
themes: angst, happy ending, running away trope, idol au
wc:9.6k
felt so bad for him in this, my Shaylađą
EYES DONâT LIE by @jaylaxies
pairing: brother's bsf!jay x fem reader
themes: smut, angst, fluff if you squint, porn with plot
wc: 26.5k words
please let me read this again for the first timeđđ
very comment, like, and reblog is appreciated, and please go support these amazing authors!
Synopsis : Asking your sweet boyfriend if you could ride his cock for the first time.
Pairing: bf!Euijoo x fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, cock riding, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you dumbass), dry humping, big dih euijoo, dom!euijoo, sub!reader, MANHANDLING FUCK YEAH, overstimulation, euijoo lowkey a masochist freak
A/N: oh hello there dearest reader. Now you might ask, mona what a lovely surprise that you wrote cock riding for euijoo! like we would never have imagined that you'd write one of your favourite positions for one of your favourite men. And to that my dearest reader I say why of course. of course this is the most self indulgent fic I have written and will ever write in the centuries to come. As always, enjoy, my darlings!
Word Count: 6.4k (i am sane)
Byun Euijoo was the love of your life.Â
Byun Euijoo was the prettiest man in existence. Byun Euijoo was as beautiful as the poets described inanimate objects to be in their frantic rants on aesthetic crumpled paper. Byun Euijoo was your moon, sun, stars, galaxies and everything in between.
Byun Euijoo was yours and you were his and everything was hunky dory in this simple life.Â
Anyways let's move on and be on our merry wayâ
Oh hello there, horniness. Whatever are you doing here?Â
Yeah.Â
You wanted to ride Byun Euijooâs cock till the crack of glorious dawn.Â
One slight issue, not much of a problem really. How the actual hell were you supposed to ask your sweet tangerine of a boyfriend if you could sit on that beautiful dick that the gods had blessed him with and ride it like a heady stallion? It was in such situations that you realised you should really not let your uterus control your brain.Â
It wasn't to say you two hadn't ever had sex with each other. Hell, your current beloved was the man who had taken your virginity, wrapped it up in caramel wrappers and kept it all to himself. As he should, if you were being completely frank.Â
You remembered your first time like it was just yesterday. The heavenly feeling of his slender, skilled fingers entering you first, then that damned tongue of hisâyou were sure it could have brought Arthur and his round table to their knees had they seen how sharp it spit its pretty words, and it could have brought out Guinevere too, what with the pace at which it moved. Â
And then he was in you, actually in you, and oh all you could think about was Euijoo, Euijoo, Euijoo. He was the only thing lingering in your mind, the sole thing your mind could even comprehend, as if all coherence was reduced to the tiny space that the letters of his name took up.Â
And he was so sweet afterwards too, like the meat of a tangerineâshockingly saccharine, akin to the first time you'd ever tasted chocolate as a child. Euijoo had been the perfect boyfriend, the stuff of movies, the person your friends had alleged didn't exist in real life.Â
He had smoothed his hand over your messy hair, cupped your cheek and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you came down from the high of your first orgasm. Then he'd picked you right up in his arms, cradling you to his broad chest and had placed you down in a warm bath which you had no idea when he even had the time to run. And he'd even poured in all of your favourite bath salts! How sweet of him.
Byun Euijoo was the perfect boyfriend.Â
The only not-too-serious problem was he was so damn gentle with it. It had taken you maybe three days of convincing for him to go even a fraction of a frequency harder. You remembered that night, when your whispered pleas and the press of your hips finally convinced him. In your point of view, it was a goddamn breakthrough.
Even then, your boyfriend was a symphony of care. Every half-harsh thrust, every gasp, was punctuated by a soft question. "Are you okay?â "Does this feel good?" "Tell me if it's too much."
His voice had been a low, tender murmur against your skin, a constant anchor even as pleasure began to build a storm inside you.
And it did feel good. So good that the world narrowed to the points of contact: his lips on your shoulder, his breath in your ear, the deep rhythm heâd finally allowed. It felt like being known, like being cherished and consumed, all at once.Â
That night planted a seed, a horny demon seed, and now, itâs grown into a full, blooming want. The memory of that controlled power, that restrained strength, has curdled into a delicious, daring thought: You want to steer the ship.
The idea of riding him felt like claiming a new kind of intimacy, not just receiving his care, but meeting itâsurrounding it, controlling the pace, watching his pretty face unravel from above. You wanted to see what happens when you set the rhythm. You wanted to see his hands, usually so gentle, maybe clutch at your thighs. You wanted to hear his questions turn into gasps, his careful words dissolve into your name like a sinful prayer.
Hey it was almost like you were reclaiming all that confidence youâd lost in middle school! Yay, you!
But the dilemma was how would you ask him? How would you translate this hungry (carnivorous), bubbling impulse into words your sweet tangerine would understand?
Maybe you could start with your touchâit never failed to unravel him like a spool of wool. A slow evening, his head in your lap, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. You could murmur it into the quiet, a half-suggestion wrapped in a kiss: âEuijoo⊠I had a thought. Something I want to try with you.â
Or perhaps you use the memory itselfâthe way he was grunting about how tight youâd felt when he was buried to the hilt. âRemember when you went harder? Felt so good, Ju. Can we try that again tonight?â
You imagined his reaction, a slight pause, the way his beautiful eyes would focus, deep and thoughtful. He might blink, then a soft smile would touch his lips. Heâd say âare you sure, love?â and youâd whisper your âyes, pleaseâ and then heâd cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.
He'd say, âOkay,â in that voice that always felt like a promise. Then he'd lie back and watch you, his gaze full of that same tender awe, but now mixed with a new, surrendering heat. Heâd be your anchor again, but this time, youâd be the wave.
So, how would you ask? With words? With touches? With a look?Â
âCanIpleaserideyourcock.âÂ
Or yeah you could just do that. Say your words as fast as you could and make Euijoo look down at you with that expression that you could never read.
The movie was a soft murmur in the background, some romantic comedy neither of you were really watching. His arm was draped around your shoulders, your head tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.
Heâd just brought your hand up, his lips brushing a feather-light kiss over your knuckles, a habit so ingrained it was like a second heartbeat. And thatâs when your gaze drifted.
His black compression shirt (why did the handsome bastard have to wear it on the one day you were a raging horny demon) clung to him like a second skin, tracing the plains of his chest, the subtle shift of muscle in his arm. Below, the soft grey sweatpants were a study in casual, devastating temptation, hinting at the line of his thighs, at the relaxed, heavy drape of the fabric between them. A contrast to your own outfitâjust his oversized shirt and a pair of panties, feeling both protected and perilously exposed.
Your mind didn't just wander, oh it fucking sprinted, replaying the heat of his skin, the weight of him, the way his control had felt like both a sanctuary and a cage you suddenly wanted to rattle. The thought was a drumbeat, synchronizing with your pulse: ride him, ride him, ride him.
You must have tensed, or let out a tiny, trapped sound, because his fingers stilled on your hand. "Hmm?" he hummed, the vibration gentle against your temple. "What's wrong, love?"
His voice, always so tender, was your undoing. The question, the sweet concern, was the final crack in the dam. He was being so careful and gentle and all you could think of was his cock buried deep as fuck in you. The words, marinated in want and a frantic lack of filter, tumbled out in a single, breathless, jumbled rush.
"CanIpleaserideyourcock."
Silence.
Not the empty silence of the paused movie, but a thick, profound, living silence that swallowed the room whole. The only sound was the frantic thud of your own heart in your ears.
Slowly, so slowly, you felt him shift, his arm slipping from your shoulders. You couldn't bring yourself to look up, your face burning with a heat that could power a small city. You stared rigidly at a loose thread on the knee of his sweatpants.
Then, a finger hooked gently under your chin, tilting your face up.
You were met with the look. His beautiful eyes were wide, pupils dark and blown, but his expression was utterly, mystifyingly unreadable. It wasn't shock, exactly and it wasn't disapproval.Â
It was a deep, intense focus, as if he was translating a complex and fascinating new languageâthe language of your blunt, desperate hunger. His lips were slightly parted, and a soft, curious smile played on them. He just looked at you, he looked at you for so long that you thought you might dissolve into the couch cushions.
Finally, his thumb stroked over the apple of your burning cheek. His voice, when it came, was low, a little rough, and laced with that same unreadable awe.
âWhat was that, my love?
The sound of his voice, so gentle, sent a fresh wave of fire over your skin. You tried to speak, but your mouth had gone completely dry. You managed a tiny, shaky breath.
Euijoo didnât rush you. His thumb continued its slow, maddening stroke on your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. It was like he was waiting for a precious secret, giving you all the time in the world to form the words properly, even though youâd already thrown them at him in a chaotic heap.
Gathering every ounce of courage left in your trembling body, you forced your lips to move. This time, you tried to pace it, to give each word its own weight, though they still came out as a hushed, pleading whisper.
âI saidâŠ..can I⊠pleaseâŠ..ride your cock?â
There it was, out in the open like a wild cat. Just a full, coherent sentence hanging in the air between you. You cringed as you said each word.
The look on his face shifted, softening at the edges, that curious smile blooming into something warmer. He leaned in, until his forehead was almost touching yours, his breath a warm caress against your lips.
âLoveâŠ.â He murmured, the words vibrating with a low, appreciative hum. âYou do realise what youâre asking?âÂ
You merely hummed, suddenly having lost the microns of confidence youâd had five minutes ago. God he looked so beautiful, there wasn't any word in the lexicons of all the languages you knew to properly describe him. Those eyes, those lips, that skinâwhat sort of Homer or Sappho were you to depict him in a way that did justice?
âBaby.â Your boyfriend pulled back just enough to see your whole face, his eyes tracing your features as if memorizing this moment, âTell me properly.â
His words were a tantalizing invitation, a request to step into your own desire, fully and without shame. You took a shaky breath, the air feeling thin and electric.
âWell, you know how weâve been having sex latelyâŠââUh huhhâŠâ
âAnd you know how we usually only fuckâŠ.normally.â Well that was certainly one way to describe it.
âAnd you know how I really, really love you.â
âI really, really love you too, angel.â God he was so fucking sweet, even while you were being the most awkward deer in headlights.
âDo you not like it, angel?â Euijoo said, his expression a beautiful conflict of awe and concern, âDo you not feel good?
The concern in his voice, so genuine and immediate, shattered the last of your awkwardness. It was so himâto hear your clumsy phrasing and instantly worry he hadnât been enough.
âNo! God no, Euijoo, thatâs not it at all,â you rushed out, your hands coming up to frame his face, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes. âItâs perfect. Youâre perfect. Itâs justâŠ.â
âJust what, my love?â Euijoo asked and you took another breath. You could do this; for him, you could find the words.
âWell, I love how you take care of me. You make me feel so good, always.â You bit your lip, searching for the right way to explain the hunger that felt both foreign and fundamental, âI just want to try something new, you know? I want to make you feel good. Your voice gained a sliver of strength, fueled by the honesty in his eyes. âPlease, Ju?â
You watched his beautiful face process them, his eyes darkening, his lips parting slightly on a soft, indrawn breath. The awe was still there, but his concern had been utterly transformed into a kind of captivated shock.
âOhâŠ.â he breathed, the single syllable loaded with a universe of understanding. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, tightened their grip almost imperceptibly.Â
âI mean you donât have to if youâre not comfortable.â You laughed awkwardly, averting your eyes away from his gaze, âIâm sorry, it was a stupid idea I justââ
Euijoo closed the small distance, capturing your lips in a kiss that was devastatingly softâa promise, a taste, a silent conversation. When he broke away, his lips lingered a hairâs breadth from yours.
âItâs not stupid.â Your beloved murmured, the words a warm sigh against your mouth. His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, a gentle weight, âI just don't want you getting hurt, my love.â
Now let us pause for a second, dearest reader.Â
Byun Euijoo was yours and you were his.Â
And my, was he a liar, liar, liar.Â
Pretty liar, though.
Euijoo had the face and demeanour of a complete angel. His friends and family knew him to be nothing more than the sweet, kind boy with infinite patience. The epitome of a soft spring, as his girlfriend had dubbed him.Â
But oh god if only you knew about him when the lights went off. Oh if only you knew about all the times heâd wrapped your panties around his dick and imagined it was your warm heat wrapped around him instead. Of course, heâd never force any of his fantasies onto you. Heâd never want you to get hurt because of you, his pretty baby to cherish.
Euijoo had thought it had been enoughâthe first time you two had made love to each other. The dulcet tone of your soft mewls and moans had him going so fucking crazy. The way youâd whined his name when he entered you, he could feel himself grow even harder in you, which he didn't even know was possible. The way you looked up at him with cartoonishly dazed eyes, at the verge of going cross eyed, even though heâd been so goddamn gentle, the combination of it all had been busting maybe fifteen more times.
And the day youâd asked him to go harder? Oh that had been Armageddon.Â
And now here you were, all pretty and soft and doe-eyed. And oh you were even climbing onto his lap now. How amazing for his poor dick.
Shifting forward on the couch, you placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle of them through the thin shirt. Ignoring his gentle hold, you swung one leg, then the other, over his lap, settling yourself firmly astride his thighs. The new position, the feel of him solid beneath you, the way his breath hitchedâit was intoxicating. You looked down at him, at his parted lips and wide, surprised eyes.
âItâll be good.â You said, your own voice gaining a sure note you didnât know you possessed. âIt will be good because itâs you and itâs me, and we both love each other very much and I really, really, need you right now.â
It would be the last day on earth for Euijooâs mental stability.
You saw the moment he surrendered. The concern in his eyes was eclipsed by a dawning, deep-seated heat. A slow, breathless chuckle escaped him, a sound of pure wonder and capitulation. His hands, which had been resting on your shoulders, slid down your back, coming to rest on your hips.Â
âOkay,â he breathed, the word a sacred pact. His head fell back against the couch cushions, his gaze locking with yours, full of that tender awe and now, a complete, open surrender, âOkay, my sweet girl.â
A slow, breathtaking smile spread across his face. It wasnât his usual gentle smile. This was something newâsomething edged with a thrilling, surrendered heat. He leaned in, until his nose brushed yours.
âBut,â He whispered, his voice a low vibration that went straight to your core, âyou have to promise that you won't force yourself for my sake, hmm?â
âI wonât.â You said, jokingly holding up your pinky, âI promise.â
Euijoo took it anyway, intertwining it in his, and bringing your hands up to his lips again to kiss your knuckles. What a gentleman.Â
The heat of his body seeped through his pants, and you could already feel the growing hardness of his cock pressing against your core as you settled. Euijoo exhaled sharply, hands now coming to rest on your waist, gripping just firm enough.
âWell, if youâre sure, angel.â His reluctance melted under your gaze, that secret excitement bubbling beneath his sweet boy facade. He pulled you closer, lips crashing into yours in a deep, hungry kiss.
Your mouths moved together, tongues sliding and teasing, the kiss turning messy and heated. You rocked your hips experimentally, grinding down against the bulge in his sweatpants, the friction sending sparks through you. A soft moan escaped you into his mouth, and Euijoo groaned in response, his fingers digging into your sides as he kissed you harder.
You picked up a rhythm, rolling your hips forward and back, pressing your clothed heat against his cock with each pass. The barrier between you only heightened the tease, the pressure building deliciously without any real relief. His hands slid up your back, one tangling in your hair to tilt your head, deepening the kiss as his tongue danced into your mouth in time with your movements.
Euijoo's breaths came in pants, his secret thrill making his grip possessive. He loved thisâyour eagerness, the way your body moved for him, so desperate. And he revelled in the fact that it was because of him. He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours.Â
âMmmhâŠ..â Euijoo groaned softly against your lips, voice rougher now, his control slipping just a fraction, âSo pretty, my love.â
He bucked up subtly, meeting your grinds, the outline of his cock rubbing right against your clit through your panties. You whimpered, nipping at his lower lip, your hands clutching his shoulders as you humped him faster, chasing that building ache.
âLetâs go somewhere else, hmm?â
Before you could protest, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the couch. You clung to him, legs wrapping around his hips as he carried you toward the bedroom, your heart racing with anticipation.
He carried you as if you weighed nothing, your bodies pressed together in a seamless, heated line. The journey to the bedroom felt both eternal and instantaneous, a blur of hallway shadows and the soft, grounding sound of Euijooâs breathing against your neck.Â
When he reached the bed, your beloved lowered you with a reverence that stole your breath, following you down so his body covered yours, caging you in warmth and strength.
For a moment, he just looked at you, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you beneath himâhair fanned out, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling with the same ragged rhythm as his own. His thumb traced your lower lip.
âYouâre sure, angel?â Euijoo murmured, with a kiss to your cheek that made you smile, âLike, one hundred sure?âÂ
You shifted atop the bed, heart thumping as you moved to straddle Euijoo's hips once more, the mattress dipping under your combined weight. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, but he kept his hands at his sides, palms flat against the sheets, giving you the space to lead. You could feel the hard heat of him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, a direct line to your own aching core.Â
You smiled up at him, âYes, Ju, Iâm sure.â
âAlright then.â He said, pressing a final kiss to the tip of your nose, before rolling to the side, lying back against the pillows, his gaze fixed on you with raw anticipation. The trust in his expression was absolute; he was handing you the reins, fully surrendering himself to your desire.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you gripped the hem of your shirtâborrowed from himâand pulled it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Cool air kissed your bare skin, you felt exposed, vulnerable, but the way his breath hitched made heat pool in your core.Â
Next, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your thighs and off, kicking them aside. Now fully naked, you sat there for a beat, feeling his hardness twitch against your bare pussy through his sweatpants. Euijoo's jaw clenched, his chest rising faster.Â
âGod, angel, you're so fucking beautiful like thisâŠ..â he murmured, voice low and rough, but he didn't move, honoring your turn to take charge.
Emboldened by his words, you reached for the edge of his shirt, tugging it upward. He lifted his arms to help, peeling it off and tossing it away, revealing the lean muscles of his torso.Â
Your hands moved to his sweatpants, fingers dipping under the elastic to grasp the base of his cock briefly before you pushed the fabric down. He lifted his hips, letting you slide them off along with his boxers, his thick cock coming free, hard and veined, the tip red hot. The first touch of bare skin to skin was electric, a sharp, shared gasp filling the room.Â
You paused, staring at it, the sheer size making your throat dry. As it always did when you had sex with him. Yeah you were (sort of) used to the size by now, but oh the feeling of him splitting you open like a walnut? You could never get used to it, even if you got married and had twins with him. But thatâs a fantasy for another day.
Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your hand around his shaft, stroking him slowly from base to tip, feeling him throb under your touch. The skin was hot, velvet over steel, and you marveled at how your fingers barely met around his girth.Â
âShitâŠâ A low groan escaped Euijoo's lips, his head falling back against the pillows. âNghhâkeep doing that, my loveâŠgood girl.â
Internally, his mind racedâyour sudden boldness, the way you handled him so tentatively yet purposefully, it ignited that side of him no one would ever see, making his cock ache even more. He wanted to flip you over, pin you down, and drive his cock into you, but he held back, savoring your initiative like ice cream on a summer Sunday afternoon.
You stroked him a few more times, thumb swirling over the head to spread the precum, before positioning yourself. Lifting your hips, you guided the tip of his cock to your entrance, the blunt head nudging against your slick folds.Â
Well here went all your sanity down a hole.
You remembered the first time you thought âoh Iâm kinda in love with this guyâ. It was a Saturday morning, and as all Saturdays areâromantically lethargicâyouâd gotten up at 11 am, to the smell of toast and the outline in the bed where your lover should have been.
Youâd found him in the kitchen, a kiss the cook apron wrapped round his waist (you happily obliged the instruction later), the tip of his tongue stuck out and his brows furrowed in concentration as he peeled a pomegranate for you.
His fingers, oh those slender fingers that always knew juuust where to touch and fiddle to have you squirting around them. They were dyed faintly red now, presumably from a few accidental squeezes of the seeds.
Euijoo didnât even notice you saunter up to the counter, merely picking up another pomegranate and splitting it open and ohhhh
Oh he was splitting you so fucking open.
What the fuck were you even thinking about right now? What was there even left to think about as you sliiidd down on his length, evoking emotions in your head that you were sure only the heavens themselves could explain properly.Â
A gasp tore from your throat, turning into a moan as the burn hitâhe was so much thicker than you'd remembered from the times when your back would be comfy against the mattress and your body shadowed by his broader frame, filling you in a way that made your walls clench instinctively.
âOhânghhh Euijoo!â You whimpered, pausing with just the head inside, your body trembling. How the fuck was he this big?
Euijoo chuckled softly, the sound warm and affectionate, though his eyes burned with restrained hunger. His hands stayed down, fingers curling into the sheets.
âEasy, my love. Youâre doing so well.â He said soothingly, âBreathe, babyâjust try again hm?â His voice was soft and encouraging, but inside? Inside he was on fucking fire, the sight of you struggling to fit him was driving him wild, like a wolf to some stray deer in the forest.
You nodded, biting your lip, and tried again, lowering yourself further. The stretch intensified, his cock pushing past the initial resistance, and tears pricked at your eyes. He felt huge, splitting you open, and you'd only had him in one position before, where he controlled the depth. Now, it was all you, and the fullness made you cry out, a sob mixing with your moan as you hovered at just a couple inches in.
âHahâc-canât!â You whined, tears spilling over, your hands pressing against his chest for balance, âToo big Ju, I canâtâhmmmâŠ.â
Euijoo's chuckle deepened, still gentle, but his cock pulsed inside you, betraying his arousal. He would have been a liar if he said this wasn't the prettiest youâd ever looked, tears like the finishing touches of paint on the masterpiece of your cheeks.Â
âShh my love.â Euijoo consoled you, âMy brave girl, so perfect for me. Keep going angel, you can do it.â He didn't touch you, letting you fight through it, though every fiber of him screamed to thrust up and bury himself deep as deep could be humanly defined.Â
Wiping at your tears, you took a shaky breath and sank lower, inch by glorious and oh fucking hell did you mean glorious inch, until you had him halfway in. Your pussy fluttered around him, stretched to its limit, and you panted heavily, sweat beading on your skin.Â
âEuijooooâŠâ You pouted down at him, âHelp meâhahhhâfeel so fullâŠ..â You sounded so pathetic, so needy, so damn ready to give up every last bit of your sanity just to make it fit.
It was borderline insane how much you had his composure unravelling so beautifully. Just one word out from the pretty little mouth of yours in that pretty little tone and Euijoo was a gone man. Please, youâd said, his pretty angel asking him so politely. Now who was he to refuse?Â
âOh?â Euijoo said softly, tilting his head, âI thought you wanted to do it on your own, angel.â
âCanâtâŠâ You whined in anguish, âCanât do it JuâŠ.need your help, please?âÂ
âMmhh,â He hummed, pretending to think, âYou sure you donât wanna try on your own, my love?â
You shook your head frantically. He moved a little as he chuckled and you were like a volcano just ready to erupt. His voice was so soft in your ears, his tone so concerned for you and oh your boyfriend was so pretty and his dick was so good, and you were quite honestly about to die.Â
âPlease, Ju?â You moaned, rocking slightly to ease the pressure, but it only made you feel him more, âPleaseâjust need it inâŠ.I promise Iâll do everythingâ-ah hahhhhâeverything elseâŠâ
That was his breaking point. âEverything elseâ, oh werenât you just fucking sugary sweet? Euijoo's hands shot to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh with a firm grip.
âAlright, my love.â Euijoo chuckled low, as if he was amused by the gravity of the situation, âLetâs settle you in, hmm?âÂ
In one swift motion, he yanked you down fully, his cock slamming home where it always belonged, bottoming out inside your tight heat.
The sudden fullness overwhelmed youâevery thick inch sheathed to the hilt, pressing against your goddamn cervixâand your body shattered.Â
A sharp cry escaped as your orgasm crashed over you, pussy clenching rhythmically around him, waves of pleasure ripping through your core. You came hard just from being filled completely, juices soaking his base as you shuddered atop him.
âAlready, my love?â Euijoo held you firmly through it all, those beautiful seconds in utmost heaven. He groaned as he felt you clamp down, holding you seated on his cock, feeling your walls milk him. His eyes darkened with possession, he was so thrilled at how easily you'd knotted out for him.
Your body trembled in the aftershocks of that first orgasm, pussy still spasming around Euijoo's cock as he held you impaled on him, his grip on your hips unyielding but gentle. The fullness was intoxicating, every ridge and vein of him pressed deep inside, making your walls flutter with residual pleasure. You caught your breath, tears drying on your cheeks, and met his gazeâthose dark eyes smoldering with a mix of tenderness and raw hunger.
âGood girl.â Euijoo whispered, his thumbs stroking circles over your hipbones, âYou took me so well, angel. Now go onâmake yourself feel good.âÂ
His voice was soft, coaxing, but the way his dick twitched inside you betrayed how desperately he craved this, reveling in your submission to the act.
You nodded, a shy smile breaking through as you braced your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart under your palms. Lifting your hips experimentally, you rose until just the tip remained inside, then sank back down slowly, an obnoxiously loud moan spilling from your lips at the draaaag of his thickness through your sensitive folds. It wasn't as overwhelming nowâthe stretch familiarizing itselfâbut the friction sent sparks up your spine.
It was different from anything before. This was your rhythm, your pace. And you had no idea what to do with this new found power. Maybe get drunk off of it?Â
âOhâŠ.JuâŠ.â You breathed, starting a tentative rhythm, rising and falling with shallow bounces.Â
Your thighs burned already from the effort, but the pleasure built quickly, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each descent. You picked up speed, hips rolling in a circle at the bottom, chasing that building heat like a fairy starved of magic dust.
His head tipped back against the pillows, tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. His breaths became ragged prayers, your name mixed with broken curses and pleas.Â
"So goodâŠ..fuck, just like thatâŠ..my love, my perfect girl..."
Watching him come apart was the most potent aphrodisiac. His usual gentle control was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate vulnerability. You leaned forward, and the change in angle drew a sharp cry from him, his eyes flying open to lock with yours. In their dark depths, you saw it all: awe, adoration, and a surrender so complete it stole your breath.
Euijoo groaned low in his throat, head tipping back as he watched you through half-lidded eyes. âFuck, yesâohh nghhâfuck angel, youâre soâohhhâso fucking perfect.â
He kept his hands light on your hips, guiding without forcing, letting you set the pace. Internally, his blood roared; your boldness, the way your soft moans and whines of his name came, the slick sounds of your pussy swallowing himâit was driving him fucking insane. Euijoo was aching to wreck you.
âDoes it feel good?â You asked, voice breathy, leaning forward slightly to kiss his jaw. âAm IâŠâŠam I doing it right?â You rode him harder, breaths coming in pants, the room filling with the wet slap of skin and your shared moans.
âMore than right, my love.â Euijoo rasped, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking your nipple, âKeep going angel, donât stop.â
His praise spurred you on, and you ground down deeper, faster, wilder, the coil in your belly tightening again. But your legs quivered, muscles fatiguing from the unpracticed motion. You hadn't anticipated how tired youâd get after just a few minutes. How the hell did he do this every other day for you?
After a few more determined thrusts, exhaustion hit like a wave. Your rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as you slumped forward, forehead pressing against his chest, gasping for air.
âJuâŠI canâtâtoo muchâŠâ You whimpered, still clenching around him, but your body refused to lift anymore. The fullness kept you on edge, pleasure teetering but not quite tipping over.
âAww my poor babyâtired alright?â Euijoo's chuckle was dark, affectionate, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. âYouâve been so good for me, my love.â He kissed the top of your head, but his hips shifted beneath you, a subtle flex of his abs. âJust hold on tight for me, yeah?â
Before you could respond, he planted his feet on the mattress and thrust up sharply, his cock driving deep into your core.Â
The sudden jolt made you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, bucking up into you with controlled power. Each upward snap, snap, snap, filled you completely, his tip battering that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.
âFuckâtake it for me, my love.â Euijooâs voice dropped to that arousing timbre he rarely let slip, hands clamping on your ass like magnets to iron to spread you wider for his thrusts. âHmmâfeel that baby? Does that feel good?âÂ
You could only moan incoherently, body rocking with his movements, pussy stretched and pounded relentlessly. Forget stars, you could see the andromeda galaxy behind your eyelids as they snapped shut to focus on this delicious, delicious experience.
âEuijooâoh god, yes! Harder, please!â The words tumbled out, desperate, as he railed into you, the bed creaking under the force.Â
His control was slipping, unleashed in the way he angled his hips to grind against your clit with every plunge, sweat dripping down his temple.
"Look at you," he whispered, "Look at what you do to me, you beautiful girl."
His hips began to meet yours in a stuttering rhythm. The force of his thrusts, combined with your grinding pace, pushed you both swiftly toward the edge. The world narrowed to the shared gasps for air and the blinding point of friction where your bodies joined.
You could feel your climax building like a tidal wave, the pleasure threatening to consume you whole as a lover consumes the seeds of a pomegranate. Euijoo's thrusts grew more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening to the point of bruising. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by your moans and Euijoo's grunts of exertion.
"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," Euijoo moaned, his hips snapping in a particularly hard thrust. âHmm my pretty angelâgonna make you cum aaall over my cock. You want that? Say it.â
"Euijoo!"Â You cried out, your back arching. âYesâplease, Ju, make me cum!â You begged, tears of overstimulation pricking your eyes again, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight.
"Cum for me, my love," Euijoo commanded, his voice rough with his own impending release. "Good girl ohhhh fuckkkâthaaatâs it, my love.â
His words pushed you over, and your orgasm shattered, juices soaking the sheets beneath. Your pussy clamped down on Euijoo's cock, milking him for all he was worth.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Euijoo groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. "Yes baby, nghhhâŠ..."
He came with a broken shout, his body arching off the bed as he spilled deep inside you. The feeling of him pulsing within you, so utterly lost to pleasure, triggered your second climax. You wailed his name, body seizing in ecstasy, riding the waves as kept fucking you through it, prolonging the bliss until you were a trembling, boneless mess slumped against him once more.
For long minutes, the only sound was your labored breathing slowly returning to normal. Euijooâs strong arms, still trembling with the aftershocks of his own release, wrapped around you completely. He gathered you against him, turning you gently onto your side so he could press your back flush against his chest. Every inch of his skin was warm and damp, a perfect mirror to your own.
Euijoo nuzzled into the nape of your neck, his breath a soft, calming tide against your sensitive skin. His lips found your temple, pressing a kiss there that was so tender it made your heart ache. Then another on your cheekbone, another just below your earâa soft, worshipful trail.
âShhh, my love,â he whispered, his voice a raw, husky rasp that vibrated through you. One hand splayed possessively over your stomach, holding you close, while the other came up to gently brush the sweat-damp hair from your forehead. âMy perfect, perfect angel. You were so good. So brave for me.â
He pressed another lingering kiss to your shoulder. âIâve got you. Just breathe. Iâve got you.â
Slowly, carefully, he shifted. His softening cock slipped from your body with a soft, intimate sound, making you both shudder with a final, gentle aftershock. He didnât let go for a second. He simply adjusted his hold, rolling you both just enough so you were nestled side-by-side on the messy sheets, facing each other.
His eyes, dark and soft and full of a love so profound it stole your breath, searched yours. His thumb traced the apple of your cheek, wiping away a stray tear of overwhelm.
âRest now, my love.â Your beloved breathed, âI love you so so much, yeah?â Euijoo leaned in to capture your lips in a chaste kissâsoft and endlessly sweet.Â
Byun Euijoo was the love of your life.
Byun Euijoo was yours and you were his and everything was hunky dory in this crazy life.Â
And all that was left was to giddy up!
fin.Â
A/N: if it wasn't obvious enough, hi i am in love with this man. the day a euijoo giddy up edit comes on my fyp is the day my grave shall be filled. Remember when i said Killshot Baby was my favourite child amongst my fics? Yeah i think giddy up has taken her spot now!
divider by @bonnieknowsbest
&team taglist: @eu1joo @kwnnies @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @leehancore @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added!
âââ in which jake sim, the campus golden boy and star soccer captain, isn't supposed to find anything on the fifth floor of the library except a quiet place to study. but instead? he finds you, the wallflower who refuses to treat him like everyone else does.
soccer captain!jake x wallflower fem!reader ; part 1 wc: 10.1k. MDNI. college au. smut. fluff. angst. secret relationship. jealousy. yearning. virginity loss. oral (f receiving). she fell first, he fell harder. other enha members included.
elle's thoughts :: here is part 1 of 2 for "the fifth floor theory!" this story is so incredibly dear to me, as it's the first enhypen fic i ever wrote. i've been working on it for awhile, so i really hope you enjoy it :') also, just know that part 2 has a LOT more angst. and smut. hehe.
my masterlist.
There was something about the way Jake Sim moved through the empty library that enticed you.
You were sitting at a small table, hidden behind a chemistry textbook, your eyes following his every move. He looked around, and you wondered whatâor whoâhe was hoping to find. As he looked in your direction, you quickly diverted your eyes back to your textbook, hoping he hadn't caught you staring at him.
Jake had no idea who you were. After all, he had been the star soccer player at your university since his freshman year. Everyone knew his name, his major, and his friends. He was practically campus royalty.
You, though? You were lucky if your professors remembered your name despite being the top of your class. You kept to yourself, only moving between the library, your classes, and your dorm. You and your roommate were close, but she spent so much time at parties that you almost never saw her. You, however, spent every free moment you had in the solitude of the library, and that was the place where you first saw Jake close-up.
He had appeared for the first time a few months ago, right after you had returned from winter break, but he did not look the way you expected. Instead of his usual cocky demeanor, he seemed... timid. As if, when you removed him from the soccer field and the company of his friends, he became a different person.
You liked to think that you were the only person on campus who knew that this side of Jake existed. After all, it was only ever you two studying on the fifth floor of the library. He had never brought anyone with him, and neither had you. It felt as if the sunny space, with floor-to-ceiling windows and tables nestled amongst towering bookshelves, only belonged to the two of you.
Of course, you had seen Jake before in your years on campus. You were both juniors, and you had been to your fair share of soccer games since you were a bright-eyed freshman. You had spent years watching him from afar, and he always seemed larger than life.
That's why you had been so surprised the first time you saw Jake appear at the top of the stairs. Nobody ever made it up to the fifth floor. It had always been your secret spotâuntil he came along.
As you watched him disappear down the stairs, you rubbed your face with your hands and loosed a sigh. As much as you loved being able to watch Jake, he was the worst thing that had ever happened to your dedicated study schedule.
"Hey, do you have an extra pencil?"
Your eyes snapped up from your textbook, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Standing right in front of you was Jake Simâyou almost couldn't believe your eyes.
It had been over a week since you had last seen him in the library, but you knew that the soccer team had just traveled to play against a rivaling team. The energy on campus had been positively buzzing the whole week leading up to the game, and everywhere you went, you heard people discussing it.
"Did you hear? Jake Sim might not start because they said he strained his calf muscle during practice!"
"Really? But we can't play without him! He's the only reason we won last week."
"I hope he's okay! I was really hoping he'd be at the party my sorority is throwing when the team gets back."
"You know he has a girlfriend, right?"
You shook your head, bringing your attention back to the sunlit library you were sitting in.
"What?" you managed to choke out. You hated the adrenaline that was now coursing through your veins just from being in Jakeâs presence.
"My only pencil broke, and I really don't feel like going to get another one," he said nonchalantly.
You still could not believe that he was standing right in front of you, asking you for a pencil as if he wasn't the most well-known person on campus.
"Uh, yeah," you said, managing to pull your eyes away from his enticing face for just long enough to pull a random pencil from your backpack. "Here."
Jake glanced at the pencil as you offered it to him, and a small smile spread across his lips. "Dogs. I like it."
Your cheeks reddened as you realized which pencil you had given him. It was the one your younger sister had given to you as a good luck charm the last time you visited home, and it was covered in a variety of cartoon dogs.
"Oh, sorry," you mumbled, your cheeks reddening. "I have another one if you don't like it."
"No, no, it's fine," Jake said, finally flashing his famous smile at you. "I love dogs."
You allowed yourself to smile back at him. "Me too."
Jake's eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he bowed his head and began to back away. "I'll give it back, I promise."
"Don't worry about it," you told him, waving your hand dismissively. "I've never used it anyway."
"Such a shame" he said, holding it up in the air as he turned on his heel. "It's kinda awesome."
As he disappeared behind the bookshelves that concealed his table, you buried your face in your hands. You managed to survive your first encounter with Jake Sim, and you only kinda looked like an idiot.
You should've asked for the pencil back. Then, you would have an excuse to talk to him one more time before you both returned to your separate worlds.
"Come on, y/n, why don't you come with me just once?"
It was later that night, and you looked up from the book you were reading to stare at your roommate, Sunhee. It was 10 PM on a Friday, and that always meant that Sunhee would disappear to a random sorority or fraternity house for the weekend. That also meant that you had your dorm to yourself for the weekend, and you enjoyed it more than you cared to admit. The room was small, but you and Sunhee had worked hard to make it cozy and inviting when you had first moved in. Despite your opposing personalities, you two immediately became best friends, and your dorm room was a reflection of that.
"I really want to finish my book tonight," you shrugged, turning the page and returning your eyes to the words written there.
"Can't it wait?" she whined. "We only have two months left in the school year, and you have yet to go to a single party with me. Where's your sense of adventure?"
You snorted with amusement. "My sense of adventure? I don't have one."
Sunhee stepped toward your bed, placing her hands on your knees and pouting. "Please? I promise it'll be fun, and if it isn't, then I'll never ask you again."
You sighed, glancing between her and your book. You had less than fifty pages left until you were done, and you had hoped to finally figure out what would happen to the main characters after a long week of prioritizing studying over pleasure. However, Sunhee did have a point. Your third year of college would be over in just a few months, and you had yet to do anything besides study.
"Alright, fine," you groaned, tossing your book onto your duvet. "But I reserve the right to go home whenever I want to."
"Yay!" Sunhee squealed, clapping her hands excitedly as she hopped up and down. "I promise you won't regret it! What are you going to wear?â
You shrugged, sliding off your bed and heading toward your closet. You wouldnât exactly describe your taste in clothing as âparty-ready.â You lived primarily in oversized sweaters and leggings, as that was what you felt most comfortable in. You saw the clothes that Sunhee usually wore to parties, and you could always see just how uncomfortable she looked.
âYou canât wear any of this,â she commented, taking one quick glance into your closet before bounding over to her own. âWeâre probably similar sizes, so you should totally wear something of mine!â
âNo way,â you mused, glancing over at the tube top Sunhee was holding up. âI think you look amazing in that stuff, but I would die if you made me wear that.â
âOkay, fine,â Sunhee sighed, pulling out a cropped, lacy black top and a pair of low-waisted jeans. âHow about this?â
You stared at it for a moment, thinking, before slowly nodding your head. âYeah, I guess thatâs fine.â
After another thirty minutes of Sunhee fussing over your hair, makeup, and outfit, she finally decided that you were ready to face the world. As she pushed you out the door, the smile on her face was almost enough to make the whole experience worth it.
âI canât believe youâre finally going to have your debut as a college girl!â Sunhee exclaimed as you stepped out into the brisk night air.
âMy debut?â you asked, chuckling at her choice of words. âThis isnât Bridgerton, Sunhee.â
âWhatever! Itâs still exciting!â she exclaimed, sliding her arm through the crook of your elbow. She dragged you along with her as she skipped happily to the party.
You werenât entirely sure how long it had been since you last saw Sunhee. After you two arrived at the sorority house, she quickly pressed a cold beer into your hands before bounding off to talk to a few friends from her calculus class. However, despite being left alone almost as soon as you got there, you didnât mind. The lights in the house were dim, and music blasted through every crevice as people danced, mingled, and drank. It was the perfect environment for you to disappear in.
It didnât take long for you to find an isolated stool located in the corner of the room, and you sat there happily as you nursed your beer. Your favorite thing to do was people-watch, and you had the best spot to do so. Nobody paid any attention to you, so you sighed contentedly and allowed yourself to blend into the background.
You werenât sure how long you sat there, observing university students in their natural habitat, before you noticed that the noise level of the party increased dramatically. Loud cheers broke out, and you strained your neck to see what was going on.
Thatâs when you laid eyes on him.
A large group of boys had just entered the sorority house, with Jake at the forefront. You realized that the boys he had arrived with were all on the soccer team, and they were fresh off a victory against their rivals. You hated the way your heart immediately began to race when you laid eyes on him, but what you hated even more was the way a blonde-haired girl strutted toward him and immediately pulled him into a kiss.
More cheers erupted as the partygoers watched Jake kiss this mystery girl, and you suddenly felt as if you were going to be sick. You had heard whispers that he had a girlfriend, but you had never seen her yourself. Now, though, as you watched them make out in front of everyone to endless cheers, you felt like an idiot.
What gave you any right to be jealous? You had only ever talked to Jake once, and it was just him asking you to borrow a pencil. Who were you to resent this tall, beautiful, perfect girl for kissing him? After all, she was his girlfriend. You were no more than a wallflower whose name Jake Sim did not know.
You forced yourself to look away from the kissing couple, and you finished the rest of your beer in one gulp. You immediately stood and made your way back to the kitchen, having to shove through the throng of people surrounding the soccer team to do so. However, no one seemed to pay you any attention, so you continued on.
Once you reached the deserted kitchen, you beelined for the various types of liquor spread across the countertops. You spent a moment looking at your options before grabbing some clear alcohol that you had never seen before, uncapping the bottle, and taking a large swig.
âDamn, itâs not often you see someone knocking back Everclear like that,â a familiar voice came from behind you. You sputtered as the alcohol hit your senses, and you reddened as you coughed. Why couldnât you get away from him?
You turned around, eyes streaming from the pungent liquor as you gazed at him. He flashed his signature smile at you and held out a hand. âI donât think weâve met. Iâm Jake Sim.â
You felt another pang in your chest that made you want to take another swig from the bottle. Did Jake really not recognize you? Did he really not know that, earlier that day, he had asked you for a pencil? Had he never noticed that you were always in the library at the same time during the past few months? You figured he had never noticed you, but it stung to have it confirmed.
You wanted to say something back, but it was as if you couldnât form any words. You shook your head and stepped past him, bottle still grasped in your hand as you headed back toward the party.
âWait!â Jake said, reaching out to catch your arm in his large hand. âDid I do something to upset you?â
You shook your head slowly before looking up at him. âNo. Itâs just⊠weâve already met.â
Jake squinted his eyes and looked at you. âWait a sec, we have?â
You pursed your lips together and shrugged. âKind of.â
âDonât tell me,â he said, still holding your wrist. His touch felt electric, and you hated how much it affected you. âIâll figure it out.â
He stared at you for a bit longer before it occurred to him. âHold on, are you the girl from the library?â
You gave him a lackluster smile. âThe one and only.â
âOh my god!â he laughed. âI didnât even recognize you. You look so different!â
You looked down at the clothes that were not your own, and you thought about the makeup and hair that Sunhee had done for you. You felt like an imposter, officially meeting Jake when you looked nothing like your usual self.
âI guess I do,â you commented. You were still acutely aware of his warm hand on your arm.
âIf I'm being honest, I kinda thought you lived in the library. I didnât expect to see you here, so Iâm sorry for not recognizing you.â
âDonât worry about it,â you said, trying to ignore how painfully awkward the conversation felt.
He looked at a loss for words for just a moment, but then his eyes lit up. âI meant to thank you again for the pencil. I was worried that I was going to fail my quantum physics exam, but I think that pencil actually helped me pass.â
At this, you couldnât help but laugh. âAre you sure it was the pencil and not the countless hours of studying you did?â
Jake flashed a grin at you. âPositive.â
He looked like he was about to say something else, but at that moment, a few of his teammates burst into the kitchen noisily.
âJake, dude,â one of them saidâa tall senior with red hair that you vaguely recognized. âWhatâs taking you so long?â
Jake quickly let go of your wrist and grabbed a few cans of the beer closest to him. âSorry, Heeseung. Got distracted.â
âI see that,â Heeseung said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you. âI wonât tell Lacy, I promise.â
âTell her what?â Jake huffed, throwing a can at his friend as he made his way toward him. âIâm allowed to talk to other girls without that meaning Iâm in love with them.â
âI donât know, man,â another teammate said. You knew his name was Jay. âYou remember what happened last time. She wouldnât talk to you for a week.â
Jake cringed. âYeah, donât remind me.â
As his friends began to herd him out of the kitchen, he turned around and yelled to you, âThanks again!â
And then you were alone again, the bottle of Everclear still grasped in your fingers and the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin.
You had been in the library for four hours so far. It was the Monday following the party, and you hadnât seen Jake since he left you alone in the kitchen that night. You had tried to not think about himâabout his perfect smile, soft black hair, and his ability to make you feel like the only girl in the world when he was talking to you. However, it seemed that finally meeting Jake only deepened your crush on him, and you hated it. You knew nothing would ever happen between you, so why couldn't you just move on?
You were feeling increasingly frustrated with your unrequited feelings and the organic chemistry assignment that you were working on, so you slammed your textbook shut as you huffed a sigh.
âAre you okay?â an all-too familiar voice came. You lifted your eyes to see Jake appear from behind a bookshelf.
âOh, itâs you,â you said, rubbing your neck with your hand. âHi.â
âHey,â he said, taking you in. You looked frustrated, with your glasses slipping down your nose and your hair falling out of your messy braid, and his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. âWhat did the textbook do to deserve that?â
You looked down at your textbook and absentmindedly ran your finger across the cover. âIâm just struggling with this topic, that's all.â
âI know how that feels,â Jake said as he stepped toward your table. âMind if I sit?â
Despite your frustration, you felt yourself redden at his question. You didn't expect to ever talk to Jake again, yet here he was, asking to sit with you at the table that had only ever been occupied by you.
You gestured to the chair and gave him a quick, pursed-lip smile. âBe my guest.â
As he sat down, you caught a whiff of his cologne, and you couldn't help but inhale deeply. You hated the effect that the woody smell had on you, as if you weren't already crushing on him more than you should've been.
âYou know, I was very rude to you at the party on Friday,â he said.
This surprised you, and you had a hard time concealing it. âWhat?â
âI realized that I forgot to ask your name,â he said, resting his chin in his hands. âI don't know how I forgot.â
If you were being honest, it had stung a bit when it occurred to you that Jake had never asked for your name. It was as if it hadn't occurred to him that you were a person, someone who had a name and a major and a life that he knew nothing about. You supposed that, to him, you were just a nameless girl who solely existed in the library.
âYeah, I guess you did,â you finally responded.
Jake cast a curious look at you. âSo, are you gonna tell me your name? Don't make me start guessing.â
You couldn't help but allow the corner of your mouth to turn upward at this. âMy name is y/n.â
âSo you do have a name after all,â Jake said. âLet me reintroduce myself since a party isn't exactly the best place to meet someone. Iâm Jake Sim, and it's very nice to finally meet you.â
âI already know who you are,â you responded casually, still tracing the cover of your organic chemistry textbook with your finger. Jakeâs eyes lingered on the movement briefly before his eyes returned to your face.
âHow do you know who I am?â he asked.
âHow could I not?â you countered, crossing your arms across your chest as you leaned towards him. âEveryone knows who the infamous Jake Sim is around here.â
To your surprise, Jakeâs cheeks reddened slightly in embarassmentâsomething you didn't know he was capable of feeling. âI sorta thought that news about the soccer team didn't make it to the library.â
âI do leave the library, you know.â
âI noticed that on Friday. If Iâm being honest, it surprised me,â Jake said. You felt as if he were studying you, and it almost made you squirm.
âWhy would that surprise you?â you laughed in disbelief. âDo you think I just sleep under the table?â
âI actually figured that you slept on top of the table. Seems like it'd be comfier.â
âOh, so you've thought about this before?â
Jake smiled at you. âOnly when Iâm tired of thinking about physics.â
âIs that your major, then? Physics?â
Jake looked down at his hands, and you noticed that he was fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. âYeah. Not many people know that, though.â
âWhy?â
Jake shrugged, and his eyes failed to meet yours. âI dunno, I just⊠I feel like the guys would make fun of me for enjoying that stuff. That, and nobody cares about me because of my major. They only care about what I do on the soccer field.â
You studied him for a moment, taking in his sudden shift in demeanorâhe went from confident to unsure of himself faster than you could blink. âThat's dumb.â
Jakeâs eyes finally shot up to meet yours. âExcuse me?â
âI said that's dumb,â you repeated, and from the look on his face, you knew you needed to elaborate. âI just mean, it's dumb that your friends would make fun of you for something you're passionate about. Also, if they're real friends, they'll care about every aspect of youânot just the part that benefits them.â
Jake seemed to mull over your words for a second before nodding slowly. âI guess you're right. I just⊠I don't want to embarrass myself in front of them, I guess.â
âAnd being smart is embarrassing?â
Jake placed his face in his hands and shook his head. âIt sounds terrible when you say it like that. I just like the way my life is going, and I don't want anything to ruin it.â
You stared at Jake for a moment, analyzing him. You had never seen him look so unsure of himself. âIâm sorry that you think being smart is going to ruin your life.â
Jake sighed before pushing his chair back. âWell, it's been nice talking to you, but I really need toââ
âWait, Iâm sorry,â you rushed, grabbing his wrist the same way he had grabbed yours just days ago. âI didn't mean for that to sound sarcastic. I⊠I don't talk to people very often, so sometimes the things I say don't come across properly. Please, don't go.â
Jake stared down at you for a moment, your eyes pleading with him, before he pursed his lips and sat back down. âSo what did you mean then?â
You let go of his wrist and began to absentmindedly play with your braid as you figured out the best way to word your thoughts.
âI was being genuine when I said I was sorry that you think being smart will ruin your life. To me, it just sounds like you're diminishing a part of yourself to impress people who wouldn't understand what it means to have something else in their life besides soccer. Does that still sound terrible?â
The corner of Jakeâs lips turned upward slightly as he looked down at the table. âMaybe a little, but I think I know what you're trying to say.â
âThat's good,â you exhaled. âIâm sorry for making you think that I was trying to discount your feelingsâI know how that feels, and I would never want to make anyone else feel that way.â
Jake eyed you curiously. âYou have a lot of interesting things to say, library girl.â
You raised an eyebrow. âIs that all I am? Library girl?â
âThat's what I thought a week ago, but now I'm seeing that there may be more to you than what you show people.â
You leaned towards Jake subconsciously, his words piquing your curiosity. âAnd what would that be, soccer boy?â
He laughed at your words, and you noticed with a blush that he had also leaned towards you. âItâs hard to describe. You just⊠say things that surprise me, I guess.â
âI could say the same about you.â
âI like to think that Iâm perfectly predictable. That's what makes a good team captain, after all. My boys know what to expect from me.â
âI wouldn't dream of calling you anything as boring as predictable. On the soccer field, maybe. But Jake Sim? You are full of surprises.â
Jake stared at you with a smirk, and a strange feeling stirred in your stomach at the look in his eyes.
âSo maybe we can agree on the fact that neither of us are truly who we appear to be on the outside?â Jake suggested, and you noticed that his hand had inched across the table toward yours.
âI don't know, you thought being smart was bad, like, five minutes ago,â you responded.
Jakeâs jaw dropped, but you could see that he was fighting a grin. âI did not! Now you're just lying.â
You flipped your textbook open again as you raised your eyebrows. âSure, sureâwhatever you say, soccer boy.â
âWhy did I even bother coming over here?â Jake wondered aloud, tapping his fingers on the table. âI wouldn't have done it if I knew that you were just going to misinterpret my words and use them against me.â
âBad day for Jake Sim,â you said casually, still not meeting his eyes as you flipped through your textbook. âSomeone isn't treating him like Godâs gift to soccer, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.â
âOuch!â Jake exclaimed, grabbing his chest and leaning backwards, pretending he had been shot. âYou are so mean to me, y/n!â
âAnd?â you asked, because you detected that there was more that he wanted to say.
That was not what you had been expecting him to say. âReally? Why?â
âYou're so blunt and wittyâyouâre not afraid to tell me what you really think even though we barely know each other. Not even my best friends do that. They all treat me like I canât do anything wrong, and that whatever I say is right, but⊠Iâm not infallible. And you seem like one of the only people who sees that.â
âThat was very introspective of you, soccer boy,â you teased, but there was a layer of sincerity beneath your words. Jakeâs intelligence was often overshadowed by his accomplishments on the soccer field and his effortless charisma, but you knew that there was so much more brewing beneath the surface that most people didn't even realize.
Jake didn't say anything for a moment, and when you finally looked up at him, you noticed that he was gazing at you with a soft smile on his face. You immediately felt as if fireworks were going off in your chest.
âYou're unlike anyone Iâve ever met, y/n,â he said finally. He did not remove his eyes from your face, and you wondered if he felt the same pull to you as you felt to him. He so effortlessly engaged in banter with you, but also knew when to allow the conversation to flow into deeper topics.
âAnd you're a lot more than just a dumb soccer player, Jake.â
At this, a wide smile spread across his face. âIâll be able to rest well tonight knowing that at least one person in this world thinks that about me.â
He stared at you for a bit longer, and you could've sworn that you saw his eyes flick to your lips before he pushed his chair back and stood. âWell, goodnight, y/n. You should try sleeping on top of the table instead of underneath it tonight. I feel like that'll be more comfortable.â
A genuine laugh escaped your lips, and you clamped your hand over your mouth in surprise. Jake couldn't help but smile at you, and he looked at you in a way that nobody else ever had.
âIâll be sure to let you know how that goes. Night, soccer boy.â
Jake allowed his eyes to linger on you for just a second longer before he turned around, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. âNight, library girl.â
You saw Jake in the library every day for the next two weeks. Normally, he missed a few days each week due to his busy schedule, but it seemed as if he had made sure he would be able to see you each day. He also sat at your table more often than not. At first, he came over to say hi to you on his way in and out of the library, but as the days continued, he asked to sit with you more and more until he was with you the entire time you were in the library together.
Your favorite part about sitting with Jake was that any silence between the two of you was always comfortable. You co-existed peacefully, both of you deeply focused on your assignments as you sat across the table from each other for hours each day. You spent a lot of time conversing, discussing things from the semantics of the English language in his essay to what stupid things his teammates had said during practice that morning. No matter what topic arose, though, you found it easier to talk to Jake every day. Things between you were easy in a way you had never experienced before.
Two weeks after the first time Jake had sat with you, you found yourselves in the library again on a rainy afternoon, sitting across from each other at the same table as always. His eyebrows were furrowed as he typed on his computer, and you couldnât help but watch him. He had never typed that fast before, and you were curious what had him doing so.
âWhat are you working on?â you asked, your voice raspy from not being used for a few hours.
Jake continued typing, his eyes still focused on his laptop.
âJake?â
His eyes flicked up to yours, and he gave you a small, apologetic smile. âSorry, were you trying to get my attention?â
âYes, but itâs okay,â you said, resting your chin in your hand. âWhat are you working on?â
Jake sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his face. You hadnât even known that Jake wore glasses until he walked into the library a few days ago, when he told you that he never wore them around other people because he thought it was embarrassing.
âItâs this stupid lab report,â he said after a moment, sliding his glasses back on. âMy lab partner was supposed to have his part done a few days ago, but he literally dropped off the face of the earth. I havenât been able to contact him, and now the lab report is due tonight, so Iâm doing the whole damn thing.â
âThat sucksâIâm sorry,â you said. âI think group projects are the dumbest thing ever. Thereâs nothing you can do if the other people donât do their work.â
âI guess I could email my professor,â he said, rubbing his neck. âBut heâs kinda an asshole.â
This made you smile. âReally?â
âYes, heâs the fucking worst.â Jake threw his head back and groaned, and you couldnât help but stare at the muscular column of his neck. âHe barely explains anything, and when he does, none of us can even understand it. Iâve just been teaching myself everything because he obviously isnât going to do it himself.â
âPoor Jakey,â you hummed, and you noticed a hint of pink in his cheeks at the nickname. âThat must be really hard on top of your packed schedule.â
Jake smiled at you as he crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. âI seriously think you only hang out with me just because you enjoy giving me shit.â
You smirked. âItâs not my fault you make it so entertaining.
âHow in the world do I make it entertaining?â
âIt just seems like you want someone to put you in your place.â
Jakeâs eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned toward you. âWhat does that mean?â
You shrugged, and you knew that you had Jake waiting on your next words with baited breath. âJake, be honest with yourself: you like having someone who doesnât treat you like the second coming of Jesus Christ himself. I feel like thereâs a reason you keep coming to sit with me, and it isnât because Iâm helping you study.â
Jake scoffed, glancing to the side before his eyes returned to your face. âWhat if I just like sitting with you because it gets boring studying alone all the time? That, and you looked so lonely sitting over here by yourself all the time.â
Now it was your turn to look at him in disbelief. âExcuse me?â
âDonât look at me like that,â Jake said, gazing at you with an intensity that made your head spin. âYou know Iâm right. You always stared at me when I was walking byâitâs like you were practically begging me to come keep you company.â
âI was not!â You leaned forward.
âYes, you were,â he countered, leaning towards you in return. Your faces were mere inches apart.
âThen prove it.â
âHow the fuck am I supposed to prove that?â His breath was warm against your face.
âRemember, the burden of proof is yoursânot mine.â
Jakeâs eyes flicked to your lips, but this time, he didnât look away.
âYouâre really annoying, library girlâyou know that?â he said, his voice much quieter than it had been a moment ago.
âNot as annoying as you, soccer boy,â you breathed as Jake slowly closed the gap between you.
âYouâre the fucking worst,â he murmured before his lips brushed against your own.
Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening. You were alone with Jake Sim on the fifth floor of the library, the slanting rain hitting the windows beside you in heavy sheets, and his lips were now pressed to yours. Your noses brushed as your eyes fluttered closed, and you found that it was all too easy to kiss him back.
Your mouths worked together effortlessly, and part of you wondered if Jake kissed Lacy as tenderly as he kissed you. He lifted his hand to your cheek and caressed the soft skin there. You groaned softly at his touchâand thatâs when he froze.
âWhatâs wrong?â you whispered against his lips. Jake pulled back, and your eyes flew open as he immediately began to shove his belongings into his backpack.
âJake?â you rushed. He wouldnât meet your eyes. âDid I do something wrong?â
âI have to go,â he said, shaking his head as he stood. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, taking off his glasses and shoving them into his pocket as he turned on his heel.
You stood, trying to grab his wrist, but he was moving too quickly. âJake? Please just tell me whatâs wrong.â
He shook his head as he rounded the corner, disappearing from your field of vision. And suddenly, you were alone. You sank to your chair slowly and placed your face in your hands, trying to stop the thoughts from spinning out of control. You had no idea what you had done wrong, but the thought that you had potentially ruined your friendship with Jake had tears welling up in your eyes.
âY/n?â
You froze mid-step. You were walking through the deserted, tree-lined grounds of your university after a late-night study session in the library. You had an organic chemistry exam the next day, and you were frustrated at how difficult it had been for you to focus on your studies recently.
It had been a week since Jake had disappeared suddenly after kissing you, and you hadnât seen him in the library since. You went to the soccer game that weekend just to see a glimpse of him on the fieldâto reassure yourself that he was okay, and that you hadnât hallucinated him. You could've sworn that you saw his eyes searching the stands throughout the game, but you wondered if you had simply imagined that just to ease the ache in your heart.
Another thing you were unsure of was whether or not you had hallucinated the budding friendship and eventual kiss you and Jake had shared. From the way he disappeared from your life so quickly, you were starting to think you had dreamt it.
Once you turned around, your eyes landed on Jake, who was standing a few meters behind you.
âWhat do you want?â you asked, your voice revealing just how exhausted you were.
âY/n, Iâm sorry,â he said, his eyes searching your face. âI fucked up.â
You pursed your lips together and shrugged. âI mean, I get it. You kissed me, realized that wasnât what you wanted, and left. I canât be mad at you for that.â
âYou can, and you should be,â he said. He swallowed, and you could see his throat bob as he thought about what to say next. âAnd I do want you, y/n. More than anything.â
You shook your head slowly as Jake finally took a step toward you. âWhat about Lacy?â
âI broke up with her,â he said, still slowly closing the gap between you. âThatâs why I left. I might be a lot of things, but Iâm not a cheater, so I went straight from the library to her sorority house and ended things between us that night.â
âWhy didnât you do that before you kissed me?â
âBecause I didnât realize how badly I wanted to kiss you until that night.â He was now standing directly in front of you.
You still had a dozen questions floating around in your head. âSo why did you disappear for a week?â
âLacy is⊠complicated.â He paused for a moment, gazing down at you. âIf I immediately came to you after breaking up with her, she would do everything in her power to make your life hell. I wanted to keep her away from you while she processed her emotionsâyouâre safer that way.â
âHas this happened to you before?â you asked, a hint of a smile on your lips.
âNot me, but one of my ex-teammates,â Jake said, a distant look crossing his face as he remembered. âWhen he broke up with her, she did everything in her power to get back at him, which included going after his new girlfriend.â
âShould I be scared?â
âNot as long as Iâm around,â he murmured, lifting his hand and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. âIâm so sorry, y/n. This last week has been torture without you.â
âI thought you would be fine,â you said, noticing the longing in his eyes. âAfter all, we just hang out in the library together. Nothing more.â
âIs that all you want us to be? People who just hang out in the library together?â
Your breath caught in your throat at the intensity in his eyes. âNo⊠I don't know. In what world would things work out between us?â
He cocked his head to the side, still playing with your hair. âWhat do you mean?â
âWe come from different worlds, Jake. You're a celebrity on campusâeveryone knows your name, but nobody knows mine.â
âBut I know your name,â he said, his voice barely above a whisper. âDoesn't that count for something?â
You dropped your gaze to the ground and shook your head slightly. âOf course it does. I just⊠you're the best soccer player this school has ever seen. Youâre the captain, for Christâs sake. I don't want to jeopardize that for you.â
âWhat if I want to be more than just a soccer player?â Jake murmured. âWhat if I want to be yours?â
He gently grabbed your chin and tilted your face upwards so that your eyes met his again. You searched his face, and your heart began to pound even harder as you realized that there was nothing but sincerity there.
âBut what if I ruin everything for you?â
âYou won't.â His lips were centimeters from yours.
âPromise?â
âPromise.â
That was all it took. Your lips crashed into his, all the longing and desire of the past few weeks bursting within you. Jake immediately tangled one hand in your hair as the other drew you closer to him, and the way he kissed you told you that he was in no rush. He knew you were all his, and he was going to take his time getting to know every part of you.
âOh, Jake,â you moaned against his mouth as his tongue traced the curve of your bottom lip. You had completely forgotten where you wereâthe only thing you knew was the feeling of Jake pressed against you, his hardness meeting your softness in a way that made your head spin with desire.
âYou have no idea how badly Iâve wanted to do this during the past week,â he said breathlessly. âI haven't been able to get you off my mind.â
And from the way he kissed you, he knew he was telling the truth. It was as if he had run out of air, and you were the breath he needed to bring him back to life. You couldn't believe just how badly he needed you.
âJake,â you breathed. âIs now a good time to bring up the fact that Iâve never seen where you live?â
A knowing smile spread across his face. âDo you want to?â
âYes, please.â
The walk back to Jakeâs house was torturous. He only lived a few minutes from campus, but every touch and breath felt alive with unspoken want.
âWho do you live with?â you asked, trying to distract yourself from how desperately you needed Jake.
âSome of the boys from the soccer team,â he responded casually. âHeeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. Heeseung and Jay share a room, but everyone else has their own.â
âAre they home right now?â you asked cautiously.
Jake cast his eyes to yours as you turned the corner into his street. âProbably not. It's pretty rare that we're all home at the same time.â
You sighed in relief, nodding slightly. âGood.â
The corner of Jakeâs lip turned upward, and he gestured toward a large, white house that had ivy creeping up the sides. âHere we are.â
âIt's beautiful,â you said in awe, pausing for a moment as you took it in. âI always wanted to get a house off-campus, but I always just end up living in the dorms.â
âYou still live in the dorms?â he asked, leading you up the steps to the front door. âAren't you a junior?â
You reddened slightly. âYeah, but I don't mind it. I don't have to cook for myself, I don't have to clean my bathroom, and I really like my roommate.â
Jake opened the door of the house, pushing the door open to reveal a spacious living room decorated with plush couches and posters of the soccer team hung up around the space.
âThis is cozier than I expected,â you said, looking around briefly before Jake gestured for you to follow him up the stairs.
âWere you expecting some dark, dingy basement?â
You snorted as you trekked upwards. âKinda.â
âWell, hold your judgments. You haven't seen my room yet.â
You had never imagined what Jakeâs room would look like, but you knew that what you saw behind the closed door was not what you had expected.
âWow,â you murmured, stepping into the room before Jake and allowing him to shut the door behind you. It was not particularly large, but he had made good use of the space he did have. The bed was pressed up against the window, and there were a few different textbooks strewn across it. His desk was covered in even more textbooks, which contrasted the variety of soccer trophies adorning the shelves. The room was perfectly Jake, and you found the slight messiness of it endearing.
âWhat do you think?â Jake asked, and you detected a hint of shyness in his voice. As you turned around and looked at him, you realized that you were probably one of the only people who Jake had ever allowed to see this part of him.
âI love it,â you said, stepping towards him to close the gap between you. âIt's very you.â
He snorted. âWhat does that mean?â
âIt's the perfect mix of soccer boy and physics boy. Just as I expected.â
âIf that's the case, then what does your dorm room look like? A library?â Yet again, your mouths were almost touching.
âYou'll just have to come over sometime and find out, won't you?â you suggested, pretending your heart wasn't hammering away in your chest at being alone with Jake in his bedroom.
âI guess I will,â Jake said against your lips. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your mouth to his in a hungry kiss. His hand immediately found its way to the small of your back, drawing you closer to him so that your bodies were flush.
As much as you hated to admit it, you had no sexual experience. You liked to think that you knew more than the average 21-year-old, but you were woefully unaware of what exactly happened in situations like this. You had always been so focused on your studies that you never even considered dating, so you had no idea what to do or what to touch.
This became evident to Jake after a moment. He must have realized that you didn't know what to do with your hands or body, because he pulled back slightly and ran a hand through your hair.
âHave you everâŠâ he started, and you quickly shook your head.
âNo,â you whispered, looking down. It occurred to you that Jake was probably very experienced in all things sexual, and here you were, only having ever kissed one boy back in high school. You felt yourself turn hot with shame.
âY/n, you shouldn't feel embarrassed,â he whispered. âLook at me.â
You slowly gazed up at him, his eyes full of tenderness. âIâm sorry.â
He kissed your lips softly. âThere is absolutely nothing to be sorry for. If you don't want to do this, we don't have to. I want you to feel comfortable. We can take this as slow as you want.â
You swallowed as you brought your hand to his cheek. âI want itâmore than anything. I just have no clue what I'm doing, that's all.â
âPoor library girl,â Jake chuckled, but his eyes radiated with affection. âI guess this wasn't something you could study in a textbook, huh?â
You couldn't help but smile. âI guess not.â
âWell, luckily for you,â Jake began, placing his hands on your hips and slowly backing you toward the bed. âI happen to be an excellent teacher.â
You felt the heat crawl up your neck, an unfamiliar feeling spreading between your legs. âGuess you'll have to teach me, then. I happen to be an excellent student.â
âGuess so, library girl,â Jake said, connecting your lips. You noticed that his movements were slower, more intentional, now that he knew the weight of this moment. He would be your first, and you knew that he was going to do it right. Your heart swelled as you placed your hand low on his chest.
A low groan rumbled from his chest at this, and you felt your thighs clench. The fact that you had made Jake Sim make a noise like that seemed impossible, but here you were.
âIâm going to take your shirt off,â Jake mumbled against your lips. âIs that okay?â
You nodded, and Jake grabbed the bottom of the soft fabric and lifted it over your head, revealing the red bralette you were wearing underneath. He then slowly pulled off your bralette, leaving your top bare. He inhaled sharply as he took in the curve of your breasts and waist, and he simply stared for a moment before lifting his eyes to yours. âYou're perfect.â
âSays you,â you responded. âYou should take your shirt off, too. I've been aching to see what you look like without it.â
Jake gave you an amused grin. âYou've really been imagining me shirtless?â
âWhat?â you asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. âI know how hard you guys work out. Of course Iâve been imagining you shirtless.â
âSuit yourself, then,â Jake shrugged, tugging his shirt off. Your eyes widened as you took in the muscles there, each perfectly defined from his neck all the way down to where his sweatpants hugged his waist.
âCan I⊠touch them?â you asked, still entranced.
Jake let out a genuine laugh. âWhat kind of question is that, library girl?â
You pouted as your hands ghosted over the lines of his stomach. âJust wanted to make sure.â
âFair enough,â he said, his breaths becoming slightly more shallow as your cold fingers met his skin. âYou can touch whatever you want, you know.â
âReally?â you asked, trying to convey a confidence you did not feel. âAnything? Even this?â
Your hand found its way down to the bulge in his pants, and Jake groaned softly at your touch. You were intrigued by how his length felt beneath your hand.
âYou're already so hard,â you observed, lightly tracing your fingers over him. You watched as his lips parted slightly, and you thoroughly enjoyed the effect you had on him.
âWhat else did you expect?â he breathed, moistening his lips with his tongue. âYou have no fucking clue what you do to me, y/n.â
âI would love to find out,â you said, your fingers still tracing the outline of his cock.
âIâll show youâbut not yet.â
You raised an eyebrow, but Jake was already tugging your pants down your legs. You immediately felt completely exposed, and you had half a mind to cover yourself up. Nobody had ever seen this part of you, and it was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced.
âYouâre so fucking hot, baby,â Jake said, his words verging on being a moan. He paused for a moment, still drinking you in. âHave you ever⊠touched yourself?â
Your cheeks flushed. âYes.â
âSo you know how good it can feel?â
You nodded again.
âGood, because I really want to see what you taste like, but I didn't want it to be too much.â
You felt your muscles tighten. âThat sounds really fucking hot.â
âThen let me do it,â he whispered. You nodded before Jake slowly pushed you onto the bed, crouching down in front of you. Yet again, you felt utterly exposed, but you didn't mind it. Jake kept looking at you as if you were a goddess, and it helped alleviate some of the anxiety you felt from your first sexual experience.
âSpread your legs for me, y/n,â he murmured, and you obliged. Jakeâs mouth neared your center slowly, and he looked into your eyes as his tongue made contact with your folds.
An intense wave of pleasure made its way through your body, and you immediately let out a moan that you had never heard before. This seemed to encourage Jake to continue, and he flicked his tongue over your clit repeatedly.
âOh, fuck,â you breathed, immediately digging your hands into Jakeâs ruffled hair. He continued sucking and licking you, and you were amazed by how long you had lived not knowing how amazing it felt to have someone worshipping you between your legs. You were almost worried that you would never let Jake do anything else after this.
âWhy does it feel so f-fucking good?â you stammered, your thighs squeezing involuntarily around Jakeâs head. He hummed happily against your folds before he moved downwards slightly, allowing his tongue to penetrate you. The unfamiliar sensation made you see stars, and you cried out from the intensity of it.
âH-holy fuck,â you whimpered, bucking your hips into Jakeâs face. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep you still as he continued to fuck you with his tongue, and it took everything in you to not lose control. âJake, p-please. Please, baby, pleaseââ
Jake continued to watch you as he worked on you, and you could tell from the way his fingers tightened against your thighs that he was enjoying every second of it immensely. With his tongue inside you and his nose rubbing against your clit with every movement, you could do nothing but cry out repeatedly and dig your fingers into Jakeâs scalp.
After another moment, you felt as if you were going to burst. A pleasurable feeling built between your thighs before spreading to your chest and neck, and you screamed Jakeâs name as you came on his tongue. He lapped up every bit of the liquid that gushed from you, and his tongue did not stop until your body stilled.
âDid it feel good?â he asked, moving so that he was now hovering over you. You wrapped your hand around the back of his head and pulled his lips toward yours, tasting the saltiness that was now on his lips.
âBetter than I knew possible,â you whispered, your voice trembling. âI don't know how it can get better.â
Jake flashed a mischievous grin. âWanna find out?â
You nodded, your eyes widening as Jake stood before you and pulled his pants down, allowing his full length to spring free. You swallowed, taking in the way his toned abdominal muscles yielded to a deep-set v that led straight to the hardness you couldn't take your eyes off of.
âJake, Iââ you started, beginning to feel a familiar pang of nervousness in your stomach. âIâve never done this before. Ever.â
âI know, baby,â he murmured, crawling onto the bed so that he was above you again. âIâll take it slow and talk you through everything I do. If you want me to stop, just say the word and I will.â
You gave him a small smile, and you noticed how hungrily Jake scanned your body before kissing you briefly. He then pulled away.
âIâm gonna spread your legs now,â he murmured to you, using his hand to gently pull your thighs apart. âNow, Iâm gonna put on a condom and line myself up.â
You craned your neck slightly to watch as Jake grasped his cock in his hand, pumping it a couple times before grabbing a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it on before gently placing his tip against your entrance. âAre you ready?â
You nodded, not realizing that Jake was not looking at you. His eyes lifted to yours, a small smile playing on his lips. âYou gotta communicate, baby.â
âSorry,â you breathed, your body aching for Jake in a way you had never felt before. âIâm ready.â
Jake hummed before slowly parting your folds with his cock. âIâm gonna put it in now. Try to relax, okay?â
âOkay,â you whispered, and you gasped sharply as Jake slowly pushed the head of his cock inside you.
âAre you okay?â he asked, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead.
âIâm fine,â you said, your voice shaky. âJust getting used to it, that's all. Keep going.â
Jake caressed your cheek as he continued to press himself into you, and you felt tears sting your eyes from the sharpness of being filled for the first time. There was pain, yes, but you could also detect the underlying pleasure that was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.
It took longer than you expected for him to be fully buried inside you. You let out a breath you hadn't even realized you had been holding, and you continued to stare at the part of you that Jakeâs length had disappeared inside. You could barely fathom the fact that Jake Sim was inside you.
âRelax, baby,â Jake murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple. âLet me know when you're ready, and Iâll start moving.â
âOkay,â you breathed, and you noticed that Jake was taking deep breaths as he gazed at you to help you do the same. You followed his breathing pattern, feeling your muscles relax slightly, before you nodded almost imperceptibly. âI think Iâm ready.â
Jake gave you a small smile before he slowly withdrew his hips from you, his cock glistening with your arousal. He then gently pushed back in, and you gasped softly at the sensation of being filled yet again. The sharpness of his presence was still there, but you found that, with each thrust, the pain lessened and morphed into something far more pleasurable.
âHow does it feel?â Jake asked, his hips still slowly rocking into you. He didn't dare increase his pace until you gave the word.
âIt still hurts, but it also feels really good,â you whispered, scanning his face. You expected to see some sort of impatience there, or some sort of hint that he was irritated with your lack of sexual experience, but you saw none of that. The only thing you could see was his utter devotion to you, and that allowed you to fully relax.
âGo faster,â you said. Jake kissed you briefly before nodding, easing his thrusts into a faster pace. You were embarrassed at the quiet moans that left your lips, but you couldn't stop. It seemed as if relaxing had been the key, and now that you had done so, the pain was almost all gone. Now, you were able to enjoy the sensation of Jake inside you.
âHow's that, library girl?â Jake asked.
âFeels alright, soccer boy,â you said nonchalantly, but the look on your face gave away just how much you were enjoying yourself. âCould be better, though.â
âAny study tips?â he asked, still thrusting into you with every shallow breath.
âIâm not sure because Iâve never taken this class before,â you shrugged. âBut I feel like going faster would help.â
Jake grinned before increasing his pace yet again, and you couldn't help but cry out with each snap of his hips into yours. You clamped a hand to your mouth to stifle the sounds, but Jake shook his head.
âI wanna hear you, Y/n,â he groaned, his eyes half-lidded from pleasure. âI wanna hear how well I fuck you.â
You removed your hand from your mouth and allowed yourself to let go. You closed your eyes briefly as the broken sounds left your lips, and you could tell from Jakeâs wild movements that he was reaching his climax. His low grunts turned into high-pitched whines as he continued moving inside you.
âFuck, baby,â Jake whimpered, leaning down to kiss you. âIâm so fucking close.â
âI want you to cum for me, Jake,â you moaned against his lips. The sound of skin hitting skin as well as Jakeâs pants met your ears, and you could only watch as Jake finally found his release. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a series of ungodly sounds that almost made you orgasm again. His hips slowly rolled inside you as you felt his cock twitch repeatedly, and when he was finally finished, he collapsed on top of you.
âHow was it?â he asked, breathless. He lifted his head slightly and pressed a series of lazy kisses across your face and neck.
âBetter than I thought possible,â you responded, wrapping your arms around his muscular back. âCan we do it again?â
Jake laughedâreally laughed, and you couldn't help but join him. âOf course, but maybe give me a few minutes first.â
âThe soccer captain doesn't have the stamina to go multiple rounds in a row? That's sad.â
Jake narrowed his eyes at you. âI have the stamina, but my dick doesn't. Give it a second.â
You giggled, lifting your head to press a kiss to Jakeâs soft lips. âFine. But I expect at least two more rounds tonight, got it?â
âAbsolutely.â
And as many times as Jake made love to you that night, there was always one question lingering in the back of your mind that you could not shake. How many times had Jake had sex with Lacy in the exact same spot where you had just lost your virginity to him? You hoped you never found out.
pairing êȘৠstalker obsessive!jay x innocent!reader. genre: suggestive, slight angst, fluff, sensitive topics like murder. jay steals reader's undergarments. word count: 4954.
YOU WERE THE TYPE OF GIRLS THAT TURNED HEADS.
Not because you were loud. Not because you were trying to be. But because everything about you demanded people look at you in the softest, dumbest way.Â
Your short skirt twirled around you as you laughed with your girlfriends, your cardigan had slid off one shoulder, and your lip gloss glinting in the sun like it was made just for you. You weren't exactly dumb. You just didn't see stuffâyou didn't really see it. You didn't notice the way guys looked at you like you were a walking, talking invitation. You thought they were "just being friendly."
You were that kind of dumb.Â
But not to him.Â
Jay saw you. Â
Really saw you.Â
And not just on that Saturday, but when you were walking down the street as if you had no idea the world could swallow you whole.
Your heels clicked-on-the-pavement while your friends teased each other and you giggled behind your hand, swaying slightly in that stupid little dress.Â
He understood your type: naive, glitzy, perhaps a little soft on the edges. The type that thought it was alright to hand out their number "just to be nice". The type that had no idea how dangerous that kind of behavior could be.
You had barely stepped foot in the door when some dork of a dudeâtall, wearing a hoodie, and slipping off of him like wax was poor intentionsâwas checking you out like you were dessert. Jay felt it before he even saw it. He felt that same itch at the back of his skull. And that familiar crawl that went under his skin.
You asked your friends if they wanted anything.
They said no.
So you had walked in alone.
And in that instant, Jay memorized all the angles of you. The gloss of your lips. The shade of your natural blush on your cheeks. The way your dress clung too tight in all the wrong places. You had no idea what you looked like to people like him. People who'd kill for something that pretty.
Literally.
You ordered something stupid and sweet. Of course you did.
While you waited, Hoodie Dude slithered in beside you. Jay's jaw tightened as he listened.
"Hey," he said casually, "you're pretty cute. Do you study around here?"
You looked at him with a small, polite little smile and said, "Yeah. I go to college nearby." Â
He asked for your number.
You cocked your head to the side. "Oh, I'm not reallyâ"
"Just as friends," he said quickly.
And you being you handed it over.
Jay didn't blink. Just moved to the prep counter like the passing moment was non-existent. But he heard everything.
And his hand slid toward the flask in his pocketâone of many little solutions he kept for moments like these. Moments when someone crossed a line they weren't supposed to cross.
A drop.
Not enough to kill someone instantly.
No. Jay was patient.
He liked the slow burns. The kind you couldn't trace back, and no one would ever be suspicious. Ten hours from now, Hoodie Guy would be found collapsed somewhere without an explanation and no one would know it was because of the iced mocha from earlier. The cup would be long gone.
Just like him.
"Order 118," Jay called, voice smooth.
You turned your head with a bright smile as you walked to cash and the counter. Your hands brushed against his as you grabbed your drink. Your hand and your touch were fire.
"Thanks," you said, bright and innocent.
Jay didn't answer right away.
He watched your lips part, the gloss catching the light.
He watched your lips part, the gloss catching in the light. Watched you walk out the door like you hadn't just been seconds away from danger. He smiled faintly.
"Anytime," he murmured.
His gaze didn't leave you.
Not even after the door shut.
Because you were his now.
You just didn't know it yet.
When you arrived home that night, there was a strange feeling in the airânot anything overwhelming. It was not the kind of unsettling feeling that screamed danger or even panic. Just stillness. Your phone was dry. Not a single message since you waved goodbye to your friends a couple hours before. Nothing in the group chat, no "wyd" text from that guy who normally walked you to the library, not even a meme from your roommate.
You blinked at the screen, confused for a moment. But then you shrugged. Maybe everyone was just busy. You flipped it face down and didn't think of it again.
The water was warm in the shower. You hummed a little to yourself while washing your hair, thinking about your classes tomorrow, which outfit you would wear. Maybe your ruffled mini skirt would work with the sheer tights if it wasn't too cold.
You didn't really notice when eyes watched you through the crack in your dorm's hallway blinds. You didn't feel the weight of obsession perched in the shadows outside your window.
But he was there.
Jay always was.
Lately, your campus felt tense.
More tense than usual.
The news was everywhereâa series of senseless and disconnected deaths. Just random, mostly men, mostly young. Some in apartments. Some near the park. Some just on the street. There were whispers in the corridors of lecture halls and girls were clinging closer to their guys. Lockdowns were getting talked about.
You were starting to notice it tooâespecially today.
Because one of those guys that usually offered to walk with you toward the library? The nice one, with the fluffy hair and shy smile?
Gone.
Not seen in days.
You only found out when his friends took you aside by the vending machine in the science building. Woo Min was scratching at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "He... he really liked you, y'know," he said, nervously. "He talked about you all the time."
You blinked. "Huh?"
His friends told you what happened. The murder. The body. That he had been walking around on the street a few hours before he was murderedâa couple blocks from your campus. You just stared, silent, lips slack.
"Oh... I had no idea he felt that way," you said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I didn't mean toâI mean, I just thought he was being nice."
"We know..." one said quietly. "It wasn't your fault."
You bit your lip.
It wasn't, right?
Probably just an accident. Bad timing. Just wrong place wrong time. But damn, the chill creeping up your spine.
No one else insideâjust him behind the counter. He smiled when he saw you, one of those smiles that wasn't fake or forced, but just... soft. His eyes ran over your frame a second too long before he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.
"Back again?" he asked, leaning forward. His voice was calm; smooth like velvet. "I thought you'd be scared to go out these days."
You blinked. "I kinda am."
"Then why come here?"
You hesitated. "It's quiet. I feel... safer here."
That made him pause.
Just for a second.
And then he smiled wider. "Good."
You ordered something different this timeâan iced latte, something sweet to calm your nerves. Jay started working on it without breaking eye contact, like he already knew what you were going to say.
"You seemed off today," he remarked inconspicuously. "You worried about the news?"
You nodded slowly and fiddled with the strap of your bag. "Yeah. One of the guys I knew was... well, he's one of the people who... you know."
"That you knew well?" Jay's back was toward you as he worked the machine.
"Not really," you said. "He just walked me to the library sometimes. But I didn't know he liked me. His friends told me today."
Jay said nothing.
The machine hissed.You continued rambling."I thought it was coincidence," you said, quietly. "But I don't know. It't creepy, like someone's-"
"Watching?" he interrupted as he turned back to you, drink in hand.You blinked.His eyes were bright.
You nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kind of."
Jay sat the drink on the counter. Your fingers brushed his as you reached for the drink again, then you looked to his face.
"So, what happened to that guy the other day?" he suddenly asked. "The one who hit on you here?"
"Oh. He still has me on delivered," you said with a half-shrug, and small laugh. "Guess he was just trying his luck."
Jay tilted his head. "That's a shame. He seemed like the type who could have done worse things."
You smiled nervously.
He kept his gaze on you for a beat longer than needed; then, quite suddenly, the bemused expression slipped from his face like a mist on the morning sun.
"Forget it. Just forget all of it," he said softly. "Just be careful. Okay?"
You looked up at him, surprised by how gentle, almost protective, he sounded. "Okay."
Jay watched you take a sip of your drink. His eyes were glued to your lips. You didn't see the smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. You didn't notice how he was looking at you like he already owned you.
Because to Jay, this wasn't with or without you.
It was just with you.
Whether you wanted it or not.
    æ âĄ
Your room was supposed to be your safe place.
Your sanctuary.
But it wasn't anymore. You didn't know that while you were in classâexhausted and yawning, trying to pay attention to the lectureâsomeone had been inside.
Inside your room.
Rummaging through your drawers.
When you got back, your bed still looked tidy. The lights were off. Nothing broken. But there was something wrong. You felt it like a crawling itch on your skin. You didn't notice the missing pair of underwear right away.
Or the hoodie that smelled like your perfume, the one you wore last week.
Or the fact your socks were slightly out of place.
You were too tired. You dumped your bag and changed into pajamas without thinking too hard.
You made ramenâyou were hungry for something hot and saltyâand while the water boiled, you sat on your phone, your brain still half-dead. That's when it happened.
A note slid under your front door. You heard it. That dry, slow shuffle of paper across linoleum. You turned, blood freezing.
Someone was outside your door. You immediately threw it opened to find no one there.
The hall was empty, enveloped in eerily quiet. The girl down the hall who was usually watching Bloodhounds and squealing over Woo Do-Hwan at this hour was silence.
Just the humming of the vending machine.
You swallowed, slowly reaching for the letter. The letter was folded perfectlyâlike a love letterâbut there was no name, no address. Just a sharp, handwritten line in smeared dark red ink. Not blood. But it looked close enough.
You opened it with shaking hands. Just one sentence.
"You're always forgetting to lock the balcony door."
Your lungs froze. You had locked it. You were sure. You always checked it twice. You spun around, ran to your bedroomâand there it was.
Unlocked.
The wind had pushed it open slightly, a creak so soft it made your stomach twist. You stared, trembling, ramen completely forgotten.
You didn't sleep. Couldn't.
The shadows felt darker tonight. The wind more menacing. Every creak had you flinching. You hardly remembered brushing your teeth or checking the corners of your room five times. You even asked someone who lived on your floor the following morningâa quiet girl from across the hall.
She blinked when you asked her if she saw anything weird last night. "Actually..." she said slowly, brushing hair behind her ear, "I think I did. I came back up around 11, and I swear I saw some guy coming out of the elevator in a rush. Hoodie, black cap. Didn't look at me."
Your heart sank.
That was around when the note came.
You nodded, thanked her, forced a smileâthen immediately left.
He froze when he saw your face. You had dull eyes. Dried out lips. Your hair was slightly frizzy. Bags under your eyes, you looked haunted. He smiled meekly, "Rough day?"
You chuckled softly, "Rough night too."
He tilted his head. "What happened?"
You hesitated. You didn't know why you were telling him, but it felt easier in some form. Perhaps because he was listening. Maybe because of the way he made you feel... seen. "There's someone who... I don't know.
Someone sent me a note. It slipped under my door while I was cooking. I've been thinking someone is watching me. I've lost some clothes, the other day my balcony door was open even though I locked it because I know I did."
Jay's face transformed into grim disbelief. He leaned into the counter. "Are you serious?"
You nodded. "And... this other guy just died," you added quietly. "Someone my friend knew."
Jay whistled low under his breath. His jaw clenched slightly. "That's messed up."
You gave a weak nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I thought about reporting it," you said softly. "But the letter said not to."
His face went blank. "The note said that?"Â Â
You nodded. "Don't go to the cops."
That's exactly what it said on the back of the paper. You hadn't told anybody else. Jay took a slow breath. He shook his head with a pursed frown and softened his eyes. "That's dangerous. But... if you can't go to the police..."
Jay's finger tapped the counter. "If it makes you feel better, " he said almost shyly, "you could crash at my place?"
You blinked at him, startled. Jay shrugged. "Just until your roommate gets back, you said she was with her boyfriend, right?"
You nodded again. You were feeling uncertain.
"No pressure," he said softly. "But honestly, I'd feel better, knowing you were "safe".
He gave you a smile, sweet, charming, harmless. But deep inside his head?
Oh, poor you. So naive.
He remembered the smell of your clothes, the feel of your hoodie in his fingers. The lace he took just last night. He remembered how you looked when you were asleepâpeaceful and blissfully ignorant, him standing just outside your glass balcony door, watching for hours.
Of course.Â
You should stay with him.
After all, it's what he's always wanted.
He mentioned he lived in the city, which was odd enough, but once you felt the smooth pavement beneath your feet in his neighborhood, you were shocked. The place was one of those areas: quiet, gated, wealthy.
Big windows. Neatly trimmed hedges. Actual wealth. You felt a little out of place dragging around your duffle bag in your flip flops with your hoodie sliding down one shoulder as the soles of your feet absorbed the dimmed warmth of the stone pathway leading to his house.
Jay was out in the yard throwing away trash when you pulled up. Once he spotted you, his face lit up with that goofy smile that eased the tension in your chest for a few seconds. He walked up to meet you halfway, effortlessly lifting your bag from your shoulder and brushing off your protests.
"You shouldn't be carrying this heavy bag by yourself," he said quietly while walking to the door with you, "not when I'm here."
His house was pristineâunnaturally so. The floors looked freshly polished, and the air smelled slightly floral and clean, similar to lilies. You weren't sure why, but it felt more like a show house than somewhere Jay lived.
Still, you were too mentally exhausted to think anything of it. You sunk into the plush couch like dead weight, arms hugging your knees, and sighed.
Jay's voice was soft. "Want to take a shower? I know you've had a long day."
You nodded. The hot water sounded like a blessing.
He pointed toward the bathroom and told you he bought a new shampoo "just for you." You paused mid-step, blinking at him. "You didn't have to..."
"I know," he said with familiarity. "But I thought you would want to feel comfortable here. Like home."
That last word lingered in your throat a bit. Like home. You weren't sure why that caused a skip in your heart, but you nodded again and walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind you. The shampoo was branded with your favorite smell. You didn't even remember telling him that.
You thought for a second if you hadâin passing perhapsâand just attributed it to that. You were too mentally fatigued to ponder deeper any more. Maybe it was all coincidence.Â
When you came out, hair damp and clinging to your shoulders, wearing one of his robes, he was in the kitchen humming something deep under his breath.
It wasn't anything you recognized. Something about it made you feel like it would be crossing a line to ask for a name. The humming stopped the moment you entered the room.
You gave a weak smile. "Smells good."
Jay glanced over his shoulder at you, still in the apron, and his smile came back to him easily again. "I made you gyudon. I saw you skipped meals too, right?"
It should have weirded you out. But it didn't. Not fully.
Maybe because you were starting to crave someone noticing. Anyone. You were scared. People around you kept dying. You had nightmares last night. Your roommate hadn't texted back. You were shaking when you showed up. And now there was warm food and someone smiling at you like he wanted nothing more than for you to eat.
You dug in.
It was pretty good. Really good.
Jay sat across from you quietly taking you in, barely touching his plate. His eyes traced the movement of your mouth with a kind of gentle reverence that made you swallow slower, more aware. He smiled every time you brushed your fingers across the spoon, like he was trying to memorize the way you held it.
"You live here alone?" you said softly, trying to break the strange quiet.
His eyes didn't leave you.
"Yeah."
"What about your parents?"
His smile didn't change, but something in his eyes... cracked.
It was small. Barely perceptible.
"They're overseas," he said simply. "They've been gone for a long time."
You nodded.
You didn't prod further.
Because you didn't know they were buried in the back garden. That he'd killed them when he was fifteen and inherited their wealth through some falsified documents and a charming lie to the courts. That no one asked too many questionsânot when his parents had always been so strict and he had such a promising future.
He stood, taking your empty bowl. "I'll clean this up. You can get ready for bed."
You thanked him again, pulling the sleeves over your hands as you stood awkwardly in the living room. You wanted to ask where you were sleeping, but before you could, Jay's voice cut in again.
"You can wear my shirt, if you want," he said, "I left one on the bed."
And you did find it, folded on the edge of the bed, a black shirt that smelled just like him. You changed and curled up under the blankets. Your eyes were heavy. His room was warm and you had a fleeting sense of peace, your body was too tired to worry about any of it anymore.
You didn't notice the door creaking open thirty minutes later.
You didn't see him, standing half asleep and barefoot over you.
You didn't feel the way his fingers hovered just above your hair, brushing without touching and his breath shallow.
You only sighed in your sleep, shifting ever so slightly.
He stood there for a while.
Watching.
He mumbled something you didn't hearâtoo quiet to decipherâand then he slipped something small and cold under your pillow and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You wouldn't find the photo for another few days.
A polaroid of you.
Asleep.
From your dorm balcony.
You'll tell yourself it's just a prank when you find it.
And he'll hug you tight, assuring you are safe with him.
The nightmare was suffocating. A black figure chasing you through hallways that bled into each other, twisting, growing darker the further you ran.
The faster your feet moved, the heavier they feltâuntil finally something grabbed your ankle, pulling you into a void of whispering voices and shadows with human faces.
One of them smiled. It was wearing Jay's face.
You jolted awake, gasping for air as beads of sweat clung to your body and your shirt stuck to your spine. The sheets were tangled around your legs leaving you feeling restrained, as though the sheets were also wrapped around your body.
The air felt still. Too still. It felt like the house itself was holding its breath.
You sat up unsteadily, kicking the covers off, and planted your cold bare feet on the freezing ground. It shocked you for a second.
Not real, you told yourself. Just a nightmare. You stepped out of your room quietly, and the hallway was illuminated by gold sconces light. The hallway felt eerily quiet, and you walked slowly, your arms hugging yourself.
Then you slammed into a broad back and your instinct was to scream. The person spun around and you caught your breath.
"Woah," Jay said, blinking. "You okay?"
"Y-yeah," you stuttered, hand pressing against your chest as your heart thundered in your throat. "Sorry. Just a bad dream."
He regarded you carefully, eyes scanning the sweat that glistened in your hairline, your shaking arms, and your bright red cheeks.
God, you must've looked like a ghost, and he must've been worried. His lips parted, as if he was going to say something, but instead, he reached out and grabbed your wrist. His palm was warm. Much warmer than yours.
"Come," he said softly. "You're tense. Let me help."
He led you into the kitchen again, gently set you on the stool, then turned to boil the kettle. Everything was measured and deliberateâthe kettle clicked, the cabinet opened smoothly, he'd elegantly poured a steaming liquid into a ceramic mug.Â
He brought it to you. Chamomile. Soft and fragrant.Â
You held it, your eyes still a little unfocused, until you felt his fingers trailing merciless up your arm, warm against the cold sweat. He then settled behind you, his thumbs pressing gently where the knots were in your shoulders, worked them out with ease and practiced motion.
"You're okay. I'm here."Â His voice was low, just above a whisper.
You let out a shaken whimper, and he leaned just a little, thumb brushing over your hand as he said it again.
"I'm here."
And in that moment, you believed him.
You mumbled something about needing the bathroom and stepped off of the stool. He nodded, telling you to take your time, and you gave him a weak smile before heading down the hallway. But then you passed the door to his bedroomâever so slightly ajar.
And that's when you saw it.
His laptopâopen with the screen still lit up. There was a folder window open. Your name was in the title. Your heart stumbled. It had to be a coincidence.
Then, your gaze settled on the laundry basket in the corner.
And there it was. Your underwear. One you hadn't packed. You hadn't even seen it since last week when it vanished from your dorm. Your fingers acted faster than your brain could check, clicking on the folder.
There were pictures.
Videos.
All of you.
In your dorm. Changing. Sleeping. Getting dressed. A close-up video of your hand reaching for your cell. A clip of you brushing your teeth, and another of you crying in your bed. You were filmed in a different angle every time, it was as if he had multiple cameras discreetly placed.
You clicked into another folder.
Target Eliminated.
Your breath caught in your throat. Names.
And faces. Some you recognized, vaguely. A guy from your lecture who always says hi. The tall guy you caught staring a little too long at your thighs when you wore shorts to the library. The student athlete you danced with at that party.
Dead.
Gone.
The nightmares, the news articles, the rumors... none of it was random.
You stumbled backward in a daze, landing on his bed with a soft thud, trying not to scream. Your vision blurred as you struggled to piece anything together. Your throat was dry.
No. No way. It couldn't be Jay. He was kind. He made you tea. He was warm. Heâheâ
Your mind was blown apart as a shadow fell across the floor.
You looked up.
There he stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Cold. Unfazed.
"I was calling your name in the bathroom," he said deliberately, in a steady tone. "Only to find no one was there."Â "Your tea is getting cold."
Your blood ran cold.
His gaze held yours, picking up the twitch of panic in your eyes, but he stood still. Just waiting.
Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, trembling slightly, but you didn't fight him when he took you by the hand.
Jay's hand slipped to your lower back, warm and firm, and he led you out of his room, as if nothing had happenedâas if you hadn't seen a file with your name on it and proof that people had been erased from your life.
The hallway suddenly felt longer, dimmer, like the air thickened around you. But you let him take you back to the kitchen anyway. After all, where else did you have to go?
You hesitated before sitting down, your legs shaking, and you wrapped your fingers around the warm ceramic mug again. Holding it up to your lips, you took a sipâthe tea was still warm, still soothing, but this time it tasted different too.
It tasted like control.
He leaned back against the counter with his arms folded, muscles straining against the black shirt, watching you too closely with his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, head cocked slightly to one side. He had you pinned in place under his stare, and your heart raced, and not entirely in fear.
You hated how your body reacted.
Hated that part of you warmed under his scrutiny.
"Y-You didn't-"
You cut yourself off. The question got stuck in your throat like thorns.
"Come on, baby," he murmured, soft, sweetâmocking. "Tell me."
You met his gaze, eyes wide. "The guys... the videos... why do you have these?"
He wouldn't even blink.
"To make sure you're safe," he said, voice steady. "I just removed the distractions. They were in the way."
You stared at him, unable to look away, as he reached out to your hair and curled a strand of it between his fingers, twisting it ever so slightly. His hand moved to your jaw, and his thumb brushed along the soft skin just beneath your cheekbone.
You shivered under his touch. Jay stepped closer, now looming over you, and you felt something flutter in your chestâpart fear and part something shamefully warmer.
You should hate this.
You should scream.
You should run.
But you didn't.
Because he was so close. Because he smelled clean, dark, and intoxicating. Because part of youâsome deep, naive partâwanted to be taken care of.
"You don't have to think so hard, sweetheart," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "You just needed someone to show you, right? Someone to make sure you were doing the right thing?"
You opened your mouth to protest, to say something but nothing came out but a trembling breath. That was all he needed. He slid his fingers along your shoulder and circled behind you again, feeling each inch of your warmth press against your back.
"I've been watching you for a long time," he whispered near your ear. "and I know what you need better than anyone else."
Your instincts flooded your mindâyou tried to move, you tried to run. But hardly had you made it a step before he caught your wrist againânot aggressively but firmly. He trapped you between himself and the counter.
Your breathing stuttered.
"Jay-"
"Shh," he whispered, brushing his knuckles down your arm. "Don't be scared. I'll never hurt you. I only ever did what was necessary. You know that, don't you?"
His fingers stretched along the sides of your waist, and the touch nearly felt soft. You whined, the sound coming out before you were able to swallow it down.
"You like this," he said lowlyâand you thought you could hear a hint of amusement. "You don't want to admit it, but you do. Your body always tells me the truth."
You clenched your jaw, fighting all means of response - fighting all means of your body reacting, but it did. Heat
You gritted your teeth, doing your best to not respondâto not let your body reactâbut of course, it did. Heat blossomed in your stomach. Your thighs clenched.
Jay leaned in, his lips barely brushing your temple. "You were meant for me," he said, his voice improved with conviction. "That is exactly why, no one else gets you. That is why you are here now. Safe. With Me."
He tilted your chin up again, your eyes locking with his. You didn't even realize how close your lips were to his until he smiled, slow and sure, like he already knew you were his.
And you were.
Even if some part of you still wanted to run, another part wanted to stay.
no other man except yours can be cringy in the comments section.
in which enha catches another man under your post! BF! enha x reader oneshots! fluff crack fun and mentions of head and kms . i love stupid enha and i love stupid
A Gryffindor who radiated light and laughter, yet craved the solace of quiet moments. A Slytherin who wore a mask of unshakable composure, concealing a heart warmer than anyone could guess.
Your friendship had always teetered on the edge of something moreâa connection that felt too fragile to name.
But when a trip pulled you closer than ever, the boundaries began to blur. When Beomgyu stumbled into your orbit one night, bruised and battered, the distance you've maintained dangerously faltered.
As you tended to his wounds in the hushed intimacy of your hotel room, in that quiet, fleeting moment, the months of yearning and longing began to unravel, threatening to upend everything youâve had carefully built.
âčââĄâ 24.4k
pairing: gryffindor! Choi Beomgyu x slytherin! afab! reader
warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, og character, slight slowburn, sort of modern setting? they use phones, not your typical gryffindor-slytherin toxic relation, mention of other idols, amortentia, yearning and lots of yearning, tensions, drinking games, drinking, depictions of injury, physical fighting, wound care, probably missed some eh
[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, dry humping, fingering, kinda switch!reader, beomgyu is mostly dom!, multiple orgasms, slight pain kink, making out with a split lip, slow sex, a lot of feelings, protected sex (huzzah!)
I'm aware it's not the 13th anymore, but that's alright. Happy birthday to my aubade Choi Beomgyu.
Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!
You were afraid of many things, but nothing frightened you more than how little you knew about him, yet the gentle smile heâd give you always managed to shake you off your orbit.
It wasnât the bright, boisterous grin he wore like the stars when surrounded by others, noâit was rather a quiet, small downward curve of his lipsâa smile that only ever seemed to find its way to you. As if it carried a secret, a silent gravity pulling you closer despite the careful distance you maintained. It was something muted, something that felt like both a promise and a question, drifting between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.
The more you tried to look away, the more you found yourself drawn in. It was a dangerous feelingâthe kind that settled beneath your ribs and grew roots before you even noticed. You should have known better. But when he looked at you like that, like he saw something in you worth knowing, worth staying for, your resolve wavered.
Your path with Beomgyu would have never intertwined if not for the entanglement of mutual friends. It was through them that you learned his name wasnât just a name, that his reputation wasnât just a reputation. It was through them that you found yourself in a space where his presence became an inevitability, where the quiet corners you once occupied alone were now shared.
Ever since Kai had stumbled upon the Room of Requirement, it had become your groupâs refugeâa place that bent itself to your needs, where walls shaped themselves around whispered conversations and laughter softened by candlelight. You liked the quiet comfort of it, the way it allowed you to exist among others without being swept away. And yet, no matter how much you tried to stay on the fringes, Beomgyu was always there, impossible to ignore.
He was the kind of person who filled a room without trying. The kind whose presence was a gravitational force, pulling people in, setting them alight. His laughter rang out like the chime of a bell, his energy infectious. Charming. And yet, despite all of it, he never overwhelmed you. He never demanded your attention. He never reached for you. But somehow, he already had you in his orbit.
You werenât sure when you started watching him the way you did. When admiration turned to curiosity, when curiosity turned to something far more treacherous. But once you noticed the cracks in his brilliance, the moments where exhaustion tugged at the edges of his expression, where laughter faltered just a second too soonâyou couldnât stop noticing.
The way his shoulders drooped ever so slightly after a long day, as if the weight of his own shine was something he carried alone. The way his fingers found the hem of his sleeve when praise was given too freely, pressing into the fabric like a tether. The way his gaze sometimes drifted, unfocused, as if he were somewhere else entirely, somewhere only he knew how to reach.
These were the things no one else seemed to see. But you did. And that, more than anything, terrified you.
Across the room, Beomgyu laughed, leaning back in his chair in that uncurbed way he always did, balancing it on its hind legs like gravity meant nothing to him. The others hung onto his every word, drawn into whatever story he was weaving, their delight feeding off his light. And youâyou sat with an open book in your lap, the words forgotten, your gaze betraying you each time it sought him out.
Then, as if sensing it, Beomgyu looked up. The world didnât stop, not really. But for a breath, it felt like it did. His grin softened, just enough that it wasnât for them, but for you.
And then it was gone. He turned back to his audience, spinning another tale, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.
Despite everything, to you, Beomgyu remained just out of reach. He was there, always there, and yetânot quite. Like something ephemeral, like light breaking through waterâclose enough to touch, but never enough to hold.
Later that night, long after the room had emptied, you found him before the fireplace, his usual exuberance dimmed to something quieter, softer. He sat cross-legged on the rug, a pencil in hand, sketching into a worn notebook balanced against his knee. The firelight painted golden warmth onto his face, casting shadows beneath his lashes, softening his features.
You had seen him in a hundred different ways, but thisâthis was new. This was a Beomgyu stripped of performance, lost in a world of his own making. You wonderedâif you reached for him, if you spoke his name now, would he finally let you in?
You hesitated by the doorway, caught between the pull of curiosity and the instinct to retreat. He hadnât noticed you yet, absorbed in whatever he was sketchingâit made you feel like you were intruding on something intimate, something not meant to be seen.
âAre you coming?â Yeonjunâs voice broke the stillness. He stood a few steps down the hall, arms crossed, watching you with mild curiosity.
You turned to him, and plainly said, "Go ahead. I forgot something inside."
Yeonjunâs gaze flickered toward the room, then back to you. He didnât look convinced, but he didnât press either. âAlright. Donât take too long,â he said before turning away, his footsteps fading into the corridorâs hush.
The silence settled again, broken only by the faint scratch of pencil against paper. You dallied a moment longer, watching the way his hand moved fluidly over the page. You found yourself losing into the abyss of mesmerization.
âI thought you were going to stand there all night.â
His voice cut through the quiet, as if gently holding your hands and pulling you back on your feet from falling off. Heat rushed to your ears, but you kept your composure, stepping inside as if his words hadnât fazed you. "Shouldnât you rest?" you asked softly, shutting the door behind you. "We have Potions in the morning."
He huffed a quiet laugh, far from the bright, unrestrained laughter he shared with others. âNeeded some space,â he admitted. âGets tiring being everyoneâs entertainment.â
That was the first time you had ever heard him say something like thatâopenly acknowledging the burden behind the persona he carried so well for everyone. He glanced up at you then, and for the second time that night, his expression softened in a way that wasnât meant for anyone else.
You hesitated before settling into the armchair nearest to him. âSo this is what youâre like when youâre not stealing the spotlight.â
âDisappointed?â he teased, but there was no sharpness in it.
âNo,â you said, more earnestly than you meant to. âItâs... different.â
He considered that, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the page. The moment stretched, and something about his silence made you self-conscious, so you added, a little softer, âA good different.â
His lips curved slightly. "You think so?"
You nodded, fingers curling over the armrest. âIt suits you. This side of you.â
Beomgyuâs smile turned faintly self-conscious. His gaze dropped, as if he wasnât used to hearing that. âMost people wouldnât agree,â he murmured. âTheyâd probably think something was wrong if I wasnât bouncing off the walls.â
You tilted your head slightly, watching the way his hand fidgeted with the edge of the notebook. âThen they donât really know you, do they?â
The words had left you before you could think twice, and for a moment, you regretted itâbecause how well did you know him, really? Yet, across from you, Beomgyu stilled. His fingers no longer toyed with the page. He seemed caught off guard, as if you had touched on something he hadnât meant to share.
âI suppose you could say that,â he murmured, almost to himself.
The fire crackled softly between you. You felt an unexpected warmthânot from the hearth, but from the softness of his gaze. Your throat felt dry.
âWhat are you working on?â you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch too long.
He blinked, like you had pulled him from some far-off thought, and then he held up the notebook. The sketch was rough but intricateâa cluster of flowers, their petals curling at the edges, almost lifelike in their detail.
âYouâre an artist?â you asked, surprised.
âNot really,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. âI just draw sometimes. Itâs nothing special.â
You leaned in slightly, studying the page. The flowers looked as if they could be plucked straight from the parchment. âItâs good,â you said. âMore than good. Why do you downplay it?â
He let out a breath, closing the notebook with a quiet thud. âHabit, I guess. Itâs easier to pretend it doesnât matter than to let someone see that it does.â His voice was levelled, like he was testing the words.
You studied him, again realizing how little you actually knew about himâhow much of Beomgyu was wrapped in layers youâd only seen hints of. The loud, playful version of him youâd become so used to was just thatâa version. Here, in the firelight, he felt like something else entirely. The Beomgyu who carried more than he let on. The one who, despite his light, had shadows of his own.
He reminded you of an aubade. The thought came unexpectedly, lingering in your mind like the echo of a half-remembered song. Beomgyu thrived in the daylight, filling every space with his presence. But now, in this quiet, he was something softer. A melody that didnât demand to be heard but stayed with you all the same.
You didnât realize youâd been staring until he tilted his head slightly. "What?"
You hesitated, the words caught on the tip of your tongue. But something about the way he looked at youâunguarded, open in a way you rarely sawâmade you brave enough to speak. "You remind me of an aubade."
His brows knitted together. "An aubade?"
âItâs a poem or song for the morning," you explained. "Not just loud or brightâit can be quiet too. Steady. Beautiful in a different way."
Beomgyuâs expression shifted, the confusion giving way to something else. You braced for teasing, for a dismissive remark, but it never came. Instead, he looked at you like he wasnât quite sure what to do with your words.
"You think Iâm like that?" he asked, voice softer than before.
You nodded, your fingers tracing the seam of your sleeve in idle thought. "When youâre like this, yeah."
A quiet breath of laughter escaped him, small and surprised. He glanced away, thumb idly running along the edge of his notebook. "No oneâs ever said anything like that to me before."
âItâs how I see you,â you said simply, surprised at how easily the words came. You turned toward the fire, suddenly aware of its crackling embersâbut when you looked back, your breath caught. His gaze was on you, intense and intrigued, and for a moment, you wondered if he was studying you to understand what was beneath your facade, just the way youâve been trying to understand him.
âYou arenât like what they say about you,â he said quietly, leaning back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. âYou have a warm heart.â
You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head. You knew what he meant. Your reputation had long preceded you, tangled in the legacy of your house. A Slytherin, one of the best in centuries, they said. Ruthless in duels, a prodigy in Defense Against the Dark Arts. People admired you, envied you, feared you. They spoke of you with awe or with caution, rarely anything in between. You had grown used to itâthe wary glances, the hushed whispers, the way admiration and fear blurred so easily in their eyes. You became someone to either idolize or keep their distance from.
Even among those who considered themselves allies, there was always a distance. A line no one dared to cross. And though you had long learned to live with it, a part of you had always wonderedâhoped, evenâthat someone might see past it. That someone might look at you and not just see the expectations, the legacy, the carefully maintained facade.
Maybe that was why Beomgyuâs words settled so deeply. Why, in that moment, you realized something you hadnât before.
Perhaps you and Beomgyu were not so different after all.
The fire crackled softly. Beomgyu rested his chin on his hand, watching you with newfound curiosity. "An aubade," he repeated, testing the word. "I kind of like that."
His gaze lingered for another moment, and you swore the space between you shrank. But then he leaned back, breaking the moment with a quiet chuckle, his smile still carrying that touch of sincerity.
"Iâll have to remember that one."
When you returned to the Slytherin common room, Yeonjunâs waiting figure greeted you from the leather sofa. He pinned you with a blank stare as you passed, but you felt no need to share what had happened with Beomgyu. Some moments werenât meant to be spoken aloudâthey were meant to be kept. They were meant to be held close in your heart.
That night, you dreamt of gentle smiles and the hush of dawnâs song.
The library was unusually peaceful todayâno hushed giggles from gossiping students, no rustling of hurriedly flipped pages. You took the opportunity of such a phenomenon's mercy and indulge yourself in reviewing your upcoming finalâs notes. Though Transfiguration was a subject you didnât quite dislike, it was still one of the hardest ones for you, hard enough to make you lose sleep over it trying to get everything perfect. Â
Then, as if summoned by some cosmic force designed to disrupt your calm, a figure slid into the chair across from you, the deafening screeching of chair legs against the floor entirely unapologetic.
âGuess where theyâre taking us for the vacation trip?â Yeonjunâs voice cut through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk, brimming with barely restrained excitement. His smirk was all mischief, eyes glowing under the dim light. âTo Paris!â
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You hadnât even heard the professors announce anything yet. Which meant only one thing.
âHow do you know that?â You narrowed your eyes at him, though you knew the answer.Â
Yeonjun tapped a finger to his temple, his grin widening. âI have my ways.â
Of course, he did. Slytherins always did.
With a sigh, you shut your book, methodically packing your things. âThatâs nice,â you murmured, slinging your bag over your shoulder as the two of you slipped into the corridor. âIâve always wanted to go to Paris.â
You didnât even glance at him. âIâm actually looking forward to finding some good chocolate croissants.â
Yeonjun snorted. He had a way of reading people, of slipping between their defenses with the ease of a snake in creeping waves. He never priedâhe teased, but only when he knew you could handle it. And when he sensed something deeper, he didnât push. He just gave you space to reveal what you wanted, when you wanted.
The corridor stretched ahead, bathed in golden afternoon light that streamed through the high-arched windows. Outside, past the courtyard, the Great Lake glimmered. Amidst the scattering of students, Beomgyu stood by the Great Lake with a few Gryffindors, chortling at something one of them said. They gathered around him, drawn to him, the way leaves surrendered to the wind.
âSup, buddy!â Yeonjun called, raising a hand in greeting.
Beomgyu glanced up. His hand lifted in greeting, but the moment his gaze found yours a new, slow smile graced his lips. You had expected it by nowâwatching the way the mirth in his expression dimming into something more private.
You returned the wave, your own lips curving faintly, the warmth in your chest unfurling before you could push it away.
Yeonjun made a low noise beside you, a hum that bordered on amusement. âThat guy will be with us on the trip,â he mused, his tone light, but his gaze sharp. âItâs going to be a lot livelier.â
You turned back to Beomgyu, watching the way he had already slipped back into conversation, laughing so brightly that drew his eyes in crescents. You took note of the contrast between that and when he wears the rare quietness around him like a comforting veil, when his eyes quietly shine like the full moon; and everyone knew that crescents could never rival the marvellous beauty of the full moon.
It wasnât hard to imagine how Paris would be for himâalways surrounded, always with someone calling his name. You wondered if heâd have a moment to himself at all.
As you stepped into your next class, that thought lingered. You found yourself hoping that, somehow, in the midst of all the noise, heâd get the chance to enjoy the trip in his own way.
A week before the trip.
Most of your exams were done, with only two remainingâTransfiguration among them. The mere thought of the library now, packed wall to wall with frantic students, made you cringe. The idea of fighting for a quiet corner, the hushed but ceaseless whispers fraying your patience, was enough to send you elsewhere. So instead, you chose the Room of Requirement, as you often did when solitude was a necessity.
Tonight, the room had shaped itself to your likingâa warm fireplace crackling softly, its amber glow licking at the dark wooden walls. Two comfortable couches sat near the hearth, but you preferred the floor, parchment and ink scattered around you in careful disarray. The lighting was warm and unobtrusive. Just the way you like it.
You had just settled into a focused rhythm, quill scratching against parchment, when the door creaked open. Your eyes flickered toward the entranceâa little too quicklyâand you froze in place.
Beomgyu stepped inside, dark hair still damp, strands clinging to his forehead in careless disarray. He took in the room before his gaze landed on you, and that damn gentle smile surfaced. You blinked, raising a brow at his sudden unannounced appearance. You didnât hate it, though.Â
âYeonjun told me Iâd find you here,â he said, voice laced with something almost sheepish. âI need help with Transfiguration.â
Ah. That explained it.
You made a mental note to have a word with Yeonjun. His tendency to play messenger was starting to feel suspiciously intentional.
Still, before you could voice a response, your gaze betrayed you, drawn to the damp mess of Beomgyuâs hairâdark, soft, tousled in a way that shouldnât be worth noticing. And yet, you couldnât look away, caught in the way the dim firelight accentuated every stray lock, made them seem almost soft, and an overwhelming urge to run your fingers through them engulfed your mind.
Did he just come back from Quidditch?
"I did." His voice broke through your reverie, as he answered your unspoken question without a second thought.
Your stomach twisted in brief confusion. How did heâ
Then you realized. You had said it aloud.
Mortification crept in, a slow, creeping heat crawling up your neck. You busied yourself with your parchment, adjusting the edges as if they needed perfecting. Anything to regain the upper hand. Anything to make it seem as though your thoughts hadnât strayed.
Beomgyu dropped to the floor beside you with a quiet groan, stretching his arms overhead before flipping open his textbook. You wondered where he got such energy from to study right after his grueling quidditch practices. You yourself would have to take at least half a day break after slytherinâs quidditch practices before you gained back the motivation and will to even get up from your bed.Â
"What can I help you with?" you asked, finding your voice again as you focused on your notes. The thought of helping him with Transfiguration wasn't so bad, you told yourself. There was no reason to turn him awayâhe was a friend, and if he needed your help, then so be it.Â
"Professor says my conjuration spells are correct, but my wand movements are off. Itâs frustrating. I know the theoryâI just canât seem to execute it properly." He admitted, rubbing his temple.Â
You glanced at him. "Show me."
He raised a brow but obeyed, adjusting his grip on his wand. With a precise flick, he muttered the incantation under his breath. A flicker of magic pulsed in the air, but the form wavered, incomplete.
You caught the flaw immediately.
Shifting onto your knees, you moved toward him, your hand brushing over his wrist to adjust his stance. He stilled under your touch.
"Your wrist is too stiff," you murmured, guiding his hand into a looser hold. "You need to let the magic flow, not force it. Try again."
His gaze flickered to youâclose enough that you could see the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, as if about to say something. But he only nodded.
He cast again, this time smoother, the flick of his wrist was more fluid. A bright shimmer sparked at the tip of his wand, and within seconds, a parrot materializedâvibrant green feathers ruffling as it stretched its wings before promptly flapping up and perching itself atop your head.
Beomgyu choked on a laugh, biting down on his bottom lip.
Unamused, you sent him a flat look.
"Real mature," you deadpanned, though the corners of your lips threatened to twitch.
"Sorry, sorry," he wheezed, not looking sorry at all. "Guess he likes you."
With a resigned sigh, you raised your wand, smoothly transfiguring the parrot into a sleek black hat, which dropped into your waiting hands. Then, with another flick, it morphed into a mirror, its polished surface reflecting Beomgyuâs grinning face. Finally, you uttered âEvanescoâ, Latin for âdisappearâ, countering the conjuration spell perfectly with vanishment.Â
He let out a low whistle. "That was impressive."
You gave a small smile, gathering the scattered parchments. "Youâre getting there. Your movements are still a little stiff, but if you keep practicing, youâll be fine."
You were beginning to relish in the moments you shared with him, and the thought both startled and thrilled you. If you told yourself this a year ago, you'd have refused to believe it. Youâd never have guessed that youâd find yourself drawn to him like this, looking forward to every small, fleeting moment spent in his presence. But now⊠now, you couldnât quite explain it. The idea almost seemed unfathomable. You wanted this. It had become a guilty pleasure to feel the warmth spreading in your chest whenever you were alone with him.
Sorting through your parchments, you quickly gathered the notes Beomgyu would need. It only took a few minutes to explain the key points he needed to focus on, pointing to the sections in your notes. As you spoke, his eyes remained focused on you, nodding occasionally, though his attention seemed distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.
Once you finished, you returned to your place on the floor, skimming through your notes one last time. You stretched, arms lifting above your head, trying to shake off the tiredness creeping in from hours of studying prior to his appearance.
It had been a little over half an hour, but as your gaze shifted toward Beomgyu, you couldnât help but notice something was off.
He was slouched against the couch, legs crossed beneath him, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He blinked slowly, as if trying to fight the heaviness pulling at his eyelids, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His posture was slumped, shoulders weighed down with exhaustion. Heâd just come back from practice, after all. His body was likely sore, muscles still humming from the strain of the game. No wonder he hadnât made much headway on his notes.
His head lolled back against the couch, gaze fixed on the ceiling before his eyes slipped shut. You observed him for a momentâthe subtle tremble of his lips as he exhaled, the exhaustion etched into his features. It was rare, seeing him like this.
With a quiet sigh of your own, you realized the inevitable: Beomgyu wasnât going to get any studying done in this state.
Without a word, you stood and moved toward him, crouching beside his scattered papers. He didnât notice you at first, lost in the pull of his own fatigue.
It was only when you began to gather his notes that his eyes fluttered open, his expression softening in surprise. You said nothing, just continued tidying up his things becauseâwell, you simply could.
âI didnât mean to doze off,â he muttered, his voice rough from exhaustion.
Your fingers paused over the parchment, but your expression remained steady. âLetâs take a break.â Your voice was quieter than usual. âDo you read books?â
Beomgyu blinked at you, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it again, as if uncertain how to respond to something so simple.
You didnât wait for an answer. Reaching for the storybook you always carried, you settled beside him, mirroring his crisscrossed position. The proximity sent a subtle flutter through your chest, but you pushed it aside as you opened the book and held it between you both.
Beomgyu leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing to read the page. The boldness of your actions surprised youâhow naturally you had done this, without hesitation. But when his gaze flickered with interest, a spark of curiosity lighting his tired features, you realized it didnât really matter.
Moments later, the story had you both engrossed, the silence settling around you like a comforting blanket. You hadnât noticed the change at first, but the now-dried strands of his hair brushed lightly against the side of your left cheek. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, while you remained crisscrossed, and that difference in position somehow brought you even closer together.
He was close enough now that you could catch a faint trace of his scent. Even though the sweat from practice had long since dried, his cologne mixed with the residual warmth of his skin, and the combination was... distracting. Not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly intimate.
For a moment, you became acutely aware of how close he wasâtoo close. You hesitated to even breathe, afraid that the smallest movement might draw attention to the spaceânow barely thereâbetween you. You turned your head slightly, curiosity winning over restraint, andâgosh, he was beautiful.
Lashes fluttering with every slow blink, casting delicate shadows over his cheekbones. The curve of his nose, the soft part of his lips, the quiet, almost dreamlike expression he wore as he read beside you. Heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it, the urge to look away overwhelming, but you couldnât.
Trying to steady your hands, you set the book on your thigh. Before you could focus, you felt the faintest brush of warmthâhis fingers grazing the other side of the book. He stifled a yawn with his free hand.
âYou can rest your head on my shoulder.â
The words left you before you could stop them. Careless in their honesty. You hadnât planned to say it, but now that you had, there was no taking it back.
Beomgyu stilled. It was as if your words had broken through the fog of his exhaustion. He sat up slightly, and in that small shift, his warmthâhis presenceâseemed to pull away from you. A strange absence, one that left the air colder than before.
For a fleeting second, you regretted saying anything at all.
He fumbled with his words, the usual Gryffindor confidence slipping, replaced with hesitation. But before he could say anything, you patted your shoulder lightly, a small, reassuring gesture.
âI insist.â
There was a brief pause. Then, with a quiet sigh, Beomgyu gave in. Carefully, almost as if unsure of himself, he leaned in. His head came to rest on your shoulder, and just like that, his warmth seeped back into you.
Beomgyu stretched his legs out fully, another yawn slipping past his lips. âThanks for helping me,â he mumbled, feeling sleep taking over him. âAnd for everything you did.â
You didnât understand what he meant. You didnât try to decipher his words either, because you couldnât trust yourself with your wordsânot when Beomgyu was so close, not when he was being so vulnerable.
You simply settled with a hum. âAnytime.â
That night, you let him nap on your shoulder as long as he needed. By the time he woke up, you had finished reading the storybook twice. The goodbye was hasty, drawn out with apologies, thank yous, and reassurancesâbut beneath it all, neither of you really wanted to leave, hesitating, unwilling to go back to your respective common rooms. Unwilling to leave each other so soon.
âWhatâs going on with you and Beomgyu?â
The Slytherin tent was silent. The pre-practice hustle and bustle had yet to begin, leaving only you and Yeonjun in the dimly lit space. You had just finished fastening the last buckle when his voice cut through the quiet.
Your hands stilled momentarily before turning, lifting a brow. âYou need to be a bit more specific than that.â
Yeonjun didnât elaborate. He didnât need to. The slow, knowing smirk stretching across his face was enough to make your brow twitch in mild irritation. You had known Yeonjun for almost your entire life. You were well-versed in his tactics, and had learned how to counter his cunning approaches with equal cunning. But despite your best efforts, there were still moments when he managed to slip under your skin.
You exhaled, pulling on your gloves. âIf youâre going to make a point, make it.â
Yeonjun hummed, following your movements as you moved through the tent. âYouâve been spending a lot of time with him,â he said, not unkindly. âAlone.â
You shot him a dry look. âHe needed help with Transfiguration. Wasnât it you who told him to come to me?â
âI was curious.â He leaned against one of the support beams, arms loosely crossed. âWanted to see if I was right.â
You adjusted the strap on your glove, feigning disinterest. âAbout what?â
âThat youâd let him in.â
Something in your chest tightened. Yeonjun took the pause as permission to continue, his voice quieter now, edged with something that almost sounded like understanding. âYou keep people at armâs length. Always have, haven't you? But him?â His gaze softened. âYouâre different with him.â
You forced a scoff, shaking your head. âThatâs ridiculous.â
âIs it?â Yeonjun didnât sound convinced. âYou watch him when you think no oneâs looking. You listenâto every little thing he says, even when it has nothing to do with you. And when you talk to him, youâre not just speaking. Youâreââ He made a vague gesture. âLetting him see you.â
You had to turn away. âYeonjun, youâre overanalyzing.â
âI donât think I am.â
The air felt suddenly too still. You liked Beomgyuâs presence in your life. That much had never been a question. And the meaning of your feelings wasnât lost on you. What you hadnât realized, however, was just how long Yeonjun had been watching. Observing. You werenât sure if him knowing that made your unease kick up more, or lift the anchor of burden that had sunk deep in your heart. Either way, a gnawing hollowness formed in the depth of your chest.Â
âI like his company more than I thought I would,â you admitted quietly.
It wasnât much. Just a handful of words, barely even spoken aloud. You donât explain anything either. But in the stillness of the tent, that transparencyâthe muted confessionâmust have caught Yeonjun off guard. His smile flickered, something akin to excitement sparking behind his eyes before melting into a fond softness.
Then, voice uncharacteristically gentle, he said, âYou know I never mix friend circles,â he began, âBefore you got into this big social network with Beomgyu, I practically raised that guy.â His lips quirked, something warm and distant crossing his features. âIf it eases your ailing, just know that heâs a good person.â
You knew that already. But hearing it from Yeonjunâwho knew him in ways you didnâtâmade it feel different. It was quite childish, but you felt a pang of jealousy at that moment. You wish you knew Beomgyu better, too.Â
âAnd donât worry,â he added, the gleam of mischief returning. âParis, the city of love, has a way of pulling people closerââ
The solid thud of your broomstick whizzing through the air smacking him in the back cut him off. Yeonjun stumbled forward, yelping as the broom settled neatly into your grip.
You sighed, dryly lamenting, âSo sad. And here I was, giving you the benefit of the doubt that youâd act like an adult.â You shook your head in mock disappointment. âTruly, truly tragic.â
The corners of your lips barely twitched upwards before you turned on your heel and strode out of the tent. Behind you, Yeonjun let out a disgruntled noise, jogging after you. âParis is going to be a lot more interesting now,â he mused to himself, as he caught up easily, matching your stride as you neared the practice field.
It was the day of departure, and Beomgyu had been awake since four in the morning.
He wasnât particularly tiredâon the contrary, he felt well-rested for the first time in what felt like forever. It was strange, the absence of stress gnawing at his mind, the deadweight of exams and Quidditch matches momentarily lifted from his shoulders. He had been looking forward to this trip for days. The idea of finally escaping Hogwarts, of wandering through unfamiliar streets of Paris, of watching the world stretch beyond the castle wallsâit had been a comforting thought, something to hold onto when things felt suffocating.
But that wasnât the only reason he had been looking forward to it.
He sighed, shaking his head as he swung his legs over the bed, his feet meeting the cool floor. No use sitting around. He might as well make sure he wasnât forgetting anything.
By the time the rest of Gryffindor began to stir, Beomgyu was already dressed, double-checking his trunk with the kind of precision that felt almost excessive. The common room grew livelier as everyone prepared for departure, the excitement palpable in the air. And by five, they were all at the station, the cold biting at their skin as steam from the train billowed into the sky.
Beomgyu adjusted his muffler, his breath visible in the crisp morning air as he glanced around the platform. The Slytherins hadnât arrived yet, but he knew they would soon. His fingers tightened around the fabric of his coat, yet it wasnât the cold that had set a restless energy thrumming beneath his skin.
âMorning, Beomgyu.â
He turned to find Chaeryeong beside him, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. She grinned, tilting her head slightly.
âMorning,â he greeted, his voice still thick with lingering drowsiness.
She exhaled, glancing around. âFeels weird, doesnât it? Knowing we wonât be seeing Hogwarts for a little while?â
âItâs been this way every winter vacation,â Beomgyu murmured. âGuess it hasnât really hit me yet.â
âWell, you better start getting excited,â she teased. âItâs not every day we get to go to Paris.â
He hummed in response. Her voice morphed into white noise in Beomgyuâs ear as he zoned out, unable to find himself focusing. Instead, his gaze kept flickering around on every new face toward the station entrance, only looking for you.
Just then, he saw the Slytherins arrive. He filtered out all the faces that aren't yours, and when he finally found you, his heart lurched. There was a feeling of anticipation recoiling in his stomach as he contemplated whether to walk up to you and say hello.Â
âOh, she made it.â There was a note of relief in Chaeryengâs voice. âI was worried she wouldnât join us.â
âWhat?â Beomgyuâs brows furrowed.Â
She turned to him, blinking. âYou didnât know?â
He didnât like the way those words sat in his stomach. His head snapped to your direction once more before prompting her to explain. âKnow what?â
Chaeryeong hesitated for half a second, then said, âShe got hit by a Bludger the other day. Some Ravenclaw beater sent it her way by accident. It got her right in the side. Heard she was in pretty bad shape.â She winced as if she recalled seeing you. âYeonjun looked pissed the whole day.â
The cold suddenly felt sharper, needling into his skin. His eyes darted back to you, and now, it was impossible to ignore. The slight hesitancy in your gait, the stiffness in your posture, and Yeonjun carrying your bag while his hand held your arm, supporting your steps.Â
You, however, immediately scowled and swatted his hand away. It prompted Yeonjun to let out a long-suffering sigh, but his gaze flickered to you every now and then.
Beomgyu was already moving towards you, mind occupied by sheer urgency and each of his steps pulled him closer to you like a magnetic force. Yeonjun was the first to notice him. The older Slytherin softly snorted a laugh, shaking his head before giving you a small smile.Â
âIâll go find our compartment,â Yeonjun muttered to you, slipping away from your side the moment Beomgyu stopped in front of you.
You noticed him a second later, eyes flickering toward him, surprised by his sudden presence. The Gryffindorâs wide, doe eyes searched youâfor any sign of pain or discomfort, his nose and cheeks a shade of peach from the cold. The muffler wrapped around his neck looked warm, but on the inside, he was feeling anything but warmâhis blood ran cold.
âAre you alright?â It took everything in him to not stumble over his words. He was sure the worry in his voice overflew but he couldnât bring himself to hide it. âI just heard what happened,â he added, already taking a small step forward closer to you, but he faltered and stepped back at the last moment.Â
You stared at him, eyes slightly wideâlike you werenât expecting that level of urgency from him. For you.
Your gaze softened when the realization seeped into you. Beomgyu was worried about you? It rattled your heart against your ribcage more strongly than the bludger that hit you. The latter brought you immense pain, however, the former brought pain that hurt good.
âIâm fine.â Your voice carried a gentle touch to it. âYou donât have to look like that.â
Beomgyu exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing away for half a second before shaking his head. âIâm so sorry. I shouldâve known sooner.â
âYou couldnât have.â Your reply came quickly, almost urgent. âI didnât tell anyone.â
You were sure you caught his eyes glow for the faintest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it showed up, fooling you into thinking you must've misjudged it. Eitherway, you felt your lungs constrict from the way his gaze was locked onto yours. It was compelling you to look away, yet at the same time, it was pulling you in. You had to hear it from him.Â
âWere you⊠worried?â Your voice was cautious, trying not to show the expectations laced within before offering them to him.
âI was.â He did not hesitate the slightest.
The raw sincerity of it all, the honest admission caused the fire in your chest to only burn brighter. He swallowed before continuing, quieter this time. âI was looking forward to this trip becauseâŠâ He hesitated, but only for a second. âBecause youâd be here. Itâd be a shame if you couldnât go on the trip with us.â
He didnât know what kind of reaction he was expecting, but the gentle smile that graced your lips wasnât one he was prepared for. It was small, barely there, but enough to make his breath hitch. Enough to make his fingers twitch with the overwhelming urge to brush them against your cheek. The thought startled him, and he buried his clammy hands deep inside the pockets of his coat.Â
And then, without a word, you reached out.
Beomgyu stiffened as your hand met his head, the warmth of your palm seeping through the strands of his hair. The touch was brief, barely more than a ruffle, but it left him completely, utterly frozen. He blinked at you, wide-eyed, feeling the exact moment his brain short-circuited.
You didnât say anything about itâjust let your fingers slip away. âThank you,â you mumbled softly, as earnestly as you could muster it.Â
âYeah,â he mumbled. âOf course.â
You grinned, placing a hand over the right side of your torso where you got hit. âIâm really fine. The Bruisewort Balm did its magic. I only feel a little worn out but I plan to sleep through the journey anyway, so I know I should be fine.âÂ
Hearing your assurance, Beomgyu could only nod. Because at that moment, he didn't trust himself with words.Â
Before either of you could say anything else, Yeonjunâs voice rang out from across the platform. âYou two done? We need to start getting in the cabins.â
You let out a small breath, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to Beomgyu. You let your voice fall a little lower. âI hope you enjoy this trip, Beomgyu. You need it.â And then, just like that, you were gone, disappearing into the crowd with Yeonjun at your side.
Beomgyu remained where he stood, the lower half of his face burying into his mufflerâan attempt to hide his red cheeks, the phantom of your touch lingering in his hair.
He wasnât cold anymore.
You had dozed off almost the moment you settled down in your cabin, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs. The chatter from outside had faded into the background, a distant murmur of excitement. Someone had passed by the door earlier, exclaiming in utter confusion, "How is the train gonna take us straight to Paris?" only for another to scoff in reply, "Bro, this is the Hogwarts Express. Be so for real now."
Sleep had come easily after that.
When you woke, the daylight had shifted. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, golden and soft, casting warm hues over the compartment. A lingering grogginess clung to you, your head muddled with sleep, body heavy from hours of stillness. Blinking, you sat up, only to freeze.
Yeonjun and the other Slytherin were gone. Instead, across from you, Beomgyu sat with a book in his handsâthe same storybook you had read with him the night before your Transfiguration exam. He got himself a copy of that?
He glanced up at the movement, his dark eyes skimming over your face before he asked, "How are you feeling? You were out for a while."
You sighed, running a hand over your face. "Shit," you admitted, voice rough with sleep, "but not in pain."
His gaze pinned on you, as if assessing the truth of your words. Then he shut the book with a quiet thud. "Yeonjun went to hang out with your friends," he explained. "I figured Iâd watch over you in his place."
You eyed him, searching his expression for any hint of reluctance, but there was none. Only a calm acceptance laced with assurance that he was here now. You murmured a quiet thanks, and he only nodded. The silence between you settled naturally, undisturbed, until your mind wandered back to what had happened before boarding the train.
Your gaze drifted, drawn to his hair again. The memory of ruffling his hair carved into the skin of your hands, still far too easy to recall. You looked away before the feeling could consume you whole.
"You should eat something," Beomgyu said after a while. "You missed lunch."
You waved a hand. "I have emergency snacks. Donât worry."
You stood, reaching for the bag in the overhead compartment, but the moment you tilted up on your feet, the train jolted. The motion threw you off balance, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you from your long rest.
"Careful," Beomgyuâs voice was low, closeâtoo close.
Before you could stumble, your back found solid warmth. His chest pressed against you, his grip firm but cautious as his fingers curled around your arm, careful to avoid the bruised side of your torso. His other hand braced against the overhead compartment, effectively caging you in.
Your breath hitched. The heat of him seeped through the layers of your clothing, the closeness dizzying in a way that had nothing to do with sleep imbalance.
"Sit down," he murmured. "Iâll get it."
His hold loosened just enough to guide you back to your seat, and only when you were settled did he step in front of you again, reaching up with ease.
You found yourself at eye level with his waist, his sweater lifting slightly as he rummaged through the bag. A sliver of skin peeked out, warm against the dim afternoon light. You swallowed, forcing your gaze elsewhere.
Beomgyu pulled out the box of treacle tart Yeonjun had packed for you, setting it down before offering you one. With a quiet sigh, you took it, splitting the portion between the two of you as you leaned forward, the box balanced between you.
The sweetness wasnât something you typically enjoyed, but after so many hours without food, the pastry felt awfully good. Your body slowly regained energy, the light conversation between you keeping the moment steady.
"Do you have any plans for Paris?" he asked eventually.
You chewed thoughtfully. "No idea yet. Yeonjunâs probably going to drag me around. If it gets too much, I might shut myself in my room or sneak off for a solo adventure."
Beomgyu huffed a small laugh. "Yeah. Iâm not sure what Iâll do either. I might get swept up by people and wonât even be able to look around freely."
You watched him for a moment, taking the last bite of your tart. "If it gets too much," you said, voice quieter, "you can come find me. Or Yeonjun. Or both of us." There was a pause before you added, softer, "If you canât, then Iâll come find you."
Beomgyu stilled. His lips parted slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his dark eyes before he quickly stuffed the last of his pastry into his mouth, chewing hastily. The action might have been smoothâif not for the streak of cream now smudged at the corner of his lips.
You noticed instantly. "Ohâ" you started, reaching up with your thumb. "You have somethingâ"
The compartment door suddenly slammed open. Yeonjun stood in the doorway, a pair of oversized, obnoxiously flashy sunglasses perched on his nose.
You and Beomgyu both froze.
Yeonjun, his eyes hard to read behind the dark lenses, tilted his head. Then, in an eerily delighted tone, he drawled, "Oh, look at that, Beomgyu. Youâve got my treacle tartâs cream on your lips!"
Before either of you could react, he whipped out a tissue from absolutely nowhere, lunged forward, and grabbed Beomgyuâs head with one hand. Beomgyu screeched, his voice resonating against the walls of the small place.
Yeonjun ignored it, cheerfully wiping his mouth with the other hand like a mother cleaning up her child. "There we go, nice and clean," he chirped, voice laced with exaggerated fondness.
Beomgyu struggled, half-laughing, half-indignant. "Get off me!" he yelped, swatting Yeonjunâs hands away, but the damage had already been done.
Yeonjun stepped back, inspecting his work with great satisfaction, hands on his hips like a proud parent. "Perfect. Now you wonât embarrass yourself in front of anyone."
Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you," he muttered, but the pink at the tips of his ears betrayed him.
You sat back, watching the spectacle unfold with great amusement, while the train rumbled on, Paris drawing closer by the minute.
The rest of the journey was a blur of raucous laughter and camaraderie, your group huddling together in the cramped chair car of the express, swapping secrets and gossip like your lives depended on it. Someone had smuggled in a portable speaker, leading to impromptu karaoke battles and dramatic sing-alongs. At first, you joined in, allowing yourself to be swept up in the energy. But as the hours stretched on, your stamina waned.
With a quiet excuse, you slipped away, accompanied by a few others who were also tired of the noise. Before you left, your gaze flickered toward Beomgyu. He was still immersed in the chaos, laughing brightly at something Kai had said. But beneath the mirth, you caught an exhaustion you had come to recognize. Still, he kept the atmosphere alive, playing his role seamlessly. The image lingered with you long after you shut the compartment door behind you.
The Hogwarts Express pulled into Paris at the crack of dawn, the city stirring to life under the first blush of morning. From the window, you caught your first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, its iron lattice tinged with gold as the sun crested the horizon. The Seine, dark and languid, snaked through the city, bridges arching elegantly over its waters. Rows of Haussmann-style buildings stretched along the boulevards, their cream-colored facades bathed in the soft glow of street lamps not yet dimmed.
Before disembarking, the professors gathered the students for a final briefing. "No magic in front of Muggles," they reminded sternly. "You are free to explore, but remain in groups and report any trouble immediately. Most importantlyâenjoy yourselves. You deserve it."
The hotel was an opulent blend of old-world charm and modern luxury, its grand foyer boasting marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, casting prisms of light across the gilded moldings. The professors had booked two separate hotels side by sideâone for Slytherins and Gryffindors, another for Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Their reasoning? "You should have learned how to get along by now." Naturally, friends among the houses protested, claiming they were getting along just fine.
Your stomach turned slightly at the arrangement, the thought of running into Beomgyu in the lobby or hallways setting your nerves alight. When room assignments were handed out, relief flooded you upon seeing Yejiâs name beside yours. She was a Slytherin senior. The alternativeârooming with a stranger, or worse, a Gryffindor who resented youâwas unthinkable.
Your room sat high above the city, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking panorama of Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance, framed perfectly against the morning sky. Sheer curtains billowed softly with the breeze as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh linen and polished wood filling the air. The room was a study in eleganceâhigh ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, deep emerald velvet armchairs positioned near a sleek black coffee table, and two queen-sized beds with crisp white sheets that looked nearly too pristine to disturb.
Yeji whistled lowly, dropping her bags by the door. "Well, this isnât half bad."
You huffed a quiet laugh, tossing your coat onto the bed before making your way to the en-suite. The bathroom was just as extravagant, the walls lined with marble, a rainfall shower glistening behind glass panels. You let the hot water wash away the fatigue of the journey, steam curling around you like a cocoon. By the time you stepped out, refreshed and awake, Yeji had already sprawled across her bed, flipping through a fashion magazine.
"Iâll meet you downstairs," you told her, slipping into your shoes.
Yeonjun was already waiting outside the breakfast lounge when you arrived, one hand in pocket as he scrolled through his phone. He barely looked up as he greeted you. "Took you long enough. I was about to starve."
The two of you found a quiet table, the scent of freshly baked pastries filling the air as waiters flitted about, balancing trays laden with croissants and steaming cups of coffee. You glanced around at the Muggles, feeling oddly at ease in the absence of magic. The clinking of silverware, the hushed murmurs of morning conversationsâit was comforting in a way you hadnât expected.
As you ate, Yeonjun rattled off a list of places to visit, swiping through his phone. "Thereâs the Louvre, obviously. We have to go at nightâitâs insane then. Oh, and this bookstore, Shakespeare and Company. Youâd love it. We couldâ"
His voice faded into the background as voices rang out from the Gryffindor table. You turned instinctively, gaze landing on Beomgyu.
Ah. He had already been swept away by the crowd.
Yeonjun followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a smirk. "You should help him escape, you know. Whisk him away somewhere quiet, just the two of youâ"
You shoved a piece of bread into his mouth before he could finish, ignoring his muffled protest. He choked out a laugh.
But as your gaze found Beomgyu again, lingering just a second too long, a thought flickered through your mind. You had considered that scenario before, hadnât you? The thought of stealing him away, just for a moment, just for yourself. Of finding a quiet corner in this city meant for lovers, where no one could pull him away from you.
And the sight of him in your mindâhovering above you, close enough to count each delicate lash framing his deep brown eyes, close enough to feel the softness of his lipsâ
âWell. That was a pleasant thought, indeed.
Yeonjun observed your face for a while, then shook his head with a groan. Yeah, no, he absolutely did not want to know what was going on in your head.Â
The morning air in Paris carried the remnants of dawn, crisp yet mellowed by the sun climbing its way over the horizon. The city was awake by nowâcobblestone streets damp from the morning drizzle, the scent of freshly baked bread curling through the air as bakeries opened their doors, and wrought-iron balconies adorned with trailing ivy swaying ever so slightly in the breeze.
The Louvre loomed ahead, a masterpiece in itself, its glass pyramid gleaming against the grandeur of the historic façade. The vast courtyard was teeming with tourists, some attempting to take forced perspective photos, others craning their necks to admire the sheer scale of it. The air carried the song of different languages, a medley of awe and excitement.
At some point, the group naturally dispersed in smaller clusters, everyone absorbed in their own conversations. You found yourself walking beside Beomgyu, the world around you fading into a pleasant hum.
A soft bark caught your attention. You turned, eyes lighting up at the sight of a fluffy white puppy trotting alongside its owner. âOh,â you cooed, crouching slightly as the tiny creature wagged its tail in excitement. âLook at you. Arenât you the cutest?â
Beomgyu watched you with a fond tilt to his lips. âI didnât take you for a puppy person.â
You glanced up at him. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
He shrugged. âI donât know. You just seem like youâd have one of those dramatic-looking cats that sit by the window and judge people.â
You let out a soft laugh, straightening. âIâve always wanted a puppy as a kid, actually.â
He hummed, eyes flickering with something thoughtful. âI had one. Sort of.â
You turned to him in surprise. âYou did?â
He exhaled, a breath of nostalgia woven into his tone. âMy brother and I begged my parents for a dog for ages. We finally got oneâon my motherâs birthday. So we named him June, after the date," he said, smiling fondly as if reminiscing a happy memory. "But two days later, my parents decided we couldnât keep him. Said we didnât have the time to take care of him properly.â He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was something wistful in his eyes. âI held him and cried for nearly eight hours straight.â
Your chest ached at the image. âThatâsââ You paused, unsure how to phrase it. âThat mustâve been really hard.â
He gave a small nod, then brightened just a fraction. âWe ended up finding Toto instead. A Turquoise Fronted Amazon parrot. My mom could take care of him even when she was alone at home.â
You smiled at that. âToto,â you echoed. âThatâs a cute name.â
âHeâs kind of a menace,â Beomgyu admitted, shaking his head with a fond grin. âBut heâs family.â
The revelation settled somewhere deep within youâa new piece of Beomgyu you hadnât known before. And it made you irrationally happy.
The wind picked up, teasing at the hem of your coat, threading cool fingers through your hair. A few strands whipped across your face, catching on your lips, your lashes. You lifted a hand to push them away, but before you could, Beomgyu reached out first.
His fingers brushed against your cheekâsomething heâd been wishing to do for a whileâas he tucked a loose strand behind your ear. You felt it in the way your pulse stuttered, your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him. He looked as if he wanted to say something.
Beomgyu hesitated, his gaze soft yet you couldnât quite read his eyes as he looked at you. His lips parted, a thought poised on the edge, trembling like the wind itself.
You look beautiful.
The words never left his mouth. He swallowed them down, an ache blooming in his throat. Perhaps he feared what saying them aloud might mean. Perhaps he feared you wouldnât know what to do with them.
And so, in the end, neither of you spoke. The spell broke when the Louvre loomed ahead, its glass pyramid gleaming against the gray-blue sky, and the moment dissolved into the crisp air.
Inside the Louvre, the grandeur of history stretched in every directionâendless halls adorned with masterpieces, the hush of reverence echoing in the vast spaces. Your group wandered between exhibits, pausing at paintings and sculptures, some making exaggerated interpretations just to get a laugh, others attempting to recreate poses of the statues with varying degrees of success.
At one point, Yeonjun challenged Beomgyu to a ridiculous game of âwho can stare at the Mona Lisa without blinking the longest,â which resulted in the both of them getting scolded by a museum staff member. You and Yeji exchanged amused glances, shaking your heads as the boys feigned innocence.
Hours melted away in seamless enjoyment, the museum becoming a maze of stolen moments and shared laughter. And through it all, you found yourself drawn to Beomgyu, the wordless exchanges between you growing heavier, stealing glances at each other while laughing, and even when the other wasn't looking.
By the time you returned to the hotel, exhaustion settled into your bones, but the day had left something lingeringâsomething you werenât quite ready to shake off just yet.
As you reached your hotel room, Beomgyu passed by, his own keycard in hand. He paused, glancing toward you. You met his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moved.
âGoodnight,â you murmured, voice softer than you intended.
His lips tugged at the corner, but there was something else in his eyes now, the glint that you once caught. âGoodnight.â
Neither of you looked away immediately. The hallway felt too silent, the space between you far too charged for such a simple exchange. And then, with a slight nod, he disappeared down the lobby, leaving behind an inexplicable warmth curling in your chest.
You had drifted toward the glass display of a pastry shop, your breath lightly fogging the surface as your eyes traced the delicate layers of a chocolate croissant. Beomgyu watched you from afar. Youâd mentioned wanting to try one back on station, and you were so focused on it now that you didnât notice him approaching until he was beside you.
âCome,â he said, tilting his head toward the entrance. âItâs on me.â
You turned to him, brows drawing together in surprise. âThatâs not necessary.â
Beomgyu huffed a quiet laugh. âPlease, I insist. Itâs a token of my appreciation.â
You blinked. âWhy?â
âFor helping me with Transfiguration,â he clarified, though something about the way he said it felt like an excuse. âAnd because I feel like it.â
You exhaled, a soft sigh slipping past your lips. âYou really donât have toââ
âI know.â He nudged the door open with his shoulder and shot you a look, something playful but insistent. âCome on.â
A sigh of resignation, but you stepped in anyway, the scent of butter and sugar wrapping around you. True to his word, he paid for the croissant before you could even consider arguing further. The two of you lingered at the glass counter, surveying the intricate rows of bite-sized pastries lined neatly on silver trays. One of them particularly caught your eyeâa tiny bear-shaped pastry, its icing ears round and slightly lopsided, giving it a look of perpetual confusion.
âThat one,â you murmured, pointing.
Beomgyu followed your gaze. âThe bear?â
âItâs so stupid,â you said flatly, head tilting ever so slightly as you examined it. And then, without thinking, you tapped the glass with a single finger, voice barely above a whisper. ââŠCute.â
You didnât seem to notice the way his gaze traced over your face, too busy scrutinizing the bear as though you were sizing up an opponent. Wordlessly, he bought two bear pastries; your protests falling deaf to his ears.
As he handed you one, you turned it over in your hands, brushing a thumb against its soft edges. It was adorable in a ridiculous way. Then, you reached up and tapped one of its icing ears.
âBoop,â you said.
Beomgyu felt his world stop. He hadnât realized he was holding his breath until the moment passed. Something unfamiliar curled in his chest, something that made his fingers tighten around the little pastry in his own hands. It wasnât just the act itselfâit was the way youâd said it, and the unguarded smile that graced your lips afterwards, like youâd forgotten to keep your walls up, just for a second. But there it wasâan utterly unfiltered moment, so fleeting yet so wholly you that it nearly knocked him off balance.
He took a bite, if only to distract himself. But even as the sweetness melted on his tongue, his thoughts remained tangled in the sound of your voice.
You took a decisive bite as well, nodding to yourself as you chewed. âYou okay?â you asked suddenly, glancing up at him, licking off the remnants of crust on your thumb. âIs it too sweet?â
âNo,â he said, too quickly. His gaze fell on your thumb in between your lips, the sight making him wet his chapped lips. He swallowed, clearing his throat. âIt tastes alright.â
Your eyes narrowed just the slightest at his sudden avoidance of eye contact.Â
âLetâs catch up with the group,â he muttered at last, stuffing his hands into his pockets. And with that, he turned, already striding toward the door.
By evening, the Seine stretched before you, silver ribbons of water reflecting the glow of streetlights and distant bridges. Boats drifted lazily along the water, their lights flickering like floating stars.
A few of the students gathered along the stone walkway. Someone groaned about nearly using wizarding terms in front of a Muggle, looking horrified at the memory. A Muggleborn student cackled, shaking their head. âI wonder how the purebloods are doing.â
âThe purebloods are living their best lives, thank you very much.â Yeonjun chortled and scoffed, crossing his arms.Â
Laughter rang through the night air. Someone suggested taking pictures, and naturally, Beomgyu lifted his camera, angling it as the others huddled together.
You watched him, the way he stepped back, adjusting the focus, snapping a few quick shots before lowering the camera. His fingers lingered over the buttons, and you realized heâd stopped taking pictures after only a few frames. His gaze flickered briefly to the group before shifting away again.
âBeomgyu,â you said, and he glanced at you. âYou should be in one, too.â
He shook his head with a small smile. âIâm usually the one taking the pictures.â
You didnât bother arguing with him. Instead, you turned toward a passing stranger, gesturing toward the camera. âExcuse me, would you mind taking a group photo for us?â
Beomgyu looked at you, taken aback, as the stranger agreed. You pushed him lightly toward the group. âCome on.â
He hesitated but relented, slotting in beside you as everyone squeezed together. The camera clicked, and just as the shutter went off, your hands brushedâbrief, a touch so light it might have been an accident.
But when you turned your head slightly, he was already looking at you. And in that moment, with the Seine behind you and Paris stretching endlessly beyond, you thought to yourselfâmaybe youâd been wrong about how much a single touch could mean.
âHowâs it going with Beomgyu?â
The hotel lobby was quiet at this hour. You sat into one of the sofas, an empty cup of coffee resting before you, long since forgotten. The book in your hands had begun to blur at the edges, your focus slipping every few pages.
You glanced up when Yeonjun settled onto the single sofa beside you. A sigh escaped your lips as you closed the book, resting it on your lap. âI donât know, honestly.â
It was the truth. You had noticed something off about him latelyâbut you werenât one to jump to conclusions. Maybe it was the comfort you offered him that he mentioned to you once. Maybe that was all it was. And yet, deep down, you hoped it wasnât.
You glanced at him, considering. âYou think so too?â
âI have eyes, donât I?â He scoffed.Â
Before you could retort, the hotel doors swung open, and a trio of Gryffindors stepped inside. You recognized them immediatelyâBeomgyuâs Quidditch teammates. The one in the center, Yoo Jaekyung, was their Seeker. And he was also someone who never missed an opportunity to make his distaste for you known.
Your brows twitched. Whether his hostility stemmed from the house rivalry or your direct competition as Slytherinâs Seeker, you still werenât sure. But the disdain in his gaze whenever he looked at you was clear enough. Prejudice ran deep in people like him.
He caught sight of you and Yeonjun, his steps slowing for the briefest second before something smug flickered across his face. With a smirk, he changed course, making his way toward you.
Yeonjun muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. You braced yourself.
Jaekyung stopped just short of your seat, tilting his head in mock concern. âI heard about your little accident.â His voice was honeyed, far too sweet to be sincere. âNasty hit from that Bludger, wasnât it? Are you feeling better?â
You met his gaze, unfazed. âIâm fine.â
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if in sympathy. âAccidents like thatâwell, theyâre bound to happen when youâre not skilled enough to avoid them. You should be more careful. Canât have Slytherin losing their star player, after all.â
Yeonjun made a sound of irritation, he rose to his full height, towering over Jaekyung with ease. âRight. Are you done acting like a child, or should we wait for you to throw a tantrum too?â
Jaekyungâs smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. You, however, placed a hand on Yeonjunâs arm, stopping him before things escalated. Your voice was even. âLetâs hear him out. Itâs rare that he has something to say.â
Jaekyungâs smirk deepened, mistaking your patience for something else.
You tapped a finger lightly against your knee, feigning contemplation. âThough, that does raise a problem.â You let your voice drop just a fraction, letting the next words land sharper. âBecause in every match against me, youâve never managed to catch the Snitch.â
The satisfaction of watching the vein in his temple twitch was almost enough. His jaw clenched, the forced smile doing little to mask his irritation. âGet well soon,â he bit out, before pivoting on his heel and striding away, his teammates trailing behind him.
Yeonjun dropped back onto the sofa with a groan. âMerlin, people get so bloody ass-hurt over everything.â
You only shrugged, offering him a small smile. You were used to it.
âI have some dirt on Jaekyung.â
A new voice cut through the air, causing both of you two to startle. Yeonjun flinched, nearly spilling his drink. âBloody hellâJeonginââ Yeonjun swore, hand over his heart. âWhat is wrong with you?â
The Hufflepuff only blinked, expression blank as ever. He crouched down beside you, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur. âHeâs used charms to win a few matches. There is proof latched within his broomstick.â
Beside you Yeonjun went on a spiteful rant about Jaekyung being an absolute bloody asshole and a sore loser. But all you could think of is, where did Jeongin get such information? Your brows lifted slightly in curiosity. âHow do you know that?â
Jeongin shrugged. âI just do.â Then, casually, âI thought Iâd tell you. Might be useful one day.â
You studied him, taking in his innocent demeanor, the unbothered way he delivered the information. A Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat had declared. And yet, in this moment, you couldnât help but wonder if it had made a mistake. Still, you chose not to voice it. Instead, you simply nodded, filing the information away for later.
âDuly noted.â
The next two days slipped by in a blur, the hours spent trailing behind Yeonjun through cobblestone streets and warm-lit bookstores, occasionally merging into the chaos of group hangouts. Someoneâs room always seemed to be the designated meeting spot for the evening, where everyone sprawled across beds and armchairs, playing muggle games with the kind of reckless abandon that came with being far from home. Cards flicked across the floor, dice rolled under furniture, and soft music hummed in the background as someone recounted a ridiculous story from earlier in the day. These nights were filled with a quiet kind of joy, but you couldnât ignore the gnawing awareness that something was missing.
You had been seeing Beomgyu less. Not because of chance, but because Jaekyung made certain of it. You werenât stupid. By now, it was obvious to you that others had taken notice of your closeness to him, none more so than Jaekyung himself. The Gryffindor Seeker carried himself with the pathetic confidence of someone who always got what he wanted, and lately, what he wanted was to keep Beomgyu occupied. He made a game of itâboasting that the Gryffindor Quidditch team deserved their own exclusive outing, and whisking him away before you could say otherwise. Beomgyu never resisted, never even seemed to notice the way your eyes lingered when he left, and that, more than anything, made your stomach curl in something uncomfortably close to irritation.
So you spent your time elsewhere. Yeonjun, ever attuned to your moods, filled the space Beomgyu left behind without needing to be asked. He took you to the bookshop heâd promised, where the scent of papers and new books curled into the air like something sacred. You wandered between the shelves, tracing the spines of books with absent fingers, letting your mind get lost in stories that werenât yours.
The afternoons were spent shopping with Yeji and the girls, their laughter drifting through the streets like birdsong, but in the quieter moments, you found solace in your room. With its sprawling balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower, it felt like something out of a dream. You would curl up with a warm cup of coffee, watching the city shift from golden daylight to dusk.
On the fourth day of the trip, a campfire was arranged by the banks of Seine.Â
The fire crackled in the cool evening, its soft amber glow spilling over the group of friends gathered around. You sat at the edge of the circle, your gloved hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa. You aren't cold exactly, but the crisp air nipped at your cheeks and the tip of your nose.
Your gaze drifted toward Beomgyu, unbidden, as it often did. He was seated across the fire, leaning back on his hands, the sight tugged at something deep in your chest. His hoodieâa deep gray that seemed impossibly softâhung loosely around his frame, the hood falling slightly over his hair. It looked so comfortable, so warm, that you couldnât help but wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped in it.
Or more accurately, to be wrapped in him.
The thought came suddenly, without warning, and it made your breath catch. You took a small sip from your mug, trying to focus on the heat spreading through your fingers instead of the ache settling in your chest.
It was a silly thought, really. The idea of stepping closer, of tucking yourself into the space between his arms and resting your head on his chestâit felt so vivid, so painfully out of reach. Your heart ached as the question echoed in your mind like a prayer.
Why was Beomgyu so unreachable?Â
You perhaps made the error of thinking he let you in. Because at the end, he wasnât yours to lean on like that, to hold onto when the air felt too cold and the world too distant. And he never would be. You stilled as the last thought settled in the crevices of your brain, eyes widening slightly.Â
Oh, God.
You were in love with Beomgyu.
Love was the swelling, hopeful feeling in your chest every time you saw him. Love was the way you could forget about everything when you were with him. Love was the catch in your breath when he looked at you in his intense way. Love was the way you could be yourself around him.Â
You thought you were the one saving him from the worldâs relentless grasp by offering him a piece of solace in your company, but it was Beomgyu who had been your saviour all this time.
You risked a glance at his way, which you immediately regretted. Seeing his smiling face lit up with the golden glow of the campfire, you realized how much you've missed being near him these two days.
And then you knew that you could become homesick for people too.
The room buzzed with anticipation as Heeseung's impromptu gathering took shape. Students lounged on beds, sprawled across the floor, and perched on chairs. You had attempted a discreet exit upon hearing the mention of "truth or dare," only to have Yeonjun snatch your wrist and haul you back with an exasperated, âOh, come on, donât be boring. Loosen up a little.â
Resigned, you had settled into a corner chair, trying to blend into the background. You counted down the minutes until you could leave.
Your stomach twisted when your gaze involuntarily drifted to the doorway as Beomgyu entered, his presence immediately lighting up the room. However, your mood soured when Jaekyung and his entourage flanked him, steering him to the opposite side before he could acknowledge you.
The game commenced with the dreadful spin of a bottle, its neck pointing to various participants amidst cheers and playful jeers. First, it landed on Yeonjun. He chose dare, of course, and was promptly ordered to step onto the balcony and scream at the top of his lungs.
He did so with theatrical flair, gripping the railing and shouting into the Parisian night, âI AM SEXY AND MYSTERIOUS, COME FIND ME IF YOU DAREââ before a professorâs sharp voice echoed from somewhere below, âWhoever that is, get back inside before I hex you!â
Yeonjun scrambled back into the room to the sound of uproarious laughter, dramatically clutching his chest. The next victim was Kai. He picked truth, and someone immediately asked, âWho was your first crush?â
Kai groaned, rubbing his face before mumbling a name. A chorus of âNo way!â and âI knew it!â rang through the room, followed by a good-natured shove from his friends.
The bottle spun again.
And this time, it stopped on Beomgyu.
The room erupted in cheers and anticipated exclamations. He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, and after a brief moment of deliberation, chose truth.
Whistles and mischievous laughter followed, then someone finally asked, âWhen was the last time you cried the hardest?â
The question sounded innocent, yet you couldn't help but sit a little upright as you closely inspected Beomgyu. He seemed to consider his answer for a few seconds, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chain. But before he could even speak, Jaekyung took the lead.
âOh, thatâs easy,â Jaekyung cooed. âOur golden Gryffindor boy cried like a baby when he heard his mother was sick.â
Your body went rigid, blood boiling dangerously underneath. Something akin to anger and speechlessness glinted in your eyes as you glared daggers at Jaekyung. But he did not stop there. Instead he continued, making matters worse.Â
Jaekyung made a face, mock-pouting, and cooed, âA real mamaâs boy, arenât you?â He even had the audacity afterwards to wrap his arms around Beomgyuâs neck.
People around laughed, others with coos of mock sympathy. Beomgyu laughed along with them, but it didnât reach his eyes. Too forced.
You saw it immediatelyâhow could you not? The way his shoulders tensed under Jaekyungâs arm, the way his fingers curled subtly into the fabric of his pants. His gaze dropped to his lap, then for the briefest moment when he looked up, you saw him searching around the roomâand found yours.
Your vision shook, breath choking in your throat when you saw the look in his eyes. It was quick, barely perceptible, but in that single glance, you made out the absolute desperate look of pleading. The dim lighting caught the faint sheen in his eyes before he blinked it away, tearing his gaze from yours and smiling even wider, like it would drown out everything else.
You had to get him out of here.
And so, you tilted your head, feigning idle curiosity. âYou know, Jaekyung,â you mused, just loud enough for everyone to hear, âI heard an interesting rumor about you the other day.â
The sound of your voice quietened the entire room in an instance. These were the times when you relished in the power of your reputation; whether it was because of your deliberate participation in such a crowd, or the fact that it was a showdown between the two rival Seekers, either way you had the attention of the entire room on you.Â
Jaekyung turned, brow raising. âYeah?â
People perked up, eager for another potential story.
You hummed. "Mhm. Itâs funnyâI wasnât even going to mention it. But now that I think about it, it really was hilarious.â
Someone leaned in. "Oh, do tell."
You shrugged, taking your time. âSomething about a certain game of Exploding Snap gone terribly wrong. Something about you running down the corridors with a sack covering your head and screaming for your life.â
"That was you?â One of Jaekyungâs lackeys burst out, turning to him in disbelief.Â
People erupted into conversation, overlapping voices piecing together the memory, adding their own exaggerated details. Jaekyung stiffened as someone reenacted his supposed sprint through the corridors. Amidst the overexcited bunch, Jeongin let a small smirk tug on his lips that went unnoticed by everyone.Â
Chaos ensued as another fit of laughter erupted, now mocking Jaekyung who remained awkwardly laughing, trying to prove his innocence. And just like that, the attention was diverted, Beomgyu completely forgotten.Â
From your place in the corner of the room, you caught a sight of a figure slipping through the doors. You exhaled softly, relief barely settling in before you felt the eyes of Yeonjun. When you turned to him, he smiled at you, an encouraging nod followed.Â
That was all you needed to follow Beomgyu out the door.
Out in the dimly lit hotel lobby, you scanned the space with quick, searching eyes, your pulse hammering against your ribs. The adrenaline of what happened back in the room still pressed against your skin, but you pushed it aside, thinking only of where he could have gone. Then, a memory surfacedâHogwarts, late at night, when curfew had long since passed. More often than not, you would find him alone in the Astronomy Tower, sitting in the hush of the night sky. Back then, neither of you spoke, only acknowledging each other's presence in the quiet. And so, trusting your instinct, you turned on your heel and made your way to the rooftop.
The night air met you with a crisp bite as you stepped onto the rooftop terrace. The city stretched beneath you in a glittering sprawl, the Eiffel Tower casting its golden glow against the dark. There, sitting on the steps with his back to you, was Beomgyu. He was still, unmoving, save for the faint rise and fall of his shoulders.
He didnât notice you at first. You stepped forward carefully, pausing when you heard itâbarely audible, but unmistakable. A sniffle. Your heart twisted at the sound. You made your arrival known when the ground beneath echoed your approaching steps.
"That was very brave," Beomgyu's voice broke the silence, rough with an attempt at humor. "And also very stupid. Heâll make sure to get back at you now."
You watched his hunched figure before finally speaking, voice quiet. "We Slytherins are brave, yes. But not stupid,â you murmured, looking skyward. âGiven the choice, we'll always save our own necks."
He turned then, looking at you in the low light, something unreadable shifting in his gaze. "Is that why you're here?" His voice was quieter now. "Did you follow me to save yourself?"
It was only when he faced you that you realized how much you had missed seeing him up close. How much distance had settled between you these past few days. And perhaps that was why, without thinking twice, you descended the last few steps until you were right in front of him. Then, slowly, you lowered yourself onto your knees, meeting his eyes. The tension in your chest unfurled as you shook your head.
"No," you admitted softly. "I told you, didn't I? That I'd find you when you couldn't."
His bottom lip trembled, throat clogging up as he let his head fall, eyes squeezing shut. He fought against itâfought against the weight pressing against his ribs, the storm brewing behind his eyes. But his entire world seemed to stop when he felt itâthe warmth of your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close. His breath stuttered. And then, before he could stop himself, his body caved into yours.
"I'm sorry for not asking first," you whispered, your breath fanning against his ear. "But I figured you might need this hug."
That was all it took for his resolve to shatter. A choked breath left him as he curled into you, his hands gripping the back of your shirt. His shoulders shook, the quiet sobs muffled against your skin. You felt the tremor of his body against yours, the sadness seeping into your own bones. Your throat burned, but you stayed still, holding him tighter, refusing to let go, refusing to let him drown in that pain alone.
Distance meant nothing when the person meant everything.
You didnât speak for a while. This wasnât the scenario you imagined when you so desperately wanted to hug him. However, you didnât complain. Youâd hold him whenever he wanted it, whenever he needed it, and you would continue to do so as long as it required. His sobs quieted eventually, though the quiet ache remained.
When his breathing evened out, you murmured, "Howâs she now?"
His arms remained around you, but his voice was steadier when he answered, "It was a long time ago. Sheâs fine and healthy now, but..." He swallowed thickly. "I guess it was the memory that made it feel like it just happened all over again."
Your gaze softened. Fondly, you reached up, brushing away the single tear trailing on his cheek with your thumb. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch. "I donât want to sound rude, but... you need a change in friends."
Beomgyu let out a breath, something like a half-laugh. "I despise Jaekyung, actually."
You blinked. "Oh."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My acquaintance with him is... necessary. Because of Quidditch. But most of the time, I wish I could rip his head off."
You hummed in amusement, lips twitching. Then, after a beat, "I saw a fair in the city earlier today,â you said, eyes brightening a little as the thought came to you. âDo you want to go? If you'd rather head back to your room, that's fine, too."
Beomgyu was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating your offer. Thenâ"No. I donât want to go back yet."
You nodded with a smile. "Alright then, let's visit the fair."
But just as you started to stand, Beomgyuâs hand found yours, and the sudden contact froze you in place. His fingers tightened around yoursâa little reluctant, but firm. Then, in a voice so small you almost missed it, he said, "Thank you."
You barely had the chance to respond before he exhaled a quiet laugh, gaze dropping to where your hands remained clasped. "You know," he said, his tone light but distant, "I always thought you were a bit too unreachable for me."
Your breath stilled. The world tilted, the ground beneath you shifting. A quiet, electric tremor shot down your spine. Beomgyu thought you were unreachable?
It was absurd. It was ridiculous. Because all this time, you had thought it was him who had been just out of reach. That no matter how close you got, no matter how many nights you spent at his side in quiet companionship, there had always been something unattainable about himâsomething you dared not long for because it had never been yours to have. And yet, here he was, speaking as if you were the one perched on some distant pedestal, as if he had been the one looking up all along.
A breath rattled in your chest, the weight of the realization crashing down with a force that left you reeling. Every glance, every lingering moment, every ache in your ribs that you had swallowed down without questionâhad he felt it too? Had you spent all this time yearning for something that had been yearning right back at you?
And then, even softer, as if he was only speaking to himselfâ
"Where have you been all my life?"
Something inside you curled tight, heat coiling in your chest, in your throat, in the very marrow of your bones. You felt lightheaded, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. You forced yourself to your feet, swallowing hard.
"The fair," you said, voice even despite the hurricane within you. "Letâs hurry before everything closes."
You made a quick stop at your room to grab your jacket and wallet before heading back out. When you reached the elevator, Beomgyu was already there, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes were a little puffy, a trace of exhaustion lingering in them, but the warmth in his smile softened the edges of his weariness.
Paris at night had always been breathtaking, but there was something different about seeing it like thisâwith him. The glow of string lights stretched above, casting golden halos over the cobbled pathways. The scent of caramelized sugar and roasted chestnuts drifted through the cool air, mixing with laughter and the distant strumming of a guitar from a street performer tucked into the corner of a square.
Beomgyu nudged your arm, tilting his head toward the rows of stalls ahead. âWhere to first?â
You scanned the fair, the swirl of activity pulling at your attention. âFood,â you said. âYou barely ate today.â
His brows lifted, feigning offense. âAre you keeping tabs on me now?â
You shot him a look, but his grin only widened, dimples pressing into his cheeks. With a scoff, you turned toward the nearest stand, and he fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours in the moving crowd.
You both settled on crepes, their warmth seeping into your fingers as you took the first bite. Beomgyu, instead of eating his, watched you, waiting for your verdict. When you nodded in approval, he finally took his own bite, eyes flickering shut as a low hum of satisfaction escaped him.
âGood?â you asked, a trace of amusement lacing your voice.
âMmh,â he murmured around another mouthful before swallowing. âI think I just fell in love.â
Your lips twitched despite yourself. As you wandered further, the fair unfolded around youâa blur of color, the rise and fall of laughter, the clinking of game tokens. Beomgyu tested his luck at a stall, missing the target on his first try. His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for another attempt.
But before he could, you nudged him aside and took your own shot. The ball hit dead center, toppling the target with ease.
His jaw slackened. âNo way,â he breathed. âThat was pure luck.â
âSkill,â you corrected, reaching for the small stuffed bear the vendor handed you. You turned, pressing it into his hands. âHere. Since you tried so hard.â
He stared at the plush toy, then back at you, his fingers curling around the soft fabric. Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted. âYouâre mocking me, arenât you?â
âOf course not,â you said, entirely unconvincing.
He shook his head, tucking the bear under his arm as you strolled onward. The night stretched around you, a haze of laughter and playful ribbing, of moments that lingered just a second longer than they needed to. Eventually, you both slowed near a stall adorned with ribbons, clips, and various hair accessories, their silk and satin edges fluttering under the glow of the lanterns above.
The vibrant flowers and intricate designs caught your eye, drawing you in. Your fingers traced over a delicate floral pieceâsoft ivory petals tinged with a faint blush. It was simple but striking.
Beomgyu followed your gaze, then reached forward, plucking the ornament from its place. His fingers brushed yours in the process, a brief touch that sent a ripple through your senses.
"This would look great on you," he mused, voice light yet sincere.
You hesitated, glancing at him before shifting your focus back to the clip. "I donât know if Iâm really the flower type."
He tilted his head, considering you. "I think it would suit you."
Before you could protest, he stepped closer, lifting a loose strand of your hair between his fingers. His touch was featherlight, his fingertips warm against the cool night air. The motion almost absentminded as he tucked the flower into place, adjusted the clip with an almost delicate sort of care.
"There," he murmured. "Perfect."
He was close enough that you could see the faint exhaustion beneath his eyes, the way the streetlights cast a glow in his hair. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered, as if admiring his work.
Under his intense gaze that pinned you to the ground, you glanced away, feeling your airways constricting. You looked at yourself in the small mirror the vendor offered, grazing the ornament.
"Youâre beautiful," he said, soft but certain.
Your eyes widened. Turning your gaze back at him was a bad idea because the blood from your cheeks earlier which had subsided, rushed back immediately. He was watching you with such a dreamlike, dazed smile. The words settled somewhere deep, unshaken by embellishments, and yet they held a weight that left you grasping for balance.
"You know," the stall owner chimed in, smiling knowingly, "if you're looking for a couple's discount, I can give it to you for the matching set."
A startled breath caught in your throat. Your hands shot up waving as you opened your mouth, your voice coming out far less composed than usual. "Oh, no, itâs not like thatâ"
"Weâll take it," Beomgyu cut in smoothly, reaching for his wallet before you could finish.
You turned to him, eyes widening. "Wait, what are youâ"
He waved you off, handing the cash to the vendor without missing a beat. "Consider it my gift," he added, his voice laced with satisfaction.
The stall owner chuckled, handing you the packaged clip. "A good choice," she remarked with a wink. "It suits her perfectly."
You exhaled, the warmth creeping up your neck, but Beomgyu only looked pleased, a victorious gleam in his eyes.
"Tonight was supposed to be about you," you sighed, holding the small package in your hands. "Why are you the one giving me gifts?"
Beomgyu held up the stuffed bear you had won for him earlier, his lips curling into a smirk. "You already got me this," he pointed out. Then, more quietly, "Besides, you brought me here. You made sure I was alright. A small gift is the least I can do."
You had no response to that.
"Accept it," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly. "For my sake."
A single snowflake drifted between you, catching the golden fair lights as it fell. Then another. And another.
Beomgyu tilted his head up, watching the first snowfall of the season settle over Paris. The world around you seemed to hush, the fairâs glow casting a warm halo over the descending frost. A slow smile spread across his face, something wistful in the way his gaze traced the sky.
"I want to see the Seine."
You glanced at him, the request unexpected. He turned back to you, eyes shining. "That day we visited, I couldnât really take it inânot properly, not with everything else going on."
The quiet honesty in his voice softened something in you. "Then letâs go."
The walk to the bridge was slower, the fairâs noise fading behind you as the Seine stretched before you in its midnight stillness. The river carried the reflection of the cityâs lights, a gentle shimmer under the falling snow. Beomgyu leaned against the railing, his hands curled over the frost-kissed iron, the glow of the streetlamps painting his profile in gold and shadow. Snowflakes clung to his hair, caught in the sweep of his lashes, but he didnât seem to notice.
You watched him take it all in, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet breath. He turned to you then, his exhaustion evident in the way his body carried itselfâbut there was warmth in his gaze, something that made the air between you shift.
"How are you feeling now?" you asked, voice softer than you intended.
His lips parted, hesitation flickering over his features before he finally answered. "I feel much better." His eyes didnât leave yours. "Thank you."
And you triedâGod, you triedânot to say that you loved him. Tried to swallow it down, push it away, because tonight wasnât about you. Tonight was about him, about making sure he was okay.
But then he reached up, fingertips ghosting against your cheek, light as snowfall. The warmth of his touch burned through the cold. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between restraint and surrender. He was close, close enough that the city blurred around you, close enough that his gaze flickered downâto your lips, then back up, eyes locking with a silent pleaâ
âShit.â
âBeomgyuâs foot slid against the fresh snow, his arms flailing as he yelped. The moment snapped, the sharp bite of reality returning all at once. Instinct took overâyou reached out, grabbing his arms before he could stumble further, fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeves.
Your pulse was a riot against your ribs. "Beomgyuâ"
And then, as if the universe itself was conspiring against you, your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket, Yeonjunâs name flashing on the screen.
You hesitated, the moment still hanging between you like an unfinished sentence. Beomgyu exhaled, something obscure passing over his expression before he turned back toward the river.
When you hung up the call, your voice felt foreign in your throat. "Theyâre making rounds. Itâs time to go back."
The walk back to the hotel was silent. You didnât meet his eyes when you reached the entrance, didnât look back when you passed a very curious Yeonjun, locking the door behind you as soon as you stepped inside your room.
That night, sleep did not come easily to you.
Beomgyu was losing his mind.
Sleep had evaded him, slipping through his fingers like sand, and now, as the pale morning light filtered through his curtains, his thoughts remained tangled around you. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, but it did nothing to ease the restless ache in his chest. Last nightâs scenes replayed behind his eyes in an unrelenting loop, haunting him, taunting him. What was he thinking?
His mind reeled back, drifting to the first time he had truly seen youânot as the girl everyone whispered about, the cold and cunning Slytherin, but as someone real. The flickering glow of the fireplace in the Room of Requirement had softened your sharp edges, revealing a warmth beneath the frigid surface. That night had unraveled everything he thought he knew about you. Without even realizing it, he had begun craving your presence, finding solace in it, drawn to the peace that rested between you.
Since when had you become his safe haven?
Beomgyu closed his eyes and draped an arm over them, lying motionless against the mattress. But the memory of you persisted. The way your arms had wound around him on the rooftop, the way your scent had lingered against his skinâsoft florals, a trace of vanilla, and something that was just you. Maybe it was exhaustion clouding his mind, or maybe he had simply stopped pretending, but he wanted to feel your lips against his. The thought struck him like a force of nature, leaving him breathless in its wake.
His spiraling thoughts were abruptly shattered by the creak of the door. Heeseung sauntered in first, voice already animated as he recounted how he had caught two professors making out last night. Jeongin followed behind him, slipping onto the bed beside Beomgyu without a word.
Heeseung, noticing Beomgyuâs silence, slowed his chatter, his tone shifting. "What Jaekyung did during Truth or DareâI'm sorry, it was very low of him."
Beomgyu sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Itâs fine."
"No, itâs not. Did you see me laughing?" Heeseung pressed. "Yeah, exactly. None of us found it funny. Jaekyung knew he messed up. He barely said a word the rest of the night. Well, specifically after that revelation."
Beomgyu let out a small breath, forcing a half-smile. "Really, it doesnât bother me."
Heeseung wasnât convinced. He studied Beomgyu, his sharp gaze flickering over the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You look awful, man. You sure youâre good? You had a long night, huh?"
Beomgyu hesitated. It wasnât about Jaekyung. It wasnât about what had been said. The truth sat heavy in his chest, but he couldn't tell them that. Because the real reason for his unrest was you.
Heeseung, ever oblivious, started rummaging through the room, muttering about finding anything to help. But Jeongin, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke.
"Wanna see something?"
Both boys turned to the Hufflepuff as he casually reached into his sling bag and pulled out a small vial. He held it up, letting the light catch on the iridescent liquid inside.
Heeseung nearly choked. "Dude, is thatâ?"
"Amortentia."Â
Beomgyu sat up abruptly. "How the hell did you manage to sneak that into Paris?"
Jeongin only grinned, his fox-like eyes gleaming with mischief. "I just did."
"Youâre a Slytherin in disguise, arenât you?" Beomgyu gave him a pointed look.
Jeongin merely shrugged, shaking the vial slightly. "So, do you want to take a whiff or not?"
Beomgyu hesitatedâhe had smelled Amortentia before, but that was a long time ago. The things he had loved back then surely couldn't compare to now. Slowly, he took the vial, uncorking it with careful fingers. The moment the scent reached, a laugh threatened to break out from him.
Because of course, it was you.
It had always been you.
Your scent filled his lungs, weaving into his very essence, curling into the spaces between his ribs, settling in the marrow of his bones. The delicate trace of your floral shampoo, the warmth of vanilla that clung to your skin, the bittersweet coffee that lingered on your lips. And beneath it all, something intangibleâsomething that wasn't just a scent, but a feeling. A muted gravity pulling him home. It filled him like the hush of the tide against the shore, constant and inevitable.
Beomgyu had spent his life bending, shifting, molding himself into what others needed him to be. Always laughing, always the light, always the reflection of what others wanted. He had blurred the lines of himself so many times that he feared there was nothing real left underneath.
But here, now, he knew.
Because for once, he wasnât afraid of what he wanted. For once, he wasnât running away. He was running toward itâtoward you.
Beomgyu loved you.
And it was the truest thing he had ever known; the truest he had been to himself.Â
You werenât doing any better.
When Yeji left for breakfast, you refused to leave your bed, burying yourself deeper into the sheets. Time passed in a haze until Yeonjun dropped by, setting down a tray of food with an expectant look that left no room for argument. He made sure you ate, his gaze watchful as if he could see right through you. And in the end, he did.
With little effort, Yeonjun coaxed the truth out of youâthe tangled mess of last night, the words unsaid, the emotions left raw and aching.
"Wait," he blinked. "Youâre sayingâI cockblocked you?"
You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face. His choice of words made you cringe, but in a way, he wasnât wrong. Instead of confirming it, you merely grumbled in protest.
Yeonjun only laughed, ruffling your hair in a rare display of fondness. "Itâll work out," he said, voice softer now. "You two just need to stop being idiots about it."
âEasier for you to say,â you muttered bitterly, throwing another pillow.
He caught it easily, his laughter carried by the wind that visited through your open balcony. Moments like these reminded you why you were grateful to have him in your lifeânot just as a friend, but as family.
Today, though, you werenât in the mood to go out. You hadnât slept a wink last night, and exhaustion pulled at your limbs. So, as the world carried on beyond your window, you curled back under the blankets, surrendering to sleep.
But before you drifted off, a decision settled firmly in your mind.
Tomorrow before leaving, you will talk to Beomgyu.
Beomgyu didn't know who he was expecting when he opened the door, but it certainly wasn't Jaekyung.
His face remained blank, devoid of any welcoming expression, though irritation simmered just beneath the surface. Jaekyung, with his usual cocky nonchalance, stood there holding up two beer bottles as though they were old friends sharing a casual drink. "Letâs have a chat over drinks?"
A bitter taste coated Beomgyuâs tongue. He didnât want this conversation, didnât want to spend another second in Jaekyungâs presence, but with the inevitability of Quidditch matches and shared spaces, dragging this out seemed more of a hassle. Exhaling sharply through his nose, he stepped aside, wordlessly agreeing.
Thatâs how he found himself on the rooftop of the hotel, the night air crisp against his skin, the city lights sprawling endlessly beneath them. Jaekyung popped open his can, tilting his head back for a long chug before sighing, relishing the bitter taste. He started talkingâabout last night, about how he hoped Beomgyu didnât take it to heart, how it was all just a joke, how he hadnât meant to hurt Beomgyuâs feelings or disrespect his mother. The words tumbled out in a half-hearted apology, as though he expected Beomgyu to nod along and laugh it off.
Beomgyu remained silent, his grip loose around his own can, having only taken a single sip. He wasnât really here to make peace, just to tolerate the moment until it passed.
Jaekyung scoffed, took another sip, and muttered, "That Slytherin bitch really had to ruin shit for me."
Beomgyuâs fingers tensed against the can. His brows furrowed as he turned his head, eyes sharp. "What?"
Jaekyung exhaled in exasperation. "You heard me. That girlâshe really has some nerve. If she hadnât butted in, everything wouldâve gone fine for me. But no, she just had to stick her nose where it didnât belong." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed. "You should be careful around her, Beomgyu. I mean, come on. You know how those Slytherins are. Always scheming, always looking out for themselves. Who knows how dirty her hands are? Wouldn't be surprised if she's dabbled in the Dark Arts."
Beomgyuâs grip on the can tightened, metal bending under the pressure of his fingers.
Jaekyung let out a dry chuckle, swirling the beer in his hand. "Hell, I wouldnât even be shocked if she ended up killing someoâ"
The words couldn't fully leave Jaekyungâs mouth, Beomgyuâs fist curled into the front of his shirt, shoving him back with enough force to slam him against the wall. The dull thud of impact echoed in the night air. Jaekyungâs beer can clattered to the ground, spilling its contents across the concrete.
The moment stretched, heavy with unfiltered rage. Beomgyuâs chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, his knuckles white against the fabric of Jaekyungâs shirt. His heart pounded, his vision blurred in a haze of fury.
Jaekyung, momentarily stunned, let out a breathless laugh, his lips twitching into a smirk despite the pressure against his collar. "Donât tell me you like her?" he taunted, his voice dipping into something almost mocking. "Do you even know what youâre doing?"
Beomgyuâs jaw clenched, his grip tightening. "Say another word about her, and I swear to God, I wonât hold back next time," he warned, his voice low, deadly.
Jaekyung only grinned wider, eyes glinting with amusement. "Youâre ruining Gryffindorâs image by hanging around with that filthy Slytherin."
That was all it took.
His fist snapped forward, knuckles colliding with Jaekyungâs jaw in a brutal, sickening crack that rang through the night. Jaekyungâs head jerked to the side, his smirk wiped clean as he staggered, nearly losing his footing.
Beomgyu didnât care about the consequences. Not the whispers, not the wary glances, not the tarnish on his image this could bring. If it meant protecting youâfrom slander, from the storm of false assumptions, from people who spat on your name without knowing the first thing about youâthen his reputation could burn.
By the time you woke up, the sun had already begun its slow descent beyond the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of amber and violet. A dull throbbing pulsed behind your eyes as you pushed yourself upright, the remnants of sleep still clinging to your limbs. Blinking away the haze, you scanned the room, your gaze landing on the empty space where Yeji had been. Her absence was quickly explained by the neatly folded note left on the bedside table.
Spending the night with the girls. Donât wait up!
You sighed, rubbing at your temples before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The headache lingeredâa dull, persistent ache that made deciding between coffee and painkillers a heavier task than it should have been. Eventually, you settled on coffee, craving the warmth more than anything, but you shot Yeonjun a quick text anyway, asking him to grab some medicine on his way back.
At that moment, Yeonjun was at a bar with his friends. His phone buzzed just as Heeseung announced he was heading back to the hotel. Yeonjun barely glanced at the screen before catching Heeseung by the wrist.
"Hey, do me a favor? Grab some painkillers from the pharmacy on your way back and drop them off for her?"
Heeseung, already halfway out the door, gave a lazy salute before disappearing into the night. The city lights flickered against the polished streets as he made his way to the nearest pharmacy, the mild buzz of alcohol in his veins making everything feel a little lighter. The store was nearly empty save for one other customer browsing the aisles, and in his attempt to maneuver past them, Heeseungâs shoulder clipped theirs, sending both their purchases tumbling to the ground.
"Shit, my bad," he muttered, hastily gathering his things. The stranger offered a muttered reassurance, but embarrassment burned at the tips of his ears. Before he could make a bigger fool of himself, he all but bolted out the door.
By the time he reached the hotel, the sky had deepened to a velvety blue, the streets humming with the distant sounds of nightlife. He knocked on your door, shifting on his feet as he waited. When you finally opened it, brows furrowed in confusion, Heeseung only grinned.
"Yeonjunâs gonna be late, so he asked me to drop this off for you."
You blinked at the offered packet before reaching out to take it. "Oh. Thanks, Heeseung. You should get some rest."
"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand dismissively, then let out a sheepish chuckle. "Almost didnât make it in one piece. I crashed into some poor stranger at the pharmacy and sent both our stuff flying. Thought they were gonna curse me on the spot."
You shook your head with a small laugh, watching as he sauntered off down the hall before shutting the door. Tossing the packet onto the bed, you turned your attention to the half-packed suitcase waiting for you. With your departure set for tomorrow night, you figured it was best to finish now, leaving only the essentials untouched.
By the time you were done, you were exhausted. You turned off the lights to ease the dull headache, leaving the room bathed in the faint glow of the city beyond the balcony doors. Drawn by the cool night air, you stepped outside, letting the gentle breeze carry away the last remnants of your lingering headache. The trip had been a blur of moments, each one folding into the next, but despite everything, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to Beomgyu.
You hadnât seen him all day. Not since last night on the bridge.
Heat rushed to your cheeks at the memory, and you groaned, dropping your face into your palms. Shaking your head, you turned away, desperate for a distraction. Thatâs when your gaze landed on the packet resting on your bed. Right. You should put it away.
Grabbing it, you tore it open with little thoughtâonly to freeze. There were no painkillers inside. Instead, a mix of unfamiliar medicine stared back at you, along withâ
Your stomach dropped.
âseveral packets of condoms.
For a second, you just stared, unable to process what you were looking at. Then, realization struck like a slap to the face.
Heeseung must've picked up the wrong packet. Oh god.
A strangled sound crawled up your throat as you dragged a hand down your face. There was no way you were keeping this. You had to return it. Now.
Exhaling sharply, you marched toward the door, and yanked it openâonly to stumble back in surprise.
Beomgyu stood just outside, equally startled, his eyes widening as yours did the same. Your breath caught, pulse stumbling over itself as you took another step back.
He looked as if heâd been caught red-handed, lips parting slightly before snapping shut, his fingers twitching at his sides. For a moment, neither of you spoke, both frozen in place, the tension crackling between you like a frayed wire. Your heart pounded, his gaze settling heavy in your chest, leaving you breathless in a way that had nothing to do with surprise.
Your eyes widened, and then widened even more when you took in his faceâa deep bruise darkening his right cheekbone, his lower lip split and raw. The sharp inhale you took was nearly drowned by the surge of panic crashing through you. Without thinking, you stepped forward, reaching for him, but the movement seemed to shake him from his daze.
âS-Sorry, I should go backââ Beomgyu stammered, already taking a step back.
Your fingers caught his wrist before he could slip away, your grip firm despite the hammering of your pulse. "Get inside."
Beomgyu hesitated, but the authority in your voice left no room for argument. You tugged him in, shutting the door with more force than necessary before turning on the lamp atop the dresser. The warm glow cast soft shadows across the room, illuminating the damage on his face. You exhaled sharply through your nose, frustration simmering beneath your skin as you pushed him onto the bed.
He let you, watching in silence as you crouched before him, scanning his injuries with an expression that left no space for anything but raw, unfiltered concern. He should have been saying somethingâassuring you, maybeâbut he found himself caught instead, watching the way your brows knit together, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to touch him.
Beomgyu didnât know what came over him after the fight with Jaekyung, but he was sure of one and one thing onlyâhe needed to see you. That was why he let his feet take him to your room, but as he was about to knock, he woke up from his daze. Caught in between the dilemma of letting his desire to see you win or turn away and go back to his room, he spent more time standing in front of your door than necessary
âWho did this to you?â The question left you in a voice steadier than you felt. But you didnât wait for an answer. You already knew. âJaekyung?â
Beomgyu's hand shot out, grasping yours before you could rise. âListen to me. Please.â His voice was hoarse, his grip warm. âI started the fight.â
You froze, stunned. He sighed, lips pressing together before he spoke again. âHe said some things about you he shouldnât have. I couldnât just let him run his mouth when he assumed the worst about you.â
Something in your chest twistedâsomething sharp, something ugly. Your pulse thrummed as a thousand thoughts warred within you. Was this your fault? Did he feel like he had to defend you? Anger flared, not at him, but at the situation, at Jaekyung, at the bruises marking Beomgyuâs skin.
Without a word, you pulled away, heading for the bathroom. You needed somethingâanythingâto fix this mess. But you found nothing, except opting for a bowl of water from the basin. Frustration burned as you muttered a curse under your breath. You yanked open your bag, grabbing your wand and a handkerchief instead. You threw a Mufffliato charm at your door before getting hold of the dresser stool.
Returning, you dragged the stool in front of him, sitting so close your knees brushed. His fingers curled against his lap, his gaze heavy as it followed your movements.
âAre you upset with me?â
âNo.â The clipped response did little to ease him. His fingers found yours again, tentative this time. âDonât be upset,â he murmured, and the quiet weight in his voice sent something quivering through you.
You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. âIâm not upset,â you whispered. âBut I need you to let me take care of you.â
You may have appeared frigid outwardly as you pulled your hand away from his and worked to wet the cloth with water, but inside, you were trembling. Your emotions threatened to spill over, pressing against the tight control you struggled to maintain. You chose silence, but the longer Beomgyu stared at you with those dark, blazing eyes, the harder it became to hold everything in.
Beomgyu, as if sensing it, tried to assure you that he was fine.
âStop.â Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the bruise marring his cheekbone as you brought the cloth to his skin.
The moment it touched his wound, he went rigid, eyes squeezing shut, a strangled groan escaping his lips. The sound shouldn't have sent a shiver down your spine, but it did, settling uncomfortably in the back of your mind. His hand found your thigh, fingers curling into the flesh. Your breath became uneven, hands trembling, but you carried on, ignoring it.
You wrung the cloth in your hands, the fabric twisting between your fingers. "Do you think this changes anything?" The words came measured, steady despite the storm within. "Do you think I care what Jaekyung says about me?"
You dabbed at his wound again, perhaps a little too firmly. Beomgyu hissed softly, but he didnât pull away. His grip on your thigh tightened instead.
"If he spreads shit about me to the entire Hogwarts, it wouldnât matter." You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you dipped the cloth back into the water. "Iâm used to it." The tremor in your fingers betrayed you as you wrung it out again, your knuckles paling from the force. "Nothing would have made a difference."
You pressed the cloth to his skin once more, frustration bleeding into every action.
Beomgyuâs breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your leg.
You swallowed, hands tense as you tossed the cloth aside. "You didnât have to act so rashly," you muttered, softer now, though no less strained. Your grip on your wand tightened. "You didnât have to taint your hands for me." Your lips parted, but the words felt heavy on your tongue. You inhaled sharply, forcing them out anyway. "Iâm already in ashes."
The weight of it all pressed down on you, suffocating. Still, you forced your hand steady as you lifted your wand. With a muttered, "Episkey," the bruise on his cheek faded, healing instantly under the glow of magic.
You finally looked at him then, your eyes searching his face. Beomgyu held your gaze, the fire in his own unwavering.
Your hands curled into fists in your lap. "Why?" The question slipped out, quieter than before, like it had been torn from somewhere deep inside you. "Why would you go this far for me? When doing so now will destroy your reputation?"
A shaky breath left you as you ran a hand through your hair, then buried your face in your palms. Silence stretched between you, but it suffocated you and dragged you down as if drowning in the deep sea with no hopes of swimming back up.
Beomgyu watched you, his jaw tightening. Even now, you were worrying about him rather than feeling any anger over being disrespected. How could you be so selfless? How many years of cruel judgment had it taken for you to be this nonchalant about people dragging your name through the dirt?
Regret wasnât something Beomgyu felt tonight.
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. âYouâre cute when youâre worked up.â
Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
Beomgyu only offered a lopsided smile, tilting his head. âDid you really think Iâd just stand there and let that son of a bitch talk about you like that?â His voice was quiet but firm. âYou donât deserve that.â
You felt waves of gratitude wash over the shore of frustration and guilt, mixing into a cacophony of intangible emotions in your chest. To know the person you loved so dearly saw you for who you were and stood up for you even at the risk of being ruinedâit was getting harder to fight back the clog in your throat, the sting behind your eyes.
âBut will you ever let me do the same for you?â The words tumbled out before you could even think, slipping past the restraint you had been holding onto.
He stared at you for a moment, his face softening in the dim light. âI didnât think you needed to,â he said at last, voice quieter now.
âI do,â you said quietly, your voice steady despite the vulnerability in your words. âI want to.â
You held your wand up to heal the split in his lip, but he caught your wrist again, stopping you before the spell could form. You froze when he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the curve of your neck.
âYou already do,â he murmured, his voice no louder than the snow drifting outside. âI don't think you realize how much you change everything just by being here.â
His scent was dizzying, warm and intoxicating, pressing into your senses until it became difficult to think of anything else. But nothing could have prepared you for the wildfire coursing through your veins when his lips grazed the skin just above your collarbone. A quiet gasp slipped from you before you could swallow it down. Your free hand moved on instinct, gripping his bicep, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his hoodie.
âBeomgyu,â you managed to breathe out, mind unraveling at the fact that such a simple touch from him had set your entire body ablaze. You werenât sure if you were trying to stop him or yourself.
You felt it thenâthe shudder that passed through him, as though he was holding back something just as consuming as what had taken root inside you. He didnât move away. Instead, his grip on your hand tightened slightly as he lifted his head, eyes finding yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with restraint, his breath uneven against your lips.
âAnd I donât think you understand how hard Iâm trying to resist.â
Your chest ached. Because he had been holding back, all this time. And you had, too.
The realization unraveled you. It wasnât just tonight. It had been every moment before this oneâevery touch avoided, every glance turned away too soon, every night spent swallowing words that threatened to spill. You had forced yourself into stillness, even when everything inside you begged to reach for him.
But now, with his words settling deep, breaking apart the last of your restraint, there was nothing left to stop you.
Your hand trailed from his bicep, slipping into his hair, fingertips threading through the strands. His lashes fluttered, and then, like he couldnât help himself, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping closed as though savoring the warmth of your palm. A breath escaped him, quiet, shivering.
Your heart pounded. Your emotions curled tight in your chest, coiling, pressing, threatening to consume you whole.
And so you kissed him.
His lips felt soft against yours. The touch was careful, lasting for just a few fleeting seconds before you pulled back, shamelessly breathless, searching his face for his reaction. Beomgyu remained still, gaze lowered, lips parted as he lifted a trembling hand to touch where your lips had been. His fingertips brushed over his busted lip, smearing the faint trace of blood left behind.
âMore.â
The word was barely a whisper, but the desperation in his voice sent a spark skittering down your stomach. He let go of your hand, his palms cupping your face instead and pulled you in, crashing his lips onto yours with more intention this time. The sheer intensity of it clawed out a tattered whimper from the back of your throat as you tumbled forward into him.
The taste of blood mixed into the kiss, coppery and intoxicating, the sting of his split lip making him hiss against your mouth. It should have made you pull away, should have given you pause, but instead, it only fueled the heat roaring between you. Your tongue swiped over the wound, drawing a sharp, shuddering moan from him. You noted how he liked the pleasure that came with pain before sliding your tongue deeper into his mouth, claiming him.
He met you with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours in a battle for dominance. But you refused to lose. Your body moved on its own, pulling him even closer as you straddled his waist. Your fingers tugged at his hair, drawing a broken moan from him, and just as you felt him start to crumble beneath you, you pushed him back against the mattress.
Beomgyu let out a quiet yelp, eyes wide as he stared up at you, dazed and breathless. Your heart stuttered, not expecting it to be so utterly, devastatingly adorable.
Your gaze flickered over him, your breath shaky, heart thundering in your chest. You had wanted this for so longâto feel him like this, to have his scent clinging to your skin, to taste his lips, even if they were bruised and tinged with blood. It felt surreal, intoxicating, overwhelming in every sense.
A fond smile ghosted your lips as you reached out, fingers brushing through his tousled hair. His skin was already covered in a sheen of sweat, the winter air failing to cool the fire blazing between you. His chest heaved with each breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.
âAre you still upset with me?â he asked, voice hoarse, breathless.
You shook your head, reaching for his bruised knuckles. Bringing them to your lips, you pressed a soft kiss against them.
âJust promise me youâll never let yourself get hurt for me.â
His fingers curled against yours, before he lifted his other hand, tangling it in your hair, pulling you down to him. He sealed the promise with another searing kiss, one that stole the breath from your lungs and ignited every nerve in your body. He flipped you over in one swift movement, deepening the kiss.
This time, it was fervent, consumingâhis lips moving against yours like heâd been starving for this. His body slotted between your parted legs, pressing against you entirely. Your eyes flew open when you felt him grinding his hips against yours, his hardness rubbing against your torrid coreâand despite both of you being clothed, the scorching pleasure it was bringing was mind numbing. A broken gasp spilled from your lips as your back arched against him.
Beomgyu pulled away just enough to look at you, watching the string of saliva connecting your lips before it disappeared. His gaze darkened at the sight of you beneath himâlips swollen and red-stained, face flushed, hair framing you so perfectly that it made his breath hitch. His entire body burned with the need for you, an ache so deep he could barely think.
God, he needed you.
So badly it was nearly unbearable.
âI need you,â he almost pleaded, his hips kept grinding against yours, making your sanity crumble away further. Your mind had nothing left but his name chanted over and over again like a prayer. âCan I have you? Please let me have you?â
You nodded through your haze, because how could you refuse?
He pulled his hoodie and shirt off over his head in a quick motion, and your eyes, heavy with lust, trailed down his body, his flexing muscles as he threw the clothes across the room. Beomgyu dipped down to press his lips to yours once more, his arm wrapping around your head, the other hand tugging at the waistline of your pants. "You're so beautiful," he mumbled against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbones before biting down on the supple flesh, eliciting a strained moan from you. "So perfect."
Beomgyu groaned against your pulse point when his fingers slid in between your folds, collecting your arousal before lathering all of it in an up and down motion over your slit, each time bumping against your clit and applying just the right amount of pressure on the bundle of nerve. It sent jolts of pleasure through your body as your nails dug around his shoulders, your back arching into his body. When his name came in the form of a broken melody past your lips, he pushed two fingers in your waiting core, curling them deliriously against your sweet spot that had you seeing stars.Â
Your hips stuttered, grinding up to meet his thrusting fingers as you writhed underneath him while Beomgyuâs torrid lips drew wonders on your neck, leaving behind a trail of fire. It felt so good, your lips caught between your teeth, your head buzzed with unfathomable ecstasy at the feeling of his long, thick fingers massaging your walls. You only could wonder how his cock would feel inside you. The thought alone had your thighs trembling.Â
The familiar sensation of heat coiling in your lower stomach began to embrace you, and you knew Beomgyu knew, because your walls clenched around his digits. He lifted his head to lock eyes with you, as his fingers picked up their pace, encouraging you to come undone. âYouâre doing so good for me,â he coaxed. âYouâre doing amazing, love.â
âBeomgyu,â you whined, voice trembling and gasping. âIâmâIâm almostââÂ
The relentless pace along with his sweet praises sent your senses into a euphoric haze as you cried out, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Beomgyu ran his fingers through your hair, soothing your scalp as you came down from your high, chest heaving with every breath you took. The sinful sight of him wrapping his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking off your arousal from them made you glance away.
âSweet. How do you taste so sweet?â His thumb pressed against your bottom lip before pulling it down. His tongue pushed past your lips, the feeling of your arousal melting into your mouth was so overwhelming that it drawled out a groan from you.Â
Your mind was already so fucked out that you had to snap yourself into reality when Beomgyu repeated his question. He cooed, gently caressing your cheek when you blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes.Â
âDo you want to keep this on?â he tugged on the hem of your shirt, eyes trailing the skin of your arms where goosebumps have risen. The goosebumps didnt come from the cold, noâit was the mere effect he had on you, so you shook your head, propping yourself up just enough to tug your shirt over your head, leaving only your bra on.
Beomgyu swallowed thickly, sitting back on his heels as his eyes roamed around your bodyâover the soft swell of your breast, the dips of your collarbone, the curves of your sidesâand he kept wondering how he managed to get so lucky. His hand glided up the small of your back and with nimble fingers he unclasped your bra before letting it join the discarded clothes on the floor. Pulling you flushed against his chest, Beomgyu peppered soft kisses on your shoulder and he inhaled your scent. Gosh, he was going crazyâabsolutely, maddeningly insane for you.
Your bleary gaze fell on the outline of his hardened shaft, waiting and beginning to be pulled out from its restraints. With shaky hands you reached out to tug on his sweatpants, expectantly looking up at him. Beomgyu wasted no time working on his pants, strong hands pulling you closer to him before his leaking cockhead grazed your clit. The choked moan that escaped from the back of your throat made you wonder if it truly was your voice.Â
âProtection?â he asked, his voice momentarily cutting through your heady haze.
You nodded, looking at the packet that, now thanks to Heeseungâs clumsiness, came in handy. Beomgyu followed your gaze, reaching for the packet before emptying its contents on the bed. Even if he had any questions, he chose not to voice it as he silently tore one packet with his teeth and rolled the thin rubber over his shaft, giving it a few pumps.
The anticipation that coiled within your stomach crawled up to your throat and through your chest, gathering all your oxygens from your lungs on its way. Beomgyu shuddered over you, hands roaming, fingers mapping out your skin like he was committing every inch of you to memory. He lined the tip of his cock against your entranceâthen suddenly stilled all his movements.Â
Your heart stopped as your eyes searched his face, looking for any semblance of discomfortâor worse, if he was thinking it was all a mistake, if he was thinking of backing out at the last moment. Beomgyu closed his eyes, brows knitting together as he exhaled sharply. The silence felt too thick for you to disturb it. You could only wet your chapped lipsâa futile attempt to ease your nerves.
Finally, in a low whisper, he said, âI think I might be a terrible person.â
For a split second, you believed himâyou thought he was about to confess something unforgivable. Then you realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.
You let out a shaky breath. Was it relief? Perhaps. Perhaps it was also the love that you felt for this man. He was already so deeply tangled in your soul, you werenât ready to let go of him so easily. Not in this lifetime, not in the next, not in any lifetime to come.
You cupped his face, tilting it to make him look at you. You tried to pour all your love, your admiration, your desire into the way you gazed at him. With a fond smile, you murmured, âIâm a terrible person too. And I want you. I just want youâall your flaws, your mistakes, your smiles, your jokes, everything.â
He kissed you, so deeply, so fiercely, that the gasp you let out when you felt him stretching you was entirely devoured by his mouth. Fingers clawing his back, you couldn't decide where to focusâthe sheer euphoric wave of pleasure engulfing your body, or the way Beomgyu muttered apologies in your ear.Â
âDoes it hurt? Iâm sorryâah, I'm so sorry, love,â he whispered softly, giving you time to adjust as he slowly sank into your aching core. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as he had to fight the urge to cum from just feeling your tight walls clench around him. âI promise, it will feel good. Iâve got you.â
The bed creaked beneath you as he pulled out slowly before pushing back in, setting the pace into deep languid thrusts that had you gasping and moaning with every movement. Beomgyu tried to hold onto the last bit of his sanity when he felt your hand trail up to the hair on his nape, curling and tugging on a fistful. He buried his face into your neck, strained moans filling your ear deliciously as his hips snapped against yours. You didn't notice his arms buckling, one of his hands having to brace the mattress beside your head, fist twisting into the sheets.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to bring him even closer to youâas if such an act of desperation could alone imprint every pattern of his body on yours. The depraved sound of skin against skin along with your mingling groans and gasps resonated off the walls of the room. Your already sensitive cunt throbbed with pleasure with every shallow drag of his cock, reaching unfathomable places inside you.Â
It wasn't the cold air that sent a shiver down your spine but rather his featherlight touch over your hardened nipple. You squirmed at the sensation and he immediately moved his hand away. âToo much?â concern laced his voice as he let his hand find purchase on your hips instead, massaging the soft flesh. His consideration and care towards you knocked the air out of your lungs, chest constricting painfully.Â
âKiss me,â you pleaded breathlessly, âBeomgyu, please kiss me.â
He didn't need to be told twice, stealing your breath in a slow, languid kiss that matched his pace. His lips moved against yours with aching slowness, savoring every second, every press, every stolen breath. His hand from your hip trailed up your sides, leaving a searing path in their wake, fingertips pressing into your skin as if he needed to reassure himself that you were real, that this was real.
All the whimpers and moans that spilled from youâhe swallowed them down greedily, a low hum of approval vibrating against your lips. He broke away only to pepper kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. âYou drive me insane,â he murmured between kisses, voice thick with desire, each word punctuated by his shallow thrusts. âI donât think I could ever get enough of you.â
His words sent a tremor down your spine, and when he found the pulse point beneath your jaw, sucking lightly, you let out a soft gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. You felt your high approaching you again, your whimpers getting louder by the seconds as your eyes rolled back to your head. He groaned at the sensation of your walls spasming, the sound reverberating against your skin like a plea, a promise, a confession.
You were his undoingâand he was yours.
âLet go, love,â he muttered in a strained voice as you clenched around him like a vice, your body quivering when you finished, his name spilling from you so sinfully that it drove him over the edge. He helped you ride out your orgasm, seeds spilling inside the condom but the warmth seeped into your walls, making you bite down on your lips harshly.
There was a beat of silence as you both chased for air. Beomgyu moved first, helping you sit up with the same gentleness and care as before. When he returned with a damp towel, he pressed it softly against your skin, wiping away the sheen of sweat. His eyes, dark yet brimming with unmistakable adorationâsomething tender, something irrevocableânever wavered from yours.
You took in the quiet love in his gaze, the way it mirrored your own, and let yourself smile. Your fingers brushed against his bruised lips, tracing them with featherlight touches. "Remind me to fix this," you murmured.
Beomgyu chuckled, a boyish grin breaking across his face before he tugged you down with him onto the bed. He pulled the covers over both of you, cocooning you in warmth, in safety, in him.
For a fleeting moment, you still thought it was a dream. If it was, then it would be the happiest one you've ever had. But the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic beat of his heart against your skin, and the way his body heat shielded you from the bitter Parisian winter told you otherwise. This was real. Every second of it was real.
"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
You tilted your face up, capturing his lips in a tender kiss, sealing the words against his mouth before murmuring them back to him.
And then, like an echo in your mind, Yeonjunâs words from before resurfacedâthat Paris, the city of love, truly had a way of bringing people together.
The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your presence unnoticed at first. You made your way toward him with unhurried steps, pulling out the empty chair across from him with an ease that belied the tension hanging between you.
âGood morning, Jaekyung.â
Your voice was pleasant, smoothâalmost sweetâbut your eyes held none of the warmth your tone suggested. The cruel amusement dancing in them, however, was impossible to miss.
Jaekyung stiffened, his expression shifting the moment he looked up and met your gaze. He stared as though he had seen a ghost. A reaction you found deeply satisfying.
You leaned back against the chair, taking in the damage Beomgyu had left on his face. A slow smile curled your lips. A shame, really, that Beomgyuâs fist had gotten to him first. You had so much more to say.
Jaekyung recovered quickly, forcing an unimpressed scoff as he crossed his arms. âAre you looking for more trouble?â
Your brow lifted at his audacity. For all his bravado, he didnât seem as comfortable now. When you didnât immediately respond, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the movement. âLook, if this is about your boyfriend, then I have nothing to say. He hit me first, so obviously, I had to act.â
You hummed in acknowledgment, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. Then, with the same polite smile, you spoke. âJaekyung,â you said lightly, âif I were you, Iâd choose my next course of action very carefully.â You let the words settle, your gaze never breaking from his. âSpecifically with the amount of dirt in your hands.â
His fingers twitched against the ceramic cup, his brows knitting together as his body stiffened. His voice dropped slightly. âWhat do you mean?â
You didnât answer right away. Instead, you leaned forward just enough for your presence to fully command his attention. âBetween you and me,â you murmured, voice carrying the air of something far more dangerous than idle threats, âI think we both know who truly has tainted hands here, donât we?â
Silence. A thick, suffocating pause where the realization dawned in his eyes.
You watched him struggle to formulate a response, but you had already grown bored. You pushed back your chair and rose to your feet. You adjusted the cuffs of your coat, smoothing out an imaginary crease as if this entire encounter had been nothing more than a passing chore.
Before turning away, you allowed one last look at himâone that stripped away the pleasantness in your smile and replaced it with something far colder.
âTake it as a word of advice.â You paused. Then, with a sharpened edge that left no room for misinterpretation, you added, âOr better yetâa warning.â
You turned on your heel and walked away, the quiet sound of your departure swallowed by the morning bustle outside. Behind you, Jaekyung remained frozen in his seat, the reality of your words settling deep into his bones.
When you returned to the hotel, you found Beomgyu seated in the lobby by the fireplace, a book in his handsâthe same one he had been reading on the train. The sight of him made your heart swell, a warmth unfurling deep within you.
Sensing your presence, Beomgyu lifted his head, his lips curving into a gentle smileâthe one he reserved only for you. His face was free of bruises now; you had tended to them carefully that morning before he left your room, making sure every mark was soothed away by your touch.
âYouâre back,â he murmured, rising to his feet. His hands found your face, cradling it with the kind of tenderness that made the world around you disappear. Then, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the muted words between you.
A loud gasp shattered the moment.
Oh. Right. You had completely forgotten that your friends were still around.
You turned to find Heeseung standing a few feet away, his mouth comically wide open. Beside him, Jeongin looked positively delighted before promptly dragging Heeseung away, muttering something about giving people privacy. You didnât miss the way Yeonjun smiled at you from where he sat across the roomâthere was something genuine, something deeply affectionate in his gaze, as if he was truly, wholeheartedly happy for you.
Beomgyuâs thumbs traced soft circles against your cheeks. âDo you want to go somewhere else?â he asked, his voice barely above a murmur, as if this moment belonged only to the two of you.
You shook your head. âNo. Letâs stay here. Itâs warm here.â
You tugged him back to the sofa, the flickering fire enveloping its warmth around you. As you settled in beside him, a playful smile ghosted your lips. Lifting the book in your hands, you turned to him and asked, âDo you read books?â
The same question you had asked him weeks ago, back in the Room of Requirement. Back when you had lent him your shoulder, when he had dozed off beside you as you read together.
Beomgyu huffed out a soft chuckle, recognizing the memory you were drawing upon. Tenderness and something softer flickered in his gaze as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
âYes, love,â he murmured, smiling against your skin. âYes, I do.â
And as you sat there together, wrapped in the soft glow of the fire, you couldnât help but think that Beomgyu was exactly like an aubadeâa gentle reminder of all the warmth and beauty that could be found in unexpected moments, lingering long after the night had passed.
when you're always invisible, it's hard to believe you're seen.
wc: 16.9k | secret stalker campus boy jake! x quiet girl y/n! mutual obsession. dark romance. yearning. written + smau bits! jake is filthy. y/n likes it. choking, kissing, spanking, biting, filming, groping, munching, fucking, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, manhandling, dirty talking. bros just inlove yk? also not proof read cos typos add character trust.
you don't consider it stalking.
stalking implies recklessness. obsession without discipline. messy footprints left behind.
you are not messy.
you just pay attention.
you know that jake sim prefers the left side of the lecture hall because the sunlight doesn't hit his screen. you know he cracks his knuckles before exams. you know he drinks caramel iced coffee with oat milk and no whipped cream, and that he wipes condensation off the cup with his thumb before taking the first sip. you know he slows down near the crosswalk outside the gym, not because he's tired, but because that's where people tend to recognise him.
but you don't approach him there. you're not dumb. instead, you observe.
you've mapped his schedule without meaning to. tuesdays and thursdays, practice at 6:42pm. mondays he lingers after class pretending to pack slowly- something you still can't find the reason to. and fridays he checks his phone before stepping outside, probably waiting, with his foot tapping the door frame; waiting for something you still can't figure out.
but you don't reach out to him. you're not dumb. instead, you adjust. shifting your routine by minutes- not hours- you can't do hours, you have to keep appearances. so you sit three rows up in the stands during his games, close enough to see his face and his brows curl, but far enough to remain forgettable. you never cheer too loud. you don't wave, or look interested- despite watching his shoulders tense before a kick, and the way he heaves when he scores. it's all purely harmless. people watch atheletes all the time. except you remember everything.
when you first fell in love with his soft features- the first time he got injured sophomore year and didn't post for two days. you remember how he limped slightly to his right the second week of lab, how his bag swung into your hip and he muttered a sorry, kindly bowing and complimenting your bunny keychain that you bought at the market he was also at one time, and with his cute apology, he smiled- even squishing it a lil. your keychain is now attached to your hip.
you don't tell anyone this, you don't even tell sunoo how bad the crush is other than you telling him it's just a small one. yes, the sunoo- the one who somehow knows everything.
you don't tell anyone that you memorized his student id number from a shared document "just in case." you don't tell anyone that you've walked past his dorm building enough times to know which light is his- which was always strangely dimmer than the rest.
but you've never crossed the line. you've never touched his door. you've never followed him at night. you just,
hover. observe, stay nearby. close enough to exist in his orbit; but never close enough to follow him at night, sniff his things, or grab his attention.
sometimes you wonder what would happen if he noticed you. if he just turned around, mid-stride and looked you into your eyes directly and not past you. if he asked why your gym schedule mysteriously mirrors his. that day when it comes, knowing you have calculated it, you think youâd smile politely and say 'coincidence' with a confident smile to match your meek appearance. just the year group's high achiever and the college campus sunshine, overlapping schedules because perfection grows from the same root.
itâs familiarity. and familiarity, you tell yourself, is the safest kind of devotion.
you've never achieved this level of devotion to other crushes before, so why is it that jake stood out to you? maybe its the difference in personality, his looks, or how easy he gets it. maybe, its because he saw you differently, his eyes intensely sharpening when you first made eye contact with him, and for a split second- you believed you could be seen again. you crave for that moment. devoted to living a life so blindly that he could one day enter again.
these recent days, you cling onto sunoo and yunah more, puffing your cheeks out in the library after successfully completing all modules, happy for another hotpot night with them and the rest of your friends, all while he tells you all the hot goss and scolds you for being glued to the phone. so you rest your phone down on the table, pretending to act surprised about the campus drama- when you've heard it several times through different accounts.
you stare at the time, zoning out. 8:46pm- your mind immediately goes to jake wrapping up his practice on the field, probably washing up and saying bye to his usual fieldmates, jungwon and jay. you narrate his whole routine in his mind.
he drives on wednesdays, so-
"oi." sunoo pushes ur shoulder. "finish your tea! i bought it just for you." he huffs, and you break a smile. sipping it mockingly in front of him who rolls his eyes. he then lights up again, "oh yeah! forgot to mention-" he pauses looking around in the local restaurant for other campus goers before looking at you again. "your little crush jake?" he bites his lip, "i think he has a thing with another girl, she's in physics 119. like you. 'jina'? ring a bell?" he scowls, "it better be a rumour, i swear he has a thing with every girl he sits nexts to." "he doesn't even talk much besides smiling and answering questions." yunah rolls his eyes. you sit there, laughing along. when in reality, jealousy boils within you. "its always the girl that initiates the talk, does he think high of himself?" sunoo hisses his lips. no. he's too humble. "nah he seems only the type to get what he wants and leaves." no, he'd never. but nevertheless, you respond; "i wonder who the lucky girl is." mundanely, causing a sympathetic chuckle to escape their mouths.
walking home on campus grounds in that dead of night, you slumped your shoulders. eyes pounding to the thought of waking early, just to secure the spot you want in chem. head hurting at the thought of someone else taking it, or worse, him not being there at all.
why couldn't it have been me? am i.. not pretty enough? am i not.. visible enough?
you shake your head, settling down your things before checking the college class portal's syllabus.
PROJECT: BOND_ASSIGNMENT A3_PAIRS_NAMES.slx
The project pairings will be announced randomly this Thursday afternoon if you haven't put your name aside on excel!
youâre already aware of the possibility before the professor puts you with another foreign exchange student again. reliable, class rep energy. you stay quiet mostly, but speak your truth and opinion in elegance. you're respected, cute, pretty, but never enough to be chosen by another classmate. you sigh again, before checking the class roster after your shower. refreshed it twice. memorized the alphabetical sequence. calculated where your name would fall if the pairs were random. you delete your name on the spreadsheet, knowing you'd probably be paired with another helpless student.
and then the page froze. another anonymous student checking the spreadsheet. 2:11am. it overwrites, but you quickly close the tab just incase someone catches your initials snooping around jake's name.
so you close your eyes. wishing the days go by faster to unknot the clouded jealousy of him being paired with another clueless girl.
the next morning, you arrive to class exactly three minutes early. to sit on your favourite spot. you always do. except, the class has been rearranged, desks put together in pairs rather than seperate, and some being occupied already by books and drinks. jake is already there. thatâs new. he doesnât usually arrive before the professor. heâs sitting in your row. not the front. not the back. your row. he looks up when you walk in, you don't meet his eye, your hands feel clammy. cold, your hair falls across your ear and into your view, you smile as a confident greeting. masking the heartbeat hastening your very body. he clears his throat, and he smiles like this is coincidence. you take your usual seat, pulling out your usual pen and journal, fixing the strap of your bag and unlocking your ipad.
it's no one else in the damn room besides you and him. and your mind cannot compensate for the speed of thoughts rushing in. you feel his eyes, hover. waver between you and the board that projected the college's isignia. he clears his throat- something you know all too well he does before he speaks, and so you bite the inside of your cheek- internally panicking.
âdid you check the roster?â he asks casually.
did i.. accidentally change something last night? you panic.
your stomach dips. âyeah.â
did i sound too casual?
âlate night,â he adds.
WHAT?
you freeze for half a second. âwhat?â
did somebody see me lurking?
âit updated at 2:11.â
your pulse stutters. you didnât mention the time. you didnât mention you saw it update. you didnât mention anything. you look at him carefully. heâs twirling his pen. calm. "oh. proffessor worked overtime. typical." you comment, before looking down at your phone, absent minded.
"yeah." he replies. a wave of silence following. "im your project partner.. by the way. i-um.. checked the spreadsheet." he casually adds.
"oh." your eyebrow perks up. you can't help it. you take your time to turn to him. pulse steadying. you must keep appearances. your keychain on your bag jingles when you turn to face his shaggy hair. fuck,
heâs closer than you expected.
not leaning in. not invading your space. just sitting there like heâs always been that distance from you. like this isnât new. those occasional blocky glasses he wears perched on that high nose-bridge you wished you could feel, and his hands, gripping the edge of his table. like he's ready to leap on the empty desk right next to you. "okay." you remind yourself to polietly reply to his comment. all while half your brain is trying to figure out if the professor really did put your name back in- or if-
âguess that makes this easier,â he says lightly, tapping his pen against his notebook. âno awkward introductions.â awkward? he think's i'm not awkward. good.
âi donât think weâve ever talked,â you reply, watching his face carefully. before watching the people pile in, saying hi to jake and you. his lips curve faintly. ânot directly.â your pulse skips.
not directly.
âi mean,â he corrects smoothly, eyes turning to the professor settle down his bag and wave the cursor around, âweâve had the same classes for two years.â you fakely chuckle, "right. true." you say, before being quiet. listening to the faint murmur of classmates talking about their partners. you failed to calculate the possibilities of someone putting your name back into the excel. or maybe you hit control z- either way- you thanked whoever put your name to the empty slot next to his name.
"i thought it was gonna be randomised." you bring up, to which you see jake shrug, bringing his bag next to you. cologne wading into your presence. "i think the professor changed his mind. typical." he mocks your tone. banter, something you have analysed is his friendly attribute of his.
he's talking to me.
you exhale as a laugh, slightly moving away as you open up your macbook, lowering your brightness. and while he looks away, you delete your notes. you delete his contact number, you delete everything including the evidence that you were on excel. you wanted to remain calm. and you did so by acting like you're not fond of his cute remarks.
the class lecture about the syllabus made your eyes roll. stupid easy investigation that can be done in two days. you wished it was harder, something that you could even imagine going to his place for-
"should we exchange numbers?" jake perks at you, whipping around with a casual smile, eager for your own casual reply. "s-sure." you answer, bringing your phone up, acting busy while he unlocks his. his fingers start tapping on his screen. "also, should we meet up soon? maybe next friday?"
next thursday. doable for you, very. but you know his schedule all too well, there's absolutely no way on friday's that he's free.
"i'm free all day." he smiles, again. a slight dimple carved from his jaw and chin compliments his puppy eyes. you blink several times, nodding to him politely, smiling back. "oh really?" "really."
"i thought a guy like you would be usually booked." you bring up, chuckling. sly. lying. joking about his apparent popularity, when in reality, you wanna know why his schedule is suddenly free for record-keeping.
"nah, i care about my grades too." he says, eyes too intense- feeling as though he's measuring your reaction. "that's new." you tease lightly. feeling a momentum in your conversation. "didn't think varsity boys had time for stuff like this."
his smile falters just a microsecond, small, controlled. you've never seen that expression before. his eyes fall between you and your phone. "i make time for what matters."
the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. you look down at your phone instead of answering. phone buzzing.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
you blink- slowly raising your eyes to him. he's still holding his phone, but it's already back on the table. quick. you understimated him. "fast fingers?" you ask lightly. he tilts his head. "what?"
"you texted before i even saved yours." you comment, and you find that unfamiliar expression reside on his face for the second time- eyes fluttering. he chuckles loosely, shaking his head. "did i? maybe i just type fast." looking down at your lockscreen- "you like pink? cute."
cute.
pull yourself together.
you try to replay the moment in your head: handing him your phone- which honestly you don't recall, and him typing his number in. strange- but nonetheless, you are thrilled. officially having his number (with consent) is enough for you. "right." you smile again. the class officially starts with no extra comments made towards the excel, the professor- who seemed hyper for someone who had supposedly tampered with the excel early in the am- had adjourned the class early, gifting everyone an hour early schedule to their day. you watch as people pile their things and go, talking to their friends and newly found partners- in which you expect jake to trail after. you never dared to leave before him, so you hesitate packing, double checking your work as a means to act busy.
"so uh-" jake clears his throat. he hasn't left, which was new. you turn to face him, and his eyes trail to yours. looking at both before looking away. "library next week? 10am?" he asks. blocky glasses sliding off his nose bridge, packed away into his bag.
your mind spikes. thrill. heat rushing to your ears. study date. you try not to delude- i mean it's not a date- but-.. study date. your mind wanders. another thought quickly catches. you're always in the library at 10am regardless. perfect fit. "sure!" you perk back, beaming in a friendly sense, keeping your demeanour at a 'casual' level. you end up ultimately choosing to leave as jake's body refuses to move. you wonder why, but shake it off as you finally rise from your table. you feel a chill down your spine- something you feel uncommonly as you're getting up and swishing your bags between the narrow desks. you tilt your lips upward and wave to him before the frosted glass hides you; and your smile drops- something dark within you coiling as you pace down the stairs.
jake cares about his grades.
jake's a smooth talker.
jake blinks slowly when he doesn't understand a concept.
jake uses the smile emoticon- especially to women - and you gag at the thought of him flirting with that fling of a girl in physics 119.
and he's more.. secretive than i thought. charming.
you like him even more. exiting the building, you find yourself smiling, unbeknownst to the figure that watches you from the classroom- smiling back.
you made sure you'd be there at 10am, whether or not you were losing sleep to the thought of him waiting for you. you chose to skip your usual routine of buying vending machine tea, to rather fix your hair and choose perfume- all nothing but a calculated thought to present yourself well before he arrives- but to your dismay, you find his dark chocolate hair, glistening under the soft morning sunlight, his head resting on his palm as he scrolls through his phone, bag under his chin on the desk. your favourite spot. window table, the one that's quieter from the rest- booked under his name, vacant for you to sit at; and worse? two drinks on the table.
your heart pounds. no woman is ever allowed to deserve this. you believe. the way he doesn't know you- and yet..
jake is a kind and hardworking man. and you smile of the thought of him getting ready for you. only you.
"h-hi." you open the glass door and he shoots up. "morning!" he smiles, pushing you a drink. you can't tell what it is by its paper silhouette. you stare at it. i can't accept this- you think. "i-i don't drink coffee at this time, sorry- i-i prefer te-" "it's tea." he cuts you off, turning it around so the label faces you. "green tea." he says, to be exact. "oh!" you genuinely become surprised. your favourite brand, smiling back at you- internally bringing you joy. "glad you like it. it was my lucky guess." he comments, before opening his laptop, bouncing his knee. "thank you." you mumble, opening your contents before turning to him. "shall we get started?"
studying and relearning content was a breeze to you- and it felt even easier when jake nods to your voice- utterly submissioned to your delegated tasks you asked for him to do- all while you secretly watched in the corner of your eye the way he grips his pen with his fingers, and his palm grazing his keyboard. the way he only ever uses those glasses around you and his lip bites when he's puzzled- all you could do was imagine those fingers splayed across your body while you bit the inside of your cheek and smiled the pain away.
pull yourself together.
"is this right?" he leans in, chain swishing against his hoodie before he swivels his chair closer to you. you don't even pay attention to his damn formula (which you know is wrong) and his morning rasp seeping out of the tiny vocal cracks in his voice; while his beady eyes look for a steady nod of validation. "it's okay." you assure him. you look at the time. 11:42am. another class waiting for you under the sea of schedules you were entitled to today.
"is it time already?" he brings up the time after watching you fondle with your watch. "soon, yeah. let's smash this practice investigation out- okay?" you politely exhale, averting your eyes away from his hardened ones staring back at you. intense. you feel again. the same weight of staring like the first time he saw you- but this time, you're afraid to face it. 8 minutes pass and you try to wrap things up. he doesn't seem to say anything besides looking at your bunny keychain and fondling with his notepad. "same time next week?" you try to casually initate another time- this time you want to savour his presence more.
"sure!" he smiles up at you again. "what class do you have next?"
"physics. 119." you flatten your lips. straightening your books before placing them neatly into your bag. he hums, nodding away. "in the same class as her. right." he mumbles but you catch it. your eyes can't help but slightly squint at the thought of him thinking about her. so you leave, muttering a quick goodbye while you push away the doors.
"fucking hell." you grumble. you stay apparent, on the lines, respectable- and yet someone who's completely nowhere on his radar gets to just have his attention just like that? unfair. unfair. unfair. you repeat those words until you reach the doors of your next tutorial. blanking out to the words and equations mashing together.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
you flinch at jake's notification at night. you remember how often his dim dorm lights were always on- but you never imagined he'd be studying past practice hours- for all you remember, he only stayed up late like that twice the past year, but nonetheless, your sources cannot just be trusted from someone who observes from the peripheral distance. maybe this was a sign for you to step further. you pocket sunoo's message into the back of your mind, insisting on helping jake in the back of the class while he messages back his dumb keyboard emojis and thank yous.
you feel.. loved.
though you know this isn't what it is- you feel like an ounce of your hardwork is being paid by incriments, and you hate to think that maybe you could end up being close to him. you love it. you love his messages- the way you could picture his heavy lidded eyes lifting just to think of messaging you late at night- it makes you so fucking heated.
he thinks of me.
but this level of seeking is probably never gonna end in the way that you want.
after sunooâs offhand comment that jake never lets anyone in his room and barely lets people get close, something inside you twists, not in fear but in fascination. the idea that jake, who is warm and casual and almost flirty with you during your project sessions, is cold and distant with everyone else makes every moment with him feel rare and deliberate.
instead of scaring you, it settles into your chest like a quiet privilege. you start watching him more closely during your meet-ups, noticing how his posture loosens when he sits beside you, how his voice softens when he asks a question, how he looks at you like you are familiar rather than temporary. you find yourself in the same laundry aisle three minutes after him, buying the same softener he uses. you smile more when he notices the similarities you seem to fabricate.
he does not resemble the closed-off version sunoo described, and the contrast sends a new kind of confidence blooming through you. you stop rehearsing everything you plan to say. you tease him lightly when he misreads a formula. you hold his gaze a little longer just to test him, to see what he will do. he notices every time. he always meets your eyes, always gives a small amused smile, always reacts in a way that feels intentional, like he is matching your energy by choice and not by accident. with each meeting, he lets you a little further in; and you start to feel chosen, special, almost intoxicated on the version of him that exists only when you are near. it does not matter that what you have learned about him should make you cautious. if anything, you are the binding evidence that defends his whole being. instead, it makes you more curious. instead it makes you want to see what else he hides behind those closed doors. it makes you want to be the person he breaks his rules for.
days slip by in a way that feels almost curated; jake drifts closer without ever making it obvious, brushing your hand when he passes something to you, leaning in too close when he laughs, his breath warm against your cheek in a way that sunoo immediately narrows his eyes at. âheâs weird. not like 'quirky weird', like, somethings up with him.â sunoo mutters one afternoon after jake murmurs something low and suggestive into your ear- something harmless on the surface, something about how âyou look better when youâre focused on me instead of the notes,â but his tone leaves your knees weak. you pretend not to care, pretend not to replay the moment in your head hours later, but when you get home that night the memory crawls under your skin, settling exactly where your fingers start to slip beneath your waistband. youâre just starting to let yourself sink into the thought of him- the way he looks at you, the way he stands too close, the sound of his voice when he says your name.
fuck. you're wet at the thought of his honey voice and supple lips. the image of his fingers reaching for your hand and your work- fuck.
"you look better when you're focused on me instead of the notes." you imagine his voice, moaning against your core- or worse, looking down at you when you sink into his cock. you palm your core, fingers pressed against your clit as they tent up under your waist band, and you circle slow. you haven't had time to touch yourself- especially recently when every time given the opportunity, notifs pop up, or lights tend to flicker past your window. and even, on some occasions, he messages you while you rub to the thought of him. you can't afford to lose a quick release of your inner stress and fixations- especially after what he said to you. "focus on me-" fuck. you groan at the feeling of finally being able to reward yourself.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
fuck!
when your phone buzzes violently against your sheets, you instantly let go of your core. jake. calling. itâs past midnight. your breath catches, embarrassment lightning-hot across your face, because how does he always do this? how does he always interrupt you at the exact second youâre thinking about him, wanting him? you'd never. never. complain about this but, you were so close to cumming it hurts. you debate letting it ring, but curiosity wins, and when you pick up, heâs already breathing hard on the other end like heâs been running or pacing. âh-hey,â he whispers, voice strained, intimate in a way that shoots straight to your gut. you sit up quickly, heart pounding. âjake? are you okay?â he laughs softly, breath shuddering through the speaker, low and knowing. âi donât know,â he murmurs, âsorry- i don't kn.. you were bus- i mean, were you busy?â your whole body freezes. you look frantically at your phone, hearing his shallow breathing. you swallow, suddenly aware of your shaking fingers, that same rhythm and tone you feel yourself to. fuck. it's too perfect- the way he slips into your night at the exact moment your guard falls. âno,â you lie, voice barely steady. his exhale deepens, satisfied. âgood,â he says, like he already knew the answer anyway. âi just⊠needed to hear you.â
"hear me?" "i-i'm stressed. about tomorrow. our review. and the away game i have later that night... f-fuck." his breath is shaky. and you genuinely believe it may be anxiety rushing to his throat. but fuck, the way he swore under his breath against your phone? the way he's breathing like.. no. you can't think like this. you're slipping. slipping control. slipping the devotion of staying borderline on the edges of obsession. but your fingers slowly sink back down, rimming the edge of your panties.
perfect sunshine, stressed enough to call you. hm, if you would, you'd fuck that stress out of him.
"it's gonna be okay, jake.." you whisper, and you feel a shift, like linen shuffling over his mic. is he in bed? you wonder. he should be. he's got practice early in the morning, and sooner he'll be in class with you. "it's late. we should just end-"
"no!" he shudders. "i mean, no," he inhales, voice vibrating like he's holding back a groan. it makes you wetter by the milisecond. this feels right. you lie to yourself, pathetic, the way you're running your fingers down your folds while you hear his breath stutter over his silly thoughts. but it's perfect. stars aligning- just for you.
jake wants to stay in call with me. is all the news you can muster from his response. and you can't help but get off to it.
"you there? y/n?" jake calls out to you, "please.. say something." "hn-" you bite back a moan. "j-jake," you mildly whisper. and you hear the shifting of his sheets on the others side. "why.. are you calling me?" you ask quietly. then, softer, "of all people?"
"what do you mean, of all people?" he holds his breath, you can feel it through the phone. "you have friends- teammates.. girls." you stop, "i'm not exactly your first point of contact."
"f-fuck." you hear faintly. muffled like he covered his mouth. was that a whimper? "'cos you always seem to answer," he inhales. "everything. you always answer everything. even to others."
even to others? like your friends? and classmates..? now that you think about it, what does he know of you? "oh." you reply, trying to shift the awkward tension. "you seem to be out of breath." you whisper-talk, "did you.. run?" jake never goes on runs, even when advised to. he hates cardio. "...yes." he confidently says, but part of you, feels like he's lying. the same gut feeling you get when he loses composure, even for half a second. there's a silence that hangs for a few.
"about chem.. you'll be okay. trust me. we'll pull through." you reassure him, fingers still resting ontop of your core. "a-and my game..?" he asks. there it is, his breath holding back again. "if it helps, i'll be there to support you." if only he knew how much you already do that.
"really?" he exhales. "yes, jake. i'll watch you. i-if i have tim-." "say you wanna see me." bold. jake said it with no hesitation. like he shot up from his bed. "say that if you have time, you'll come see me." he softens his tone, quieter. raggedy.
"i really wanna see you play, jake. if- i.. have time." he huffs through the phone hearing your words whistle back. 'if i have time.' you replay, cautious of your reply.
because you always have time. for him. "jake?" you hasten your fingers, only hearing muffling groans and the shuffling of linen from his end. "f-fuck. hello?" you're desperate to cum to his voice, hardened by his odd nature to desperately want you. filthy. messy. you find yourself, sweat clinging to your forehead and your panties carrying the slick you keep sticking to.
"good. so f'good." you hear. your mind registers that jake is murmuring things, maybe half asleep on call with you. but your body responds to his half strong response, his voice croaking, higher, whiny at the ends of his syllables. you cum. quietly. you try to hold back a moan, but it ends up catching slightly on the mic.
shuffling, breathing. ragged breathing. "jake?" you call, pretending not to be breathless. pretending that you didn't just cum to your classmate. your new friend. your jake.
"s-sorry y/n, sweets. i fell asleep, or something." he mumbles the rest. "see you later today?"
"yes." you clear your throat. "goodnight. jake." you try to sound cold. "goodnight, y/n. thank you." guilt washes over you, and you clean and scrub until you feel pure- less creepy- less- obsessive. you don't sleep that night. i mean, who are you to blame, you practically came over and over to the sound of his panting words.
a smile creeps up. so painfully tight it cracks the corner of his lips.
3:32am.
she always has time. even if the bleachers are stained by the rain.
y/n has free time on thursdays. after physics 119. she sits nexts to jina. that stupid girl that won't let me know y/n's laptop password.
y/n always goes home. unless sunoo asks her out for hotpot.
polkadot panties on thursdays. my favourite.
sunoo is getting onto me. nuisance.
she breathes heavier when she lies. lowers her voice when embarassed.
jake smiles into his pillow, cum stained briefs sticking against his abs. "and she sounds beautiful when she tries to hide it." he whispers, staring at the dark ceiling. the array of monitors stacked like cctv brims the room with blue. pictures of you. videos. notes. your printed grades. your number written on wherever it could be read- and a stack of perfumes- ones you prefer for men, clothes bought still in their packages that suit your style for sporty guys; and stacks of glasses and accessories- just like what you stop and pause to stare at in a man; everything catered for you. everything to do with you. codes run like stopmotion in one of his monitors- and it whirs to the sound of his nails digging into his cuticles. "she picked up." he whispers, "she always picks up. good to know." he laughs. he stairs at the bottom side monitor to the left of his bed. a site pinging a glowing red dot to know that you're safely sleeping in your bed- now glowing yellow to notify low battery.
"fuck." he knits his brows. "now what?"
the morning seeps into your blinds and you're already behind. you swiftly get up- late. you don't even know how the alarm failed to go off, but you scramble, lips glossy and swiped over your lips, hair a little domesticated than your normal perfect class president appeal everyone expects from you. rushed. vulnerable. exposed. messy. messy. messy.
when you swing your bag out onto the nearest full campus bus, you squeeze between others to sit near the middle. you sit on the edge of the seat, surrounded by strangers, uneven pulse carrying you from last night. your bag strap yanks back when you feel a tug at the zip. you think it's fabric catching onto someone, or someone trying to latch on to the jerking vehicle. and because of the time, you failed to notice a familiar piece of you snapping off, tagging off and hurrying to class to find jake not even there. you didn't notice the hand that was quicker than your legs.
you sit, silently huffing. mind worrying where he might be. irritation replaces anxiety. stressed for your project review, waking up late from his call- what if it wasn't real? what if all your hard work of knowing him gone to waste after being exposed? you huff your hair out of place, straightening your pens to keep calm. five minutes pass.
then the door opens.
he steps in like he owns the room. hair slightly damp like the gym showers soaked him. hoodie half zipped. lips parted like he hurried. his eyes find you immediately.
immediately.
his apology to the professor is soft, casual. he doesn't look embarassed, he doesn't look pressured. he seems as if the call that happened last night was your imagination, that his stress- his vulnerability-was a fallacy.
he sits nexts to you like always now. regardless of the project review. you feel guilty, taking people's chances sitting next to him- but you feel the genuine urgency in him wanting to secure the spot next to you. "overslept." he mutters, voice low. croaky. just for you to hear.
your facade builds up again. yes, despite the lack in keeping appearances today, you still flatten your pink tinted lips together, rolling your eyes as your sweater bunches at your sleeves. "that's new."
he slowly grins, "i was up late." as a proof that last night was real. your throat tightens. "studying?" you ask lightly, "yeah. something like that." he adds on to your joke.
while the professor continues to meet each pair, you two sit at the back, fondling with both of your paperwork. his knee brushes yours under the desk- not moving away. he leans closer than necessary to open his notebook for the umpteenth time. his perfume wades into your air while he chuckles about your messy hair. he asks again about the examples you solved. about things he already knows.
he's performing.
for you.
and you feed into it so easily.
you correct his formula, taking the pencil from his hand. he lets you. you laugh quietly at something small. he watches your mouth when you do. he taps his pen against your notebook like he's restless, like he needs your attention anchored back at him at all times- and you gladly do. you've always, always- always, have.
you don't realise you're glowing- nor do you realise your bag feeling lighter. the professor is still occupied. still working on a few pairs a couple of rows in front of you. he tilts his head, pretending to notice something. "oh," he says casually, reaching into his hoodie pocket before you could turn around. he pulls it out. "you dropped this."
your pink bunny keychain, dangling from his slender fingers. the stitching a little tattered, but nonetheless, alive and now in the palm of your hand. your heart stutters, "i-what? when?" you mutter your thank yous. "found it on the way here." he shrugs.
you frown faintly, thumb brushing its ears. you look at it's buttoned eyes, something different points out to you. the buttoms are aligned neater, symmetrically. your eyebrows knit and your eyes stutter, convinced it was just only recently you observed. "thanks," you say again, cheeks flushed. "i didn't notice." he smiles.
of course you didn't.
he felt the old battery's weight in his hand earlier, and had pressed his thumb against the tiny seam he stitched himself weeks ago. had replaced the beeping tracker's battery with an identical plush, same thread, pink and cute just how you like it- before you even reached the bus stop. he was on campus two whole hours before you. not including practice.
you always rush when you're flustered, don't you?
you don't double check your bag around me, do you?
you trust me, don't you?
jake watches your fingers brush the bunny absentmindedly as you tuck it back into your zipper. "what would i do without you?" you say outloud, watching him chuckle, pushing his glasses back to look at you properly.
then there's that look he gives you. one you can't seem to find on others- or even from him to others; only you. the one that makes you feel visible, seen. his jaw tightens for a second. "you don't have to find out."
what does that mean? you wonder, but you shake it off. you're getting somewhere.
later down the hour, the professor ends up dismissing you and jake's investigation, saying it was unnecessary to check on high achievers. "you both know what you're doing. no need to stress. jake- your report is very good. keep it up."
you look at jake. raising a brow. there was really no need for a call last night.
you wonder, if the shaking breath and the late hour meant something real.
or maybe he wanted me on the line.
class resumes as normal- this time you leave earlier, you feel grimy, the feeling of sin still washing over you from last night. you shuffle your bag, your books, your bunny plush dangling from your shoulder. you check the time, mentally checking that jake would probably leave to go to his dorm soon. as you get up, you feel a tug at your sweater.
you turn, seeing jake, eyes crossed and wide, surprised you're leaving early. "see you at the game? tonight?" voice raspy at the ends, in the way that you know (but you can't accept) is desperation. why does he want to see you out of all people?
right. his game he practically begged tor you to watch. you can't escape it now. "o-of course. see you." you press your lips together, smiling as you casually can.
later that day, you sit in the bleachers, bag tucked between your legs, a whiny sunoo attached to your hip- teasing you for promising jake. what he doesn't know is that you've watched him several times. but you feel as if it's your first with the way you're in jake's line of sight- visible now- like you always fantasized even when you preferred being unseen. but visible now means visible forever- and visible now means- in your eyes- that jake likes you.
you watch his habits, his form, the way he squints and pants when idle, the way he laughs when his teammates slap his back. he checks his phone mid-game. smirking to himself.
what was that? you feel your stomach coil. what could possibly be more interesting for him to smirk at his phone for? was it a text?
you check social media, you snatch sunoo's phone to look at anything to do with him in any of the circles he's around. when sunoo raises a brow, he shrugs it off when he gets his phone back. what could he possibly smirk at? and why can't it be toward me.
it was obvious his team would win, and when he did, he scans the bleachers. finds you- holds eye contact for half a second too long before finally letting his teammates drag him into noise. sunoo squeezes your arm, tearing away your eye contact. "your boyfriend's starting to like you back." he jokes- half true. you blush immensely at sunoo's comment. punching his shoulder softly. jake goes back to looking at you- eyebrows furrowed at the way you look at sunoo. the way you touch him so casually. you're literally only here for his game, and jake has counted that you've given too much attention towards sunoo for more than a minute too long, while he counted in his mind that you've watched for approximately nine. sunoo's is one too many.
what could you possibly be smirking at?
the team drags him away, and you end up walking home with sunoo- texting him before the night could end.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
the house is already loud before you even reach the door. bass leaking through the walls like a heartbeat, front porch crowded with bodies, laughing too hard, drinks sloshing in red cups- bodies swaying to incoherent music nobody can really hear. you shudder. sunoo drags you inside by the wrist, beaming with excitement, already greeting three people you've seen twice- passing you drinks like it was waiting for you. you down it of course, matching their vibe. the air inside was warm. thick, heavy. soiled with perfume and sweat, and the sweet burn of cheap alcohol. feeling slightly out of place, you clutch your drink, scanning the rooms instinctively even though you told yourself you wouldn't come here looking for him.
and then you see him. not directly. first you see jay- leaning near the staircase talking to jungwon, their heads close together like they're trying to hear eachother over the loud music. he catches the inkling that someone's staring, and his expression shifts when he sees the room and finds your eyes staring back. you see the way his face subtly tenses, nudging jungwon with his elbow, murmuring something you wish you could hear. now both are glancing your way; not long enough to be obvious, but long enough to make your stomach churn. and so you look away quickly, pretending you didn't notice.
sunoo has already disappeared toward the kitchen, with yunah kissing your cheek, introducing you to two girls you remember her fawning about. they pull you along easily, and soon the awkward wall crumbles. you and your girls are loud in the friendly way that makes everything feel lighter. a vision you've never dreamt about, and a colour you've newly discovered, you drink questionable things in one hand, smoke wonders with the other- and you giggle at the thought of releasing a carefree, non-pyschotic self to the world. you hug girls and clink drinks with guys, you get recognised for your quiet demeanour, high grades and pretty face. you believed you were outcasted- when all in reality, it was the sin of loving jake that held you down. someone compliments your skirt, and a few others take you with them to the living room to reside by the louder music and bad dancers.
for a little while you forget about watching- you forget about being careful. you just exist in the noise- feeling, being, existing- seen; without a prompt or person.
still, every once in a while, you feel it. that prickle at the back of your neck. the strange sensation of being looked at for longer than necessary. every now and then you catch pieces of him instead of the whole- his shoulder disappearing through the hallway, his laugh near the kitchen doorway, a flash of his hoodie- a hand reaching for a cup.
it feels like orbiting. like both of you are circling the same centre, gradually closing, without yet colliding.
at one point, a guy approaches you while you're near the couch. typical questions like the others, this time, you're more sober. asking what year you are, where abouts you live- leaning too close to your ear like they always excuse themselves to do at parties. you answer politely, smiling, lazy, skirt riding up, baby hair sticking to your neck. hair blown out and your lips pink. he says a joke that actually prompts you. you laugh, head leaning forward, engaged in the conversation while your eyes wander over his shoulder.
and that's when you see him. again.
not jake, jay.
he's back near the staircase, but this time he's not laughing. he's watching. when your eyes meet, he lifts his hand slightly like he wants you to come over- quickly, urgently. like he wants to say something to you.
and then someone bumps into you, the conversation shifts, and when you look back he's gone. you shrug it off. the party goes on for another hour, maybe more- maybe a few.
yunah is no longer to be seen after disappearing with a group upstairs. sunoo drifts toward the back patio with people you don't remember hugging. you stay near the living room with a couple of girls who start telling you stories about some professor everyone hates, and you're laughing again, warmer now, more.. relaxed.
your phone buzzes in your hand.
âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
you blink. you swear he was just here. and no, you're way sober than you think. you glance upstairs, and you don't find him. you glance toward the patio doors, expecting to spot his blonde hair- but the crowd shifts and the face sblur together, maybe he really did leave- maybe you just didn't notice.
you start typing a reply when you hear someone call your name. you look up. "y/n!" jay is pushing through the crowd toward you. not hurried exacty- but purposeful. his expression rests different up close. less amused, more- uncertain.
"hey," he calls, leaning in so you can hear him over the music. "i just wanted to t-"
his hand lifts like he's about to guide you somewhere quieter- but suddenly he's not the closest person to you anymore. a body slides between you before you even realise what had happened.
jake.
it's smooth enough that anyone else might miss it. the way his shoulder nudges jay aside- hand settling at the back of your wait like it's always been there. the movement isn't aggressive- rather, final. jay pauses, brows furrowing, softening at yours who squints in confusion. "she good?" jake smiles at jay slighty. like the interruption meant nothing. jay's jaw tightens, eyes flickering it could almost count like an eyeroll. "yeah," he mutters, glancing between you both before stepping back into the crowd. you rarely register the exchange. your attention is already caught by the warmth of jake's hand at your side. "hey," he calls, voice quieter now that he's closer. "hey.." you reply, surprised to see him pop up after all this time.
"you still here alone?"
"sunoo left apparently," you say, showing him the texts. his breath hitches when you lean in, unlocking your phone through your passcode. jake watches you press the numbers in, mumbling the numbers as you follow. he nods slowly to your complaint, like that make sense. "i did get to see him, he mentioned he might." he sheepishly replies. you frown, pouting at the ends. "to you?"
"earlier," he answers easily, "he didn't want to drag you out, especially if you're having fun." the crowd feels bigger, the bodies feel closer, and all of a sudden jakes looking down at you, his chest inches away from yours. his varsity jacket shaped his shoulders to tower yours, and his chain clinks as other people bump into him. his canines show when he turns to say hey to others- yet, his eyes still cling onto yours.
"you wanna stay?"
you hesitate. hazy. no alcohol needed when his voice dips like honey into your throat. his thumb comes up to brush a bit of hair on your face. "or," he leands down, "i can take you home." soft, croaking whisper that you swear was louder than any other music in the room.
your heart stutters, a lot.
you look at him properly, facing up where the party lights glimmer on his face for a fraction before its lost in the darkness- and then again when the light manages to catch him. the way he's watching you carefully, like your answer matters more than anything happening in the rest of the house. the party keeps moving, people enjoying their time while others don't. did i enjoy my time here? you think to yourself- but do i prefer jake to take me home?
"y-yeah.. if that's okay." you mumble into his ear, going on your tippy toes for him to shudder when he feels your hot breath and hands on him. his smile deepens, satisfied in a way you can't quite place. "perfect." he murmurs. as he guides you toward the door, his hand rests on your lower back, circling around the straps.
you don't notice jay watching from across the room.
you don't notice the way he shakes his head, walking away.
and you don't notice that sunoo never actually left the party. at all.
you try to look back once more at the front porch, but jake tugs you- clumsily. "let's get you home, missy."
the ride back is quieter than the party.
the streets are mostly empty now, campus lights stretching long across the windshield as jake drives with one hand on the wheel. the music in the car is low enough that it barely fills the silence. youâre still warm from the hovering noise of the house, from the drinks, from the way everyone had been looking at him all night and yet he circled back to you.
you sit angled slightly toward him, knees turned his way without thinking. for a while, neither of you say anything. then he glances at you briefly. hands tightening at the wheel, eyes flickering to your hand scrunched at your thighs.
âyou were having fun back there,â he says. so he's been watching?
âit was loud, haven't seen others in so long,â you reply, smiling faintly. he hums like he doesnât believe that. fingers tapping on his lap as the traffic light stays red. this is it now, you think. he ditched his practice run for my tea run. he takes me home. we barely talk about the project anymore. we talk about things he enjoys, and things i like. he's perfect.
âjay tried to talk to you earlier.â
right. your stomach flips. âyeah,â you say carefully. âhe said hi- seemed like he wanted to talk to me.â "about what?" his response was almost instant. you fumble, shrugging- "i don't know.. you? maybe?" you were genuinly unsure, blinking rapidly.
jakeâs jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. looking at the window as the gear changes quickly, jerking you forward fast. you huff at the change of velocity. âhe does that,â he says after a second. âgets in peopleâs heads.â
you watch his profile while he drives. the way his fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel. the way his shoulders are slightly tense even though the road is empty.
âwhy?â you ask softly. jake glances over. âwhy what? sweet?â
you hesitate.
âdoes.. jay like," breathe, "d-do you worry about what he's going to say?â the car goes quiet again. he exhales slowly through his nose, looking at your silhouette reflecting off his window. âthat depends on what he's gonna say.â you shrug like it doesnât matter. ânothing important, i bet.â
his eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should before returning to the road. âgood,â he murmurs. the word settles strangely in the car- silence hanging off the last word. good?
a few minutes pass.
you reach the stoplight near your dorm, and thatâs when you feel it. his hand. it settles on your thigh like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
warm. steady. your breath catches. you donât move away. instead you look down at his hand, then back at his face. âjake,â you say quietly.
âyeah?â
his thumb shifts slightly against your leg. your heart is racing now. your thighs heat up, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. this is it. your heart races. your keep your appearances, despite the fever rising between your legs. âdo you do this to everyone you drive home?â
he lets out a soft laugh. âno.â touch me more. âwhy me?â
he doesnât answer immediately. the light turns green but he doesnât move for a second. then he drives again. âyou already know why,â he says finally. your pulse jumps, yet you donât push further. by the time he pulls up outside your dorm, the tension in the car is thick enough to feel. neither of you move right away. the buzz of alcoholy bubbles within your chest, you're horny, still confident from the party- and the one you've had your eye on since ever is driving you home. and just like that, years worth of staying near his orbit led you to say this final.
âyou can come up,â you hear yourself say. you didn't expect to say this sooner, but fuck, everything just turned right the moment that damn excel spreadsheet updated. you thank fate- but all in all, you smile to yourself, guilt-free of obsession.
he looks at you for a second like heâs deciding something. hiding the way he picks at his thumb cuticle, skin pale after pressing into his own fingers. it's all going to plan.
then he nods.
âokay.â
for someone that's smart- being in love makes you forget things. like how you forgot to even mention where you live despite him driving you, and how you forget to cover your phone passcode the first time he asked for your number, not to mention, the passcode to your dorm room.
you're biting your lip climbing up the stairs to your own place, heart speeding as you hold your heels. jake's trailing behind you- unbeknownst that he's filming. biting his lips to the inprint of your panties against your tight skirt, the way your huffing and arching after each step, and the way he swore he saw dampness right on your sweet spot. he waits, watching you unlock it as he memorises everything. he opens the door quickly for you after unlocking it in desperation.
inside your room, the air feels smaller somehow. more private. you toss your heels onto your chair, ruffling your hair as you move toward the small kitchenette. âyou want water or something?â you ask.
âiâm good.â his voice is quieter in here. almost a whisper. he takes in your interior. exactly how he imagined. a few cabinets moved or rearranged from the last time that he took photos- but nonetheless, just like he envisioned. cute. pink. pretty. soft. smart- just like you.
you turn away for a moment, reaching into the cabinet. and in that moment, jake moves. his eyes scan the room quickly. the desk. the shelf. the window. small, precise movements. something small slips from his pocket, fingers quick and practiced as he sets it behind a stack of books on the shelf.
another near the edge of your desk lamp. tiny. silent. gone before you turn back around. and of course,
you donât notice anything. you only notice how close he is now.
âthanks for the ride,â you say, softer.
he steps closer. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him again, the same way you did in class, the same way you did in the hallway at the party. his hand lifts. for a moment you think heâs going to kiss you. you slowly blink- heart exploding; but instead his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.
slow, deliberate. his lips follow, grazing your cheek first. then the corner of your jaw. near your earlobe, down to your neck. your breath stutters, hitching at the feeling you've been wanting for so long- no, needing. you moan silently. he almost loses composure, body tensing at the blood rushing to his crotch.
he lingers there just long enough to make your skin burn, and fuck, it's so embarassing how much you're dripping. then he pulls back. âgoodnight,â he says quietly. eyes trailing down to your lips again, biting his own, knotting his brows.
you blink. âyouâre leaving?â
a faint smile touches his mouth. âfor now.â he steps away before you can stop him, heading for the door like he didnât just leave your entire body buzzing- like he didnât just light something under your skin. you watch him go, heart pounding. and when the door closes behind him, you press your hand against your jaw where his lips were. wondering why he would start something like that only to leave. wondering if he knows what heâs doing to you. across the room, the tiny camera behind your books watches you pace slowly across the floor. jake walks down the dorm hallway already smiling- because he knows exactly what heâs doing.
you think youâre going crazy, pushing you to go over your limits, wanting, shamelessly wanting him. what you donât realize heâs been making sure you do; and the funniest part is you think you might be the messy one, the obsessed one. you have no idea heâs already ten steps further gone than you are.
too quiet, too empty. you stand there for a moment, staring at the door like it might open again if you just wait long enough. your jaw still tingles where his lips brushed it. your chest still feels tight from how close he was touching you. the breeze feels cool against your heat. you continue to replay it. his hand on your cheek, mouth at your jaw. 'goodnight.' goodnight? you laugh under your breath, pacing once across the room. the heated, slicky energy in your body has nowhere to go. it's worse now than before he came over. worse than when he had his hand on your thigh in the car.
you press your palm to your face- he knew what he was doing.
and so when you text him that night? begging for him to come back?
âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
in truth, jake never left. he drove, slowly. just far enough that the glow of your dorm windows disappeared from his rearview mirror. just far enough that anyone watching from inside would think he was gone. the car rolled past the corner of your dorm building before he turned the wheel, circling the block once like a habit- like muscle memory. then he parked, not far. just out of sight. his phone was already in his hand before the engine even stopped. the second screen flickered on quietly, the small camera feeds activating one by one. the tiny lenses he had pressed into your room earlier caught the dim glow of your lamp, the edge of your desk, the soft blur of your bed. pacing. like how you normally do when you want something you can't have. running your hands through your hair. checking your phone again and again.
jake leans back in the driver's seat, slowly. the corner of his mouth lifting as he watches the exact moment you break. he had measured this almost perfectly. the kiss on your jaw. the pause before leaving. the silence after. he knew you wouldn't sleep. tension would bloom. knew you'd text like a desperate slut.
his thumb traces the edge of the screen where your mesaages keep appearing.
jakey
please
his jaw tightens slightly. he watches you read his reply. you type without hesitation. biting your lip. bra slipping when you collapse onto your bed. good. good girl. so needy. he mutters to himself, salivating to you.
he then turns the car off, because you asked. one thing you truly got correct about him- is that he has never been good at denying himself things he wants. especially when the thing begging for him is you.
soft. the knock at your door came softer than you expected. two quick taps that almost blended into the quiet hallway noise. you were already standing by the time you realized what you were doing. your hand hovered over the handle for a split second before you opened it.
jake stood there like he had never left.
his hair was slightly more disheveled (deliberately) now, hoodie thrown back on carelessly, eyes darker and blown out than they had been earlier. for a moment neither of you spoke. the air between you felt heavier than it had in the car, heavier even than the moment he kissed your jaw before leaving. he watches the way he looks at you. brows furrowing at his sudden arrival and eyes. he walks in.
the door shuts behind him with a quiet click. âthought you just wanted to talk,â he murmurs, voice low. your throat tightens. âi did.â but you were already standing too close to him for that to be convincing.
jake studies your face slowly, the way your breathing hadnât quite settled yet, the way your hands kept fidgeting near your sides like you didnât know where to put them. his gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
âyou texted me like you were losing your mind,â his voice fries as it drags out.
heat rushes up your neck. âi wasnât-" "you were."
you step back instinctively, but the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. jake closes the gap by following without hesitation, slow enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to. but you didnât. âsay it properly,â he whispers.
you blinked at him. âwhat?â
âwhy you wanted me here.â
your heart hammered against your ribs. every instinct in you told you to pull back, to recover the careful composure you had always kept around him. but standing this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his hoodie, the memory of his mouth against your jaw still burning on your skin, it was impossible to pretend.
âi wanted you,â you said quietly. "f-for a while now."
jakeâs expression shifted. not surprise you were expecting. but satisfaction.
his hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing along your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your face slightly toward him. âi know,â he murmured. it's the tone where it clicks. where his 'i know' meant depth, like, really meant it.
then he kisses you.
this time there was nothing hesitant about it. the tension that had been building for weeks snapped between you both at once. your hands grabbed the front of his hoodie instinctively, pulling him closer while his grip tightened slightly in your hair, steady but firm. the kiss deepened quickly, breathless and hungry in a way that made your head spin. he bites your lip as he piercing his tongue to pry open that sweet mouth of yours. he growns as he pushes you into the bed. smiling. smirking as your close your eyes, spreading your legs while he leans into you, hands now pressed to the sides of your body, caging you in on your own bed.
jake pulls back first, just barely, saliva still catching between you. âyouâve been watching me for months,â he said softly. your stomach drops.
âdonât pretend you havenât,â he added.
you stared at him, stunned, but his mouth brushes your cheek again before you could respond, trailing slowly down the line of your jaw the same way he had earlier. the difference now was that he didnât stop immediately.
your hands tightened in his hoodie again. jake notices, of course he does.
a quiet laugh left him, low in his throat. âlook at you,â he murmured. âyou act so put together all the time.â your breath caught as he kissed your jaw again. teeth grazing it. âbut the second i walk away,â
his hand slide along your waist, steadying you as you leaned slightly into him without meaning to.
"..you lose it."
you should have been embarrassed. but all you felt was heat.
and the strange, dangerous relief of being seen exactly the way you were. though, you have no idea he is even worse.
months, no- years. of pent-up tension. obsession, pining, and frustration of the thought of not having you until you finally gained interest in him crashes into him as he forcefully pushes his teeth onto yours, bringing a had up to ride up your torse and press into your neck to make you squeal like you always do.
"hardest part was getting you to like me," he breathes, panting into your neck, gnawing at your neck, "fuck! you smell so good." he growls, "second part?" his hands ghost over your breasts. "sweet. easy, fucking--" he gropes you with no hesitation, "fucking perfect. stars aligned. all thanks to me."
this is not the jake you imagined. his demeanour is darker, hungrier, cockier. whispering and growling incoherent things. you begin to realise if your yearning for him was already heavy- what could he have been looking for in you this whole time?
nonethless, you are breathless against him. hands gripping his hoodie like you don't know where else to put them. the moment he palms your breasts you swore you could've came right there. every touch he sends to feel your tits move under his palm sends you to orbit, and he loves every reaction out of you- you can feel it in the way he groans at your breathy and shakey moans. "j-jake!" you squeal as he shoves your knees open for his legs to pin you. "i know you like this." he pinches your nipples through the fabric, slapping them like he's been familiar to your body before.
has he been thinking about my body?
you squirm, trying to pry away from the sensitive slaps when he squeezes your nipples. you break a moan loud, slick gushing out your panties even when he hasn't touched your folds. he watches your face carefully. "you told me you're going to behave." he mutters, watchinig you squirm and attempt to cover your panties. "behave."
he clicks his tongue, hearing your phone going off in the background, you whip your head, knowing it's sunoo. "lemme-"
"behave." he reaches for your phone, reading the message, chuckling to himself before chucking it aside to your dresser- looking down at you. moonlight cascades down his nose and wet lips, and his eyes darken when he finds the sight of you erotic. "jay can't keep his mouth shut. can he." he mutters, before putting a thumb on your lip, swirling it in your saliva. you open your pretty lips before him and maintain eye contact while he watches you suck his thumb. "f-fuck." he groans, letting go of your lips, gripping onto your thighs while he strips his shirt, chain swishing like a hypnotic charm above you.
"you're so.." you pant, "this isn't real.." your heavy lidded, watching him go down to kiss you, leaving a hickey on your neck before kissing downwards, ripping off your top and unbuckling your bra with one hand. "yeah, sure baby.. this isn't real."
he sinks down to lick your nipple before sucking on them, hands trailing to hold the line of your back upward to his mouth, pulling you up to him while he looks you into the eyes, moaning. "fuck.. you love it don't you.." giving love to both of your breasts, rubbing intimate circles on the small of your back while you thighs quiver. "jakey.. please?"
"jakey?" he mocks, letting go of your breasts. "f-fuck." he looks up into the ceiling, like groping and touching and licking you was a portion of himself holding back. he's so hard and tense he exhales so loud before looking down at you. splayed out on your cute small bed, some hairs stuck on your cheek while your lips stay open and plump, perky tits out and pink while your skirt thats rode up to your hips show your cute panties soaked in sin. the way his breaths slow and speed up, was a curiosity you know you've encountered before. in the back of your mind, his voice replays, matching the sound of that one phone call in the middle of the night- where he claimed he was stressed.
he wasn't stressed. you learnt, he was..
he continues on his way down, exploring your body like a map he's already uncovered in his mind, smile so tight you can't help but moan his name when his lips graze your lower tummy; quietly resting at your waistband.
"pretty.. smells good. i know it tastes so fucking good.." he hooks his finger through the thin band, lifting it up just to see your folds glisten in the dim light. translucent thick sticky strings cling onto the fabric and web between your folds like bridges waiting to be broken.
you whimper at the way he blows cool air to see your thighs tense and shake, slick oozing out from the tight folds while his cock rubs against his denim, hurting under his fly. "all this for me?" he cooes, going down to kiss your needy lips again. and you nod furiously, begging, shameless, messy. "please.. please." you beg, salivating at the thought of him going down on you.
he uses his fingers to spread your cute pussy lips open, splitting them to see your throbbing clit hide behind the slicky foam. he licks his lips before going straight for your core, sliding off your panties and shoving them into his pocket. too hazy to notice, you moan so loud it makes him shudder at the power he has over you. he's lapping at your clit like he was born to do this, tongue circling and softly flicking while his nose occasionally bumps upward, nestling in between the top of your folds, bubbling the slick and saliva he's combined. his eyelids are resting heavy, looking at your parted mouth and red cheeks, tits bouncing when you grind against his mouth when he purposely goes slow.
he then sinks a finger or two while he makes out with your pussy. you yelp, begging him to be slow while sloshy sounds and wet slapping makes him moan against your core. "sorry baby, but you begged for this." he groans, gripping your thighs while he pushes up into your heat. his fingers slip out, making you feel empty. he then grabs your waist, making you prop yourself ontop of him while his lips act like your personal chair.
"fucking sit and grind on me." he begs, pressing your thighs flush against his lips to let you know it's safe to press onto him. in the meantime, he unzips his pants, cock springing free and leaking. you can't see it, but you can hear it. the fapping of his hand lapping against his cock, masturbating to the feeling of your sweet, sweet pussy against your lips. he can't even speak, just moaning, neck glazed with glistening sweat and liquids while he knits his brows, matching your pace with his cock. "'m gonna cum! jakey!" you cry, tears spilling at how sensitive you feel, being touched for the first time in so long, and it being like this? like a dream so out of reach you've never believed you could touch and fuck?
he nods under you, tongue pressing into your hole as you continue to clench your thighs around his pretty face. his hand strokes his cock faster while you stutter, and you feel it. "fuck! f-fuck fuck!" you cry, breaking down in stuttering moans while his gutteral voice vibrates against your swollen clit. the climax shot signals to both of your spines, thumping your hearts. jake hasn't come yet, he's been edging himself so in the final moment of your climax, he flips you over. you're flipped onto your back, and he presses your cock against your sticky skirt kneeling over you with his hard abs and wet face. "gonna cum all over you. yeah?" he bites his lip as you chase your high. you look down and see his cock. big. girthy, slightly veiny compared to his hands and swollen, hardening with every stroke until he uses his other hand to open your jaw.
"y/n. fuck, baby-" his breath hitches and you see his tip paint your body. your lips part, tongue out to catch the first few spurts while your tits and pussy catch the rest. he heaves, panting, cock spazzing while it milks the rest of your thighs, dripping while hard- still.
"beautiful." he breathes, tears brimming in his eyes from the taste and feel of you numbing into his skin like pins and needles. "fuck.."
you're sensitive and hot, sweat clinging onto your linen sheets while jake wets a cloth to clean you. he first watches you taste his cum- shivering at the sight, cock aching and hard again. you beg for a second time-
you're half underneath hims, his breath already unsteady from his phone calling. yours too under the pile of things cluttered when he threw it across the room. his mouth goes down onto your jaw, again, slow- like he's deliberatley ignoring the world outside your room. you try to get up but jake catches your wrist easily, pinning it above your head with one hand. "leave it," he murmurs against your skin. you swallow hard. "it's sunoo-" "i know," jake whispers, and something in his tone makes your stomach flip. when jay calls twice, you feel the shift in his body immediately. tensions, annoyance, restraint pulling tight under your skin. his eyes flick to the screen on your bedside table, then back to you.
you're both breathless, eyes glued to each other, magnetised- deaf, not hearing the messages you both were relaying to eachother while rubbing your erotic skin together. jake slides off the bed, kissing your wrist. "we'll finish this later." the promise is so certain, so solid, that your entire body answers to it. he clenches his fist, picking up his shirt. you scoot up but he stops you. dropping his shirt. he's carefully cleaning the rest of you, kissing and inhaling your scent and skin while he opens your drawer to place you in an oversized shirt- which is weird, you didn't even know how he managed to find it.
you kiss him, and he lets you, shoulders relaxing the moment you help him put his shirt back on. the look of regret pools in his stomach when he stands to leave, pocket still bulging with your forgotten lingerie.
you lie back onto your bed, dazed. adrenaline humming under your skin. trying to breathe normally as your phone vibrates again and again in your hand.
the next day is worse.
you barely make it class without thinking about his hands, his breath, his words, the look in his eyes when everything was cut short. you sit down at your desk before he arrives, hair neat, jeans clean, hoodie folded on your lap. you try to get your face under control, trying not to look obvious. he walks in- and your composure comes crashing down, pulse spiking.
but he doesn't look at you right away, and that's somehow even worse. he doesn't even sit next to you.
that makes things last night hang off the cliff. your heart races, messages left on read. your eyes pretending to be glossy from yawning. you want to cry. disappear. you risked it all to get where you're at. was it really.. all a fucking lie?
i want him.
a whole half hour into class, you're gathering your notes. you decide to leave early, not seeing the way jake slows down his writting, glasses lowering down, piercing his eyes into your back when you abruptly leave the lab. he grips the edge of his table, biting the insides of his cheek when he makes eye contact with you through the lab's window before you're gone. he then darkly smiles.
you pace down the hallway, until someone grazes your elbow, pulling you back into a segregated corridor. jay.
he looks tired, tense. like he didn't sleep either.
"y/n," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder like he's making sure no one's watching. "come here, please..just-" he clears his throat, softer. "just two seconds please."
you hesitate before following him into a small side hallway. he's running a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning to face you.
"you don't know him." jay states, quietly. eyes shaking. you blink. "i do-"
"no," he snaps, lowering his voice. "you don't."
you stare at him, unsettled. bag clinking against the empty corridor. "jay.. what-" "he's not what he pretends to be," he adds.
"jake's... he's.. obsessive. paranoid," he grabs your wrist to go inwards into the depth of the corridor, bringing you to the window that over looks the campus grounds. you two spot his jacket from afar. his glasses off, bag on his shoulder, eyes darting across the crowd around him in hopes he can see you by referencing your location from the bunny keychain.
jay clicks his tongue looking at him, jaw tightening. "that whole, golden-boy, friendly sweet image?" he looks back at you, staring back down at jake standing in the crowd. "what about it?"
"he bought it," he grabs your shoulders. "literally. bought it."
"the tutors. the scouts. the coach. the parties. the friends. the dorm. the prescription. the market. the image. his family- fuck," he stammers, "you don't know how far he's gone to-"
"jay, stop." you push his hand away, "no y/n, think about this." he gets louder.
"what kind of sophomore shows up into the term unannounced? and suddenly he just fits in? schedules perfectly aligned, my roommate kicked out for no reason. jake wasn't even like this when he moved in! a-and don't get me started on his room-" his head jerks suddenly, and your breath hitches when you follow his gaze.
jake. staring back up at you from the ground, through the tinted glass. expression unreadable.
"shit." he mutters, "seriously, y/n.. he's some.. sort of creep. and i know you like him but -just seriously stay away. please."
you gulp, taking in everything jay has just said to you. flashing back to the car ride where jake felt uneasy by the way jay approached you.
"sorry.. jay," you pause.
"but am i.. supposed to be scared..?" you smile, laughing.
he stares at you like the hallway suddenly tilted sideways. âwhat?â you laugh again. not loudly. not hysterically. just a soft, breathy laugh that makes his blood run cold, because it isnât nervous.
itâs aware.
you lean back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the window where jake is no longer to be seen. you inhale, before meeting jayâs again.
âyou think youâre warning me,â you murmur, smiling faintly. âbut you donât understand.â
jay steps back instinctively.
âunderstand what?â you shrug lightly, like youâre commenting on the weather. "i don't.. care." jayâs voice shakes. ây/n⊠please donât tell me you like this.â
you glance at your bunny keychain, the memory of last night burning behind your eyes, the slick, the confessions, the way he said your name when you finally gave into him. you look at jay again.
âi donât like it,â you correct him softly. you push past him, your fingers brushing his shoulder. âi love it.â
jay goes completely still. watching you walk away, down the corridor and out of his sight. he turns back around and sees him of course. his pulse deadly calm, expression unreadable like it always turned out to be. fake.
jake. he doesn't say a word. he just walks forward, quiet, composed, terrifyingly controlled. he grabs jay by the front of his shirt and shoves him into the nearest storage closet so fast. the door slams.
"told you to keep your mouth shut."
jay's voice cracks. "she deserves to know-" "say one more word," jake murmurs.
"and there won't be a next semester for you. do you understand me?"
silence. thick. dangerous. jay nods.
jake lets go of jay's jacket. walking back out the hallway, smoothing his hoodie like nothing happened. his smile turns soft, leaving jay to fend for himself, while he checks your location.
itâs not silence exactly. itâs something more deliberate. controlled. like heâs letting the absence do the talking for him. after last nigh- after being interrupted. after the way he left you wanting, shaking, thinking about him even when you tried not to- the quiet almost feels like a punishment.
you check your phone between classes. between conversations. between breaths.
nothing.
the longer it goes on, the more your mind spirals. maybe he regretted it. maybe it really was just the heat of the moment. maybe jay was right. maybe you should never-
your phone vibrates.
âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
his dorm is spotless when you enter.
too spotless.
like someone with money and secrets cleaned it all in a panic. his textbooks are neatly arranged, clothes hidden, every incriminating trace of his obsession tucked out of sight. for the first time, his room looks normal. boring, even. but youâre too distracted by him to question it.
he kisses you before the door even clicks shut. his hands find your waist, your neck, your hips, guiding you backward toward the bed like heâs been replaying this moment since last night- because he has. you climb onto his lap without thinking. chair smacking against his desk in a hurry. he smiles, leaning his head back when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you closer. âgod,â he breathes against your mouth, âyou really couldnât wait, could you?â
you want to deny it. you canât.
his laptop is open behind him on his desk, screen dimmed but not closed. something flickers in the corner of your eye as you move, but your breath stutters too hard to look properly. you grind on him, tits perked up, pussy salivating and drooling on his sweatpants. he's feeling you up like there's no tomorow.
you start moving against him slower, steadier, matching the rhythm he sets with his hands on your hips. jakeâs head tilts back for a moment, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he watches you. then your gaze drifts behind him. to the laptop that bumps awake after the chair had knocked into it.
the screen wakes. and you freeze. because staring back at you,
is your room. your bed. your desk. from an angle youâve never seen.
your breath breaks.
jake notices instantly, his hand slides up your spine, pulling you closer, eyes blown, forcing yours to look back at his. "don't stop." he murmurs, hands gripping your waist. you can't speak, feeling his cock tent up under you. "wha- what is that?" he groans, slamming the laptop shut while he carries you to his bed. "sorry baby, y'weren't suppose"d to see that yet." he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. "yet?"
jake smiles, slow, dangerous. you bite your lip. "keep going and i'll tell you everything."
your cheeks burn, grinding on his briefs against the headboard. but you don't ever plan on stopping- not now that heâs unraveling in a way youâve only imagined in your most unhinged moments. his hand slides into your hair, not forcing, not guiding. just holding. "you'd suck my cock, right baby?" he pleas, without a second thought you move.
your knees hit the mattress before you even realize youâve sunk down, your breath warm against his skin, your hands pushing his hoodie up, your mouth and blushed cheeks brushing him through the fabric just enough to make his entire spine pull taut. jakeâs head drops back with a sound youâve never heard from him before- not a groan, not a sigh, something deeper, cracked open from morning he held himself together around you. he looks down at you like heâs seeing a prayer answered. and you softly pull down his briefs to free his length, slapping back at you. "fuck.." you swear, hands reaching out to stroke his cock with two hands, kitten licking his tip where the precum stains your chin. his hands cuff your soft hair, massagine your scalp while you gradually warm your mouth by sucking lower and lower. he groans, moaning at the sight of you. "deeper, sweetheart. i know you can take me."
he encourages by pushing you down, and eventually he gives up and making you gag on his shaft. he keeps you there despite your throat constricting and your whines escaping. your knees buckle and feet curl feeling his tip tickle the back of your throat, restricing your airways in a way that produces more saliva at the base of his dick, foaming at his balls. he bites his lip, jerking up to hear you gag while tears form at the outer corner of your eyes, bringing the prettiest shade of pink to your cheeks. he yanks your hair up, pulling you off his dick thats raining saliva, spluttering across his thighs and down your pretty dress. "you did so fucking good, sweetheart.." he praises you, "think you could suck me some more?"
you take him in again, this time, his hands interlocked with yours while he watches you in psychotic obsession, smiling at you bobbing up and down so messily. "of all the things i pictured.. you like this is always the clearest. my beautiful y/n." he lolls back, hips stuttering while he pumps up into you- unable to resist the feeling of fucking your mouth. then he feels it, the difference in grip, your hand twists the base while your mouth sucks the tip, tongue swirling around while precum leaks and leaks down your fingers. jake's eyebrows twist upwards. "f-fuck!" he groans, "fuck sweet- i'm gonna cum!" he pushes you down even more, and you let him, feeling his hot thick cum water your throat. "s-shit.." he moans, "say ahh." he pulls you up gently, making you sit on his cock with your dress still on, your pussy rubbing against his length. you open your mouth and he grabs your jaw with force to examine it. he hums in satisfaction.
"good girl."
he mouth crashes back into you, all heat and teeth and the kind of hunger that makes thought impossible. your thighs tighten around him instinctively and the sound he makes against your lips breaks something within you. "fuck! jakey."
the call of his name makes his cock twitch, and he kisses as a reply. your hands trail down, lifting off your dress to reveal the marks he left last night. jake traces over them, shuddering. "fuck.. i've prayed for days like this."
"jakey.. please fuck me.." you whimper against his chest. he lets out a laugh. deep, gutteral, manic. you watch his face shift. dark. it makes sense as to why jay warned you. but piecing the fact that you've been seen this entire time? only you? only.. just for you?
"fuck me!" you beg, moaning into his ear until he nods frantically.
he lines you up with a slowness that is almost cruel, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like heâs steadying himself.
âthe moment this cock goes into you, you will never get off of it.â he murmurs. not a question, a confirmation of something he already knows. you nod, barely, but itâs enough.
the moment he pushes into you, everything stops.
your breath, his breath, the air between you, it all folds in on itself. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging along the tense lines of muscle as your mouth parts in a sound you didnât mean to let out. jake curses under his breath, low and bitten-off, his grip on your hips tightening like heâs fighting the instinct to pull you down all at once. âgod,â he breathes, voice shaking. âmade for me. fucking made for me."
"tight ass fuckin' pussy. i knew you're only good for me." he laughs, smacking your clit while you moan in desperation.
you cling to him, dizzy, nails curling at the back of his neck. he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, everywhere but your lips like he wants to take his time now that he finally has you exactly where he wanted. you shift, wincing at his bulging cock outline itself on the outside, and you whimper, the ecstasy of his tip rubbing against that gummy spot like it belonged. "so big-" you whimper, "s-so good.. fuck! baby-"
baby? he grins.
âlook at me,â he orders you, and when you do, the expression on his face nearly undoes you. raw. unfiltered. obsessed.
âdo you know,â he says, barely above a whisper- thrusting slow deep and rough strokes that make your slick fly across the wall- âhow long iâve been waiting to be inside you?â your breath catches hard, your body instinctively tightening around him. his pupils blow wide. "don't kn-ow jake-" "use your words, baby. use your brain. when did you meet me? c'mon i know you know baby." he's mocking your cute mewls and tones while he turns you to your back and fucks you relentlessly
âmonths?â he smiles, voice breaking on the word, not even breaking a sweat while his cock rams deep into you. "s-slow down!" you plead as his thick vein rubs against your clit. "no, you fucking slut." he spits, spitting onto your tits and mouth, fucking you louder that all the monitors wake despite being metres away from the bed. the bed is creaking hard, and with every thrust your moans multiply. he slaps your cute face, groping your tits like he needs to. âno baby iâve been losing my mind over you for years.â
"and then opportunity presents itself to me. yes- making you mine." his hips move just slightly to snap rough flicks into your spot, enough to make you whine incoherent sounds and roll your eyes back "haah!" you pant. "professors don't fucking work overtime. i do." he refers back to the excel, then to your bunny keychain, reminded you of your habits with the way he presses his thumb into your thighs while all you have to do is spread your legs and take it. you try to hide, he doesnât let you.
he grips your chin, tilting your face back to him.
âdonât hide,â he murmurs. âyou wanted this. you begged for me last night. begged again today like my girl, and now that i finally have you?â
his mouth brushes yours, soft, reverent. biting it as he smacks your ass, speeding up.
âiâm not letting you look away.â
your breath trembles. you feel too full, too seen, too wanted in a way that teeters between intoxicating and terrifying. "s-full!" you whine, and he turns you around to be on your knees, facing you towards the array of his monitors, each with a cam that's got your wardrobe, and videos of last night repeated over and over. he pulls you closer, chest pressed to yours so tightly you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your ribs.
"you like it when i overstimulate you, don't you?"
"you love it when guys grope you when you're acting dumb, don't you?"
"you came to my voice on the phone, you love that shit hm? don't you?"
âyou have no idea,â he whispers, lips dragging along from your neck to the shell of your ear, âhow long iâve been imagining this. how much i've spent. getting you.
and the truth is:
neither of you are pretending anymore.
"look at yourself." then he faces you towards the mirror hanging off his closet. "look how good you look when you're fucked by me." he then leans down mid thrust, throbbing inside of you. "if i see you near another man again i will fuck you so hard you won't be able to see anyone."
the sloshing of his dick against your pussy is becoming a constant sound. you can tell his roommates were finally home- meaning jay too. it's probably why he's fucking you meaner, pushing you against the doorframe as you poke your tongue out for his camera. you're feeding into his obsession- all knowing because you're also into it. disgusting. messy. nothing like how you are perceived. but in jake's room where his sinful flaw is power? you both fuck eachother like rabbits. making sure every imprint of your slick and come has touched his setup and sheets.
"stay with me, sweetheart." he groans into your ears and you slowly go in and out, dummified by his cock squelching sounds inside of you. you can't help but get wetter when he changes positions, picking you up easily and freely as he wants- fucking you over his desk, sucking your clit and then raising your legs to fuck you over his vanity. hell, he even pushed you outside in the night and fucked you over his balcony railing while he had his hand over your neck so you wouldn't make a sound.
he made sure jungwon could hear. he made sure jay knew. he made sure that you knew it the most;
how in love he is with you. ever since you walked past him one night at a club, hips swaying like it foretold his future.
"jakey.. 'mm love you!" you cry out, dry tears making your hair cling onto your face like sweat, tits all red while your ass is plumply spanked, red and captured by his cameras.
he swears under his breath, forehead pressing to yours, muscles tightening beneath your hands. the way he holds you suddenly shifts â not rougher, but deeper, his body curling around yours like instinct, like heâs trying to fuse himself into you.
âfuck! y/n-â his voice cracks, low and raw, âiâm right there, i'm gonna cum! donât move, donât-â
your fingers dig into his shoulders and thatâs when he completely unravels. "i fucking love you." he grows, gutteral and mean. your hips shake and your pussy to lets go, squirting down his abs while he yells. praising you and slapping his fingers down your tongue while you cum on his cock.
his breath leaves him in a shaky rush, his entire body pulling tight, burying his face in your neck like he canât bear to be anywhere else in the world but inside this moment with you. the sound he makes; muffled, broken, helpless- whimpering, is something youâll never forget.
he holds you through all of it. tight. like heâs afraid youâll slip away if he loosens his grip even for a heartbeat. "no one can do this to you but me baby, you hear me?" he gropes your sides to hard it bruises. you yelp and moan in reply.
cooling off, he stays inside your pussy, throbbing and slowly pushing in and out while , breathing hard, refusing to pull away. one of his hands slides up your back, almost trembling, and you feel his lips brush your shoulder in something close to reverence.
âdid so well baby, i fucking love you." he bites your ear, hands reaching up to cover your body with his wet blanket.
you open your mouth but he cuts you off with a kiss- slow, deep, completely different from the frenzy before. cum leaks out for the second time. "baby, the only thing i don't know about you is your stamina." he deeply mutters into your ear.
"i don't know that one either." you pout, he licks his lips. "yeah?"
"let's test how much cum my sweetheart's pussy can take." he spits on you. the night drags into your body being squeezed and used, just like how you wanted it to be.
the room is unbelievably quiet after.
not empty, just quiet in the way the world gets right after something breaks open. the air feels warm and heavy against your skin, your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. you are still in his lap, still holding on to him, still trying to breathe through the aftershocks running through your body. his chest rises and falls under your palms, steadying itself slowly, and the warmth of him seeps into you until it is the only thing you can feel.
jake does not let go of you. one of his hands stays in your hair, gentle now, almost tender. the other rubs your back in slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut. his forehead rests against your cheek and his breath hits your skin in soft, uneven waves. he tries to speak but stops once, gathering himself, grounding himself in the weight of your body pressed to his.
then quietly, he asks, âyou okay?â
you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. you feel more than okay. you feel like you have been taken apart and put back together in a way that makes too much sense. but you only nod, fingers curling against the back of his neck as if to confirm it for both of you.
he exhales with something that sounds like relief. real relief. the kind he has never shown anyone else.
for a long moment neither of you move. you stay chest to chest, breathing each other in, letting the room settle around you. you can feel his pulse in his throat. you can feel his hands loosen just slightly as his body relaxes for the first time since you stepped through his door. he looks like someone who finally got what he has been starving for.
eventually he lifts his head enough to look at you. the expression on his face is raw and unguarded. it is not the version of jake everyone else knows, the calm golden boy persona, the soft smiles, the easy charm. this is the real version. the one who wanted you long before he said a word about it. the one who let his obsession run until it turned into action.
âyou are not going anywhere tonight,â he says quietly.
it is not a command. it is simply a truth.
you look at him and feel something inside you tighten. âi was not planning to.â
slowly, his mouth curves. the satisfaction hits his eyes before it hits his smile. he cups your jaw with both hands and pulls you into a kiss that is slow and deep and full of possession without force. it is a kiss that feels final. like a seal.
âgood,â he whispers against your lips.
he pulls you even closer, tucking your body fully against his. the warmth of him wraps around you and you sink into it like it is the first safe place you have ever known. he kisses your shoulder once, then your cheek, then rests his head at the crook of your neck.
âi am done pretending,â he says softly. âyou are mine.â
your breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair. there is no fear in your chest. only, devotion.
âi've been yours.â you whisper back.
his entire body reacts. he closes his eyes like the words strike something deep and final inside him. when he opens them again, all you see is certainty. he hooks an arm under your thighs and pulls the blanket over both of you without breaking the hold he has on your waist. you settle against him easily, naturally, like you have been fitting into this space for longer than you realized.
the laptop screen behind him dims at last. the camera feeds fade away. jake does not turn around to check them again. he does not need to.
you are already here. engulfing in his sin while your pussy burries the last bit of his cum inside.
your breathing steadies against his chest, your fingers still tangled in his hoodie, and his arm tightens around you one last time before he finally lets himself relax. this is exactly where he wanted you. and the quiet that settles over the room is not the aftermath of chaos.
it is the beginning of something that feels disturbingly safe for both of you.
h64<3 | always down for your constrcoskdtkove criticism on this one, it helped me take a lot of stress out writing this in my down time- so really appreciate if you say things that could help me be a better writer <3 fart
« I'm reachin' for you, terrified 'Cause you could be the one that I love »
SYNOPSIS. âź in which you have the best sex of your life OR- in which you get fucked over by the fuckboy
âź. ìŹìŹì€. âź 13.7k âź. â fuckboy jake â mutual pining · jealousy · angst with happy ending · miscommunication · explicit sexual content · oral sex · fingering · unprotected sex (wrap it pls bestie) · riding · multiple orgasms · overstimulation · praise kink · body worship · soft dom jake · desperate sex · alcohol mention · party scene · strong language · this one has plot AND smut so clear your schedule · mdni with happy ending ·
part 1 â part 2 â part 3 â part 4 â please read previous parts!
đ„„ laceys note ; sooo final part done and dusted! Iâm so sorry itâs so long but I HAD to make this the best part obvs and feed all you beggers. thank you so much for investing in this series I really appreciate it so much! I hope this gives everyone the ending they wanted and yes itâs happy after some⊠inconvenience!! lolll enjoy and leave feedback and ty again for investing! Xx
The first thing you registered was light.
The soft grey of morning slipping through the curtains and catching on the edge of the room like it had nowhere better to be. The second thing was the ache in your body, the kind that made you very aware of every movement you have to make to get out of bed, which was unfortunate because you were already awake and your brain was already doing the humiliating thing where it reminded you, in vivid and unhelpful detail, exactly how you had ended up here.
The mattress beside you was empty.
You blinked at it for a second, and then sat up slowly, dragging a hand over your face. Your hair was a disaster. Your top from last night was nowhere to be seen. You were also trying not to think about the fact that you were still in Jake Simâs bed.
The room was quiet. Downstairs, though, there was movement. A low murmur of voices, a cabinet closing, the faint rattle of glass against a counter.
You stared at the ceiling for a second longer, then swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, immediately regretting the decision because the room tilted just enough to make you grip the bedframe. âGreat,â you muttered to yourself. âFantastic.â
You found your top which was a tangled mess, then your underwear, your jeans (which had somehow ended up half on the chair by the corner). You got dressed, every motion slow and slightly resentful, then reached for a hoodie and pulled it on because it smelled like him because it was warm
The stairs creaked under your weight. You paused halfway down, gripping the banister, listening harder. The voices resolved into something clearer now â a low laugh, the hiss of a kettle, the scrape of a chair. Normal house things. Hungover Sunday things. Things that made the knot in your stomach tighten because they were so far from the chaos of last night, so far from whatever this was turning into.
You stepped into the kitchen doorway.
Jake was there.
He was leaning back against the counter in dark joggers slung low on his hips and a faded black T-shirt, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other braced beside him. His hair was damp, probably from a shower, pushed back roughly from his face and he looked up the second you appeared â like heâd been waiting.
Two mugs sat on the counter between you. One was half-empty. The other was full, steam curling lazily from the top. You stopped.
He straightened slightly, eyes flicking over you â the hoodie, the messy hair â before settling back on your face.
âMorning,â he said. His voice was low, rougher than usual from sleep or last night or both.
âMorning,â you echoed, stepping fully into the room because standing in the doorway like an idiot suddenly felt too revealing (ironicly).
He nodded toward the full mug. âMade you coffee. You looked at it. Oat flat white, by the smell of it. Exactly how you take it. He remembered, of course he did.
You walked over slowly, picking it up, wrapping your hands around the warmth because it gave you something to do besides stare at him staring at you.
âThanks,â you said, quieter than you meant.
He watched you take a sip, then looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. âFigured youâd need it.â
The silence after that wasnât uncomfortable exactly. Just heavy. Full of all the things neither of you were saying. The party last night felt like another lifetime. This right now felt too real. Too normal. Like slipping into something that fit without even trying.
âI should probably get going.â You said suddenly. He straightened slightly, just enough to make it clear he had heard you.
âYou donât have to leave so suddenly,â he said.
You blinked. âI donât?â
âNo.â
You stared at him for a second, then glanced down at the mug again because looking directly at him now felt like a bad idea. âI mean, itâs fine. I just thoughtââ
âWhat?â he asked, still very calm.
You opened your mouth, then closed it. The problem was that you had about five different answers and none of them were good.
I thought this would be weird. I thought youâd want me gone. I thought Iâd be more embarrassed. I thought maybe youâd go back to acting like the version of yourself I was trying not to think about.
Instead you said, âNothing.â
He gave you a look. You hated that look. Not because it was mean but because it wasnât. âI can walk you out,â he said after a second.
You gave him a tiny nod. âOkay.â
And because apparently the universe had decided to be cruel, that felt more intimate than anything else that had happened last night.
The house unfolded around you as you moved â empty beer cans, a forgotten jacket, Sunghoon glancing up from his phone as you passed the living room doorway with a raised eyebrow that you pretended not to see. Jake didnât acknowledge it either.
At the front door, you turned. He stopped a step behind, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same gaze that had undone you last night. âThanks for the coffee.â
âAnytime.â The word hung there. Heavy with the promise of repetition.
You swallowed. âOkay. See you.â
âText me when you get home.â
You blinked up at him. âWhat?â
He held your gaze, mouth twitching just slightly at the corner. âJust⊠let me know you get back.â
It was so simple. The kind of thing people said without thinking, except coming from him it felt like more, like heâd thought about it before saying it out loud. âOkay,â you said, softer than you meant.
His eyes lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary. Then he nodded, reached past you and pulled the door open. The cool air from outside hit your face, sharp and clean after the warm stillness of the house. You took one step out, then another, and when you turned back he was still there in the doorway, framed by the dim hall light behind him.
For a second neither of you moved. Then you lifted your hand slightly in an awkward salute, because apparently that was all your brain could offer. He smiled, not the annoying cocky half-grin. Just a real smile, brief and warm.
You hated how much it did to you. You turned before he could say anything else and started down the path. The door closed behind you.
And that should have been that.
You made it three steps before you heard it open again. You turned, startled, and found Jake standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame and an expression that said heâd only just decided to do whatever it was he was doing. âYou forgot something,â he said.
You frowned. âI did?â
He lifted his hand slightly. You looked down, his hoodie still on you. Your face heated instantly. âOh,â you said, because apparently your vocabulary had died on the spot.
His mouth twitched. âYou look good in it.â
That was not a sentence you were prepared for at eight in the morning. Your face heated before you could stop it. âIâm not stealing it.â
âYou already have.â
âIâm borrowing it."
He looked at you for a long second. âRight. Borrowing.â
You narrowed your eyes at him, but it didnât land properly because he was smiling, small and lazy and very much aware of what he was doing to your ability to form thoughts. âIâll bring it back,â you said.
âNo rush.â That should not have sounded like that. He stepped back slightly, still in the doorway. âGet home safe.â
You rolled your eyes. âBossy.â
âText me.â
âI heard you.â
âGo on,â he said, jerking his chin toward the street. âBefore Sunghoon comes out here and makes it weird.â
You laughed despite yourself, short and breathless, then turned and kept walking before you could say something stupid like come with me or what are we or nothing at all and just run up and kiss him again right there on his front step.
â
Sunoo was waiting. You knew he would be the second you turned your key in the lock and pushed into your dorm, because thatâs what Sunoo did â anticipated, ambushed, and then dissected every detail with the precision of a surgeon.
He was sprawled across your bed in sweatpants and one of your hoodies scrolling through his phone with that relaxed poise that meant heâd actually been refreshing your location since sunrise.
You shut the door. He looked up. His eyes hit the hoodie first, then your face, then back to the hoodie. He sat up slowly, deliberately, like he was giving you time to confess before he started interrogating.
âOh,â he said, with a slow, devastating satisfaction. âSo itâs like that.â
You shut the door behind you. âDonât start.â You kicked off your shoes, avoiding his gaze by focusing very hard on plugging in your phone.
âOh, Iâm going to,â he said, patting the bed beside him. âSit. Spill. Everything.â
You hesitated, then crossed to the bed and dropped down next to him, pulling your knees up. The hoodie bunched around your wrists, too big and you tugged the sleeves over your hands before you could think better of it. Sunoo waited. âHe made coffee.â
He made a small, wounded sound. âAlready?â
âIn the morning. Oat flat white. Exactly how I like it.â
Sunoo clutched his chest. âStop, youâre killing me.â
âHe walked me to the door.â
âObviously.â
âAnd told me to text him when I got home.â
Sunoo froze. Then his face split into something gleeful and horrified all at once. âHe did what?â
âTo make sure I got back safe.â
He stared at you for a long moment, then flopped back against the pillows, arms flung wide. âYouâre done for. Absolutely done.â
âIâm not.â
âYou are. Thatâs boyfriend shit. Straight out the playbook.â
âItâs notââ
âIt is.â He sat up again, grabbing your arm. âDid he say anything else? Compliment you? Touch your face? Gaze into your soul?â
You swatted his hand away. âHe said I looked good in his hoodie.â
Sunoo gasped like heâd been personally attacked. âAnd youâre sitting here in it still! Why arenât you married yet?â
âBecause itâs not like that.â
âThen what is it like?â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Stared at the wall. âI donât know,â you admitted finally.
Sunoo softened, just a fraction. He nudged your shoulder with his. âBut you like it.â You didnât answer, didnât need to, your face said it all.
Your phone buzzed on the desk. Both of you snapped toward it. You lunged for it before he could, thumbing the screen on.
you home?
You stared at it, thumb hovering. Sunoo leaned over your shoulder. âRespond. Now.â
âIâm thinking.â
âThink faster.â
You typed, deleted, typed again.
yeah just got in
Three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.
good
A pause. Then:
last night was good. really good, actually
Your breath caught. Sunoo read it over your shoulder and made a strangled noise. âHe just said that?â
âHe did.â
âWhat are you going to say?â
âNothing.â
âNothing?â
You set the phone face-down, heart thudding too hard against your ribs. âNot yet.â
Sunoo stared at you like youâd lost your mind. âYouâre going to kill him.â
âGood.â But you didnât mean it.
And the message sat there, simple and unadorned, burrowing deeper than any flirtation could have.
â
The morning coffee started the next day. Just a text at 8:17 â outside in 10? â and youâd stood in front of your mirror for longer than youâd admit before going down.
He was at the curb stood outside his car, two cups from The Bean Bar balanced on the roof. He looked up when he heard the door. âOat flat white,â he said, handing you one. âNo sugar.â
You took it. âYou didnât have to.â
âI know.â
He held the passenger door open for you. The car smelled like his cologne and you were not going to think about that. He drove. You sipped your coffee. The campus radio hummed low between you. âSo,â he said eventually. âYou survive Sunooâs interrogation?â
You choked. âHow do you know about that?â
He glanced sideways, mouth curving. âBecause I know Sunoo.â A beat. âAnd because you have the face of someone who was interrogated.â
âI donât have a face.â
âYou always have a face.â
âThatâsââ you started, then stopped, because you were fairly certain he was right and arguing the point would only prove it. âHow are you always this annoying at eight in the morning?â
âTalent,â he said simply.
You rolled your eyes. He smiled at the road. The drive dissolved into something easy â him teasing you about your 9am, you firing back about his 7am practice schedule, the kind of back-and-forth that had started feeling natural.
He pulled up outside your building with five minutes to spare. âThanks,â you said, unbuckling.
âAnytime.â
You paused at the door. He was already looking at you with that steady, unhurried attention. âDonât be late,â he said.
âBossy.â
âGo.â
You got out, shutting the door behind you, and walked toward the entrance without looking back. You were smiling into your scarf before you made it through the door, which you were absolutely not acknowledging.
It became a thing after that.
Not every day. Just enough â three mornings the next week, twice the week after, once on a Thursday when it was pouring and heâd thrown a hoodie at you from the backseat before you could argue about it. A bag of pastries on a Wednesday because he said you look like you skipped breakfast, which you had.
He always noticed things.
That was the part that got under your skin. The way he clocked things without making a show of it â that you took your coffee the same way every time, that you chewed your pen when you were thinking, that you got quieter rather than louder when something was bothering you. Nobody had told him these things. Heâd just â paid attention. And you were running out of ways to pretend that didnât mean something.
â
The windows had been fogged for twenty minutes.
The playlist had shifted into something slower, deeper â Jakeâs hand was at the back of your neck, thumb tracing patterns against your skin.
The rain still drizzled against the roof, the amber of a single distant streetlight catching the fog on the glass.
Youâd stopped keeping track of how long youâd been kissing him. There was no urgency behind it, no alcohol blurring the edges, no party noise pressing in to give you an excuse for losing your head. Just his mouth, slow and thorough and achingly deliberate.
It was significantly more dangerous.
His other hand had found your thigh â warm through the denim, fingers curled just enough to be intentional and when youâd shifted in the passenger seat to face him better, the centre console had become an obvious obstacle that youâd solved quickly by swinging one leg over and settling across his lap.
His hands had found your hips like they belonged there. âHi,â heâd said. Low. Eyes dark.
âHi,â youâd said back. And then his mouth had found yours again and youâd stopped thinking.
Now, with your hands braced on his shoulders and the steering wheel at your back, you could feel every point of contact between you â his hands gripping your hips, the solid warmth of his thighs beneath yours, the way his breath had changed from steady to something not. You rolled your hips, just slightly, enough, and felt him inhale sharply against your mouth.
âDonât,â he said.
âDonât what?â Innocent.
âYou know what.â His grip tightened. His jaw was tight. âUnless you want this to go somewhere it probably shouldnât in a car park.â
âProbably?â you said.
His eyes darkened. âDonât push it.â
You rolled your hips again â deliberately, watching his expression fracture at the edges, watching that careful composure of his crack open. His head dropped back against the headrest, a low sound in his throat that you felt everywhere.
âYouâre doing that on purpose,â he gritted out.
âLittle bit,â you admitted.
His hands slid from your hips to the backs of your thighs, pulling you in closer, and the sound you made was quiet but his eyes snapped to yours immediately, catching it. âTwo can play at that,â he said.
âJakeââ
âMm.â His mouth found your jaw, your neck, the soft skin just below your ear taking his time in the way that he did. His hands kept you exactly where he wanted you, moving with you in a rhythm that was slow and deliberate and somehow so much more.
You gripped his shoulders and tried to remember what having a coherent thought felt like.
âYouâve been driving me insane,â he said against your neck, matter of fact. âSince the start.â
âYou have a terrible way of showing it,â you managed.
âI know.â He pulled back to look at you, hands still warm at your thighs, eyes dark and completely certain. âWorking on it.â
Your phone buzzed. You both ignored it. It buzzed again.
And again.
And then a fourth time in rapid succession.
Jake pulled back, the corner of his mouth twitching. âPopular,â he said with that classic smirk.
âItâs Sunoo.â You already knew.
âTell him youâre busy.â
You fished the phone out of your jacket pocket, thumbed the screen.
where tf are you
millie says youâre not at the bar
itâs been 45 mins
donât make me track your phone I WILL do it
You snorted despite yourself, typing back quickly.
alive. chill.
He responded fast.
thatâs what a murderer would say
spill tomorrow.
You locked the screen and looked up. Jake was watching you with the easy patience. One hand was still at your thigh. The playlist was still going. The windows were still fogged. âClear?â he said.
âFor approximately five minutes before he texts again.â
âFive minutes,â he repeated thoughtfully, like he was doing calculations. âYou know a lot can happen in five minutes.â
âDonât even think about it.â
His smile was slow and entirely guilty. You climbed back over to your own seat, tugging your jacket straight, running a hand through your hair. Jake watched you do it, then exhaled once and reached for the ignition.
The engine turned over. The heating kicked in. He pulled out of the car park with one hand on the wheel, and after a moment the other found your knee â not moving, just there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to reach for you.
You looked out the passenger window at the wet streets going by.
You did not examine the warmth spreading from that point of contact to around your body.
You did not think about the way heâd looked with his head dropped back against the headrest.
You did not think about what that meant coming from someone like Jake Sim.
â
The lecture theatre smelled like old books and coffee, the kind of stale air that settled into your clothes and made you crave fresh oxygen by the time Professor Kang finished her slides. You were three rows back, notebook half-full of scribbled notes about post-colonial theory that you would absolutely need to type up later, when she clapped her hands together and announced groups.
âProjects due in three weeks,â she said, peering over her glasses at the room. âNo extensions. Pair up, or Iâll do it for you.â
People shifted immediately â chairs scraping, bags zipping, low murmurs as friends claimed each other. You glanced around, already scanning when Professor Kangâs voice cut through again. âY/N and Minho.â
You blinked. She pointed at you, then at the guy two rows over, slim build, wire-rimmed glasses, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He looked up from his laptop, surprised, then smiled, polite, the kind that said he was more comfortable with footnotes than small talk. You nodded. He nodded.
Class ended ten minutes later. You packed slow, watching him do the same out of the corner of your eye. Youâd seen him around â library regular, always with a stack of journals, the type who colour-coded his notes and probably had a system for everything. He caught up with you at the door, bag slung over one shoulder. âHey. Coffee? To plan?â
You checked your phone â 2:15 p.m. âSure. Bean Bar okay?â
âPerfect.â
The cafe was busy but not packed â students hunched over laptops, the hiss of the espresso machine cutting through chatter, rain pattering against the window beside your table. Youâd grabbed the spot by the glass, notes spread out already: syllabus requirements, three primary sources, the rubric printed off your laptop.
Minho slid into the seat across from you with two waters and his own notebook â actual paper, grid lines, colour pens lined up like soldiers. âImpressive,â you said, nodding at the setup.
He shrugged, pushing his glasses up. âHabit. Makes it easier to track themes.â
You dove in. Sources first â he had three solid ones already tabbed in his bag, footnotes pristine. You countered with two from your reading list, arguing page counts while pulling up PDFs on your screen. It flowed easy, better than expected. He listened when you talked, pushed back gently on weak points without being a dick about it.
Half an hour in, your lattes arrived. His was black. âSo,â he said, tapping his pen against the table. âStructure? Three sections?â
âFour. Intro hooks better with historical context first.â
He considered, then nodded. âYeah. Okay.â
You were at the table by the glass when Jake glanced into The Bean Bar. Your notes spread out, coffee in hand â looking exactly the way you looked when you were in the middle of something you were interested in, that quality of focus that heâd catalogued without meaning to. You were leaning forward slightly, talking, and your hands were doing the thing they did when you were making a point â heâd noticed the first time youâd argued with him about something he no longer remembered the subject of. Jake noticed it now. Jake also noticed the guy across from you.
Dark hair. Wire rimmed glasses. Leaning in slightly, listening, nodding at whatever you were saying with attentive focus. Jake stood in the drizzle and watched you laugh at something the guy said.
It wasnât a big laugh â just a small one. The kind you gave when something caught you off guard. The guy smiled back.
Jakeâs jaw tightened.
He became aware that heâd stopped walking. That he was standing in the rain outside a cafe window staring at you like someone who had completely lost the thread of what they were supposed to be doing, which was going back to the house, not standing here watching you laugh through plate glass.
He looked at the guy again.
The guy pushed his glasses up and said something. You tilted your head and responded, and the guy nodded seriously, and you both looked down at the notebook between. A project, something logical suggested. Could just be a project.
Jake told that part of his brain to shut up.
Because the thing was â and this was the part that sat in his chest like something he hadnât agreed to carry â it didnât look like just a project. It looked like two people who were comfortable with each other. Who made each other laugh, who leaned across tables toward each other without noticing they were doing it.
He knew what that looked like. Heâd been doing a version of it for three weeks.
You said something else and the guy laughed this time you looked pleased about it in the way you did when youâd said something that landed, and Jake stood in the rain and felt something move through him that was entirely new and entirely unwelcome and that he was going to need a significant amount of time to pretend wasnât what it was.
He turned. Walked away. Didnât look back.
The drizzle had graduated to proper rain by the time he made it back to the house, jacket dark at the shoulders, and Heeseung was on the sofa when he came through the door. âYouâre soaked,â he observed.
âYep.â
âWhere did you even â the libraryâs five minutes away.â
âI walked slow.â
Heeseung looked at him with the calm attention of someone who had known him long enough to read the things he didnât say. He didnât push. Just reached for the remote and turned the volume down slightly. Jake dropped onto the other end of the sofa and stared at the television. Some sports recap playing. Stats he wasnât reading. A goal replay he didnât watch. He was quiet until he wasnât and told Heeseung everything he saw through the fogged window of the Bean Bar.
âSheâs probably just working on a project,â Heeseung said. Eyes on the screen. âJust saying.â
âI know what I saw.â
âOkay.â
âShe wasââ He stopped. âThey were laughing.â
âPeople laugh, Jake.â
âI know people laughââ
âAt project partners. At friends. At people who are notââ Heeseung glanced at him sideways, ââwhatever you think you saw.â
Jake said nothing. Looked back at the television. The silence had the quality of a point being made without being spoken, which was Heeseungâs particular skill and one of the more infuriating things about living with him. âIâm not doing anything,â Jake said finally.
âI know,â Heeseung said.
âIâm justââ
âI know.â
âItâs nothing.â
âSure.â Heeseung picked up his phone. âCompletely nothing. Thatâs why you walked home in the rain instead of going in.â
Jake had no answer to that.
He looked at the television and thought about your laugh through the window and told himself, firmly, that it meant nothing. He was not convincing.
He didnât text that evening. Told himself it was because he was busy â the finance paper, the match prep. Normal things. Not because heâd stood outside a window in the rain and felt something crack open in his chest that he hadnât given permission to be there.
The next morning he didnât show up at your dorm.
He told himself that was fine too. It wasnât a scheduled thing. It had never been a scheduled thing â just something that had happened, casually, without being made into anything. Which meant not doing it was equally casual. Equally nothing.
He made his own coffee. It tasted fine. He drank it standing at the kitchen counter looking at his phone, not texting you, being completely normal about the whole situation.
â
Two days of nothing became four. Four became a week.
He saw your name in his messages â the last exchange sitting there â and he left it unread like a coward, which he knew, and which Heeseung had started communicating through pointed silence and disapproving looks. âYouâre being an idiot,â Heeseung said.
âThanks.â
âIâm just noting it. She didnât do anything wrong.â
âI didnât say she did.â
âYouâre acting like she did.â Heeseung set down his fork. âYou saw her in a cafe with someone. You made up a story about it. And now youâre punishing her for the story you made up.â He picked his fork back up. âThatâs being an idiot.â Jake stared at his food. âShe might be confused,â Heeseung said. âAbout what she did. About what changed.â
âSheâll be fine.â
âJake.â
âShe doesnât needââ
âJake.â Quieter this time. The voice Heeseung used when heâd run out of patience for the deflection. âYou walked home in the rain. Youâve been sitting with your phone in your hand for five days. You made the wrong kind of coffee this morning.â He paused. âWhat is actually going on with you?â
The kitchen was quiet.
âI donât know,â Jake said. It was the most honest thing heâd said in a week.
Heeseung looked at him for a long moment. âFigure it out,â he said. âBefore you lose something you actually want.â
Across campus, you were on Sunooâs bed, face in a pillow, while he rubbed your back with the careful attention of someone managing a situation heâd seen coming and hadnât been able to prevent.
âHe just stopped,â you said, into the pillow.
âI know.â
âNo warning. No explanation. Just â nothing.â
âI know.â
âWe were in his car last week and his hand was on my knee the whole drive home.â You turned your head sideways, cheek on the pillow, staring at the wall. âWhat does that mean? What does any of it mean if he can justââ
âIt means heâs an idiot,â Sunoo said, with calm certainty.
âI thoughtââ you stopped. âI actually thought it was becoming something. Thatâs the worst part. I let myself think it was becoming something and now I just feelââ
âDonât say stupid.â
âStupid,â you said.
Sunoo sighed. Kept rubbing your back. âYouâre not stupid. Heâs stupid. Thereâs a difference.â
âWhat if I imagined it? The whole thing. What if I built it into something in my head and he was justââ you couldnât finish the sentence.
âHe showed up at your dorm basically every morning with your exact coffee order,â Sunoo said flatly. âHe gave you his hoodie. He told you he couldnât stop thinking about you. None of that was your imagination.â
âThen whyââ
âBecause,â Sunoo said, âheâs an idiot. Which I believe I already said.â
You were quiet for a moment.
âI really liked him,â you said. Small and honest.
Sunoo lay down beside you, staring at the ceiling. âI know you did.â
âI hate that I really liked him.â
âI know that too.â
âDonât say I told you so.â
âI would never.â A beat. âI did tell you though.â You threw the pillow at him. He caught it, tucked it under his head, and stared at the ceiling with you. âHeâll figure it out,â he said eventually. âThey always figure it out.â
âWhat if he doesnât?â
Sunoo turned his head to look at you. Something quiet and certain in his expression. âThen heâs not worth the coffee order.â
You looked back at the ceiling. His hoodie was in the bottom of your wardrobe. You had not thrown it out and you were not examining why.
â
The party was Sunooâs idea.
Which meant it was well intentioned and also completely terrible but youâd said yes anyway because a week and a half of silence had done something to your ability to make good decisions.
-âYou look incredible,â Sunoo said, surveying you from the doorway of your room with the satisfaction of someone who had selected the outfit and was now taking credit for the result. âIâm just sayingââ
âI know what youâre saying.â You checked your reflection â the black dress, the hoop earrings, the effort youâd made that had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Jake Sim. âLetâs go.â
You made a decision on the walk over. Not out loud. Just quietly, privately, between you and yourself â tonight you were going to have a good time. Actually have one. Not the performed version where you smiled at the right moments and checked your phone when no one was looking and left early with a headache.
Instead tonight you were going to drink and dance with your friends. You could do that. You were completely capable of doing that.
The party was at someoneâs house off campus. Exactly what you needed, which was the charitable interpretation. The uncharitable one was that youâd spent forty minutes getting ready for an event you didnât want to attend in order to avoid spending another evening staring at a phone that wasnât buzzing.
Millie found you first, appearing through the crowd with a drink already extended and the grin of someone who had been there long enough to be very happy about it. You took the cup without asking what was in it. âThatâs the spirit,â she said approvingly.
The group assembled and the evening started moving â dancing, drinks, the kind of easy warmth that came from people who actually liked each other, and for a while it worked. For a while you were just there, just present, just someone at a party having a good time.
The second drink went down easier than the first. The third even easier than that. Sunoo was watching you with the careful attention, but when you met his eyes you smiled â wide, real-looking â and he let it go. Or pretended to atleast.
You were on your fourth drink when you saw him. Youâd been specifically not looking for him â had given yourself a stern internal lecture on the walk over about not scanning rooms and doorways and not doing any of the small pathetic things youâd caught yourself doing for the past week and a half.
But then the crowd shifted and there he was.
Near the far wall. Dark shirt, dark hair. He had a drink in one hand and his head was tilted slightly, listening to something, and for one unguarded second you just â looked at him.
Then you saw the girl. Standing close, intentionally close. Her hand was at his chest and he wasnât moving away from it, wasnât doing anything to create distance, just standing there with that easy unbothered quality he wore everywhere.
You looked away. Took a long sip of your drink. âDance?â Gretta appeared at your elbow, already moving.
âAbsolutely,â you said, and followed her onto the floor.
Dancing helped. Or at least it occupied enough of your body and brain. The music was good and you let it take over, moving with the crowd, Gretta and Millie and Sunoo orbiting around you.
You were fine. You were actually fine, or a convincing enough approximation that the difference was academic. And then Sunoo appeared at your shoulder and said, very quietly, âDonât look.â
Which meant you looked.
Jake was still near the far wall. The girl was still there. But she was closer now â considerably closer that his head was bent toward her neck. His mouth pressed to the curve of her neck. Slow. Deliberate.
The way heâd done to you.
Something in your chest cracked clean open. âI need some air,â you said.
âY/Nââ
âIâm fine. Two minutes.â
You moved before he could argue, cutting through the crowd toward the back of the house, to the side door that opened onto a narrow path running alongside the garden. You stood against the wall and tipped your head back and breathed.
A week and a half.
Heâd had his hand on your knee. Heâd made your coffee. Heâd said I canât stop thinking about you in a kitchen at midnight â and then heâd just stopped. Gone quiet and cold and distant without explanation, without a text, without anything.
And youâd sat with it. Let Sunoo talk you through it at 2am and nodded along to everything he said and still come back, privately, to the same conclusion every time.
Youâd been played.
Not the first night â the first night had been what it was, clear-eyed and mutual and something youâd made peace with. But after; the coffee and the rides and the car park â all of it had been â what? Habit? Convenience? The path of least resistance from a boy who was good at making you feel like you were the only person in the room and apparently equally good at making you feel like nothing at all?
The side door opened. You didnât look. âSunoo, I said two minutesââ
âItâs not Sunoo.â
You went very still.
Jake stepped out, letting the door fall shut behind him. He was in his jacket, hands in his pockets, and he looked at you across the narrow path with an expression of something between careful and wrecked, something that had no business being on his face when he was the one whoâd gone silent on you.
âWhat do you want?â you said, proud of how flat it came out.
âI saw you leave.â
âCongratulations.â
âY/Nââ
âGo back inside, Jake.â You pushed off the wall, tugging your jacket tighter, still not looking at him. âGo back to â whoever that was. You looked like you were having a great time.â
âI wasnâtââ
âI donât want to hear it. I genuinely do not want to hear it. I watched you put your mouth on her neck, Jake. The same way youââ You stopped. Pressed your lips together. âIâm not doing this.â
âIt meant nothingââ
âEverything means nothing to you!â The words came out louder than you meant but you didnât pull them back. âThe first night meant nothing, then it meant something, then whatever the last three weeks were apparently meant nothing again the second you decided to just â vanish. So which is it? Because I canâtââ Your voice cracked slightly. You hated it. âI canât keep recalibrating what this is every time you change your mind.â He stared at you.
âShe wasnâtââ He exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair, the composure fracturing visibly. âShe came over and I was â I wasnât thinking. I was angry.â
âAt me?â Disbelief sharp in your voice. âWhat did I do?â
âThe Bean Bar,â he said. âLast week. The guy with the glasses.â
âYou saw me at The Bean Bar?â
âI was cutting across the courtyardââ
âAnd you thoughtââ The pieces landed one by one. âYou thought I was on a date?â
He said nothing. Which was a yes.
âYou went cold for a week and a half,â you said, voice rising, âbecause you saw me through a window and assumed â and then you came to a party and put your mouth on some girl's neck â because you were angry at me for something you made up in your head?â
âWhen you put it like thatââ
âHow else should I put it?â You stepped toward him, he held his ground, jaw tight, watching you with dark eyes. âHeâs my project partner. Professor Kang assigned us. We were doing coursework.â You stopped directly in front of him, close enough to make the point. âHeâs also gay, Jake. He spent forty minutes telling me about his boyfriend Jisung. I would neverââ Your voice dropped. âI would never do that. Not to â not to whatever this is. Was.â You shook your head. âI wouldnât.â
The silence that followed was the loudest thing youâd ever stood in. Something moved through Jakeâs face â slow and devastating. The anger heâd been carrying, the story heâd built, the week and a half of distance â all of it collapsing.
âI know,â he said. Barely audible.
âThen whyââ
âBecause I didnât want it to be nothing,â he said. âSeeing you with someone â I didnât want it to be nothing, and it was, and I didnât know what to do with that.â He exhaled. Rough and honest. âSo I did the wrong thing. The stupid thing. Iâmââ He stopped. âI handled it terribly.â
âYou handled it terribly,â you agreed. Your voice was quieter. âIt really hurt, Jake.â The silence after that was different from the one before â not full of unsaid things, just full. Like something had been turned over and was just sitting there now between you, visible and waiting.
âI need to think,â you said finally.
He nodded once. âOkay.â
âDonâtââ you started, then stopped.
âWhat?â
You shook your head. âNothing. Forget it.â You went back inside. He didnât follow this time. And that was somehow both better and worse than if he had.
â
The week after the party was different. Not fixed or resolved or the comfortable easy thing that had existed before the Bean Bar window and the week of silence and the image of his mouth on someone elseâs neck that you were still, quietly, trying to scrub from the back of your eyelids.
But different. The silence wasnât cold anymore.
He didnât text. You didnât text. But when you passed each other on campus on Tuesday â him coming out of the sports centre, you heading toward the library, heâd stopped, looked at you and said hey. Youâd said hey back. And that had been that.
Wednesday he left a coffee on the wall outside your lecture building.
No text. No explanation. Just a cup from the Bean Bar sitting on the low wall by the entrance with a small note tucked under it that said oat flat white. no sugar. in his handwriting, but he was nowhere to be seen.
You stood and looked at it for a moment. Then you picked it up and drank it on the walk to class. Didnât tell Sunoo.
Sunoo found out anyway because Sunoo always found out, and he said nothing about it, just looked at you over the rim of his own cup then went back to his phone.
â
Friday arrived with the energy of a match day â people in colours and the sports centre car park filled by mid-afternoon. Youâd been aware of it in the background all week in the same way youâd been aware of everything Jake-adjacent all week. You had no plans to go. You had been very clear with yourself about this.
Until Heeseung knocked on your door at four oâclock. You opened it and found him there â tall, easy, hands in his pockets, with a calm, unhurried manner. âHey,â he said.
âHey,â you said. âHow do you know where Iââ
âSunoo,â he said simply.
âOf course.â You leaned against the doorframe. âWhatâs up?â
He looked at you for a moment with the specific quality of attention that youâd noticed about him from the beginning â the kind that didnât perform itself, just existed, taking things in without making a show of it. Youâd always found it slightly unnerving. âThereâs a match tonight,â he said.
âI know.â
âSeven thirty. Main pitch.â
âHeeseungââ
âHeâs been off all week,â he said. âTrainingâs been â heâs in his head. Which happens before big matches. But this week itâs different.â He held your gaze. âItâs not just the match.â
You said nothing.
âIâm not asking you to fix anything,â he said. âIâm not asking you to have figured it out or decided anything or â none of that. I just thinkââ He paused. Choosing carefully. âI think it would matter. You being there. I think it would matter to him.â
âHe hurt me,â you said. Quiet and directly.
âI know. He was an idiot. He knows that too. Butââ He exhaled slightly. âHeâs been trying to figure out how to be the person who deserves to fix it and I think he needs to know thereâs something to fix first.â
âIâm not promising anything,â you said finally.
âI know.â
âIâm notââ You stopped. âIf I come, it doesnât meanââ
âI know,â he said again, patient. âJust come. Thatâs all. Just be there.â
You looked at him for a long moment. âSunoo will want to come,â you said.
The corner of Heeseungâs mouth moved. âAlready texted him.â
âOf course you did.â
âSeven thirty,â he said. âMain pitch. Weâre in the blue kit tonight if that helps with â â he gestured vaguely at you, ââ whatever youâre deciding to wear.â
âIâm not wearing the kit coloursââ
âWasnât suggesting it.â But he was. He stepped back, hands back in his pockets, the mission apparently complete. âSee you there.â
He turned and walked away down the corridor. You stood in your doorway. Closed the door. âSunoo!â you called.
His door opened immediately. Heâd been listening. Obviously.
âWeâre going to the match,â you said.
He appeared in the corridor in his socks with the expression of someone who had been packed and ready since this morning. âObviously,â he said. âIâve been ready for an hour.â
â
The pitch was lit up against the dark. Floodlights cutting through the February cold, the grass impossibly green underneath them, the stands filling with the particular noise of a crowd. Youâd found seats in the middle tier â good sightlines, not too close. Sunoo sat beside you with two cups of something hot from the concession stand.
The teams came out. You found him immediately. You werenât proud of how quickly you found him â blue kit, number seven, running the warm-up drills like heâd done it a thousand times. Even at this distance there was something different about him. The usual ease was still there â but underneath it something tighter. The set of his jaw. Heeseung had said he was in his head. He looked it. âHe looks tense,â Sunoo observed.
âHe always looks like that before matches.â
âYouâre defending him.â
âIâm observing.â
Sunoo sipped his drink. âSure.â
The whistle went. You didnât know much about soccer. Enough to follow it â enough to know when something good happened and when something had gone wrong, to read the shape of the game in broad strokes. Enough, apparently, to spend ninety minutes tracking one specific player with an attention that had nothing to do with the sport.
Jake was good. That wasnât a surprise â youâd known he played, had seen the name in the campus paper, had understood from context that he was good at it. But knowing and watching were different things. Watching was â he moved differently on the pitch. All that easy grace that he carried everywhere became something more purposeful, more electric, the confidence that sometimes read as arrogance in a kitchen or a car park transformed into something that just looked like complete and total command.
He scored the first goal in the thirty-eighth minute. The crowd erupted. You watched him â the celebration, arms wide, teammates converging on him, the grin that broke through the focused intensity like a crack in something â and felt something in your chest go warm and complicated and specific.
Sunoo nudged your shoulder. You didnât look at him.
The second goal came in the seventy-second minute.
Different kind â a team build-up, three passes, the space created by someone elseâs run, and Jake arriving exactly where the ball was going to be before it got there, the kind of read that looked like instinct but was probably ten years of practice and the particular intelligence that he applied to everything he actually cared about.
He wheeled away, turning toward the stands. And then he stopped. You felt it before you understood it â a change in the quality of the moment, something shifting. He was looking at the stands. Scanning them. His teammates were still celebrating around him, but he wasâ
Looking for something. Looking for someone.
Your heart was very loud.
His eyes found yours across the distance. Stopped. The noise of the crowd continued around you both, entirely unaware of the small private thing happening inside it. He looked at you for one long suspended moment â the floodlights catching his face, the celebration still going on around him, sixty-eight minutes of a football match and whatever the past two weeks had been living in the space between you.
Then he pressed two fingers to his lips. Pointed them directly at you.
The crowd around you made noise about something else. Sunoo made a sound beside you that was somewhere between a gasp and a sob. You sat completely still with your heart doing something that your ribcage was not structurally prepared for. âOH MY GOD,â Sunoo said, at a volume that several people nearby turned to look at.
âSunooââ
âHe just â did you see â he literally justââ
âI sawââ
âIN FRONT OF EVERYONEââ
âSunoo, pleaseââ
âIâm normal,â he said, at a volume that confirmed he was not. âIâm being completely normal about this.â
On the pitch Jake had been pulled into the team huddle, Heeseungâs arm around his shoulders, and you could see even from here the way he was still slightly elsewhere â turned slightly inward, something settled in him that hadnât been there at the start.
You pressed your fingers to your mouth. Breathed.
The final whistle went eighteen minutes later.
The pitch dissolved into celebration â teams converging, staff flooding on, the crowd beginning to move. You sat still in the middle of it, Sunoo vibrating beside you with barely contained energy, while the noise built around you and the floodlights stayed bright and the evening continued its indifferent progress. âYou should go down,â Sunoo said.
âI donât thinkââ
âY/N.â
âItâs notââ
âHe dedicated a goal to you in front of two hundred people,â Sunoo said. With great patience. Like he was explaining something to someone very slow. âHe found you in a crowd and pointed at you like you were the only person in it. Go. Down.â
You looked at the pitch. At the blue kit moving through the celebration below. âWhat if itâs notââ
âGo,â Sunoo said. âNow. While I still have the capacity to be patient about this.â
The stairs down to the pitch-side barrier were emptying as the crowd dispersed, people filtering toward the exits. You made it to the front, to the low barrier separating the stands from the technical area, and stopped.
The celebration had thinned. Players heading toward the tunnel, staff gathering equipment. You scanned â blue kit, number seven, dark hair damp from the match â and found him at the edge of the pitch talking to someone on the coaching staff, head bent, nodding.
Then he looked up. Found you. The coaching staff conversation ended immediately, though you werenât sure he said anything to finish it â he was already moving, and the directness of it, the complete absence of hesitation, did something devastating to your nervous system.
He stopped at the barrier. Close. Just the low rail between you. He was still in the kit, breathing hard from the match, and there was mud on his shin and his hair was a complete disaster and he was looking at you like you were the most important thing in the eye line and none of the rest of it mattered at all.
âYou came,â he said.
âHeeseung asked,â you said.
âI know. I asked him to.â Of course he had.
âThe goal,â you started.
âWas yours.â Simple. Like it was obvious. Like there was no other way to say it.
You looked at him across the barrier. All the careful distance of the past two weeks. All the silence and the second-guessing and the crack in your chest that hadnât fully closed. All of it right here between you, visible, not pretended away.
âIâve been such an idiot,â he said quietly.
âYou really have.â
âI know.â He exhaled. âIâm sorry. Not just for the Bean Bar â for all of it. The first night. The way I spoke to you. All the ways Iââ He stopped. âIâve been trying to figure out how to be someone who deserves to say sorry for it and I kept thinking I needed more time but Heeseung told me last week that I was going to run out of it and he was right.â
âHe usually is,â you said.
âAnnoyingly.â The corner of his mouth moved. Then went serious again. âI donât want to be in the middle anymore. I donât want the silence or the â I donât want any of it.â His jaw was set. Certain. The same certainty he brought to everything that heâd actually decided on. âI want you. Properly. All of it. The coffee and the arguments andââ He stopped. âYouâve been in my head since the first night and Iâve been an idiot about it every step of the way and Iâm done being an idiot.â
The floodlights hummed above you. The last of the crowd moved around you, indifferent, going home. âJakeââ
âI love you,â he said.
Just like that. Like it had been there for a long time and had simply run out of reasons to stay in.
The world continued around you â the floodlights, the dispersing crowd, the cold February air â and you stood at the barrier with your heart absolutely full to the edges and the boy who had been infuriating and honest and terrible and careful all at once looking at you like you were the answer to something heâd been asking since September.
âI love you too,â you said. âIâve beenââ Your voice went slightly unsteady. âFor a while. Since before I had any right to.â
Something broke open in his face. He reached across the barrier. Cupped your face in both hands â the same way he had the very first time, in the corridor outside your dorm, careful and certain â and kissed you.
The real thing â deep and warm and unhurried, his hands holding your face like you were something worth holding, and you gripped the barrier and kissed him back with everything you had, with the full weight of three months of almost and not yet and almost again.
Somewhere above you, distantly, you heard Sunoo scream.
Jake broke away, slightly breathless, forehead dropping to yours. His eyes were still closed. âIâm going to get you back for every terrible thing I did,â he murmured.
âYou better,â you said.
He laughed â low and real and so close you felt it â and kissed you again, quick this time, a promise rather than a statement. âAfter party,â he said. âGive me twenty minutes to shower.â
âTwenty minutes,â you agreed.
He pulled back, reluctant, hands sliding from your face slowly like they didnât want to. He was grinning now â the real one, not the smirk, the one that reached his eyes and had the dimples and made him look like everything youâd been trying not to want since September.
âYouâre wearing my hoodie tonight,â he said.
âIâm borrowing your hoodie,â you corrected.
âSure.â He stepped back toward the tunnel, still looking at you. âBorrowing.â
âGo shower,â you said. âYou smell like a football pitch.â
âRomantic,â he said, and disappeared into the tunnel.
You stood at the barrier for a moment. Then you turned around. Sunoo was three rows up, standing on his seat, hands clasped over his heart like a person at the end of a film. âDonât,â you said.
âIâm not saying anything,â he said, at full volume.
âCome on.â You started back up the steps. âWeâve got an after party to get to.â
He jumped off his seat and fell into step beside you, and you could feel him vibrating with the effort of not saying everything he wanted to say, which you appreciated. He lasted approximately four seconds. âHe said I love you,â Sunoo said. âIn front of everyone. At a football match. After dedicating a goal to you.â
âI know. I was there.â
âThatâs the most romantic thing Iâve ever witnessed in person.â
âSunooââ
âI might cry.â
âPlease donât.â
âIâm not crying,â he said, in the voice of someone crying. âIâm just â Iâm so proud of both of you.â
âWeâve been idiots for three months.â
âYeah but you got there.â He bumped your shoulder with his. âYou got there.â You walked out of the stadium and into the cold February night, and somewhere behind you the floodlights were still burning bright against the dark, and you were smiling so hard it hurt, and you didnât mind at all.
â
The after party was at the soccer house. Of course it was â it was always the soccer house, the default venue for celebration and commiseration alike, the place that had started all of this four months ago with a spilled drink and a fresh cup and a boy with a smirk that had no business being that effective.
You thought about that sometimes. The specific geometry of it. How much had pivoted on a drunk idiot walking into you at a party and Jake Sim appearing at your elbow with a replacement drink like heâd been waiting for an excuse.
Tonight felt like a different universe from that night. Same house. Same bass through the walls. Same red cups and warm bodies and the compressed energy of a team that had won and intended to celebrate the fact comprehensively.
But different. Everything is different.
Jake found you approximately thirty seconds after you walked in. âHey,â he said, close to your ear over the noise.
âHey.â You turned slightly. He was right there â closer than the party strictly required, close enough that the hand at your back felt like a statement rather than a navigation tool. âFast shower.â
âMotivated.â His eyes moved over your face with the warm unhurried attention that still did things to your ability to think linearly. âYou lookââ
âDonât,â you said.
âI was going to say cold. You look cold.â
âYou were not going to say cold.â
The corner of his mouth curved. âNo,â he agreed. âI wasnât.â
He steered you further into the party with that hand still at your back â not urgently, just present, guiding rather than pushing â and you let him, because the alternative was pretending you objected and youâd run out of energy for pretending things.
Heeseung found you both near the kitchen, drink already in hand, and looked at you together with the expression of a man whose investment had paid off. âGood match,â you told him.
âThanks for coming,â he said. Meaning something more than the match.
âThanks for asking,â you said. Meaning the same. He nodded once, satisfied, and that was the entirety of the conversation required.
Jake handed you a drink â something cold, something that tasted of fruit and went down easy â and kept himself close for the rest of the evening in the particular way of someone who had decided on a thing and was done being ambiguous about it. His shoulder against yours. His hand finding yours when the crowd pressed in. Turning toward you when something happened worth reacting to, sharing the reaction with you first before anyone else.
Like you were the person he was with. Because you were. That was still new enough to feel like something. New enough that you caught yourself registering it â the warmth of it, the specific settled feeling of being someoneâs person and knowing it â and having to do something deliberate with your face so it didnât show too obviously.
It showed anyway.
Sunoo caught your eye from across the room and made a face that communicated immense personal satisfaction. You looked away pointedly. He laughed â low and private, just for you â and his hand found the small of your back again and stayed there, and you thought: oh. so this is what itâs supposed to feel like. Not the version youâd been managing and second-guessing and calibrating for months. Just â this. Easy and warm and certain.
It was past midnight when you drifted away from the main room. Jake tilted his head toward the stairs. You nodded. He took your hand.
His room was exactly as youâd left it.
String lights above the headboard. The chair with the permanent jacket. Books in actual order. The photo strip in the mirror frame, him and Heeseung, grinning.
He closed the door and the party noise dropped to something distant and manageable, just the thump of bass through the floor, and the room settled into its amber warmth around you both.
You looked at each other. And then â because apparently this was what happened when months of tension finally resolved themselves â you both started laughing at the same time.
The absurdity of how long it had taken. The fact that you were standing here, finally, after all of it, and it felt less like a dramatic conclusion and more like coming home to somewhere youâd always been supposed to be. âWhat?â he said, laughing too, hands finding your waist.
âNothing.â You were already shaking your head. âEverything. I donât know.â
âFour months,â he said.
âFour months of you being an absolute nightmare.â
âMe? You were equallyââ
âI was delightful,â you said. âI was a delight the entire time.â
âYou told me I was insufferable within the first week.â
âYou were insufferable within the first week!â
âYouâre insufferable right now,â he said, and kissed you.
It dissolved the argument immediately, which was probably his intention, and you went with it â hands finding his chest, fingers curling into the grey hoodie, kissing him back with the specific ease of someone who had been wanting to do this without any asterisks attached for longer than theyâd admitted.
He broke away, slightly breathless, eyes warm. âHi,â he said.
âHi,â you said back. You kissed him again.
He made a sound against your mouth that was half protest and entirely something else, and his hands slid from your waist to your hips with the familiar confidence that still managed to make your breath catch regardless of how many times it had happened. You walked him backward without breaking the kiss until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sat, and then you were standing over him, and something shifted in the air between you.
He looked up at you. The string lights caught his face â warm and amber and completely open, none of the careful management he usually wore, just him looking up at you like you were something heâd been trying to find the right words for and had finally given up on words entirely. âHi,â he said again, softer.
âYou already said that.â
âWorth repeating.â His hands were at your hips, light, letting you set the terms. âCome here.â
Everything felt slower â the unhurried quality of people who werenât going anywhere and knew it, who had the whole night and no reason to rush any of it. You kissed him for a long time in the amber light, sitting across his lap, his hands moving with a patience that was its own specific thing, and at some point he said something against your jaw that made you laugh again and you had to pull back to do it properly. âWhat?â He was laughing too, looking up at you.
âNothing, youâre justââ You shook your head. âYouâre actually the worst.â
âThe worst,â he repeated, in the tone of someone not offended at all.
âThe absolute worst.â You were smiling so hard it hurt. âI canât believe I â four months. I wasted four months.â
âWe wasted four months.â
âYou wasted more of it.â
âDebatable.â
âJakeââ
âDebatable,â he said, and pulled you back down.
His shirt came off, you pushed it up and he helped, the easy teamwork of people whoâd done this before but were discovering it felt entirely different when the rest of it was different too. You pressed your hands to his chest, feeling the warmth of him, and he let you â let you look, let you take your time, watching your face with dark eyes and an expression that was fond and wanting in equal measure.
You pushed him back against the mattress. He went willingly, laughing quietly, catching your hands as you followed him down and lacing his fingers through yours against the pillow beside his head. He looked up at you in the amber light â properly looked, the way he did everything that mattered to him, with his whole attention â and the laughter settled into something warmer underneath.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he said. Simply. Like heâd been thinking it for a long time and had run out of reasons to keep it in.
Your breath caught. âDonât say things like that,â you managed.
âWhy not?â
âBecause itâsââ You didnât finish the sentence.
âBecause itâs true?â He squeezed your hands. âGet used to it.â
You kissed him so you didnât have to answer that, and he kissed you back and freed his hands from yours and they went everywhere â your waist, your back, the hem of your top â and you let him pull it over your head because the alternative was being sensible and you were done with sensible for the evening. He looked at you. âGod,â he breathed.
âYouâve seen me before,â you said.
âI know.â His hands traced the lines of you slowly, reverently, like he was relearning something. âDoesnât matter.â
âIt doesnât?â
âNope.â He sat up, pressing his mouth to your collarbone, your shoulder, the curve of your neck. âCould look at you every day and it wouldnât matter.â
Your bra followed â unfastened with the same deft ease that had told you something about him the first night, except this time he pressed his lips to your shoulder after, unhurried, before his mouth moved lower. Tongue circling, warm and deliberate, drawing sounds from you that youâd stopped trying to suppress approximately thirty seconds ago. âJakeââ
âMm.â Not stopping. Clearly not planning to.
âWe have all night,â you said breathlessly.
He pulled back to look at you. âI know.â His eyes were dark, entirely certain. âThatâs why Iâm taking my time.â
He laid you back against the navy sheets. And then â instead of moving up your body, instead of doing any of the things the usual choreography suggested â he kissed down your stomach. Slowly. His hands spreading across your hips, holding you still with a gentle pressure that was entirely at odds with the deliberateness of his mouth. âJake.â His name came out unsteady.
âIs this okay?â The question, gentle and direct, did more damage than anything physical could have.
âYes,â you said. âObviously yes.â
He smiled against your skin. âGood.â
He took his time, unhurried and thorough, like this was something heâd been thinking about doing properly and had no intention of rushing. His mouth against you was devastating in the way of someone who was paying attention â reading every sound you made, every shift of your hips, adjusting without being asked, finding the things that made you gasp and returning to them with a focus that was almost scientific and completely catastrophic.
His hands held your thighs open when they tried to close. âStay,â he said.
âI know.â He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. âThatâs the point.â
You grabbed his hair. He groaned against you â low and genuine, the vibration of it rippling through you â and worked you harder for it, tongue relentless, until your back arched off the mattress and you said his name the way youâd been trying not to and the orgasm crested and broke through you in long rolling waves that left you shaking and boneless and staring at the string lights above the headboard. He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh and moved back up beside you. Looked at your face. âOkay?â he said.
âI donât know what I am,â you managed.
He grinned â the real one, dimples and everything. âGood.â
âDonât be smug about it.â
âLittle bit smug.â
âJakeââ
âVery small amount of smug,â he said, and kissed your temple.
You pushed weakly at his shoulder. He caught your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles, which was so unexpectedly soft that it undid you more than anything else had. âYour turn,â you said, when you could form sentences again.
Something shifted in his expression. âYeah?â
âYeah.â You sat up, nudging him back. âLie down.â
He went easily and immediately, settling against the pillow and looking up at you with dark eyes and the particular quality of someone who was trying to look unbothered and not entirely succeeding. You got his jeans open. You pushed them down with his help, his boxers following, and he was â god. Still the same. Still enough to make your brain skip like a record, thick and heavy and entirely real.
You wrapped your hand around him.
He made a sound â rough and helpless, head pressing back against the pillow, hips jerking slightly before he caught himself. âSorry,â he breathed, like the loss of control embarrassed him.
âDonât apologise,â you said. âThat was the goal.â He laughed â short and wrecked â and you stroked him slowly, deliberately, learning the sounds he made the way heâd learned yours. He was less composed than youâd ever seen him â jaw slack, chest rising and falling too fast, hands fisting in the sheets beside him with the effort of not grabbing you.
âYou can,â you said.
âCan what?â
âTouch me. You donât have to â youâre allowed.â
His hands found your hips immediately, like theyâd been waiting for permission.
âI was trying to beââ he started.
âYou donât have to be careful,â you said. âNot with me.â
Something cracked open in his expression. âOkay,â he said, rough and quiet. âOkay.â
You kissed him while you worked him â slow and thorough, swallowing the sounds he made, feeling him twitch and strain against your palm. He was a mess. A completely undone, entirely genuine mess, and the power of it â of being the reason for it â was something you hadnât expected and were going to be thinking about for a significant amount of time. âY/Nââ strained, desperate in a way he never was, ââpleaseââ
âPlease what?â Low. Deliberate.
His head turned to look at you, eyes dark and half-lidded. âYou know what.â
âSay it.â
A breath. The jaw tightening. Then: âI want you. Please.â
The please undid you. You reached for the nightstand â his nightstand, the drawer you knew â and he watched you with barely contained patience, hands still at your hips, as you took care of things and moved over him. You looked down at him. He looked up at you. The string lights warm above you both. âHi,â he said softly. For the third time. Like it was the only word that kept making sense.
âHi,â you said back. And then you sank down onto him â slow, achingly slow, taking him inch by inch until you were fully seated and you both made the same sound simultaneously and then looked at each other and laughed, which dissolved the last of the tension entirely, leaving something better underneath.
âOkay?â he managed.
âVery okay.â You shifted experimentally and watched his eyes flutter. âYou?â
âGive me a second,â he said, voice completely wrecked. âJust â give me a second.â You waited. His hands on your hips were shaking slightly, which you were committing to permanent memory. âOkay,â he said. âOkay. Move. Please. Please move.â You did. The rhythm you found was deep and unhurried at first â long and rolling, his hands at your hips guiding without controlling, his head pressed back against the pillow with his eyes half-closed and his lips parted and every sound he made completely unguarded â just him, genuinely him, making sounds that heâd never let you hear before because before it had always been about something else.
âYou feelââ he started, then lost the sentence. âYou have no idea. You feelââ another lost sentence, another involuntary sound. âGod. You feel like everything.â
Your rhythm shifted â faster, deeper â and he groaned, low and helpless, fingers pressing bruises into your hips that youâd check for tomorrow with quiet satisfaction. âLook at you,â you said softly.
His eyes opened. Found yours. âWhat?â Breathless.
âLook at you,â you said again, not unkindly. âJake Sim, completely wrecked.â
Something moved through his expression â embarrassed and wanting and so genuinely fond it made your chest ache. âYeah,â he said. âYour fault entirely.â
âI know.â You leaned down, pressing your mouth to his jaw, his throat. âGood.â He laughed â broken, beautiful â and his hand slid up your spine and then into your hair and he kissed you, messy and desperate, hips rolling up to meet yours in a way that suggested the patience was running its natural course.
âIâve got you,â you murmured against his mouth. The same words heâd said to you. His own words back to him. He made a sound that wasnât a word. His hands tightened. âIâve got you,â you said again. âLet go.â
He came apart beautifully. There was no other word for it â the way it moved through him, the sounds he made, the complete and total absence of the careful composure that was usually so constant it had become part of how you understood him. His whole body shuddered, your name in his mouth like a prayer, hands gripping you like you were the only steady thing in the room.
You followed moments after â the angle, the depth, the sound of him saying your name over and over â and collapsed against his chest while the aftershocks rolled through you both in long slow waves.
The room was very quiet. Just breathing. His heartbeat under your cheek, fast and then slower, slower. His hand moving up your back â the absent unconscious stroke that youâd catalogued weeks ago in a different context and were now experiencing in a considerably better one. âHi,â he said eventually. Into your hair.
You laughed. You couldnât help it. âYou keep saying that.â
âKeeps being relevant.â
You lifted your head to look at him. He was looking back â soft-eyed, thoroughly wrecked, the string lights catching his face warm and amber. âJake Sim,â you said.
âYeah?â
âYou were a complete nightmare.â
âI know.â
âFor four months.â
âMm.â
âYou owe me,â you said.
âI know that too.â His hand moved slowly up your spine. âIâm going to spend a very long time making it up to you.â
âYou better.â
âStarting now,â he said, âby letting you sleep in my bed, which is significantly more comfortable than whatever youâve got going on in your dorm.â
âMy bed is fine.â
âMy bed is better.â
âThatâsââ you started, then stopped. âThatâs probably true actually.â
He grinned. âStay.â
âI might have plans tomorrow.â
âYou donât.â
âYou donât know that.â
âSunoo texted me,â he said. âYouâre free until three.â
You stared at him. âHe texted you?â
âWeâve been in contact.â
âSince when?â
âSince approximately the Bean Bar incident when he decided I needed supervision.â He looked entirely unbothered by this. âHeâs thorough.â
âHeâs a menace,â you said.
âHe loves you,â Jake said simply. âCanât blame him.â
The word â loves â sitting there so easily, applied to Sunoo and carrying something else in its wake, something that had been said on a football pitch an hour ago and was still warm in your chest. You settled back against him. âFine,â you said. âIâll stay.â
âKnew you would.â
âDonât be smugââ
âSmall amount of smug,â he said. âTiny.â You pinched his side. He laughed, low and real and so close you felt it everywhere, and pulled you tighter against him, and the string lights did their quiet thing above you, and the party below was just a distant pulse now, entirely belonging to another world. âJake,â you said quietly. âI meant it. Earlier.â A pause. âWhat I said.â His hand stilled on your back for a moment. Then resumed. Slower.
âI know,â he said. Quiet and certain. âI meant it too.â You closed your eyes. His breathing slowed. Yours did too.
And you stayed.
â
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Graduation morning was chaos. The chaos of several hundred people attempting to get dressed in formal wear simultaneously in buildings not designed for it, the campus transformed overnight into something that looked like a different institution â families everywhere, cameras, the strange formality of a day that was supposed to mark something.
Sunoo found you outside the robing room. He was already in his gown, which he was wearing with the energy of someone born for ceremony, and he looked at you with the expression heâd been perfecting for six months â the one that said I told you so without requiring words.
âIâm just looking at you,â he said. He adjusted your hood with the care of someone who had opinions about academic dress. âWhereâs Jake?â
âRobing with the rest of his cohort.â
âAnd after?â
âPhotos. Family stuff.â You checked your phone. Nothing yet, which meant he was still in the middle of it. âWe said weâd find each other after the ceremony.â
Sunoo nodded. Then he did the thing heâd been building to â pulled you into a hug, sudden and complete, the kind that said everything he wasnât putting into words. âHey,â you said, surprised.
âShut up,â he said, into your shoulder. âIâm having a moment.â
You hugged him back properly. âWhat kind of moment?â
âThe kind where youâve been my best friend for three years and Iâm very proud of you and also extremely happy about everything that happened this year even though I said I told you so too many times.â
âYou did say it too many times.â
âI was right too many times. It evens out.â He pulled back, straightening his gown with dignity. âOkay. Done. Letâs go graduate.â
The ceremony was long in the way all ceremonies were long â beautiful and tedious in equal measure, the speeches good and then slightly too long, the music swelling at the right moments, the procession of names building into something that felt cumulative and significant by the time it reached yours.
You walked across the stage. Shook the hand. Took the scroll. Smiled at the camera. And somewhere in the crowd â you didnât know where, couldnât see him from up there â Jake was watching.
You found each other on the lawn outside the main hall.
The way you always found each other. He came through the crowd in his gown, cap slightly crooked, and stopped when he saw you.
Then he crossed the remaining distance and kissed you â right there, in the middle of the graduating class of the year and their assembled families, completely unconcerned with any of it. You kissed him back.
When you pulled back Jakeâs cap had gone further crooked from where your hands had gone without deciding to, and you straightened it without being asked and he watched you do it with that expression â the warm certain one, the one that had started as something you catalogued and become something you depended on. âHi,â he said.
âHi.â You smoothed his lapel. âYou graduated.â
âSo did you.â
âFour years of work.â
âWorth it,â he said. Not about the degree.
You rolled your eyes. âSo smug.â
âSmall amountââ
âYour familyâs waiting,â You fixed his collar.
âI know.â He caught your hand when you moved to step back. Held it. âCome with me.â
âTo your family?â
âTheyâve been asking about you for a while.â He was already pulling you gently in the direction of the small cluster of people you could see waiting at the edge of the lawn â his mother, unmistakably, with his eyes and his stubborn jaw, already looking over with an expression that had clearly located you and was happy about it. âMy mumâs going to love you.â
âJakeââ
âShe already loves you. Iâve talked about you too much for her not to.â He glanced sideways, and the smirk was there but something warmer underneath it. âCome on. Meet my family. Then we go figure out which boxes are going where in our flat.â
Our flat. Two words. Simple and enormous. âYouâre very bossy,â you said.
âYou love it.â
You did. That was the unbearable thing â you genuinely did. âFine,â you said. âLead the way.â
He did, hand in yours, through the crowd of graduates and families and cameras and the general magnificent chaos of a day designed to mark beginnings while pretending to mark endings.
That evening, after the family dinner and the champagne and Heeseungâs toast that had been genuinely touching until the last line which had been genuinely roasting â to Jake, who finally stopped being an idiot, and to Y/N, who had the patience to wait for it â you ended up on the floor of Jakeâs room, surrounded by the preliminary chaos of packing â boxes half-filled, books in unstable stacks, the accumulated debris of an academic year being sorted into keep and donate and why do I own this.
Jake held up a mug. Novelty, slightly chipped, with a slogan that had faded to illegibility. âKeep or donate?â
âWhat does it say?â
He squinted. âI genuinely canât tell anymore.â
âDonate.â Into the box.
You held up a textbook â three years old, spine cracked, covered in his handwriting in the margins. âKeep?â
He looked at it. âYeah. Yeah, keep.â You set it in the keep pile, which was considerably larger than the donate pile, which was something you were choosing not to comment on yet. There would be time to have opinions about his keeping habits once you were living together and sharing storage space.
That thought landed quietly. Once you were living together. Jake looked at you across the half-packed boxes. Heâd clearly caught something in your expression. âWhat?â he said.
âNothing.â You picked up another book. âJust â this is real.â
âIt is.â
âThe flat is real. Weâre packing. Soon weâre going to wake up in the same place every day andââ
âAnd drink coffee,â he said. âAnd argue about whose turn it is to do things. And youâre going to steal my hoodies and call it borrowingââ
âI do borrow themââ
âAnd Iâm going to know exactly where you are all the time,â he continued, over you, âwhich is going to be significantly better than the alternative.â He met your eyes across the boxes. âEvery day. Thatâs what I want. Every ordinary day of it.â
You looked at him. Jake Sim on the floor of his room surrounded by moving boxes, in the hoodie heâd been wearing since the ceremony, completely earnest in the way he only was when heâd decided something mattered enough to say plainly. âYouâre a lot,â you said.
âYou love it,â he said again.
And again â unbearably, specifically â you did. âI want that too.â
He reached across the boxes and took your hand. Turned it over in his. Pressed his lips to your knuckles in the way heâd been doing since the night of the match and that still, six months in, did the same thing to your chest every single time. âStarting September,â he said.
âStarting September,â you agreed. The string lights were still above the headboard, still amber and warm. The keep pile was larger than the donate pile. Sunoo had texted approximately eleven times since dinner, the last one just a string of emojis that you hadnât decoded yet.
The flat was real. September was coming.
And Jake Sim was sitting across from you on the floor of his room with your hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world, which it was â which it had been, probably, since a party in September when a drunk idiot walked into you and a boy appeared at your elbow with a replacement drink and a smirk that had no business being that effective.
series TAGLIST. @yunnieloverrr @luv444erin @jongseob1eee @bitemhoon @wvndris @cosmicsphinxclarity @simjaeyunloml @jakeswifer @luucortis @fleurenha @alicesharpx @fakeuwus @jakeycakeys @lhsthinkr @juhoonweb @hoe4hollis @nishimuresss @abyssalthornkey @iris2311 @nrkjywglazer @irisevrse @evanlslover @oopshee (probs more people to tag but itâs late and Iâm tired so Iâm sorry but pms enjoy this!)
when you're always invisible, it's hard to believe you're seen.
wc: 16.9k | secret stalker campus boy jake! x quiet girl y/n! mutual obsession. dark romance. yearning. written + smau bits! jake is filthy. y/n likes it. choking, kissing, spanking, biting, filming, groping, munching, fucking, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, manhandling, dirty talking. bros just inlove yk? also not proof read cos typos add character trust.
you don't consider it stalking.
stalking implies recklessness. obsession without discipline. messy footprints left behind.
you are not messy.
you just pay attention.
you know that jake sim prefers the left side of the lecture hall because the sunlight doesn't hit his screen. you know he cracks his knuckles before exams. you know he drinks caramel iced coffee with oat milk and no whipped cream, and that he wipes condensation off the cup with his thumb before taking the first sip. you know he slows down near the crosswalk outside the gym, not because he's tired, but because that's where people tend to recognise him.
but you don't approach him there. you're not dumb. instead, you observe.
you've mapped his schedule without meaning to. tuesdays and thursdays, practice at 6:42pm. mondays he lingers after class pretending to pack slowly- something you still can't find the reason to. and fridays he checks his phone before stepping outside, probably waiting, with his foot tapping the door frame; waiting for something you still can't figure out.
but you don't reach out to him. you're not dumb. instead, you adjust. shifting your routine by minutes- not hours- you can't do hours, you have to keep appearances. so you sit three rows up in the stands during his games, close enough to see his face and his brows curl, but far enough to remain forgettable. you never cheer too loud. you don't wave, or look interested- despite watching his shoulders tense before a kick, and the way he heaves when he scores. it's all purely harmless. people watch atheletes all the time. except you remember everything.
when you first fell in love with his soft features- the first time he got injured sophomore year and didn't post for two days. you remember how he limped slightly to his right the second week of lab, how his bag swung into your hip and he muttered a sorry, kindly bowing and complimenting your bunny keychain that you bought at the market he was also at one time, and with his cute apology, he smiled- even squishing it a lil. your keychain is now attached to your hip.
you don't tell anyone this, you don't even tell sunoo how bad the crush is other than you telling him it's just a small one. yes, the sunoo- the one who somehow knows everything.
you don't tell anyone that you memorized his student id number from a shared document "just in case." you don't tell anyone that you've walked past his dorm building enough times to know which light is his- which was always strangely dimmer than the rest.
but you've never crossed the line. you've never touched his door. you've never followed him at night. you just,
hover. observe, stay nearby. close enough to exist in his orbit; but never close enough to follow him at night, sniff his things, or grab his attention.
sometimes you wonder what would happen if he noticed you. if he just turned around, mid-stride and looked you into your eyes directly and not past you. if he asked why your gym schedule mysteriously mirrors his. that day when it comes, knowing you have calculated it, you think youâd smile politely and say 'coincidence' with a confident smile to match your meek appearance. just the year group's high achiever and the college campus sunshine, overlapping schedules because perfection grows from the same root.
itâs familiarity. and familiarity, you tell yourself, is the safest kind of devotion.
you've never achieved this level of devotion to other crushes before, so why is it that jake stood out to you? maybe its the difference in personality, his looks, or how easy he gets it. maybe, its because he saw you differently, his eyes intensely sharpening when you first made eye contact with him, and for a split second- you believed you could be seen again. you crave for that moment. devoted to living a life so blindly that he could one day enter again.
these recent days, you cling onto sunoo and yunah more, puffing your cheeks out in the library after successfully completing all modules, happy for another hotpot night with them and the rest of your friends, all while he tells you all the hot goss and scolds you for being glued to the phone. so you rest your phone down on the table, pretending to act surprised about the campus drama- when you've heard it several times through different accounts.
you stare at the time, zoning out. 8:46pm- your mind immediately goes to jake wrapping up his practice on the field, probably washing up and saying bye to his usual fieldmates, jungwon and jay. you narrate his whole routine in his mind.
he drives on wednesdays, so-
"oi." sunoo pushes ur shoulder. "finish your tea! i bought it just for you." he huffs, and you break a smile. sipping it mockingly in front of him who rolls his eyes. he then lights up again, "oh yeah! forgot to mention-" he pauses looking around in the local restaurant for other campus goers before looking at you again. "your little crush jake?" he bites his lip, "i think he has a thing with another girl, she's in physics 119. like you. 'jina'? ring a bell?" he scowls, "it better be a rumour, i swear he has a thing with every girl he sits nexts to." "he doesn't even talk much besides smiling and answering questions." yunah rolls his eyes. you sit there, laughing along. when in reality, jealousy boils within you. "its always the girl that initiates the talk, does he think high of himself?" sunoo hisses his lips. no. he's too humble. "nah he seems only the type to get what he wants and leaves." no, he'd never. but nevertheless, you respond; "i wonder who the lucky girl is." mundanely, causing a sympathetic chuckle to escape their mouths.
walking home on campus grounds in that dead of night, you slumped your shoulders. eyes pounding to the thought of waking early, just to secure the spot you want in chem. head hurting at the thought of someone else taking it, or worse, him not being there at all.
why couldn't it have been me? am i.. not pretty enough? am i not.. visible enough?
you shake your head, settling down your things before checking the college class portal's syllabus.
PROJECT: BOND_ASSIGNMENT A3_PAIRS_NAMES.slx
The project pairings will be announced randomly this Thursday afternoon if you haven't put your name aside on excel!
youâre already aware of the possibility before the professor puts you with another foreign exchange student again. reliable, class rep energy. you stay quiet mostly, but speak your truth and opinion in elegance. you're respected, cute, pretty, but never enough to be chosen by another classmate. you sigh again, before checking the class roster after your shower. refreshed it twice. memorized the alphabetical sequence. calculated where your name would fall if the pairs were random. you delete your name on the spreadsheet, knowing you'd probably be paired with another helpless student.
and then the page froze. another anonymous student checking the spreadsheet. 2:11am. it overwrites, but you quickly close the tab just incase someone catches your initials snooping around jake's name.
so you close your eyes. wishing the days go by faster to unknot the clouded jealousy of him being paired with another clueless girl.
the next morning, you arrive to class exactly three minutes early. to sit on your favourite spot. you always do. except, the class has been rearranged, desks put together in pairs rather than seperate, and some being occupied already by books and drinks. jake is already there. thatâs new. he doesnât usually arrive before the professor. heâs sitting in your row. not the front. not the back. your row. he looks up when you walk in, you don't meet his eye, your hands feel clammy. cold, your hair falls across your ear and into your view, you smile as a confident greeting. masking the heartbeat hastening your very body. he clears his throat, and he smiles like this is coincidence. you take your usual seat, pulling out your usual pen and journal, fixing the strap of your bag and unlocking your ipad.
it's no one else in the damn room besides you and him. and your mind cannot compensate for the speed of thoughts rushing in. you feel his eyes, hover. waver between you and the board that projected the college's isignia. he clears his throat- something you know all too well he does before he speaks, and so you bite the inside of your cheek- internally panicking.
âdid you check the roster?â he asks casually.
did i.. accidentally change something last night? you panic.
your stomach dips. âyeah.â
did i sound too casual?
âlate night,â he adds.
WHAT?
you freeze for half a second. âwhat?â
did somebody see me lurking?
âit updated at 2:11.â
your pulse stutters. you didnât mention the time. you didnât mention you saw it update. you didnât mention anything. you look at him carefully. heâs twirling his pen. calm. "oh. proffessor worked overtime. typical." you comment, before looking down at your phone, absent minded.
"yeah." he replies. a wave of silence following. "im your project partner.. by the way. i-um.. checked the spreadsheet." he casually adds.
"oh." your eyebrow perks up. you can't help it. you take your time to turn to him. pulse steadying. you must keep appearances. your keychain on your bag jingles when you turn to face his shaggy hair. fuck,
heâs closer than you expected.
not leaning in. not invading your space. just sitting there like heâs always been that distance from you. like this isnât new. those occasional blocky glasses he wears perched on that high nose-bridge you wished you could feel, and his hands, gripping the edge of his table. like he's ready to leap on the empty desk right next to you. "okay." you remind yourself to polietly reply to his comment. all while half your brain is trying to figure out if the professor really did put your name back in- or if-
âguess that makes this easier,â he says lightly, tapping his pen against his notebook. âno awkward introductions.â awkward? he think's i'm not awkward. good.
âi donât think weâve ever talked,â you reply, watching his face carefully. before watching the people pile in, saying hi to jake and you. his lips curve faintly. ânot directly.â your pulse skips.
not directly.
âi mean,â he corrects smoothly, eyes turning to the professor settle down his bag and wave the cursor around, âweâve had the same classes for two years.â you fakely chuckle, "right. true." you say, before being quiet. listening to the faint murmur of classmates talking about their partners. you failed to calculate the possibilities of someone putting your name back into the excel. or maybe you hit control z- either way- you thanked whoever put your name to the empty slot next to his name.
"i thought it was gonna be randomised." you bring up, to which you see jake shrug, bringing his bag next to you. cologne wading into your presence. "i think the professor changed his mind. typical." he mocks your tone. banter, something you have analysed is his friendly attribute of his.
he's talking to me.
you exhale as a laugh, slightly moving away as you open up your macbook, lowering your brightness. and while he looks away, you delete your notes. you delete his contact number, you delete everything including the evidence that you were on excel. you wanted to remain calm. and you did so by acting like you're not fond of his cute remarks.
the class lecture about the syllabus made your eyes roll. stupid easy investigation that can be done in two days. you wished it was harder, something that you could even imagine going to his place for-
"should we exchange numbers?" jake perks at you, whipping around with a casual smile, eager for your own casual reply. "s-sure." you answer, bringing your phone up, acting busy while he unlocks his. his fingers start tapping on his screen. "also, should we meet up soon? maybe next friday?"
next thursday. doable for you, very. but you know his schedule all too well, there's absolutely no way on friday's that he's free.
"i'm free all day." he smiles, again. a slight dimple carved from his jaw and chin compliments his puppy eyes. you blink several times, nodding to him politely, smiling back. "oh really?" "really."
"i thought a guy like you would be usually booked." you bring up, chuckling. sly. lying. joking about his apparent popularity, when in reality, you wanna know why his schedule is suddenly free for record-keeping.
"nah, i care about my grades too." he says, eyes too intense- feeling as though he's measuring your reaction. "that's new." you tease lightly. feeling a momentum in your conversation. "didn't think varsity boys had time for stuff like this."
his smile falters just a microsecond, small, controlled. you've never seen that expression before. his eyes fall between you and your phone. "i make time for what matters."
the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. you look down at your phone instead of answering. phone buzzing.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
you blink- slowly raising your eyes to him. he's still holding his phone, but it's already back on the table. quick. you understimated him. "fast fingers?" you ask lightly. he tilts his head. "what?"
"you texted before i even saved yours." you comment, and you find that unfamiliar expression reside on his face for the second time- eyes fluttering. he chuckles loosely, shaking his head. "did i? maybe i just type fast." looking down at your lockscreen- "you like pink? cute."
cute.
pull yourself together.
you try to replay the moment in your head: handing him your phone- which honestly you don't recall, and him typing his number in. strange- but nonetheless, you are thrilled. officially having his number (with consent) is enough for you. "right." you smile again. the class officially starts with no extra comments made towards the excel, the professor- who seemed hyper for someone who had supposedly tampered with the excel early in the am- had adjourned the class early, gifting everyone an hour early schedule to their day. you watch as people pile their things and go, talking to their friends and newly found partners- in which you expect jake to trail after. you never dared to leave before him, so you hesitate packing, double checking your work as a means to act busy.
"so uh-" jake clears his throat. he hasn't left, which was new. you turn to face him, and his eyes trail to yours. looking at both before looking away. "library next week? 10am?" he asks. blocky glasses sliding off his nose bridge, packed away into his bag.
your mind spikes. thrill. heat rushing to your ears. study date. you try not to delude- i mean it's not a date- but-.. study date. your mind wanders. another thought quickly catches. you're always in the library at 10am regardless. perfect fit. "sure!" you perk back, beaming in a friendly sense, keeping your demeanour at a 'casual' level. you end up ultimately choosing to leave as jake's body refuses to move. you wonder why, but shake it off as you finally rise from your table. you feel a chill down your spine- something you feel uncommonly as you're getting up and swishing your bags between the narrow desks. you tilt your lips upward and wave to him before the frosted glass hides you; and your smile drops- something dark within you coiling as you pace down the stairs.
jake cares about his grades.
jake's a smooth talker.
jake blinks slowly when he doesn't understand a concept.
jake uses the smile emoticon- especially to women - and you gag at the thought of him flirting with that fling of a girl in physics 119.
and he's more.. secretive than i thought. charming.
you like him even more. exiting the building, you find yourself smiling, unbeknownst to the figure that watches you from the classroom- smiling back.
you made sure you'd be there at 10am, whether or not you were losing sleep to the thought of him waiting for you. you chose to skip your usual routine of buying vending machine tea, to rather fix your hair and choose perfume- all nothing but a calculated thought to present yourself well before he arrives- but to your dismay, you find his dark chocolate hair, glistening under the soft morning sunlight, his head resting on his palm as he scrolls through his phone, bag under his chin on the desk. your favourite spot. window table, the one that's quieter from the rest- booked under his name, vacant for you to sit at; and worse? two drinks on the table.
your heart pounds. no woman is ever allowed to deserve this. you believe. the way he doesn't know you- and yet..
jake is a kind and hardworking man. and you smile of the thought of him getting ready for you. only you.
"h-hi." you open the glass door and he shoots up. "morning!" he smiles, pushing you a drink. you can't tell what it is by its paper silhouette. you stare at it. i can't accept this- you think. "i-i don't drink coffee at this time, sorry- i-i prefer te-" "it's tea." he cuts you off, turning it around so the label faces you. "green tea." he says, to be exact. "oh!" you genuinely become surprised. your favourite brand, smiling back at you- internally bringing you joy. "glad you like it. it was my lucky guess." he comments, before opening his laptop, bouncing his knee. "thank you." you mumble, opening your contents before turning to him. "shall we get started?"
studying and relearning content was a breeze to you- and it felt even easier when jake nods to your voice- utterly submissioned to your delegated tasks you asked for him to do- all while you secretly watched in the corner of your eye the way he grips his pen with his fingers, and his palm grazing his keyboard. the way he only ever uses those glasses around you and his lip bites when he's puzzled- all you could do was imagine those fingers splayed across your body while you bit the inside of your cheek and smiled the pain away.
pull yourself together.
"is this right?" he leans in, chain swishing against his hoodie before he swivels his chair closer to you. you don't even pay attention to his damn formula (which you know is wrong) and his morning rasp seeping out of the tiny vocal cracks in his voice; while his beady eyes look for a steady nod of validation. "it's okay." you assure him. you look at the time. 11:42am. another class waiting for you under the sea of schedules you were entitled to today.
"is it time already?" he brings up the time after watching you fondle with your watch. "soon, yeah. let's smash this practice investigation out- okay?" you politely exhale, averting your eyes away from his hardened ones staring back at you. intense. you feel again. the same weight of staring like the first time he saw you- but this time, you're afraid to face it. 8 minutes pass and you try to wrap things up. he doesn't seem to say anything besides looking at your bunny keychain and fondling with his notepad. "same time next week?" you try to casually initate another time- this time you want to savour his presence more.
"sure!" he smiles up at you again. "what class do you have next?"
"physics. 119." you flatten your lips. straightening your books before placing them neatly into your bag. he hums, nodding away. "in the same class as her. right." he mumbles but you catch it. your eyes can't help but slightly squint at the thought of him thinking about her. so you leave, muttering a quick goodbye while you push away the doors.
"fucking hell." you grumble. you stay apparent, on the lines, respectable- and yet someone who's completely nowhere on his radar gets to just have his attention just like that? unfair. unfair. unfair. you repeat those words until you reach the doors of your next tutorial. blanking out to the words and equations mashing together.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
you flinch at jake's notification at night. you remember how often his dim dorm lights were always on- but you never imagined he'd be studying past practice hours- for all you remember, he only stayed up late like that twice the past year, but nonetheless, your sources cannot just be trusted from someone who observes from the peripheral distance. maybe this was a sign for you to step further. you pocket sunoo's message into the back of your mind, insisting on helping jake in the back of the class while he messages back his dumb keyboard emojis and thank yous.
you feel.. loved.
though you know this isn't what it is- you feel like an ounce of your hardwork is being paid by incriments, and you hate to think that maybe you could end up being close to him. you love it. you love his messages- the way you could picture his heavy lidded eyes lifting just to think of messaging you late at night- it makes you so fucking heated.
he thinks of me.
but this level of seeking is probably never gonna end in the way that you want.
after sunooâs offhand comment that jake never lets anyone in his room and barely lets people get close, something inside you twists, not in fear but in fascination. the idea that jake, who is warm and casual and almost flirty with you during your project sessions, is cold and distant with everyone else makes every moment with him feel rare and deliberate.
instead of scaring you, it settles into your chest like a quiet privilege. you start watching him more closely during your meet-ups, noticing how his posture loosens when he sits beside you, how his voice softens when he asks a question, how he looks at you like you are familiar rather than temporary. you find yourself in the same laundry aisle three minutes after him, buying the same softener he uses. you smile more when he notices the similarities you seem to fabricate.
he does not resemble the closed-off version sunoo described, and the contrast sends a new kind of confidence blooming through you. you stop rehearsing everything you plan to say. you tease him lightly when he misreads a formula. you hold his gaze a little longer just to test him, to see what he will do. he notices every time. he always meets your eyes, always gives a small amused smile, always reacts in a way that feels intentional, like he is matching your energy by choice and not by accident. with each meeting, he lets you a little further in; and you start to feel chosen, special, almost intoxicated on the version of him that exists only when you are near. it does not matter that what you have learned about him should make you cautious. if anything, you are the binding evidence that defends his whole being. instead, it makes you more curious. instead it makes you want to see what else he hides behind those closed doors. it makes you want to be the person he breaks his rules for.
days slip by in a way that feels almost curated; jake drifts closer without ever making it obvious, brushing your hand when he passes something to you, leaning in too close when he laughs, his breath warm against your cheek in a way that sunoo immediately narrows his eyes at. âheâs weird. not like 'quirky weird', like, somethings up with him.â sunoo mutters one afternoon after jake murmurs something low and suggestive into your ear- something harmless on the surface, something about how âyou look better when youâre focused on me instead of the notes,â but his tone leaves your knees weak. you pretend not to care, pretend not to replay the moment in your head hours later, but when you get home that night the memory crawls under your skin, settling exactly where your fingers start to slip beneath your waistband. youâre just starting to let yourself sink into the thought of him- the way he looks at you, the way he stands too close, the sound of his voice when he says your name.
fuck. you're wet at the thought of his honey voice and supple lips. the image of his fingers reaching for your hand and your work- fuck.
"you look better when you're focused on me instead of the notes." you imagine his voice, moaning against your core- or worse, looking down at you when you sink into his cock. you palm your core, fingers pressed against your clit as they tent up under your waist band, and you circle slow. you haven't had time to touch yourself- especially recently when every time given the opportunity, notifs pop up, or lights tend to flicker past your window. and even, on some occasions, he messages you while you rub to the thought of him. you can't afford to lose a quick release of your inner stress and fixations- especially after what he said to you. "focus on me-" fuck. you groan at the feeling of finally being able to reward yourself.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
fuck!
when your phone buzzes violently against your sheets, you instantly let go of your core. jake. calling. itâs past midnight. your breath catches, embarrassment lightning-hot across your face, because how does he always do this? how does he always interrupt you at the exact second youâre thinking about him, wanting him? you'd never. never. complain about this but, you were so close to cumming it hurts. you debate letting it ring, but curiosity wins, and when you pick up, heâs already breathing hard on the other end like heâs been running or pacing. âh-hey,â he whispers, voice strained, intimate in a way that shoots straight to your gut. you sit up quickly, heart pounding. âjake? are you okay?â he laughs softly, breath shuddering through the speaker, low and knowing. âi donât know,â he murmurs, âsorry- i don't kn.. you were bus- i mean, were you busy?â your whole body freezes. you look frantically at your phone, hearing his shallow breathing. you swallow, suddenly aware of your shaking fingers, that same rhythm and tone you feel yourself to. fuck. it's too perfect- the way he slips into your night at the exact moment your guard falls. âno,â you lie, voice barely steady. his exhale deepens, satisfied. âgood,â he says, like he already knew the answer anyway. âi just⊠needed to hear you.â
"hear me?" "i-i'm stressed. about tomorrow. our review. and the away game i have later that night... f-fuck." his breath is shaky. and you genuinely believe it may be anxiety rushing to his throat. but fuck, the way he swore under his breath against your phone? the way he's breathing like.. no. you can't think like this. you're slipping. slipping control. slipping the devotion of staying borderline on the edges of obsession. but your fingers slowly sink back down, rimming the edge of your panties.
perfect sunshine, stressed enough to call you. hm, if you would, you'd fuck that stress out of him.
"it's gonna be okay, jake.." you whisper, and you feel a shift, like linen shuffling over his mic. is he in bed? you wonder. he should be. he's got practice early in the morning, and sooner he'll be in class with you. "it's late. we should just end-"
"no!" he shudders. "i mean, no," he inhales, voice vibrating like he's holding back a groan. it makes you wetter by the milisecond. this feels right. you lie to yourself, pathetic, the way you're running your fingers down your folds while you hear his breath stutter over his silly thoughts. but it's perfect. stars aligning- just for you.
jake wants to stay in call with me. is all the news you can muster from his response. and you can't help but get off to it.
"you there? y/n?" jake calls out to you, "please.. say something." "hn-" you bite back a moan. "j-jake," you mildly whisper. and you hear the shifting of his sheets on the others side. "why.. are you calling me?" you ask quietly. then, softer, "of all people?"
"what do you mean, of all people?" he holds his breath, you can feel it through the phone. "you have friends- teammates.. girls." you stop, "i'm not exactly your first point of contact."
"f-fuck." you hear faintly. muffled like he covered his mouth. was that a whimper? "'cos you always seem to answer," he inhales. "everything. you always answer everything. even to others."
even to others? like your friends? and classmates..? now that you think about it, what does he know of you? "oh." you reply, trying to shift the awkward tension. "you seem to be out of breath." you whisper-talk, "did you.. run?" jake never goes on runs, even when advised to. he hates cardio. "...yes." he confidently says, but part of you, feels like he's lying. the same gut feeling you get when he loses composure, even for half a second. there's a silence that hangs for a few.
"about chem.. you'll be okay. trust me. we'll pull through." you reassure him, fingers still resting ontop of your core. "a-and my game..?" he asks. there it is, his breath holding back again. "if it helps, i'll be there to support you." if only he knew how much you already do that.
"really?" he exhales. "yes, jake. i'll watch you. i-if i have tim-." "say you wanna see me." bold. jake said it with no hesitation. like he shot up from his bed. "say that if you have time, you'll come see me." he softens his tone, quieter. raggedy.
"i really wanna see you play, jake. if- i.. have time." he huffs through the phone hearing your words whistle back. 'if i have time.' you replay, cautious of your reply.
because you always have time. for him. "jake?" you hasten your fingers, only hearing muffling groans and the shuffling of linen from his end. "f-fuck. hello?" you're desperate to cum to his voice, hardened by his odd nature to desperately want you. filthy. messy. you find yourself, sweat clinging to your forehead and your panties carrying the slick you keep sticking to.
"good. so f'good." you hear. your mind registers that jake is murmuring things, maybe half asleep on call with you. but your body responds to his half strong response, his voice croaking, higher, whiny at the ends of his syllables. you cum. quietly. you try to hold back a moan, but it ends up catching slightly on the mic.
shuffling, breathing. ragged breathing. "jake?" you call, pretending not to be breathless. pretending that you didn't just cum to your classmate. your new friend. your jake.
"s-sorry y/n, sweets. i fell asleep, or something." he mumbles the rest. "see you later today?"
"yes." you clear your throat. "goodnight. jake." you try to sound cold. "goodnight, y/n. thank you." guilt washes over you, and you clean and scrub until you feel pure- less creepy- less- obsessive. you don't sleep that night. i mean, who are you to blame, you practically came over and over to the sound of his panting words.
a smile creeps up. so painfully tight it cracks the corner of his lips.
3:32am.
she always has time. even if the bleachers are stained by the rain.
y/n has free time on thursdays. after physics 119. she sits nexts to jina. that stupid girl that won't let me know y/n's laptop password.
y/n always goes home. unless sunoo asks her out for hotpot.
polkadot panties on thursdays. my favourite.
sunoo is getting onto me. nuisance.
she breathes heavier when she lies. lowers her voice when embarassed.
jake smiles into his pillow, cum stained briefs sticking against his abs. "and she sounds beautiful when she tries to hide it." he whispers, staring at the dark ceiling. the array of monitors stacked like cctv brims the room with blue. pictures of you. videos. notes. your printed grades. your number written on wherever it could be read- and a stack of perfumes- ones you prefer for men, clothes bought still in their packages that suit your style for sporty guys; and stacks of glasses and accessories- just like what you stop and pause to stare at in a man; everything catered for you. everything to do with you. codes run like stopmotion in one of his monitors- and it whirs to the sound of his nails digging into his cuticles. "she picked up." he whispers, "she always picks up. good to know." he laughs. he stairs at the bottom side monitor to the left of his bed. a site pinging a glowing red dot to know that you're safely sleeping in your bed- now glowing yellow to notify low battery.
"fuck." he knits his brows. "now what?"
the morning seeps into your blinds and you're already behind. you swiftly get up- late. you don't even know how the alarm failed to go off, but you scramble, lips glossy and swiped over your lips, hair a little domesticated than your normal perfect class president appeal everyone expects from you. rushed. vulnerable. exposed. messy. messy. messy.
when you swing your bag out onto the nearest full campus bus, you squeeze between others to sit near the middle. you sit on the edge of the seat, surrounded by strangers, uneven pulse carrying you from last night. your bag strap yanks back when you feel a tug at the zip. you think it's fabric catching onto someone, or someone trying to latch on to the jerking vehicle. and because of the time, you failed to notice a familiar piece of you snapping off, tagging off and hurrying to class to find jake not even there. you didn't notice the hand that was quicker than your legs.
you sit, silently huffing. mind worrying where he might be. irritation replaces anxiety. stressed for your project review, waking up late from his call- what if it wasn't real? what if all your hard work of knowing him gone to waste after being exposed? you huff your hair out of place, straightening your pens to keep calm. five minutes pass.
then the door opens.
he steps in like he owns the room. hair slightly damp like the gym showers soaked him. hoodie half zipped. lips parted like he hurried. his eyes find you immediately.
immediately.
his apology to the professor is soft, casual. he doesn't look embarassed, he doesn't look pressured. he seems as if the call that happened last night was your imagination, that his stress- his vulnerability-was a fallacy.
he sits nexts to you like always now. regardless of the project review. you feel guilty, taking people's chances sitting next to him- but you feel the genuine urgency in him wanting to secure the spot next to you. "overslept." he mutters, voice low. croaky. just for you to hear.
your facade builds up again. yes, despite the lack in keeping appearances today, you still flatten your pink tinted lips together, rolling your eyes as your sweater bunches at your sleeves. "that's new."
he slowly grins, "i was up late." as a proof that last night was real. your throat tightens. "studying?" you ask lightly, "yeah. something like that." he adds on to your joke.
while the professor continues to meet each pair, you two sit at the back, fondling with both of your paperwork. his knee brushes yours under the desk- not moving away. he leans closer than necessary to open his notebook for the umpteenth time. his perfume wades into your air while he chuckles about your messy hair. he asks again about the examples you solved. about things he already knows.
he's performing.
for you.
and you feed into it so easily.
you correct his formula, taking the pencil from his hand. he lets you. you laugh quietly at something small. he watches your mouth when you do. he taps his pen against your notebook like he's restless, like he needs your attention anchored back at him at all times- and you gladly do. you've always, always- always, have.
you don't realise you're glowing- nor do you realise your bag feeling lighter. the professor is still occupied. still working on a few pairs a couple of rows in front of you. he tilts his head, pretending to notice something. "oh," he says casually, reaching into his hoodie pocket before you could turn around. he pulls it out. "you dropped this."
your pink bunny keychain, dangling from his slender fingers. the stitching a little tattered, but nonetheless, alive and now in the palm of your hand. your heart stutters, "i-what? when?" you mutter your thank yous. "found it on the way here." he shrugs.
you frown faintly, thumb brushing its ears. you look at it's buttoned eyes, something different points out to you. the buttoms are aligned neater, symmetrically. your eyebrows knit and your eyes stutter, convinced it was just only recently you observed. "thanks," you say again, cheeks flushed. "i didn't notice." he smiles.
of course you didn't.
he felt the old battery's weight in his hand earlier, and had pressed his thumb against the tiny seam he stitched himself weeks ago. had replaced the beeping tracker's battery with an identical plush, same thread, pink and cute just how you like it- before you even reached the bus stop. he was on campus two whole hours before you. not including practice.
you always rush when you're flustered, don't you?
you don't double check your bag around me, do you?
you trust me, don't you?
jake watches your fingers brush the bunny absentmindedly as you tuck it back into your zipper. "what would i do without you?" you say outloud, watching him chuckle, pushing his glasses back to look at you properly.
then there's that look he gives you. one you can't seem to find on others- or even from him to others; only you. the one that makes you feel visible, seen. his jaw tightens for a second. "you don't have to find out."
what does that mean? you wonder, but you shake it off. you're getting somewhere.
later down the hour, the professor ends up dismissing you and jake's investigation, saying it was unnecessary to check on high achievers. "you both know what you're doing. no need to stress. jake- your report is very good. keep it up."
you look at jake. raising a brow. there was really no need for a call last night.
you wonder, if the shaking breath and the late hour meant something real.
or maybe he wanted me on the line.
class resumes as normal- this time you leave earlier, you feel grimy, the feeling of sin still washing over you from last night. you shuffle your bag, your books, your bunny plush dangling from your shoulder. you check the time, mentally checking that jake would probably leave to go to his dorm soon. as you get up, you feel a tug at your sweater.
you turn, seeing jake, eyes crossed and wide, surprised you're leaving early. "see you at the game? tonight?" voice raspy at the ends, in the way that you know (but you can't accept) is desperation. why does he want to see you out of all people?
right. his game he practically begged tor you to watch. you can't escape it now. "o-of course. see you." you press your lips together, smiling as you casually can.
later that day, you sit in the bleachers, bag tucked between your legs, a whiny sunoo attached to your hip- teasing you for promising jake. what he doesn't know is that you've watched him several times. but you feel as if it's your first with the way you're in jake's line of sight- visible now- like you always fantasized even when you preferred being unseen. but visible now means visible forever- and visible now means- in your eyes- that jake likes you.
you watch his habits, his form, the way he squints and pants when idle, the way he laughs when his teammates slap his back. he checks his phone mid-game. smirking to himself.
what was that? you feel your stomach coil. what could possibly be more interesting for him to smirk at his phone for? was it a text?
you check social media, you snatch sunoo's phone to look at anything to do with him in any of the circles he's around. when sunoo raises a brow, he shrugs it off when he gets his phone back. what could he possibly smirk at? and why can't it be toward me.
it was obvious his team would win, and when he did, he scans the bleachers. finds you- holds eye contact for half a second too long before finally letting his teammates drag him into noise. sunoo squeezes your arm, tearing away your eye contact. "your boyfriend's starting to like you back." he jokes- half true. you blush immensely at sunoo's comment. punching his shoulder softly. jake goes back to looking at you- eyebrows furrowed at the way you look at sunoo. the way you touch him so casually. you're literally only here for his game, and jake has counted that you've given too much attention towards sunoo for more than a minute too long, while he counted in his mind that you've watched for approximately nine. sunoo's is one too many.
what could you possibly be smirking at?
the team drags him away, and you end up walking home with sunoo- texting him before the night could end.
â âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
the house is already loud before you even reach the door. bass leaking through the walls like a heartbeat, front porch crowded with bodies, laughing too hard, drinks sloshing in red cups- bodies swaying to incoherent music nobody can really hear. you shudder. sunoo drags you inside by the wrist, beaming with excitement, already greeting three people you've seen twice- passing you drinks like it was waiting for you. you down it of course, matching their vibe. the air inside was warm. thick, heavy. soiled with perfume and sweat, and the sweet burn of cheap alcohol. feeling slightly out of place, you clutch your drink, scanning the rooms instinctively even though you told yourself you wouldn't come here looking for him.
and then you see him. not directly. first you see jay- leaning near the staircase talking to jungwon, their heads close together like they're trying to hear eachother over the loud music. he catches the inkling that someone's staring, and his expression shifts when he sees the room and finds your eyes staring back. you see the way his face subtly tenses, nudging jungwon with his elbow, murmuring something you wish you could hear. now both are glancing your way; not long enough to be obvious, but long enough to make your stomach churn. and so you look away quickly, pretending you didn't notice.
sunoo has already disappeared toward the kitchen, with yunah kissing your cheek, introducing you to two girls you remember her fawning about. they pull you along easily, and soon the awkward wall crumbles. you and your girls are loud in the friendly way that makes everything feel lighter. a vision you've never dreamt about, and a colour you've newly discovered, you drink questionable things in one hand, smoke wonders with the other- and you giggle at the thought of releasing a carefree, non-pyschotic self to the world. you hug girls and clink drinks with guys, you get recognised for your quiet demeanour, high grades and pretty face. you believed you were outcasted- when all in reality, it was the sin of loving jake that held you down. someone compliments your skirt, and a few others take you with them to the living room to reside by the louder music and bad dancers.
for a little while you forget about watching- you forget about being careful. you just exist in the noise- feeling, being, existing- seen; without a prompt or person.
still, every once in a while, you feel it. that prickle at the back of your neck. the strange sensation of being looked at for longer than necessary. every now and then you catch pieces of him instead of the whole- his shoulder disappearing through the hallway, his laugh near the kitchen doorway, a flash of his hoodie- a hand reaching for a cup.
it feels like orbiting. like both of you are circling the same centre, gradually closing, without yet colliding.
at one point, a guy approaches you while you're near the couch. typical questions like the others, this time, you're more sober. asking what year you are, where abouts you live- leaning too close to your ear like they always excuse themselves to do at parties. you answer politely, smiling, lazy, skirt riding up, baby hair sticking to your neck. hair blown out and your lips pink. he says a joke that actually prompts you. you laugh, head leaning forward, engaged in the conversation while your eyes wander over his shoulder.
and that's when you see him. again.
not jake, jay.
he's back near the staircase, but this time he's not laughing. he's watching. when your eyes meet, he lifts his hand slightly like he wants you to come over- quickly, urgently. like he wants to say something to you.
and then someone bumps into you, the conversation shifts, and when you look back he's gone. you shrug it off. the party goes on for another hour, maybe more- maybe a few.
yunah is no longer to be seen after disappearing with a group upstairs. sunoo drifts toward the back patio with people you don't remember hugging. you stay near the living room with a couple of girls who start telling you stories about some professor everyone hates, and you're laughing again, warmer now, more.. relaxed.
your phone buzzes in your hand.
âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
you blink. you swear he was just here. and no, you're way sober than you think. you glance upstairs, and you don't find him. you glance toward the patio doors, expecting to spot his blonde hair- but the crowd shifts and the face sblur together, maybe he really did leave- maybe you just didn't notice.
you start typing a reply when you hear someone call your name. you look up. "y/n!" jay is pushing through the crowd toward you. not hurried exacty- but purposeful. his expression rests different up close. less amused, more- uncertain.
"hey," he calls, leaning in so you can hear him over the music. "i just wanted to t-"
his hand lifts like he's about to guide you somewhere quieter- but suddenly he's not the closest person to you anymore. a body slides between you before you even realise what had happened.
jake.
it's smooth enough that anyone else might miss it. the way his shoulder nudges jay aside- hand settling at the back of your wait like it's always been there. the movement isn't aggressive- rather, final. jay pauses, brows furrowing, softening at yours who squints in confusion. "she good?" jake smiles at jay slighty. like the interruption meant nothing. jay's jaw tightens, eyes flickering it could almost count like an eyeroll. "yeah," he mutters, glancing between you both before stepping back into the crowd. you rarely register the exchange. your attention is already caught by the warmth of jake's hand at your side. "hey," he calls, voice quieter now that he's closer. "hey.." you reply, surprised to see him pop up after all this time.
"you still here alone?"
"sunoo left apparently," you say, showing him the texts. his breath hitches when you lean in, unlocking your phone through your passcode. jake watches you press the numbers in, mumbling the numbers as you follow. he nods slowly to your complaint, like that make sense. "i did get to see him, he mentioned he might." he sheepishly replies. you frown, pouting at the ends. "to you?"
"earlier," he answers easily, "he didn't want to drag you out, especially if you're having fun." the crowd feels bigger, the bodies feel closer, and all of a sudden jakes looking down at you, his chest inches away from yours. his varsity jacket shaped his shoulders to tower yours, and his chain clinks as other people bump into him. his canines show when he turns to say hey to others- yet, his eyes still cling onto yours.
"you wanna stay?"
you hesitate. hazy. no alcohol needed when his voice dips like honey into your throat. his thumb comes up to brush a bit of hair on your face. "or," he leands down, "i can take you home." soft, croaking whisper that you swear was louder than any other music in the room.
your heart stutters, a lot.
you look at him properly, facing up where the party lights glimmer on his face for a fraction before its lost in the darkness- and then again when the light manages to catch him. the way he's watching you carefully, like your answer matters more than anything happening in the rest of the house. the party keeps moving, people enjoying their time while others don't. did i enjoy my time here? you think to yourself- but do i prefer jake to take me home?
"y-yeah.. if that's okay." you mumble into his ear, going on your tippy toes for him to shudder when he feels your hot breath and hands on him. his smile deepens, satisfied in a way you can't quite place. "perfect." he murmurs. as he guides you toward the door, his hand rests on your lower back, circling around the straps.
you don't notice jay watching from across the room.
you don't notice the way he shakes his head, walking away.
and you don't notice that sunoo never actually left the party. at all.
you try to look back once more at the front porch, but jake tugs you- clumsily. "let's get you home, missy."
the ride back is quieter than the party.
the streets are mostly empty now, campus lights stretching long across the windshield as jake drives with one hand on the wheel. the music in the car is low enough that it barely fills the silence. youâre still warm from the hovering noise of the house, from the drinks, from the way everyone had been looking at him all night and yet he circled back to you.
you sit angled slightly toward him, knees turned his way without thinking. for a while, neither of you say anything. then he glances at you briefly. hands tightening at the wheel, eyes flickering to your hand scrunched at your thighs.
âyou were having fun back there,â he says. so he's been watching?
âit was loud, haven't seen others in so long,â you reply, smiling faintly. he hums like he doesnât believe that. fingers tapping on his lap as the traffic light stays red. this is it now, you think. he ditched his practice run for my tea run. he takes me home. we barely talk about the project anymore. we talk about things he enjoys, and things i like. he's perfect.
âjay tried to talk to you earlier.â
right. your stomach flips. âyeah,â you say carefully. âhe said hi- seemed like he wanted to talk to me.â "about what?" his response was almost instant. you fumble, shrugging- "i don't know.. you? maybe?" you were genuinly unsure, blinking rapidly.
jakeâs jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. looking at the window as the gear changes quickly, jerking you forward fast. you huff at the change of velocity. âhe does that,â he says after a second. âgets in peopleâs heads.â
you watch his profile while he drives. the way his fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel. the way his shoulders are slightly tense even though the road is empty.
âwhy?â you ask softly. jake glances over. âwhy what? sweet?â
you hesitate.
âdoes.. jay like," breathe, "d-do you worry about what he's going to say?â the car goes quiet again. he exhales slowly through his nose, looking at your silhouette reflecting off his window. âthat depends on what he's gonna say.â you shrug like it doesnât matter. ânothing important, i bet.â
his eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should before returning to the road. âgood,â he murmurs. the word settles strangely in the car- silence hanging off the last word. good?
a few minutes pass.
you reach the stoplight near your dorm, and thatâs when you feel it. his hand. it settles on your thigh like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
warm. steady. your breath catches. you donât move away. instead you look down at his hand, then back at his face. âjake,â you say quietly.
âyeah?â
his thumb shifts slightly against your leg. your heart is racing now. your thighs heat up, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. this is it. your heart races. your keep your appearances, despite the fever rising between your legs. âdo you do this to everyone you drive home?â
he lets out a soft laugh. âno.â touch me more. âwhy me?â
he doesnât answer immediately. the light turns green but he doesnât move for a second. then he drives again. âyou already know why,â he says finally. your pulse jumps, yet you donât push further. by the time he pulls up outside your dorm, the tension in the car is thick enough to feel. neither of you move right away. the buzz of alcoholy bubbles within your chest, you're horny, still confident from the party- and the one you've had your eye on since ever is driving you home. and just like that, years worth of staying near his orbit led you to say this final.
âyou can come up,â you hear yourself say. you didn't expect to say this sooner, but fuck, everything just turned right the moment that damn excel spreadsheet updated. you thank fate- but all in all, you smile to yourself, guilt-free of obsession.
he looks at you for a second like heâs deciding something. hiding the way he picks at his thumb cuticle, skin pale after pressing into his own fingers. it's all going to plan.
then he nods.
âokay.â
for someone that's smart- being in love makes you forget things. like how you forgot to even mention where you live despite him driving you, and how you forget to cover your phone passcode the first time he asked for your number, not to mention, the passcode to your dorm room.
you're biting your lip climbing up the stairs to your own place, heart speeding as you hold your heels. jake's trailing behind you- unbeknownst that he's filming. biting his lips to the inprint of your panties against your tight skirt, the way your huffing and arching after each step, and the way he swore he saw dampness right on your sweet spot. he waits, watching you unlock it as he memorises everything. he opens the door quickly for you after unlocking it in desperation.
inside your room, the air feels smaller somehow. more private. you toss your heels onto your chair, ruffling your hair as you move toward the small kitchenette. âyou want water or something?â you ask.
âiâm good.â his voice is quieter in here. almost a whisper. he takes in your interior. exactly how he imagined. a few cabinets moved or rearranged from the last time that he took photos- but nonetheless, just like he envisioned. cute. pink. pretty. soft. smart- just like you.
you turn away for a moment, reaching into the cabinet. and in that moment, jake moves. his eyes scan the room quickly. the desk. the shelf. the window. small, precise movements. something small slips from his pocket, fingers quick and practiced as he sets it behind a stack of books on the shelf.
another near the edge of your desk lamp. tiny. silent. gone before you turn back around. and of course,
you donât notice anything. you only notice how close he is now.
âthanks for the ride,â you say, softer.
he steps closer. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him again, the same way you did in class, the same way you did in the hallway at the party. his hand lifts. for a moment you think heâs going to kiss you. you slowly blink- heart exploding; but instead his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.
slow, deliberate. his lips follow, grazing your cheek first. then the corner of your jaw. near your earlobe, down to your neck. your breath stutters, hitching at the feeling you've been wanting for so long- no, needing. you moan silently. he almost loses composure, body tensing at the blood rushing to his crotch.
he lingers there just long enough to make your skin burn, and fuck, it's so embarassing how much you're dripping. then he pulls back. âgoodnight,â he says quietly. eyes trailing down to your lips again, biting his own, knotting his brows.
you blink. âyouâre leaving?â
a faint smile touches his mouth. âfor now.â he steps away before you can stop him, heading for the door like he didnât just leave your entire body buzzing- like he didnât just light something under your skin. you watch him go, heart pounding. and when the door closes behind him, you press your hand against your jaw where his lips were. wondering why he would start something like that only to leave. wondering if he knows what heâs doing to you. across the room, the tiny camera behind your books watches you pace slowly across the floor. jake walks down the dorm hallway already smiling- because he knows exactly what heâs doing.
you think youâre going crazy, pushing you to go over your limits, wanting, shamelessly wanting him. what you donât realize heâs been making sure you do; and the funniest part is you think you might be the messy one, the obsessed one. you have no idea heâs already ten steps further gone than you are.
too quiet, too empty. you stand there for a moment, staring at the door like it might open again if you just wait long enough. your jaw still tingles where his lips brushed it. your chest still feels tight from how close he was touching you. the breeze feels cool against your heat. you continue to replay it. his hand on your cheek, mouth at your jaw. 'goodnight.' goodnight? you laugh under your breath, pacing once across the room. the heated, slicky energy in your body has nowhere to go. it's worse now than before he came over. worse than when he had his hand on your thigh in the car.
you press your palm to your face- he knew what he was doing.
and so when you text him that night? begging for him to come back?
âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
in truth, jake never left. he drove, slowly. just far enough that the glow of your dorm windows disappeared from his rearview mirror. just far enough that anyone watching from inside would think he was gone. the car rolled past the corner of your dorm building before he turned the wheel, circling the block once like a habit- like muscle memory. then he parked, not far. just out of sight. his phone was already in his hand before the engine even stopped. the second screen flickered on quietly, the small camera feeds activating one by one. the tiny lenses he had pressed into your room earlier caught the dim glow of your lamp, the edge of your desk, the soft blur of your bed. pacing. like how you normally do when you want something you can't have. running your hands through your hair. checking your phone again and again.
jake leans back in the driver's seat, slowly. the corner of his mouth lifting as he watches the exact moment you break. he had measured this almost perfectly. the kiss on your jaw. the pause before leaving. the silence after. he knew you wouldn't sleep. tension would bloom. knew you'd text like a desperate slut.
his thumb traces the edge of the screen where your mesaages keep appearing.
jakey
please
his jaw tightens slightly. he watches you read his reply. you type without hesitation. biting your lip. bra slipping when you collapse onto your bed. good. good girl. so needy. he mutters to himself, salivating to you.
he then turns the car off, because you asked. one thing you truly got correct about him- is that he has never been good at denying himself things he wants. especially when the thing begging for him is you.
soft. the knock at your door came softer than you expected. two quick taps that almost blended into the quiet hallway noise. you were already standing by the time you realized what you were doing. your hand hovered over the handle for a split second before you opened it.
jake stood there like he had never left.
his hair was slightly more disheveled (deliberately) now, hoodie thrown back on carelessly, eyes darker and blown out than they had been earlier. for a moment neither of you spoke. the air between you felt heavier than it had in the car, heavier even than the moment he kissed your jaw before leaving. he watches the way he looks at you. brows furrowing at his sudden arrival and eyes. he walks in.
the door shuts behind him with a quiet click. âthought you just wanted to talk,â he murmurs, voice low. your throat tightens. âi did.â but you were already standing too close to him for that to be convincing.
jake studies your face slowly, the way your breathing hadnât quite settled yet, the way your hands kept fidgeting near your sides like you didnât know where to put them. his gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
âyou texted me like you were losing your mind,â his voice fries as it drags out.
heat rushes up your neck. âi wasnât-" "you were."
you step back instinctively, but the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. jake closes the gap by following without hesitation, slow enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to. but you didnât. âsay it properly,â he whispers.
you blinked at him. âwhat?â
âwhy you wanted me here.â
your heart hammered against your ribs. every instinct in you told you to pull back, to recover the careful composure you had always kept around him. but standing this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his hoodie, the memory of his mouth against your jaw still burning on your skin, it was impossible to pretend.
âi wanted you,â you said quietly. "f-for a while now."
jakeâs expression shifted. not surprise you were expecting. but satisfaction.
his hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing along your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your face slightly toward him. âi know,â he murmured. it's the tone where it clicks. where his 'i know' meant depth, like, really meant it.
then he kisses you.
this time there was nothing hesitant about it. the tension that had been building for weeks snapped between you both at once. your hands grabbed the front of his hoodie instinctively, pulling him closer while his grip tightened slightly in your hair, steady but firm. the kiss deepened quickly, breathless and hungry in a way that made your head spin. he bites your lip as he piercing his tongue to pry open that sweet mouth of yours. he growns as he pushes you into the bed. smiling. smirking as your close your eyes, spreading your legs while he leans into you, hands now pressed to the sides of your body, caging you in on your own bed.
jake pulls back first, just barely, saliva still catching between you. âyouâve been watching me for months,â he said softly. your stomach drops.
âdonât pretend you havenât,â he added.
you stared at him, stunned, but his mouth brushes your cheek again before you could respond, trailing slowly down the line of your jaw the same way he had earlier. the difference now was that he didnât stop immediately.
your hands tightened in his hoodie again. jake notices, of course he does.
a quiet laugh left him, low in his throat. âlook at you,â he murmured. âyou act so put together all the time.â your breath caught as he kissed your jaw again. teeth grazing it. âbut the second i walk away,â
his hand slide along your waist, steadying you as you leaned slightly into him without meaning to.
"..you lose it."
you should have been embarrassed. but all you felt was heat.
and the strange, dangerous relief of being seen exactly the way you were. though, you have no idea he is even worse.
months, no- years. of pent-up tension. obsession, pining, and frustration of the thought of not having you until you finally gained interest in him crashes into him as he forcefully pushes his teeth onto yours, bringing a had up to ride up your torse and press into your neck to make you squeal like you always do.
"hardest part was getting you to like me," he breathes, panting into your neck, gnawing at your neck, "fuck! you smell so good." he growls, "second part?" his hands ghost over your breasts. "sweet. easy, fucking--" he gropes you with no hesitation, "fucking perfect. stars aligned. all thanks to me."
this is not the jake you imagined. his demeanour is darker, hungrier, cockier. whispering and growling incoherent things. you begin to realise if your yearning for him was already heavy- what could he have been looking for in you this whole time?
nonethless, you are breathless against him. hands gripping his hoodie like you don't know where else to put them. the moment he palms your breasts you swore you could've came right there. every touch he sends to feel your tits move under his palm sends you to orbit, and he loves every reaction out of you- you can feel it in the way he groans at your breathy and shakey moans. "j-jake!" you squeal as he shoves your knees open for his legs to pin you. "i know you like this." he pinches your nipples through the fabric, slapping them like he's been familiar to your body before.
has he been thinking about my body?
you squirm, trying to pry away from the sensitive slaps when he squeezes your nipples. you break a moan loud, slick gushing out your panties even when he hasn't touched your folds. he watches your face carefully. "you told me you're going to behave." he mutters, watchinig you squirm and attempt to cover your panties. "behave."
he clicks his tongue, hearing your phone going off in the background, you whip your head, knowing it's sunoo. "lemme-"
"behave." he reaches for your phone, reading the message, chuckling to himself before chucking it aside to your dresser- looking down at you. moonlight cascades down his nose and wet lips, and his eyes darken when he finds the sight of you erotic. "jay can't keep his mouth shut. can he." he mutters, before putting a thumb on your lip, swirling it in your saliva. you open your pretty lips before him and maintain eye contact while he watches you suck his thumb. "f-fuck." he groans, letting go of your lips, gripping onto your thighs while he strips his shirt, chain swishing like a hypnotic charm above you.
"you're so.." you pant, "this isn't real.." your heavy lidded, watching him go down to kiss you, leaving a hickey on your neck before kissing downwards, ripping off your top and unbuckling your bra with one hand. "yeah, sure baby.. this isn't real."
he sinks down to lick your nipple before sucking on them, hands trailing to hold the line of your back upward to his mouth, pulling you up to him while he looks you into the eyes, moaning. "fuck.. you love it don't you.." giving love to both of your breasts, rubbing intimate circles on the small of your back while you thighs quiver. "jakey.. please?"
"jakey?" he mocks, letting go of your breasts. "f-fuck." he looks up into the ceiling, like groping and touching and licking you was a portion of himself holding back. he's so hard and tense he exhales so loud before looking down at you. splayed out on your cute small bed, some hairs stuck on your cheek while your lips stay open and plump, perky tits out and pink while your skirt thats rode up to your hips show your cute panties soaked in sin. the way his breaths slow and speed up, was a curiosity you know you've encountered before. in the back of your mind, his voice replays, matching the sound of that one phone call in the middle of the night- where he claimed he was stressed.
he wasn't stressed. you learnt, he was..
he continues on his way down, exploring your body like a map he's already uncovered in his mind, smile so tight you can't help but moan his name when his lips graze your lower tummy; quietly resting at your waistband.
"pretty.. smells good. i know it tastes so fucking good.." he hooks his finger through the thin band, lifting it up just to see your folds glisten in the dim light. translucent thick sticky strings cling onto the fabric and web between your folds like bridges waiting to be broken.
you whimper at the way he blows cool air to see your thighs tense and shake, slick oozing out from the tight folds while his cock rubs against his denim, hurting under his fly. "all this for me?" he cooes, going down to kiss your needy lips again. and you nod furiously, begging, shameless, messy. "please.. please." you beg, salivating at the thought of him going down on you.
he uses his fingers to spread your cute pussy lips open, splitting them to see your throbbing clit hide behind the slicky foam. he licks his lips before going straight for your core, sliding off your panties and shoving them into his pocket. too hazy to notice, you moan so loud it makes him shudder at the power he has over you. he's lapping at your clit like he was born to do this, tongue circling and softly flicking while his nose occasionally bumps upward, nestling in between the top of your folds, bubbling the slick and saliva he's combined. his eyelids are resting heavy, looking at your parted mouth and red cheeks, tits bouncing when you grind against his mouth when he purposely goes slow.
he then sinks a finger or two while he makes out with your pussy. you yelp, begging him to be slow while sloshy sounds and wet slapping makes him moan against your core. "sorry baby, but you begged for this." he groans, gripping your thighs while he pushes up into your heat. his fingers slip out, making you feel empty. he then grabs your waist, making you prop yourself ontop of him while his lips act like your personal chair.
"fucking sit and grind on me." he begs, pressing your thighs flush against his lips to let you know it's safe to press onto him. in the meantime, he unzips his pants, cock springing free and leaking. you can't see it, but you can hear it. the fapping of his hand lapping against his cock, masturbating to the feeling of your sweet, sweet pussy against your lips. he can't even speak, just moaning, neck glazed with glistening sweat and liquids while he knits his brows, matching your pace with his cock. "'m gonna cum! jakey!" you cry, tears spilling at how sensitive you feel, being touched for the first time in so long, and it being like this? like a dream so out of reach you've never believed you could touch and fuck?
he nods under you, tongue pressing into your hole as you continue to clench your thighs around his pretty face. his hand strokes his cock faster while you stutter, and you feel it. "fuck! f-fuck fuck!" you cry, breaking down in stuttering moans while his gutteral voice vibrates against your swollen clit. the climax shot signals to both of your spines, thumping your hearts. jake hasn't come yet, he's been edging himself so in the final moment of your climax, he flips you over. you're flipped onto your back, and he presses your cock against your sticky skirt kneeling over you with his hard abs and wet face. "gonna cum all over you. yeah?" he bites his lip as you chase your high. you look down and see his cock. big. girthy, slightly veiny compared to his hands and swollen, hardening with every stroke until he uses his other hand to open your jaw.
"y/n. fuck, baby-" his breath hitches and you see his tip paint your body. your lips part, tongue out to catch the first few spurts while your tits and pussy catch the rest. he heaves, panting, cock spazzing while it milks the rest of your thighs, dripping while hard- still.
"beautiful." he breathes, tears brimming in his eyes from the taste and feel of you numbing into his skin like pins and needles. "fuck.."
you're sensitive and hot, sweat clinging onto your linen sheets while jake wets a cloth to clean you. he first watches you taste his cum- shivering at the sight, cock aching and hard again. you beg for a second time-
you're half underneath hims, his breath already unsteady from his phone calling. yours too under the pile of things cluttered when he threw it across the room. his mouth goes down onto your jaw, again, slow- like he's deliberatley ignoring the world outside your room. you try to get up but jake catches your wrist easily, pinning it above your head with one hand. "leave it," he murmurs against your skin. you swallow hard. "it's sunoo-" "i know," jake whispers, and something in his tone makes your stomach flip. when jay calls twice, you feel the shift in his body immediately. tensions, annoyance, restraint pulling tight under your skin. his eyes flick to the screen on your bedside table, then back to you.
you're both breathless, eyes glued to each other, magnetised- deaf, not hearing the messages you both were relaying to eachother while rubbing your erotic skin together. jake slides off the bed, kissing your wrist. "we'll finish this later." the promise is so certain, so solid, that your entire body answers to it. he clenches his fist, picking up his shirt. you scoot up but he stops you. dropping his shirt. he's carefully cleaning the rest of you, kissing and inhaling your scent and skin while he opens your drawer to place you in an oversized shirt- which is weird, you didn't even know how he managed to find it.
you kiss him, and he lets you, shoulders relaxing the moment you help him put his shirt back on. the look of regret pools in his stomach when he stands to leave, pocket still bulging with your forgotten lingerie.
you lie back onto your bed, dazed. adrenaline humming under your skin. trying to breathe normally as your phone vibrates again and again in your hand.
the next day is worse.
you barely make it class without thinking about his hands, his breath, his words, the look in his eyes when everything was cut short. you sit down at your desk before he arrives, hair neat, jeans clean, hoodie folded on your lap. you try to get your face under control, trying not to look obvious. he walks in- and your composure comes crashing down, pulse spiking.
but he doesn't look at you right away, and that's somehow even worse. he doesn't even sit next to you.
that makes things last night hang off the cliff. your heart races, messages left on read. your eyes pretending to be glossy from yawning. you want to cry. disappear. you risked it all to get where you're at. was it really.. all a fucking lie?
i want him.
a whole half hour into class, you're gathering your notes. you decide to leave early, not seeing the way jake slows down his writting, glasses lowering down, piercing his eyes into your back when you abruptly leave the lab. he grips the edge of his table, biting the insides of his cheek when he makes eye contact with you through the lab's window before you're gone. he then darkly smiles.
you pace down the hallway, until someone grazes your elbow, pulling you back into a segregated corridor. jay.
he looks tired, tense. like he didn't sleep either.
"y/n," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder like he's making sure no one's watching. "come here, please..just-" he clears his throat, softer. "just two seconds please."
you hesitate before following him into a small side hallway. he's running a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning to face you.
"you don't know him." jay states, quietly. eyes shaking. you blink. "i do-"
"no," he snaps, lowering his voice. "you don't."
you stare at him, unsettled. bag clinking against the empty corridor. "jay.. what-" "he's not what he pretends to be," he adds.
"jake's... he's.. obsessive. paranoid," he grabs your wrist to go inwards into the depth of the corridor, bringing you to the window that over looks the campus grounds. you two spot his jacket from afar. his glasses off, bag on his shoulder, eyes darting across the crowd around him in hopes he can see you by referencing your location from the bunny keychain.
jay clicks his tongue looking at him, jaw tightening. "that whole, golden-boy, friendly sweet image?" he looks back at you, staring back down at jake standing in the crowd. "what about it?"
"he bought it," he grabs your shoulders. "literally. bought it."
"the tutors. the scouts. the coach. the parties. the friends. the dorm. the prescription. the market. the image. his family- fuck," he stammers, "you don't know how far he's gone to-"
"jay, stop." you push his hand away, "no y/n, think about this." he gets louder.
"what kind of sophomore shows up into the term unannounced? and suddenly he just fits in? schedules perfectly aligned, my roommate kicked out for no reason. jake wasn't even like this when he moved in! a-and don't get me started on his room-" his head jerks suddenly, and your breath hitches when you follow his gaze.
jake. staring back up at you from the ground, through the tinted glass. expression unreadable.
"shit." he mutters, "seriously, y/n.. he's some.. sort of creep. and i know you like him but -just seriously stay away. please."
you gulp, taking in everything jay has just said to you. flashing back to the car ride where jake felt uneasy by the way jay approached you.
"sorry.. jay," you pause.
"but am i.. supposed to be scared..?" you smile, laughing.
he stares at you like the hallway suddenly tilted sideways. âwhat?â you laugh again. not loudly. not hysterically. just a soft, breathy laugh that makes his blood run cold, because it isnât nervous.
itâs aware.
you lean back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the window where jake is no longer to be seen. you inhale, before meeting jayâs again.
âyou think youâre warning me,â you murmur, smiling faintly. âbut you donât understand.â
jay steps back instinctively.
âunderstand what?â you shrug lightly, like youâre commenting on the weather. "i don't.. care." jayâs voice shakes. ây/n⊠please donât tell me you like this.â
you glance at your bunny keychain, the memory of last night burning behind your eyes, the slick, the confessions, the way he said your name when you finally gave into him. you look at jay again.
âi donât like it,â you correct him softly. you push past him, your fingers brushing his shoulder. âi love it.â
jay goes completely still. watching you walk away, down the corridor and out of his sight. he turns back around and sees him of course. his pulse deadly calm, expression unreadable like it always turned out to be. fake.
jake. he doesn't say a word. he just walks forward, quiet, composed, terrifyingly controlled. he grabs jay by the front of his shirt and shoves him into the nearest storage closet so fast. the door slams.
"told you to keep your mouth shut."
jay's voice cracks. "she deserves to know-" "say one more word," jake murmurs.
"and there won't be a next semester for you. do you understand me?"
silence. thick. dangerous. jay nods.
jake lets go of jay's jacket. walking back out the hallway, smoothing his hoodie like nothing happened. his smile turns soft, leaving jay to fend for himself, while he checks your location.
itâs not silence exactly. itâs something more deliberate. controlled. like heâs letting the absence do the talking for him. after last nigh- after being interrupted. after the way he left you wanting, shaking, thinking about him even when you tried not to- the quiet almost feels like a punishment.
you check your phone between classes. between conversations. between breaths.
nothing.
the longer it goes on, the more your mind spirals. maybe he regretted it. maybe it really was just the heat of the moment. maybe jay was right. maybe you should never-
your phone vibrates.
âââââââââââ.â ..ââź
ping!
â â°â..â .âââââââââââŻ
his dorm is spotless when you enter.
too spotless.
like someone with money and secrets cleaned it all in a panic. his textbooks are neatly arranged, clothes hidden, every incriminating trace of his obsession tucked out of sight. for the first time, his room looks normal. boring, even. but youâre too distracted by him to question it.
he kisses you before the door even clicks shut. his hands find your waist, your neck, your hips, guiding you backward toward the bed like heâs been replaying this moment since last night- because he has. you climb onto his lap without thinking. chair smacking against his desk in a hurry. he smiles, leaning his head back when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you closer. âgod,â he breathes against your mouth, âyou really couldnât wait, could you?â
you want to deny it. you canât.
his laptop is open behind him on his desk, screen dimmed but not closed. something flickers in the corner of your eye as you move, but your breath stutters too hard to look properly. you grind on him, tits perked up, pussy salivating and drooling on his sweatpants. he's feeling you up like there's no tomorow.
you start moving against him slower, steadier, matching the rhythm he sets with his hands on your hips. jakeâs head tilts back for a moment, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he watches you. then your gaze drifts behind him. to the laptop that bumps awake after the chair had knocked into it.
the screen wakes. and you freeze. because staring back at you,
is your room. your bed. your desk. from an angle youâve never seen.
your breath breaks.
jake notices instantly, his hand slides up your spine, pulling you closer, eyes blown, forcing yours to look back at his. "don't stop." he murmurs, hands gripping your waist. you can't speak, feeling his cock tent up under you. "wha- what is that?" he groans, slamming the laptop shut while he carries you to his bed. "sorry baby, y'weren't suppose"d to see that yet." he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. "yet?"
jake smiles, slow, dangerous. you bite your lip. "keep going and i'll tell you everything."
your cheeks burn, grinding on his briefs against the headboard. but you don't ever plan on stopping- not now that heâs unraveling in a way youâve only imagined in your most unhinged moments. his hand slides into your hair, not forcing, not guiding. just holding. "you'd suck my cock, right baby?" he pleas, without a second thought you move.
your knees hit the mattress before you even realize youâve sunk down, your breath warm against his skin, your hands pushing his hoodie up, your mouth and blushed cheeks brushing him through the fabric just enough to make his entire spine pull taut. jakeâs head drops back with a sound youâve never heard from him before- not a groan, not a sigh, something deeper, cracked open from morning he held himself together around you. he looks down at you like heâs seeing a prayer answered. and you softly pull down his briefs to free his length, slapping back at you. "fuck.." you swear, hands reaching out to stroke his cock with two hands, kitten licking his tip where the precum stains your chin. his hands cuff your soft hair, massagine your scalp while you gradually warm your mouth by sucking lower and lower. he groans, moaning at the sight of you. "deeper, sweetheart. i know you can take me."
he encourages by pushing you down, and eventually he gives up and making you gag on his shaft. he keeps you there despite your throat constricting and your whines escaping. your knees buckle and feet curl feeling his tip tickle the back of your throat, restricing your airways in a way that produces more saliva at the base of his dick, foaming at his balls. he bites his lip, jerking up to hear you gag while tears form at the outer corner of your eyes, bringing the prettiest shade of pink to your cheeks. he yanks your hair up, pulling you off his dick thats raining saliva, spluttering across his thighs and down your pretty dress. "you did so fucking good, sweetheart.." he praises you, "think you could suck me some more?"
you take him in again, this time, his hands interlocked with yours while he watches you in psychotic obsession, smiling at you bobbing up and down so messily. "of all the things i pictured.. you like this is always the clearest. my beautiful y/n." he lolls back, hips stuttering while he pumps up into you- unable to resist the feeling of fucking your mouth. then he feels it, the difference in grip, your hand twists the base while your mouth sucks the tip, tongue swirling around while precum leaks and leaks down your fingers. jake's eyebrows twist upwards. "f-fuck!" he groans, "fuck sweet- i'm gonna cum!" he pushes you down even more, and you let him, feeling his hot thick cum water your throat. "s-shit.." he moans, "say ahh." he pulls you up gently, making you sit on his cock with your dress still on, your pussy rubbing against his length. you open your mouth and he grabs your jaw with force to examine it. he hums in satisfaction.
"good girl."
he mouth crashes back into you, all heat and teeth and the kind of hunger that makes thought impossible. your thighs tighten around him instinctively and the sound he makes against your lips breaks something within you. "fuck! jakey."
the call of his name makes his cock twitch, and he kisses as a reply. your hands trail down, lifting off your dress to reveal the marks he left last night. jake traces over them, shuddering. "fuck.. i've prayed for days like this."
"jakey.. please fuck me.." you whimper against his chest. he lets out a laugh. deep, gutteral, manic. you watch his face shift. dark. it makes sense as to why jay warned you. but piecing the fact that you've been seen this entire time? only you? only.. just for you?
"fuck me!" you beg, moaning into his ear until he nods frantically.
he lines you up with a slowness that is almost cruel, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like heâs steadying himself.
âthe moment this cock goes into you, you will never get off of it.â he murmurs. not a question, a confirmation of something he already knows. you nod, barely, but itâs enough.
the moment he pushes into you, everything stops.
your breath, his breath, the air between you, it all folds in on itself. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging along the tense lines of muscle as your mouth parts in a sound you didnât mean to let out. jake curses under his breath, low and bitten-off, his grip on your hips tightening like heâs fighting the instinct to pull you down all at once. âgod,â he breathes, voice shaking. âmade for me. fucking made for me."
"tight ass fuckin' pussy. i knew you're only good for me." he laughs, smacking your clit while you moan in desperation.
you cling to him, dizzy, nails curling at the back of his neck. he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, everywhere but your lips like he wants to take his time now that he finally has you exactly where he wanted. you shift, wincing at his bulging cock outline itself on the outside, and you whimper, the ecstasy of his tip rubbing against that gummy spot like it belonged. "so big-" you whimper, "s-so good.. fuck! baby-"
baby? he grins.
âlook at me,â he orders you, and when you do, the expression on his face nearly undoes you. raw. unfiltered. obsessed.
âdo you know,â he says, barely above a whisper- thrusting slow deep and rough strokes that make your slick fly across the wall- âhow long iâve been waiting to be inside you?â your breath catches hard, your body instinctively tightening around him. his pupils blow wide. "don't kn-ow jake-" "use your words, baby. use your brain. when did you meet me? c'mon i know you know baby." he's mocking your cute mewls and tones while he turns you to your back and fucks you relentlessly
âmonths?â he smiles, voice breaking on the word, not even breaking a sweat while his cock rams deep into you. "s-slow down!" you plead as his thick vein rubs against your clit. "no, you fucking slut." he spits, spitting onto your tits and mouth, fucking you louder that all the monitors wake despite being metres away from the bed. the bed is creaking hard, and with every thrust your moans multiply. he slaps your cute face, groping your tits like he needs to. âno baby iâve been losing my mind over you for years.â
"and then opportunity presents itself to me. yes- making you mine." his hips move just slightly to snap rough flicks into your spot, enough to make you whine incoherent sounds and roll your eyes back "haah!" you pant. "professors don't fucking work overtime. i do." he refers back to the excel, then to your bunny keychain, reminded you of your habits with the way he presses his thumb into your thighs while all you have to do is spread your legs and take it. you try to hide, he doesnât let you.
he grips your chin, tilting your face back to him.
âdonât hide,â he murmurs. âyou wanted this. you begged for me last night. begged again today like my girl, and now that i finally have you?â
his mouth brushes yours, soft, reverent. biting it as he smacks your ass, speeding up.
âiâm not letting you look away.â
your breath trembles. you feel too full, too seen, too wanted in a way that teeters between intoxicating and terrifying. "s-full!" you whine, and he turns you around to be on your knees, facing you towards the array of his monitors, each with a cam that's got your wardrobe, and videos of last night repeated over and over. he pulls you closer, chest pressed to yours so tightly you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your ribs.
"you like it when i overstimulate you, don't you?"
"you love it when guys grope you when you're acting dumb, don't you?"
"you came to my voice on the phone, you love that shit hm? don't you?"
âyou have no idea,â he whispers, lips dragging along from your neck to the shell of your ear, âhow long iâve been imagining this. how much i've spent. getting you.
and the truth is:
neither of you are pretending anymore.
"look at yourself." then he faces you towards the mirror hanging off his closet. "look how good you look when you're fucked by me." he then leans down mid thrust, throbbing inside of you. "if i see you near another man again i will fuck you so hard you won't be able to see anyone."
the sloshing of his dick against your pussy is becoming a constant sound. you can tell his roommates were finally home- meaning jay too. it's probably why he's fucking you meaner, pushing you against the doorframe as you poke your tongue out for his camera. you're feeding into his obsession- all knowing because you're also into it. disgusting. messy. nothing like how you are perceived. but in jake's room where his sinful flaw is power? you both fuck eachother like rabbits. making sure every imprint of your slick and come has touched his setup and sheets.
"stay with me, sweetheart." he groans into your ears and you slowly go in and out, dummified by his cock squelching sounds inside of you. you can't help but get wetter when he changes positions, picking you up easily and freely as he wants- fucking you over his desk, sucking your clit and then raising your legs to fuck you over his vanity. hell, he even pushed you outside in the night and fucked you over his balcony railing while he had his hand over your neck so you wouldn't make a sound.
he made sure jungwon could hear. he made sure jay knew. he made sure that you knew it the most;
how in love he is with you. ever since you walked past him one night at a club, hips swaying like it foretold his future.
"jakey.. 'mm love you!" you cry out, dry tears making your hair cling onto your face like sweat, tits all red while your ass is plumply spanked, red and captured by his cameras.
he swears under his breath, forehead pressing to yours, muscles tightening beneath your hands. the way he holds you suddenly shifts â not rougher, but deeper, his body curling around yours like instinct, like heâs trying to fuse himself into you.
âfuck! y/n-â his voice cracks, low and raw, âiâm right there, i'm gonna cum! donât move, donât-â
your fingers dig into his shoulders and thatâs when he completely unravels. "i fucking love you." he grows, gutteral and mean. your hips shake and your pussy to lets go, squirting down his abs while he yells. praising you and slapping his fingers down your tongue while you cum on his cock.
his breath leaves him in a shaky rush, his entire body pulling tight, burying his face in your neck like he canât bear to be anywhere else in the world but inside this moment with you. the sound he makes; muffled, broken, helpless- whimpering, is something youâll never forget.
he holds you through all of it. tight. like heâs afraid youâll slip away if he loosens his grip even for a heartbeat. "no one can do this to you but me baby, you hear me?" he gropes your sides to hard it bruises. you yelp and moan in reply.
cooling off, he stays inside your pussy, throbbing and slowly pushing in and out while , breathing hard, refusing to pull away. one of his hands slides up your back, almost trembling, and you feel his lips brush your shoulder in something close to reverence.
âdid so well baby, i fucking love you." he bites your ear, hands reaching up to cover your body with his wet blanket.
you open your mouth but he cuts you off with a kiss- slow, deep, completely different from the frenzy before. cum leaks out for the second time. "baby, the only thing i don't know about you is your stamina." he deeply mutters into your ear.
"i don't know that one either." you pout, he licks his lips. "yeah?"
"let's test how much cum my sweetheart's pussy can take." he spits on you. the night drags into your body being squeezed and used, just like how you wanted it to be.
the room is unbelievably quiet after.
not empty, just quiet in the way the world gets right after something breaks open. the air feels warm and heavy against your skin, your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. you are still in his lap, still holding on to him, still trying to breathe through the aftershocks running through your body. his chest rises and falls under your palms, steadying itself slowly, and the warmth of him seeps into you until it is the only thing you can feel.
jake does not let go of you. one of his hands stays in your hair, gentle now, almost tender. the other rubs your back in slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut. his forehead rests against your cheek and his breath hits your skin in soft, uneven waves. he tries to speak but stops once, gathering himself, grounding himself in the weight of your body pressed to his.
then quietly, he asks, âyou okay?â
you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. you feel more than okay. you feel like you have been taken apart and put back together in a way that makes too much sense. but you only nod, fingers curling against the back of his neck as if to confirm it for both of you.
he exhales with something that sounds like relief. real relief. the kind he has never shown anyone else.
for a long moment neither of you move. you stay chest to chest, breathing each other in, letting the room settle around you. you can feel his pulse in his throat. you can feel his hands loosen just slightly as his body relaxes for the first time since you stepped through his door. he looks like someone who finally got what he has been starving for.
eventually he lifts his head enough to look at you. the expression on his face is raw and unguarded. it is not the version of jake everyone else knows, the calm golden boy persona, the soft smiles, the easy charm. this is the real version. the one who wanted you long before he said a word about it. the one who let his obsession run until it turned into action.
âyou are not going anywhere tonight,â he says quietly.
it is not a command. it is simply a truth.
you look at him and feel something inside you tighten. âi was not planning to.â
slowly, his mouth curves. the satisfaction hits his eyes before it hits his smile. he cups your jaw with both hands and pulls you into a kiss that is slow and deep and full of possession without force. it is a kiss that feels final. like a seal.
âgood,â he whispers against your lips.
he pulls you even closer, tucking your body fully against his. the warmth of him wraps around you and you sink into it like it is the first safe place you have ever known. he kisses your shoulder once, then your cheek, then rests his head at the crook of your neck.
âi am done pretending,â he says softly. âyou are mine.â
your breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair. there is no fear in your chest. only, devotion.
âi've been yours.â you whisper back.
his entire body reacts. he closes his eyes like the words strike something deep and final inside him. when he opens them again, all you see is certainty. he hooks an arm under your thighs and pulls the blanket over both of you without breaking the hold he has on your waist. you settle against him easily, naturally, like you have been fitting into this space for longer than you realized.
the laptop screen behind him dims at last. the camera feeds fade away. jake does not turn around to check them again. he does not need to.
you are already here. engulfing in his sin while your pussy burries the last bit of his cum inside.
your breathing steadies against his chest, your fingers still tangled in his hoodie, and his arm tightens around you one last time before he finally lets himself relax. this is exactly where he wanted you. and the quiet that settles over the room is not the aftermath of chaos.
it is the beginning of something that feels disturbingly safe for both of you.
h64<3 | always down for your constrcoskdtkove criticism on this one, it helped me take a lot of stress out writing this in my down time- so really appreciate if you say things that could help me be a better writer <3 fart
â â ROOMMATE WANTED â â â â€ïžă € â â â hyung line
đđđđđđđđïŒ after your rent suddenly skyrockets, you desperately accept a cheap room in an apartment shared by ej and his three friendsâk, fuma, and Nicholas. You move in the same day.
at first they seem nice enough, but the masks quickly slip. your favorite panties start to go missing, someoneâs laptop is left open to the most depraved hentai youâve ever seen, one roommate has zero concept of personal space, another fucks his hookups so loud the headboard slams against your wall (youâre convinced heâs doing it on purpose), and the last one has no respect for your or his privacyâgiving you far too many unwanted close-ups of him jerking off.
rent's cheap⊠but youâre starting to realize you might be paying for more than you can handle
âȘ MASTERLIST ⫠ⶠroommate!hyung line x f!r 12k wcâ â pure filthy smut but with plot! â dub con, non con elements, fuma's a bit depraved, dom!hyungline, ej is a pervert!!!, panty stealing, sub!reader, free use, spit roasting, gang bang, unprotected p in v, light choking, oral (m. & f. rec), praise kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie, dacryphilia, overstimulation (m. & f. rec), come swallowing (m. & f. rec), degradation, bulge kink, spit kink, missionary, use of pet names, face fucking, nipple play, fingering, unprotected sex (bad!!!!), marking, man handling, double penetration, choking, cumplay tit job, tit play, blowjob, handjob, cunnilingus, mean doms!, rough sex, recording, aftercare, somnophilia, size kink, reader is short, edging, pussy slapping, lots of sex (in every place, in every possible position), squirting, name calling, dry humping/grinding, marking, two faced ej & fuma, morally grey hyung line.
chapter : one , two , three , four , five
now playing : deeper by partynextdoor
REBLOG FOR  â â€ïžă €Â A KISS
Your rent went up again.
Your landlord had the absolute gall to send you an email at 4:30 in the morning: âDue to market adjustments, your monthly rent will increase by $450 starting next month.â You stared at the number until the words blurred. That was half your paycheck after bills. You'd already been stretching every dollar, skipping meals some weeks, and now this.Â
That same night, you invited your friend Yuma over, your voice shaky as you paced your tiny studio.
âYuma⊠I genuinely donât know what to do. They raised it again. I can't afford this anymore! I'm going to end up homeless!â
"Don't panic, god," Yuma muttered. He took a long sip of his soda, the straw slurping loudly in the otherwise quiet room, then let out a long, tired sigh. His sharp, cat-like eyes watched you with a mix of concern and mild exasperation. âSeeing you freak out like this is making my head hurt."
âListenâI might have a solution. My friend Euijoo owns this big apartment with three other guys. The rent is stupid cheap because they split it five ways now. They've been looking for a fifth roommate for a while. The place is decent, and clean-ish, and I know you might be worried because it's 4 guys, but trust me, Ej is the kindest person youâll ever meet. He's super nice and responsible. The others are chill too, I think K, Fuma, and Nicholas are there names. want me to text Euijoo for you?â
You were desperate. You said yes without thinking twice.
Within two days, you were hauling your suitcases up the stairs with the help of Yuma.Â
Ej is quick to greet you, he stands there in the doorwayâtall, broad-shouldered, with that soft, kind boyish smile youâve seen in the few photos Yuma had shown you. His brown hair falls slightly over his eyes, which are covered by thin-framed glasses. Heâs wearing a light grey sweater, which hangs lazily off his thin body, and baggy light blue, ripped jeans that hang a bit low. low enough for you to catch sight of the brand of boxers he wears. âYou must be the new roommate,â he says warmly, voice gentle and a little deep. âIâm Euijoo, but you can call me Ej if you want. Come in, come inâYuma told me you were coming today. Is he with you?â
âOh no, he just left. helped me bring my suitcases up, though. He said his roommate started a fire in their kitchen.â You shrug, dragging your suitcases past him and into the surprisingly spacious living room. It's cleaner than you expected for an apartment inhabited by 4 boys. The place smells faintly of cologne, laundry detergent, and something warmer, almost sweet. Sunlight pours through the large window, making the walls turn golden. It's far nicer than your old studio.
His eyes flick over you for just a second too long before he smiles again. âMustâve been Jo. He's not the best cook. Anyway, your roomâs down the hall, first door on the left. We cleared it out yesterday. You have your own bathroom, but feel free to use ours if needed. The water pressure in yours can be a bit off.âÂ
Before you can thank him, two more figures appear from the kitchen.
One is lean and sharp-featured, with blonde hair falling over his rough-featured face, wearing a black tank top, low-slung black sweatpants that show off the chrome hearts logo, and a silver chain. He eyes you up and down with a slow, lazy smirk. âSo this is the new girl. Iâm Nicholas."
The other one is maybe an inch or two taller, broader in the chest, with dark hair and a soft gaze. He's in a tight white shirt that shows that he definitely goes to the gym. âFuma,â he says simply, voice deep and a bit raspy, gaze lingering on your legs before he nods once.Â
âAh, yeah!â Ejâs voice raises slightly, still holding that sweet and gentle tone, âK isnât here. He works a lot, so heâs rarely around. But youâll probably get to meet him tomorrow.â
He shifted his weight, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a small, reassuring smile that didnât quite reach his eyes the way it had earlier.
You force a smile, trying to ignore the way the air suddenly feels heavier. âThanks again for letting me move in so fast. I really appreciate it. I needed this.â
âNo problem,â Ej says, that kind smile still in place as he grabs two of your heavier suitcases like they weigh nothing. âLet me help you get settled.â
He leads you down the hallway, the others watching you go.
Your new room is small but cuteâthe movers had already placed the larger items from your previous studio in it. The big window with a decent view catches your eye first, a beautiful view of Tokyo shining into your room. Ej sets the suitcases down and lingers in the doorway for a moment.
âIf you need anything⊠anything at all,â he says softly, eyes warm, âjust knock on my door. Iâm right across the hall.â
He gives you one last gentle smile before closing the door behind him.
You exhale, finally alone. Maybe this wonât be so bad.
That illusion lasts exactly five hours.
Youâre unpacking when you hear it.
The first moan is low, muffled through the wallâcoming from the room that sits next to yours. then another, louder. a girlâs voice, breathy and desperate.
thud. thud. thud.
The headboard starts slamming against the shared wall between your room and his. rhythmically. Hard.
You freeze with a folded shirt in your hands.
âOh fuckânicho!âright thereââ
The moans get louder, wetter. The sound of the bed creaking violently spills in through the thin walls. You can hear the sound of skin slapping skin, the girl crying out every time the headboard hits your shared wall. The noises are so loud that you can even hear them over the music blasting in your headphones, but you don't say anything. You simply turn the music up and try to ignore the obscene noises from next door.
Twenty minutes later, when the girl finally leaves (you hear the front door close), Nicholas walks past your open door shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest, sharp gaze upon you, face remaining still as if he hadnât been blowing someone's back out just minutes ago.
He pauses, just for a second, before leaning against your doorframe.
âNeed help with anything?â he asks innocently, voice soft. His eyes drop. curse him for being extremely attractive, you think. eyes trailing over the sharp lines of his abs, the deep V-line disappearing under the waistband of his black Chrome Hearts boxers.
âN-no, Iâm good,â you mumble.
He just nods, still smiling. âCool. dinnerâs in an hour if you want to join us. gonna order pizza.â
The first night passed in uneasy fragments of sleep; itâs not like you weren't tiredâyou were exhausted, but every creak in the apartment made you tense. The headboard incident from Nicholasâs room still echoed in your mind, but after heâd casually invited you to pizza as if nothing had happened, the rest of dinner had been⊠normal. almost too normal. Ej kept refilling your water with that gentle smile. Fuma spoke in short, low sentences but offered you the last slice without a word. Nicholas joked about how bad Tokyo traffic is while sprawled on the floor, his shirt still missing, but he never once looked at you for longer than a second.
You told yourself it was just first-day jitters. You were overthinking it. They were guys, of course, there would be situations like that. The rent was cheap. You could handle mild awkwardness if it meant not being homeless.
Thatâs what you told yourself.Â
The morning light filtered through your thin pink curtains, painting golden stripes across the boxes you still hadnât unpacked. Your phone read 7:42 a.m. Your stomach growled, pulling on an oversized hoodie and loose shortsânothing revealingâyou padded barefoot toward the kitchen, hoping to slip in and out quietly.
The scene that greeted you was unexpectedly domestic.
EJ stood at the stove in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, rolling eggs into gyeran-mari with careful precision. His brown hair was still sleep-mussed, glasses perched on his nose. he looked up when you entered and offered that same soft, boyish smile from yesterday.
âMorning. Sleep okay? The walls here are pretty thin. Sorry if you heard anything last night.â
Your stomach twisted. He said it so casually, like he was apologizing for a noisy neighbor instead of his roommateâs loud, explicit hookup that echoed through the shared wall. You forced a small laugh.
âOh yeah, itâs fine. I had headphones.â
Ej nodded, eyes crinkling kindly behind his lenses. âGood. We try to keep it down, but Nicholas gets⊠enthusiastic.â he plated two slices of gyeran-mari and slid them toward you with a fork. âHere. consider it an apology breakfast for Nichoâs behavior.Â
You murmured a small thanks and took the plate, perching on one of the mismatched barstools at the counter. The kitchen was surprisingly well-stocked for four guys: fresh vegetables in the fridge, containers labeled in a mix of Japanese characters and hangul littered around the kitchen. A bottle of Taiwanese chili sauce sat near the stove, next to a half-empty jar of gochujang that had clearly seen frequent use.
Fuma appeared next, broad shoulders filling the doorway. He wore a tight black compression shirt that clung to the gym-honed chest youâd noticed yesterday, along with black shorts. He mumbled a quiet âgood morningâ in that deep, raspy voice, then opened the fridge and pulled out a protein shake without looking at you directly.
But when he shook the bottle, his gaze flicked to your bare legs where they dangled from the stool. just for a second. then to Ej.
âGoing to the gym. Need me to pick anything up on my way back?â
EJ wiped his hands on a dish towel, thinking for a moment. âWeâre low on eggs and milk. maybe some more rice if you see the kind we normally getâand grab whatever snacks you want. new roommate might like something sweet after all the moving stress.â
Fumaâs eyes shifted to you againâbrief, unreadableâbefore he nodded once. âGot it,â as he turned to leave, his broad frame passed close behind your stool. The fabric of his compression shirt lightly brushed your shoulder, warm from his body heat. He didnât apologize or acknowledge it.
Nicholas finally shuffled in a few minutes later, yawning widely, hair sticking up in every direction. he was shirtless again, black sweatpants slung dangerously low. The silver chain dangling around his neck caught the morning light as he scratched his stomach absently.
âJuju, cooking? wow. He must like you, roomie.â he reached over and stole a piece of egg from the edge of your plate with his fingers, popping it into his mouth with a grin. âYou look like you actually slept. Headphones must be noise-canceling.â his tone was playful and carefree.Â
You shifted on the stool. âTheyâre decent.â
EJ signed, swatting Nicholasâs hands from your plate before shoving his own plate towards him. âBe nice, Nicho. She just got here. donât scare her off before the week is over.â
You kept your gaze on your food, cutting another small bite of the gyeran-mari. It really was goodâfluffy, perfectly seasoned. Ej was watching you with that same kind, eye crinkling smile, waiting for your reaction.
âItâs delicious, Euijoo,â you said quietly. âThank you.â
Ejâs shoulders relaxed a little, as if your approval mattered. âGlad you like it. I can make it again tomorrow if you want. Or try something elseâI know how to cook some Japanese dishes too.â
Fuma had already disappeared down the hallway toward the front door, gym bag slung over one broad shoulder. The apartment felt a fraction less crowded without his quiet, heavy presence, but the air still hummed with the low energy of the three remaining men.
Nicholas finished his water and set the glass down with a soft clink. âIâm gonna hop in the shower. " Donât miss me too much,â he teases, before sauntering off towards the bathroom. Ej chuckles softly, picking up Nicholasâs now-empty plate and turning to the sink. âHe grows on you. eventually,â he sighs, turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. âIf the noise from his room keeps bothering you, we can switch rooms. mineâs on the other side of the apartment. quieter.â
You shook your head quickly, waving both your hands. âNo, no, itâs okay. really. I donât want to cause any trouble.â
âItâs not trouble,â ej said gently, his voice warm and reassuring. He adjusted his glasses, brown hair falling slightly over his eyes. âWe want you to feel comfortable here. Thatâs the whole point of splitting rent five waysâeveryone gets a good deal and a good home.â
The way he said it sounded so sincere. His eyes met yours for a long moment, soft and earnest behind the thin frames. Then he smiled again and went back to washing the plate, humming a quiet tune.
You finished eating and rinsed your plate, placing it carefully in the drying rack. As you turned to leave the kitchen, EJâs hand brushed your lower backâlight, guiding, the same polite gesture heâd used yesterday when showing you to your room.
With your new living situation, things felt a little lighter. more manageable. You didnât have to count every coin anymore.
So today, instead of settling for a single fruit sando from the convenience store, you let yourself splurgeâordering a warm, filling katsu curry, the kind that actually made the long shift feel a bit worth it.
When you dragged yourself back to the apartment around 9:30 p.m., exhausted and smelling faintly of coffee and vanilla syrup, the place was warmly lit.
EJ appeared in the hallway almost immediately, wiping his hands on a towel. eyes turning into crescent moons as he greeted you, he was in another soft sweater, sleeves pushed up, glasses slightly askew. âHey, youâre back. long day?â
You nodded, taking off your shoes, carefully placing them next to someone's Rick Owensâprobably Nicholasâs, remembering back to the photos Yuma had shown you. âYeah. busy rush tonight.â
He smiled softly. âWe saved you a plateâbulgogi and rice. Fuma picked up some extra side dishes on his way back from the gym.â His eyes flicked over your tired frame, lingering on the way your shoulders slumped. âGo sit. Iâll heat it for you.â
Before you could protest, he was already moving toward the kitchen. You followed wearily and sank onto the couch in the living room. Nicholas was sprawled on the floor, playing a game on his phone, shirtless as per usual. He glanced up with that lazy smirk.
Fuma sat in the armchair, legs spread wide, soft sounds emanating from the switch in his big hands. He gave you a quiet nod, dark gaze resting on you for a beat longer than casual.Â
When you finished, EJ took the plate without being asked. âNicholasâs will wash this.â Before the blonde boy could protest, EJ shot him a glare before continuing. âYou should rest. showerâs freeâthe big one has better pressure after a long day on your feet.â
You thanked him and headed to your room to grab clothes. As you passed the laundry area, the washing machine was running again. Ejâs voice floated from the kitchen: âIf you have work clothes that need washing, just leave them out. I do a load most nights.â
The offer was practical. kind, even. So you said yes, not thinking anything of it.Â
The next morning, you woke to the sound of your alarm and the faint smell of coffee drifting down the hall.
When you shuffled into the kitchen in your sleep shorts and hoodie, K was finally there.
He was taller than you expectedâeasily over 185 cmâsoft, youthful face with gentle features. This was the 28-year-old? god, did he look young. He wore a black tank top that clung to his broad shoulders and gym shorts that did nothing to hide the thick muscle in his thighs.Â
He was standing at the counter, pouring himself a protein shake, when his gaze slid over to you.
âMorning,â he said, smoothly, and he gave you a gentle smile. EJ appeared right behind you, carrying two mugs. âAh, you met K. He got in late last night.â he set one mug in front of you, âI made you matcha.â
When did you tell him you liked matcha?Â
You didnât. You were sure of it. But you decided to let it go; maybe you had forgotten. Maybe Yuma had mentioned it when he set this up. Or maybe youâd said something half-asleep during dinner last night and just didnât recall. It was fine. EJ was just⊠thoughtful. That was all.
So you never questioned these small things.
For the first two weeks, your laundry is returned by EJ without incident. Everything comes back clean, folded, exactly as expectedâuntil one day, a pair of pale pink panties is missing. You donât mention it to anyone, brushing it off as one of those small, annoying mysteries, convincing yourself the washing machine must have eaten them. But it keeps happening. a lacey black pair, a soft pastel blue pair with a bow in the middle, and even a plain white cotton pair adorned with cute bunnies.
You find one pair, though, folded neatly on top of the dryer, smelling faintly like his detergent⊠and something else.
When you mention it casually at dinner, whispering it to EJ, he tilts his head, that gentle smile in place, brown eyes soft behind his glasses.
âLaundry mix-ups happen a lot here,â he says kindly. âIf anything of yours ends up missing again, just ask. It might've ended up with one of us.â
He says it so sweetly, it almost sounds innocent. Thatâs why you simply let it go.Â
You stand up to rinse your plate, when Kâs slim but well-defined frame is suddenly right behind you at the sink. His chest brushes your back as he reaches over you to grab a glass from the top shelf. You felt the heat of him, smelled the musky, dry, woody aroma of his cologne. He didnât apologize for crowding you.
You froze, plate still in your hands under the running water. shifting on your feet, as he stands there, tall body caging you against the counter for a long second. His free hand rested lightly on the edge of the sink beside your hip, close enough that his forearm brushed your side.
And then you felt it.
the unmistakable, heavy outline of his cock pressing against the upper curve of your ass.
It was thickâeven through the thin material of his gym shorts and your sleep shorts, you could feel the weight and the slow, deliberate twitch as it nestled firmer against you. not fully hard, but definitely not soft.Â
He didnât say anything. he simply reached a little higher for the glass, his hips shifting just enough to let his heavy cock drag slowly along your assâone lazy, unhurried strokeâbefore he finally stepped back with the glass in hand.
âExcuse me,â his voice soft, steadyâthat gentle smile still on his face when you peek over your shoulder. His eyes were soft, almost innocent, as if nothing had happened. As if his half-hard length hadnât been pressed against the flush of your ass.
You told yourself it was an accident.
Just like the missing panties.
All of it.
You kept repeating it like a quiet mantra every time another small thing happened.
The next morning was no different than the last.
You shuffled into the kitchen in your sleep shorts and hoodie. The matcha was already waiting on the counter, the smell of steamed rice and miso soup filling the air. ej shot you that soft, almost shy smile as he pushed his glasses up his nose. âMorning, y/n.â
K stood nearby, pouring his protein shake. When you moved to the sink to rinse your empty mug, he stepped in behind you without a word. âAgain?â you thought, his tall frame crowded the small space, chest lightly brushing your back as he reached for a spoon from the drawer beside you. the warm, solid press of his body, and thenâjust for a heartbeatâthe heavy, half-hard weight of his cock resting against the upper curve of your ass through his thin gym shorts. It twitched once, slow and subtle, before he grabbed the spoon and stepped away as if nothing had happened.
You quickly stepped away from the sink, cheeks still faintly warm, and sat back down at the counter to finish your breakfast. Ej slid a fresh bowl of miso soup toward you, the steam curling gently between you both.
Before you could even pick up your spoon, Nicholas leaned over and stole a forkful of your scrambled eggs, flashing you a cheeky grin. EJ immediately scolded him in that gentle, fond way of his, reaching over to lightly smack the back of Nicholasâs hand with a pair of chopsticks. âLeave her food alone, you gremlin.â
The kitchen filled with their familiar bickering and soft laughter again, the easy rhythm of morning chaos wrapping around you like a blanket. So you tried to let it pull you back in, not to let the strange tension from your moment with K linger in your chest⊠but the faint heat on your cheeks refused to fade completely.
Fuma was sitting in the armchair across the living room, legs spread wide in his usual relaxed posture, switch held loosely in his big hands. When the conversation lulled, he glanced at you and muttered in his low, raspy voice, âYou play games?â
You nodded lightly. âYeah. When I'm not busy, I used to play a lot more, though.â
He didnât say anything else, picking up his phone from the side table and holding it out toward you.
âHere,â he said simply. âNew trailer dropped. Looks good.â
You leaned forward a bit to see the screen. It was a gaming Twitter post â a short clip of an upcoming horror game. You hummed in agreement, âYeah, the graphics are niceâŠâ
Fumaâs thumb scrolled down slowly once, showing a couple of comments.
Then the feed auto-refreshed.
The screen suddenly jumped to the next post in his timeline.
It was a drawingâextremely graphic and depraved one at that. a girl bent over, face pressed into the sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks while a much larger man fucked her roughly from behind, hand fisted in her hair. The art was very detailed, glossy, and unmistakably intense: drool, flushed skin, visible bulge in her stomach, the whole scene dripping with depravity.Â
But Fuma didnât flinch; he didnât even snatch the phone away or apologize. He simply kept holding it steady for another second before he tapped once, closing the app without a word, and lowered the phone back to the armrest like nothing had happened.
âAnyway,â he grunted quietly, already looking back at his switch. The trailer was decent. think Iâll check the game out when it's released. Let me know if you want to play it with me.â
His voice stayed low and even. no embarrassment. no explanation. just that heavy, quiet stare lingering on you for a brief moment before he returned to his game.
You quickly sat back, taking a sip of water to hide the flush creeping up your neck.
You told yourself it was an accident.
Heâs a guy, of course, he watches porn.
even if itâs extremely graphic and kinda vile porn. People have their preferences. You had no room to judge.Â
Plus, it wasnât that big of a deal. Twitterâs algorithm was unpredictable, especially if he followed random accounts. He probably didnât even notice what popped up before he closed it.
just an accident.
like everything else.
That night, the headboard still tapped rhythmically against your shared wall with Nicholas; it wasnât the violent slamming from the first few days. The rhythm was slower, more controlled now. The girlâs moans were much quieterâsoft, breathy little whimpers that barely made it through the wall, almost like she was trying to stay silent. But Nicholas was a bit louder tonight.
Every few minutes, his low, rough groans carried clearly through the thin barrier.Â
âfuck⊠yeah, just like that.â
a slow, heavy thump of the headboard.
âshit, youâre squeezing me so goodâŠâ
another groan, louder this time, rough around the edges.
You lie in the dark, frozen under your covers, heart beating faster with every sound. The girl stayed muffled and quiet, but Nicholas didnât seem to care as much tonight. His voice kept slipping throughâlow, filthy, and unfiltered.
âTake it deeper, baby⊠good girl. just like that.â
You pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore it.
It didnât work.
Nicholas groaned again, louder, the sound vibrating through the wall straight into your core.
âfuuuck⊠thatâs it. so fuckinâ wet for me.â
god, you hadnât gotten off since you moved in here.
between the long shifts, the constant low-level tension in the apartment, and the way every small âaccidentâ left you flustered and restless, you simply hadnât had the chance. Now, lying in the dark with your door locked, the faint rhythmic tapping and Nicholasâs low, filthy murmurs were making it impossible to ignore how empty and needy you felt.
You told yourself youâd just ignore it.
You rolled over and buried your face in the pillow.
But the sounds kept comingâalmost slow, deliberate, and teasing.
another low groan. Another soft âgood girlâ that sounded far too close,
your hand slipped under the waistband of your sleep shorts before you could talk yourself out of it.
You were already wet. embarrassingly so.
Your fingers found your swollen clit and started rubbing slow, tight circles. You bit your lip hard to stay quiet, eyes squeezed shut as you listened to the muffled rhythm next door.
You told yourself the walls were just thin.
Every rough groan from Nicholas made your fingers move faster. Every lazy, vague praise pushed you higher.
Your breath hitched, hips rocking subtly against your hand, chasing the friction. the pent-up need that flooded you. Â
âYeah, just like that. gooood girl.â
You imagined it was you he was talking to.
You imagined it was your pussy he was buried in, his hips snapping against you with that same controlled rhythm, his voice dropping to that filthy whisper right beside your ear.
âSuch a good girl for meâŠâ
You imagined his voice was for youâthat deep, satisfied tone praising you while he fucked you slow and deep.
Your thighs trembled as you rubbed faster, two fingers pressing firm circles while your other hand gripped the sheets. The headboardâs soft tapping matched the pace you set with your fingers, and every low groan from Nicholas pushed you closer.
It didnât take long.
Your thighs are tremblingâfingers rubbing harder, slick sounds barely audible under the blanket. Nicholas let out another low, drawn-out groan â fFuck⊠gonna cumâ â it tipped you over the edge.
You came hard, back arching off the bed, letting out a small whimper as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around nothing, thighs shaking while you rode it out with frantic little circles on your clit.
through you, thighs shaking as you rode it out with small, desperate circles of your fingers.
When it finally faded, you collapsed back against the pillows, breathing hard, heart hammering against your ribs.
The apartment had gone quiet. Nicholasâs session must have ended while you were lost in it.
You lie there in the dark, chest rising and falling, a mix of relief and deep shame washing over you.
You had just gotten off to the sound of your roommate fucking someone else through the wall. god, maybe you were the pervert.
You got off to his voice calling someone else a good girl.
But you just told yourself it was nothing.
just stress relief.
just thin walls and a long dry spell.
It didnât mean anything.
The next evening you came home late, you went straight to shower and then to drop your dirty work clothes in the laundry basket, Ej was already there sorting a load. He was humming softly, folding things with careful hands. When he picked up one of your smaller itemsâa pair of pale pink panties adorning pretty delicate bowsâhe paused for the briefest moment. His thumb brushed over the fabric once, almost absentmindedly, before he brought it closer to his face under the pretense of checking a stain. He inhaled quietly, slowly, then folded it neatly and placed it on the growing stack.
He never turned around. He never knew you were watching from the hallway.
You told yourself he was just being thorough.
For the next three days, everything felt almost⊠normal.
Your laundry came back clean and neatly folded on your bedâpanties occasionally going missing, but not as frequently as before. The headboard in Nicholasâs room stayed mercifully quiet; he even mentioned in passing that his âfriendâ was out of town for a few days. No accidental brushes at the sink. No graphic hentai flashing on anyoneâs phone. no heavy outlines pressing against you in the kitchen.
You started to breathe a little easier. Maybe the first couple of weeks had just been an adjustment periodâfour guys suddenly sharing space with a girl. Maybe you really had been overthinking everything.Â
That illusion lasts exactly 3 days.
On the fourth night, you came home exhausted from another long shift, legs aching and eyes burning. You barely managed a quick shower before collapsing onto the living room couch instead of dragging yourself all the way to your room. Your oversized sleep shirt rode up slightly as you curled into the soft cushions, the low murmur of the guys playing games somewhere in the background wrapping around you like white noise. Within minutes, you were out cold.
You didnât remember falling asleep.
When you woke sometime deep in the night, the apartment was dark except for the faint blue glow of a Switch screen. a warm blanket had been carefully draped over your body, tucked gently around your shoulders and legs, as if someone had taken real care. For a second, it felt comfortingâuntil you shifted under the fabric.
Your sleep shorts were twisted awkwardly high on one thigh, the thin material bunched and pulled tighter than you remembered leaving them. And there, near the inner seam close to the crease of your thigh, was a faint damp spot. The fabric felt slightly stiff, cooler in that one place, like something warm and sticky had been pressed there and left behind to dry. Your stomach gave a quiet, uneasy flutter. You hadnât been sweating, the rest of your body proof of that, as you didnât feel any sweat on your skin. You were almost certain the spot hadnât been there when you fell asleep.
He must have felt you stir because he glanced over, warm brown eyes meeting yours without surprise. His voice came out low and raspy, even and unbothered, like he was simply stating a fact.
âYou looked cold,â he said simply, thumb still moving over the controls. âI figured Iâd cover you.â
You blinked slowly, still groggy, pulling the blanket a little higher as you tried to subtly adjust your twisted shorts beneath it. The damp patch brushed against your skin againâunmistakable now, warm against your inner thigh. Your cheeks burned. had heâŠ?
You internally shake your head. god, Fuma isnât a pervert. He would never. The dampness was probably just⊠condensation. Or maybe sweat from the warm blanket that covered your body. or even your imagination running wild because of all those tiny âaccidentsâ from before.
You tried to convince yourself. You really did.
Sleep didnât come back easily. Every time you shifted under the blanket, the damp spot on your shorts brushed against your inner thigh again. The blue glow from Fumaâs Switch flickered across the dark living room. He hadnât moved, legs still spread wide, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other tapped at the controls. In the low light, you could see the outline of his cock through the thin material of his sweatpantsâhalf-hard, resting thick against his inner thigh.Â
god, was he big.
Even softâwell, mostly softâthe heavy shape of him was impossible to ignore. not too long but most definitely thick, the shaft lying diagonally down his leg, the head nudging noticeably against the fabric. You could make out the faint ridge where the bulbous, swollen tip pressed outward, and the way the material stretched slightly over the girth. it looked⊠heavy. The kind of thick that would stretch you open, make your thighs tremble just trying to take him. The kind of size that would leave a visible bulge in your stomach if he ever pushed all the way in.
Your mouth went dry. ok well, now you were the pervert. definitely the pervert. First getting off to Nicholasâs sexual escapades to thinking Fuma was to defile you, and now staring intently at his dick like some desperate, touch-starved mess.
You told yourself to stop staring, to look away, but your eyes kept drifting back. How was something that thick even real? Youâd felt K press against you before, but this⊠this was on another level. Fuma wasnât even fully hard yet, and he already looked like he could ruin you.
Before your mind could wander any further, you swallowed and sat up slowly, keeping the blanket wrapped around your waist as you tried to fix your twisted shorts without drawing attention. The movement made the damp fabric drag across your pussy, and you froze. There was another spot right thereâright against your covered folds. When you glanced down under the edge of the blanket, you could see the faint stain; it wasn't just damp. It was slick.Â
You decided to ignore it, chalk it up to another accident. Just as you did everything else that had occurred whilst you lived here.
You forced your gaze away from the sticky mess between your legs and pulled the blanket higher, pretending the warm, tacky smear of cum wasnât slowly soaking through the thin cotton and coating your pussy lips. You told yourself it was sweat. condensation. anything but what it clearly wasâthick ropes of someoneâs load rubbed right against your most sensitive skin while you slept.
You forced yourself to stand up on shaky legs, clutching the blanket tightly around your waist like a shield. The damp, sticky fabric of your shorts clung obscenely to your pussy as you moved, the thick smear of cum sliding wetly between your folds with every step. It felt warm and tacky, meaning that this had occurred recently.Â
The short walk down the hallway felt endless. Your bare feet padding softly against the floor, the sticky drag between your legs was impossible to forget. You slipped inside and closed the door behind you a little too quickly, leaning back against the wood as you finally let the blanket drop. The cool air hit your skin, but it did nothing to calm the burning between your legs.
You barely had a moment to steady yourself before a soft, firm knock sounded on the door.
Without waiting for an answer, the knob turned. Fuma stood there, filling the doorway with his tall frame. In his large hand was your phone, screen dark. He held it out toward you, his expression calm and unreadable as always.
âYou left this on the couch,â he said, voice low and raspy, barely above a murmur.
His eyes flicked down for a second, just onceâslow, heavyâlanding on the obvious damp patch darkening the crotch of your sleep shorts. he didnât comment on it. He didnât need to. The glossy cum stain was unmistakable in the dim light of your room, the thin fabric clinging to your folds where someone's cum had soaked through while you slept.
He stepped just inside the doorway, not fully entering but close enough that the air felt heavier. He extended the phone a little further, his gaze lifting back to your face after that single, deliberate glance. âDidnât want you waking up without it,â he added quietly.
You took the phone with quick fingers, hoping he wouldnât notice how they wouldnât quite stop trembling. He lingered there for a moment longer, tall and silent, his expression as neutral as ever. His eyes flicked down once moreâbrief, almost casualâbefore returning to yours.
âYou sure youâre alright?â he asked, voice low and even. âIt looked like you were having a hard time sleeping out there.â
The question was simple. polite, even. But it carried a weight that made your stomach tighten.
You managed a small nod, clutching the phone against your chest like a lifeline. âIâm fine. just tired. long day at work.â
Fuma hummed softly, the sound barely audible. He gave one slow nod, then took a half-step back toward the hallway, though he didnât turn to leave just yet. His muscular frame still filled most of the doorway, the faint outline in his sweatpants visible in the low light.
âAlright,â he murmured. âWell, let me know if you need anything.â
With that, he finally turned and pulled the door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving you alone in your room once more.
You told yourself it was nothing.
Somehow, just another accident.
like everything else so far had been.
It was a little past midnight. You couldnât sleep. Honestly, you hadnât really been able to sleep these last few days. Youâd been tossing and turning, mind replaying too many small things at onceâkâs heavy cock dragging against your ass at the sink that morning, ejâs quiet inhale over your panties, nicholasâs low âgood girlâ through the wall two nights ago, and now the concept that fuma had come on your shorts whilst you were sleeping. the same shorts discarded next to your bed.Â
The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old building settling. Thirsty and restless, you slipped out of bed in just your oversized hoodie and sleep shorts, padding barefoot toward the kitchen for a glass of water.
The hallway was dark, but Kâs door was slightly ajarâ just a few inches.
You almost walked past.
But then you heard it.
A low, slow, controlled breath. Then your name.
You froze mid-step.
through the narrow gap, the dim light from his bedside lamp spilled out. There he was, pressed against his headboard, completely naked. long legs spread wide.
His hand was wrapped around his cock.
He was stroking himself with slow, deliberate movementsâlong strokes from base to tip, thumb lingering over the flushed head every time. His cock was long and, dare you say, pretty; it looked bigger than it had felt pressed against your ass. The veins stood out clearly along the shaft, the head flushed dark and glistening with precum.
Kâs head was tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded, but his expression wasnât lost in pleasure as youâd expect. It was calm. almost focused. That same gentle, youthful face he always showed you in the morningsâsoft features, quiet composureâwas still there while he pumped his thick cock in his fist. You wouldâve walked away if it weren't for your name slipping from his mouth amongst the soft moans escaping him.
It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but you heard it clearly.
His voice was low and smooth, the same gentle tone he used when he said âexcuse meâ at the sink. Except now it was laced with something heavier, something hungry.
He stroked himself a little slower, dragging his hand down the full length as he breathed your name again, softer this time.
âFuuck⊠y/nâŠâ
Your stomach dropped. heat flooding your face and warmth pooling low between your thighs. You stood frozen in the dark hallway, unable to look away as K continued touching himselfâ calm, controlled, and breathing out your name as a prayer.
His thumb circled the leaking head once more, spreading the precum before he gave himself another long, smooth stroke. His hips twitched up slightly into his fist, but his expression stayed almost serene, like he was savoring it.
He moaned your name again, quieter, almost reverent.
ââŠlove that cute little ass⊠bet youâd feel so tight around meâŠâ
Your breath caught.
For the first time, one of the âaccidentsâ no longer felt like an accident at all.
And that was confirmed as he looked straight at you through the gap in the door. He didnât stop, nor did he flinch. he didnât even look embarrassed. He simply kept strokingâslow, steady, unhurriedâwhile his dark gaze locked onto yours. The corner of his mouth lifted into that same gentle, almost innocent smile he always gave you when he âaccidentallyâ crowded you at the sink.
You were no longer thirsty.Â
Reality had crashed back in.
Heart pounding, face burning, you tore your eyes away from the sight of k slowly stroking his thick cock while groaning your name, and turned sharply on your heel.
You walked away.
Fast.
The second you closed the door, you locked it with shaking fingers and leaned your back against the wood, breathing hard.
Thighs pressed tightly together. The warmth between your legs hadnât gone away. If anything, it had only gotten worse.
You could still hear his voice in your head.
ââŠGodâŠWanna fuck those pretty tits too.â
ââŠBet youâd feel so tight around meâŠâ
You squeezed your eyes shut and slid down the door until you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to your chest.
You told yourself it was nothing. just another accident. just guys being guys. But this time the lie tasted bitter.
because he had looked straight at you. he had moaned your name. he had smiled that gentle smile while he stroked his cock.
And you had stood there and watched for much longer than you should have. You don't get any sleep that night.
The next morning came far too soon.
You woke up with a heavy, restless feeling in your chest and an annoying ache between your legs that refused to disappear completely. The memory of Kâs calm face and the slow, deliberate way he stroked his cock while moaning your name kept flashing behind your eyes every time you blinked.
You told yourself to act normal.
You told yourself nothing had changed.
You told yourself it was still just an accident.
But even your body didnât believe you.
You shuffled into the kitchen in your usual sleep shorts and oversized hoodie, trying to keep your steps light and your face neutral.Â
The familiar scent of fried eggs over rice hit you before you even fully entered the room.
Ej was already at the stove, his glasses falling onto the tip of his nose as he greeted you with a smile. âMorning, y/n. matchaâs ready for you,â he said gently, setting the mug down on the counter exactly where you normally sat
K was standing a few feet away, sipping his americano when you walked in. He looked up and gave you that same gentle, youthful smileâcalm, composed, almost sweet, as usual. an expression youâd become accustomed to. just not when his hand was wrapped around his veiny length. âMorning,â he said smoothly, his voice low and kind, as always.
But his eyes lingered. tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.Â
Your eyes met, just for a second. just long enough for you to remember how those same dark eyes had looked at you through the gap in his door last night while his hand moved slowly up and down his wet cock.
You forced a small nod, putting on your best âoh, I'm completely okay, definitely not spiraling over seeing my extremely attractive roommate jerk off whilst he moans my nameâ face and mumbled âmorningâ before quickly moving to sit at the counter, keeping your gaze fixed on the matcha mug.
Nicholas wandered in a minute later, black tank hugging his well-built frame, baggy jeans just low enough to show off the expensive underwear he wore, silver chain catching the light. He stretched lazily, yawning, then shot you a lazy smirk. âYou look a little tired, short stuff. rough night?â
You nearly choked on your first sip of matcha.
Fuma was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he was at the gym, and it even worked. Even with one of the four missing, the kitchen felt a lot smaller than usual.
When you stood up to rinse your empty mug, your stomach tightened.
K moved at the same time.
He stepped in right behind you at the sink, tall frame crowding your space like he always did. His chest brushes your back. You felt the heat of him immediately, along with the faint scent of his woody cologne.
His free hand rested lightly on the edge of the sink beside your hip, and then you felt it again, the heavy, half-hard outline of his cock pressing against the upper curve of your ass. again.Â
But this time it felt different.
He didnât make it quick. He let himself linger for far longer than necessary. letting his length rest along your ass for a long second, thick and warm, before slowly rolling his hips onceâa lazy, deliberate drag along your ass that made your breath hitch. âExcuse me,â he murmured softly near your ear, voice gentle and polite like always.
But you could hear the faint smile in it now. like he knew you had seen him last night. almost as if he knew you had stood there and watched him stroke his cock while he whispered your name. almost like he was reminding you.
K stayed pressed against you for another heartbeat, letting you feel the full weight and warmth of him, before he finally stepped back with the glass heâd been âreachingâ for. You quickly rinsed your mug, hands slightly shaky, and sat back down without looking at anyone.
The rest of breakfast passed in a haze. You barely tasted the food that EJ had made. Every time K moved or spoke in that calm, gentle voice, your mind flashed back to the night beforeâhis long, wet, pretty cock easily sliding through his fist, the soft way he moaned your name, eyebrows crinkled with his head thrown back.Â
You left for work as quickly as possible, mumbling a quiet goodbye.
The entire shift dragged. Your mind kept drifting. You burned two orders of tonkatsu, and the latte art, which you usually excel at, looked as if it were made by a kindergartner with two left hands. and nearly dropped a tray because you couldnât stop replaying the low, controlled way K had whispered ây/nâŠâ while stroking himself.
By the time you got home that evening, you were exhausted, frustrated, and unbearably pent up.
The apartment felt empty when you stepped inside. You glanced at the front doorâno shoes on you. No Rick Owens, no adidas, no gym sneakers, or running shoes, nothing. No lights on in the living room. No familiar sounds coming from the kitchen or any of the bedrooms. You assumed everyone was still outâprobably at the gym, working, running errands, or wherever they usually disappeared to in the evenings. You let out a small sigh of relief. No one was home. finally
The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, you kicked off your shoes, the soft thud echoing down the quiet hallway. feet carrying you straight to your room as if you were on autopilot. The second the door swung closed, you pushed it with your foot â not realizing you never heard that familiar, satisfying click of the lock.
Only then did you exhale.
You stripped quickly, letting your clothes pool on the floor until you were left in nothing but an oversized hoodie that swallowed your frame. The soft fabric brushed against your bare thighs as you crawled under the covers, pulling the blanket up to your chest.
The moment your head hit the pillow, the images flooded inâunwanted, unrelenting, and far too vivid. Kâs calm, gentle face as he slowly stroked his long, pretty cock. the lazy roll of his hips against your ass this morning. the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred within his dimly lit room.
Your hand crept under the oversized hoodie before you could talk yourself out of it. fingers slipping between your thighs, a shaky breath left you.Â
You were already soaked. embarrassingly so. The thin fabric of your panties is doing almost nothing to contain the wetness between your legs.Â
Your fingers slipped between your thighs as a shaky breath left you.
Your clit was swollen and sensitive from a full day of low-level arousal you couldnât shake. You began rubbing slow, tight circles, eyes squeezed shut. But it wasnât quite enough. Finally, you gave in and slid two fingers lower, teasing your entrance before pushing them inside. The stretch made you whimper softly. You hadnât realized you were this pent up. Your walls clenching greedily around your own fingers, wet and hot, pulling them deeper as you started a slow, shallow rhythm. You curled your fingers, searching for that spot that always made your toes curl, while your other hand kept rubbing firm circles over your clit.
âFuckâŠâ You shuddered, voice breaking as you rubbed at your swollen clit with frantic little circles, fingers still buried deep inside your soaked pussy.
The pleasure was building up fast now. You rolled onto your stomach, hips lifted in the air, blanket kicked asideâsoft, slick noises that wouldâve mortified you if you werenât already so far gone filled the room. Your moans grew higher, less controlled, spilling freely because you were so sure the apartment was empty.
You were getting close. Your moans turned higher, less controlled. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your fingers working your soaked pussy grew even more obvious.
In your mind, it wasnât your fingers anymore.
You imagined Kâs pretty, steady fingers curling inside you instead, his sweet voice murmuring your name like it was something sacred while he watched you fall apart on him. Then, how Nicholasâs thick cock would replace them, pounding into you loud enough that the headboard would slam against the wall and everyone would hear. Ejâs gentle praise whispering âgood girl, just like thatâ as he slowly worked you open. Fumaâs heavy stare burned into you while he held your legs apart and made you take it, just like in the image you had seen on his phone.Â
The fantasy consumed you completely. Letting out hushed whines and moans of their names, the sounds turned louder, breathier, desperate. âNnghâ yesâ fuckââ The wet sounds grew even filthier as you chased your release, hips rocking back onto your fingers, lost in the fantasy of all four of them using you.
So deep in your thoughts⊠You didnât hear the front door open again.
You didnât hear the quiet footsteps stopping right outside your room.
But Nicholas heard everything,Â
And now⊠He had seen everything, too.
Your door hadnât latched properly when youâd pushed it shut with your foot. It had left open just a few inchesâjust enough for the dim hallway light to spill in and just enough for anyone standing there to see you clearly. Fingers pumping in and out of your wet heat.
And Nicholas was standing there.
Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, that signature lazy smirk slowly curling on his lips. His eyes were dark, hungry, drinking in the sight of you on your stomach with your ass in the air, hoodie ridden up around your waist, two fingers buried deep in your dripping pussy while you fucked yourself desperately. He didnât say anything at first. He just watched intentlyâwatched the way your hips rocked back onto your fingers, watched the way your thighs trembled, watched the way your moans grew louder and more broken with every thrust.
When you cried out againâa loud, shameless âFuckâ Iâm gonna cum..Nghhââ Nicholas finally let out a low, rough chuckle.
âJesus Christ, short stuffâŠâ
Your entire body jolted at the sound of his voice.
Panic exploded through you like ice water.
Your fingers froze mid-thrust, eyes flying open. In your rush to hide, you scrambled frantically, trying to yank your finger out of your dripping sex, pull the hoodie down, and pull the covers over you at the same timeâlimbs tangled, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you could hear it ringing in your ears.
You tumbled off the bed in a clumsy heap, landing hard on the floor with a startled yelp. âOuchâoh my god ow!â The oversized hoodie rode up even higher as you hit the ground, exposing the curve of your ass and the slick shine on your thighs. Your legs were still trembling from how close youâd been, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Nicholasâs chuckle turned into a full, low laugh â warm, amused, and way too pleased.
âShit, baby,â he grinned, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him with a soft click. âDidnât mean to make you fall. Though⊠the view from here is even better.â
He leaned back against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest, silver chain glinting as he looked down at you sprawled on the floor â hoodie bunched uselessly around your waist, thighs shiny with your own arousal, face burning with humiliation.
Your voice came out shaky and small, cracking with panic.
âN-Nicholas⊠Iâyouâoh godâthe door wasnâtâI thought no one was homeââ
He tilted his head, that lazy, cocky smirk widening as he watched you try to cover yourself with trembling hands. âOh, I know what you thought,â he drawled, voice low and dripping with amusement. âYou thought you were all alone⊠sooo you could moan our names nice and loud while you fucked yourself stupid. Is that right?â
He took one slow step closer, eyes dragging shamelessly over your exposed body.Â
âFuck, short stuff. You were really going for it. âIâm gonna cumââloud as hell. Bet the neighbors heard that one.â
Your face burned hotter than it ever had in your life. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. Your pussy was still throbbing painfully, right on the edge and now completely denied, making everything ten times worse.Â
âIâm so sorryâNo one's shoes were by the door, and I assumed you guys were not gonna be home for atleast awhilâOh my god, please donât tell the others.â You tried to continue, but you paused as Nicholas crouched down slightly, resting his forearms on his knees so he could look at you more closely. His smirk softened into something almost fond, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.
You tried to scramble back, heart pounding, but before you could get anywhere, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping tight around your ankle. With one firm yank, he dragged you across the carpet toward him. A startled squeak tore from your throat as the oversized hoodie rode up even higher, bunching uselessly around your ribs and leaving you completely bare from the waist down.
âShh. Donât move,â he ordered, voice dropping into that dangerous register that made your pussy clench despite the panic. He crouched lower, free hand sliding up your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to your dripping folds. âLook at this messy little cunt⊠still twitching, still so fucking wet. You really were right there, huh? Poor thing.â
You whimpered, trying to close your legs, but he easily shoved your knees apart with one powerful thigh, pinning you open. The size difference hit you hardâhis broad frame looming over your much smaller one made you feel tiny and helpless.
âNicholasâwait, Iââ
âIâm so sorry,â he mocked in a soft, syrupy voice, repeating your exact words back to you with a lazy grin. âNo oneâs shoes were by the door⊠assumed we werenât gonna be home for a whileâŠâ
His thumb finally pressed against your swollen clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that made your hips twitch involuntarily. Another trickle of slick slipped out of you, and Nicholasâs eyes flicked down to watch it with dark satisfaction. âOh my god, please donât tell the others,â he continued in that same mocking tone, voice dropping even lower as he leaned in closer. âThatâs what you were gonna say, right, short stuff? Begging me not to tell while your greedy little pussy is dripping all over the floor.â
You shook your head frantically, tears of humiliation stinging your eyes. âI didnât meanâ I thought I was aloneââ
âMhm, so you thought no one was around⊠thatâs why you were crying out our names while you played with that pretty pussy like you were in heat?â
âLoud enough that I heard you from the hallway. âFuckâIâm gonna cumâŠâ Fuck, baby. You sounded so desperate.â
Your body twitched again under his slow, deliberate touch, another broken sob slipping past your lips as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. The mix of sharp pleasure and deep humiliation made your head spin, your smaller frame trembling helplessly on the floor.
Without thinking, your hips bucked up into his hand â a small, subconscious roll that pushed your swollen clit harder against his thumb and drove his thick fingers a right above the entrance of your dripping heat, teasing the slick folds without pushing inside.
Nicholasâs low chuckle rumbled again, darker this time, as he watched your hips betray you with that small, needy buck.
âOh?â His voice came out soft and mocking, dripping with that same fake sympathy he had used when stealing your food that morning. âYou want more, pretty girl?â
âFine,â he said, voice dropping into something rougher, meaner. âIâll give you more.â
Before you could even process the words, his hand flew to your hair, fingers tangling tight in the strands at the back of your head. He yanked you up off the floor with surprising strength, making you cry out as your scalp stung. Your smaller body was pulled upright in one swift motion, legs shaky and unsteady beneath you.
You barely had time to stumble before he spun you around and shoved you forward, bending you roughly over the edge of your bed. The oversized hoodie rode up your back as your chest and stomach pressed into the mattress, ass forced high in the air and legs spread wide by his knee kicking between them.
Your face burned against the sheets, fresh tears soaking into the fabric as humiliation flooded you again. The position left you completely exposedâpussy dripping, clit still throbbing, ass presented like an offering.
Nicholas kept one hand fisted in your hair, holding your head down against the bed while his other hand immediately returned between your thighs. No more teasing at the entrance this time.
He shoved two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust, burying them to the knuckles. The sudden stretch made you gasp sharply, your walls clenching hard around the intrusion.
âThereeeee we go,â he growled, voice low and satisfied as he started pumping his fingers faster now â still not frantic, but deeper, harder, curling them relentlessly against that perfect spot with every stroke. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers.
 âFuck⊠thatâs better, isnât it? Greedy lilâ cunt sucking my fingers so deep. Look at you,â he murmured, eyes dragging over your flushed face, your trembling thighs, the way your pussy clenched greedily around his fingers. âCrying and apologizing⊠but youâre sucking my fingers in like you never want me to stop. Such a pathetic little slut.â
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, bringing them up to smear your own slick across your cheeks before pushing them past your lips and into your mouth. You let out a choked sob as you attempt to swallow around his long digits. He watched you with a satisfied smirk, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of your mouth while his other hand stayed tangled in your hair, keeping you pinned down.
âTaste how wet you got for me,â he growled softly, watching your teary eyes as you instinctively sucked them clean. âYeahhh, Good girl. But my fingers arenât gonna be enough anymore, are they, baby?â
Nicholas didnât even bother straightening up behind you, one hand still fisted in your hair to keep your face pressed into the mattress as he used the other hand to tug off his beltâletting the leather slide free and fall onto the floor with a sharp, metallic clink that caused you to jolt slightly; the noise ringing in your ears.Â
The sound of his zipper coming down followed, too loud in the quiet room. You felt the heat of his body shift slightly as he freed his cock, the thick, heavy length slapping against your ass cheek once before he gripped it at the base. He teased your swollen clit with it, slapping the sensitive bud lightlyâonce, twiceâmaking your hips jerk and a fresh sob tear from your throat.
âShhh, donât fight it,â he cooed mockingly, pressing the blunt tip against your entrance. âYou wanted this, didnât you?â
You shook your head frantically, tears soaking into the sheets, but the movement only made him laughâlow, dark, and far too pleased. His broad chest stayed pressed to your back, one large hand still fisted tight in your hair to keep your face pinned down while the other guided his cock towards your entrance.
âLiar,â he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with cruel amusement. âYou left the door cracked open like a desperate little invitation. Moaning our names loud enough for me to hear every filthy wordâŠand now this tiny cunt is dripping down my cock like itâs starving for it.â
Then he pushed forward.
The thick head stretched you open slowly, forcing your tight walls to part around his girth. The burn was immediate and overwhelming, but so deliciousâhe was so much bigger than his fingers, so much thicker than you could handle in this position. A broken cry ripped from your throat as he sank in deeper, inch by relentless inch, until his hips finally met your ass and he bottomed out completely. But he didnât give you time to adjustâbeginning to thrust with slow heavy rolls, punching the air from your lungs with each deep stroke.Â
The filthy, wet slap of skin on skin echoed louder with every movement. His hips slamming against your ass with a rough, punishing force. The impact jolting your small frame forward with each thrust. He kept you pinned exactly how he wanted: face down, ass up, smaller body folded beneath his much larger one like you weighed nothing. âFuuuck,â Nicholas groaned, âYou feel so good. Can barley move⊠Fuckk tight cunt taking me so well.âÂ
His hips rolled in deep, heavy thrusts that drug the air from out of your lungs with each movement. The wet, filthy slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, growing louder and more obscene with every punishing stroke.Â
Nicholas showed you no mercy, keeping one hand fisted tight in your hair as he pressed your cheek firmly into the sheets.Â
The sound of your cunt was downright filthyâIt made you cringe through tears.
Wet, lewd squelching noises echoed with every thrust as his thick cock plunged in and out of your soaked hole. Each time he bottomed out, a messy, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick filled the airâyour arousal coating his shaft and dripping down your thighs, making the slide even wetter, even louder.Â
âShitttttâŠpretty girl⊠listen to how wet you are,â he laughed breathlessly, the sound almost mocking. âThis greedy little pussy is dripping down my balls. Youâve been dying for cock, huh?âÂ
The slick sounds mixed with the sharp slap of his hips meeting your ass, creating a filthy rhythm that left no room for denial.
He suddenly pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the thick head stretching your hole, before slamming back in with one brutal thrust. The force ripped a broken sob from your throat as your walls clenched violently around him. You shook violently, breathing becoming rapid as you sobbed into the sheets, coating the pink fabric in a different type of wetness.
Nicholas groaned loudly as he felt your pussy flutter and spasm around his cockâgrinding his hips deep so you could feel every inch of him buried inside you. He leaned down closer, broad chest now pressing fully against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he fucked you with slow, punishing rolls.
âGod, you are such a lilâ slut. Pretty cunt keeps sucking me in. Jujuâs gonna lose his fucking mind. Heâs been sniffing your panties like a pervert for weeks. kâs been worse though, so patient with youâŠleavinâ the door open when he jerks off to see if youâd break⊠and fuma? Heâs been waiting to see how pretty you cry when youâre stuffed full,â he whispered, voice dripping with cruel amusementâhand slipping underneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubbed it tight, mean circles that made your thighs shake uncontrollably, slapped your clit lightly, making you jolt and cry out, then did it again harder.
âYou gonna let them take turns with this sloppy little hole after Iâm done with it?âÂ
The words hit you like ice water.
Your breath caught in a sharp, broken sob. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, soaking into the already ruined sheets. Your mind spun, a dizzying mix of shame, fear, and unwanted heat flooding your body all at once.Â
The thought of them taking turnsâpassing you around like a toy and using your aching, dripping cunt one after anotherâtwisted your stomach with shame⊠and made your cunt clench hard around Nicholasâs cock despite the shame coursing through you
You shook your head frantically, the movement limited by his tight grip in your hair.
âN-no⊠pleaseââ your voice came out in small, cracked, and pathetic moan, the sound barely more than a whimper. âI canât⊠not all of them⊠please, Nicholasââ
Your cries only egged him on; he began to thrust faster and harder, the bed creaking loudly beneath you. You could hear how he laughedâlow, dark, yet delighted amongst the creaks and wet obscene sounds of your bodies together.
âItâs okay, prettyâ he cooed mockingly, voice rough. âRight nowââ He tightened his grip in your hair and yanked your head back just enough to growl against your ear, âThis cunt is mine.â He pulls you back even furtherâgrip on your hair forcing your back into an arch as he pounded into you. The new angle making his cock hit that sensitive spot with every thrust, ripping broken sobs and whimpers from your throat. Your smaller body jolted forward with each punishing snap of his hips.
You had already been so close.
Before he walked in, youâd been frantically fingering yourselfâfingers pumping in and out of you; deep. hips rocking your swollen clit desperately aganist the palm of your hand as you chased your release. Their names slipping from your lips like a filthy prayer, amongst the soft squelches of your needy cunt.
You had been right on the edge, right there⊠and then he caught you.
And now that denied orgasm was coming crashing back ten times stronger. Fueled by every savage thrust of his thick cock and every dirty word that fell from his mouthâcoated with a nasty edge.
Nicholas could feel itâthe way your cunt gripped at his cock, sucking it deeper with each time he pulled out only to thrust into you again with brutal force. âOhhh, there it is,â he taunted, âYou gonna cum? Yea? You were so fucking close before, werenât you, pretty girl?â his voice dripped with mockery, âMoaning âJuju⊠K⊠FumaâŠâ like a little slut. You wanted to fuck your new roomies that bad, yea?â he cooed, as your pathetic sobs already had began morphing into desperate, breathy moans.
The words sent another humiliating wave of heat through you. Your mind screamed no, begged evenâ but your body did not listen to. it instead betrayed you completely. Your cunt gushed even wetter, the lewd sounds growing louder as he pounded into you without mercy. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, your clit throbbing under his relentless fingers, your entire body shaking as you teetered right on the edge.
You tried to hold back. You really did. You told yourself that if you could just resist a little longer, maybe you could hold onto some shred of your dignity. But the combination of his thick cock stretching you open, the brutal pace, the sharp slaps to your swollen clit, and the overwhelming shame of his words was too much. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight trainâharder and more intense than anything youâd ever felt before.
Your back arched into his stomachâa broken, sobbing cry tearing from your throat as your walls spasmed violently. Overwhelming pleasure erupted through you in blinding waves. Your vision blurred with tears and your mind went white, eyes rolling back. Your pussy gushed slick around him, soaking his cock and dripping down your thighs in messy rivulets while your body shook uncontrollably.
Nicholas groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he fucked you through every intense spasm. âFuuuckâ thatâs it. Cum on my cock, pretty little slut. Look at you⊠making such a fucking mess.â He kept thrusting through your orgasm, drawing out every last shake of your body until you were whimpering and twitching from the overstimulation, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.
He kept pounding you until he felt his climax approachingâonly then did he pull out.
With a rough groan, Nicholas yanked his heavy length free, leaving your cunt gaping and leaking. He gripped the base of his thick, glistening length and stroked it fast and hard right above your trembling body.
âFuuuuuckâgonna cum all over you, baby.â His hips jerked. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splattering across your back and ass in messy white streaks. Some landed on the curve of your spine, even a few drops landing on your swollen, twitching pussy. The warm stickiness coating your bare skinâMilking every last drop until you were thoroughly marked with him.
Nicholas exhaled shakily, a satisfied smirk curling on his lips as he looked down at your ruined state â tear-streaked face, hoodie bunched uselessly around your ribs, swollen pussy still twitching and dripping.
He leaned down, brushing damp hair from your forehead with surprising gentleness.
âSuch a good girl for me,â he murmured, voice low and dark. âFirst one down.â
He pressed one last mocking kiss to your temple before standing up, tucking himself back into his pants. âRest up, short stuff.â Nicholas gave your ass one final, possessive slap before he walked toward the door, leaving you sprawled on the bedâexhausted, leaking, and utterly used.
Nicholas didnât tell anyone.Â
Well, not that you knew of.
You woke to the familiar scent of matcha waiting on the counter and EJ greeting you with that same soft, boy-like smile as he pushing his glasses up his nose and slid the mug toward you. âMorning, y/n.â
K stood nearby, sipping at his americano, giving you his usual gentle smile when you entered.Â
Nicholas wandered in a few minutes later, shirtless as usual, silver chain glinting against his chest. He leaned over and stole a forkful of your scrambled eggs with that signature lazy smirk.
âMorning, short stuff,â he drawled, voice perfectly casual, like he hadnât spent last night wrecking you until you passed out on his cock.
He didnât wink. He didnât smirk knowingly. He didnât say a single word about what happened.
He just stole another bite, earning the usual gentle scolding from EJ, and acted like nothing had changed. Fuma sat in the armchair, legs spread wide, quietly playing on his Switch. His dark gaze flicked to you for a second longer than usual, but he as usual he gave you a nodââGood morning.â falling from his lips.
The whole morning felt⊠normal. Far too normal.
You sat there in your sleep shorts and hoodie, thighs still faintly sore, pussy still tender and aching from how roughly Nicholas had used you. Every shift in your seat reminded you of the way heâd pinned you down, the filthy sounds your pussy had made, the way youâd sobbed and came so hard you blacked out.
Yet none of them acted any different.
It was almost worse than if they had said something.
You kept waiting for the shoe to drop. For Nicholas to make a comment. For one of them to look at you differently. But the day passed in the same careful rhythm as before.
if you would like to be tagged in future chapters comment on this post. if you would like to be tagged in future works of mine, comment here.
authors note: after the long wait, its finally here!! i decided to split it into 4 chapters because each smut scene is relatively long. i also don't wanna accidentally burn myself out.. i start school soon hehe. i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. apologies for any mistakes, i tend to write roommate wanted at like 2-6am! i'm working on ej's chapter nowâthe wait shouldn't be too long. don't worry~ if u see things change in this its bc when i get bored i reread my fics n edit them!!
Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. Heâs so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect.Â
ážážáž Â part one here ážážáž you must read the first part in order to understand this one!
ážážáž sim jake x afab readerÂ
 ážážáž minors dni
 ážážáž wordcount: 14.2k
 ážážáž genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut
 ážážáž content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side heâs got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, heâs thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him.Â
 ážážáž !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. Itâs dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you canât handle it, don't read it.
 ážážáž a/n: sorry again for the way i had to post this in two parts, still i hope it was worth the wait!
ážážáž nsfw tags under cut
ážážáž nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press, standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting
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The next morning, you were late waking up to log into your work account but Jake was still there, drowsy and smiling at you from the moment you opened your eyes.Â
You briefly remember the early morning pouting he gave you, hard against you and lips all over you, and in turn you remember how you made a promise to yourself swiftly after rejecting his needs.
Your face heated up the second he said good morning to you, flustered over the fact that not only do you want him, but you want him to want you like that again, despite your rejection. After all, you let him sleep over, and he didnât try to take advantage of you despite sporting an intense boner through the majority of it.Â
He sees the way your eyes check him out upon waking up too, but you stay silent after he gives you his good morning greeting.Â
âAre you hungry? I can step out and pick up some breakfast so you can work.â He offers, stretching his arms out wide and tapping you to stand up. âIâm staying again today.âÂ
Your eyes widen at him, but the smile on your face betrays that little red flag in your head that has forced you, up to this point, to struggle to give him what he needs.Â
âIâd like that.â You nod to him, cheeks permanently warmed at the image of your shining boyfriend. âSorry about last night.â You blurt now, standing up and stretching yourself.Â
âItâs fine love, it's just hard to keep my hands to myself sometimes.â He says, intensely watching your reaction.
You lend a pause in your stretch at those words, having heard them before when your ex did things that made your body ache for weeks. There is a pull in your gut hearing him say that before you remind yourself that theyâre just words. He just really likes you, and he did stop when you told him to.
He is not your ex.Â
âI wouldnât have hurt you though,â He continues, seeing you deep in thought in front of him. âIf youâd have let me, I mean.â
âJake Iââ You stop yourself, feeling a flood of words on the tip of your tongue. âI know you wouldnât hurt me.â You confirm, now moving forward to hug against him. âI would haveââÂ
âYou would?â His eyes light up, smile brighter than youâve ever seen before.Â
âNo, I mean,â You stutter in panic, hugging him tighter. âI would have touched you if you asked.â
His eyes go dark instantly, making his smile seem more eerie than anything as you look up at him.Â
âIâm okay with doing the touching, we can work our way up to the other stuffâŠmaybe? If thatâs okay?âÂ
âOh, baby, thatâs more than okay.â He coos out, now losing his appetite for actual food and wanting nothing more than to show you just how good he could really be for you. His arms hug you tightly before releasing you, and he ushers you across the room. âWe can talk about this later though, youâre already late, right?â
You nod, feeling a bit better about initially rejecting him and doing just that, moving to the small nook that holds your desk and PC and listening to him slip his shoes on.Â
âIâm going to grab breakfast, and Iâm gonna stop by my place to grab some clothes.âÂ
He leaves before you can answer, which is nice because part of you didnât want to hear your own voice accepting that.Â
Accepting that heâs leaving right now, accepting that heâs coming back to stay another night, accepting that you feel perfectly fine with all of this despite your inner demon advising you to run.Â
You donât know who you are in this moment, but what you do know is that youâre safe. Thatâs whatâs driving you to act blatantly against what your own brain is telling you.
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Youâre clinging and Jake is fucking devoted to the feeling of it.
Devoted to the way your fingers, so much smaller than his own, grab him to kiss him. Devoted to the way you kiss the bruise above his brow, and the way you ask him to stay for another night, and another, and another, up until he finds himself doing his and your laundry together just so he doesnât have to go back home to grab more clothes to rotate through.Â
Itâs been a week since heâs been in your apartment, rolling around on your bed with you in it, cleaning himself in your shower, washing himself with your soap. Itâs like only the two of you exist in this space, where he is the only one to step out and see the sun, solely so you donât have to.
Or, solely so you canât. He doesnât think heâd let you at this point, now that youâre his and you prove it with each kiss and hug. All you need to do is sit and look pretty, sit and love him. Thatâs what your purpose is in this relationship, he will do the rest.Â
Given, heâs also fucked his fist each second he can get in your bathroom. But goddamn do you cling. You whine when he separates himself from you even for a moment, and day by day he can see you come closer and closer to fulfilling his need to be loved by you entirely.Â
Your phone hasnât received any unsavory messages youâve noticed as well, they havenât needed you to come into the office, and all you can manage to think is thatâŠyouâre in love with being in this apartment with him.
Only good things happen when Jake is with you and youâre growing so attached that youâve thought more than once to just move him in with you. Your mother would scold you, your ex would kill you, and arguably, Jake would absolutely do it.Â
He waits on you hand and foot. Cooking, cleaning, doing your laundry, holding you and giving you some of the best sleep youâve had in years. You refrain from considering it seriously though, because this relationship is still so new. You donât want to freak him out or cause an uproar in your already fucked up and unsteady life. Youâre throwing yourself in like you always do, butâŠis it so bad when heâs doing the exact same thing?
Until heâs not, anyway.Â
âLove,â Jake starts, tapping his chin with the tips of his fingers as he lounges on your bed. âI need to go home today.â
Your heart immediately sinks.Â
âWhat? Why?â You ask in a voice that plainly shows your panic.
âWell,â He taps on his chin again before moving his hand through his hair. âIâm pretty sure my mailbox is probably full by now, I need to clean out my fridge, and I should probably check my course work.â
âYouâreâŠin college?âÂ
Jake nods with a snicker, laughing at how heâs given up his entire life for you.Â
âYeah, probably wonât be soon though.â He laughs, shaking his hair out and then looking at you with big, rounded eyes. âJust for the day, Iâll be back before sunset.â
You look down in a disappointed way before nodding to him.Â
âAww, babe. Donât be like thatââ He mock pouts as he turns to you, grabbing both of your cheeks and squishing them up, forcing your lips to pucker before landing a harsh kiss against them. âIâm coming right back, I promise.âÂ
You nod again, unable to keep a smile from forming on your face.Â
âYouâre so cute, itâs going to kill me one of these days.â He smiles back at you, hopping up and preparing himself to head back to his apartment.Â
What you donât know is that, while Jake wasnât lying and that he should at least clean out his fridge, he needed to go home.Â
He needs to unload the footage onto his computer, he needs to watch it back, he needs to fuck something.
And so, he does just that.Â
The second he gets back to his apartment, itâs almost uncomfortable. Unfamiliar scents, no warmth, rotting food in the fridge, neglected pillows and bed sheets.Â
Even so, itâs like he acts on instinct when he walks past everything he needs to do and lands himself at the window. His mind takes over in an instant.
It felt like so long ago when he first saw you from here, knowing you were the most beautiful, the perfect girl for him. Knowing you would love him too, and that youâd never want to leave him. He smiles at his victory, knowing that youâre sitting in that apartment right now thinking about him too. If he knew where he would be now, he thinks his former self may have very well fucked himself to death. After all, heâs felt you, tasted you, and even seen parts of you based on the little image he sent to himself from your phone. Everything happened better than he knew it would.
If it werenât for your ex, perhaps you wouldnât have let him stay with you in your apartment. Perhaps you wouldnât have clinged to him so immediately.Â
In a way, he almost wants to thank the man before he eventually strangles the life out of him.Â
Heâs tasted almost all of you by this point, and each moment it happened is trapped within the files of that little camera there. All of it, for him to remember. Each kiss and makeout session he made sure happened in the view of this camera, and so badly does he want to watch over and over again the moments where you gave in to him. The moments where you needed him.Â
Heâs quick to push the camera to his pc, uploading a weeks worth of files before placing it back onto the window sill and immediately shoving his hand down his pants.Â
Jake shivers at the first unrestricted graze of his hand against his cock, eyebrows falling into that of probably one of the most pathetic faces he could ever make in his life. The relief is so good, so painful.
He canât fucking help it. After jerking off multiple times a day before finding himself in your apartment with you, itâs hard to only do it once a day within a short time span of a few minutes. He felt so restricted in terms of his release, and he has so much cum to give right now. Heâs aching for it. He wants to bleed it dry.Â
He wants you so bad at this point, seeing you dangle yourself in front of him and not yet give in to at least going down on himâ he needs this. He needs it now.Â
Even if itâs not you touching him, he needs to release before he takes it from you. Before he does something stupid and makes you hate him forever. Before he really does become your ex. It felt like he was going insane in your apartment, surrounded by you, only wanting to fuck you, and still not getting to.Â
God, the footage is so grainy but it hits his cock so fucking fast. He memorized each moment as it happened, and now watching it in third person makes him feel as if heâs some sort of ghost. Like heâs having an out of body experience and can see and feel you in a completely different light.
In more ways than he already has, even.
He releases within thirty seconds, barely holding his cock when he doubles over at the footage of that very first, harsh kiss you gave him. Sensitive and twitching, his raging length spilled all in his pants, drenches them through even, as his body shakes with the need for more.
And as if it never happened, he takes a firmer hold of his cock now, fast forwarding the footage to each and every kiss, wondering how good those lips of yours would feel elsewhere on his body. How pretty your moans would sound for him, how cute your hand looked gripping your tit in that little nude of yours, howâ
He comes again, forcing him to let out a choked sob and drop his head to his desk. God, it hurts. Heâs so sensitive, and still, he wants you so bad. His dick is still raging, aching, and begging, especially when he thinks of how youâve been clinging. How your hands have fucked yourself, and how badly he wants them to stay on him forever.Â
God he wishes your fingers could slice him open, leaving painful and love-filled reminders of not who you belong to, but of who he belongs to.Â
When he thinks of how heâs only doing this right now because you have your claws buried into him already, almost refusing to let him leave you, he knows he could come another four or five times within the next thirty minutes solely because you cling, and cling, and fucking cling. Fuck..
Thatâs so hot to him.
Heâd let you cage him up in a heartbeat, heâd let you fuck his entire life up and then laugh at him for it. Itâs what you deserve. To have a man willing to do anything for you, someone willing to give up everything just to hear you breathe, to have him be that person.Â
Third release, forcing him to hold his breath to the point of feeling faint.
The veins on his neck protrude, sweat now dripping down his brow.Â
It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.
But it doesnât hurt enough.
And all day he does this. Until the sun is telling him that he needs to go back to you, until his hair is drenched in sweat and his arm is sore. Until his body feels weak and his cock feels spent, raw, and still throbbing for more.Â
It hurts when he puts on a new pair of pants, hurts even more when he forces himself to squat in front of his fridge to clean it out, opting to toss everything into a bag rather than sifting through whatâs good and what isnât.Â
Now more than ever does he want you against him, knowing that heâs fucked himself half to death solely to keep himself from scaring you, and still he isnât satisfied.
At this point, nothing will satisfy him but you. He knows this now.
Heâs quick to lock up, even quicker to toss his trash, and finds himself inside of your lobby at a loss.
Goddamn his libido. Goddamn this love for you.Â
He canât stop wanting you, and he canât just fuck the need away himself at this point. He needs you to fuck his brain quiet, only you can satiate this horrifyingly deep hunger.Â
Waiting, watching, waiting, waiting, waiting.Â
Heâs waited enough. Heâs done waiting.Â
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Jake appears at your door right on time, and you were expecting to see his smiling face and big stretched out arms to greet you as you open the door for him.
You didnât get that though. In fact, you found yourself frozen with the door half open as you stared at your boyfriend and the way his terrifyingly small pupils looked back at you before instantly growing twice the size. So different from this morning, heaving, lips shaking, eyes darker than theyâve ever been.Â
Before you can even ask why heâs looking at you like that, you learn exactly why.Â
âIâm going fucking insane.â Jake says shortly in a hot whisper, stepping forward and slamming the door behind him. You feel his hands on you instantly, slipping under your shirt and grabbing your waist tightly. âCanât be away from you, canât be with you, I canât stand it.âÂ
You just listen, feeling him walk you into the living room, fluttering his lips all over your face and neck, only to press you up and against the window with his entire body pinning you there with a slam.Â
Youâre shocked, unable to do anything but listen to him and feel the way his hands grip and search your entire body for something to hold onto.Â
âAll fucking day,â Jake seethes out angrily, pulling back from you and grabbing your face to turn it. Almost pissed that you simply exist in front of him right now. âRight there.â He says, pointing directly to his apartment. âI sat right there trying to deal with this.â He presses his hips against you, letting you feel exactly what heâs talking about. âAnd still, I need more.â
Your brain goes numb. Or maybe it goes hot, youâre not sure. Youâve only recently realized that he turns you on beyond belief, itâs difficult to decipher the difference between horniness and fear right now.Â
âJakeââ You turn back to him, now using your own hands to grab his face, forcing his eyes to steady and look at you, as if to bring him back to reality. âDo you needââ
He cuts you off with a harsh kiss, hands running up just to press you harder against the window, his hips chasing whatever he can get from you. Like heâs using you in this moment, as if youâre not real and simply a doll for him to release against and inside of.Â
Heâs fucking gone. Outside of himself, and you, and the universe as a whole.Â
âWhat I need,â He says, pulling back and stating in an almost demanding tone. âIs for you to take care of me.â
You knew this would come sooner or later, and youâd been trying to work up the courage to do it. Youâve run his patience dry, and you guess itâs now or never at this point.
âJust tell me.â You whisper submissively, wanting to give him whatever he needs solely so that he wonât leave you.
You see his expression soften within a split second, his hips release their pressure against you, and he pulls his hands back.
âFuck.â He lets out apologetically, demeaning himself for losing his control and being so blatant. Pointing out his fucking apartment to you. âBaby, Iâm sorry, Iââ
Youâve already made your decision, understanding exactly why your boyfriend broke his composure. This past week proved enough to you that he wasnât in it to fuck you, and even though his needs werenât being met, he still worked hard to meet yours, you feelâŠ
Yeah, youâre happy he did this. Even the force didnât scare you entirely. The only thing that scares you is him leaving you over this. And he watches as you do it, sinking to your knees and reaching out to hook your fingers into the loops on his pants.Â
âBaby,â He warns you, feeling you pull him straight to you. âWait, wait.â
You donât, knowing that if you were to stop now you might end up talking yourself out of doing this again.
âNo,â You shake your head, lifting on your knees just to rub your cheek against the length in his pants. âLet me take care of you, Iâve neglected you enough.â
God, he fucking buckles. Dropping right to his knees in front of you, pulling you in by the face, and kissing you as hard as he possibly can. His entire body quivers, bursting in a euphoric sense of arousal as the hairs rise on his body at the very image of you on your knees for him.Â
âYouâre so good to me,â He mumbles through kissing you. âSo, so good to me.â
And you just let yourself feel it. Intensely, to the point that even your stomach flips at knowing whatâs about to happen.
Strangely enough, it flips in a good way. You havenât felt like this in years, and it brings so much glee to you knowing that Jake is right here, willing to let you make him feel good. Willing to let you feel these things again, willing to make you feel good if you work up the courage to ask for it. And most of all, heâs staying.Â
âStand up then.â You whisper in a smile. âIâll take care of you, so donât run back home to do it yourself anymore.â
Jake shakes his head with a smirk, happy to get what he not only wants at this moment, but what he so desperately needs.Â
âI did that for you, and look where it got me.â He says, standing and staring down at you. âNothing will ever satisfy me, only you can.âÂ
You chuckle shyly, reaching up to fumble with his button only to have him take over for you, dropping his pants and gripping himself.Â
âDonât be so sure though.â You swallow around a lump in your throat at the size of him, proving why you were always able to feel it and not quite ignore it. âI donât have a lot of practice with this.â
Oh, could you be any more perfect? Any more fucking endearing? With those pretty eyes staring down what he wants to put in you so bad, not even knowing how heâs only ever gotten this hard for you and you alone. Fuck, he could give it to you so good, he could fill you until you canât breathe, he could keep you forever.
You look so pretty like this, with your lips trembling as you wet them, with the way your smaller hands swat him away as if to ask him to let you try and hold it yourself.Â
He could shoot his load right now if you asked him to, looking so fucking docile on the floor for him. He needs to look away, he needs to prepare for this.
âI donât know if I can, um,â You start, gripping him and noting that heâs thick, thereâs no way it will all fit in your mouth without absolutely suffocating you. âJake, I genuinely donât know if I can fit all of it.â
He lends you a short chuckle as he takes in a breath, his fingers going down to tip your chin up at him. You feel it pulse in your hand as he looks at you, almost feeling his quickened heartbeat through the vein that runs up the underside of it.Â
âLove, I donât need it to fit.â He smiles, pressing it harder into your palm. âEven this is enough right now.â He lies, pressing his hips forward as if to show you that heâs lying.
He needs it to fit so bad.
You eye him down, feeling the twitch release a little dribble of precum that rolls down and onto your circled fist. Itâs been a long time since youâve looked at another person this way, wanting to taste it, almost needing to.Â
Rubbing your legs together, almost uncomfortably, you swallow again as you keep your eyes trained on his before glancing back down. You pull your hands back just to see the way it drops. God, itâs so heavy. You can imagine heâs full of resentment for how long itâs taken you to simply look at it. His cock rages at you, darkened in color and glistening in the light of the setting sun through the window.Â
All you can do is stare.
And all Jake can do is stare too, watching you do math in your head of what you need to do with him. Heâd take anything, fucking anything, from you right now.
âMm,â Jake hums for a moment, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tighter. âLike this.â He instructs.
âI know how to give a hand job, you know.â You roll your eyes playfully, despite totally forgetting how to do it now that, you know, you want to.Â
âYeah, donât tell me that.â He warns, annoyed that youâd even say that right now. âJust, grip me harderââ He closes his eyes, pretending that youâve never touched a cock that wasnât his own, noting how your hands have always been gentle with him, save for that day you dragged him around by the shirt in a kiss.
You listen, trying to grip the girth of it as tightly as you can while dragging your hand forward and back, forcing little grunts out of him.
âYeah,babyââ he encourages you, âJust like that.â He continues to lose himself to the feeling in soft moans, blinking down and now moving his hips in your grasp, fucking forward a bit harder. âUse your other hand too..â
You listen intently, never having to use both hands on a man like this before. You try to squeeze him, offering as much pressure as you can as he swivels his hips forward and back, slicking your hands up nice and wet with his precum. Unbelievable how much he has, actually.Â
 You look up when he lolls his head back in a drawn out moan, staring at the expanse of his neck and the way it tenses when he swallows around the same moan. And then, suddenly, in a split second he hangs his head back down and looks at you as if he can see everything you are, everything you ever have been, and everything you ever could be. You gasp at his expression, feeling totally lost and in awe when you see that gaze go dead as he stares back.Â
His lips fall slack when his hips pick up pace, essentially fucking your fists rather than letting you do the work. And when you glance away from him, tuning in to the consistent pre-cum spilling out of him, he sees you lick your lips.Â
He watches, he sees you want it.Â
So, very gently, he places one of his hands on the back of your head, encouraging you to do it. And itâs like he can taste colors when you let him and instantly wrap your lips around the big, swollen head of his leaking length.
The half-moan-half-amazed-chuckle that falls out of him only comes from the fact that you instantly stretch your lips around it, lapping at his tip in an almost hungry way.Â
âGod, fuckââ He keeps his head hanging forward, watching intently as you take him further and further into your mouth, up until you release one hand and grasp his thigh to hold onto. âIâve dreamed of this.â He admits, shocked that youâre really going to do this for him.
You blink up at him, trying to smile around the heavy length pressing your tongue down. If youâre going to do this, the least you can do is make sure he fucking loves it. Not to mention, the fact that youâre also enjoying it only drives you to do more. Like the wall inside of you has been shattered and nothing could ever stop you from wanting him in any and every way possible.
He smiles through a deep groan at the way your lips still curl around him.
Never in his fucking life did he imagine you smiling while sliding his cock down your throat. Really, you did that entirely on your own and somehow, he feels even more insane than he did walking into your apartment earlier.Â
Youâre making it fit, and all he can do is help you, now bracing that same hand on your head and pressing further into your mouth..Â
More, more.Â
And when he feels your fingernails dig into his thigh and his cock hit the back of your gagging throat, he chokes out, eyes tearing up, and he sobs out your name in a desperate attempt to compliment you for it.Â
That sound alone from him went straight through you, igniting a long awaited arousal within your belly. You feel the drip, relishing in the feeling of being wet for the first time in fucking years. Heâs so big, and heâs so suffocating. You want to do this, you want to hear him cry out your name again.
Even when he tries to pull his hips back, you grab onto him and hold his hips in place, pushing your lips further down, depressing your tongue even more as the thickest part of him cuts off your airways. Your throat restricts around him, and you feel proud of it. Proud of choking on him, happy to keep doing it.Â
He stutters in awe, gripping the windowsill with his free hand and using the other to feel your hollowed out cheeks. Shit, youâre going to taste him, heâs going to give you all of it, heâs going toâ
Shocked, floored, entirely drunk for you, all he can do is watch as you choke. His body did not warn him at all when his cum shoots into your throat, warming your belly with that first swallow around him.Â
Your reaction to it is immediate though, as he watches with half-crossed eyes the way you pull off of him and let his cum spurt out and drip all over your face. Down those beautiful cheeks, onto your plush lips, and down your neck.
It won't stop. He just keeps coming. His entire body trembles as he stares at you, and you stare back before closing one eye due to the fact that there is now cum in your eyelashes, and you fucking smile at him.
The image alone keeps him hard as his body finally stops twitching. You, there on your knees, smiling up at him drenched in him.Â
âBaby,â He soothes out with a raspy tone. âFuck, you didnât have to doââ
âIâm wet. Jake.â You smile, as if youâre admitting this to him to gain some sort of congratulations for it. And in a way, you are. He has no idea how amazing it is to you right now that you can feel your panties go sticky. It feels amazing to admit to him, actually.Â
Itâs so relieving, itâs so warm, itâs something you never should have missed out on in the first place.
âWhat?â He asks with uneven breath, dropping to his knees in front of you again, rubbing the cum into your skin with his thumb as he caresses your face. âYou are?â
You beam at him, smiling with a nod.
âReally?â He asks again, in disbelief because this was all it took?Â
You nod again, leaning back on your arms and watching him follow, hovering over you and slotting himself between your legs with a hungry gaze.Â
âCan I feel?â He asks abruptly, crawling over you to the point that your back hits the side table behind you, keeping you from lying all the way down.Â
And you nod before you think about it. Wondering if this is how itâs always supposed to be. Always willing, always wanting, always needing.Â
He stares at you when you nod, glancing down to your middle then back at you as if to gain another confirmation.Â
You nod again, this time wanting to hide your face in your arms. You anticipate it, wondering what itâll feel like to be touched there again by a hand that isnât your own after all this time. And when you feel his shaking hand dip into your sweat pants, you donât even shutter. You donât shy away.
Youâre surprising yourself even, letting out a gasp when he cups your core and looks down at you with a cautious smile.Â
âYouâre dripping, baby.â He smiles as he balances himself on one arm over you, rubbing his hand back and forth and memorizing the dips and folds he can feel through this flimsy fabric. Then, his more intrusive thoughts spill in an unintentional and needy groan. âFuck, I bet youâre so tight.â
Words that would make you recoil are no longer scaring you. You can tell he wants to apologize for saying it too, but goddamn, you loved hearing it. In fact, your entire body pulses at the words, feeling his hand do nothing more than hold you there and gently rub. His eyes are pleading though, with his lips pouting as he relishes in thoughts of probably fucking his fingers into you just to see if heâs right.Â
Or maybe itâs just you hoping thatâs what heâs thinking about. You canât help the way you clench, letting out a strained breath as you lurch forward and hug him around his neck, squeezing so tightly as you whisper against the shell of his ear.Â
âYou can touch meâ if you want.â You whisper, physically feeling the goosebumps against his neck raise to your lips. âJust go slow.â
You still need to go slow, after all, you donât know how your brain may react to this, despite loving it at the moment. Relishing in the fact that someone managed to make you feel horny again. You feared that you never could again. God, heâs amazing.Â
âIâll go so slow for you,â He whispers back, twisting his hand in your pants to hook his fingers around your panties to pull them to the side. âOh, baby, you really do want this, donât you?â He whispers again upon really feeling you drip, trying to slide his fingers through the slick mess before rubbing circles around your hole. Heâs lost his train of thought now, only able to feel one sense at a time so that he can fucking memorize how you coat his fingers entirely.
He moans again from deep in his chest along with you, despite knowing youâre the only one feeling the pleasure of his fingers. You feel his moan vibrate through his throat when you kiss him there, anticipating what itâs going to feel like when he slides a finger in.
And itâs like you see stars when he does, slowly pressing one into you as he wraps his other arm around your waist to hold you in place, sitting back on his knees and forcing you to stand on your own infront of him.Â
There he holds you as if heâs afraid youâll start to fight, relishing the feeling of your wet walls hugging his finger all while you cling to him through it. He was right, you are tight despite how wet youâve gotten. Itâs almost like youâre a virgin despite knowing that youâre not.Â
Your body is reacting this way for him, and youâre hugging him, and your pussy is clenching for him. He just knows that if he manages to fit his cock into you, heâd fucking lose it. Youâd squeeze him so tight, and heâd fuck it so deep. Fill you up, deeper, deeper, until the only name you know is his.Â
Heâs losing it again, hearing your little whispered moans against his ear, hanging on him like a fucking pet, god, he wants you to squeeze the fucking blood out of him. Youâre being so compliant, so submissive, soâ
âDo you even knowâŠâ He starts babbling, trying to silence his thoughts by giving them straight to you as his finger slides out, eagerly shoving two back in at a much quicker, much harsher pace. âHow much Iâve dreamed about this?âÂ
You shake your head noting how heâs already mentioned dreaming of you once. The thought has you spreading your legs out to feel how deep his fingers reach inside of you. Thereâs no pain involved in this, despite his pace not being nearly as slow as he said he would go. Youâre not upset, you want him to go faster, you want him deeper, you want to hear him talk.
âSo many times, baby, so many times.â He soothes himself more than you through these words, losing himself more and more each second to the feeling of your core clenching his fingers. âYouâre even prettier to me right now,â He continues to babble, listening to you hum in his ear at the pleasure you feel. âI want you to take everything from me.âÂ
âI want you to wrap your legs around my neck, I want you to rub my nose in it, I want you to suffocate me, I wantââ
âShit, Jake.â You moan out his name for the first time at the dirty words. Theyâre a lot to take in only because you know it truly is a lot, or rather, it should be. But you fucking want that too. You want everything from him, you want everything he wants. Everything. âWhat else?â You urge him to keep talking.
âI want you to pull my hair,â He says, instantly feeling your fingers slide up his neck and into the thick of it, tugging immediately. âI want you to make it fit here too.â He continues, curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting his own hips against the dense air in your apartment.Â
You moan again at his hot words. Youâre overwhelmed by how much you want more, how much youâd let him, right here, right now.Â
âKeep going,â You sing out, feeling it in your stomach and knowing that this familiar feeling is so much better than youâve ever felt before. âTell me, Jakey, fuckââ You continue, huffing at the way his fingers quicken even more.Â
âSound so pretty saying my name, fuck,â He groans now, more level than before as he feels your legs close around his arm, fingers relentlessly hitting the soft spot inside of you. âTell me that Iâd never hurt you, that only I can make you feel like this.â
You nod aggressively as your brain hits a wall, unable to fulfill his request. Every muscle in your body tenses in pleasure as you begin to shake, moving your own hips against his fingers and tugging his hair harder without intention.Â
He moans out at how tight you hold him, wanting nothing more than to lay you out and bury himself into you, to feel your pussy jerk him off.Â
âFeels so good, baby, right?â He continues to talk, feeling your tight walls try to push his fingers out with each threat of your build up, his mind is spinning. âSay itââ He stutters, feeling his own body react the same way yours is. âFuck, please, say that youâre mine.â
âIâm yours.â You whisper out of breath against his ear, the hot breath sending him overboard as he immediately pulls his fingers from you and grips his cock instead, ignoring your whimper of the lost build up.
âYeah,â He cries out, thrusting his hips against his hand. âSo let meâ please, please let me.âÂ
His face looks so broken when you stare at him in shock, eyes pleading for you to give him all of it. To give him everything right now. How could you fucking say no to that expression? How could you ever say no to him?Â
And still, with your orgasm half-fulfilled, youâre entirely enamored with the way you instantly want it too. As if youâre rushing head first into a brick wall with him, and you stop just to think for a moment.
Should you?Â
Do you intend to keep this man forever? Do you want him to leave? Would you be able to picture a day without him?Â
It confirms in your brain right then and there. You do intend to keep him. You donât want him to leave. You could never picture a day without him at this point.Â
If he wants to have sex with you right now? Why not? Youâre sure that if he is truly wanting to stay, sooner or later youâll feel him pumping inside of you. Why should it matter that it happens now rather than tomorrow? Or next week? Or even next month?Â
Instantly upon your snap decision, you stand on shaking legs, watching him watch you. His hand gripping himself harshly to prevent a pathetic and untouched orgasm, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.Â
You smile, dropping your pants, panties, and then lifting your shirt right up and over your head. All he does in response is wince, grip the base of his cock harder, and try to focus on not spilling and wasting his cum on your floor. Brain only slightly trying to distract him with the idea of grabbing those sticky panties to suck them clean.Â
âReally?â He chokes, out of breath and standing up, swiping your panties up quickly and crumpling them in his hand.
Then, you feel one hand on you after he drops his length, and the other rubbing those same wet panties against your skin, as if he has a death grip on them and you. Still, he walks you right back to the window and against it, speaking in that same, needy and shaking breath. âBaby, are you sure?âÂ
You look away, feeling vulnerable and shy but so willing, so ready when you nod and throw your leg around his waist as if to tell him that youâre more than sure.Â
He gives you a breathy chuckle, pulling back just to lift his shirt off of him, hang your panties at the base of his cock, and then he grabs your leg and holds it in place. âRight here?â
He canât tell if heâs even alive right now, with your pussy sitting spread open right up against him as you let him hold you here, your ass is probably looking great for the camera right now. Your panties feel so good in their rightful place, dangling just in front of his balls. You feel so good in your rightful place, right up against the wall with him trapping you here.Â
You nod again, pressing your hips forward, proving to him how hungry you feel for him right now. Finally feeling dirty and not hating yourself for it.
âRight here.â You confirm, tuned into his lips and leaning forward to lick against them. âThatâs what you want, right?â
Heâs stunned by how you take control while still being somehow submissive to him about it. Almost like youâre shaming him for wanting it, almost like you donât want to admit that you want it too.Â
âIs that what you want?â He asks, trying hard not to think about how youâve shifted entirely within the span of however long itâs been since the two of you started this. Is this how you act when you're horny?Â
âHow could I not?â You confirm again with a confident tone, watching your boyfriend break in front of you. âLook at you.â
Jake canât bear to look at himself, he knows he looks just about as pathetic as heâs always wanted. Never quite able to feel pathetic enough to satisfy him, only now understanding why he chased and chased the feeling to have you like this.Â
Controlling whether he can stick his dick in you, controlling whether he can fuck off and die.Â
Thatâs how itâs supposed to be in a relationship, but somehow itâs something else between both of you. For him, itâs like youâve intentionally edged him for an entire week and for you itâs like you finally have control over your own sexuality again.Â
You feel powerful, and Jake wants to be entirely at your mercy.Â
âNo one has ever wanted me this bad and waited.â You finally say to his intense and loving stare. âI want to give you anything you want.â
If he had a tail, it would be wagging so fast right now. Itâs like heâs being given a treat for being exactly who you needed him to be, and he doesnât think heâll ever stop doing it.Â
âI could wait longer,â Jake mumbles, inching his lips to yours and letting his other hand cup one of your tits. âYou could make me suffer,â He continues, whispering it right into your mouth. âCould lock me up and starve me of it.â
You lean your face back, a little shocked at his choice of words there.Â
âSo you meant those things you said earlier?â You ask, remembering how he babbled on about wanting you to suffocate him, about how he wanted you to take everything from him.Â
âDo you want me to be honest?â He counters, now pressing his hips forward and letting his cock weep against your thigh.Â
You nod to him.Â
âI want you to take it all out on me.â He admits, gripping your tit in his hand tighter, hiking your leg up higher. âI want you to control every aspect of my life.â
Honestly, it shouldnât be a thought that brightens your brain but it does. It sounds toxic, and you canât even tell if heâs saying this just because heâs horny and is about two seconds from slamming you up and against this window with the force of his cock alone. Somehow, you love the thought of all of it.Â
âEvery aspect?â You ask with interest. âWhat do you mean?â
He chuckles as he hangs his head, watching his length pulse constantly against your thigh and the panties hanging off of it. Only then does he release your tit and use your panties as a way to position his cock up, lining up with the wet of your core that is only for him.
âIt meansââ He starts, sliding into you with a paused moan, hiccuping slightly as he furrows his brows. âI want you to make me cry for you.â He continues with a tilt to his head as he watches the way you wince at all of the strength he has to hold you up like this, to slide into you like this. âI want you to hurt me, and I want you to love doing it.â
He bottoms out after that, holding you in place and feeling your walls struggle to adjust to the tight fit.Â
âItâs what you deserve.â He soothes out to you, kissing you once. âTo take someone the same way youâve been taken.â
You recoil instantly, pussy restricting in horror at the reminder of why you never do this with another person, but god the way he lifts on his toes just to plunge somehow deeper into you. The way his lips trap you even more, the way his force is nothing but fucking amazing to feel. All you can do is moan, bump your head against the window, and squeeze him.Â
âYou said you wanted to give me what I wantââ He slides out of you just a little bit. âSo, can you?â He pushes back in, listening to you get wetter at his words and feeling your answer when you canât seem to speak for yourself.Â
âI said Iâd never hurt you, love,â He coos out this time, watching your body shift up against the window as he picks up some sort of rhythm, taking you the way heâs always wanted you. Right here, against the window. âBut I never said that you couldnât hurt me.â
Why the fuck is that so hot? God, why does a man like Jake offer you so much? Why is he doing this to you? Why is he doing it to himself? Why do you love it?Â
You find yourself nodding as you moan out, still not quite adjusted to his size and the way he made it fit into you in such aâŠpleasurable way. It doesnât hurt at all, it feels good.Â
âYeah, I knew you would.â He continues to talk as if heâs not internally losing it, but months worth of pretending, several orgasms today alone, and having your pussy hugging him just as tightly as he knew it would? Thatâs helpful.Â
And now, as your fingers grip at him through his harsh and deep thrusts, all he can do is hold your leg against him, lean forward, and stare directly into his apartment window. As if heâs mocking his former self, as if everything in the world has fallen into place. You wouldnât leave him now, never, youâd be just as stupid as everyone else if that were the case.Â
He has faith in you, in himself, in this, and the way you drip all over him.Â
He knew youâd be perfect for him.Â
It doesnât take long, really, for him to pull an orgasm out of you when heâs doing it this good. In fact, you donât even have to reach a hand down to help pull it out of you by the time your body begins to stiffen up at it.Â
His pace is slow, his cock is deep, and fuck his entire body is on you. You couldnât squeeze your hand down if you tried, in fact, you donât think heâd even consider letting you do any of this on your own.Â
His grip is so strong, you can feel your sweat stick to the window as you slam your head down on his shoulder, sliding up and down the window with each of his powerful thrusts.Â
It feels so good to do this again.
âJakeââ You hiccup against his neck, listening to his heaved and choked breaths through each thrust. âI wish I had done this sooner.â You manage to get out, body tensing and relaxing by the minute with the threat of an orgasm. âIâm sorry I made you wait so long.â
And honestly, you donât know whatâs gotten into you, nor do you fucking care. If you want to cry, youâll fucking cry. Itâs been too long since your tears hit you out of pleasure, or happiness, or fucking safety. At this rate, youâll never let this man go.Â
âI know baby, I know.â He soothes you, arms shaking as he holds you up and thrusting in as deep as he can go.
You feel him stutter in his pace, his hips stopping as you feel his heavy cock pulsate against your clenching walls.Â
âAre you close?â He says, pulling back and looking at you. âIs that why youâre sorry?â
You look at him with glassy eyes, smiling dazed at him as you shake your head.Â
âNo,â You smile wider, running your hands up and into his hair, remembering what he asked for before. You tug, forcing his head to tilt back so that you can attach your lips to him. âIâm saying it because I want you to always make me feel this good.â You whisper against his pulse point, kissing it hard.Â
You feel him lose composure at that, his hips immediately moving again, slamming up and into you so hard that you canât even hold your head still enough to kiss him there again.Â
âAh, fuck,â He whimpers out, âwhy would you fucking say that to me right now?â He continues, relentlessly fucking himself against the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. âYou still make me feel so insane, only you could do this to me.â
You smile, having learned that he appears to love the torture anyway.Â
âYou love it though, donât you Jakey?â You say, loving the way he loses it for you, learning how badly heâs wanted this, seeing him intend to stay.Â
And at those words, he canât take it anymore. Fuck the camera, fuck anything else in the world that isnât you. He ignores that wince on your face when he slips out of you, ignores the way the panties fall from his length, and focuses entirely on the way you hug him as he carries you straight to the couch.Â
Right there, he drops you and watches the way your tits bounce at the motion.Â
âIâm fucking obsessed with you.â He says, feeling the arousal run through his veins, knowing youâd love to hear him say that while never knowing just how true it is. âHow are you real?â
You smile, hiding your face as you feel his hands hold your thighs open. You know what heâs looking at, and you canât force yourself to see him do it. Solely because you know itâs going to swell your heart so big that youâd only fear the day he wants to leave it empty.
And you donât respond either, because you canât. His fingers are spreading you open and you can hear him drop to his knees yet again for you. You wanât to look so bad, but still, you fear the love in his eyes.
You fear and want all of it.Â
He hears the sharp inhale you give when he spreads you out, really inspecting the single spot on your body that no one on this earth should ever see aside from him.Â
âThis is where it hurt the most, isnât it?â He asks, staring into the hole heâs already fucked, watching it beg him for more despite his words that probably stab your soul.Â
Youâll never understand how he can take your pain and turn it into something you donât mind hearing though. Yes, thatâs where it hurt the most, and still, thatâs where you want him the most.Â
âYeah, baby?â He asks again, reaching an arm up and forcing you to look at him. âThis is what you were so afraid of?â He continues, dipping down and rubbing his face directly into the folds and inhaling a deep breath.Â
âY-yeah.â You choke out at the feeling, in awe of how you knew his eyes would make you terrified. He still stares up at you as he does it, pointing his glare straight through you and into your fucking spirit.
Only Jake can make you fear nothing else in this world aside from the thought of losing him.Â
âIâll make it better,â He says, boosting his ego at the way your legs wrap around his head. âYouâll always want me here,â He continues, cooing out with each taste and lick of your budding arousal. âYouâll never want me to stopââÂ
No man has ever wanted you this bad while having you, even as you experienced the trauma of just that. Your ex wanted you physically, but something about the man drying to drown himself in your pussy right now makes you feel like he wants you on a level far deeper than whatâs possible.
Heâs eating you out like he wants to eat you whole. Like he could devour you, and never spit you out of his mouth.Â
âShit, shitââ You moan, hands shooting down to his hair yet again, finding yourself loving the way his grown-out roots feel softer than the harsher dyed section of his hair. You tug harder than you have before, feeling his tongue search and yearn for everything you have to offer him.Â
âMhm.â He mumbles with a mouth full of pussy, rolling his eyes back at how you do just as he suggested before. Rubbing his nose in it, letting him continue to lose himself in the point of all of his problems.Â
And itâs as if you forgot that this only happens to reach a point of coming. The experience alone feels like one long and drawn out orgasm already, it doesnât take anything at all for him to get you there.Â
Itâs like he already knows it too, because you go entirely silent with a held breath as he holds your hips and buries his tongue deep inside of you. He wants to feel it, he wants to taste it. And he suffers for it, really, neglecting his own cock and knowing heâs going to come through this alone anyway.Â
As expected, he does. Upon the first gush of your slick hitting his tongue, his cock pulses, his balls squeeze up, and he can feel it shoot out of him each time your pussy shakes against his suffocated mouth.
And your hands, so perfect in his hair, pulling without even knowing. Youâre everything heâs ever wanted, this is more than he could have ever asked for.Â
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By this point in your relationship, the two of you have moved so quickly that it doesnât even scare you. In fact, if it slowed down at any point, youâd probably be preparing a suicide note simply because you donât want to be in this world without Jake.Â
Since the first time you got intimate with him, itâs like it hasnât stopped. Youâre shocked at his thirst for you and even more shocked that someone so fucking perfect would waste his breath on you even for this long.Â
It hasnât been that long, really, since the first time you touched him. A few days at most, but itâs like that moment solidified a lot for the two of you.
One, heâs not going to be sleeping in his own bed anytime soon or, ever, really. Two, youâve learned through at least two more sessions of Jakeâs mouth on you that he really does want you to live up to his requests. He makes it known how badly he wants you to make him suffer, how badly he needs you to give him everything he wants. Thankfully, heâs patient with your reluctance. And Three, your ex is no longer a threat.Â
Each message you receive, you just hand your phone to Jake and he takes care of it.Â
It doesnât even translate in your head that youâve been barred from answering your motherâs calls until the police show up at your door for a wellness check. Where, of course, Jake answers,
âYeah, sheâs here.â You hear his voice as you lay flat against your bed, heaving breaths as if he didnât just have the tip of his dick in you. âWhy?â You hear him question.Â
A few more muffled words and you hear the door close and his footsteps making his way to your room.Â
âCops.â He dead-pans, âYour mom thinks you're dead.â he adds with an eye roll.Â
Your internal panic, a feeling you had once been so accustomed to that now feels almost foreign, takes over your body.
âFuck, my mom!â You say in a fast breath, rushing onto your feet and throwing on a pair of his soiled sweatpants.Â
Jake hangs back but listens to your conversation from your hallway, listening intently to how you speak to other men, cops or not.Â
âYeah,â You say, scratching your temple with shame. âI guess I didnât realize she was calling me so much.âÂ
Try five times a day.Â
âIâll call her now, sorry for wasting your time.â You continue with that nervous chuckle that you used to use on him during your dates.Â
And then youâre back in the room, looking at him with a raised brow.Â
âWhy didnât you tell me my mom has been calling?â You ask, a little annoyed that itâs gotten to the point of freaking your mother out.Â
Jake shrugs, then looks at you apologetically.Â
âI donât like when she forces you to talk about it.â He finally says, sulking his shoulders and huffing out. âI donât like that she tells you to be careful around me.â
You roll your eyes, relieved that heâs just being himself and wanting to keep you happy.Â
âStill, you should have told me. Sheâs going to have a fucking heart attack thinking he showed up at my work place again.â
Jakeâs entire brain stops working, his body going rigid as if the cold air outside is hitting him in full force.Â
Your eyes immediately widen as you slam your hand over your mouth. Fuck, you forgot that you told her in a hushed tone, explaining that itâs okay. That Jake wouldnât let anything happen to you.Â
Fuck.Â
âHe what?â Jake says, dumbfounded at the slip of your words.Â
âJake, waitââ You try to get an explanation but heâs not having it.Â
âYou havenât been at work, what do you mean he showed up?â He glares, chest heaving as his heart rate picks up.Â
âIt was from that day when you first stayed over,â You look at the floor apologetically. âI didnât want to talk about itâŠâ You trail off, feeling his energy hit you in the face at how heâs completely shifted from that loving, soft boyfriend youâre so used to.Â
âYou kept that from me!?â He seethes out in disbelief. This whole time he thought he fucked your ex up enough to prove what would happen if he even fucking tried it. By you explaining that it happened just after Jake found him, thatâs a direct insult.
A threat.
A fucking death wish.
âI didnâtââ You stutter trying to explain yourself. âI didnât think it would matter since you were here. You were keeping me safe.âÂ
âYou lied to me?â He continues interrogating you, coming up to you and practically demanding an answer through his eyes. Â
You look away, nodding.Â
âYou said you wanted me to keep you safe, what would have happened if you had to go to work again?â He drones on and on, seemingly stuck on the fact that you didnât tell him. âWhat would happen if they called you to go in today?âÂ
Already youâre starting to cry, feeling stupid for not making a bigger deal out of it. To be fair, not talking about it helped and you did intend to tell him at some point. That justâŠnever happened.Â
âI would have asked you to stay with me at work.â You say, feeling numb as the fear of losing the man in front of you steals your every thought. âIâd have not gone. Iâd have quit. I donât know!âÂ
Jake backs down at your words, only able to soften his rage if youâre the one who causes it.Â
âBaby,â His soft voice shocks you when you feel him come back to himself, as if to comfort the fear he just instilled in you. âIâm not mad.â
Yes he is, you know he is.Â
âNow youâre the one lying.â You argue, pushing him away only to feel his grip on you tighten.Â
âAm I?â He asks, urging you to keep talking. âAre you mad at me now?â He continues, intentionally pushing your buttons.Â
âMad that I should have already known?âÂ
âMad that I didnât let you talk to your mom?âÂ
âMad that Iâm keeping you safe, while you keep putting yourself in the position to be hurt by him again?âÂ
You stare at the floor.Â
âMad that this is your fault?âÂ
Yeah, you are mad.Â
âFuck you, Jake.â You break, feeling his strangling fingers on your skin scratch and leave welts when you force yourself away from him. âFuck you for all of that.â
âWhat else?â He presses, hanging on specific words. âFuck me for what else?âÂ
You just stare at him, and he can see the anger in your eyes.Â
âFor not being there when it happened?â He asks gently. âFor not killing him when I had the chance?â
When he had the chance.Â
âWhat do youââ You try to ask, but he just continues, closing back in on you.Â
Somehow, you need it, despite wanting to pull away every time.Â
âFuck me for wanting this from you, right?â He says, much closer to you and dipping down to kiss you. âFuck me for wanting you to be this mad, hmm?âÂ
You break again, something deep within you spiraling into a different type of insanity youâve never felt. You donât feel trauma, you donât feel scared, you feelâŠenraged.
âFuck me for thinking you look perfect,â He whispers against your lips. âFuck me to fuck me, fuck me to fight me, fuck me.âÂ
The repeated words fit into your brain like they belong there. Like this anger is supposed to be filling you with pleasure rather than dread. Like youâre supposed to feel just as in love as you are mad.Â
âJust fuck me, baby.â
And god fucking dammit. How does he crawl into the depths of your brain, like a fucking roach, and kiss all of the areas you donât know exist? How the fuck does he wake shit up inside of you that you never dreamed of having, or feeling, or wanting.
âI hate you.â You say, and meaning it too.Â
Because you donât think youâve ever loved someone more than you do now.Â
âYeah, I bet you do.â He smiles, dipping his hand down into the sweats you put on and sliding into the same slick he had spilling out of you just before the pigs showed up. âI love it.â He chuckles against your lips when you refuse to moan at his touch.Â
Youâre pushing against every good feeling inside of you right now, thinking only of how this rage spills out of you and against his fingers.Â
âSo wet to hate meââ He says, pressing and pressing and pressing for you to just fuckingâ âHit me.âÂ
He sees your eyes shine at the very thought of how badly you must want to do that, unknowing of how much he wants it too. Needing it almost.Â
And oh, the moan he lets out when your weak hands raise to shove him back. He plays off of it, stumbling back to your bed just to fall on it. Waiting, knowing youâll come take him for all heâs worth.
âCome on, love.â He encourages you. âMake me sorry.âÂ
You hate him, and you hate that you love it. Love that he loves it, fucking adore that he wants this, he wants to let you do whatever you want to him.Â
To kick, cry, scream, release everything thatâs been trapped in your head for years.
You donât even falter, feeling it bubble up and overtake every thought. Dripping down your legs as if this is the only way you could ever fulfill your own pleasure again. Only now to you slide the pants back off of you, so horny out of your mind that all you can manage is to feel these emotions drip for him.Â
He watches you straddle him bare from the waist down, sees your breath shaking, and your lips quivering.
Jake knew you had it in you.Â
âTake them off.â You demand, rolling your eyes at the way he looks up at you with pure bliss.
âHit me first.â He offers, feeling his cock strained against his own pants that he haphazardly threw on when he heard the knock at your door. âHit me, and Iâll fuck the hate out of you.â He lies.
âTake them off.â You repeat, cold hands reaching down as you do it yourself, lifting just enough to shove them down far enough.
And god, the breath is knocked clean out of him with the way you just take him. You slide down perfectly, bottoming him out in one motion. He can see now that you need this perhaps even more than he does.Â
âGod, come on baby.â He moans, feeling you just sit still on him.Â
âJake,â You warn, running your cold hands up to his neck on instinct. âShut up.â You squeeze.Â
The smile that forms on his face is pornographic at best, and drunk at worst. You see him love every instant of it, and you donât want to admit that you do too.
You didnât know it would feel so good to have a manâs neck in your hands, squeezing it just to shut him up. Releasing it just to hear him gasp out a praise.Â
âSo good,â He praises, eyebrows knitted together as he loses himself to the way your pussy chokes his length. Youâre not even fucking him, youâre justâ âSo perfect.â He continues, nearly wailing out at the immense love he feels inside.Â
And then, you do. You hit him. Power hungry and entirely at a loss for your own pleasure, you land a harsh and loud slap right against his face, only for him to moan louder.Â
Only for him to fuck up.Â
Only for him to grip your sheets so tight that you hear a rip.Â
Again. You slap him, feeling your anger slowly fizzle with each frantic moan he gives back.Â
Again, and again.
âShit, you love that, donât you?â He manages to say, feeling his cheeks sting with red-hot passion, only to be hit again, and again. âGod, make it hurt.âÂ
At this point, you know that you could never give him enough as the rage leaves your body entirely and itâs replaced with nothing but the need to justâŠ.fuck him. Never in your life have you ever been blinded by a need so badly, save for safety.
And you have that now, donât you? You have Jake now, right where you want him, right he wants to be. He wants you to feel this, he made you feel this.Â
The first bounce felt like pure agony, slamming his cock into you by your own force, feeling him stretch you open, hearing it slap and echo against the walls.Â
âMake it hurt?â You finally say, pinching his cheeks together and forcing him to look at you. âI donât think I could hurt you enough if I tried.â You admit, quite truthfully, mind you.
Jake gives you a crooked smirk.Â
âTry it anyway.â He coos, feeling the way you repeatedly arch your back just to ride him faster. âCould fill you up, right here, right now, flip you over and make you take it if youâre so worried that you canât.âÂ
It runs through you like a cold shiver. You donât want to give up this power, you want to try.Â
âThatâs big talk for someone asking to be choked right now.â You dead-pan at him, voice even and calm. You continue to move your hips, listening to his repeated moans with each breath. âSo loud and needy for it too.â
Jake nods proudly and drunkenly, reaching his hands out to yours and forcing them back on his neck.Â
âI could be needier.â He says, pressing your hands against his airways.Â
You take over for him, choking his remaining words out of him and forcing him to moan.Â
âYou said youâd make me take it?â You seethe out through your own pained moan, riding him so hard that you feel sensitive. âLike you think it would hurt me?âÂ
He shakes his head rapidly, implying that youâre wrong to think that. Wanting to tell you that if he made you take it, youâd love every second of it. You wouldnât tell him no.Â
âAfter promising you never would, Jake?â You question still, knowing he canât answer. You squeeze harder as you watch his face darken, the blood rushing to burst in the whites of his eyes. âIs that it? You want to hurt me so that I hurt you back?â
He nods in a daze, wanting nothing more than to die like this now, or some other day. To hear your voice, feel your hands, and know that youâre fucking him through it.Â
âYou donât scare me.â You finally say, releasing the grasp and listening to the sharp inhale he takes in. âAs much as I wish you did, you donât.âÂ
Thatâs all it takes really, knowing that he could work you like a puppet and youâd still love him. Why else would you say that? You wouldnât fuck him like this if you didnât mean it. Your mother long forgotten, the anger gone, itâs just a raw form of you and him right now.Â
Everything youâre saying is more truthful than he ever thinks youâve been with him.Â
âWant me to?â He finally asks with a wet gasp as he continues to catch his breath. âI bet I could.â
âYou canât.â You say, now slowing your hips as your legs tire out, bracing yourself on his shoulders to take a breath.Â
âI can.â He says, immediately overpowering you. He sits up quick, flipping you right over and onto your back. âI can make you feel anything I want.â He whispers darkly to you. He grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, lost entirely from this reality. âAnything you want.âÂ
You just stare up at him, willing to accept his words even more when he slams his length into you, so deep that you feel nothing but the pain of it.Â
For the first time, heâs hurting you through pleasure alone.Â
âCould make you love it too,â He continues to dote on himself as he watches the sparkle in your eye dim. âYou love it already, donât you?â
âIâm not afraid.â You manage to mutter out through a guttural groan, wincing at the way he drives himself into you at such a speed that all you feel is pain.Â
âI canât take you seriously when you talk like that.â He chuckles, feeling entirely in control of whatever entity is running his body right now. âI see you baby, youâre terrified to lose me.âÂ
Your eyes die in that moment, because out of anything in this world, heâs pinpointed your biggest fear.Â
âSo pretty when youâre scared too,â He hums out, not relenting at all with the force of his hips when he lets your legs fall around him, and he finds himself burying his face between your tits. âMaybe I should threaten to leave you.â
Instantly, you cry.Â
âJust so I can eat up these little tears you have for me.âÂ
You wish he would shut up.Â
âSo I can taste the way you come on me, and feel your pussy try and lock me here.â He smooths over your nipple at the words, slowing his hips and pulling out just to the tip. âYour body tells me more than you know, love.â
Your eyes roll up when his pointed thrust shoves your body across your sheets, your hands reach for his shoulders, clawing for any sense of normality to this moment.Â
âSo quiet.â He lightens his own voice now, letting it fall against your collarbone in a tone just above a whisper. âSo stubborn.âÂ
Your mind awakens at the insult, hoping heâs right.Â
âTo think Iâd ever leave you.â He smiles, lifting up to meet your lips. âIâm not going anywhere.â
He tastes your tears and itâs just enough for him to forgive you.Â
To forgive you for not hitting him enough, for not choking him until he died. To forgive you for even thinking youâd need to talk to your mother, and for fucking lying to him.Â
And only now does he go quiet, fucking you will full intent now that heâs already in your head at every turn and corner. He can tell with the way you donât even realize your previous orgasm.Â
With the way it bubbled out and down his balls, hugging his cock so tightly that all he could do was keep fucking with your mind, toying with threats only to silence them.Â
And then, you inhale a sob, and breathe out his name, so pretty to your ears, even more beautiful to his own.Â
âDonât leave me.â You chime out, body numb and emotions threatening you into a panic attack.
âIâm right here, love.â He chuckles. âYouâre shaking.âÂ
You are. More than you can even comprehend, your body is shaking from feeling everything and nothing at once, all the way up until you do feel something.Â
âAh, shit.â You cry out, hugging his body so tightly against you. âRight thereââ
And Jake does it, angling his hips to repeatedly hit the spot inside of you. Knowing youâre sensitive, knowing you can take it, knowing that he canât when he feels every drop in your body push him out of you.Â
Instantly he plunges back in, listening to the wet sounds of all that love you must have for him. He can barely move in this suffocating hug as your body shakes and quivers more than it ever has, even through your past traumas, even through the cold nights this city offers.Â
He has spent you and fucked you dry.Â
âThere she is,â He echoes into your ear. âThe girl of my dreams.âÂ
The only energy left in you is enough to give him a smile before your tunnel vision fades into nothingness.Â
It feels calm in the darkness he gives you, and even calmer when you wake up feeling as if all of this was a dream.Â
It wasnât though, because you can feel the way youâre still leaking all over your bed. Your own slick mixed with his, and you donât even remember when or how he orgasmed because he certainly was taking his time before you initially fainted, but youâre glad he did. You think he is too, with the way he clings to you like a puppy, as if he didnât just fuck reality straight out of you.Â
Lending you the gift of floating, and of pain you find yourself to love.Â
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Waking up the next morning felt like you were a new person and you couldnât be happier to see the saddest version of you die. The only fear you need to have is that Jake may some day choose to leave, and he said himself that he never would.Â
You trust him more than anyone, more than yourself even, considering heâs managed to force you into facing so many versions of yourself that you didnât even know you had.Â
This is the first morning youâve woken up without your skin crawling and you canât help but shake him awake, destroying that blushed and sleeping face of his.Â
âJake,â You shake him, feeling him stir instantly and lend you a crooked smile. âWake up.â
You listen to his morning stretch as his body vibrates in a yawn, and then heâs nuzzling his face even further into your naked chest.Â
For what feels like hours, you find yourself engaging in pillow talk. Logging into work? Long forgotten. Calling your mother? Forgotten. The pain in your body? Ignored.
You tell him everything. Every detail of your life, your first memory, your first laugh and cry. All of the times your heart has been shattered, your least favorite colors and favorite words in the world. And he justâŠlistens.
He nods, he smiles, he coos and kisses you throughout all of it.Â
And thenâ
âYou know, a while back before we met, I came home and noticed some of my things were missing and messed with. I canât help but feel like heâs known where Iâve been this whole time.âÂ
Jake stiffens in your grasp before relaxing. It happened so fast that you donât think anyone but you would have noticed it.
âSome of my panties were gone, and the batteries in my toys went missing weeks agoânot that it matters now or anything.â You continue, watching his face intently. â At first I thought that maybe I was just forgetful butâ now i know that it really was him.â You pause, smiling at him. âIâm just kind of waiting now, wondering if heâs ever going to try and do it again.â
âDo you want me to kill him?â Jake chuckles out as if to offer a funny little solution, one that he has genuinely considered more times than he can count. And he should have already, honestly.
You feel warmer at the way he makes jokes, but you know better than anyone that Jake jumps into action driven only by rage at times.
âHe wonât come near you again, love, havenât I proved that to you already?â He continues, imagining the blood of his man on his fists again. Imagining the way his bones would crack so beautifully.Â
You nod in an almost shy way to him.
âYouâre safe with me.â He says, wrapping his arms around himself as you cradle him. âYouâre safe with me.â He continues, repeating it more to himself because he feels as though he canât fail you again, âYouâve always been safe.âÂ
You havenât believed words so deeply until you met him.Â
âHe already fucking knowsââ He whispers shortly, cutting himself off. âIâll kill him.â He whispers a bit louder, uncaring if you heard that first slip of his words.
Something in your brain floods at those words. A confirmation that youâve seen him break before, and it wasnât your imagination. Your protective, loving, and sweet boyfriend has a side to him that youâve yet to truly see. Those words were more believable than any of the sweet things heâs ever said to you.Â
And still, you almost want to encourage it, reminding yourself of the image of your ex the day he showed up, all bruised up. And then to the image of Jake with his own little battle scar.
Deep down you think you knew what happened.
And you still wonder how such a perfect man fell into your lap? Your bruised up, pain-loving boyfriend, breaking his soft persona and showing you a glimpse of something that feelsâŠ.unnervingly beautiful to you.
Unsure, almost, you feel. As happy as you are that he lied to you, you try to not think of how Jake found your ex with nothing more than an out-of-context description of your abuse. You try not to think of the way he looked away from you when you mentioned the items in your apartment that went missing.Â
You try not to think about how close he lives to you, and how he always managed to show up when you couldnât hang out.Â
How all of his interests matched your own, up until he never spoke about them again when he started staying with you.Â
How he only looks at you, how he only talks to you, and about you.
How he always knew what to say to you.
You try not to think about how you saw him toss his own laundry into your washer many nights ago, seeing a glimpse of what you thought could have been a pair of your own missing panties. Or how he always accidentally picked up your toothbrush rather than his own in the mornings.
You push those thoughts far into the back of your mind, knowing that you were just being paranoid, grasping to not trust a single person in this world as you fall into this life with him. Even if all of those instances were with purpose on his end, you know youâd simply accept them as normal. Youâd accept him, you wouldnât think twice.Â
Jake is your only safety. He would never do anything to harm you, heâs proved that.Â
You hold his head tighter against your chest, breathing out a sigh and accepting everything at face value, pushing back the slight doubt in your head that everything he has done for you, to you, and with you, isnât normal.Â
âDid you tell him already?â You sigh out in a calmer tone, soothing him with your fingers in his hair. âThat youâd kill him? Is that really why you had that bruise?â
Jake stiffens under your grasp briefly.Â
âWhat do you mââ He starts.Â
âI wonât ask how,â You cut him off. âBut thank you.â
He relaxes, thumbs now rubbing hearts into your skin, stomach bubbling in butterflies.Â
âI did.â He now admits reluctantly, feeling dangerously close to a truth you donât need to see or know about. âI couldnât just let another person think that you still belong to them.â
You pause, then nuzzle closer to him.Â
âI knew from the first time I saw you that I wouldnât let anyone else touch you.â He continues, spilling and spilling. âI knew that youâd be mine.â
You try not to think too hard about it, asking out gently and instead choosing to just love him harder.
âWhen was the first time you saw me?â
Jake goes silent and tries to read the air in the room, sensing how relaxed you are against him.Â
âEighteenth of October at the supermarket. We both made spaghetti for dinner that night.â He lies, never intending to admit that the first time he saw you was through your window. Never admitting that he actually already knew you by that eighteenth of October. That he followed you to the market.
He says it so confidently, and the fact that heâs right about what you cooked should scare you. The fact that you must have seen him that day too should make you feel unnerved.
You choose to ignore that too.Â
âWas your spaghetti good?â You ask, allowing yourself to spiral into the safety that he offers you. The image of your bruised ex boyfriend bringing joy to you, the idea of Jake keeping his promises making your stomach tingle with even brighter joy.
âNo.â He admits with a chuckle. âYours was probably better.â
âYou really would kill him, wouldnât you?âÂ
Jake nods.
You trust him.Â
Heâs not lying.Â
He would never lie to you.Â
Him knowing what you cooked that night is a coincidence. Him remembering the date and month is just him being mindful. Your lost panties must have gotten tangled in his laundry, surely. He found your ex because you probably let sensitive information slip without realizing it.Â
He met your mother and uncle by coincidence.Â
Heâs the perfect man by chance, and youâre lucky to have him.Â
âI love you, you know.â You say, feeling him immediately shift away from your chest to look at you.
The look in his eye when heâs immediately getting on top of you, itâs still as if heâs about to wisp away with you in his arms to another realm. Youâve already been there before, and your body warms at the thought.Â
âWhat did you say?â He asks, voice shaking and somewhat far away from your own dissociated reality.Â
âI love you.â You say again, watching his lips quiver, and feeling his hands squeeze you.Â
He did it. Heâs won.Â
And at the end of the day, you donât think Jake could ever lose. After all, youâve never felt so safe in a grasp as tight as this one, as painful as this one. Youâve never wanted a man to leave his fingerprints on you so bad.Â
As you look at him, seeing him lose himself from reality, you follow suit. Losing yourself with him, feeling that painful grasp on you turn into begging hands. Swelling him under your palms, soothing his stinging skin with your lips, listening to him encourage you, knowing that if your ex ever tried to step into this room, he wouldnât make it out alive.Â
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oh, the horrors, amirite?
this is the last of the fic. there is not a part three.
A MARRIAGE LAW HARRY POTTER AU SUNSHINE X GRUMPY 2 LOVERS FIC!! PART 1
wizard diplomat grumpy!sunghoon x witch healer sunshine f!reader
warnings: sex lol, hes emotionally unavailable and it hurts, he also might be a bit mean but its okay.
-
That night, something changed.
The thunderstorm had been brewing all evening, the air heavy with electricity as dark clouds gathered. By midnight, lightning split the sky outside your bedroom window, thunder rolling so close it rattled the glass.
You'd woken disoriented, reaching for your wand on the nightstand to cast a light. In the brief flash before you knocked it to the floor, you saw Sunghoon standing in your doorway, watching the storm with unusual intensity.
"Sorry," you murmured as your wand clattered away, plunging the room back into darkness. "Did I wake you?"
"No," came his reply, unusually soft. "I was already awake."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, freezing the moment in stark white lightâSunghoon sitting up against the headboard, his hair disheveled, eyes meeting yours with unexpected directness.
"I'll get my wand," you said, starting to move, when his hand caught yours in the darkness.
"Wait," he said, his voice low. "The storm is... interesting."
You settled back, acutely aware of his fingers still wrapped around yours.
Lightning flashed again, and in that brief illumination, you caught Sunghoon studying your face with an intensity that made your breath catch. His usual guardedness was gone, replaced by something raw and unfiltered.
"What?" you asked softly, when the darkness returned.
His thumb traced a slow circle on your palm. "You look different in the storm light."
"Different bad?" you asked, pulse quickening at his touch.
"Different... real," he replied, the word seeming to surprise even him.
The next lightning flash revealed him closer than before, his eyes dark with something you couldn't name. The thunder that followed seemed to vibrate through your entire body.
You weren't sure who moved first. Perhaps you both did, drawn together by something neither of you had anticipated. His lips met yours hesitantly, a question more than a demand.
That hesitation lasted exactly three seconds.
What began as exploration transformed into something neither of you had expected. Sunghoon kissed you with focused intensity, his careful control giving way to something hungrier. His hand slid into your hair, cradling your head as he deepened the kiss with unmistakable need.
Your wand remained forgotten on the floor, the room dark except for the occasional lightning that caught you in tableauâhis hand in your hair, your fingers gripping his shoulder, bodies drawing inevitably closer.
You gasped against his mouth as his free hand found your waist, pulling you firmly against him. The heat of him through your thin nightclothes was startling, intimate in a way you hadn't prepared for. His palm skimmed up your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"Is thisâ" he pulled back slightly, his voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. "Is this okay?"
The formality of the question, contrasted with his disheveled state and the position of his hands, made you laugh softly. "Very okay," you assured him. "More than okay."
Lightning illuminated his faceâhis eyes darker than you'd ever seen them, pupils blown wide, his usual perfect composure completely undone. Something flickered in his expressionârelief, hunger, something deeperâbefore darkness claimed the room again.
His lips found yours with new confidence, no longer questioning. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, discovering the surprising warmth of his skin, the definition of muscle beneath your fingertips. He made a sound against your mouthâhalf groan, half sighâthat sent electricity through your veins rivaling the storm outside.
"I've thought about this," he admitted against your throat, his voice barely audible above the rain. "More than I should have."
The confessionâso unlike his usual measured statementsâthrilled you more than you wanted to admit. "Me too," you whispered, gasping as his teeth grazed your collarbone.
His hands found the hem of your nightshirt, fingers tracing the edge with deliberate patience. "May I?" he asked, his usual precision still present even in this moment of abandon.
"Yes," you breathed, lifting your arms as he pulled the fabric over your head.
Lightning flashed, giving him a momentary glimpse of you before darkness returned. His sharp intake of breath was audible.
"Beautiful," he murmured, hands hovering just above your skin as if memorizing you by proximity alone. "So beautiful, baby."
The endearment sent a shiver through you. His hands finally made contact, palms warm against your ribs, thumbs tracing maddening circles that slowly moved higher.
You weren't passive in your exploration. Your fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, pushing the fabric from his shoulders to reveal the body he kept hidden beneath perfect tailoring. Lightning gave you glimpsesâbroad shoulders, defined chest, the surprising elegance of his collarbones. Your mouth followed the path your eyes had traced, tasting the salt of his skin.
"Angel," he groaned, the word catching as your teeth grazed his shoulder. His hands tightened on your waist, drawing you fully against him.
What followed was a discovery neither of you had anticipated. Sunghoonâcontrolled, precise Sunghoonâtouched you with a reverence that bordered on worship, learning every inch of you with the same focused attention he brought to diplomatic negotiations, but without the clinical distance. His mouth and hands found places that made you gasp, arch, plead.
And you discovered him in returnâthe places that made his breath catch, the sensitive spot below his ear that made him tense when you kissed it, the way he moaned your name when your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pajamas.
"Wait," he breathed, catching your wrist. "I needâwe shouldâ"
Even now, trying to think. So very Sunghoon.
"Stop thinking," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Just feel."
Something in him surrendered then. His remaining clothes joined yours on the floor, and when he covered your body with his, skin to skin with nothing between you, both of you gasped at the sensation.
"Look at me," he said, his voice low and commanding as he positioned himself. When your eyes met his, something passed between youâacknowledgment that this was about more than biology, more than proximity, more than Ministry requirements.
He moved with deliberate control at first, each thrust measured, his eyes never leaving yours. But as your body responded to his, as your hands clutched at his back, as you whispered his name with increasing urgency, that control fractured.
"Let go," you urged, recognizing his struggle to maintain composure even now. "I want to see you let go, Hoon."
His rhythm faltered at the nickname, something vulnerable flashing across his face. Then he buried his face against your neck, his movements becoming less calculated, more primal.
"Baby," he groaned against your skin, the word sounding natural in his desperation. "My angel, myâ"
Words failed him as his body took over, his careful precision giving way to something raw and real. You matched him movement for movement, the storm outside echoing the one you created between you.
When release finally claimed you both, lightning illuminated the momentâhis face above yours, completely unguarded for the first time since you'd met him, his eyes locked on yours as if you were the only fixed point in a universe suddenly without rules or boundaries.
After, as you lay tangled in the sheets and each other, his fingers traced patterns on your bare shoulder, his touch gentler than you'd imagined possible. The silence between you felt weighted with unspoken questions, but not uncomfortable.
"The Ministry assessment form definitely doesn't have a section for this," you murmured, feeling laughter bubble up in your chest.
For a moment, Sunghoon was silent. Then, to your astonishment, he laughedâa genuine, unguarded sound you'd never heard from him before. "A serious oversight in their protocol," he agreed, his voice warm with humor.
You propped yourself up on one elbow, staring at him through the darkness. "Did you just laugh? Actually laugh?"
"Momentary lapse in judgment," he said, though you could hear the smile in his voice. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "You have that effect on me."
"I like it," you admitted, turning to kiss his palm. "You should lapse more often."
He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you with surprising tenderness. "Only with you," he murmured against your hair. "Only like this."
You fell asleep to the sound of the rain and his heartbeat, a smile on your lips and the dangerous feeling in your chest that had nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with the man who'd just let you see behind his carefully maintained walls.
-
Morning brought soft sunlight and an even more unexpected sightâSunghoon, still in bed beside you, watching you with warm eyes.
"Good morning," he said, his voice lacking its usual crisp efficiency.
"Morning," you replied, waiting for the awkwardness, the retreat behind walls of propriety. It didn't come.
Instead, Sunghoon reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks," you admitted, studying his face for signs of regret or withdrawal. There were none.
"Hmm," he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "I canceled my morning meeting."
You stared at him, momentarily speechless. Park Sunghoon canceling a Ministry meeting was unprecedented.
"You're looking at me like I've grown a second head," he observed, the corner of his mouth lifting in what you now recognized as his version of a smile.
"It's just... not like you," you said.
"Perhaps I'm discovering new aspects of myself," he replied, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. "I found I wasn't particularly motivated to leave this bed."
Before you could respond to this startling admission, a furry weight landed on the mattress between you. Nyx, apparently sensing this new development, had come to investigate.
"Your cat has timing issues," Sunghoon observed dryly, though his hand automatically reached out to scratch behind her ears.
"She's curious about the new sleeping arrangement," you said, watching with delight as Nyx butted her head against Sunghoon's hand, demanding more attention.
"The arrangement meets with your approval, I hope?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes serious as they met yours.
"Very much so," you assured him, leaning forward to kiss him properly.
The kiss deepened quickly, morning breath forgotten as Sunghoon pulled you closer. Nyx, disgruntled at being squeezed between you, let out an indignant meow and jumped away.
"Even the cat has better judgment than I do right now," Sunghoon murmured against your lips. "You have a shift in two hours."
"Plenty of time," you whispered, your hand sliding beneath the sheets to trace the warm skin of his chest.
His breath caught, eyes darkening. "Indeed," he agreed, rolling you beneath him with surprising grace. "Time should be used efficiently."
The second time was differentâless hesitant, more playful, a discovery of what pleased each other now that the initial tension had broken. Sunghoon, you were delighted to learn, was a quick study, remembering exactly what had made you gasp the night before and expanding on it with creative variations.
Afterward, as you both lay catching your breath, he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I believe I'm developing a new appreciation for mornings," he said, his voice warm with satisfaction.
"Just mornings?" you teased, tracing patterns on his chest.
"Afternoons have potential," he replied seriously. "Evenings as well. I'll need to conduct further research."
You laughed, the sound drawing a genuine smile from himâsmall but real, transforming his usually stern features into something almost boyish.
"I should make breakfast," you said, making no move to get up.
"I'll cook," Sunghoon offered, surprising you again. "I'm told my pancakes are acceptable."
"You cook?" you asked, unable to hide your astonishment.
"I have many talents beyond diplomatic negotiations," he replied with unexpected playfulness. "Though I rarely bother when it's just for myself."
When you finally made it to the kitchen, wrapped in your robe with your hair still damp from a shared shower (another surprising development), you found Sunghoon already at work. He moved with the same precision he brought to everything, measuring ingredients with exact care, but there was a new ease to his movements, a relaxation in his usually rigid posture.
Most surprising was his interaction with Nyx, who had positioned herself strategically near the stove, watching the proceedings with keen interest.
"This is not for you," Sunghoon informed the cat, who meowed back as if arguing the point. "Your food is in your designated bowl. This is human breakfast."
Another plaintive meow.
"Negotiations will not be successful," he replied solemnly. "Though I suppose a small sample might be permissible."
You watched from the doorway, fascinated by this one-sided conversation. When Sunghoon carefully set aside a tiny piece of pancake on a saucer for Nyx, your heart did something complicated in your chest.
"Are you bribing my cat?" you asked, finally entering the kitchen.
Sunghoon looked up, not at all embarrassed at being caught. "Strategic alliance-building," he corrected. "She has considerable influence in this household."
"She has you wrapped around her paw," you observed, sliding onto a kitchen chair.
"She's persuasive," Sunghoon admitted, placing a perfect stack of pancakes before you. "Much like her owner."
The casual compliment, delivered without his usual careful calculation, created a warm glow in your chest. This new Sunghoonârelaxed, almost playful, comfortable in domestic settingsâwas a revelation.
Over breakfast, conversation flowed with unexpected ease. Sunghoon spoke of his work without the usual clipped efficiency, asked thoughtful questions about your upcoming shift, and even shared a few stories from his own childhood that revealed a dry humor you'd only glimpsed before.
When it came time for you to leave for your shift, he walked you to the doorâanother unprecedented gesture. "Dinner tonight?" he suggested, his hand lingering at your waist. "I should be home by six."
"I'll be there," you promised, rising on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye.
He returned the kiss with surprising enthusiasm, his arms tightening around you briefly before letting you go. "Have a good day, My angel," he said softly, the endearment now rich with genuine affection rather than calculated familiarity.
You floated through your shift at St. Mungo's, earning curious glances from colleagues who noticed your unusually sunny mood. Even the most difficult patients couldn't dampen your spirits as memories of the morning kept resurfacing at unexpected moments.
When you returned home that evening, you found Sunghoon already there, setting the table with uncharacteristic care. A bottle of wine was open, breathing, and something that smelled delicious was bubbling on the stove.
"You're cooking again," you observed, hanging up your cloak.
"I'm feeling unusually domestic," he replied, looking up with a warm expression that still startled you with its openness. "How was your shift?"
"Busy but good," you said, moving to his side. "No invisible ears today, thankfully."
His arm slipped around your waist, drawing you against him with casual ease that belied how significant this casual touch was from someone who had once measured appropriate proximity in precise inches. "I missed you," he said simply.
The straightforward admission, free of his usual qualifiers and analytical distance, made your heart flip. "I missed you too."
Dinner was delicious, the conversation easy, and afterwards, you both settled on the sofa with teaâSunghoon sitting close beside you rather than at his usual careful distance.
Nyx, sensing an opportunity, immediately claimed his lap, settling in with a loud purr.
"Your daughter really does have boundary issues," you teased, watching as Sunghoon's hand automatically began stroking the cat's fur.
"Our daughter," he corrected absently, then froze, seeming startled by his own words.
The casual claimâboth of Nyx and of a connection between you that implied shared ownershipâhung in the air between you, unexpectedly weighty.
"Yes," you agreed softly, reaching out to scratch Nyx's ears. "Our daughter."
Something flickered in Sunghoon's eyesâwarmth and uncertainty mingled in equal measure. But he didn't withdraw the claim, merely nodded once and returned to his tea, his free hand continuing to stroke Nyx's fur.
The days that followed established a new pattern: breakfasts together, shared dinners, evenings spent in comfortable conversation or companionable silence, and nights of increasingly confident exploration. Sunghoon's schedule, once rigid and unyielding, now seemed to revolve around your shared times together, his usual late nights at the Ministry becoming increasingly rare.
Most surprising was his growing bond with Nyx, who had fully adopted him as her second favorite human. He spoke to her constantly, a running commentary that revealed a playful side you'd never imagined existed within him.
"Your preference for my chair has been noted," you overheard him telling the cat one evening as you returned from the kitchen with tea. "However, persistent occupation does not constitute legal ownership."
Nyx meowed back, settling more firmly into his favorite reading chair.
"I propose a compromise," Sunghoon continued seriously. "Shared custody with alternating usage rights."
You couldn't help but laugh, drawing his attention. "Are you negotiating chair rights with a cat?"
"Someone in this house needs to establish boundaries with her," he replied with mock severity. "You clearly encourage her territorial ambitions."
"She's learned from the best diplomat in the house," you countered, setting his tea beside him.
To your surprise, when you made to move away, Sunghoon caught your hand, pulling you down onto his lapâNyx having relocated to the arm of the chair to observe this development with feline interest.
"What are you doing?" you asked, startled by this unprecedented playfulness.
"Demonstrating proper negotiation technique," he replied, his arms encircling your waist. "When borders are disputed, sometimes creative compromise is required."
His lips found yours in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, his hands sliding beneath your jumper with familiar ease. When you finally broke apart, breathless, Nyx was watching you both with what appeared to be feline judgment.
"I believe we've scandalized our daughter," you murmured against his lips.
"She'll recover," Sunghoon replied, his voice lower than usual. "Though perhaps we should continue this negotiation upstairs."
Later, as you lay entwined in the darkness, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin, Sunghoon spoke softly against your hair. "I never expected this."
"What?" you asked, nestled against his chest.
"This... contentment," he admitted, the word clearly chosen with care. "I approached our arrangement as a professional requirement to be managed. I didn't anticipate..."
"That it could be good?" you supplied when he trailed off.
"That it could feel real," he corrected quietly, his arms tightening slightly around you.
The simple admission, so unlike his usual measured statements, created a warm glow in your chest. You pressed a kiss to his skin, right over his heart. "It feels real to me too."
-
Ten days into this new, unexpected happiness, the first crack appeared.
Your shift at St. Mungo's had run hours longer than scheduled due to a magical accident involving twenty children at a primary school. By the time you finally managed to reverse the effects of an experimental charm gone wrong (all the children had been temporarily transformed into various musical instruments), you were exhausted and running nearly three hours late.
You sent a Patronus message explaining the delay, expecting Sunghoon's usual calm acceptance of work emergencies. Instead, when you finally arrived home well after nine, you found him pacing the living room, his usual composed expression replaced by something that looked remarkably like agitation.
"You're still in your work robes," you observed, surprised to find him waiting rather than eating dinner without you.
"I was concerned," he said, his voice tight. "Your Patronus mentioned children in distress but provided minimal details."
"They're all fine," you assured him, touched by his worry. "Just an experimental charm that went wrong during a music lesson. No lasting harm done, though I suspect young Timothy Wilson will be teased about his trombone transformation for years to come."
Sunghoon didn't smile as you'd expected. Instead, he continued to study you with unusual intensity. "You appear fatigued."
"Exhausted," you confirmed, sinking onto the sofa. "Reversing transformation magic on twenty squirming children isn't exactly restful."
"You work excessive hours," he observed, a hint of criticism entering his voice. "Hospital administration should provide adequate staffing for such emergencies."
"That's how emergency healing works, Sunghoon," you replied, too tired to match his suddenly formal tone. "Sometimes things happen that weren't on the schedule."
"The schedule indicated you would return at six-seventeen," he said, his voice now clipped in a way you hadn't heard in days. "Dinner has been warming for three hours and fourteen minutes."
You stared at him, trying to reconcile this rigid, almost petulant version of Sunghoon with the warm, affectionate man who had kissed you goodbye that morning. "Are you actually upset that I'm late because I was treating children in an emergency?"
"I am not upset," he replied, though his tense posture suggested otherwise. "I am merely noting that predictable scheduling benefits all parties involved."
"Sunghoon," you said, rubbing your temples where a headache was forming. "I can't predict magical emergencies. No healer can."
"Other departments manage to maintain consistent scheduling," he countered. "International diplomatic negotiations rarely extend beyond projected timeframes."
"Well, I'm not a diplomat, and sick children don't care about projected timeframes," you snapped, your patience fraying under the combined weight of exhaustion and his unexpected criticism.
Something flickered in his eyesâhurt, perhaps, quickly masked by his more familiar analytical distance. "I apologize for the observation," he said stiffly. "Your professional obligations are your concern."
"That's notâ" you began, then sighed, too tired for this sudden tension. "I'm sorry I'm late. I missed you too. Can we please just eat and talk about something else?"
For a moment, Sunghoon remained rigid, clearly struggling with something internal. Then, with visible effort, his posture relaxed slightly. "Of course," he said, his voice softening. "You must be hungry. I'll reheat dinner properly."
Dinner was a quieter affair than usual, though by dessert, Sunghoon had mostly returned to his newer, warmer self. When you yawned for the third time over your tea, he insisted on clearing up while you prepared for bed.
"You're dead on your feet, Baby," he said, his hand gentle at the small of your back as he guided you toward the stairs. "Sleep is the priority now."
You were already half-asleep when he joined you, his arms automatically drawing you against his chest in what had become his preferred sleeping position. As consciousness faded, you felt his lips press against your hair.
"I dislike when you're not here," he murmured, so softly you weren't entirely sure you hadn't dreamed it. "It's... unsettling."
-
Two days later, you arrived home to find Sunghoon and Nyx engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation.
"Your request has been considered and rejected," he was telling the cat, who sat on his desk regarding him with unblinking yellow eyes. "The diplomatic pouch is not an appropriate sleeping location regardless of its apparent comfort."
Nyx meowed back, tail twitching.
"Appeals will not be successful," Sunghoon continued solemnly. "The Department has strict regulations about the handling of official correspondence. Even for the Minister's daughter, which you are not."
You couldn't help but laugh, drawing his attention. "Are you explaining international diplomatic protocols to our cat?"
"Someone needs to establish appropriate boundaries," Sunghoon replied, though his expression softened as he looked at you. "She seems to believe my diplomatic credentials extend to her as a family member."
"Our family member," you corrected gently, moving to kiss him hello.
He returned the kiss with unexpected intensity, his arms pulling you close against him. "You're home early," he observed when you finally broke apart.
"Quiet day," you explained, pleasantly surprised by his welcome. "Only three exploding cauldrons and one case of accidental vanishing sickness."
"Fortuitous timing," he said, his voice warming. "I've acquired tickets to the new exhibition at the Magical Artifacts Museum. Their collection of ancient Eastern European healing implements might interest you professionally."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture touched you deeply. "That sounds wonderful," you said, genuinely pleased. "When is it?"
"This evening," Sunghoon replied. "Unless you object to the spontaneity."
You smiled at his careful phrasing. Even in this new, warmer version of himself, Sunghoon's consideration for schedules and planning remained a core part of his personality. "Spontaneity approved," you assured him. "Let me just change quickly."
The exhibition proved fascinating, with Sunghoon's surprising knowledge of Eastern European magical history adding depth to the displays. Watching him explain the cultural significance of various artifacts to you, his usual precision softened by genuine enthusiasm for the subject, you felt another piece of your heart shift irrevocably in his direction.
When he reached for your hand partway through the evening, entwining his fingers with yours as if it were the most natural gesture in the world, you squeezed gently in response, earning a small but genuine smile.
"Thank you for bringing me," you said as you walked home later, still hand in hand. "It was perfect."
"Your enjoyment was evident," he replied, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm. "Your face becomes particularly animated when you encounter new healing techniques."
"You noticed that?" you asked, surprised by this observation.
"I notice everything about you," Sunghoon said simply, the straightforward admission making your heart stutter.
Back home, as you both prepared for bed, you caught him watching you with unusual intensity as you brushed your hair.
"What?" you asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
"I was considering the statistical improbability of our current circumstances," he said, his tone thoughtful. "The Ministry's compatibility formula, while theoretically sound, could not have accurately predicted this specific outcome."
"You mean we actually liking each other?" you asked with a smile.
Sunghoon's expression remained serious. "I mean the extent to which my daily functioning now appears based on your presence."
The admissionâso characteristically Sunghoon in its analytical framing yet so revealing in its contentâcreated a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with physical desire. "Is that your way of saying you care about me?" you teased gently.
Instead of the light response you expected, Sunghoon's expression shifted to something almost troubled. "It seems to be a significantly more complicated emotional response than just caring," he said quietly.
Something in his tone made you set down your brush and turn to face him fully. "Sunghoon?"
He shook his head slightly, as if clearing unwelcome thoughts. "It's nothing of concern," he said, his expression smoothing into something more familiar. "Merely an observation."
Later, as you drifted toward sleep in his arms, you couldn't quite shake the memory of that troubled lookâas if Sunghoon had realized something that disturbed his carefully ordered world. But his arms remained securely around you, his breathing even and calm against your hair, and eventually you let sleep claim you, the concern fading beneath the comfort of his presence.
-
The next evening, everything changed.
You arrived home from your shift to find the house unusually quiet. No Sunghoon in the kitchen preparing dinner, no Nyx greeting you at the door. A note on the counter explained the absence:
Called to emergency session regarding Bulgarian delegation. Will return late. Dinner in warming drawer. âS
The note was friendly enough, but something about the absence of his now-customary "angel" or any personal closing created a small flicker of unease. You dismissed it as simple hasteâemergency diplomatic sessions didn't allow time for niceties.
When Sunghoon hadn't returned by midnight, you finally went to bed alone, the sheets feeling strangely cold without his presence. You woke briefly when he slipped in beside you in the early hours, but he merely pressed a quick kiss to your temple and settled on his side of the bed, maintaining an unusual few inches of space between you.
The pattern continued for three days. Sunghoon left early, returned late, and maintained a polite but noticeable distance when your paths did cross. There were no more casual touches, no more lingering kisses, no more playful conversations with Nyx that you'd grown to love overhearing.
Most telling was his reversion to "Y/N" instead of "angel" in his increasingly brief notes and conversations. It was as if the warm, affectionate man who had shared your bed and your life for the past two weeks had been replaced by the original Sunghoonâpolite, distant, and meticulously proper.
By the fourth evening, your concern had transformed into determination. You waited in the living room until you heard his key in the lock just after eleven.
Sunghoon paused in the doorway when he saw you, his face carefully neutral. "You're still awake."
"It seems to be the only way I'll actually see you lately," you replied, unable to keep the hurt from your voice. "What's going on, Sunghoon?"
"I don't know what you mean," he said, hanging his cloak with precise movements that couldn't mask the tension in his shoulders. "The Bulgarian situation has required extensive attention."
"For three straight days?" you asked skeptically. "With no breaks for actual conversations or eye contact when you're home?"
Something flickered in his expressionâdiscomfort, perhaps guilt. "International diplomatic crises rarely observe convenient schedules."
"This isn't about schedules," you said, standing to face him directly. "Something changed. You changed. Three days ago, you were calling Nyx our daughter and holding my hand at museums. Now you're back to formal notes and sleeping as far away from me as possible without falling off the bed."
Sunghoon's jaw tightened visibly, but he didn't deny the observation. "I've been preoccupied with work."
"That's not all it is." You took a step closer, studying his face. "If something's wrong, just tell me. If you're having second thoughts about usâ"
"There is no 'us' beyond what the Ministry arranged," Sunghoon interrupted, his voice suddenly hard.
The words hit like a physical blow. "What?"
"This arrangement is not a love match," he continued, his expression closing completely. "It's a Ministry requirement with a specific purpose. We've allowed ourselves to become... distracted from that reality."
"Distracted," you repeated, the word bitter in your mouth. "Is that what you call what's been happening between us? A distraction?"
"A natural consequence of prolonged proximity," Sunghoon said, his tone analytical. "Physical attraction, comfortable familiarityâthese are biological responses, not meaningful connections."
"That's not true," you said quietly, fighting to keep your voice steady. "And you know it. What we've shared these past weeks wasn't just biology or proximity. It was real."
"It was pleasant," he conceded, though his gaze shifted away from yours. "But ultimately unsustainable given our circumstances."
"Our circumstances," you echoed. "You mean the fact that we're married?"
"Temporarily aligned by Ministry decree," he corrected. "A situation that could change at any time. Emotional entanglement in such circumstances is... inadvisable."
Understanding dawned with painful clarity. "You're afraid," you said softly. "You started feeling something real for me, and it terrified you."
Sunghoon's expression remained carefully blank, but the tightness around his eyes told you you'd hit the mark. "I am simply being realistic about our situation. The Ministry created this arrangement; the Ministry could dissolve it just as easily. Developing genuine attachment would be imprudent."
"Imprudent," you repeated, the word tasting like ashes. "Heaven forbid you do something imprudent like actually care about your wife."
"Caring is not the issue," Sunghoon said, a rare edge entering his voice. "The management of expectations is the concern."
"So you've decided to manage my expectations by pulling away completely?" You shook your head, hurt turning to anger. "That's cowardly, Sunghoon. And dishonest. If you didn't want this to get serious, you shouldn't have started calling Nyx our daughter and talking about how your daily functioning depends on my presence."
Sunghoon flinched slightly at the reminder of his own words, but his expression remained resolute. "I apologize if my behavior created misconceptions. I should have maintained appropriate boundaries from the beginning."
You stared at him for a long moment, seeing past the careful mask to the genuine turmoil beneath. "You're lying," you said finally. "Not to me, but to yourself. You felt something real, and instead of being brave enough to face it, you're hiding behind work and analysis."
Sunghoon didn't answer, but the muscle working in his jaw told you your words had hit home.
"I'm not asking you to declare undying love, Sunghoon. I'm just asking you to be honest about what's happening between us." You sighed, suddenly exhausted by the emotional weight of the conversation. "But I can't force you to acknowledge feelings you're determined to deny."
You turned toward the stairs, heart heavy with disappointment. "I'll sleep in the guest room tonight."
"Y/N," he said, your name replacing the endearment that had become so natural on his lips. "Iâ" He stopped, seemingly unable to find the words for whatever he wanted to say.
"It's fine," you told him, though it wasn't. "We'll go back to how things were before. Professional cohabitation. Ministry compliance. Nothing messy or complicated."
You didn't wait for his response, climbing the stairs with your dignity intact despite the ache in your chest. Only when you reached the guest bedroom did you allow yourself to acknowledge the truth: somewhere between reluctant marriage and those precious weeks of genuine connection, you'd fallen in love with Park Sunghoonâhis hidden warmth, his dry humor, his awkward but earnest attempts at expressing affection.
And clearly, he wasn't ready to face the fact that he might be falling in love with you too.
-
You didn't speak to Sunghoon for three days after your confrontation.
It wasn't difficult to achieveâhe left early each morning and returned late, making it easy to maintain your silent treatment. When you did cross paths, you responded to his polite inquiries with minimal words, never meeting his eyes, never lingering in the same room longer than necessary.
If he noticed your deliberate avoidance (and you knew he didâSunghoon noticed everything), he made no comment. The polite mask he'd perfected over years of diplomatic service remained firmly in place, betraying nothing of whatever thoughts might be churning beneath.
On the fourth day, you arrived home earlier than usual. Your shift had ended unexpectedly when the magical ailment you'd been treatingâa case of enchanted hiccups that caused the patient to float six inches off the ground with each spasmâhad suddenly resolved itself. As you quietly entered the house, you heard Sunghoon's voice drifting from his study.
You paused in the hallway, wondering if he had a Floo call with the Ministry. But the soft tone of his voice and the occasional pauses suggested a different kind of conversation entirely.
Curious, you moved closer to the partially open door.
"She's still not talking to me," Sunghoon was saying, his voice lacking its usual composure. "Can't say I blame her."
A familiar meow responded.
"I know, I know," he sighed. "I messed up. But what was I supposed to do?"
You edged closer, peering through the crack in the door. Sunghoon sat at his desk, a forgotten cup of tea beside an open journal. Nyx was perched on top of his papers, her yellow eyes fixed on him as he ran a hand through his usually impeccable hair, leaving it charmingly disheveled.
"It was getting too real," he told the cat quietly. "Too important."
Nyx chirped, a sound somewhere between a meow and a trill.
"That's easy for you to say," he replied with a sad smile. "You've never had your heart broken, have you, my baby?"
The endearmentânever before used for the catâmade your heart twist painfully in your chest.
"Your mum deserves better than this," he continued, absently scratching behind Nyx's ears. "Better than someone who can't even..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Nyx butted her head against his hand, purring loudly.
"I miss her," Sunghoon admitted softly, his voice cracking slightly. "It's ridiculous. She's right down the hall and I miss her like she's gone."
The simple confession, spoken when he thought no one was listening, created a complicated ache beneath your ribs. If he missed you, if he cared, why push you away?
"It's safer this way," he murmured, as if answering your unspoken question. "For both of us. The Ministry could end this any time, and then what? I go back to my empty apartment and pretend none of it mattered?"
Nyx meowed again, more insistently.
"You're biased," Sunghoon told her with a hint of his old humor. "Just because she rescued you from that alley doesn't mean she always knows best. She married me, didn't she?"
The self-deprecating jokeâso unlike Sunghoon's usual confident demeanorâcaught you by surprise.
"Though that wasn't really her choice," he added, his voice softening. "Neither of us chose this, Nyxie. That's what scares me."
He fell silent then, gently stroking Nyx's fur, his face unguarded in a way you'd rarely seen. The pain in his expression was so raw, so human, that you stepped back, suddenly uncomfortable with your eavesdropping. This wasn't the composed diplomat you'd first met. This was just a manâconfused, hurting, and afraid of losing something precious before he was ready to admit how much it meant to him.
You retreated quietly to the kitchen, making deliberate noise as you prepared tea, giving Sunghoon time to compose himself before he realized you were home.
When he finally emerged from his study, Nyx trotting at his heels, the mask was mostly back in placeâthough you could see the slight redness around his eyes, the subtle tension in his shoulders. Something in your chest ached at how hard he was trying to hide his feelings.
"You're home early," he said, his voice carefully steady.
"Case resolved itself," you replied without looking up from your tea.
A silence fell, weighted with everything unsaid. Sunghoon lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, as if wanting to say more. Then, with a small nod, he retreated to his study, Nyx hesitating before following him with a backward glance at you that seemed almost apologetic.
That night, lying alone in the guest bedroom that had become your refuge, you stared at the ceiling and wondered how two people sharing a home could feel so completely separated. Not by walls or distance, but by fearâhis fear of vulnerability, of loss, of attachment he couldn't control.
Perhaps the most painful realization was that Sunghoon wasn't cold or unfeeling as you'd first thought. He felt too much, and that terrified him more than anything.
-
Journal Entry: 2 May 2023
Three days of silence. I never thought I'd miss her voice this much.
She still won't look at me. Can't blame her, really. I wouldn't look at me either.
Nyx seems confused by the tension. She keeps looking between us like she's trying to figure out what went wrong. Smart cat. I wish she could tell me how to fix this without making it worse in the long run.
The Ministry assessment is in 18 days. I should be focused on that. Instead, I keep remembering how she looked at me that nightâlike I'd broken something precious. I suppose I did.
I'm not sleeping well. The bed feels wrong without her. Everything feels wrong.
She laughed in the kitchen yesterday. I was passing by the door and heard itâsomeone must have sent her a funny owl. For a second, I almost walked in just to see her smile. I stood there like an idiot, hand on the doorknob, unable to move.
This is for the best. It has to be. When the Ministry eventually dissolves these arrangements, clean breaks will be easier than messy ones. I know this. I've seen what happens when people get too attached to things that were never meant to last.
And yet.
I called Nyx "my baby" today. When did that happen? When did her cat become our cat become my baby?
The house feels empty even when we're both in it.
I miss her.
âSunghoon
-
The Ministry owl arrived at precisely 6:17 AM on a Tuesday morning, tapping insistently at the kitchen window while you prepared your tea. Your silent standoff with Sunghoon had entered its second week, the atmosphere in the house growing increasingly strained despite his tentative attempts to bridge the gap.
The envelope bore the Ministry's official sealâa sight that never brought good news. With a sigh, you opened it, scanning the contents quickly.
OFFICIAL NOTIFICATION MANDATORY MARRIAGE UNITY RETREAT MAY 12-15
Mr. and Mrs. Park,
As per Section 17.3 of the Marriage Unity Act, you are hereby required to attend the Ministry's Three-Month Compatibility Enhancement Retreat at Briar Rose Cottage in the Lake District. This mandatory three-day program facilitates deeper bonding between Ministry-matched couples through supervised therapeutic activities.
Failure to attend constitutes non-compliance with your marriage requirements.
A portkey will activate at your residence at 9:00 AM on May 12th.
Cordially, Euphemia Howell Marriage Compliance Office
You were still staring at the letter when Sunghoon entered the kitchen, his hair damp from the shower, his expression carefully neutral as it had been since your confrontation.
"Good morning," he said, the greeting so formal it made your teeth ache.
You wordlessly handed him the letter, watching as he read it with growing tension around his eyes.
"The retreat," he said flatly. "I'd hoped they might overlook it."
"Apparently not," you replied, your first full sentence to him in days.
Sunghoon set the letter down carefully. "I'll make the necessary arrangements at the Ministry. My schedule can be adjusted."
"How accommodating of you," you said, unable to keep the edge from your voice.
His eyes met yours directly for the first time in days, something flickering in their depths. "Y/Nâ"
"It's fine," you interrupted, not ready for whatever carefully measured statement he was preparing. "We'll go, we'll convince them we're just fine, and we'll come back to our perfectly efficient cohabitation arrangement."
You left the kitchen before he could respond, the bitter taste in your mouth having nothing to do with your cooling tea.
-
The morning of the retreat arrived with gloomy skies that matched your mood perfectly. You packed with minimal enthusiasm, throwing clothes into a bag without your usual care. What did it matter what you wore to pretend to be happily married to someone who couldn't bear the thought of actually caring for you?
Sunghoon was already in the living room when you came downstairs, his own bag precisely packed beside him, Nyx curled in his lap. The sight of them togetherâSunghoon absently stroking the cat while she purred contentedlyâcreated a familiar ache in your chest.
"The portkey will activate in seven minutes," he said, glancing up as you entered. His expression softened slightly. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough," you lied. In truth, you'd barely slept at all, anxiety about the upcoming retreat keeping you awake until the early hours.
Sunghoon nodded, clearly not believing you but not pressing the issue. He gently moved Nyx to the sofa cushion, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "Be good, Nyxie. Okay?" before standing to face you.
"I've arranged for Healer Matthews to check on Nyx tomorrow," he said, adjusting his perfectly straight collar. "And I've left extra food in her enchanted bowl."
The fact that he'd thought of Nyx's careâthat he'd made arrangements for "your" cat without being askedâmade something twist painfully in your chest. How could he be so thoughtful in some ways and so infuriatingly closed off in others?
"Thank you," you said simply, your anger momentarily deflated by this small kindness.
Sunghoon nodded once, retrieving a tarnished silver hairbrush from the coffee table. "This is the portkey. It will activate in approximately three minutes."
You moved to stand beside him, close enough to touch but maintaining a careful distance. The silence between you felt heavier than usual, weighted with the prospect of three days in close quarters under the Ministry's watchful eye.
"It won't be as bad as you think," Sunghoon said suddenly, his voice softer than you expected.
You glanced up, surprised by this attempt at reassurance. "Won't it?"
Something flickered in his eyesâvulnerability, perhaps, quickly masked. "We've managed more difficult challenges."
Before you could respond, the hairbrush began to glow. Sunghoon held it out, and you placed your finger reluctantly against the handle. The familiar, unpleasant jerk behind your navel swept you away, the world spinning in a kaleidoscope of color before resolving into a picturesque cottage garden.
Briar Rose Cottage was undeniably charmingâa quaint stone building covered in climbing roses, nestled against a backdrop of rolling hills and the glittering surface of a lake in the distance. In other circumstances, you might have found it breathtaking.
"Mr. and Mrs. Park!" A cheerful voice called from the cottage doorway. A plump witch with rosy cheeks and a clipboard hurried toward you. "Welcome to your Marriage Unity Retreat! I'm Facilitator Penelope, your guide to deeper connection!"
Her enthusiasm was so at odds with the tension between you and Sunghoon that you almost laughed. Beside you, Sunghoon straightened his already perfect posture, slipping into his diplomatic persona with practiced ease.
"Thank you for the welcome," he said smoothly. "We're pleased to be here."
"Delighted!" Facilitator Penelope beamed, checking something off on her clipboard. "Now, let me show you to your cottage. You're in the Primrose Suiteâour most romantic accommodation!"
She led you down a winding garden path to a smaller cottage set apart from the main building. The interior was just as charming as the exteriorâa cozy sitting room with a crackling fire, a small kitchenette, and a single bedroom visible through an open door, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed strewn with rose petals.
"The bedroom has been specially enchanted for maximum intimacy," Penelope explained with a wink that made you want to sink through the floor. "The roses are self-replenishing, and the lighting adjusts to create the perfect mood!"
Sunghoon's expression remained perfectly neutral, though you noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. "How... thoughtful."
"Your orientation session begins in the main hall at eleven," Penelope continued, apparently oblivious to your discomfort. "That gives you a full hour to get settled in. The handbook on the table outlines all retreat activities. I'll leave you to get... comfortable."
With another suggestive wink, she bustled out, leaving you and Sunghoon in awkward silence.
"Well," you said finally, dropping your bag onto a nearby chair. "This is... a lot."
"Indeed," Sunghoon agreed, picking up the handbook with a slight frown. "According to this, we have a full schedule of 'bonding exercises' planned for the next three days."
You moved to read over his shoulder, uncomfortably aware of his proximity and the familiar scent of his cologne. The handbook listed activities like "Emotional Vulnerability Sessions," "Physical Connection Workshops," and "Guided Intimacy Meditation."
"This is a nightmare," you muttered, stepping away from him.
To your surprise, Sunghoon didn't disagree. "Some of these activities appear designed to create artificial emotional responses through environmental and psychological manipulation."
"You mean they're trying to force us to feel connected," you translated.
"Precisely." He closed the handbook, his expression thoughtful. "However, I believe we have an alternative option."
"Which is?"
"We don't participate."
You stared at him, certain you'd misheard. "But it's mandatory. The letter saidâ"
"The letter required our attendance at the retreat," Sunghoon corrected. "It did not specify mandatory participation in every scheduled activity."
"So what do you suggest?" you asked, confused by this unexpectedly rebellious stance from someone who typically followed rules to the letter.
"I suggest," he said carefully, "that we register our arrival, make brief appearances at meal times, and otherwise remain in our cottage."
"Just... hide out here for three days?"
"It would be significantly less uncomfortable than participating in 'guided intimacy meditation,' would it not?" He raised an eyebrow, a hint of his dry humor briefly visible.
Despite yourself, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. "I can't argue with that."
Sunghoon nodded once, as if the matter were settled. "I'll inform Facilitator Penelope that you're feeling unwell and need to rest. Food can be brought to the cottage. We can use the time to catch up on work or reading."
The practicality of his solution was so characteristically Sunghoon that it almost made your heart ache. Even now, with things broken between you, he was trying to make the situation more comfortable for you.
"Thank you," you said quietly. "That's... considerate."
Something flickered in his eyesâa brief, unguarded moment before his usual reserve returned. "The retreat's methods are invasive and manipulative. Neither of us should be subjected to them."
Before you could respond, a knock at the door announced Facilitator Penelope's return. Sunghoon straightened his already perfect posture and went to answer it.
"Just checking how you're settling in!" Penelope chirped, trying to peer past him into the cottage.
"Actually," Sunghoon said, his voice taking on the smooth, authoritative tone he used in diplomatic negotiations, "I'm afraid my wife isn't feeling well. The portkey travel was unusually difficult for her."
You quickly sat on the sofa, doing your best to look pale and distressed. It wasn't difficult, given the circumstances.
"Oh dear!" Penelope's cheerful face creased with concern. "Would you like me to call in our healer?"
"That won't be necessary," Sunghoon assured her. "She simply needs rest. We'll need to skip today's activities, I'm afraid."
Penelope looked momentarily flustered. "But the opening ceremony is crucial for establishing group dynamics! And the vulnerability circle is the foundation of the entire retreat experience!"
"I'm sure they are," Sunghoon replied, his tone gently implacable. "However, my wife's health must be the priority. Perhaps we can join tomorrow if she's feeling better."
There was something in the way he said "my wife"âa subtle emphasis, a hint of genuine protectivenessâthat made your heart flutter traitorously in your chest.
"Well... I suppose health comes first," Penelope conceded reluctantly. "I'll have meals sent to your cottage. But please do try to join us tomorrow if possible. The magical bond strengthening ceremony cannot be rescheduled."
"We'll do our very best," Sunghoon promised with diplomatic gravity.
After Penelope left, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "That was impressive. I'd almost believe I was actually ill."
"Years of diplomatic training have some practical applications," Sunghoon replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in what you now recognized as his version of a smile. "We should be left in peace until dinner at least."
An awkward silence fell as you both realized you were now effectively trapped together in the small cottage with nothing but the tension between you for company.
"I brought some patient files to review," you said, moving toward your bag.
"And I have correspondence to answer," Sunghoon nodded, reaching for his own satchel.
You settled on opposite ends of the sofa, carefully maintaining the distance between you as you worked in silence. But unlike the strained atmosphere of the past week, this silence felt almost... peaceful. There was something almost comforting about sitting with Sunghoon like this, each absorbed in your own work but aware of the other's presence.
Hours passed this way, the silence broken only by the occasional turning of pages or scratch of Sunghoon's quill. Outside, rain began to fall, pattering against the windows and enhancing the cottage's cozy atmosphere despite the awkwardness of your situation.
When lunch arrivedâa basket filled with sandwiches, fruit, and two bottles of pumpkin juiceâyou were surprised to find yourself actually hungry.
"It seems hiding from enforced bonding activities improves the appetite," you observed, selecting a sandwich.
Sunghoon looked up from his correspondence, that almost-smile appearing briefly. "A study should be conducted. The Ministry might reconsider their methodologies."
The small jokeâso understated and typically Sunghoonâcaught you off guard. For a moment, it felt like beforeâbefore the storm night, before the closeness, before the painful withdrawal. Just the two of you, finding unexpected moments of connection in your arranged circumstance.
"I've missed this," you said without thinking, then immediately regretted the admission.
Sunghoon went very still, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. "Missed what?"
You hesitated, then decided honesty couldn't make things worse than they already were. "Just... talking. Being comfortable. Before everything got so complicated."
He set down his sandwich with careful precision, his expression unreadable. "I've missed it too."
The simple admission hung in the air between you, more meaningful than it should have been.
"Why did you pull away?" you asked finally, the question that had been burning inside you for weeks finally escaping. "We were good together, Sunghoon. Maybe it wasn't planned, maybe it wasn't what either of us expected, but it was real. I know it was."
Sunghoon was silent for so long you thought he might not answer. Then, with uncharacteristic hesitancy: "It was too real."
"What does that even mean?"
He looked at you directly, his carefully maintained composure slipping to reveal something raw beneath. "I don't know how to do this, Y/N. I don't know how to feel this much for someone the Ministry could take away with the stroke of a pen."
The bare honesty of his admission took your breath away. "So you decided to take yourself away first? To protect yourself?"
"To protect us both," he corrected quietly. "Attachments in temporary situations lead to pain. I've seen it happen. I'veâ" He stopped, something vulnerable flashing across his face. "I've experienced it."
Understanding dawned. "Who was it?"
Sunghoon's jaw tightened, but he didn't pretend to misunderstand. "My mother," he said finally. "She fell in love with a diplomat from another country. When his assignment ended, he left. She never recovered."
"I'm not going to leave you, Sunghoon," you said softly.
"You might not have a choice," he replied, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "The Ministry created this marriage; they can dissolve it just as easily when their population goals are achieved."
"So your solution is to never let yourself care? To never let yourself have anything real because you might lose it someday?" You shook your head, your own emotions rising to the surface. "That's not living, Sunghoon. That's just existing."
"It's safer," he said simply.
"It's lonely," you countered. "And you know what? It didn't work. You still cared. You still got attached. I heard you talking to Nyx."
Sunghoon went very still. "What?"
"I came home early one day last week. I heard you in your study, talking to Nyx." You held his gaze steadily. "You called her 'my baby.' You talked about missing me."
A faint color rose in his cheeks, but he didn't look away. "You weren't meant to hear that."
"But I did. And it told me what you wouldn'tâthat pushing me away didn't stop you from caring. It just made you miserable." You leaned forward, holding his gaze. "It made us both miserable."
Sunghoon's expression flickered, his careful mask cracking to reveal the conflict beneath. "What would you have me do, Y/N? Pretend this isn't temporary? Pretend we chose each other?"
"No," you said quietly. "I'd have you acknowledge what's already happened. We didn't choose each other, but we did choose to make something real out of this arrangement. We chose each other every day for those few weeks. And it was good, Sunghoon. It was so good."
"And when it ends?" he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Then we'll have had something real," you said simply. "Isn't that better than nothing at all?"
Sunghoon looked away, gazing out at the rain-streaked windows. The silence stretched between you, weighted with the enormity of what you were asking him to risk.
"I don't know if I can," he admitted finally, the words clearly difficult for him. "I don't know if I have the courage for it."
His raw honesty, the vulnerability in his admission, touched something deep in your chest. This wasn't the polished diplomat or the analytical perfectionist. This was just Sunghoonâafraid, uncertain, but finally, completely real with you.
"You were brave enough to call Nyx our daughter," you reminded him gently. "You were brave enough to tell me you needed me. Maybe you can be brave enough for this too."
Sunghoon turned back to you, something shifting in his expression. "You make me want to be," he said quietly. "That's what terrifies me."
The simple admission, spoken without calculation or reserve, made your heart flip in your chest. "Sunghoonâ"
A sharp knock at the door interrupted whatever you might have said. Sunghoon's expression instantly closed, his diplomatic mask sliding back into place as he rose to answer it.
Facilitator Penelope stood on the threshold, beaming despite the rain dampening her robes. "Just checking on our patient! Feeling any better, Mrs. Park?"
You summoned a weak smile. "Still a bit queasy, I'm afraid."
"Oh dear," Penelope's face fell momentarily before brightening again. "Well, I've brought you both a special tea from our healer! It promotes wellness andâ" she lowered her voice conspiratorially "âfertility!"
Sunghoon accepted the steaming mugs with admirable composure, though you noticed the slight tightening around his eyes. "How thoughtful."
"The evening bonding ceremony will begin at seven," Penelope continued cheerfully. "It's a beautiful ritual involving synchronized heartbeat spells! Very powerful for marital harmony!"
"We'll try to attend if my wife's condition improves," Sunghoon assured her, though his tone made it clear this was extremely unlikely.
After Penelope departed, Sunghoon set the mugs down on the table with obvious distaste. "I believe we can safely assume these contain potions designed to lower inhibitions and increase suggestibility."
You eyed the suspiciously shimmering liquid. "So much for the Ministry's ethical standards."
"Indeed." He returned to his seat, slightly closer to you than before. "It seems our conversation must be continued against a backdrop of increasingly invasive Ministry interventions."
"We don't have to continue it," you said carefully, giving him an out if he needed it.
Sunghoon studied you for a moment, something resolving in his expression. "I believe we do," he said quietly. "However uncomfortable it might be."
Your heart gave a hopeful flutter. "Okay."
He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something difficult. "I apologize for the way I handled things after... after we became intimate. It wasn't well done of me."
The formal phrasing was so characteristically Sunghoon that it almost made you smile despite the seriousness of the moment. "You hurt me," you said simply.
"I know." His voice was low, heavy with regret. "I panicked. The intensity of what I was feelingâit wasn't something I was prepared for. I've spent my life constructing systems to manage emotions, to keep them within acceptable parameters."
"And I disrupted those systems," you guessed.
"Completely," he agreed, a hint of something almost like wonder in his voice. "You made me feel things I couldn't categorize or control. It was... overwhelming."
"So you shut down."
"It seemed the logical solution at the time." A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "I'm beginning to understand it might not have been."
You reached out, touching his hand lightly. "Feelings aren't logical, Sunghoon. They never have been."
He turned his hand over, catching your fingers in his. "I'm not good at this," he admitted, the simple touch seeming to ground him. "I don't know how to be what you need."
"I don't need you to be anything other than what you are," you told him. "I just need you to be honestâwith me and with yourself."
Sunghoon's fingers tightened around yours. "When I'm with you, I feel... complete," he said, the words clearly difficult for him. "As if a part of me I didn't know was missing has been found. It's irrational. Unquantifiable. Terrifying."
"It's called falling in love, Sunghoon," you said softly.
His eyes met yours, startled by your directness. "Is that what this is?"
"I think you know it is," you said, your heart pounding as you took this final risk. "I know I do."
For a moment, Sunghoon simply looked at you, something complex and unreadable moving in his eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised his free hand to your cheek.
"I've been so afraid of losing you that I pushed you away," he said quietly. "That doesn't seem particularly logical in retrospect."
A smile touched your lips. "Not your finest strategic decision."
"No," he agreed, his thumb tracing your cheekbone with exquisite gentleness. "But I believe I've developed a better approach."
"Which is?"
"To stop fighting what I feel for you," he said simply. "To accept that some things can't be managed or controlledâthey can only be experienced."
Your breath caught at the raw honesty in his voice. "Sunghoonâ"
"I love you," he said, the words clear and certain, as if once decided, there could be no hesitation. "I don't know when it happened or how, but I do. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise."
The simple declaration, spoken without qualification or analysis, made your heart soar. You reached for him, drawing him closer. "Say it again."
A smileâa real, unguarded smile that transformed his entire faceâcurved his lips. "I love you, angel."
This time, when his lips met yours, there was no hesitation, no careful calculationâjust the pure, honest connection of two people who had found each other despite everything.
The kiss deepened quickly, weeks of distance and longing crystallizing into urgent need. Sunghoon's arms drew you against him, your body molding to his as if returning to its natural state.
"I've missed you," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. "So much."
"I've missed you too," you whispered, your hands finding their way into his hair, disheveling his perfect appearance in the way you'd learned he secretly loved.
When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Sunghoon rested his forehead against yours. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable," he suggested, his eyes darting toward the bedroom door.
"I thought you'd never ask," you smiled, rising and pulling him with you.
The bedroom, with its enormous four-poster and enchanted rose petals, might have seemed tacky under other circumstances. But as Sunghoon closed the door behind you, all that mattered was the way he looked at youâlike you were precious, irreplaceable, essential.
His hands framed your face with exquisite tenderness, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure about this? About me?"
"I've never been more sure of anything," you told him, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I love you, Sunghoon. All of youâthe analytical parts, the diplomatic parts, the parts that talk to our cat when you think no one's listening."
A laughâa genuine, unguarded sound that you'd heard so rarelyâescaped him. "I thought I'd imagined you calling her 'our daughter' that night," he admitted, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "When you heard me talking to herâ"
"It made me love you even more," you said simply.
Something in his expression shifted, softened, opened completely. Then, with deliberate gentleness, he lowered his mouth to yours.
But Sunghoon surprised you. He pulled away.
You had expected something hungry, desperate, hurriedâthe way he had kissed you downstairs, the way his hands had gripped your waist like he couldn't stand not touching you.Â
But now, standing before you, he was achingly gentle.
His hands hovered over your shoulders before finally resting there, thumbs smoothing over your skin as he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, so soft, so patient, as if giving you one last chance to stop him.
When you didnât, he exhaled sharply, like he had been holding his breath.
His fingers trailed down your arms, delicate yet unwavering, before reaching for the hem of your shirt. Slowlyâpainstakingly slowlyâhe lifted it, his knuckles grazing your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Every patch of skin revealed was met with his lips. Every inch of you, memorized.
"You are beautiful, my beautiful wifel," he murmured against your collarbone, so softly that the words barely reached you. But you heard them. You felt them.
A shiver ran through youânot just from his touch, but from the way he said it, like he truly meant it.
Sunghoon didnât rush.
If anything, he seemed to be pacing himself, like he was afraid to move too fast, afraid to miss anything. He traced your body with his hands, his lips following, as if this moment deserved to be experienced, not just lived through.
When he finally reached for his own shirt, your hands beat him to it.
Sunghoon stilled, his breath hitching when your fingers brushed over his stomach, his skin warm under your palms. You felt the faintest tremor when you dragged your nails up his chestâhis muscles flexing involuntarily, his heartbeat hammering beneath your touch.
His reaction was intoxicating.
Sunghoonâcomposed, controlled Sunghoonâundone by you.
His usual restraint cracked the moment you leaned forward, lips brushing, then pressing against the line of his throat.
"Angel," he whispered, voice rougher than before, his hands tightening on your waist.
It was the way he said itâthe sheer need in his voiceâthat made heat bloom deep in your belly.
"I needâ"
"I know," you assured him, pulling him closer, molding yourself against him. "Me too."
His control snapped.
Sunghoon had always been meticulous. Attentive. A perfectionist to the core.
But that didnât prepare you for the way he touched you now.
Like you were something precious. Like every sound you made was a revelation.
He moved slowly, mapping you with his lips, his hands, his breathâlearning you, adjusting, testing what made you sigh, what made you shudder, what made you tremble.
And when he found the places that made your breath stutter, he lingered.
He kissed down your stomach, his hands smoothing over your thighs, parting them with reverence. And when his lips replaced his hands warm, deliberate, insistentâyou gasped his name.
That soundâhis name, shaped by your pleasureâdid something to him.
His fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady as he worked you open, devastatingly precise, like he was memorizing the way your body responded to him.
And it wasnât just what he was doingâit was the way he looked at you.
His dark eyes, locked onto yours, watching every reaction, like he needed to see you fall apart for him.
This was Sunghoon, letting you in.
When he finally pressed himself against you, his body molding to yours, he hesitated.
A brief, flickering moment of uncertainty.
You lifted your hand to his cheek, tilting his face toward yours. "It's just us, Hoon."
His breath shook.
And when he finally moved, it was everything.
Slow. Deep. Unbelievably tender.
And when he kissed you, you swore you could taste devotion on his lips.
Later, as you lay tangled together in the ridiculous rose-covered bed, Sunghoon traced abstract patterns on your bare shoulder, his expression thoughtful.
"What are you thinking?" you asked, pressing a kiss to his chest.
"That I owe Facilitator Penelope a thank you," he replied, surprising a laugh from you.
"For the fertility tea we didn't drink?"
"For creating the circumstances that finally forced me to be honest," he corrected, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Though I still have no intention of participating in synchronized heartbeat spells."
You laughed again, the sound drawing a smile from him. "Me neither. I think we're managing just fine on our own."
His expression grew serious again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I can't promise I won't be afraid sometimes," he said quietly. "This is... new territory for me."
"For both of us," you assured him. "We'll figure it out together."
Sunghoon nodded, something settling in his expression. "Together," he agreed, the word clearly significant to him. "I like the sound of that."
As twilight deepened outside the cottage windows, neither of you made any move to join the evening's activities. The Ministry's mandatory retreat continued without you, the synchronized heartbeat spells and vulnerability exercises proceeding as scheduled while you remained wrapped in each other's arms, creating your own, far more genuine connection.
Later, when dinner arrived via a house-elf who tactfully avoided looking at your disheveled state, Sunghoon accepted the tray with grave courtesy before returning to bed, where you ate between kisses and shared confidences.
"Do you think we should make an appearance tomorrow?" you asked as night fell completely, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
"I think," Sunghoon said thoughtfully, his fingers tracing lazy patterns in your hair, "that we've already achieved what the retreat intended. Perhaps more effectively than their methods could have managed."
You smiled against his skin. "So that's a no?"
"That's a 'I have no intention of sharing you with anyone for the next two days,'" he clarified, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"Mmm, I like this plan," you murmured, settling more comfortably against him. "Very efficient use of our mandatory retreat time."
"I thought you'd approve," he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voiceâthat rare, genuine expression that you now knew was reserved just for you.
Outside, the rain continued to fall gently on the cottage roof. In the main hall, the Ministry's retreat activities carried on without you. But in your rose-scented bedroom, you'd found everything the Ministry had hoped to create and moreânot through spells or enforced exercises, but through the simple, profound courage of allowing yourselves to love despite the risks.
As you drifted toward sleep in Sunghoon's arms, you realized that sometimes, the most unlikely beginnings could lead to the most beautiful journeysâif only you were brave enough to take the first step.
And finally, both of you were.
-
The Ministry portkey deposited you both in your living room with the usual disorienting lurch, your bags landing neatly beside you. After three days secluded in the cottage, the familiar surroundings of your home felt both welcoming and slightly strange, as if you were seeing it through new eyes.
"Home sweet home," you murmured, steadying yourself against Sunghoon's arm.
"Indeed," he agreed, his free hand automatically reaching to straighten a picture frame that had tilted during your arrival. Some habits, it seemed, would never change.
A loud meow announced Nyx's presence before she came tearing around the corner, tail high and vibrating with indignation at having been abandoned for three days. She wound herself between your legs, then Sunghoon's, her complaints echoing off the walls.
"Yes, we missed you too," you told her, bending to scratch behind her ears.
To your surprise, Sunghoon crouched down beside you, extending his hand to the aggrieved cat. "I apologize for our absence," he said with complete seriousness. "It was a Ministry requirement, not a voluntary abandonment."
Nyx butted her head against his palm, her purr starting up like a small engine.
"She forgives you faster than she forgives me," you observed with a smile.
"Strategic diplomacy," Sunghoon replied, though his eyes held a warmth that belied the formal words. "I believe bribes may be necessary to fully restore relations."
As if understanding his words, Nyx trotted toward the kitchen, pausing to look back expectantly.
"Our daughter appears to be suggesting dinner," Sunghoon said, rising and offering you his hand.
You took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet and into his arms in one smooth motion. "I'd say she has her priorities straight."
Sunghoon's arms tightened around you, his eyes softening as they met yours. "Food can wait," he murmured, lowering his head to catch your lips in a kiss that made your toes curl.
You melted against him, still marveling at this new version of Sunghoonâone who initiated affection without hesitation, who held you as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. Three days away from the Ministry's watchful eye, three days of honesty and reconnection, had transformed something between youânot erasing his reserved nature, but allowing the warmth beneath to emerge without calculation or restraint.
"Mmm," you sighed when you finally broke apart. "I could get used to being greeted like that."
A small smile curved his lips. "I intend to make it a regular occurrence."
Nyx meowed again, more insistently this time.
"However," Sunghoon added, his expression turning serious, "it appears we have a diplomatic crisis requiring immediate attention."
You laughed, the sound drawing another of those rare, genuine smiles from him. "Heaven forbid we keep the ambassador waiting."
Together, you moved to the kitchen, Nyx trotting ahead with her tail held high in triumph. As Sunghoon prepared her food with his characteristic precisionâexactly two scoops, carefully placed in the center of her bowlâyou found yourself studying him, still adjusting to the new reality between you.
He looked the sameâperfectly pressed robes, immaculate hair, posture straight enough to make a finishing school teacher weep with joy. But there was something different in the way he moved now, a subtle ease that hadn't been there before. The rigid control that had characterized his every gesture had softened, not into sloppiness but into a more natural grace.
When he caught you watching, his eyebrow raised in silent question.
"Nothing," you said, smiling. "Just... happy to be home."
Something flickered in his eyesâwarm, intimate, just for you. "As am I, angel."
The simple endearment, now spoken with genuine affection rather than calculated familiarity, sent a pleasant warmth through your chest. Sunghoon moved to the refrigerator, assessing its contents with his usual methodical approach.
"Limited options," he observed. "I don't suppose you'd object to takeaway?"
"Sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning against the counter. "I don't think either of us is in the mood for cooking tonight."
A hint of color rose in Sunghoon's cheeks, his mind clearly revisiting the same memories as yoursâof lazy meals in bed, of conversations that stretched into the night, of rediscovering each other with unhurried thoroughness. "Indeed," he said, his voice slightly lower than usual. "We have been... otherwise occupied."
The kitchen suddenly felt several degrees warmer. "Those Ministry retreat cottages certainly provided plenty of... activities," you said innocently.
Sunghoon's eyes darkened. "None of which appeared in their official program."
You laughed, the tension breaking as Sunghoon's lips curved into a small smile. "I'm going to shower while we wait for food," you said, pushing away from the counter. "I feel like I still have rose petals in my hair."
"You do," Sunghoon confirmed, reaching out to pluck a tiny dried petal from behind your ear. "Just here."
His fingers lingered against your skin, the simple touch charged with meaning after everything you'd shared. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the gravity of the other's presence.
Then Nyx, finished with her dinner, jumped onto the counter between you, breaking the moment.
"Boundaries, daughter," Sunghoon told her, though his tone held no real reproach as he gently set her back on the floor. "We've discussed this."
You shook your head, smiling as you headed for the stairs. "Good luck with that particular diplomatic negotiation. She's outmaneuvered you from day one."
"A temporary tactical advantage," Sunghoon called after you. "I'm developing countermeasures."
Your laughter followed you up the stairs, a lightness in your step that had been missing during the painful weeks of distance. The shower was blissfully hot, washing away the last traces of portkey travel and Ministry interference. As you dried your hair, you could hear Sunghoon moving around downstairs, the familiar sounds of his precise movements oddly comforting.
When you came back downstairs, wearing comfortable pajamas despite the early hour, you found the living room transformed. The lights had been dimmed, a fire crackling in the hearth despite the mild spring evening. Cushions and throw blankets had been arranged on the floor before the fire, and the coffee table held an array of containers from your favorite Indian restaurant.
Sunghoon stood beside this arrangement, looking almost uncertain. "I thought you might prefer a relaxed dinner," he said, his tone casual though his eyes watched you carefully for your reaction.
"It's perfect," you said softly, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. "When did you have time to arrange all this?"
"Efficient time management," he replied, though the slight color in his cheeks suggested he'd moved rather quickly to create this surprise. "The restaurant is only a brief Floo call away."
You moved to him, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."
His arm curved around your waist, holding you close for a moment longer than necessary. "You're welcome, angel."
Dinner was a relaxed affair, both of you sitting cross-legged on the cushions, sharing food directly from the containers in a way that would have been unthinkable a month ago. Sunghoon had even changed into casual trousers and a simple shirtâan outfit you'd rarely seen him wear.
"The Ministry assessment is next week," he said as you both finished eating, his tone carefully neutral.
You set down your fork, stomach tightening slightly at the reminder. "Tuesday, isn't it?"
Sunghoon nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Given our attendance at the retreat, they may be more... thorough in their evaluation."
"Because we skipped all the activities?"
"It's possible they've been informed of our non-participation," he confirmed, though he didn't look particularly concerned. "However, I believe our current situation will more than satisfy their requirements."
You smiled, reaching for his hand across the blankets. "You mean the fact that we're actually happy together now?"
His fingers entwined with yours, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm. "Precisely. Though I anticipate they'll have a considerably more invasive set of questions this time."
"Let them ask," you said simply. "We have nothing to hide anymore."
Something flickered in Sunghoon's eyesâa vulnerability that still caught you off guard when it appeared. "No," he agreed softly. "No more hiding."
Nyx chose that moment to insert herself into the conversation, stepping delicately onto Sunghoon's lap and turning three precise circles before settling down with a contented purr.
"I see you've been claimed," you observed, smiling at the sight of your proper, dignified husband absently stroking the cat while she kneaded his leg.
"We've negotiated a mutual non-aggression pact," Sunghoon replied, though the gentle way his fingers moved through Nyx's fur belied the formal description. "She permits me to occupy the residence; I acknowledge her territorial sovereignty."
You laughed, the sound drawing Sunghoon's eyes to your face with unexpected intensity.
"What?" you asked, self-conscious under his steady gaze.
"I like hearing you laugh," he said simply. "I missed it... before."
Before. Such a small word to encompass the painful weeks of distance, the walls built between you, the careful avoidance of anything real.
"I missed a lot of things before," you replied softly. "I'm glad we found our way back."
Sunghoon's expression softened into something almost vulnerable. "As am I." He hesitated, then added quietly, "I'm sorry it took me so long to find the courage."
"You found it," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "That's what matters."
He nodded, something settling in his expression. "The Ministry's requirements brought us together, but what's between us now is our choice. Our creation. Not theirs."
"Our very own diplomatic treaty," you teased gently.
A smileâsmall but genuineâcurved his lips. "With considerably more pleasant negotiation methods than I'm accustomed to."
"Speaking of pleasant negotiations," you said, moving to sit beside him, your shoulder brushing his. "I believe we were discussing Ministry assessments?"
Sunghoon's arm came around you, drawing you against his side as if it were the most natural gesture in the worldâwhich, perhaps, it now was. "I believe we've covered the essential points," he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear that he'd discovered during your time at the cottage.
"Mmm," you sighed, tilting your head to give him better access. "You're sure? No additional preparations required?"
"Perhaps some practical exercises," he suggested, his voice dropping lower. "To ensure consistent performance."
You laughed, turning in his arms to face him properly. "Always so thorough, Mr. Park."
"In all important matters, Mrs. Park," he agreed seriously, though his eyes held a warmth that made your heart flutter. "And nothing is more important than this."
Later, as you lay tangled together in the bed that now truly felt shared, Sunghoon's fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder.
"I never expected this," he murmured, his voice soft in the darkness.
"What?" you asked, nestled against his chest.
"Happiness," he said simply. "Real happiness, not just satisfaction or achievement or proper functioning. This... completeness."
The unguarded admission, so unlike his usually measured statements, created a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with physical pleasure. "I never expected you," you replied honestly. "The real you, under all those perfect manners and diplomatic phrases."
His arms tightened around you. "For a long time, I wasn't sure the real me existed anymore," he admitted. "I'd spent so many years becoming what was requiredâthe perfect son, the perfect diplomat, the perfect Ministry employee. You made me remember there was more."
You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I like all the versions of you," you told him. "Even the infuriatingly proper one who measured appropriate hand-holding distance."
A soft chuckleâstill rare enough to be preciousârumbled through his chest. "I believe those measurements may require revision," he said, his hand finding yours and entwining your fingers. "Current data suggests significantly closer proximity is optimal."
"Optimal, hmm?" you teased, lifting your head to see his face in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
"Essential," he corrected softly, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. "You are essential to me, Y/N. Not because the Ministry decided it, but because I choose it. Because I choose you, every day."
The simple declaration, spoken without qualification or analysis, made your heart swell. "I choose you too," you whispered, leaning down to press your lips to his.
As the kiss deepened, as his hands began their now-familiar exploration of your body, as the world narrowed to just the two of you in the darkness, you marveled at how something that began as a Ministry imposition had transformed into the most real, most chosen thing in your life.
Perhaps, you thought fleetingly as Sunghoon rolled you beneath him, sometimes the most reluctant beginnings led to the most passionate endings.
And this was only the beginning.
Epilogue
Six months later
"Nyx, cease and desist immediately," Sunghoon's voice drifted from the study, prompting you to pause in the hallway. "That document is for the Hungarian Minister, not feline consumption."
A plaintive meow followed.
"Your objection is noted but overruled," he continued, his tone serious but warm. "The diplomatic corps does not recognize 'but it looks chewable' as valid grounds for document destruction."
You smiled, leaning against the doorframe to observe the familiar sceneâSunghoon at his desk, hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it, Nyx perched regally atop a stack of parchments she had claimed as her sovereign territory.
"Judicial negotiations have concluded," Sunghoon informed the cat, gently lifting her from the documents. "The court finds in favor of the Ministry of Magic."
Nyx meowed indignantly as she was relocated to Sunghoon's lap, though her protests subsided when his hand automatically began stroking her fur.
"You know you're just encouraging her territorial ambitions," you observed, making your presence known.
Sunghoon looked up, his expression immediately softening in the way that still made your heart skip. "She employs highly persuasive methods of negotiation," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in what you now recognized as his version of a smile.
"You're wrapped around her paw," you teased, entering the study.
"A diplomat knows when strategic concessions are necessary for peace," he countered, though he didn't deny the observation.
Six months after your reconciliation at the Ministry retreat, these everyday moments still caught you by surpriseâthe easy warmth between you, the casual affection, the way Sunghoon's formal facade had softened into something more genuine without losing the essential qualities that made him who he was.
"The Hungarian proposal is finished?" you asked, moving to perch on the edge of his desk.
"Nearly," he confirmed, his free hand automatically reaching for yours, an unconscious gesture that spoke volumes about how far you'd come. "Their approach to international magical education standards is refreshingly progressive."
You listened as he explained the complexities of the proposal, his eyes lighting with the quiet passion he brought to his work. This was the real Sunghoonâbrilliant, thoughtful, deeply committed to improving magical cooperation across borders. The fact that he now shared this side of himself with you, without filters or calculation, felt like a gift you unwrapped daily.
"I've been thinking," you said when he finished, your fingers absently playing with his.
"A dangerous pastime," he replied, eyebrow raised in mock concern.
You laughed, still delighted by these glimpses of his dry humor. "The Pediatric Magical Development Center at St. Mungo's is expanding," you continued. "They've asked me to head the new research division for childhood magical stabilization."
Sunghoon's eyes warmed with genuine pride. "That's a well-deserved recognition of your work with unstable magical cores. Your treatment protocol has already improved outcomes significantly."
"It would mean more regular hours," you added, watching his face carefully. "Less emergency shifts."
"That would be...very preferable," he said, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "Though I've grown used to your erratic schedule."
"And there's something else," you continued, heart quickening slightly. "The position includes specialized training in prenatal magical development."
Something flickered in Sunghoon's eyesâa sudden attention, a quiet intensity. "Prenatal development," he repeated, his voice carefully neutral.
"Yes," you confirmed, watching him closely. "They're particularly interested in research on how parents' magical signatures influence fetal magical development."
Sunghoon was silent for a moment, his fingers still moving against yours with unconscious intimacy. "That's a fascinating area of study," he said finally. "With significant practical applications."
"It made me think," you said, gathering your courage. "About us. About the future."
Nyx chose this moment to stretch dramatically in Sunghoon's lap, her paws extending toward the ceiling before she resettled, purring loudly.
"Our daughter approves of serious conversations," Sunghoon observed, his attempt at lightness not quite masking the sudden tension in his shoulders.
"I've been thinking about expanding our family," you said directly, deciding that after everything you'd been through, honesty was always the best approach with Sunghoon. "About having children. Actual human ones, in addition to our feline overlord."
Sunghoon went very still, his expression unreadable in a way you hadn't seen for months. For a moment, you feared you'd misjudged, pushed too far too soon.
"Children," he repeated, the word careful, measured.
"It's just a thought," you backtracked quickly. "Something to consider for the future. There's no rushâ"
"Yes," Sunghoon interrupted, his voice unexpectedly firm.
You blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in his tone. "Yes?"
"Yes, I would like to have children with you," he clarified, his eyes holding yours with unwavering conviction. "I've given the matter considerable thought."
Relief flooded through you, followed quickly by curiosity. "You've been thinking about this?"
A hint of color rose in his cheeks. "It would be irresponsible not to consider all aspects of our future together."
"Of course," you agreed, fighting a smile at his characteristically methodical approach to family planning. "And what did your considerations conclude?"
"That I would like five or six," he said matter-of-factly.
You nearly choked. "Five or six what?"
"Children," he replied calmly, as if he'd merely suggested getting a few extra teacups.
"FIVE OR SIX CHILDREN?" Your voice rose to a pitch that startled Nyx from her comfortable position.
Sunghoon blinked, apparently surprised by your reaction. "Is that an unreasonable number?"
"UnreasonâSunghoon! That's half a Quidditch team!" you spluttered, torn between laughter and genuine shock. "Where did you even get that number?"
He looked slightly embarrassed now, adjusting his collar in the way he did when feeling defensive. "I may have prepared a preliminary analysis of optimal family size."
"An analysis," you repeated faintly. "Of course you did."
"It's merely a starting point for negotiation," he added, his tone suggesting he was prepared to be flexible on the exact figure.
"A starting point," you echoed, now fighting genuine laughter. "So generous of you."
"My research indicates that larger families provide numerous benefits, including built-in social structures, diverse personality dynamics, and practical experience with diplomatic conflict resolution," he continued, warming to his subject. "Additionally, having grown up as an only boy,with just a younger sister, I found the experience somewhat... limiting."
You stared at him, this perfectly proper diplomat calmly explaining why he wanted enough children to populate a small classroom, and suddenly you couldn't contain your laughter any longer.
"What?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled by your reaction.
"Sunghoon," you managed through your laughter, "most people start with one child and see how it goes!"
"Inefficient," he replied with perfect seriousness. "Proper planning preventsâ"
"If you say 'poor performance,' I swear I'll hex you," you threatened, still laughing.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "I was going to say 'prevents problematic outcomes,' but your version has a certain alliterative appeal."
You slid from the desk into his lap, displacing an indignant Nyx who shot you a betrayed look before stalking from the room. "Let's compromise," you suggested, looping your arms around his neck. "How about we start with one and reassess after I've recovered from growing and birthing an actual human being?"
Sunghoon's arms came around you automatically, his expression softening into something tender. "Your counter-proposal has merit," he conceded. "Though I reserve the right to revisit the total number at a later date."
"Always the diplomat," you murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Not always," he corrected softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Not with you. Not anymore."
The simple statement, spoken without calculation or reserve, still had the power to make your heart flip in your chest. "I love you," you told him, because you could now, because the words came easily and often between you. "Even when you try to negotiate for a small army of children."
"I love you too," he replied without hesitation, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek. "Although I believe six hardly constitutes an army. Perhaps a specialized task force."
You laughed again, resting your forehead against his. "One at a time, Sunghoon. I promise we'll revisit your task force proposal after the first mission."
"Acceptable terms," he agreed, his lips finding yours with the easy familiarity that still felt like a miracle. "Though I should note that twins run in my family."
You pulled back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. "You're not serious."
The smile that spread across his faceâfull, genuine, no longer rare but still preciousâwas your answer. "Perhaps we should begin with adjusting Nyx to the concept of a sibling," he suggested, his eyes dancing with humor. "She does like to be consulted on household changes."
"A trial run with a stuffed toy might be wise," you agreed, settling more comfortably against him. "Diplomatic relations with our daughter must be maintained."
As Sunghoon's arms tightened around you, as his laughterâno longer a rare occurrenceârumbled through his chest, you marveled at how far you'd come from those first stilted days of Ministry-mandated marriage. From measured proximity to genuine connection, from calculated familiarity to real intimacy, from reluctant cohabitation to a future planned togetherâwith however many children eventually joined your family.
Later that evening, as you watched Sunghoon solemnly explaining to Nyx that future changes to the household structure would not affect her status as "firstborn daughter," you silently thanked the Ministry's ridiculous marriage law and the bureaucratic algorithm that had matched you with this manâthis complex, brilliant, unexpectedly tender man who had learned to let himself love despite his fears.
Sometimes the most reluctant hearts, once opened, proved capable of the greatest love of all.
-
"Absolutely not," you said firmly, arms crossed over your chest. "Four is our absolute limit."
Sunghoon looked up from where he sat on the nursery floor, three-year-old twins climbing over him like a jungle gym while their six-month-old sister batted at a magical mobile nearby.
"But I've prepared new charts," he protested mildly, somehow maintaining his dignity despite the toddler attempting to use his shoulder as a launching pad. "The efficiency metrics for five children are significantly superior to four."
"The efficiency metrics for my sanity are currently hovering around critical," you informed him, though you couldn't suppress your smile at the sight of your proper, dignified husband covered in sticky fingerprints and sporting a lopsided sparkly clip in his perfectly arranged hair.
"You said that after the twins," he reminded you, catching your youngest daughter as she began to roll toward the edge of her play mat. "And yet here we are, already discussing the next addition."
"We are not discussing anything," you insisted, even as you bent to kiss the top of his head. "I'm stating a fact. Four children, Sunghoon. That's halfway to your original negotiation position, which I think shows remarkable generosity on my part."
"Mummy, Daddy promised me a brother next," your eldest daughter announced, bouncing on Sunghoon's lap with cheerful disregard for his comfort. "He pinky swore."
You raised an eyebrow at your husband, who had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Diplomatic negotiations with four-year-olds require certain tactical concessions," he explained.
"Tactical concessions," you repeated, fighting laughter. "I see."
Nyx, now elderly but still regal, observed the chaos from her perch atop the bookshelfâthe only surface in the house not covered in toys, art supplies, or sticky residue of unknown origin. Her expression suggested both judgment and a certain smug satisfaction at having retained her throne despite the invasion of tiny humans.
"Our firstborn daughter remains skeptical of expansion plans," Sunghoon observed, following your gaze to the cat.
"Our firstborn daughter is the only one showing proper judgment," you replied, finally allowing your smile to break through. "Unlike her father, who apparently thinks we're establishing a new branch of the Ministry."
Sunghoon carefully disentangled himself from the twins, rising to pull you into his arms despite the children immediately wrapping themselves around his legs. "Not the Ministry," he corrected softly, his eyes warm with the love that still made your heart skip after all these years. "Just our own little diplomatic corps. With you as permanent ambassador to my heart."
"That," you informed him, rising on tiptoe to kiss him, "was terrible."
"But effective," he murmured against your lips as your arms tightened around him.
"Four, Sunghoon," you insisted when you broke apart, though you both knew your resolve was weakening. "Final offer."
His smileâstill your favorite sight in the worldâtold you that negotiations were far from concluded. But as your children's laughter filled the room, as Nyx watched over her human siblings with reluctant affection, as Sunghoon held you close in the center of the beautiful chaos you'd created together, you couldn't find it in your heart to mind.
After all, the best diplomatic agreements left room for future amendments.
