rai

'06 enhypen ♡ jake girly

[heetaki]

a girls amateur guide to chemistry

‧₊˚ ౨ৎ -- park sunghoon x fem!reader

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

wc: 22.1k

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

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

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

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

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

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

(Newsflash: it really, really would.)

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

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

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

That was the plan, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s hard for you to focus though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time it feels like the start of something new.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't know that!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, this certainly feels like one has.

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

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

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

And then it hits you.

The fucking experiment.

You are so screwed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in love–!”

Yeah, no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that will never be there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s a sight for sore eyes, honestly.

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

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

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

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

Beomgyu raises a brow. “What worked?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate that he’s right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can’t. You know you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if that was only true for one of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That you were Sunghoons.

That is not happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe you hadn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pure, unbridled, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Searching them for you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” You murmur, “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

You sink further into your seat.

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

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

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

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

“Hoonie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungwon nods, “Rivals love island, honestly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because this? This was too much for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you think right now is one of those times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks dangerously handsome without even trying.

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

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

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

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

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

You think that’s probably a side effect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that part of you wins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finally falling for me?” He teases.

If only he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat. And then, “Are you serious?”

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

Maybe Sunghoon noticed you more than you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungwon snaps his fingers, “My point exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat, “Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, you're still here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” You breathe.

“Hi.” He replies.

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

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

“I did.” 

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

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

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

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

“Look, [Y/N]—”

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunghoon visibly bristles, “She’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, you know things will never be the same. 

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

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

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

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

“[Y/N].”

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

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

Pure, unfiltered, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Embrace the fear, you remind yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

You blink. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’d all been real.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, “You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gonna-gonna cum, fuck, m’cumming–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You’re right.”

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

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

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

sorry if i missed anyone in the tag list!

[wonnieluv]

#1 fan - texts with bf!jungwon

summary: much to Jungwon’s dismay, his lovely girlfriend will always be 100% fangirl at heart

idol!jungwon x fem!reader

cw: slightly suggestive, boynextdoor and why don’t we mentions, jungwon is just being a brat.

a/n: this is the product of me being bored at work! I was also feeling very inspired after that last Jungwon text fic :P. Hope you all found it as funny as I did :)

main masterlist | enha masterlist

[rairaiblog]

Enhypen is sevEN

[chenfleur]

sky's the limit

summary. making a fool out of himself in front of three thousand people on the regular sure never taught heeseung how to talk to pretty girls—a realization he only has when you (the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen) walk into his soul-sucking economics class and all he’s got in manpower is himself, his idiot friends, and a deeply unhelpful twitch chat.

pairing. streamer!heeseung x y/n ↳ ft jay, jake, sunghoon, and twitch chat

genre. college au, twitch streamer au, fluff, classmates to lovers

word count. 12.0k

disclaimers. heeseung-centric/pov, swearing, alcohol use, kissing/suggestive activities while drunk, smoking, some crudeness bc they're stupid college guys, pacing is highkey ass i'm sorry

released. 03.09.2026

author's note. this is a prequel to sparks but the events are slightly tweaked and can be read entirely as a standalone! my take on loser heeseung and the pinnacle of my streamer!enha career. i hope no one minds that it's told from hee's pov :( pls tell me all ur thoughts about everything!!

masterlist

any feedback is appreciated ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ᗜ<)

burgermuncher123: what fucking idiot streams their course selection

When Lee Heeseung goes live at a time of day that isn’t four in the morning, people fear the worst. 

The most widely accepted explanation is that he was kidnapped because he “looked kidnappable.” Some propose that he must’ve been beaten up by those kids he was cyberbullying on Among Us VR a few days ago. Something, something, “Mr. Beast video”—the stream notification might as well have been a national emergency alert.

But as they flood into his corner of Twitch, everyone quickly realizes that their streamer was, in fact, perfectly fine. 

There he is, in all his unassuming, wonky headset glory. The storage room he passionately defends as a bedroom is still comfortably barren, bathed in a cozy golden light by the morning sun that filtered in through the dented shutters—something softer on the eyes than the blinding white of his ring lights. His keyboard collection is tucked away in one corner, a bulky dehumidifier running in the other.

gopissgirl: Bro this fucking ragebaiter. look at his Stupid ass mavuikasbikecanrunmeover: HE’S NOT DEAD!!!!! xyz_: yo his bald spot finally isn’t reflecting the light peepoCheer

Heeseung cracks his knuckles. Twists his neck, then his back.

“Alright, chat.” A sigh from the depths of his soul leaves him. “We’re fighting a war today.”

It turns out the earth-shattering event that warrants a Heeseung stream at nine-thirty in the morning is his second-year course selection. Or, in more efficient terms, war—because if he had to spend one more second in the torture chamber that is Professor Jenkins’ circuits lecture, he will die in those trenches.

hoonbot: ARE YOU TAKING 12 COURSES HELLO jeikeushim: i will NEVER regret switching to accounting user14: why the fuck are u taking econ1130 man 😭😭

“Okay, okay, chat,” Heeseung hunches forward, elbows knocking into a crumpled Monster can before firmly planting on the desk. His hands are steepled, voice low and dead serious, as if he’s about to deliver the most unrivaled, undeniable justification for why he, an engineering student, is going to take Economic History in the Twentieth Century.

“Listen. I need to fulfill a breadth credit this year and Jay said the prof is super chill. Plus, I saw a guy on Reddit say this was a bird course. I’ll be fine.”

applesauceeater: oh this guy’s so Cooked girlqueenpussyboss67: whenever sunghoon starts talking about coding i like to come watch u cuz it reminds me that it’s ok to be a little stupid in the head <3

“I like to come watch you because it reminds me that it’s okay to be a little stupid in the he—” A loud, indignant sputter. He pushes himself up, walks to the back of the room (“the gall,” the microphone manages to pick up) before sitting back down and scooting back towards the camera. 

“Mods, ban the guy who said that. Also, ban the guy who brought up the bald spot I do not have, and ban the word ‘bald’ from my chat.” 

Heeseung needs to kill Jay.

And that one guy from Reddit. And himself from two months ago.

Some would argue that he’s being too much of a hater barely a week into the term, but Heeseung can barely find enough fucks to give about this class at all, let alone question the ethics of his internal Death Note.

Circuits with Jenkins, Heeseung decides, was heaven compared to this. The classroom hadn’t been bad. Jake and Sunghoon had shared it with him, so he could spend his classes fucking around on Roblox Fruit Tycoon Simulator rather than paying attention. Sometimes, Jenkins would grace the class by rambling on about her ongoing divorce with her good-for-nothing husband. In retrospect, what had he been complaining over? Certainly nothing worse than this.

The Economics department holds its courses in one of the campus’ oldest buildings: a quaint, beautiful thing—Romanesque in its turrets and arched windows and brickwork. It’s a shame the outside is the only part of it that seems maintained at all, since Heeseung’s lecture hall seems a cough and two sneezes away from falling apart completely.

No windows, awful ventilation, sticky tables. The sound of the professor’s gnarly smoker voice. Heeseung laments about how he can’t enjoy the daylight he never enjoys anyway—and promptly decides to make it Jay’s problem.

Jay—who’d been having a steak burrito in the student commons between classes before being intercepted by Heeseung and cursed out so colourfully he’d have thought he’d killed his parents—blinks at his friend.

“Dude,” he says, more dumbfounded than anything. “Do you not background check your classes? Even a little? The economics building is straight dogshit. Everyone knows that.”

Heeseung wonders why his hands are still at his sides and not wrapped around Jay’s throat. “That’s not the point. You said that he was chill,” he seethes.

Jay takes another bite, voice muffled by the food in his mouth. “He is chill. Plays golf with my dad on Sundays at our country club.” 

“He sounds like he chain-smokes twenty-five cigs a day. He calls everyone ‘kid’, but it’s, like, condescending. Not in a cool way like Brad Pitt does it.”

“Nothing to do with how chill he is, man. Besides, you’re lucky you only have to take an easy course and not something like econometrics.”

“I know you did not just say that to me of all people,” Heeseung grits out, having to physically restrain himself from making a colouring book joke.

A thinly veiled snicker, hastily covered up by a weak cough. “Well, you’re outta luck. Can’t drop courses until next week.”

“Whatever, I’ll just skip until then—”

“Go and I’ll give you fifty dollars for it.”

Unbothered by how Heeseung is gawking at him, Jay finishes the last bits of his food, crumpling the foil into a little ball. For all the pity he felt that Heeseung actually took the class he’d only recommended as a half-joke, he also felt a strong urge to make his friend suffer, to put it ineloquently. One of his eyebrows is slightly quirked, as if to ask if it was a deal or not.

God, rich people are freaks, Heeseung curses in his mind. On what planet does he benefit from that? What am I, his little show pony? This is ridicul—

“Deal, you son of a bitch,” he hisses, snatching his bag and storming out.

Making bank, Heeseung resolves, has to take priority.

Not that he particularly wants to indulge Jay’s sick, twisted wishes—but rather because fifty dollars is fifty dollars, and to someone like Jay, fifty dollars is a tissue to blow his nose with. 

Three more agonizing lectures go by before the day miraculously arrives: the last time Heeseung would ever have to attend this godforsaken class. Never again would he have to hear a lick about post-war economic development or anything of the sort.

The lecture hall is still as dreadful as ever, though noticeably emptier than it’d been the first week, which Heeseung decides that he cannot wait to contribute to. He slumps into an empty seat (still uncomfortably warm from whoever was sitting here before him), slots his headphones over his ears, and prepares to mentally clock out for the next two hours.

Perhaps the universe is finally on his side.

Sure, having to be here at all is a huge drag—but for once, the walk to the Economics building hadn’t been polluted with the smell of chemicals from neverending construction. His Discover Weekly had refreshed and wasn’t ass.

And now, in a few hours time, he would officially be fifty dollars richer, spending his sweet new free time playing FIFA and fucking up a bag of M&M’s and—

Someone taps his shoulder.

Heeseung jolts at the touch, eyes sliding half-open. Despite half his vision being blocked by his hood and music blasting him towards deafness, he can vaguely sense a presence next to him. Figuring it’s someone passing through, he moves to pick his bag up from where it is at his feet—but the tap comes again. 

One of his hands moves to pause his music, the other sliding his headphones off one ear.

“—cuse me, sorry. Is this seat taken?”

Heeseung finally bothers to look up, and—

Fuck. Oh, fuck my life.

There’s little that can phase a guy who accidentally ripped his pants on stream and made “BUZZ LIGHTYEAR BOXERS” the number one trend on Twitter for a full twenty-four hours. He’s seen it all, done it all—worn the maid outfit, read fanfiction of him and Sunghoon, the works. Figured he'd already been enlightened to the highest degree after watching Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body when he was fourteen.

So, maybe he should feel a little pathetic about how openly he's gawking, but he's far too busy trying to figure out if he's hallucinating the ridiculously pretty girl in front of him.

Lips pursed, you manage a small, nervous smile. Your head swivels to look around the lecture hall. “Um, if it’s taken, I’ll just—”

“It’s not taken,” Heeseung blurts out, as if his tongue had finally screwed itself back on. “It’s— no one’s sitting here, no. You can sit.”

Your eyes soften with relief, mumbling a quiet “thanks.”

Heeseung closes his eyes. Shuts them so hard that they start to hurt from the pressure and colours start exploding behind his eyelids. Anything to distract himself from how his throat is closing up because the prettiest girl he never even fathomed could exist had just knocked her knee into his as she's settling into the cramped seat.

So much for mentally clocking out.

The lecture hall quiets as the professor coughs into the mic. Lights dim, and a PowerPoint that was easily made ten years ago is projected onto the pull-down screen, crooked from the audience's point of view. Heeseung can feel the drowsiness from the warm, stuffy air threatening to pull him under.

Breathing in heavily, he’s ready to drown himself out again, but a whisper comes from beside him, making him stiffen. “This class has been going on for a while, right? Did I miss anything?”

He swallows, voice rough. “Uh, no. Just standard syllabus stuff… this guy drones a lot.” 

A giggle, followed by a sarcastic sigh. “Read his reviews so my hopes aren’t high. But it’s required, so what can you do?”

Your elbow is propped up on the seat arm between him and you, jaw cradled in the palm of your hand—just shy of brushing against the fabric of his hoodie. “I would’ve taken it in the winter term, but there was one person in a group chat I’m in who said he was ‘super chill’, so he can’t be that bad, right?”

Heeseung could kiss Jay on the mouth.

For the remainder of the lecture, the two of you are silent. You’d since slipped on a pair of clear-framed glasses, perched on the slope of your nose as you diligently take notes—while Heeseung’s trying not to piss himself every time you tuck a loose lock of hair back behind your ear in the corner of his vision.

When noon hits, the lecture hall rumbles with noise again as everyone is filing out. Heeseung from literally two hours ago would be bewildered by his current self still being in his seat rather than having already sprinted out the door.

“I never caught your name,” you say, cutting through the noise. He can hear your voice clearly now that you aren’t whispering. “I’m Y/N.”

He wets his lips. “Heeseung,” he manages.

“Nice to meet you. I’ll see you around?”

“Y— Yeah.”

Heeseung does not drop Economic History in the Twentieth Century.

He'd spent a good ten minutes logged into his student portal—the 'withdraw' button he'd been so ready to press staring him down as if daring him to even think about it anymore—before closing out of the tab. Admitting defeat.

Which means he doesn’t free up any time in his schedule to play FIFA, nor does he get fifty dollars from Jay (despite his negotiations that he’d technically fulfilled what he’d been asked to do).

All he really got out of this ordeal was unsolicited emotional turmoil over a girl he’s had barely half a conversation with.

Two full days have passed since he's met you, and not once had you strayed from his thoughts for more than a few minutes. In all honestly, he's can't remember exactly what your features look like from off the top of his head—but he remembers that you had outrageously pretty eyes and hair and a sweet lilt to your voice that makes him want to tear his hair out. The feeling you'd caused to stir in his chest lingers, stubbornly refusing to leave.

heeshings: alt revived bc my streamer got action. we all cheered washingmachine42069: Yo you talk to women ?

Heeseung groans loudly, hands dragging down his face. “You don’t get it, chat,” he fake sobs. “She’s so fucking pretty. Like—” 

Shooting up, his arms wave around as he attempts to defend himself. “—I literally sat down, ready to honk, shooo, mimimimi pass out, and then I feel this tap on my shoulder. I’m like ‘bro, who the fuck is this’. I turn my head and boom. I'm at the pearly white gates. It's God. I saw God—I literally entered heaven. You guys wouldn’t drop the class either! Stop pretending you would!” 

user8: based on how you’re reacting to this i can tell u had No game jayparkk_ ✔: respond to my msgs jayparkk_ ✔: shouldn’t u be thanking me licking my shoes or some shit i literally locked u in for life

“‘I literally locked you in for life’ you didn’t lock me into shit,” Heeseung grits out, pointing an accusing finger at the webcam. “All you’ve done is made it so I have to keep going to these fucking awful classes.”

jayparkk_ ✔: aint no one forcing you into anything lil bro 😹😹😹 rima_ovo: “all you’ve done is cause a gorgeous woman to enter my life” my steak too juicy. my lobster too buttery. We need to kill this guy xddd111: dw bout it we’re gonna manifest her for you KEEP YO CHIN UP KING 💯💯💯

The aged playground swing creaks as Sunghoon settles into it.

“I thought you dropped that class,” he comments, offhanded.

Perhaps it's a bit concerning—and sad—for three grown men to be loitering at the local children's playground at one in the morning. Even the stray tabby that likes to wander around the area is giving them what could seriously be a stink eye.

But Heeseung had been throwing so egregiously in Valorant that it was making Sunghoon rank down, so the latter had to put his foot down and stage an intervention.

Heeseung's quiet from his spot in the whale spring rider.

His lanky form is folded up in the small space, chin perched on his tightly drawn-up knees. Frigid air chips at his cheeks as he stares at no particular spot on the ground. “I was going to. Jay was even gonna give me fifty bucks for it—” neither Jake nor Sunghoon comment on how that makes no sense, “—But I raise you this: pretty girl.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “You didn't drop the course that made you want to kill yourself because of some eye candy?” he asks incredulously.

Jake snorts loudly, fishing a pack of cigarettes out from the back pocket of his jeans. Flicking the top open, he slips one out with slender fingers. “Hoon, haven't you been eye-fucking your stats TA for weeks now? Don't think you're reaaaaally one to talk.” —to which Sunghoon shamelessly ignores.

“First of all, speak on her with some respect,” Heeseung retorts. “She's not just eye candy. Have you considered that she had a good impact on my mental health? Exhibit A: I don't want to kill myself when I think of that class anymore.”

“Man, if this girl is as great as you make her out to be, you gotta shoot your shot or something,” Jake says, voice slightly muffled. “Cig?”

Heeseung declines. Lighting a flame, then taking a drawn-out drag, Jake continues: “'cause you can't just sit around on your ass all day, hoping she'll pick you if you ogle her stupidly enough.”

“Fuck off, I wasn't gonna do that anyway. Either way, literally what business do I have shooting my shot? I don't know anything other than her first na—”

“Y/N L/N,” Sunghoon's drawling cuts through the air.

“Philosophy, politics, and economics major. Wants to go to law school. Transferred from Hanhwa Women's College. Sister's...” he squints at his screen. “—sister's a big shot lawyer downtown.”

Silence. “How the fuck did you do that?”

Shrugging, Sunghoon plucks the cigarette from between Jake's fingers, bringing it up to his own lips. “Not hard. Here, want to see it again?”

He taps around on his phone for half a minute or so. “Jason's seeing Charlotte Kim. The volleyball one.”

Jake shoots up from where he's been lying on the ground, several woodchips stuck to the back of his hoodie. “He is?”

Sunghoon pulls up a photo on his screen, which Jake immediately snatches into his own hands. “Yeah. He's your neighbour, dumbass. How the hell do you not know this?”

“Dude, I've been crashing at Lambda recently 'cause Minjun's on exchange, so his room's empty. It's fucking sick, Ren's girl makes the craziest Belgian waffles—”

The sound of a car horn blares through the quiet of the night, causing a flock of birds to flee from where they'd been nestled in the trees. Heeseung's gaze snaps over, squinting as Jay's familiar figure locks the sleek convertible before slinking up to the group.

He's baffled at the sight. “The fuck are you guys doing?”

“Therapy,” Jake calls out, shaking the cigarette pack in the air. “Cig?”

Jay takes one, catching the lighter Sunghoon tosses his way. “I saw you guys on 360. You know you look really fucking weird, right?”

“We, gang. If we went down right now, you'd be part of it.”

Heeseung's hates how Jay turns to him with a gleam in his eyes.

“Listen, Heeseung,” he starts. “I know you already sorta owe me your first-born child for being the best wingman ever, but since I'm so gracious—I have a plan, and on my balls it's going to end your bitchless streak.”

Planting a solid hand on Heeseung's shoulder, he says, with all the seriousness in the world: “You've gotta talk to her.”

The three of them stare at him in complete silence, broken only by the woodchip Sunghoon chucks at the back of his head. “Shut the fuck up, dude. You're pissing me off.”

Jay hisses, shooting a scathing glare at Sunghoon while rubbing at the spot he'd been struck. “If you'd let me finish,” he snarks, turning back to Heeseung. “You've gotta get her to warm up to you. Be proactive. Women love that shit. But only if they like you.”

“And what if she, I don't know, doesn't like me?”

“That's what the talking part is for, idiot. You've gotta gauge whether she fucks with you or not. She's friends with Chaewon, so I can even help you on that front. Then, if she seems sorta into you, invite her to the Lambda party.”

Heeseung blinks. “You want me to win her over by talking to her and then inviting her to a frat party?” he sputters. “Who am I, Jake?”

“Do you want to become co-president of the eye-fucking club with Sunghoon and expect her clothes to magically be on the floor?”

Another woodchip is aimed at Jay's head, which he manages to dodge this time—only for another to fling square into his forehead, this time from Heeseung.

“Ow!” Jay yelps. “Fuck's your problem?”

“I'm not trying to fuck her, dickhead.”

Jay gives him deadpan look. “What I mean is that the bar's in hell. You've gotta raise it at least a little.”

His gaze is determined. Unwavering. Freakishly inspiring. It has Heeseung nodding along, despite not knowing and, frankly, being scared of why. As if a weird seed of motivation was planted inside of him, growing, snowballing.

Jake's cigarette is on its last legs. He's about to let it drop and snuff it out with his sole until it's snatched out of his grasp by Heeseung, who hastily presses it between his lips.

A rough inhale. Nicotine courses through his thrumming veins. A calm exhale.

He nods firmly. “I'm going to do this.”

Slam.

The wood of his desk is cold against Heeseung's forehead. “Chat, I can't fucking do this.”

Something might have genuinely possessed him last night, because whatever speck of conviction Heeseung had about getting to know you was nowhere to be found the second he woke up that morning.

He's been spiralling in a whirlpool of preemptive humiliation and despair since—so much so that he went live with the stream title “FUCK MY STUPID BAKA LIFE!!!!!!”, which his mods, fearing the wrath of Twitch's Terms of Service, lovingly re-titled to “heeseung girl crashout #2”.

Jay accompanies him this time, sprawled out on armchair at the back of the room. Legs propped up on an ottoman as he plays Geometry Dash on his phone.

“I don't know what you're freaking out about,” he says wryly, not looking up. “Plan's not flawless, but it is flexible.”

“She's gonna think I'm a sleaze!” Heeseung exclaims, dropping his face into his hands. “I'm gonna fuck up my shot before I even have a chance to shoot it!”

Setting his phone aside, Jay crosses his arms. “Alternatively, she might be into you and think that you're not into her because you're not doing anything about it.”

ikeuekeu: TRUTH NUKE xx_gamer42_xx: my brother in christ how are u gonna get a golden ticket and be too much of a pussy to go into the chocolate factory

The last message is read out by the text-to-speech, sending Jay into a fit of howling laughter, having to muffle it against the nearest cushion he can grab onto. Heeseung hardly manages a weak “shut up” that sounds lame even to his own ears.

He lets his eyes close, expecting respite. Reprieve, even.

He sees your face instead.

An aching groan rumbles from his lips. “Fine, fine! I'll do it!”

user12: any updates on the girlfriend arc ?

“Fuck.”

The sharp curse flies out of Heeseung's mouth as he watches his Valorant agent fall to the ground, shot dead. He cards a hand through his hair, murmuring a low “52, Chamber” into his comms before letting his gaze flit over to his vertical monitor.

“'Any updates on the girlfriend arc?'” he scoffs. “Is that what we're calling it?”

At that moment, a notification pops up on his phone—a small ding that vibrates against his desk.

Heeseung flips it over in his hand. The blue light of the screen reflects in the sheen of his eyes. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth, the faintest trace of a smile threatening to appear.

shinramyeo_n: IS THAT A SMILE I SEE jakelikestobake: oh my god bruh my streamer's the Rizzler

Heeseung has never, in the history of his existence, ever been this indecisive.

After fucking around the whole summer after first year, he put hardly two thoughts worth of deliberation into choosing which branch of engineering he wanted to major in. Only went to one showing when he was apartment hunting because “as long as there's an ethernet port and I can run 144 Hz, it's chill.”

Yet, he's on the path to the Economics building—a walk he's made way more times than he expected—for the sole reason that he might hit it big and catch a glimpse of you again, and he's been stuck in a never ending push and pull the entire way there.

Passes the construction site that's started up work again. ('Jay's a— a no nonsense type of guy. Straightforward and logical. Isn't he trying to bag a job at McKinsey or whatever? He's good at this solution-giving shit, right?')

Stops at a wooden bench in front of a courtyard fountain, burying his face in his hands. ('Who am I kidding? Jay? Jay made his LinkedIn in ninth grade! He doesn't have a soul—')

Eventually, Heeseung manages to back-and-forth himself into the threshold of the lecture hall's northernmost entrance, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as his eyes scan down the rows of seats.

('Alright, well. Didn't instantly see her the second I stepped in so my life's over. Time to lea—')

A hand waves at him from three rows down.

Face lit up with recognition, you turn around in your seat, whispering something to your friend before waving him over a little more energetically.

Heeseung's breath catches as he spots you. Several thoughts are whirling around in his head (the most coherent one being slight confusion about how you still recognize him). Panic seems to keep the soles of his feet glued to the floor—until they're suddenly moving.

“Heeseung, right?” A smile graces your lips, small but warm. “Do you wanna sit? I was originally saving this seat, but someone—” you shoot a playful glare at the girl next to you, “—has an interview she has to leave for.”

He vaguely recognizes her as Chaewon, one of Jay's friends from high school. She's looking at him knowingly, head cocked to the side—a look he conveniently doesn't meet.

“I...” He dares to peer into your eyes for a half a second. Doesn't catch the slightly optimistic glimmer in them before already looking away. “...Yeah, sure. That'd be great, thanks.”

Class goes by relatively similarly to the first time he met you: in sum, you're actually paying attention to the lecture while Heeseung does anything but. It's only at the end where, rather than leaving, you're still hovering next to him.

Waiting for him, he slowly realizes. “You're staying behind?”

It's the first time he sees your expression shift into something more timid. “If you're free—” you start, “—would you wanna come to the library with me? I have some things to work on, and... I'd like the company.”

It's noon on a weekday. Sunghoon would probably be at the library, slaving away at whatever computer science assignment currently had him shackled to the wall. If Heeseung, God forbid, runs into him at any point and he sees him trailing behind you, there would be a clowning in the group chat like never seen before.

And, sure enough, about two minutes after he walks by a Sunghoon-shaped figure slouched at a bureau, Heeseung feels his phone start to buzz violently in his pocket.

You tilt your head to the side, lips quirked in a teasing smile. “Popular much?”

Embarrassed, he chuckles dryly, silencing his phone with a swift click. “I wish.”

Heeseung's friendship with you is a simple one.

Uncomplicated in a way that, despite the two of you not doing too much actual talking, puts him at ease—a boat drifting on a calm wave. He's never been the type to try and fill dips in conversation by piling on more, but he'll still feel the weight of it—whereas with you, you'll simply be studying, spinning a pen between your fingers and humming a soft tune under your breath, while he tries to peek at you as discreetly as possible.

Silence with you is comfortable.

Then, when momentum builds (“I've gotta go. They're having tryouts for the moot court team in half an hour.” “...Wait—” “Hm? What's up?” “...I've got a ton of physics work to do. Uh, so I'll probably be locked up in the library for the rest of the week, haha.” “Then... then I might join you sometimes. If that's okay, of course.” “Yeah, yeah, no yeah, that's okay. Feel free.”), conversation weaves itself into the space between you.

Heeseung learns that you transferred here from the women's university across town on a scholarship. Your sister had gone here for law school, and you, wanting to do the same, figured it give you the best chance if you did your undergrad and built a network here.

All very academically diligent things that Heeseung, to put it frankly, couldn't really resonate with—but he likes watching your eyes glint as you talk about it. You're determined, he knows that much.

He learns that you're quieter than he'd assumed, based on how readily you spoke to him the first time you met. A bit clumsy, he realizes as the two of you trudge to the nearby shawarma truck and you occasionally bump into his shoulder. He has to pretend like he isn't holding his breath each time you do, and when he finally swallows his nerves down, he manages to puff out his chest enough to tease you about how you “can't walk in a straight line.”

It's sweet, he thinks. You're sweet.

fluffydogpng: someone clip this RIGHT NOW 0148593: hardstuck gold 3 but there's a pretty girl in his dms so maybe we're the real losers in this scenario 💔💔💔💔

The notification is from you. Some create mode reel that you're losing your shit over.

It's stupid. So stupid.

Eyelids drooping, Heeseung reads through it a second, then a third time, before finally flipping his phone back face-down.

Jay's gritting his teeth, trying to ground himself as the muscles in his upper body sear with heat. Two beats goes by—then, he forces himself to push the barbell upward from his body, finishing the last rep in his bench press set.

Metal clangs against metal as he deposits the bar back into its hooks. A gruff sound is drawn from his throat. He stays lying down, taking a few moments to catch his breath before his eyes dart to Heeseung, who's hovering over him.

“That's it? Just classes and the library?” Jay huffs out.

“Pretty much.” Heeseung leans his weight against the equipment. “Food, sometimes.”

Slowly sitting up, Jay unwraps the black wrist straps bound around his wrists, just to wrap them around again more tightly. “Okay, she's clearly not disgusted by you. Invite her.”

“I don't want to, man. She doesn't... seem like the type. She really cares about school.”

“What, so she's a nerd?”

Heeseung kicks him in the shin.

A loud hiss of pain. “I was kidding,” Jay mocks, trying (and failing) to swat him back. “This isn't a teen movie from the 2000s, dumbass. You think that just because she cares about school, she's not gonna want to go to a party? Look at Hoon—those aren't mutually exclusive.”

He gestures for Heeseung to toss him the G Fuel bottle at his feet. “Think about it. A party gives you an excuse to dress real fucking slutty. She'll be yours by the end of the night.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Jay clicks his tongue. “There's no harm in inviting her,” he emphasizes. “If this goes anywhere, she's gonna eventually find out all the stupid shit you do on the internet anyway. I know you want to 'get it right' or whatever, but if a party is what turns her off from you then it's only doomed from here on out.”

A sigh from the depths of Heeseung's soul is pulled from him. He rubs at his temples as an attempt to clear his mind, even if just for a brief moment.

“Did Chaewon say anything?” he eventually asks, voice quiet—not really sure what answer he's looking for.

“Nope,” Jay says, popping the 'p'. His back collides with padded leather as he lies back down. “Something about 'not tossing her to the wolves'. Says you're an open book, though.”

“Oh, fuck my life.”

Everyone knows that the voices in your head clock in each night at nine o'clock to make you go through a micro crisis where you become increasingly miserable about your life. Usually they don't get to Heeseung until really, really diabolical hours—but apparently, when it comes to you, he can barely last a few.

(11:02PM) HEESEUNG: had a quick question

The slices of moonlight that pour into the room through half-closed shutters are the only thing preventing Heeseung from wallowing in pitch-black darkness. One arm draped over his forehead, he scowls at the sent message like it personally offended him with its lameness.

“Who am I fucking kidding,” he mutters to himself.

But just as he's about to unsend it, a small, green dot appears next to your name. His thumb pauses mid-motion.

His heart starts to speed up when he sees you've read the message.

It plummets to his ass when he starts getting a call from you.

In Jay's rundown of seven different possible outcomes that Heeseung forced him to give, not once did he mention you calling him would be involved. He's half-delirious, voice shot to hell after his earlier stream with Jake and Sunghoon—and the girl he has a massive crush on chooses now, of all times, to call him for the first time.

Holding his phone in a death grip, Heeseung represses the instinct to fling it across the room like a hot stone. He prepares himself. Clears his throat. Lightly smacks himself a few times.

He uses a shaky finger pushes accept, phone then hastily pressed to his ear. “Hello?”

“Heeseung?”

Your voice is soft. Somehow melodic through the static of the line. A gentle stream of freshwater.

Heeseung's eyes flutter shut as it washes over him, subconsciously pressing the device harder against the side of his head.

“Hey, I saw your message. I would've replied, but the thing is my hands are sort of occupied. Hope this is okay?”

Slowly, Heeseung rolls over in his bed to lie on his side. It takes a moment for him to find his voice. “No, yeah, it's fine. You're busy, then?”

“No, not busy. It's just that I just did my nails, so they're still drying.” A breathy laugh leaves you. “What's up? Is this about this week's homework?”

“Oh, it's—” A feeble cough. “It's nothing important. I was actually wondering if you, uh, wanted to come to a... party. This Friday,” he says, cringing at how the words feel on his tongue.

The small 'oh' you let out makes his stomach churn, but it doesn't carry displeasure more it simply does surprise. “What kind of party? Like a frat party?”

“Yeah, a frat,” Heeseung mumbles, fidgeting with the loose thread of his blanket. “It's at one of the better known ones. Lambda Delta Nu. I don't know if you've heard of it— I know some of the brothers...” he trails off. “...This Friday's the first one of the year, so it's gonna be really big, I guess.”

You're quiet for an uncomfortably long time.

“You don't have to—”

“No, no, I've just— God, you're gonna think I'm lame,” you laugh wryly. “I've just never been to one.”

Heeseung blinks, before a grin unknowingly appears on his face. “Why would I think you've been to one? You went to an all-girls college.”

“I don't know!” you whine. “I didn't do anything in high school, either. Do you like, bring your own drink? Do you have to pay to get in?”

“No, they have drinks. And girls don't.”

“That's... shameless.”

“Tell me about it.”

Suddenly, a loud, incessant vibration comes from your end. Even Heeseung, with his questionable track record of emotional cues, can pick up on the frustration in the sigh you let out. He cautiously prods. “Something wrong?”

“No, I'm just getting a call from my mom,” you say, tone not as light as before. “I've gotta go, sorry. But I'll be there.”

A small pause. “Good night, Heeseung.”

Heeseung's fingers twitch. His heart clogs his throat.

By the time he finishes dwelling on whether to tell you 'good night'—the words already forming on his lips—you've already hung up the call.

The weight of his leather jacket—Jay's leather jacket, technically, that he'd forced him to wear—is heavy on Heeseung's shoulders.

Even though the party doesn't properly start for another forty minutes, a considerably large swarm of rowdy, half-drunk college students have already accumulated on the house's front lawn, lining up to get in.

Nothing out of the ordinary—Lambda Delta Nu always kicks off the ground with a big, flashy rager. Heeseung can only wrinkle his nose at the thought of how crowded and sweaty it'll get later.

Beer case in hand, he skips past the line, approaching the low, rickety folding table stationed at the foot of the porch. Jake, who's supposed to be helping handle payments, is quite glaringly not doing so—instead sitting backwards atop the table, the neck of an empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

“Drinking on the job?” Heeseung deadpans, lightly slamming the case down on the space right next to where Jake is leaning back on his free hand, making the latter startle.

When he turns around, Jake's face splits into a grin. Notoriously lightweight, his cheeks are already flushed a pale red. “I'd personally call it multitasking,” he drawls.

Launching himself up, Heeseung swiftly hops over the table, making his way up to the house and greeting the guys he recognizes along the way. Jake tails along behind him.

“I wanna do some crazy shit tonight,” he says, the scheming evident in his tone. “You gonna match me shot for shot?”

The kitchen island is decked out with all sorts of drinks—beer, liquor, soju, seltzers, coolers, fruit juices. Heeseung's gaze travels over the labels, landing on a Smirnoff Ice.

It opens with a satisfying crack. “Can't. Haven't finished the programming problem set yet.”

Jake stares at him. “Are you deadass?”

“You think I want to be?” Heeseung counters. “Does Minjun have a working PC in his room?”

“I mean, yeah, he does. Wait, so you're going to spend the night doing a fucking problem set?”

“I was busy with stream earlier. I'm basically already done. I'll play one game, go up, do it, and then come back down. It'll take like twenty minutes, max.”

Jake, being familiar with Heeseung's working pace, is thoroughly unconvinced.

Heeseung can't blame him—on any other day, he would be unconvinced too—but today, he would force himself power through.

Because you would be here.

Earlier in the day, you had sent him a voice message (that he replayed an embarrassing number of times) asking him when you should get there, if there was a dress code, and a small catalog's worth of other questions.

You sounded nervous, and he was so, very endeared by it.

Which is why he's so determined to finish his work, submit the shit half-assed if need be, and then come back down. He already isn't fond of the idea of getting to know you at a musty frat party, so he's resolved on at least trying to be a good host.

Fuck, why did he care so much about your opinion?

“Yo, Lee Heeseung! Get your sexy ass over here!” One of the frat brothers, Ren, hollers from beside the beer pong table, echoed by Jake's cackling in the background.

A year older than him, Ren roughly throws his arm around Heeseung's shoulder, messing up his hair as if he were a little kid. “You ready to get shit on?”

“Pfft,” Heeseung scoffs, tongue poking the side of his cheek. “Give me the fucking ball.”

Heeseung's drunk.

He's tipsy, to be more specific. Not fully drunk, but definitely on the way—and far drunker than he expected to be at this point in the night.

In his defense, it had been the game's fault. The opposite team had gotten lucky with a streak of successful shots that kept him stuck in position, so now he's about four shots (give or take, he hasn't been keeping count) deeper than he'd like to be. A guttural groan is ripped from his chest as another one lands in a cup, drowned out by sound of multiple slaps on his back and the cacophony of people yelling 'shot!' over and over.

“No, no, fuck off, I'm done for now,” Heeseung says semi-coherently, a lazy grin on his face. There's a shot cup that someone's trying to thrust into his hand from every direction. “Fuck off to hell, all of you.”

Deafening music—some shitty rap song—blares through the air, slightly fuzzy at the edges. It thrums through every single one of Heeseung's nerve endings as he drags himself out of the living room.

If someone told Heeseung that half the fucking city was in the Lambda house right now, he would fully believe them without hesitation.

Every inch of property is flooded by people. Some choose to lounge by the pool in the backyard, some chat with their friends in the kitchen. Some choose to swap spit in the most absurd corner of the house. The air is hot and clammy and smells heavily of cigarette smoke.

“My hair's gonna smell like this for days,” he groans to himself.

Heeseung nearly misses the staircase under the mountain of people piled on top of it. There isn't a single fuck in his body he has left to give about all the sweaty people he's pushing aside, his sole objective just to drive through the throng and get to the second floor without being trampled.

The sooner he can get up there, the sooner he can finish his work. The sooner he can finish his work, the sooner he can go back down and get hammered and find you.

You. Fuck, he’d gotten distracted.

You’d gotten here earlier, didn’t you? He should probably text you.

A chipped banister is Heeseung's saving grace, acting as leverage for him to haul himself up the stairs. Soft, erratic pants escape him when he makes it to the top, body bending at the waist as he leans his weight against the wooden railing.

Nearly the whole first floor can be seen from up here. Heeseung's eyes idly scan the different rooms, taking note of certain things—like how Jake's shirt is now off, Jay's drinking with some of his friends from high school, and Sunghoon's hogging the entirety of a couch to himself with a girl stretched out on top of him.

When they break apart so he can trail sloppy kisses down the side of her neck, Heeseung makes eye contact with him over her shoulder.

He cocks an eyebrow, as if to say: That's her?

Sunghoon promptly flips him off.

Snickering, Heeseung pushes off the railing to leave.

The house's bedrooms are all located along a lengthy hallway, decorated with painted oil portraits of the frat's original founders and framed photos of prior generations of brothers. Dragging himself further down, Heeseung tries each of the doors to find the one with a fucked up lock, knowing that one would be Minjun's. Eventually, he finds it at the very end of the hall, pushing into the room without much grace.

Minjun's room is actually nice, to his credit—minimalistic, sleek black walls, accentuated by silver grey details. A flag of the Lambda Delta Nu letters hangs from the dark oak bed frame, next to a hockey jersey slightly dusty from going unworn for a while. Heeseung recognizes some of the miscellaneous things (namely stray clothes) he knows belong to Jake that are scattered around the room.

Then, to top it all off, the lights are switched on, suddenly plunging the room into a deep shade of red.

He snorts. LEDs? Really? Is he fifteen?

Whatever. It doesn't matter. He has all the time in the world to flame him for it when he gets back from Barcelona.

Gingerly, Heeseung peels the weighty jacket off, the leather having begun to stick to his skin. It's draped over the back of the desk chair, leaving him in a white cotton tank top. The air hitting the bare skin of his arms and chest causes a shiver to run through him at the sudden drop in temperature.

He takes a moment, letting clean, smoke-free air circulate through his lungs, before steeling himself.

Heeseung realizes very quickly that trying to code while tipsy fucking sucked.

What he thought would only take twenty minutes to do absolutely does not take only twenty minutes. Trying to parse through walls of code is hard enough sober, let alone with his brain fighting for its life through the dense fog that had settled over it from the alcohol. The only words that leave his mouth during the process are a litany of 'fuck' and 'shit' variations grumbled under his breath each time the code doesn't run properly.

But if there's one thing that studying engineering does for someone, it's teaching them to accept that their fate is doomed from the start—so he tanks the grade, submitting the shitty code just so he doesn't have to look at it any longer.

Heeseung exhales a long-suffering sigh. He had sobered up a bit, having fished a rare water bottle from Minjun's mini fridge that is otherwise entirely filled with Red Bull and soju. The edges of the chair dig into his back as he slumps against it. His right hand aimlessly palms around on the desk, gripping his phone when he feels its boxy shape.

There's a text from Jay, he muses. Several texts.

(11:52) JAY: Yo where the fuck r u (11:52) JAY: Y/n's looking for you (11:53) JAY: Tell me Jake isn't serious is your bitchass actually doing homework rn (11:53) JAY: Do u want an award for being virgin of the year (11:53) JAY: I sent her ur way (11:53) JAY: I'm actually going to beat the shit out of u

Heeseung's brain short-circuits.

He's suddenly very conscious of how much of a mess he looks like right now—probably dead to the world, eyes bloodshot from staring at dense code, hair sticking up in a hundred different directions from how many times he's run a frustrated hand through it.

Meeting you in frat guy's bedroom at a party he invited you to probably looks really bad on his part. What if you came up and he ran his mouth? Scared you off? He shouldn't have let those fuckers shovel shots down his throat. He had to fix his hair. Wipe his sweat. Kill Jay—

There's a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

Heeseung freezes.

His heart beats four counts before he calls out hoarsely, “Come in.”

Hinges creaking, the door is carefully opened from the other side. Your head slowly peeks in, uncertainty marring your face. It relaxes with relief when you register that it's actually him in the room.

“Oh, good,” you breathe out, finally pushing into the room. You're clutching a solo cup in one hand, phone in the other. Your skin shines with a light sheen of sweat. “I was really worried that I was gonna walk in on people fucking.”

If you had looked anymore carefully, you'd notice how Heeseung's Adam's apple bobs up, then down.

The music from downstairs gets noticeably more muted. Or maybe turned off entirely? His fists clench, trying to quell his twitching fingers.

You're drenched in crimson in front of him, the red lights painting you in a way that has his mouth running dry. Every shred of his pitiful dignity seems to evaporate as he trails his trembling eyes over your body, latching onto how your shorts delicately squeeze around your thighs. How elegant your neck stretches when you crane it to the side. How your top is cut just low enough.

God help me, I am no better than anyone else.

If Heeseung wasn't so busy staring at you, he might've noticed you staring at him back.

At his tousled hair. How the muscles in his arms rippled as he flexed them unconsciously.

At his lips, maybe. Who knows.

It takes Heeseung longer than he's proud of for him to reel himself back in and tear his gaze from you. The fog clears, music returning to the volume it was at before.

“Are you drunk?” he blurts, finally standing up from his chair.

Your face breaks into a lazy smile. The alcohol in your system has your tongue feeling heavier than usual, honeying your voice and making your words connect with a barely-there slur.

“Nuh uh. I'm not that lightweight. This is only my second drink of the night.” You hold up the half-full cup, the contents swishing around inside.

Suddenly, you tilt your cheek towards him. “Here. Feel.”

Heeseung's eyes widen. “H—Huh?”

“Feel my face,” you repeat, tilting closer.

Just how drunk are you?

Lifting a hand, Heeseung hesitates for a moment before letting the back of his hand carefully press against your offered cheek. The touch is electric, sending a surge from the tips of his fingers up the length of his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. It yields under his touch like a cloud.

It's also flushed hot, which he makes sure to point out.

You scoff lightly, feigning offense. “That doesn't mean anything.”

“It really does, Y/N,” Heeseung finds himself murmuring softly. He isn't sure what possesses him to then move his hand from your cheek to your forehead—liquid confidence, maybe—but he does.

You don't lean away.

“I met your friend. Jay, I think,” you finally say, breaking away to walk over to the desk.

Heeseung's gaze flickers with disappointment, following your figure as you plop down into the chair. Quite possibly the worst thing you could've told him, but he bites his tongue.

“He seems nice. Turns out we're in the same Econ program group chat. Was he being serious about you doing homework up here?”

The code he'd been writing is still pulled up on the computer screen, which you take the luxury of scrolling through, much to Heeseung's dread. He moves to try to steal the mouse away, which you respond to by immediately snapping your arm out to keep it out of his reach. “Don't look at that.”

“Why?” you ask, as if you're a kid being denied candy.

“Because I did it while drunk. The code can barely run. I don't even know what I wrote.”

“I'm just curious! It's not like I'm gonna judge you— I don't know jackshit about coding.”

Your brows are drawn in a knot that Heeseung has grown familiar with after a lot of staring during library sessions. It's the same look you get when you're stuck on something—whether it's some theoretical concept you can't wrap your head around, or a flashcard you can't seem to remember, no matter how many times it comes up in rotation.

Now, you're glaring at his code as if it's at fault for not magically bestowing you with god-tier computer science powers the second you'd glanced at it.

Suddenly, you're swivelling around in the chair to face him. “Teach me how to code.”

Heeseung sputters. “What?”

“Teach me how to code,” you repeat, batting your lashes.

Pursing his lips, he tries to push down a smile. “You came to the biggest party of the year and you want to learn how to code?”

“Am I high or are we not at the same party?”

“I wasn't coding willingly. Shit, you really are a huge nerd.”

You whine. “I already did all the party stuff! Chaewon introduced me to her friends and we danced and I watched a few games of beer pong. I already hit the quota I set for night. And... and I want to spend time with you,” you say, voice growing quieter towards the end.

Heeseung knows it's probably the alcohol talking, but that doesn't stop him from instantly softening around the edges.

You're just so— so cute right now. Talkative and clingy in a way that stirs something gooey in his chest, in a way that he never expected to see. He wonders if this is real at all, and yet would actively still jump into the deep end even if he knew it wasn't.

“Okay,” he murmurs softly, poking your forehead. “Don't sulk.”

Heeseung shifts so that he's leaning over you from the side, and this time, you don't resist when he takes the mouse from you, letting your hand fall away. Seconds later, a blank program is pulled up on the screen.

“Three basic things you gotta know about writing code,” he starts. “Variables, conditionals, and loops. Variables store stuff—”

His breath stutters when he feels your chin perch innocently on the nook of his bicep.

You're unfazed when he glances down at you, simply staring ahead at what he's typing. He finds his voice again, meeker than it was.

“—conditionals decide what happens, and loops loop things. So, if I wrote an if statement, like if x is greater than five, then...”

The wonderful world of Python can only keep someone entertained for so long—Heeseung thinks it a miracle you lasted as long as you did before starting to not-so-subtly hint at wanting to do something else.

Drink, that is. Fiending to drink.

The smart decision was probably to get you to pace yourself, yet Heeseung's never claimed to be smart. Nothing he's ever done really has.

He's selfish. Selfish and tipsy. He wants to savour this endearing side of you because he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to see it again.

That's how you both end up here: sat side-by-side on the floor, leaning back against the bed frame, drinking from soju bottles—yours strawberry, his grape—that Heeseung had taken from Minjun's mini fridge. Somewhere in his mind, he makes a mental post-it to buy them back for him.

Conversation flows. You talk about what it was like spending your entire life in all-girls schools, and he might've let it slip that he's a streamer (to which he immediately shuts down all attempts you make at trying to get him to show you his channel, not matter what you said or how you pouted).

Things about school, things about people, things stupid beyond imagination (“D'you think I could get Clavicular to collab with me?” “What?”)—it all comes out in a natural stream of thoughts.

At some point, you start to grow quiet. As if you're sobering up, even though your bottle is getting emptier.

Heeseung notices. He matches you. “Tired?”

You shake your head. “Not yet. This is just how I get when I drink. I get loud and then I get quiet,” you explain, words slurring a bit.

It's later in the night, so the rush of the party had settled down, though there's still a decent amount of commotion, mostly from people hanging out in and around the pool.

“Heeseung?” you mumble.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel like you're just floating through your existence?”

Heeseung's in the middle of taking a swig from his bottle. The question sends him into a mild coughing fit, the corners of his eyes instantly watering. “Don't you think that's a bit—cough—bit too loaded of a—cough—question?”

You give him a sheepish smile before letting your head drop back, a soft thud against the mattress. “Sorry. I'm a little out of it right now. Forget I said anything, actually.”

Wiping his mouth with his hand, Heeseung turns to look at you. “I've done viewer counselling sessions for my streams. My chat says I'm a good listener.” He sounds so lame to himself, but you laugh, and that matters more.

Silence falls over the two of you. Just when he thinks it's cemented itself and you no longer want to talk, you mumble: “I dunno if I actually want to be a lawyer.”

A pause. “Okay,” Heeseung says slowly. Processing the statement, turning it over a few times in his head. “Why?”

You rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms, dragging them down your face. “That's the thing—I don't know,” you groan, words garbled from alcohol. “Like, my mom wanted to be a lawyer but didn't get into law school, so that's why she's in real estate. Then, my sister passed the bar with flying colours and is now this big, successful lawyer who brings home two hundred grand a year. So... so I'm sorta supposed to do all that too, you know? Do my diligence. I'm as much my mother's daughter as my sister is. And I am! That's why I'm here in the first place—”

Heeseung's hands gently grasp your own flailing ones, stilling them before placing them back into your lap. “Woah, woah, chill. You're rambling. A lot.”

“—I just—I know I'm succeeding. I have medals and titles and resources and a scholarship here and yet—when I look at my mom and see how happy she is whenever she brings these things up, I don't... feel what she feels.”

You trail to a close like air escaping a punctured balloon, voice thin as insecurity seeps into your pores. “I don't feel what she feels and I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Heeseung remains quiet for a long time.

Horror is the only fitting word that describes the expression on your face. A shaky hand cards through your hair as you scramble to apologize. “S—sorry. I don't usually... overshare like that, fuck—”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off. “You know I'm only an electrical major because Jake is too, right?”

You blink a few times, trying to clear the dense fog shrouding your mind. “Seriously?” you croak after a moment.

“Okay, no, not fully,” he chuckles dryly. “But like, half seriously. I chose electrical because my highest grades last year were in the electrical courses they make us take. Having a friend sorta tipped it over, I guess.”

Shifting his body so that he's fully facing you, Heeseung props his elbow up on the mattress, resting his head in his hand. “Other reasons were if I chose a major I'm good at, I might have a better chance at scoring internships. Or doing a masters or some other bullshit that would "further my professional career". Point is none of those have anything to do with what I want because I don't know what the fuck I want.”

“Streaming's fun,” he hums. “My dad doesn't think it's a real job, though. So I get what you mean. At least, I hope I do.”

He takes a moment to carefully select his next words, going over them in his head to make sure they'll sound fine rolling off his tongue.

“There's no rule that says you're 'supposed' to do anything. You have free will,” he says. “Right now, being a lawyer sounds more like your mom's dream, not yours. But maybe that'll change, and you actually do want to be a lawyer in the future. Who knows. Either way, you'll be the only one to make that decision when the time comes. Not your mom. Not your sister. You.”

Heeseung can't decipher the emotions that are pooling in your eyes. He's worried it's a bad sign—he's never been the best with empathy or knowing exactly what to say, and he's certain that he's not more graceful while tipsy than he is sober—but you shift to face him.

Legs unfurling from your chest to cross on top of each other. Inching closer until your face is a breath's away from his.

Tension permeates the small space, so thick and palpable that Heeseung can practically taste it. His eyes trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your cupid's bow, the strands of messy hair that he ached to brush out of your face. Unknowingly, he wets his lips—a movement your eyes follow.

Hope is scary. Fragile. All it takes it one wrong step, one toe out of line, and it can be extinguished with the gentlest gust of wind.

Heeseung dares to hope.

“If you ask me... I think you're enough just as you are.”

You lean in. He lets you.

You hesitate. He doesn't pull away—and a hundred, thousand fireworks set off in his chest when your lips slot against his.

They're soft, tentative. Just a little bit awkward and uncoordinated in their movements, but Heeseung doesn't mind. He lets you steer the ship where you want it to go.

The kiss is brief, only lasting a couple seconds before your mouth detaches from his with a soft smack. He expects you to pull away, to no longer be able to breathe in the faint notes of jasmine in your perfume on every inhale—but you don't.

You keep the sliver between you an inch wide, nose nudging against his, breath still fanning against his skin in warm puffs. Lingering.

You push yourself up onto your knees, a yelp escaping you as you stumble, the ends of your hair skimming his face. Heeseung's hands instinctively find your waist to steady you. He revels in the way the dip feels against his palms. A meek sorry comes from you, which he returns with a small it's fine.

Shifting closer, the front of your thigh presses against his side. He sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath as you sling yourself over him, helping you down as you settle into his lap, thighs bracketing his.

Heeseung has to crane his neck up ever so slightly to meet your gaze.

You're gorgeous. He's thought that since the very day he met you, but this—your bare skin scorching his hands, the sight of you on top of him—has his mind going mushy and blank. A barely audible groan slips out of him as your arms sling around his neck, fingers gently threading through the hair at his nape.

“You're pretty.” The words come out in a rush, not caring if you know. Needing you to know. “God, you're so fucking pretty.”

“You're buttering me up,” you say, your retort lacking any real contempt. He only shakes his head, reconnecting your lips, deeper, escalating.

Heeseung's heartbeat is in his ears. The ache that's been sitting his chest, tamped down but constantly brewing, springs forth the moment he feels your tongue swipe against the seam of his lips. They part instantly, letting your tongue press in, wet and hot—the strawberry flavouring mixed with the slight bitterness of alcohol you'd been drinking hitting his taste buds.

“I want you.” You sigh the words into his mouth, and he swallows them fervently. “Please...”

Heeseung breathes out a shaky laugh. “Neither of us are sober.”

“You don't want me?”

“Fuck, I never said that.”

Eager hands fist at the hem of his tank, which he lets you slip off and toss aside, his entire top-half left bare. His skin is flushed hot, chest heaving as your lips trail down his neck, his collarbone, his sternum—unable to control the low moan he lets out as they latch onto his abdomen, sucking a hickey into the skin. “F—fuck...”

When you come back up, Heeseung pulls you back down flush against him. One hand slides under your thigh, the other slipping into the back of your shorts, lightly running over the skin there. A full-body shiver runs through him as the tips of his fingers brush against the texture of your waistband.

“Lace?” he muses, as if it doesn't undo him.

“Shut up.”

“I didn't say I was complaining. You know I'm not complaining, right?”

“Shut. Up.”

And how quickly he complies, slanting his lips to yours again. Heeseung feels feverish—choking out a high-pitched gasp as your hips grind down. He's throbbing against your ass, his entire arm wrapping around your waist like an iron band to pull you against him harder, coaxing you to give him more friction, his head lolling back when you do. He finds the ribbon of your top at your back, tugging it loose—

“Shit, someone get him out!”

Someone's shouting outside. Heeseung doesn't hear it, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra—

It grows louder. Fucking hell, shut up, he thinks, brows knitting together as he tries to focus on you, on how you feel against him—but your movements slowly come to a halt.

“What's that noise?” you whisper.

Heeseung shakes his head before feverishly kissing down your neck, trying to reassure you. “Nothing, nothing. C'mon, baby, keep going—”

But the commotion only seems to multiply, growing until it's a cacophony of panicked and confused voices. Concerned, you look over your shoulder towards the window, your grip in his hair loosening.

He groans into your skin as he feels you start to shift off his lap. It feels like he's never wanted anything more desperately than to keep you against him—but he lets you climb off, hands falling limply to the side.

Head tilting towards the ceiling, Heeseung blinks a few times, trying to clear the hazy fog from his head (and calming himself down so he doesn't explode) before standing up begrudgingly and dragging himself over to the window.

Heeseung peeks outside. His brow furrows with confusion, then concern. Instead of everyone being littered around the backyard doing their own things, every head is turned towards the pool.

Jake is currently being hauled out of the pool like a wet dog by Jay and Sunghoon, face contorted in pain.

“What's going on?” Your voice is quiet. Uneasy.

“I don't know. I think something happened to Jake,” Heeseung says gravely, breaking away from the window to pick up his shirt from the floor. “I— fuck, I'm going to kill him.”

Pebbles dig into Heeseung's socked feet—he couldn't be bothered with shoes—as he rushes out into the backyard towards where Sunghoon, Jay, and a couple other Lambda guys are crowded around Jake. He calls out, “What's going on here?”

Jake's leaning back against his hands, one of his legs outstretched in front of him. He's red as a lobster, from his face down to his neck, and also soaking wet, clothes sticking to the outline of his body, dripping water down that washes the concrete a darker shade—yet he only waves a dismissive hand.

“Nothing,” he slurs. “I'm—hic—fine.”

Sunghoon scoffs, hands on his hips. “Einstein here decided to jump from the roof and didn't realize he was jumping into the shallow end because he's shitfaced.”

He then turns to Heeseung, looking him up and down. “Where've you been? I haven't seen you in, like, two h— do you have a fucking boner right now?”

Much to his horror, Heeseung looks down to find a very noticeable tent in his pants. He exhales—zen, he thinks, be zen—before slipping his leather jacket off to tie around his waist. “Shut the fuck up.”

Apparently, Jake is coherent enough to stare at Heeseung's crotch, see that he's hard, and put two and two together. “Holy shit, did I cockblock you?”

“Yes, you fu— whatever. It's not important. We need to call the ambulance.”

“Jay's already on it,” Sunghoon says, jerking his head over in Jay's direction.

A small distance away, Ren—who's also visibly drunk but somehow still manages to climb onto a patio table with falling—cups his mouth to create a makeshift megaphone before yelling at the top of his lungs: “Alright, wrap it up! We're done here! If you're not a brother or fucking a brother, get the fuck out!”

Loud groaning resounds throughout the yard. People are evidently upset that they'd been cut off for the night, but eventually, the crowd disperses. Some staggering as their sober friends haul them out, some laughing on their phones—Jake would probably be on a hundred people's Snapchat stories and at the top of the university's subreddit by the morning.

Heeseung finds you standing in the doorway of the sliding screen door that leads to the yard. You look noticeably worried.

His eyes soften.

“What happened?” you ask as he approaches you.

Standing in front of you, Heeseung brings his hands up to cup your face, smoothing out the crease between your eyes with the pad of his thumb.

“Jake's jumped into the pool and fucked up his leg. An ambulance is on the way,” he says, chuckling at your deadpan expression.

Heeseung peers into your eyes. His heart stutters. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “About us getting interrupted, I mean.”

You shrug, arms wrapping around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. “'s whatever. In fact, I was kinda going into this whole frat party thing with the expectation that there would be some bullshit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Were your expectations met?”

A soft, pondering hum leaves you. “Quite.”

The hospital waiting room is deserted at this hour, save for the anxious mother and her sleeping son huddled together. Heeseung's shoes click against tile as he makes his way back to the area, two paper cones filled with water in his hands.

Jake had broken his leg. With his parents not in the country, Heeseung had offered to stay and wait until he gets settled with a room.

You had stayed with him.

Rounding the corner, he sees you yawning. A faint smile tugs at his lips.

“You don't have to stay here, you know,” he says, handing you a cone. It's the third time he's said it since the two of you got here—and you've been stubborn about it each time. “I'll call you an Uber.”

You accept the water, taking a sip before giving him a shrug.

“You'll be bored. Besides, I'm not tired,” you say, as if he hadn't just caught you in the act.

Heeseung looks like he's about to refute you again, but ends up dropping it. He plops down into the hard waiting room chair, throwing the water back like a shot. Ice cold water slides down his dry throat.

Silence. There's an elephant standing in the corner, staring the two of you dead in the eye.

“So,” he starts awkwardly.

You smack your lips. “So.”

“I, uhm, I think you're cool.”

He sees you turn to face him in the corner of his vision, and absolutely refuses to meet your eyes. “Heeseung, you had your hand in my pants.”

Absentmindedly, he starts folding his empty paper cone, sealing the edges to make a rectangle while grumbling something about how you 'can't just lead in with that.'

“I might like you,” he gets out.

“I might like you,” you copy mockingly.

“I'm being serious!”

“You just told me that you 'think I'm cool.'”

Sighing, Heeseung drops his face into his hands, wrestling with his nerves and feelings and the stupid little flips you make his heart do. Eventually, his words come out in an embarrassed mumble. “I think you're really pretty and sweet and I'd like to go out with you.”

If he had been looking at you, then he would've seen you pursing your lips, trying to hold back a smile.

A few seconds pass before Heeseung feels your head rest on his shoulder.

“I'd like that.”

“Chat,” Heeseung claps his hands together, closing out of his browser so that his camera can be set as full-screen. “I posted on Twitter earlier that we have a special guest joining us today.”

user888: oh my god this is so exciting heeseungism: DAD PLEASEEE LET US SEE MOM PLEASEEEEEE

Heeseung glances out the corner of his eye.

You're sitting beside him just out of frame, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of your cardigan. The sight makes his chest tighten with fondness.

“You look nervous,” he points out.

You shoot him a look, despite letting him pull you up to stand. “Am not.”

He only laughs in return, hands warm on your hips as he guides you into view.

“Alright. Chat, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Heeseung announces, chin hooking over your shoulder. “She's a little shy, so don't be fucking weird and scare her off.”

cherryxxi: HELLO!!!!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹 applejuicemaster: bruh why am i lowkenuinely proud of u reynakisser_: Wtf she's so out of ur league. pick ME!!!!! HE DONT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE ALLAT

Half-lidded eyes scanning the racing chat, Heeseung's lips quirk upwards at everyone's reaction.

He's never, ever felt luckier.

A gentle squeeze to your waist. “They like you.”

[yinyjw]

𓍢 ⋆📖⊹ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ you are reading: coulomb's law

nerd!jake x altgirl!reader (college!au, fluff, smut +18, jake is so clumsy and whiny idk idk)

"even though you're not a fan of physics, you learned perfectly well that opposites do attract after meeting your new coworker, jake sim." wc.: 14.7k (im sorry i dont even know how this happened) author's notes: to begin with i just desperately needed to write about jake, and then someone on twitter shared that video of him talking during bs about einstein and relativitys law like it was the coolest thing in the world, and idkkk he's like the most puppy nerd coded person ever i want to EAT him. anyways, AS ALWAYS ive reread it a dozen times and still have mistakes so!!! im not gonna share the playlist this time because its SHAME!!! thankyou for supporting my writing! happy friday! love yall sexies, have a good time! PS: please notice the change in the text messages like while they were strangers then comfortable and then back to feeling nervous towards each other please tell me if i did good >< tw: english is not my first language!!! use of yn and (lmao) heeseungs english name, lowercase writing, use of legal substances (alcohol and cigarettes), cursing, dirty talk, manhandling, size difference, oral (f. and m. rec), cunnilingus, pussy drunk jake, big dick jake (yeppyyy), unexperienced jake, library sex, masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap yo willy), coming inside, cervix kissing, LOTS of praising, love confessions, LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANY!

the orange glow of the late afternoon sun made the college library feel weirdly cozy. different from the mornings when you had to work, when the place was just painfully cold and way too bright, enough to see tiny dust particles floating in the air if you focused hard enough. working there wasn’t that bad, aside from the boredom and the monotony of doing the same tasks over and over again. the paycheck covered your weekend concerts and your impulsive online shopping sprees, so whatever.

you were sitting on the swivel chair - headphones resting around your neck, messy bun, smudged eyeliner, flavorless gum in your mouth - behind the oak counter, scanning and cataloging a few new titles that had arrived earlier that day. you picked them up one by one, stuck the barcode label on, registered them on the website, and tossed them into the cart beside you. you’d shelve them later.

you were paying attention to everything and nothing at the same time. a group of students had taken over one of the study rooms, two girls were studying together near a table by the windows, and an old lady wandered around looking for the next book she’d reserve.

the calm of the day was interrupted when mr. clint’s nasal voice echoed behind you.

“yn, i’d like to introduce you to your new shift partner”

you stopped what you were doing and sighed before spinning around in your chair, ready to deliver your best uninterested “hi,” but your eyebrows shot up instantly. behind the old man stood a guy who looked like he’d walked straight out of some cliché teenage romance movie.

he wore a plaid shirt over a white tee, light-wash jeans, and a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. his brown hair was slightly messy and, behind a pair of glasses that kept slipping down his nose, dark attentive eyes shined like a puppy’s. he gave you a goofy, almost shy smile and lifted his hand in a simple wave.

“jake, yn. yn, jake,” clint added. “hope you two get along”

what the hell is a guy like this doing here? it wouldn’t be weird to see someone like him at a campus football game or promoting some frat party down the hallways, but here?

“is there a problem?” the old man asked, noticing your silence and confused expression, making your eyes widen as you quickly shook your head, trying to look normal again. hopefully the shock wasn’t that obvious.

“none! it’s a pleasure… the job sucks, hope you know that” you said casually before turning back to what you were doing.

you heard jake’s soft laugh and mr. clint clicking his tongue, probably paired with the eye roll you’d witnessed at least a hundred times before. it didn’t take long before they left again, going back to the little orientation tour and leaving you alone once more.

since your shift started at 1pm and ended at 6pm, you always left the last - and most unbearable - task for 5pm. that way you never finished it and could dump it on the idiot from the night shift; a nearly forty-year-old guy who had hit on you on your first day. you pushed the book cart between the shelves, searching for the right sections and double-checking alphabetical order to put the new books away.

one of the cart’s metal wheels made an irritating scraping sound against the wooden floor; the screw was loose and apparently the college’s finance department couldn’t care less about the dozens of emails you’d sent asking for a new one. you had been listening to music earlier, but your playlist had ended, leaving you with the library’s sepulchral silence.

“did you know that, technically, time passes slower at the top of a mountain than at sea level because of gravitational time dilation?”

the unfamiliar voice caught you off guard, making your body jolt and your hands tighten around the cart’s handle. your heart, which had been beating calmly, suddenly sped up, leaving your legs weak.

“holy-, you scared me” you complained, frowning and placing a hand over your chest as you turned around. jake was there, leaning against the shelf. he held a thick applied physics book that almost slipped from his fingers when he got startled by your reaction.

“shit, sorry! my bad…” he sucked air through his teeth. “wasn’t my intention, it’s just that we… i mean, we couldn’t really introduce ourselves and i thought-” he ran a hand through his hair and then pushed his glasses back up his nose, like a nervous tic. “and this book is amazing, you know? it’s fascinating how einstein predicted that before we even had atomic clocks to prove it. it’s like reality is just a suggestion, you get it?” he smiled awkwardly, glancing away.

unbelievable.

you figured he had to have some flaw. maybe he’d gotten written up for hooking up in the locker room and getting caught by the janitor, maybe he was failing some insanely hard class and the boring library job was his only option; especially since the position had been open for months and literally no one had applied. you just didn’t expect him to be an incurable nerd who tangled himself in his own words because he couldn’t keep up with the speed of his thoughts and somehow knew everything about every possible subject. and the worst part? he was so pretty you might not even care.

“sounds awesome. i don’t know shit about that, but that’s definitely impressive” you crossed your arms, looking up at him with a subtle smile.

and he kept going. he spoke at a moderate volume - his voice would crack mid-sentence whenever he realized he was getting too loud - gesturing, pulling faces, and you followed every single one of them, studying his perfect face, thick brows, slightly big nose, well-shaped lips. he also was a good few centimeters taller than you. not to mention his veiny hands showing whenever he grabbed the cart to help you push it.

jake was stupidly attractive and completely clueless about it. the way he bit his lower lip while thinking, the way his eyes drifted upward trying to find simpler words to explain something to you, or when he hurried to place a book on the highest shelf, stretching his arm and leaning toward you.

and that’s how, over the course of an entire hour, he talked so much that somehow the topic went from einstein to rpg systems, and you ended up shelving all the books together.

“it’s just that the final boss has a 40% elemental damage resistance, which totally breaks the mage build, so in that case the best option would be a tank knight-”

your alarm went off inside your apron pocket, cutting him off.

“shift’s over,” you said simply, turning off the repetitive sound.

“for real?! i thought it’d drag more…” he licked his lips, looking at you. the two of you held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. “so, uhm… can i get your number? i’ve got, like, the perfect video to show you about that turn rotation i was talking about” he explained, and you held back a laugh before handing him your phone, he didn’t needed to explain you had given it to him anyway.

you waited while he typed his number in and gave it back so you could save it and send him a dot just so he’d have yours too.

“well… that’s it. congrats on your surviving first day” you teased, already reaching behind your back to untie the knot of your uniform, exposing the band tee you wore underneath. his eyes scanned carefully.

“thanks, i guess?” he gave you a confused, amused look. “you’re leaving already?”

“mhm. if i stay more than five minutes past my shift it’s like my soul starts leaking out of my pores” you mimicked dramatically, twisting your arms with a funny face. “and i wouldn’t recommend staying either, or clint’s gonna ask you to cover the night shift too”

you turned your back with a small wave in the air and headed toward the tiny staff room, pushing the door open and going straight to your locker. you shoved the apron in carelessly, grabbed your bag, let your hair down, and got ready to leave.

***

the walk home felt longer than usual. you normally rushed it, headphones in, mind somewhere else, but this time you caught yourself thinking about your new coworker more than once. you didn’t understand shit about physics, and you’d never played anything remotely close to an rpg. honestly, your only real concerns lately were what to wear to the cover show you were going to that weekend and what kind of makeup you’d do.

still… you hated admitting it. he was adorable.

and somehow, your peaceful, painfully boring job had just become the most interesting part of your day.

[jake🤓🐶]: hii, it’s jake. from work! hahah [jake🤓🐶]: after i left i realized we didn’t actually talk about ourselves at all. that was my fault… i always end up talking too much about the stuff i like… [jake🤓🐶]: you can tell me to stop! i mean, my friends do that sometimes. [jake🤓🐶]: anyway! tomorrow i’ll definitely talk less and let you talk more! [jake🤓🐶]: so see you tomorrow? [jake🤓🐶]: oh yeah i was about to forget. this is the video i was talking about! [jake🤓🐶]: link attached [jake🤓🐶]: it’s literally the best way to defeat a high-level boss in dxd! but of course you’d still need a bit of luck with the dice to roll a crit or something close to that [jake🤓🐶]: … i did it again 🫩 [jake🤓🐶]: so sorry, really. see you

lying in bed, already halfway ready to call it a day and sleep, you covered your eyes with your forearm and smiled at absolutely nothing after finishing his messages. ew. you felt like a pre-teen.

[you]: i’ll watch it! see you tomorrow!

***

as the days went by, the closeness between you and jake grew almost miraculously. not that it couldn’t have happened naturally, considering you worked the same afternoon shifts, but despite all the differences that made you orbit distant galaxies - you with your worn combat boots and smudged eyeliner, him with his geek-print t-shirts and the curiosity of someone still discovering the world - you still chose to get to know each other little by little.

like the night he practically tortured you through chat messages talking about some damn console he’d found at an antique shop, only to bring it in his backpack the next day and hook it up to the old monitor behind the library counter.

he spent a full twenty minutes explaining pixel logic and how the gameplay was “revolutionary for its time,” while you just watched his hands messing with the cables, amused by his excitement. when you finally started playing, he was confident, giving you tips on how to hold the controller and how to get the timing right. but by the second round? you got the hang of it. one quick move and you smashed his score on the screen.

“no way” jake stared at the screen with his lips parted before looking at you. “how???”

“just pressing the buttons… seemed pretty easy to me” you teased, making a smug little face.

“yeah right… that’s beginner’s luck!” he said, rolling his eyes, face all red and flustered, pretending to be annoyed even though the tiny smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him completely.

or the time your favorite band had surprise-dropped a remastered album and for an entire week literally everything that came out of your mouth was about it. poor jaeyun got so curious he said he wouldn’t mind if you played it during break.

and that’s exactly how you started spending every break together in the staff area (cubicle), sitting on the floor, shoulders brushing, sharing a bag of chips, one earbud each, your phone replaying your playlists while his soft, slightly citrusy perfume mixed with the smell of old paper.

“shut up, this is literally one of the best ones!” you’d exclaim, nudging him lightly with your elbow after he called the lyrics “exotic”. you’d close your eyes and rest your head against the locker behind you, taking a small pause while he laughed under his breath at the way you protested like he’d insulted a family member.

when you opened your eyes again, he’d still be paying attention to the music, drumming his fingers on his thigh, before turning to you with a wide smile. you hated when he did that, it was unfair that he was that pretty in every tiny detail. you’d smile back automatically, feeling your stupid heart take off at a full gallop.

the tension between you evolved as you both became less ignorant about the interest you clearly showed in each other. like the day you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown over an epistemology and statistics assignment. seriously, why would a humanities major require math of any kind? couldn’t you just… use a calculator or ask google? you huffed, slumped over the table and papers when jake nudged you, asking to see it and almost instantly offering help.

“let me help you, yeah?” he gently took the pencil you were holding loosely between your fingers. “the epistemology part here is simple if you apply the law of large numbers to validate the statistical sample the prompt gives you” he explained calmly, in that soft didactic tone of his, dragging his chair closer to sit beside you.

jake solved the questions one by one, filling the pages with his tiny, rounded handwriting, a mix of print and cursive, explaining step by step while you barely paid attention; your focus entirely on the cute sound of his breathing and the profile of his nose illuminated by the nearby desk lamp.

“and if we isolate the variable-” he stopped, realizing you were staring at him instead of the paper. he cleared his throat, laughing awkwardly, eyebrows lifting quickly. “want me to explain that part again?”

“uhm?” you looked down at the paper and then back at him. “no need. i got it. you’re good at explaining…” you murmured softly, holding back your smile when you saw him stutter a little, completely shy, before returning to the assignment.

but you’d bet the most challenging day was when you both decided to get some air behind the library, where there were a few patio chairs with umbrellas and the herbology department’s garden, full of different little plants. jake was reading some random comic, occasionally adjusting his glasses and licking his lips in a way that was way too attractive for you to ignore. you watched him while pulling a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it and taking a slow drag, blowing the smoke to the opposite side and lazily tilting your head toward your shoulder. what you didn’t expect was that in the brief moments you drifted off into nothing, his eyes were watching you back.

“you know something?” he closed the comic and leaned back better in the chair. “you are like the coolest person i have ever met”

you were completely caught off guard by the compliment, one that would’ve sounded cheap coming from anyone else, but from him felt like one of the sweetest things you’d ever heard. you blushed and shook your head, embarrassed. he didn’t take it back, though.

“do you wanna try?” he had once said he’d never smoked, but the curious look in his eyes now suggested he might be tempted.

“i-i don’t know if i should…”

“well, it’s not a crime”

you finished for him, leaning forward and extending your hand to pass the burning tobacco, watching him take it carefully, his eyes flicking from your face to the cigarette and back. “relax… inhale slowly and breathe calmly when the smoke gets about here” you pointed to his throat.

“promise you won’t laugh if i cough?”

he did as you said, squeezing his eyes shut when they watered, managing a tiny drag before releasing the smoke, lips pressed together and brow furrowed.

“wow… like a pro, huh?” he handed it back to you, laughing hoarsely.

“i guess it’s because my mom made me use an inhaler every day when i was little” he added casually, and that made you burst out laughing, not because you were mocking him, but because it was such a jake thing to say, like he hadn’t looked insanely hot just seconds ago exhaling smoke.

“good boy… that’s better for your health” you said simply, taking another drag before scrolling through your phone on the small table.

“why do you smoke then?” he asked, pretending not to care about the praise you’d thrown at him, sinking deeper into his chair while watching you.

“got to keep it cool for you i guess…” you taunted, using the word he’d said earlier, making him laugh softly and kick your chair.

***

and of course, there was the complicated part too.

the library job itself wasn’t hard, that was the best thing about it. people rarely asked for help beyond reservations. most of the regulars knew exactly what they wanted, how long they’d stay. it was the easiest job in the world.

it hadn’t happened out of nowhere too. it started after two girls noticed him while he was fixing the flyers on the shelves. they practically melted when he hurried to help one of them pick up the pencils that had fallen from her case after he accidentally bumped into her.

you couldn’t even blame them. he really was… something.

after that, of course they started coming back more often. and not just them, a few other girls too. they’d stop by the counter asking random questions, clearly annoyed when you were the one answering while jake just stood beside you nodding along. some of the bolder ones would lean over the wooden counter when you were alone and ask if you knew where the “cute employee” was.

“have you tried the law section? he had some books to shelve there” you’d say flatly, not even bothering to look her in the eye.

“yeah… maybe he went on break?”

“maybe” you’d shrug, unimpressed.

“i really needed to talk to him, he recommended a game earlier but i forgot the name… do you perhaps have his number so you could pass it to me?”

you’d let a small smile tug at your lips before finally looking up at her, raising your brows in a way that made your shock at the audacity very clear and enough for her to shift awkwardly, mutter a quiet “whatever” and walk away.

“i’m back, did i miss anything?” you’d hear a few minutes later, jake sitting by your side and already splitting the stack of books to catalog together.

“nothing at all.”

and in moments like that, you felt so selfish it hurted.

it was almost impossible that jake felt anything beyond the happiness of having a friend at work instead of just someone to exchange half-words with. for you, liking someone so out of your league felt ridiculous. he was different, smart, beautiful, too kind for his own good, so you didn’t try.

but you weren’t about to hand him over to the competition either.

***

after all, being jake’s friend wasn’t hard. you had learned how to listen to his monologues, and in return he’d gotten scarily good at reading every single one of your moods just by the look on your face. you talked about everything… well, almost everything. he didn’t exactly have much experience, and you were actively avoiding romantic topics after your last thing with a jackass you’d met at some indie bar.

after two months, all your friends knew about him, and all his friends knew about you. by the third month, you’d installed a few casual games just to play with him on discord calls, and he’d even bought some cds from bands you liked so you could listen to them together.

and still, you rarely hung out outside of work.

maybe because you saw each other every single day.

so you were genuinely surprised when he invited you somewhere.

“a friend invited me to a party” he brought it up while you were both dusting the tables before the shift ended. “i said i’d think about it. i get kinda lost in those environments, i don’t know…” he said, eyes still lowered.

“have you ever been to one?”

“no” he answered immediately before looking at you. “will you go with me” he added quickly, the words spilling out like if he didn’t throw them up right then they’d get stuck in his throat forever without the courage to actually exist.

“is that an invitation or a demand?” you joked, lifting your gaze to him and catching the way he inhaled sharply before managing to answer.

“i’m begging actually… please?” he pressed his lips into a thin line and straightened his posture, holding the dust cloth stiffly at his side. oh. he was serious.

“i’ll have to check my schedule…” you sighed dramatically, putting on a brief little act just to watch his shoulders slump again, like a puppy getting tired of waiting for its owner to throw the ball. you laughed when you looked at him again and found him still staring. “just kidding. send me the details” finally said, watching his face light up instantly. “and you’re washing the cloths this time!” you tossed the rag in his direction. jake caught it midair with a soft nasal laugh and looked at you quietly, that strange little sense of victory blooming in his chest.

***

the atmosphere of the party was a sensory shock. the air, saturated with the smell of cheap beer, chlorine, and the sweet vapor of vapes, felt heavy in your lungs as you tried to make your way through bodies. you had expected something lowkey, maybe a bunch of nerds debating rpg mechanics on a couch, not that the friend in question would be the fucking evan lee, aka the most desired guy on campus for countless reasons, including the fact that his parties were always a straight-up project x knockoff.

his house looked like a human anthill. the dj, clearly high, distorted the bass until it vibrated through the structure of the place, and every scream coming from the beer pong table or the crowd watching bottle-flip challenges seemed to crank the temperature higher. people sprawled over couches and bean bags, others making out in hallways, girls in micro shorts and bikinis. everything in excessive amounts.

you couldn’t lie, you’d been to plenty of these. way before college, actually, when your high school friend group would lie to their parents about sleepovers for “early projects” and end up in random basements of houses owned by people you’d never seen before. but ever since a bit of common sense had finally settled in your brain, you preferred cover gigs, bars, clubs. here, under the led lights and the frenzy of campus popularity - where you recognized more faces than you’d like - everything felt too loud.

you checked your phone again in his chat, making sure there were no new messages.

[jake🤓🐶]: im already here [you]: wtf? ur being dead serious? [jake🤓🐶]: yes... why? it was saying 11pm [you]: i know but parties like this never start at the right time [jake🤓🐶]: but like are you coming already? [you]: in 30min??? im doing my makeup [jake🤓🐶]: by then my anxiety will have eaten me alive, i’ll have a breakdown, collapse, hit my head and die of cranial trauma [you]: boooo👎🏻 stop that, crybaby

your eyes scanned the pool area, water splashing rhythmically whenever someone jumped in, then drifted back inside the house searching for that familiar silhouette: hair pushed back, shoulders slightly curved. it was impossible not to feel a pinch of anxiety too; the idea of jake, with his golden retriever energy and slipping glasses, loose in that sea of social sharks was almost concerning. you stepped up on a stair to get a better view of the backyard, ignoring some guy who smelled like straight tequila bumping into you.

and then you saw him.

in a more isolated corner of the veranda, away from the epicenter of the dance floor but still swallowed by the buzz, jake stood near a snack table. he looked like a cute island of discomfort. he held a red cup with both hands like it was a shield in front of his chest and talked to a guy who clearly just wanted access to the pretzel bowl.

even from afar you noticed that there was a damp stain on the shoulder of his shirt - probably from someone spilling a drink - and in an automatic gesture he pushed his glasses up with his wrist while starting to gesture, possibly explaining the aerodynamics of a bullet dive to absolutely no one in particular, just because that was the only strategy his brain had developed for when he got nervous.

the chaos of the party seemed to lower its volume the moment you spotted him. he was, without a doubt, the most out-of-place thing there, and for you, the only one that made sense to look for.

you walked through the crowd and loud laughter until you reached the boy, and when jake’s eyes finally found yours, the brightness that burst out of them was instant. relief mixed with astonishment. the random trapped in the physics monologue didn’t even say goodbye; he just took the opening and disappeared.

jake looked you up and down, swallowing hard as he processed the image. at the library, you were the flare jeans and sneakers and customized shoes girl. but here, under the erratic party lights, you looked like something else entirely. the skirt, the spiked belt, the fuzzy animal print jacket outlining your body. it short-circuited his brain.

took him a full minute to process your “hi” and when he finally reacted, he leaned in with clumsy urgency to leave a quick kiss on your cheek, his face heating up at the scent of your perfume.

“you look gorg-” he started, only to be interrupted by a group passing behind you carrying a massive bucket of ice, forcing you to step forward with an awkward smile. the space between you vanished, leaving you almost pressed against his chest; the poor boy lost every ounce of ability to finish his sentence.

“idiots…” you muttered under your breath, stepping back once they disappeared through the sliding doors. “anyway, why didn’t you tell me your friend was the evan lee?” you looked up at him, arms crossed.

“i tutor him on wednesdays… he’s not really a friend friend” he explained, his voice coming out a little rougher than usual.

jake tried to maintain eye contact, but the proximity was a trap; his gaze dropped involuntarily to your cleavage before he forced it away, releasing a heavy breath like he was trying to remember literally anything other than the fact that for the first time in his life he felt a very physical urge to touch something.

“i don’t know…” he admitted shyly. “truth is, i don’t really know anyone here… i don’t even know what i’m supposed to do” his tone was low, only you could hear it over the music.

that vulnerability was the dirty hit. jake was unbearably lovable exactly because of that innocence. he wasn’t one of those guys who filled their phone storage collecting random girls’ nudes, nor was he the smelly nerd who forgot basic hygiene in the name of academic decathlons. he was clean, smelled good, ridiculously handsome, and had this genuine purity about the trivialities of social life that made you want to protect him from everything. seeing him there, so misplaced and so honest, made your heart jolt.

you were fucked.

you bit your lower lip, internally debating whether to just kiss him already and ruin any chance of preserving the friendship, or show him how to actually enjoy the party since you were already there and finals would start in two weeks. another excuse for the two of you to unwind a little.

“well… you don’t wanna go home yet, right?” you pouted slightly, tilting your head as he quickly shook his. “then let’s grab some drinks” you grabbed the denim jacket he was wearing and pulled.

you had a determined smile on your lips while jake let out endless “sorry” “excuse me” “my bad” like he was asking permission from the air itself to exist, as you crossed the packed living room until you reached the improvised bar in what looked like lee’s parents’ small wine cellar.

you scanned the menu written on cardboard with a disturbing amount of glitter and nudged his arm, encouraging him to pick one of the suspiciously named drinks. he alternated his gaze between the colorful letters and your face, laughing in pure indecision, genuinely grateful that you took the lead and chose for both of you.

the song blasting was straight 2000s pop nostalgia, making you sway lightly without caring, aware of his shy glances dropping to your hips, caught by the movement of your skirt and the metal details of your belt. jenny by studio killers was playing somewhere in the background and your ego mocked you internally.

jake’s head was an absolute mess of sensations. the denim jacket suddenly felt too warm over his shirt; the loud music made his organs vibrate in a rhythm he couldn’t predict; the inevitable brushing of sweaty skin against strangers… and most of all, you, in that damn outfit outlining every curve and doing violent things to his imagination, challenging the logic of just coworkers.

when the drinks were ready, you lifted your plastic cup with a casual “cheers” taking a long sip and watching over the rim as jake tried to imitate you, only to pull the most priceless grimace seconds later.

“okay. what the fuck is in this?” he coughed, throat burning.

“you don’t wanna know” you laughed, already feeling the light buzz hit your empty stomach.

and as if the stimulation wasn’t enough, seconds later jake felt a sudden weight on his shoulders. none other than evan appeared, clearly deep into drunken territory but radiating that captive energy of someone who owned the house and half the campus.

“heyy, if it isn’t my boy and… with a hot girl?! wow, i knew you had potential, jakey, but not this much…” he said to jake without taking his eyes off you; a crooked smile forming as he shamelessly stared at your cleavage and the pendants resting between your breasts. “wait, i know you, right? yn from anthropology… you called mr. nero sexist or something in the first week! holy shit!”

evan laughed loudly, beer breath hitting jake straight in the face, making his eyes water from the sting. he leaned his weight against the nerd’s shoulder to avoid collapsing, the bottle in his hand threatening to slip as he swayed.

“damn… you hit the jackpot, buddy…” he looked at jake, who stared at the situation with slightly furrowed brows, caught between embarrassment and confusion. “you know what they say… the ones who hate men are the best in bed”

he whispered it in what he clearly thought was a low tone, but it landed directly in both your ears.

jake’s ears burned a violent shade of red, the raw bluntness of the drunk comment hitting his shyness dead center. he was not subtle. evan chuckled, ruffled jake’s brown hair messily, and staggered away, but not before throwing you a wink.

the silence left between you and jake was palpable, loaded with a new, strange vulnerability that the comment had dragged. he stood frozen, unsure where to look, feeling the weight of that insinuation hovering between your spiked belt and his glasses. you held each other’s gaze for a few seconds, the bold words still floating in the air. then you, either to break the tension or to deal with the sudden heat crawling up your own neck, tipped back the rest of your drink in one sharp motion, nodding for jake to do the same before turning to order another round from the girl behind the counter.

***

the two of you were already on the fourth drink each, alternating between sips of that indecipherable mix and observations about the ecosystem of the party. you shared some random gossip about the people walking by, standing on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear; the warmth of your voice and the sudden proximity made jake bite his lower lip, keeping the corner of his eyes on you. at times, you steadied yourself with your palm pressed against his abdomen, feeling the firmness beneath his shirt, especially now that your balance was beginning to float and the floor seemed slightly tilted.

jake widened his eyes at every touch, and the urge to hold you by the waist was automatic whenever your legs faltered, his hands hovering in the air before settling the touch, making you laugh to yourself at the exaggerated care.

"you good there?" he asked quietly, bending his body to be able to look at you up close.

"i'm fiiine" you confirmed cheerfully, trying to rise above the volume of the music and failing; obviously.

you wondered - in some part of your consciousness that drifted far from reality sometimes - why he still seemed so under control. maybe he was one of those guys with strong genes for alcohol, who would take centuries to completely loosen up.

you looked at him with a silent challenge and then, after placing your cup on the counter and taking his from his hand doing the same, you grabbed the boy's arm with determination. taking a few steps back, pulling him out of the safe little corner where he was leaning.

"you know what? i think there's one last thing missing for you to fully experience a college party..."

jake looked without understanding, giving in very reluctantly while his feet were dragged by yours.

"yn, i think we've already overdone it..." he denied smiling, that smile of someone who is about to be convinced to do something reckless.

"uhm uhm" you shook your head, the expression in your face being the same as a mischievous child. "you're going to dance with me first..."

"oh… no no no" he refused placing his hand gently over yours trying to pull away. "i'm terrible at these things"

"pretty please? it'll be just a little..." you pouted and he froze.

and for god's sake, jake stuttered with the air he breathed, feeling his own fingers tighten on the hem of his jacket, his heart stopped and came back irregularly. he followed you, half uncertain, half hypnotized, to the center where the bodies danced and where disco lights, colored lasers and tutti-frutti scented smoke wrapped around everything.

"i've never danced like this..." the brunette looked around trying to find any example he could use to imitate, but none of that was possible, in public even less.

"just feel the music..." you urged, disappearing a little more into that human wave, while jake was sucked into the whirlwind that was being by your side.

and when you started dancing, for him, it was as if the world around lost focus and slowed down just so he could watch that scene.

you were so freaking beautiful.

blue and yellow beams cut through the dimness, lighting up your face, your makeup and the shine of your piercings, which became small sparkling blurs thanks to his nearsightedness, since his glasses insisted on not cooperating in that stuffy humidity.

his tense jaw from before dropped a little, his hands inert at his sides while he watched the sensual way you moved.

your fingers traced from your hip up to your neck in a fluid gesture, and when your eyes closed and you tilted your head back, jake felt the air in his lungs thinning. it was then that you took the final step: you grabbed his wrists and brought him into an unimaginable nearness, guiding his hands - which were sweating with anticipation - so that they fixed on your waist, following every movement you made.

your hand moved up his shirt until it reached the collar, curling your fingers there with a possessiveness that made him lose the ground. you pulled him down, forcing him to bend his posture until your faces were dangerously close, to the point that he could feel your breath and the scent of the drink mixed with your smell.

"imagine it's just me and you" you whispered, but the lip reading and the intention were so evident that he didn't need sound to understand.

jake nodded instinctively, his heart beating so hard that he was sure you could feel it through the layers of clothing. in that moment, logic, algebra studies and paralyzing shyness were replaced by something new; desire, in its most primitive form. his fingers closed with a little more strength on you, and he stopped fighting the environment. under the effect of the lasers and the absurd enclosure, his 'little world' reduced itself to the square meter where you brushed against each other to the beat of the music.

***

song after song, the minutes got lost between little comments and bass, sentences left hanging in the air, with no importance whatsoever compared to what was happening on a carnal level. jake was no longer just a spectator he moved with you, in sync, one of his thighs positioned between your legs while he felt his head spiral with the way you intentionally grinded, challenging every ounce of self-control he had left.

in an impulsive movement, thanks to a courage he didn’t even know where it came from, he made you turn your back to him, pressing your lower back against him; if his body were a machine, it would be in a critical state of overheating. his lips, damp and warm, brushed against your neck in a shy graze that soon became more provocative, while his thumbs slipped under your shirt from below, mapping your waist and feeling the unfair way your ass rubbed against his covered cock. jake was rock hard in there, even panting, his vision blurred and his judgment completely clouded.

"yn..." he murmured your name like it was a prayer or a cry for help.

he lost count of how many times the thought of kissing you crossed his mind, and he internally tormented himself for not being able to look away from your cleavage, which became even more exposed with the friction of your bodies. he tried shaking his head to chase the ideas away, pushing his glasses up with a trembling finger and wiping the sweat from the corners of his eyes, but he was surrendered. all it would take was for you to turn to him with those spoiled eyes and he would give up resisting.

"i wanted to do something..." you admitted, turning back to face him, pressing yourself against him to wrap your arms around his neck. "but i would hate if you ended up hating me for it" the words came out like a breath against his skin. jake paid attention, the world outside slowly ceasing to exist.

"i would never hate you" he laughed, biting his lower lip as usual while staring at you.

"are you sure? what if you"

you didn’t even get to finish. driven by a desperate decision, he himself ended the short distance between you in a brief seal, a touch of lips that lasted only a second before he pulled back slightly, looking at you for approval and dying of fear of your reaction.

"sorry, yn, i-i"

but you didn’t give space for the apology. you slid your hands from the back of his neck to his face, holding the boy’s cheeks and kissing him for real.

holy fuck

jake numbed. his wide eyes behind the lenses took at least five seconds to close, his brain processing that this wasn’t an alcohol-induced delusion. it took him even longer to relax his tense posture, but when he finally did, it was like a dam breaking.

his hands slid down urgently to your ass, squeezing it while his slender body curved over yours, giving in to the rhythm you dictated. when you deepened the kiss, asking for his tongue, jake let out a low sound in his throat, a mix of surprise and total surrender.

your mouths clashed in a needy, messy kiss that had been stored away for months, a tension accumulated between bookstore shelves that finally exploded. jake bit your lower lip with an urgency you didn’t expect, before tilting his head to the side and fitting the kiss perfectly against yours; it was sloppy, full of saliva, even starting to drip. you let out small sniffles, feeling your body soften in his arms. he definitely didn’t kiss like a nerd and there was no way to tell if he was just learning fast under pressure or if he had been hiding that talent all along.

you only pulled apart when someone, in a hard shove, hit his shoulder, making your teeth clash together. the scare disconnected your swollen lips, leaving you both staring at each other under the strobe lights, breathless. the air between you was heavy, dense, and neither of you wanted to stop yet.

"let’s go to my place..." you asked, your fingers still tangled in his hair, subtly pulling him closer; if that was even possible.

jake didn’t argue. there was no logical analysis, no concern about the time or what his dormmate would think since he was always home by 11pm at the latest.. he just held your hand and pulled you through the crowd until you found the house’s exit.

the cool night air hit your faces, but the desire still burned. you didn’t even know it, but jake had a scooter parked nearby; a small bike in coffee tones that, strangely enough, looked just like him.

he guided you to where the vehicle was and you couldn’t hold back a laugh.

"what?" he asked, looking over his shoulder while opening the compartment to grab an extra helmet for you.

"isn’t this way too imprudent, mr. jake sim?" you teased, amused, watching him approach.

jake didn’t answer immediately. he stopped in front of you, focusing on putting the helmet on your head, fastening the buckle with almost surgical care. his face was serious, concentrated, but that broke when he held your chin tilting your head a little to look up.

"as if you cared about prudence, miss" he finally replied, in a friendly tone, shrugging and making you raise an eyebrow.

the silent confidence that the alcohol and the kiss had brought him made you want to shove your entire wrist into your mouth. he still helped you get on the back seat and murmured for you to hold on properly which didn’t even take a second to happen, you wrapping your arms around his waist, playfully sliding your restless fingers over the fabric of his plain shirt, feeling his abdomen contract under your touch. jake knew the way. he had the address memorized since the day he offered to lend you his father’s record player. he felt unrecognizable, completely tamed by the need to have you, almost impatient, while you, feeling the wind hit your face and the warmth of his body between your arms, could only regret that your house was ten minutes away and not on the next block.

***

you stumbled in your boots on the stairs, the sound of your heels echoing through the quiet hallway until you finally reached the door of your apartment. you felt your fingers loose, a side effect of the liquor you had downed without thinking earlier, but it was the presence of the boy right behind that truly made you dizzy. when you finally managed to turn the key, you pulled him inside by the wrist in an impatient movement, tossing your bag into some random corner and his jacket into another.

you fell sitting on the edge of the bed when your calves hit it, and you saw jake kneel in front of you without you having to ask. he helped you with the laces of your shoes, his long and agile fingers undoing the complex knots with surprising skill, as if he were solving one of his magic cubes.

by that point, jake looked like a dream in your field of vision; his image was blurred because of the drunkenness, but the tension growing in your womb was very real. needy, you pulled him so he climbed onto the bed and, in a quick movement, switched positions, pulling a surprised gasp from him when you settled onto his lap.

"w-wait..." he tangled in his words, but you didn’t give him time, kissing him again with voracity.

"i fucking can't..." you mewled against the boy’s lips before asking for entrance with your tongue again.

the kiss was deep and deliciously clumsy, hands roaming over bodies that were still discovering each other. jake groped your skin, testing where to touch you and how to grab you, and you responded by lightly scratching his skin with the tips of your nails when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, trying to pull the fabric down.

"take it off..." you murmured with a weak but commanding voice, which made jake swallow hard, his adam’s apple jumping in his throat.

"yn, i've never..." his sentence made you stop for a few seconds.

you interrupted the kisses that were now trailing down his sensitive neck, placing your hands on his firm chest and staring at him from above with a pleading expression, your eyes heavy with lust.

"you can tell me to stop then, ikeu..." you challenged in a whisper.

jake couldn’t stop even if his life depended on it. you were too much for him, a force of nature he had no way and no wish to contain. in response, he just pulled you into another urgent kiss, holding the back of your neck. he broke the seal only for a moment to look down, his trembling hands helping with the button and zipper of his own pants. and you moved like a cat in heat on top of him, eager to slide the fabric down his long legs.

your lips traced a trail of fire brushing from his collarbone down to his lightly sculpted abdomen, nibbling the pale skin and licking slowly, feeling the larger body tense. when you reached his pelvis, feeling one of his veins pulse under your wet tongue, you sucked right there making the small moans that escaped him turn into a low groan.

jake looked at your arched body over him, your ass raised and the ends of your hair spread across the sheets, and he cursed softly in a tone you had never heard him use. he was above average, a doctor had once said, which always made him cautious, fearing that any advance would be... overwhelming. but the thought was cut off the second you squeezed him over his underwear, with a curiosity stripped of any hesitation.

"hmm.. big.." you commented, your voice melting, while sliding your hand along his entire length.

"a-h... i-it’s okay if you don’t want to... it can be a little uncomfortable... and i-i don’t mind, we can just..." the instinct to explain and protect activated, and he started talking nonstop, the words tripping.

but the explanation died in his throat when you licked him slowly through the fabric. jake rolled his eyes back, throwing his head against the pillow and feeling his toes curl.

"what do you mean? i like it like that..." you said, with a simplicity that almost destroyed him.

you began spreading wet kisses along his thighs, which instinctively parted to give you more space. meanwhile, your hand continued the work, stroking him over the cotton, which quickly began to darken and dampen where the head rubbed. jake pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white, closing his eyes to try to keep the little control he had left.

until... everything stopped.

the sudden silence was more deafening than the party music. jake, with his head sunk into one of your pillows, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, waiting for the next touch, the next command, anything. but the only thing he received was the sound of your breathing, which had become strangely light.

he propped himself up on his elbows, his heart still hammering in his chest, and looked down. you were completely passed out, lips slightly parted, cheeks squished and lashes resting. your head lay heavily on one of his thighs, and your hand was still resting over his member, which pulsed and twitched insistently under your now motionless touch.

jake sank back into the bed, letting out a low muffled whine, covering his face with both hands. the realization hit with the weight of a ton: the way the night had escalated, the fact that he had almost let himself be carried away by desire even knowing how much you had drunk, and the perception that he was completely in love with you. the moral panic colliding with the physical frustration of a man. he stayed there, in absolute silence for several long minutes, frozen, afraid to move and wake you.

***

the next morning you woke up feeling like death itself. your hair was full of knots and apparently you had slept in such a crooked position that your neck was even burning with pain on one side. the makeup? printed onto the bed sheets and your clothes twisted on your body. a trail of drool also marked from the corner of your mouth down to your chin. but the worst part was the headache. it wasn’t just pain, it was like someone had personally poured liters and liters of water in there and it was hard even to keep your balance.

after you finally managed to take off your clothes and get into the shower, you stayed almost half an hour there under the warm water, cleaning your face and body, trying to come back down to earth. you remembered very little from the night before. you remembered arriving, drinking, pulling jake to dance and kissing… after that everything had turned into a blur. but judging by the fact that you were at home, he had probably given you a ride.

you left the bathroom wrapped in a towel and went to throw yourself onto the bed again; you would have to change the sheets anyway. you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and noticed the notifications, pulling them down to open.

[jake🤓🐶]: good morning… about yesterday… thank you for going with me to the party. we ended up overdoing it with the drinks and you passed out when we got to your house haha [jake🤓🐶]: i locked your door and slid the key under it, so if you can’t find it just look on the floor… [jake🤓🐶]: i looked it up and you’ll probably wake up feeling bad, so try to eat light things, drink plenty of water and sleep 👍🏻 text me if you need any medicine [you]: hi. yeah, my head is about to explode… but it’s fine. thanks for worrying. hope it was fun for your first party

so no comments about what REALLY happened huh? you wanted to drag the conversation out, but your pride spoke louder, so you just decided you weren’t going to do that on a saturday morning. maybe jake was still processing everything, or maybe it just hadn’t meant anything. you felt a knot in your throat having flashes of the night, his mouth so soft against yours and the hands squeezing your waist, how could that not mean anything? you tossed and turned in bed, kicking your legs.

you got up and went to make something to eat and some chamomile tea to calm down. you spent the whole afternoon under the covers watching a show and only when the sun was setting you decided to get up and go to your computer. usually you and jake played together from that time on, but as soon as you logged into discord, entering the server you shared, ready to join the call where he was, apparently alone, he left; the little green circle around the icon disappeared and he changed his status to invisible. you gave an annoyed smile, squeezing the mouse in your hand.

had you done something beyond the kiss? actually, you clearly remembered that he had been the first to kiss you, regardless of whether the thought had crossed your mind before. you curled up in the chair and brought your finger to your mouth, biting the tip of your nail. your stomach churned, and you couldn’t tell if it was still because of the remnants of the alcohol or because you were feeling guilty and afraid you had ruined everything.

sunday was another day of zero contact. he didn’t even send you some random curiosity in the chat and you had already written and deleted countless attempts to call him. but what would you say? “hey sorry for ruining our friendship”?

in monday’s class your head was in the clouds, you didn’t even talk to your friends who were chatting about some pub they had gone to. you were irritated, if you couldn’t tap your mechanical pencil on the binder, you were biting your nails, and vice versa. you felt like you might die before it was time to go to work, but you didn’t, you just arrived late because you stayed fifteen minutes locked inside one of the college bathroom stalls, going over countless possibilities of what would happen when you saw each other in person.

when you walked in through the back door, heading to the staff room, you saw jake’s things already in the locker, meaning he would be at the counter when you went there. you put on your apron with difficulty and slipped your phone into your pocket before walking over.

jake had his back turned when you passed through the little wooden door, and he gave you a sideways glance, pressing his lips together and nodding… strangely quiet, no rambling about physics, about calculus, no news about superhero movies and games, not asking how your day had been. you felt your lunch come back up your esophagus, but you controlled yourself, sitting down just as silent, and for the first time in 3 months putting your headphones back on.

next to you, jake hunched his shoulders even more, pretending he was focused on reading the comic when his head couldn’t even put two sentences together because it was so overwhelmed with thoughts. he still felt horrible for thinking he had taken advantage of you… he had simply gone from someone with no experience at all to someone awfully bad. he didn’t feel entitled to be your friend anymore, or whatever you really were. his foot kept tapping against the chair support nonstop, making the rest of his body tremble a little. the tasks you used to do together, he split into a spreadsheet that would stay on the library computer. he would handle cleaning the tables, you would organize the counter. you cataloged the books and he shelved them, it was practical, you didn’t even have to talk.

***

a week passed like that. and by friday, both of you were a wreck. it was the first time you had seen jaeyun with dark circles under his eyes. when you were about to leave the locker room, you ran into him as he was coming in just to grab something.

“sorry” you said quietly.

“it’s okay, i’m sorry too,” he replied and then stepped aside, holding the door for you to pass.

you couldn’t even look at each other for more than half a second.

when the door closed you still stood there, staring at the little sign that read ‘staff only’, parting your lips thinking about saying that you didn’t want to keep going like this… that he could at least go back to talking, that you missed the way he talked about things you had zero curiosity about but ended up remembering because the sound of his voice was addicting, how you wanted to know about the games he was playing and if he had customized any other character to look like you…

“yn?” you heard, being pulled forcefully from your trance as jake opened the door again.

“jake…” you replied and looked at him, but nothing came out after that.

“can i get through?” he indicated, pointing down, you were standing in front blocking the way.

“can we talk?” you retorted, looking away and not noticing how at that exact moment the boy blushed and lowered his head.

“l-look, yn… i, i don’t know what to say. what ended up happening last week was a mistake, i admit it. it’s just that…” he said hurried and hesitant, even up close, avoiding you.

his words hit you right in the chest.

he thought it had been a mistake.

your heart hurt. if you had thought your poorly resolved one-night thing had been shitty, this was about to become your biggest trauma. you felt your eyes water, but you held back, smiling and swallowing hard, with difficulty.

“no, you are totally right. it was a mistake. and it won’t be repeated, i am really sorry”

“am i interrupting something?” you both heard a third voice coming from behind. clint approached holding a clipboard. “why is the central counter empty?”

“i was just heading there” jake answered quickly, nodding to the older man and looking at you one more time before leaving.

“and you, ms. yln? any problem?” the nasal voice turned to you.

“no. just… dust allergy” you lied, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand and sniffling before turning around.

***

you couldn’t take it anymore.

after that short and dry dialogue that had felt more like a sentence, everything stayed the same: another week of complete silence, tasks coldly divided and your music playing low in your headphones, in a ridiculous hope that he would start any kind of conversation with you during the afternoon. you were sure that quitting the job was the best thing to do; that way, the worlds that had once collided wouldn’t have to meet again.

you were at the dean’s office, waiting to be called in by mr. clint. you felt nervous, with the sensation that you might throw up at any moment as you stared at your own feet.

“you can come in” the secretary called.

you stood up and walked into the office, watching the old man close a file book and lift his gaze to you. you tightened the strap of your crossbody bag and remained standing.

“anything I can help you?” he went straight to the point.

“mr. clint, i needed to-”

“ah, before you say it, i need to ask you a favor” he cut you off, with a tired voice and demeanor of someone who had already exhausted all options and didn’t want to deal with the matter anymore. “i know you hate it, but i’m going to need you to take the night shift tomorrow. the guy who usually comes is sick”

you froze, mouth slightly open, completely stunned.

“do you think you can do it? want to tell me what brought you here first? if it’s about the new cart… finance still hasn’t released the funds”

there was an immediate internal conflict. maybe if you asked to leave next month… it would be a way to show respect to the job that had paid for your concerts and your clothes until now… it would also give you time to do interviews and find something somewhere else…

“no… it’s fine, i’ll do it” you confirmed with a faint, unenthusiastic smile. “great, i’ll confirm it with jaeyun too” he stood up, already grabbing his phone and walking out of the office, leaving you there with a bitter taste in your mouth.

***

the library at night took on a different vibe. the huge windows weren’t enough for the streetlights and the moon to illuminate the interior, leaving most of the aisles submerged in total darkness since the led lights focused only on the central and study areas. to make it worse, one of those winter rains was falling, the kind that starts slowly and promises to last all night, leaving the air icy. normal hours were until 7pm, which meant that from 8pm till 4am you would stay there with not much to do, just waiting for the moment to open the back gate for the cleaning staff, which consisted of two old ladies.

you arrived carrying a small bag with an energy drink and some sour candies to trick the sleep away. you stored your things in the locker and went back to the counter, feeling the cold crawl up your calves. you hadn’t even bothered to put on the apron, staying only in your tank top with a windbreaker over it. the manager was giving final instructions to jake while you finished adjusting yourself.

“if anything happens, call me or the police, alright?” it was just precaution, according to him, it wasn’t like the campus had some kind of book maniac.

as soon as the man left, the silence of the library seemed to triple in size. jake, without saying a single word, started cataloging some books, adjusting his glasses on his nose from time to time. he had switched the tasks, avoiding any activity that required him to stand still beside you at the counter.

you sighed and put on your headphones, but didn’t press play. you wanted to hear the sound of the rain… you opened a social media app and started scrolling without really seeing anything. the tension between you was like an elephant in the room, a heavy presence that made the air hard to breathe.

jake was only a few meters away, the desk lamp casting dramatic shadows across his face. he seemed more uneasy than usual, and the way he turned the pages was almost mechanical, stripped of that clumsy and goofy little way you loved so much about him. you sighed, feeling your stomach tighten. it was your last chance to understand why the boy who had kissed you so hungrily on the dance floor now acted like you were an unwanted ghost.

suddenly, a louder thunderclap made the windows vibrate. the library lights flickered violently, the filament of the old bulbs letting out a dry snap. jake stopped what he was doing, looking up and then at you. you kept your focus on your phone…

the truth was that those days had been the worst jake had ever faced in his life. worse than the bullying in high school or when he had fucked up his freshman year because he felt so out of place in a class with almost 100 people that he had simply stopped showing up for an entire month. and he swore he tried to understand, he had rationalized the situation in every possible way, he had even written a letter in his phone notes.

he had never felt that before, it was suffocating not to talk to you, not to hear your voice humming songs all afternoon or see your confused expression when he said something bizarrely scientific.

he wanted to comment on the storm outside. he wanted to say he found it interesting how the atmosphere could become a giant conductive plasma in a matter of milliseconds, as if the skies were trying to balance an unbalanced equation… like the two of you in that moment. he held himself back, squeezing the book in his hands, but as soon as he turned ready to say something, you suddenly stood up and grabbed the cart already full of books to shelve them.

of course, he had divided it that way.

jake sank into the chair and threw his head back, huffing and massaging his temples, where was he not understanding? why had everything gotten so strange? why didn’t you seem angry but sad?

you, on the other hand, couldn’t rationalize anything. you pushed the damn broken cart toward the romance section, grabbing three heavier books into your arms before pulling the small ladder to climb. you held on tight, going up at least three steps before starting to rearrange the stories to make space for the new ones.

a harsh flash tore across the sky, lighting up the library windows as if it were daytime, followed by a crack of electricity that seemed to whip against the walls. the thunder came right after, so loud the floor vibrated beneath your feet, and in the same instant, the hum of the machines and the artificial light died. the darkness that followed was absolute. you waited for the click of the emergency lights, but the silence continued.

“great” you muttered into the void. you hugged the books against your chest and felt along the metal ladder, trying to climb down carefully. the mistake was careless: the untied shoelace. as you tried to take the first step, your foot got caught and the world spun. you fell backward, your body hitting the ground with a dry impact while the ladder collapsed beside you with a deafening crash. in the middle of the fall, the back of your head struck one of the shelves behind you.

you let out a sharp groan, curling up on the cold floor. the pain was throbbing. you brought a hand to your head, feeling the spot of impact, praying you wouldn’t feel the sticky warmth of blood.

“yn? yn…!” jake’s shout came from the start of the aisle.

a beam of light appeared - a flashlight that stayed in the second drawer of the counter - and soon he was kneeling beside you, his face pale under the white light. he dropped the flashlight to the side and held your face with both hands, his fingers trembling.

“fuck, i’m sorry. so sorry! no, don’t do it! don’t move! if you hit the back of your head, you can’t turn your neck, the impact could’ve affected your spine or caused a displacement we can’t see! i’m calling an ambulance!”

you hissed in pain, but managed to grab his wrist before he dialed.

“calm down… it was just a fall” you murmured, your voice weak.

“do you have any idea how dangerous a concussion can be? the glasgow coma scale exists for a reason! if you show retrograde amnesia or cognitive dysfunction in the next few hours, that indicates a mild to moderate traumatic brain injury and-” he rambled, words fumbling over while he checked your pupils.

“jake!” you said louder, looking at him firmly despite the dizziness. “i’m fine, okay? just… help me up, please”

he stopped immediately, swallowing hard. silence returned for a few seconds while he helped you stand with almost sacred slowness. jake scanned every inch of your body looking for any other sign of injury, his arms hovering around your waist without quite touching, like an invisible protective barrier ready to catch you if you faltered. you lifted the ladder together and you tossed the dented books into the cart, noticing how he dusted his hands on his jeans, his eyes still fixed on you.

“are you sure you don’t want to go? i… they can come get you, i wouldn’t go with you, i wouldn’t bother you” he tried to reassure you. “seriously, i’m sorry. i should’ve taken that task, like i always do. if i hadn’t stepped away, you wouldn’t have”

the rambling started again and you gave a small smile before letting out a soft laugh, raising the white flag, almost in disbelief, lowering your gaze…

“what? what’s funny?” he asked, confused.

“you… the way you are” you answered, rubbing the sore back of your neck and taking a step to the side. “the fact that i had to go through a near-death experience to get you talking like before… when things were normal” your body swayed a little, but you supported yourself with your hand.

his shoulders dropped and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, thoughtful.

“i don’t get it…” he whispered.

“what don’t you get?” you looked up at him, your heart beating harder than the pain in your head. “tell me, jake, what got unclear between us? because if there’s anything i can do to change it, i’ll do it”. the words came out without permission, and you meant every single one of them, not backing down now even with the imminent urge to cry and the exhaustion of several badly slept nights.

jake sighed.

“that day… the party. i’ve never felt that way before, i’ve never felt the need to touch something or someone like that… it was almost… intoxicating, like i wasn’t in control…” he started slowly, still figuring out how to put his thoughts together. “and when we kissed… it was… it felt so right, you know? but then we went to your house and fuck… you were so hot, so determined, and so… my god, so drunk” he said almost whining. “you blacked out, and all i could think afterward was that i was really going to do that, even with you that drunk… and now, i feel like i don’t even deserve to be around you” he admitted, sniffling and adjusting his glasses.

you looked at him and then your gaze drifted to the space between you. that was what had happened and you didn’t remember it at all.

you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, covering your face with your hands and pressing.

“you thought i was mad?” you asked, just to fit the final missing piece into place.

“well… if you felt like i used you, wouldn’t that be the most likely outcome?” he shot back.

you laughed again, first softly and then almost crying. you looked at him once more and pressed your lips together.

“that day, jake, i wanted you more than anything” you said directly. “not just that day, but the day before and every moment, since the first day i saw you until just now…” you spoke with a lighter expression, watching through the movement of his eyebrows as jake tried to connect all the dots.

“so you didn’t think i was some kind of asshole?”

“that was the last thing i would ever think about you” you stepped forward and reached for his hand, looking down as you intertwined your fingers.

“yn…” he called one last time. “hm?” when you lifted your head, his eyes said enough.

***

at first your lips only brushed each other, a chaste kiss almost apologetic beginning slow. your bodies still kept a minimal distance, but jake soon took care of eliminating it by holding your wrist up, pulling you close to him, while his free arm finally wrapped completely around your waist. you melted right there, feeling all the negative feelings - the guilt, the silence, the doubt - fade like smoke as your muscles relaxed at the slightest touch. there was nothing in your mind that wasn’t him, him and him.

jake called your name, his voice hoarse and drawn out between your lips, but you denied any interruption, just continuing the seal, wanting to recover every lost second.

when he let go of your wrist, your hand went straight to his cheek, stroking the warm skin as you pulled him closer, wanting more depth.

“you’re not in pain…?” he tried to murmur, his voice failing.

“i don’t care…” you answered with absolute certainty, pulling back just enough to see him blush under the flashlight’s glow.

he looked so beautiful like that, disarmed. the kiss returned, but now it was more urgent, with more tongue and your nails slipping behind the collar of his shirt. jake’s hands lost their shyness slightly - without alcohol in his blood to help - moving up and down your back, mapping the sides of your body and dragging you by the hips until he pressed you against the bookshelf. the soft impact made the books vibrate and you let out a needy gasp that he swallowed. you bit his lower lip and sucked, feeling him shudder.

“i-i don’t want to stop this time” jake panted against your mouth, breath heavy.

“we’re not going to” you assured, exposing your neck to him as his mouth kissed the base of your throat.

jake’s tongue, slow and exploratory, licked the entire area, not caring about leaving a trail, not caring about the saliva or how your moans broke the decorum of the library. you tangled your fingers in the dark strands at the nape of his neck, pulling, squeezing his broad shoulder to steady yourself.

“shiit… do you know what you’re doing?” you asked, laughing softly between shivers.

“i have… no idea… just need you so fucking bad… why?”

“because it’s working…”

the raw confession was the trigger. he continued, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt down after opening the zipper with your help. little by little, the heavier pieces were forgotten on the cold library floor. jake slid his swollen mouth to one of your shoulders, leaving a bite there, climbing up your collarbones and chin as if he wanted to mark you entirely. he pulled your thigh on impulse to fit himself better against you, listening to every reaction you gave to what he was doing.

“show me how to do it… please…” he begged, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes shining with an intensity you had never seen, even in the dark. “i promise i’ll be good… so good to you…”

your head spun, brows furrowing as you kissed him again, almost animalistic. your tongues even slipped out of your mouths, his hands found your ass and squeezed. you lifted your hips slightly without any control, craving the contact. when you pulled apart again, you held onto him, bringing him with you. the darkness of the library was total, but you already knew that path by heart. you walked, tripping over each other, between kisses and anxious giggles, until you reached the counter again. you pushed his shoulders until the boy fell back seated in the chair, looking at you from there with his clothes bunched up.

you mounted the inviting lap and scattered little kisses across his face, until your mouth was near his ear to whisper. “don’t overthink… just do what you want… what do you want now?”

jake listened and his skin prickled… he placed his hands on your hips now intentionally and helped you in a slow back and forth, biting his lower lip hard. you nodded and kept going. “like this? do you want me to grind on you?” and the boy nodded repeatedly, holding back his moans as his member swelled even more inside his underwear.

“yeah..?” you nibbled his lobe, closing your eyes when your tight jeans and his pressed exactly where you needed, increasing the way you were riding him. you could feel your panties getting soaked, but even so you wasn’t giving more than this yet. you made sure to moan and scratch his arms, feeling his restless hands only stop when they reached your tits, squeezing hard and pulling little mewls from you.

“pl… y-yn, please…” he babbled. jake was a thread away from coming undone inside his pants and deep down you really wanted that… especially if it meant he would be all embarrassed afterward, but you stopped, just as affected as he was, sliding down until you were on your knees in front of him.

locking your gaze with his, you waited for him to lift his hips to help you with his jeans, pulling them down and tossing them aside. the white boxer deliciously failed to hide his cock slick with pre-cum. you only lowered the waistband, letting the hard length spring free, hitting against his abdomen. it was too big… the veins pulsed and his tip was an intensely flushed pink from how aroused he was. you spat into your palm and brought it to him, sliding from head to base, squeezing his soft balls with the other hand, watching him make a pitiful little face with his mouth parted.

“want me to suck you off?” you asked mischievously, mimicking his expression.

“mhmm. yes. yes, please…” he begged, trembling at every stroke of your hand that struggled to close fully around him because of the thickness.

you kept masturbating him for a while longer, watching jake alternate between gripping his own shirt and the arms of the chair, knuckles white from the force. what did he have to do for you to finally put your precious little mouth on him? he was going insane.

in a slightly rough and clumsy movement – purely survival - he grabbed your head, pushing you down and lifting his pelvis in a thrust, making you smile satisfied between his fingers. that was exactly how you wanted to teach him.

you opened your mouth and reached him, wrapping around the head first before sliding him further inside, feeling the corners of your lips burn as you had to force yourself to fit him entirely. jake uttered something unintelligible, his head falling back and eyes rolling before he himself began to set the pace, fingers tangling in your hair with new firmness. he felt your warm breath against his pubis; when he looked down he saw your little face all puffed up while taking him.

shit. shit. he was not god’s strongest soldier. you choked when he brushed against the inner wall of your throat, drooling even more over him and forcing yourself to keep the movement while grabbing one of his thighs, taking out the lack of air on the firm flesh. the sounds you made were downright pornographic, echoing in the silence of the library and making jake’s blood boil.

***

when you were taking him more easily - adjusted to his size -, he lowered one of his hands, wrapping it around your neck with care but possessiveness, feeling exactly how deep he was reaching.

he was hypnotized by the sight: the mix of saliva and pre-cum spilling from your mouth, your pretty doe eyes rolling back and the tears of effort shining at the corners of your lashes.

“f-uck i’m coming…” he gasped, body curling as he clenched his teeth, forcing you further down on him while his pelvis lifted without rhythm, just need.

and you took it, everything he had to give.

cock so thick it pressed against the little bell of your soft palate, his pubis rubbing against your nose every time he thrusted upwards. your pussy fluttered just from that, hardened nipples brushing against your bra and your nails digging into him.

he came spilling cum down your throat, which you swallowed with eagerness, the excess slipping out, smearing your chin, your hands… even dribbling a little from your nose when you coughed because of your gag reflex sore and abused. it took him a few seconds to remove his hand from your head, letting you rise and slide his cock out again. you breathed fast, wiping your mouth uselessly with the back of your hand.

“sorry…” he breathed hoarsely, but you shook your head as you looked at him, rising again to kiss him.

“you did well…” you praised, feeling him smile.

“want to return the favor…” he sniffed softly, sliding his hands to your waist and pulling you up so you both stood.

jake unbuttoned your pants smoothly helping you kick the fabric aside after. he surprised you when he lifted you up effortlessly, setting you on the counter quickly. you kissed while he searched for your pussy to massage over your panties. he rubbed where it was wet, drawing muffled little moans from you, but it was when you placed your hand over his, guiding the movement, making him use his thumb over your swollen, covered clit that he had you writhing.

he watched closely, the way you had to break the kiss just to squirm and moan while guiding him, and especially how, whenever he pressed that swollen spot, your back arched; he was a fast learner. jake sat down again, pulling you to the edge of the counter, holding one of your heels and placing it up there to have you spread wide. he didn’t know anything about the practicality of it, he just knew what he wanted and that he’d figure it out.

more attentive to how your wet pussy had chewed the cotton fabric between your small lips before pushing the panties aside, staring shamelessly at the slick, pulsing cunt in front of him. “it’s so pretty…” he said before placing a slow kiss, enough to make his mouth wet. “tell me if i do something wrong…” he added before looking up at you from there and sinking his mouth into you.

the first licks were almost exploratory, as if he were mapping unknown territory. he tested every texture with devoted curiosity: the firmer flesh of your mound, the soft inner lips ready to slide, the entrance that clenched at the slightest touch. but when his tongue found your clit, the smooth, slippery texture made him let out a low sound of approval.

he opened his mouth wide, taking in as much as he could before sucking greedily, as if savoring a juicy fruit. when he pulled back, the slick sound of wet skin echoed in the silence of the library, a damp noise that made your lower belly throb. he repeated the motion, gaining confidence, until he stretched his tongue and tried going deeper, using the curious muscle to push into your channel while swallowing every drop of lubrication you poured over him. “taste m’so good…”

jake lifted his eyes, looking at you from behind his lenses - now crooked - only when he felt the weight of your hand in his hair, guiding him.

using his own fingers to spread the flesh and expose your most sensitive point, he captured your clit, sucking it firmly and continuously, the tip of his tongue flicking and swirling over your sensitive bud as you muffled a cry by biting your own wrist.

he flattened his tongue, moving it from bottom to top and side to side, letting the little bead drag across the muscle before returning to suck with intensity. the suction grew rhythmic, noisy, you cursed through your teeth and let out drawn-out moans, feeling your stomach tighten as you pulled his hair.

“j-jake… hhmm…” your whole body trembled while he lost himself between your legs, oblivious to anything else around. “let’s fuck.. hnng please…”

the sweet little sound when he detached his mouth from your cunt and lifted his head, slightly dazed, looking at you in confusion, almost made you change your mind. “already? i wanted… you to cum too” his eyes studied your expression while his fingers still played with your sex.

“i want to cum… but it’s going to be on your cock” you told him, sliding off the counter with his help.

you took off your shirt and unclasped your bra, watching him pull his shirt off as well, both of you completely naked. you climbed back onto his lap and smiled, kissing him slowly. “you did so well… your mouth felt so good…” you praised, noses brushing while one hand slipped between your bodies to hold him, aligning him with your entrance.

“wanted to taste you more...” his head swam, your flavor clinging to every taste bud, every one of his senses utterly consumed by you.

“you’ll have plenty of chances to do that…” you whispered, before lowering your weight and taking him halfway in at once.

jake seemed to fall apart the exact second he felt your pussy envelop him. the sensation was overwhelming, hot, slick, absurdly tight. your walls fluttered repeatedly, hands digging into his shoulders as you tried to accommodate every inch while he huffed, air leaving his lungs as if he’d just run a marathon. his moans were low, heavy with a pleasure that bordered on agony.

“fu… you’re so tight” he whimpered, voice breaking. jake couldn’t even keep his head up, resting it against yours while his arms circled your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him conscious.

you had never felt so complete. he filled every space, every curve of your spongy walls. wrapping your arms around his neck, you forced yourself to sink the rest of the way down, taking him fully. your eyes rolled back and a long moan slipped out when you felt his head press against your cervix in that position.

“f-funcking big… god…” you panted, trying to relax your muscles so you could start moving.

slowly, you began to move your hips up and down. it was a delicious torture to feel your silken folds dragging along his entire length, completely stretched. he murmured incoherent things against the curve of your neck, pulling air through his teeth in a sharp hiss.

feeling you needed more stability, you guided his large hands to your thighs, whispering for him to help you bounce.

his touch changed instantly. jake gripped your thighs firmly, fingers digging into your skin, starting to thrust your hips up and down. the slow rhythm was replaced with something steadier. each time you dropped down hard, the sound of bodies meeting echoed in the empty place, mixing with the rain outside. jake was in a trance, glasses fogged and face buried against you.

his restless mouth slid to one of your hardened nipples, sucking and making you whine softly. the loud plap plap plap and your clit striking hard against his base left you disoriented.

with every thrust you both unraveled more, jake turning into a babbling mess while you impaled yourself on the hard length, biting your lower lip to control the noise, gripping the edge of the counter and rolling your hips, making him hit your g-spot every time. you were goosebumped, sweaty, breathless, holding his face so he would look at you.

“do you want to cum inside? h-hmm?” you asked with difficulty, watching him nod desperately. “use your words”

“yes, ma’am hnng… i… please. cum-ng i-inside”

“g-good boy” you said before claiming his lips again, dropping down on him with vigor, making the chair springs squeak each time.

when you came together, jake’s whole body went rigid, holding you tight against his lap as he poured every drop of semen inside you. your arms and thighs trembling as you held onto him.

your ragged breathing taking time to settle.

jake was sweaty and marked with nail scratches, his mouth swollen and raw from so much biting. you weren’t much different, strands of hair stuck to your face, neck, shoulders… your neck covered in hickeys he’d left without even noticing and your lower belly aching.

even when you relaxed, you made no move to get off him, and he didn’t mind. the boy inhaled deeply before kissing your cheek, as if calling you to look at him. and when you did, he was there again with that mastered lost-puppy expression.

“what?” you asked with a tired smile.

jake looked up, thinking, then back at you, giggling a little.

“did you know the human heart produces enough energy to drive a truck for 30 kilometers in a day?” his smile widened and he laughed, making you look at him comically. “it’s just… my heart is beating so fast right now i think it could cross the country” he finished, burying his face in your neck again. “in other words…”

he took a deep breath, going quiet for a moment.

“i think i love you”

he confessed, making your cheeks lift, grateful for the darkness so he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were.

“well… you’d have to beat me in a race first, and i’m pretty sure you’d lose…” you replied simply, shrugging as he lifted his head to narrow his eyes at you mischievously.

“i think i love you too”

*

taglist: @yjnwonstars @cherryw0n @lisie-loves-u @yelihusband @nixcoleee

[drkbl00d]

(no) love is in the air ─── 이희승

✉️ in which heeseung wants to get to know the girl he met at his friends party but runs into some complications.

sfw,fem!reader, fluff, mentions of involuntary drug intake, drinking, angst, mentions of bestie jake, part 1 of mini series !

lin's notes: little something for you while im in the process of defrosting :3 passed my oral today but i almost died in the process

[hoondiaries]

STOP CALLING ME THAT

ʚ brother’s best friend!sim jaeyun x fem!reader ɞㅤ mdni

© hoondiaries

[324732]

[opencommunion]

how are westerners so thoroughly programmed that even when you see the violence of your empire, you parrot the same lies used to sell that violence. "bombing a school is wrong but the iranian people should be freed from the regime—" "abducting a president is wrong but the venezuelan people should be freed from the regime—" "starving people with sanctions is wrong but the cuban people should be freed from the regime —" the western people need to be freed from the regimes that brainwashed you, and I mean that

[chaes-cake]

lucky girl syndrome - yjw. 🍬

synopsis; u move to a city closer to ur job and the only place u can afford is an apartment. lucky for u—ur roommate is… well… u’ll find out.

🍰 note!: this is a half smau and half fic! pls make sure to read the fic that comes after the cute purple divider! and then the last pics after the next divider! || i do not mean to associate this with yang jungwon’s personal life as this is PURE FICTION, don’t be parasocial

pairings: roommate!jungwon x fem!reader

cw: dry jungwon, rude reader (hard to get), (kinda) fast-paced, suggestive || lmk if i missed anything

an hour and a half left til jungwon comes back and u can finally see him again. u wont lie to urself, u kind of DID miss him.

u told urself u were gonna try to make a move on him once he returns because u missed him so much, but u were a full on coward and were scared u were gonna ruin ur friendship with him—even if he sounded head over heels for u.

an hour and a half full of nervousness and walking back and forth. biting on ur nails as if they were invincible to ur teeth. u wondered why u were so nervous.

“i shouldn’t.” u shouldn’t make a move. u really shouldn’t. what if u messed everything up and he was just flirting with u to mess with u?

u sat down to relax ur muscles, but that did absolutely nothing to calm ur muscles down. ur leg bounced up and down, ur head reeled even more, ur index fingernail disappeared little by little and ur breath got shorter and shorter without u realizing it.

ur head swung to the door as u heard the keyhole moving. “jungwon..” u breathed out, rushing to get up and fix ur hair while running to the door.

it opened and there he was. jungwon. he looked into ur eyes and it felt like nothing before. not the look he’d give u when he stole ur eyeliner and gave it back to u in embarrassment, not the look he’d give u when he’d eat ur leftovers and huff when he’d apologize yet u still continued to give him shit for it. no. not those looks at all.

this one was more… intense. more full of emotion and more passionate. full of longing and eagerness.

“jungwon..” u breathed out, not realizing how breathy and relieved it sounded. and that was like permission to him.

he’d stepped forward in a quick motion and hugged u around ur waist as he pressed his lips to urs. his beautiful soft lips that he only used for pissing u off, now being used to relieve ur mind.

u kissed back, of course u did. how couldn’t u? u were worried about whether u should kiss him or not the past few days he was gone for.

he pulled back slightly, a string of saliva and his arms around ur waist are the only things connecting u two. “i knew u missed me.” he breathed out, licking the string off ur lips, then biting down on ur lower lip.

“oh.. shut up.” u gave him a peck on the lips as u said that. he pressed his forehead against urs as he chuckled out of relief.

“yes ma’am.”

taglist: @scaredbysomecatslmao || lmk if u wanna be tagged!

[stllmnstr]

echoes - part one.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: royalty au, soulmate au, fantasy elements, friends to lovers, angst

part one word count: 15.4k

warnings: jealousy, copious amounts of yearning, complicated family dynamics, swearing, magic and prophecies and other fantasy elements, arranged marriage, mild depictions of injuries, minor character death

soundtrack: echoes - enhypen / no way back - enhypen ft. So!YoON! / ivy - taylor swift / too much is never enough - florence & the machine / if only - raveena / die 4 u - dean

note: I am splitting this into two parts, because post block limit got me once again. It's alright though! You get to enjoy this now and look forward to the rest of the story soon. It's nearly all finished and will be posted within the next few days. For now, this is part one. I hope you enjoyyyyyy

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

In a kingdom marred by instability and unrest, a prophecy is made. Your bloodline - common, ordinary, unremarkable as it may be - will bring peace to the nation and ensure the long-lasting success of the royal family. As such, your elder sister has been in an arranged engagement with Jungwon, the crown prince, since before either of you could walk.

But despite the prophecy, people continue to suffer. The kingdom continues to decline. Cracks continue to form. And when time eventually reveals that you, not her, have a strange, supernatural connection to the prince, everything begins to change.

or, every word you say is on repeat. every thought of you is bittersweet.  

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The palace gardens are most stunning at sunset. Bordering the eastern gate of the royal pavilion, the grounds are extensive. Flowers in full bloom, winding labyrinths, crystal blue ponds that nearby ducklings make a habit of visiting. 

There's a serenity here. One that becomes especially prominent as the last rays of sunlight begin to die on the horizon. The roses face the light, too. As if they want to kiss the day goodbye.

Wordlessly, you run a gentle finger over a stem, careful to avoid the thorns. It’s quiet. The only sounds that reach your ears are the gentle flow of a nearby stream and soft calls of birds in the trees above. 

One, a blue jay, captures your attention as it flits between branches. Captivated, you watch as it jumps to a different tree. Dipping its beak as if to assess its new landing spot. It doesn’t stay in one place long. Restless, you think. Itching for something new. Or perhaps craving the comfort of familiarity. It’s difficult to tell.

You inhale sharply at the prick of pain that suddenly radiates from your fingertip. In your absentmindedness, you threw caution to the wind. Retracting your hand from the rose stem, you’re met with a tiny drop of ruby red blood.  

At least, you consider, life here hasn’t yet been able to strip you of your ability to feel. Even if it is pain. And surface level, at that.

Letting your fingers drop to your side, the singular drop of blood rolls to the tip of your finger, hesitating for a moment before falling to the ground below.

Swallowed up by grass and dirt and earth. Now forever a minuscule, insignificant part of the palace around it.

Again, you turn your gaze to the sky. The trees that line it.

The blue jay tests one last branch before it inevitably decides it’s had enough. With one final assessment of the garden, it spreads its wings. And then, with little fanfare, flies in the direction of the sunset.

You watch until it becomes nothing but a blip. A blur of motion on the horizon. 

It’s long gone by the time the last rays of light vanish at the edge of the earth. 

The garden isn't dark, not entirely. The lanterns and torches that intermittently line the perimeter make it easy enough to find your path, as long as you know your way around. 

But they are a bit more conducive to stealth, to concealing things that don’t want to be found. Avoiding the most well lit paths, you let quiet, expert steps carry you through the winding labyrinth until you arrive at the stables. 

The palace horses have been fed and groomed for the night. You know. You’ve memorized the stable boy’s routine. And found that even on the nights he strays from it, is quite willing to turn a blind eye under the correct circumstances. 

Just like you’ve memorized which horses are less predisposed to whinny when taken out for the evening.

Just like you’ve memorized which palace gates are less heavily patrolled. What time the guards switch shifts. Which ones take longest to station themselves into position.

The palace is a well-oiled machine. But even the most streamlined systems have their flaws, their cracks. The best part about being someone of little consequence within the palace walls is that you have ample time to find them. 

As long as you’re present and accounted for on the rare occasion your presence is required, no one notices if you slip through the gates most nights. No one cares if the dark circles beneath your eyes become a bit more prominent every harvest season. 

No one keeps track of your unusually high number of trips to the tailor’s assistant for all of the strange tears and rips you always seem to have in your clothes. 

Closing in on the stable, you wrap a silent hand around the handle. The door creaks, ever so slightly, when you open it. Despite the fact that you know there are no patrols in this area this time of evening, you can't help the way your heartbeat picks up speed anyway. 

You close the door behind you, just as quietly as you opened it. Taking quick, measured steps, you approach your favorite horse’s stall. 

Rounding the corner, your brow furrows in confusion when you find it empty. Glancing around in worry, it takes your eyes a moment to land on the tiny, folded piece of paper wedged between the stall door and the wall. 

With steady hands, you pull it free. Unfolding the paper, you bring it close to your eyes in the dim light. 

It’s a letter, you realize, once you open the paper fully. From the stable boy. You’d recognize Sunghoon’s rather neat handwriting anywhere. 

Sorry, it reads. 

Blossom’s front left hoof was bothering her, so she’ll be in the western stable until the vet has a chance to assess her. Maeum’s in the fourth stall from the door. He’s not quite as quiet as Blossom, but he’s fast and wicked smart. Have him back by dawn. 

And at the bottom lies one final instruction. 

Burn this letter. 

Sighing, you read the message once more. Twice. It’s hardly ideal. You and Blossom have come to know one another like the back of your hand, but you suppose you’ll have to make due. You tuck the letter into the pocket of your dark, fitted jacket, fingers brushing against the small stack of papers already there. 

And then you look up again, silently counting four stalls from the door. 

Approaching slowly, you pull the door open as quietly as you can, doing your best not to startle Maeum. 

And you know he’s only trying to help, but one glance at the stallion in front of you has you wondering what the hell Sunghoon is thinking. 

Blossom was built for stealth. With a midnight black coat and the softest whinny you’ve ever heard, she always knew when you needed her to be quiet. The perfect trait for late night, unauthorized rendezvous from the most secure place in the kingdom. 

Maeum, however, is white. Startlingly so. And the second you have the stall door open enough to reveal yourself, he whinnies at you. Loudly. 

“Shhhhh,” you whisper, eyes widening in panic. You hold your open palms towards him, hoping he’ll understand the sign that you’re not a threat. “It’s okay.”

It takes him a minute. With large, intelligent eyes that seem almost a bit too cognizant, Maeum takes a moment to assess you. Finally, with one final, and thankfully much quieter, sigh, he acquiesces, tilting his neck towards you. 

Reaching forward, you stroke his mane in a long, gentle rhythm. 

“It’s okay,” you assure once again. “What do you say, Maeum? Are you up for an adventure?”

It sounds ridiculous to think it, much less say it, but you swear something sparkles in his eyes at your question. In either case, he lets you saddle him without so much as a peep of protest. 

And when you climb up onto the saddle, he gives only one experimental stomp before settling into stillness. Acceptance, you think. 

Turning his reigns towards the eastern gate, you check the position of the moon just beginning to rise in the sky. It’s late. Nearly time for the next guard shift switch. 

Perfect, you think. 

And without so much as a glance back, you and Maeum are off into the night. 

…..

“What the hell is that?” Jaeyun is whispering, albeit rather harshly, despite the fact that this hilltop is isolated. WIth the city stretching far beneath you, there’s no one else around for miles. 

Sliding off of Maeum’s back, you gently pull him a few steps forward before offering an apple from the bag at your waist. 

“A horse.” You don’t even bother to look in Jaeyun’s direction. You already know what you’ll find if you do. With a friendship that spans nearly ten years, his expressions have become second nature to predict. 

“Yes, thank you very much.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “I can see that it’s a horse. Why is it white?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Something to do with recessive genes, probably.”

“Are you trying to get spotted? A coat that bright practically screams ‘I’m from the palace.’”

“Blossom was out of commission,” you explain. Finally turning to face your friend, you add, “Sunghoon said one of her hooves is hurting. She’ll have to see the vet.”

“And this was the next best option?” Jaeyun eyes your substitute horse warily. “He’s so… pristine. I mean, seriously. If you told me he was the prince’s horse, I wouldn’t even question it.”

The sudden mention of the prince has you curious. Does he have a horse? You suppose he must, but the thought of him doing anything other than attending strategy meetings and making carefully curated appearances with your sister at his side is almost unimaginable. 

Shaking the prince from your thoughts, you argue, “It’s not like Blossom’s exactly shabby.” 

“No, but she is far less conspicuous.”

“I still managed to get out, didn’t I?”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “Palace security is lax these days.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one putting it to the test every night.”

Jaeyun’s lips part like he wants to say something else, like he wants to keep the banter going, but then he looks at you. Really looks. 

Takes in the deep shadows beneath your eyes. The exhaustion that has your shoulder slumping forward, words losing their bite around the edges. The work the two of you do is taxing in nature, but few people ever feel the strain as acutely as you do. 

At this point, you’re practically living a double life. 

During the day, you’re the younger sister to the future heir of the throne. It’s true that you’re largely left alone. While she attends dress fittings and lessons in etiquette, you’re left to your own devices. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t still appearances to maintain. Expectations to meet. Like it or not, you’re still a product, a belonging of the palace. You’re expected to maintain a smile and respond appropriately when spoken to. It’s a shallow life, yes, but draining in its own right. 

And with the wedding date creeping closer and closer, you’re doing your best to provide support to your older sister. Even if the distance between the two of you only ever seems to widen. 

And then there are the nights. While Mina and the rest of the palace are asleep, you’re usually out on an errand like this. Meeting Jaeyun on a remote hilltop with a fresh stack of secrets to trade. 

Because no matter how picture perfect life in the palace appears from the outside, there are cracks in every surface. Pressure points in every household. 

Much like you, there are plenty of people inside the palace walls who don’t come from money or nobility. They’re cogs in the machine. Their existence, their purpose, is to serve the crown. 

Like Sunghoon, the stable boy. And Sunoo, one of the groundskeeper’s assistants. Jay, who works in the kitchens, and Riki, the tailor’s apprentice. 

Despite the roles and the palace they’ve sworn to serve, they have identities outside of their titles, just like you. They have family and friends and people they love that live outside the palace walls. Who suffer from the hunger and unrest and turmoil the royals could easily mitigate if they had any interests outside of themselves and their firm grip on power. 

It’s how you ended up in the palace in the first place. Power. Or, at least, the illusion of it. 

Sixteen long years ago, three years after you were born, the royal seer became gravely ill. It wasn’t all too devastating, considering that for several years, the royal family had stopped relying on prophecy and started relying on military power to maintain their control of the land. 

But it was considered bad luck to lose a seer, and considering that the old woman had no children or family to carry on her legacy, the king became nervous. Ancient myths of crumbling kingdoms and vanishing wealth after the death of a seer began to haunt him. 

With a young son of his own, the only heir to the throne, the king was determined to protect his family at all costs. 

He visited the seer, as she lay in her deathbed. And he begged her for one final vision. One last prophecy that would ensure the longevity of his reign, the safety of his family. 

Barely cognizant, the seer used the last of her remaining power to reach through the veil and foretell one final prophecy. 

The king’s son, now just past his fourth birthday, would live a long, prosperous life. He would succeed the throne on his twenty-first birthday with little difficulty. He would enjoy a stable reign with absolute power and adoration from the kingdom at large. 

But there was one condition. He must marry first. His queen would not come from nobility. She would bear no wealth, have no resources that the royal family could possibly benefit from. Instead, she would have a connection to the prince. One born of ancient magic, one that supersedes mortal understanding and wisdom. 

She would be the daughter of a blacksmith, the seer told him. He would find her before the end of a fortnight. With flowers in her hair and the ability to tell him his son’s, the prince’s name without ever hearing it. After all, it was customary to wait until a royal child’s fifth birthday before publicly announcing their name. 

The king begged for more information. The kingdom was vast, and blacksmiths were as abundant as trees. But the seer has used the last of her energy. Her heart had stopped beating. And his pleas fell on unhearing ears. 

Still, it unfolded just as she foretold. 

And your life was swept out from beneath your feet when you were three years old. 

The memories are faint, hazy around the edges. It happened so long ago, and you were so very young. But you do remember playing with Mina near the river. Finding flowers to weave in each other’s hair. A man, scary and strange, approaching you both. 

He asked only one question. 

“What is my son’s name?”

As children, Mina was always the braver between the two of you. There was no fear in her eyes when she looked at the king and whispered.

“Jungwon.”

The king had only wanted her. But your parents, struggling to keep their daughters fed and cared for, begged him to take you as well. In a rare stroke of kindness or perhaps just impatience, he agreed. 

You were raised in the palace, parallel to your sister but never quite touching. After all, she was a miracle. A beacon. A prophecy come to life. 

You were nothing but extra baggage. An unextraordinary and damningly unimportant presence that faded into the castle walls as easily as moonlight on a dying day. 

You didn’t hate the palace. People there didn’t waste their kindness on you, but they weren’t cruel. You had everything you could ever need, and every month, you were allowed to leave the palace walls with your sister and a chaperone to visit home. 

For ten long years, your life proceeded in similar strokes. You studied. You played. You wandered. You felt moments of joy learning to ride a horse for the first time and swim in the lake without sinking. You felt the icy grip of loneliness, of isolation. Of being left in the dust as your sister began to take on more and more of her role as the future queen. 

In the dead of one particularly brutal winter, you learned to knit. Your monthly visit to your parents was approaching soon, and you thought your mother might like a warm pair of mittens. Thought your father might appreciate a new scarf. One without holes and the faint scent of dust and metal that always lingered no matter how many times it was washed. 

When you, your sister, and your chaperone finally set out, snow piling around you as you peered through the carriage window, dread was already gathering in your stomach. You weren’t sure why, but something was wrong. You could feel it, deep in your bones.

The closer you came to your parent’s home, the stronger the feeling became. By the time your feet dragged up to the doorstep, nausea was rolling so hard in your stomach you thought you might actually be sick. 

What greeted you inside was no remedy for illness. 

It was the cold, they told you. Frostbite. Weakened immune systems. While you had been huddling behind blankets and fire hearths inside the palace, your parents froze to death. 

You were thirteen, Mina fourteen. 

You didn’t want to hate the palace, the nobility, the royal family. Even then, you understood how inextricably you were bound to them. How much of your fate rested between the fingers of their iron grip. 

But the strongest thing you felt that day wasn’t sorrow or loss or even despair. 

It was hatred. Burning, deep, fiery hatred. 

You hated the way they told you these kinds of things were common in winter. The way the king didn’t look the slightest bit surprised to hear the news. The way the death of a commoner was as revolutionary as sunset, as predictable as sunrise. 

Jaeyun had lost his parents too, that very same winter. Only he didn’t have a palace to return to. Just the same four walls that the only family he ever had passed away in. 

The mittens meant for your mother were too big on his hands, but they were still warm. And that was enough. Combined with your shared sorrow, shared tragedy, shared hatred, it was enough to build a friendship. A resistance. 

Even now, thinking back, you only remember one person in the palace bothering to check on you. To ask how you were. 

Hidden in the depths of the library, you had been searching for something to distract yourself. Something to numb the pain of losing both parents in a single day. 

The voice that came behind you was careful, quiet. “I heard about what happened.”

Started, you whipped around with wide eyes, book of fables falling from your fingers and landing with a dull thud by your feet. 

Across from you, scant feet away, stood your sister’s betrothed. The prince. Jungwon. 

You gave him no response, brows furrowing. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued. “You must be devastated.” He was only one year your senior, but the gap between you felt larger. You had been educated, yes, but not in the manner of princes. He used words you didn’t fully understand and spoke with the gentle grace of a scholar you’d never be. 

“I…” You trailed off. It was hard for the initial shock to wear off. In the last ten years, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been in the same room as the prince. You’re not sure if he’s ever spoken to you directly before. But even in your grief, you remembered some of your propriety. Your curtsey wasn’t nearly deep enough, but the prince was kind enough to let your misstep slide. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

His lips dipped at the edges. “Please, ___. You don’t have to call me that. Just Jungwon is fine.”

But even then, in your adolescent brain, it felt wrong. He was a prince. The future heir to the country. And you were nothing but a blip. One prophecy and a stroke of luck away from dying alone in a freezing house with no one to mourn you. 

You didn’t want there to be any familiarity, any common ground between you and the prince. It was all an illusion, anyway. The two of you would never share anything but a connection through your older sister, a girl he never would have looked at twice under different circumstances. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you repeated, voice guarded, “for your condolences.” 

Something had flickered in the crown prince’s eyes then. Disappointment, contempt, you couldn't quite be sure. 

In the end, it didn’t matter. Quiet as the stray cats you sometimes crossed paths with in the stable, he had only turned and left the same way he came.

Now, years later, sitting on a hilltop with Jaeyun, you can only wonder if the prince remembers that short-lived conversation, too. If he revels in his palace comforts or finds them rather stifling. If he’s excited for his upcoming wedding or dreads it with every fiber of his being. 

If he has any idea that the sister of his betrothed who refuses to call him anything but his title, along with several members of the palace staff beneath his nose, engage regularly in treason. 

Pulling Sunghoon’s note, along with a stack of others, from your pocket, you turn to your friend. “Enough about horses. I have a new round of reports.” 

“Anything of note?”

“Not particularly.” You shake your head. “Jay says the kitchen is operating normally, although a few spices have been difficult to come by these days. Potential disruptions to trade routes on the western border, maybe.” 

“That could be.” Jaeyun frowns. “I’ve been hearing about some recent skirmishes up in that area. What about Riki? That old tailor he works for is an awful gossip.”

“Usually, yes,” you agree, “but these days he’s quite consumed with a certain white gown.” The flatness in your voice is difficult to miss. 

Jaeyun pauses, eyes scanning you warily. Finally, he ventures, “How is that going? I mean, it’s pretty soon right, the wedding? How are you feeling about things?”

“It’s proceeding normally,” you tell him, ignoring the last part of his question.

“Right,” he doubles down. “And you?”

“Don’t do that.” You shake your head. “I’m fine. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” 

He looks like he has more to say, but you’re pressing forward before he can question you further. “Sunoo had an interesting report, actually. It looks like crop yields may be down this season. They’re being stingy with the plans for the new fields.”

“That’s odd,” Jake frowns. “The weather’s been pristine. Ideal for cultivation.”

You give him a meaningful glance. “It must not be the weather, then.”

“Skirmishes on the western border, lower crop yields even though the last census still shows significant population growth.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “It’s strange.” 

“It’s suspicious,” you amend. “Everyone’s convinced that a wedding and a new king will make things better, but the royals are doing what they’ve always done. They’re hiding things. Overexaggerating peace reports. Underreporting crimes. They’re building an illusion. Trying to create a population that trusts them blindly.” You shake your head. “It’s not a coincidence.” 

“Maybe,” Jaeyun considers. But he’s always been more optimistic than you. “But border skirmishes are nothing new. And low spice and crop production doesn’t automatically mean anything bad. Maybe they’re planning to relocate some of the fields. There were rumors about more arable land down south, too, remember? And who knows, maybe that old seer was right. Maybe this wedding will lead to a long period of peace.”

There aren’t many people who you’ve shared the truth with. Even now, saying the word prophecy makes you feel like a fool. 

You scoff. “Don’t tell me you believe in magic.”

“Why not? Jaeyun shrugs. “I’ll believe in what I can. People here have suffered. Food shortages. Increased crime.” He pauses for a moment, gaze on the horizon. “Long winters. If believing in magic means better days are coming, then I’ll take it.”

You shake your head. “Believing in something doesn’t make it real.”

“Doesn’t it?” he counters. “Believing in something is the only thing that makes it real.” 

To that, you have nothing to say. You wish you could agree, that blind faith could guide you somewhere worth being. But time and trial and error have taught you to only believe in tangible things. 

Things you can wrap your fingers around. Hold between your own two hands. 

Looking down at the city from the top of the hill, it’s easy to believe that nothing there is real. That this world is made only of you and Jaeyun and his optimistic dreams for a better future. 

The silence extends comfortably before he breaks it, gaze against the side of your face. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Jaeyun speaks softly, carefully, as if trying to soften his words. “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you just look… tired.” 

“Yeah, well, never sleeping will do that to a girl.”

Jaeyun isn’t so easily convinced. “You’re sure that’s all it is? You haven’t been having more of those… visions?”

You sigh. “No, but –”

“But?”

“They’re not visions,” you correct. “Not exactly. I don’t see images, or anything. It’s just… feelings.”

“Feelings?” Jaeyun presses. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Like intuition, almost. Sometimes it’s this overwhelming urge that I’m in the right place or the idea I have is true even though I don’t have any real evidence. But sometimes, it’s the opposite. Like everything is wrong and my body wants to fight it.”

He frowns. Extends his arm as if he wants to wrap it around your shoulders where he sits next to you. Drops it back to his side as he thinks better of it. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. It’s like using an entirely different part of my brain. Overusing it. Until it’s sore and aching and I can’t think straight. And sometimes… never mind.” You trail off, shaking your head. It sounds too ridiculous to say out loud. 

“What?” Jaeyun urges. He won’t let it go so easily. 

You sigh. “Sometimes, I have these thoughts. But they don’t… they don’t feel like mine. I mean, they’re in my brain, in my mind, but they feel like they’re coming from somewhere else. Like it’s someone else’s voice.”

His brow furrows. “Have you told anyone? Seen a healer or anything?”

“And then what?” you scoff. “Have them tell the king that the future queen’s sister has gone insane? Is a liability to the crown and should be locked away for the wellbeing of the kingdom? Yeah, right.”

“Still,” he insists. “It sounds like there could be something else going on.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure I’m just tired. All these nights were bound to catch up to me eventually. I’ll sleep more the next few days, and I’m sure it will all be fine. Everything will go back to normal.”

“Okay,” he finally agrees, even if you can tell he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t quite believe you. “But I want you to tell me if it doesn’t change or if it gets worse. You know you can talk to me about these things too, ___. It doesn’t always have to be border skirmishes and crop yield reports.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help the way your heart swells a bit with fondness. “I know,” you nod. “Thank you, Jaeyun. You know, you’re my only real friend.”

“Well, now that’s just sad.” But his grin is stretching ear to ear. Even when you land a slightly too hard punch right on his solar plexus. 

And a handful of hours later, tucked into a bed that’s never quite felt like yours, sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness. 

Despite your exhaustion, rest doesn’t come easy. Especially when that familiar, unpleasant feeling starts to build in your bones. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a deep discomfort. A distinct feeling of wrongness. Of being misplaced. Not belonging. 

It radiates through your limbs, over your skin, screams in your mind until you feel it everywhere, from the erratic beat of your heart to the very tips of your fingers. 

Until finally, finally, exhaustion outweighs the sensation. 

Still, when you fall asleep, it’s with a singular phrase looping through your mind on repeat. Like the mutterings of someone out of their mind. Like a demented chant you can’t escape from. 

Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. 

Not her. 

…..

One of your favorite perks of being someone of little consequence within the palace walls is that your mornings are mostly undisturbed. Other than the illicit errands of your own making, that is. 

Often, the meager hours of sleep you manage to find are here, extending late into the morning as sunlight streams through your window in increasingly long slants. 

Dawn had nearly broken the horizon by the time Maeum was tucked safely back into his stable. Usually, the sun is allowed to creep across the sky for hours before anyone is in need of you. 

Tucked away in the small but pleasant room you’d been given once you were old enough to require very little supervision, you sleep. It’s a wing of the palace rarely touched by anyone other than an occasional palace maid. 

Your window is small, but the west-facing orientation makes the sun dance beautifully across your few belongings and gives you a rather stunning view of the palace grounds. 

Most mornings, it’s the birds that wake you. Or the general chatter of a day in a motion. 

Increasingly, it’s been a feeling in your gut, the same one you tried explaining to Jaeyun last night. A voice in your head that you’re sure doesn't belong to you. 

Rarely, if ever, is it a knock on your door. Especially not one that thuds heavy and harsh against the quiet stillness of mid-morning. 

Startled from slumber only a handful of hours after finding it, the knock comes again. This time, even louder than before. It pounds in a way that rattles your door and has a deep sense of unease surging through your stomach. 

“One moment,” you call, but your voice is weak as you search for a robe to throw over your night clothes. Your hands are frantic, shaking, as the pounding starts again. 

Finally, you locate your plain, deep burgundy robe. Shrugging it over your shoulders, you wrap it around your body. Hardly daring to draw a breath, you take small, light steps to the door. 

With no peephole, dread gathers deep in your body as you turn the lock, slowly opening your bedroom door. 

Across from you stands a man. Fist raised to land another round of knocks, you’re sure, but his position is also perfect for delivering blows. Despite yourself, you flinch. 

At the sight of you, he drops his arm. The tension in his posture, the tight set of his shoulders, remain. 

“Miss ___.” His voice is as tense as he is. There’s no question in his voice. He knows who you are. 

Dressed in simple, utilitarian garments, you assess him for any hint of his position. Well acquainted with the inner workings of the palace, you know what the people who serve it wear. 

This man puzzles you. There’s no kingdom sigil over his heart to mark him a guard, no silver cuff links to identify him as a healer. Just loosely fitted, nondescript dark clothing. Not entirely dissimilar from what you wear on your nighttime errands. Built for stealth. 

“I am her,” you nod. Your gaze becomes more narrow in its assessment the more dead ends you run into. “May I ask what this inquiry is about?”

He spares little fanfare. “You’ve been summoned, Miss.”

“Summoned?” you echo. Immediately, your mind jumps to terrible conclusions. You’ve been noticed. You’ve been seen. You’ve been caught. 

Forcing a steady breath, you reel in your thoughts. Panic isn’t logical. The most likely reason for your summoning is surely something to do with your sister. Perhaps she’s requested your presence for some flippant reason. Perhaps she’s come down with a head cold and craves the nostalgia of a once familiar presence. 

Still, your heart won’t rest entirely until your question is answered. “May I ask by whom?”

The man just looks at you for a moment, eyes revealing nothing but a faint trace of distrust. “Come with me, Miss.”

His words ring with finality. Brow furrowing, you feel your heart lurch somewhere near your throat. Surely they wouldn’t be so vague if it was merely something concerning your sister. 

But you also know better than to argue with a summoning in the palace. Especially from a man whose uniform likely hides at least a dagger, if not a weapon of more lethal consequence. 

Shifting slightly, you confirm the location of your own small, metal blade. Tucked away between your innermost layer of clothing and the warmth of your inner thigh, it sits snug to your skin. Even clothed in nothing but a nightdress and your rather flimsy dressing gown, even in slumber, it remains. 

Forcing away the waver that threatens your voice, you agree, “I’ll just take a moment to dress and—”

The man shakes his head. “We’ll go now.”

Any last semblance of calm is shaken from your system. You’re barely dressed. Your hair is an unkempt mess around your shoulders. 

It’s improprietous to walk around the castle like this. It’s scandalous. 

You falter for a moment, confusion and fear marring your features. But the man remains stoic, insistent in his unrelenting posture. 

“Very well,” you nod. Your voice is small as you cling to your last threads of composure. 

Your bedroom door closes behind you with a quiet click. You can’t bring yourself to spare a backward glance, nor can you shake the deep growing sense of unease,  as you fall into step just behind the man’s shoulder. 

At the very least, he doesn’t seem interested in parading you in a state of undress around the castle. With the quick, practiced steps of someone well-versed in stealth, he leads you silently through winding corridors and back passages. 

Just who is this man? Only an expert could lead you so wholly undetected through the winding maze of palace passageways. 

Even you, with your wealth of knowledge, are having a hard time keeping up as you try to commit your path to memory. 

Eyes tracing over the man’s back, your mind spins through plausible explanations. Eventually, you land on two. 

Either resistance forces have fully infiltrated the castle or your illicit activities have been discovered. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re not sure what they would do, if they discovered your role in the network of resistors actively working against the crown. 

Scenarios have crossed your mind on sleepless nights. Perhaps you’d be brought in front of the king. Made to answer for your crimes and tortured to reveal the names of others doing the same. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to speak at all. Considered an enemy and a traitor to the king, maybe you’d just be executed without trial.

You wonder what would happen. If your sister would still be wed to the prince. Or if your treachery would be dire enough to overrule even something as sacred as prophecy. 

Footsteps never faltering, you suppose it’s not worth mulling over now. You’ll know soon enough. The man who you follow now is either a friend or a foe. 

And in either case, he’s leading you somewhere. To something. Perhaps someone. 

Whatever your fate is, it doesn’t rest on a messenger’s shoulders. 

You reach the end of another impossibly long, dimly lit passage. The man in front of you stops so suddenly you nearly walk straight into his back. 

Startled, your eyes widen as he turns to you. 

He pauses a moment, something almost apologetic in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m afraid I’ll have to conceal your sight from here.” 

Reaching into his pocket, he reveals a nondescript black scrap of fabric. It’s frayed at the edges, just slightly. A makeshift blindfold. 

“I’m not permitted to see?” This time, you can’t quite contain the tremble in your voice. You work in dying daylight, yes, but the thought of losing your vision frightens you more than you care to admit. 

The man only shakes his head. 

Taking a deep breath, you nod. As if he needs your permission to secure the fabric over your eyes, tying the ends into a firm knot against the crown of your head. 

With a surprisingly gentle grip, he places your hand against the crook of his elbow. And then you’re walking again. 

At first, you try to remember your steps. 

Straight. Approximately seventy paces. A left turn, followed rapidly by a right. 

But the longer minutes continue to pass, the more unsure you become. Was it a right turn followed by a left? Or two right turns in a row? 

Your mind begins to falter, unsure of itself. Unease increases steadily.

Surely if this were the work of the resistance, blindfolding you would be unnecessary. You would need to learn this path, find your way back to their stronghold independently. 

You refuse to panic. You’re alone with nothing but a dagger strapped to your thigh. With every step, it begins to feel more and more like a wooden sword. A table knife. 

You think of your sister. Of Sunghoon and the others. 

Of Jaeyun. 

You never got to say goodbye. 

The arm beneath your hold pauses, steadies the both of you. You hear hinges protesting as a door opens. And then you're going down. 

Down, down, down an endless set of steps. So far that you’re sure you must be walking yourself straight to the deepest castle dungeons. 

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. It’s difficult to tell, in this blanket of darkness. 

Until suddenly, you’re on flat ground again. The man’s voice, still curt, instructs, “You may remove your blindfold.”

Pushing the fabric upwards, it doesn’t take your eyes long to adjust. 

The lighting is dim here, but far warmer than you’d expect so deep beneath the ground. Glancing around, you find yourself in the center of a small chamber. Seats, full of cushions and fine fabrics, line the spaces where you expected to find prison cells. 

There’s a carpet on the ground. One embroidered by expert hands, if the detail work is anything to go by. Paintings on the walls. Landscapes, primarily. Scenes from flowing rivers and dense forests and wide, open fields blossoming in the springtime. 

There are maps, too. Of the kingdom and its neighbors. Some that center the castle and others that extend far beyond it. You could easily locate your childhood home if given a few seconds to concentrate .Several are marked with ink. Scribbles, lines, symbols you don’t recognize but wish you had a chance to study. 

And in front of you, at the head of the room, in a chair that is no throne but bleeds authority all the same, sits the crown prince Yang Jungwon. 

Immediately, you drop into a curtsey. Even under the strangest of circumstances, it would seem that old habits die hard. 

“Your Highness,” you breathe, gaze trained on the floor as your heart hammers against your ribcage. 

When the prince speaks, it’s not to you. “Good heavens, Heeseung, did you drag the girl out of bed?”

Remembering your current state of dress, heat gathers in your cheeks. You’re suddenly grateful for your position that obscures your face from view. Although you rather wish the ground would just swallow you whole. 

“You said it was an urgent matter,” the man, Heeseung, explains. “That no time was to be wasted.”

“I didn’t…” The prince’s words trail to a sigh. “Please, Miss ____,” he addresses you. “Stand.”

Rising to full height, your eyes make slow work of trailing the ground in front of you, flickering over the carpet beneath your feet without really seeing any of it, continuing forwards until your head stands straight on your shoulders, eyes landing square on the kingdom’s only son. Your sister’s betrothed. 

For a moment, he just looks back at you, lips slightly parted. 

You suppose the prince is handsome, in an untouchable sort of way. Your sister has always spoken highly of his looks, and you can’t fault her for it. 

Dark hair kisses his cheekbones, frames delicate, almost feline features. His skin is smooth, unblemished. High angles and sharp lines and the prominent, traceable slope of his nose, his jaw, his neck. 

The prince wears a lithe frame, coiled in muscle won from function, from use. Long afternoons on horseback, refining skills in archery and swordsmanship. 

And his eyes. God, his eyes. Sharp and distinguished. Burdened with the knowledge of a scholar and diplomacy of a politician. Assessing, searching, reflecting the few sources of light in this chamber like they’re made of stolen stars. 

Deep beneath the castle, time holds little meaning. But you know it can’t be much later than noon. Suddenly, you’re struck with the strangest urge to see him in sunlight. Watch it dance over his royal features with favor. 

Across from you, the prince does the same. He assesses you, silent as his eyes find new places to land. You’re not sure what he’s looking for. What he finds. But eventually, you grow tired of the impasse. 

“Forgive me, Your Highness, for speaking out of turn.” The prince takes the slight with nothing more than an arched eyebrow. “But if I may, I would like to know the meaning behind this… visit.”

“You’re bold, Miss ____.” It’s the second time he’s said your name, and it rattles something deep inside you. “First you steal a man’s horse and then you speak out of turn to beg him for answers.”

There’s no trace of malice in his voice, but your blood runs cold all the same. 

“Forgive me,” you repeat, chest tightening, “but I’m not sure I understand—”

“Allow me to be plain, then.” he interrupts. “Let us establish a common truth first. Last night, approximately five bell chimes after the midnight hour, you left the castle grounds.”

Panic claws at your throat. “Your Highness, I—”

The prince won’t hear your excuses. “All I require is a simple true or false.”

There’s no use lying. He knows. He knows. 

Rocks forming in the pit of your stomach, you whisper, “True.”

“Excellent,” he levels, voice betraying nothing. “We’ve established one truth, then. Now, for our second. When you fled, you did so on horseback.”

The white horse. That damn white horse. You want to laugh at the irony, at the terrible absurdity of it all. Jaeyun said it himself: 

“If you told me he was the prince’s horse, I wouldn’t even question it.”

Now, all you can do is stand as dread gathers in your gut. Was this all some sort of elaborate scheme? Was the note from Sunghoon falsely planted? Is Sunghoon a palace spy?

Your mind is whirring. Against every nerve in your body screaming in protest, you whisper, “True.”

“Right. This horse, he’s kept in the eastern stable, near the gardens. Responds to the name Maeum.”

“True, Your Highness.”

“I suppose you may not have known,” the prince pauses, “but Maeum is my horse. He was a gift, actually, for my sixteenth birthday.”

The words are tumbling out before you can stop them, “Forgive me your highness, please.” Dropping to your knees, you plead for your life, “I meant no disrespect to you or your stables. It was foolish, I know, but I was craving a bit of fresh air, and Maeum seemed to be the horse with the best temperament. I had no idea he belonged to Your Highness. If I had, I would have never—”

“Fresh air?” The prince’s voice is controlled, but something simmers beneath it. As if he knows something you don’t. “Is that how it’s referred to these days?”

“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. The air inside castle grounds is of course excellent, as well—”

“I am not concerned about air quality but rather your excuse itself.” The prince leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Unless fresh air suddenly refers to trading insider secrets about crop production and diplomatic peace reports, then I’m afraid I find your explanation rather lacking.”

No.

No.

No no no no no no.

He knows. The crown prince knows. You’re not sure how much, but it's enough. It’s treason. It’s a death sentence.

This chamber may not look like a prison, but you're suddenly confronted with the reality that you very likely won’t make it out of here alive.

“Please, I—” Begging for your life feels useless. “Please, my sister. She has nothing to do with this, I swear.”

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “I’m not… your sister has no place in this conversation.”

Oh, thank the heavens. If nothing else, at least you can rest knowing your sister won’t be punished for your crimes. “Thank you, Your Grace, for your mercy. I know my life holds little value, but I swear to you that if you spare me, I—”

“You misunderstand. Please, Miss ___. Lift your head.”

You remain on your knees, but you know better than to ignore a prince’s command. Dragging your head up, you lift your eyes until your chin is parallel to the floor.

Looking you directly in the eye, he says, a bit softer, “I’m not going to kill you.”

Confusion, relief have you forgetting propriety. “You’re not?”

The prince shakes his head. “What you’ve done is treason, yes, but I find that things are rarely that simple.”

He takes a slow breath. “You’ve lived in the castle since you were a child. You are no fool. You know the expectations and the rules. And the consequences of breaking them. So it begs the question, Miss ___. Why?”

“Why?” You echo.

“Why you risk your life multiple times a day, gathering intelligence, obtaining secrets, passing along parcels of information. I imagine it’s not for lack of entertainment. From my understanding, most palace ladies of your age enjoy hobbies such as painting, embroidery, and the occasional dance lesson.”

“I’ve never been much of a painter.”

“Regarless,” the prince shakes his head, “your painting skills do little to change the fact that outside the castle walls, food rations continue to shrink. Failing diplomatic policies are leading to unrest with our neighbors. Disruptions in trade that people rely on for their livelihood.”

It takes a good deal of effort to keep your mouth from dropping open in shock. Never once have you heard even the slightest whisper of a royal caring what happens outside the palaCe walls. “I wasn’t aware that the strain had reached all the way to Your Highness.”

“It hasn’t.” He shakes his head. “Not directly. Our tables are full. Our finery well stocked. But a good king looks beyond his castle, does he not?”

Here, you must tread carefully. “I won’t pretend to know the burden of ruling. But goodness is subjective. It seems a king would have many other considerations to make.”

“Perhaps some do,” he agrees. “But only a fool with a crown considers himself before his people.”

Matching his eye, you say, “This kingdom will be lucky, then, to have a ruler who holds them in such high esteem.”

“I hope so,” the prince nods. Pausing for a moment, he continues, “My wedding is to be held at the end of the month. And my coronation shortly thereafter. I know it sounds strange given my position, but there are things, whispers, rumors, that I believe you are far more well versed in than I. I would appreciate any… guidance you could provide me. At least until then.”

“Guidance?” You echo. 

The prince nods. “Which systems are failing, which  people are feeling the strain the most. Which royal decrees have a favorable impact outside the castle grounds and which do not. This sort of thing.”

For a moment, it’s difficult not to doubt your own ears. It’s ridiculous, all things considered. “Are you saying…?”

“That I want your assistance in committing crimes against the crown? Yes, I suppose I am.” Across from you, the prince sighs. “This kingdom has been allowed to run at the mercy and whim of its rulers for too long. People are suffering. Relations are collapsing. My birth, my reign, they’re meant to bring peace. Prosperity. I’ve warred and struggled with myself, and I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Can it really be called treason if done for the betterment of the kingdom? Can it really be called allegiance if done solely for a king?”

For a moment, silence stuns you. And then—

“I wouldn’t dare to speak my thoughts on kings in front of Your Highness.”

“Why not?” He’s looking at you now. Really looking. “Because it’s improprietous? Because it’s treason? I was under the impression that you’re rather well acquainted with both already.”

Your lips remain fully sealed. 

“Very well,” the prince acquiesces. “I won’t push any further. The man who escorted you, his name is Heeseung.” A glance around the chamber reveals that sometime during your conversation, Heeseung has made himself scarce. It’s just you and the prince. Glancing over your state of dress, a faint flush rises on his cheeks. “I apologize for his… imprudence earlier. He works as a scribe in the royal archives. You can pass information along to him. Or to me, of course, although I may at times be a bit more difficult to find.” 

He has it all figured out, your arrangement. But you’re still hung up on one crucial piece of information. One you find thus far to be rather lacking. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The prince pauses for a moment, considering. Eventually, he says, “I suppose you don’t. But isn’t trust a bit superfluous? I don’t mean to speak too bluntly, but I don’t believe you’re operating under any illusions. If I truly wished it, you’d be dead.”

You won’t give in so easily. “I trust that you want me alive for the time being. That is not what I inquire. How do I know that our views are aligned, that any information I may pass along will be used in a way I also see fit? How can trust be… superfluous, when it’s what builds empires, what crumbles them?”

For a moment, your prince does nothing but look at you. His expression is guarded as he weighs his words carefully. 

A moment passes. Another. An all too familiar feeling of nausea begins to roll in your gut. 

You try your best not to let the sudden urge to be sick affect you, but you can’t quite suppress the wince that crosses your features.

 And then, as if he’s whispering it directly into your ear, you hear, “A leap of faith, then. It will have to be. And in time, I’ll hope to earn just a fraction of your trust.”

It’s the voice. The one that's been haunting your dreams. Your waking visions. The source of your migraines, the interruptions to your intuition. 

And in front of you, the prince’s lips remain shut.

Still, you ask, “What?”

He sighs, and this time with his own mouth, tells you, “I am your prince. Soon to be your king. Fortune may not be a fair thing, but it has decided for the both of us that your trust belongs to me. I hope to use it well.”

You have a million questions. A thousand unfinished thoughts. But no matter what voices speak in your mind, he is right about at least one thing.

He is your prince. He will be your king. He holds your, your sister’s, and an entire kingdom’s lives in his hands. 

And this, you realize, is an order. 

Ignoring the tremble in your legs, you once again stand to full height. And immediately drop into the deepest curtsey you can manage. “Very well, Your Highness.”

…..

Despite it all, life proceeds with an almost uncanny sense of normalcy. You begin your morning the day after meeting with the prince in the same way you always do. With a visit to the castle kitchens.

Jay is expecting you. An apron tied around his waist, and a small plate of fresh fruits he slides across the counter towards you, he speaks in hushed tones while he dices vegetables for tonight’s supper. 

“Potatoes,” he whispers. To anyone else, it would look like a simple meeting between friends. 

Your brow furrows. “What of them?”

Jay nods to the cutting board currently beneath his hands. “It’s the fourth evening in a row we’re serving them.”

You frown. “Is that strange? They’re a hearty vegetable, and they grow in abundance this time of year.”

“Right,” Jay nods. “But the king grows restless if served the same dish more than once within a fortnight. The last head chef was demoted to kitchen help less than a year ago for a much less egregious repetition.”

“What does that mean? Low crop production?” You speculate. 

“Perhaps,” Jay agrees. “It could also be trade issues. More valuable crops being used to barter for other necessities.”

It’s confusing. Just yesterday, the prince told you that the royal kitchens were still well stocked. The royal family was still eating well. 

“Is this a recent development?” You ask. 

“Fairly.” Without ever pausing his cutting, Jay adds, “The choice of potatoes is also interesting within itself. Nutritionally, they’re quite dense. It’s much easier to create a full, hearty meal, or at least the illusion of one, than it is with other vegetables."

“I’ll speak with Sunoo,” you nod. “He mentioned last time that the plans for new fields are quite conservative this year. I wonder if low overall production, or at least low variety, has anything to do with it.” 

Taking a bite of the apple slices he prepared for you, you add, “Thank you, Jay. Take care of yourself.”

At that, he does pause. Setting the knife down, he looks up at you for a moment. “You too, ___. Be careful.”

You smile, easy and bright. “I always am.”

The straight set to Jay’s lips doesn’t budge. “I mean it, ___. Things are… strange these days. I know how valuable your information is, but you need to look out for yourself too.”

You frown at the sudden urgency in his voice. “I know, Jay. I will. I think people are just on edge with the upcoming wedding and coronation. Transitions in a kingdom are always a bit unnerving. Especially since Mina’s just… well, you know.” You shrug. “We’re certainly not royalty.”

“Could have fooled me.” Jay grins, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite disappear fully. “Look at you, sitting like a lady, eating my apples.” 

You roll your eyes, taking another bite with an exaggerated crunch. 

“Right. Well, this lady has a groundskeeper to visit.”

“I won’t keep you, then.”

“Thank you, Jay,” you tell him, standing up from the counter. “For the apples and the… conversation. I’ll see you again soon.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Making your way back through the corridors, his words play back in your mind. First, you wrestle with the idea of poor crop production. It’s strange, but you won’t know anything for sure until you have a chance to speak with Sunoo. 

Tucking that away for later, your mind spins through some of Jay’s other claims. 

Lady. Despite the childhood you’ve spent in the castle, you’ve never really considered yourself such. You and Mina were brought here as children, but the distinction was always clear. The separation was always made. 

The only reason you were behind these walls instead of outside of them was because of a prophecy. One you were far too young to understand. 

Even if you had been older, it’s not as if you had the chance to hear it from the seer’s mouth yourself. Instead, it had been divulged to you in the one direct conversation you’ve ever had with your king. 

That night, so many years ago the memory is beginning to blur around the edges, the king of your nation told you and your sister in plain words that the two of you were to come to the castle. To live there. 

That in due time, your sister would marry his son, the prince. Even now, you remember how he spat the words like venom, as if they tasted bitter on his tongue.

The world could never know, he said. Prophecies were a fickle thing, and the less people to know, the better. To the kingdom’s knowledge, you two would be the daughters of his late wife’s dear friend from a distant kingdom. Children whose parents had been lost to senseless violence. 

Not royal, not noble, but at least somewhat respectable members of society instead of the daughters of an impoverished blacksmith. A symbol of the king’s graciousness and goodwill. 

You would be trained, of course, in the manners of court. How to sit, how to speak, how to walk. The bulk of this particular attention had always gone to Mina, the future bride of his son, but you were not exempt entirely.

Looking down at your hands now, you wonder, not for the first time, where the truth begins and ends. Your hands are well versed in embroidery, in poetry, in penmanship. 

But they’re also rough, full of callouses from you illicit nightly errands on horseback. 

Are you a lady? You’re not really sure. It’s never been the identity you’ve pondered when others feel far more pressing. 

Rebel. Traitor. Forgotten sister.

And now, apparently, personal informant for the crown prince.  

Whichever it is, you still have a job to do. And Sunoo’s expecting you. 

By the time you make it to the eastern crop fields, Sunoo is taking fertilizer inventory. Sunlight shining on his dark hair, he startles a bit when you clear your throat behind him. 

“Oh!” He turns in surprise. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?” But he’s smiling at you like an old friend. 

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I didn’t realize fertilizer could require so much fascination.”

“Fascination, no,” Sunoo corrects. “Concentration, yes. You might find this interesting, actually. We’ve been asked to ration it.”

“Ration fertilizer?” Your nose scrunches. “Isn’t it just made of cow dung?”

Sunoo’s lips flatten. “Among other things, yes. Primarily a nitrogen-rich soil that we’ve been trading with our northern neighbors for decades. I guess it’s becoming a bit more difficult to come by these days.”  

“Or,” you counter, “something is disrupting trade.”

“That’s possible as well,” Sunoo nods.

Pausing for a moment to consider, you press forward, “I actually came here to ask about something. Potatoes. Has there been an increase in potato allocation?”

A mild flicker of shock crosses his features. “Yes, actually. I’d have to check the records to be sure, but some of the other fields, mostly carrots, beets, and radish, were ordered for replanting with potato crops. How did you know?”

“The kitchens,” you explain. “They’re serving potatoes almost nightly. Do you know why they increased potato crops?”

Sunoo shakes his head. “I haven’t heard anything directly, but potatoes have always been fairly abundant. They grow well here. And it is cheaper overall to have less diversity across the fields.” 

“So it’s a way of cutting costs, then.”

Sunoo nods. “Probably.”

“Have any other crops been removed?”

“Nothing’s been taken out entirely, but there have been similar orders, particularly in fruits. They’ve reduced vineyard production, as well as plums, figs, and strawberries. The only place that was expanded was the apple orchard.”

You think of the apples Jay gave you this morning. “Another less expensive crop.”

Again, Sunoo nods. “It is.”

You pause for a moment, considering. “Thank you, Sunoo.”

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment. “Is there… I know there have been rumors. Increasing unrest. More disrupted trade routes. Is it true?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “But I think it very well could be. You know as well as I do that the people outside these walls are no stranger to struggle. But the king has always gouged himself on grapes and wine and exotic vegetables. For even the royal kitchens to Jace such limits… Something else must be happening.”

Sunoo pauses for a moment, thinking. “I hope what they say is true, about the prince.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just speculation.” Sunoo shrugs. “Likely wishful thinking, but people are ready for change. The fact that the prince selected a bride without a crown—” He pauses, suddenly remembering your relation. “I mean no offense, of course.”

“None taken,” you shake your head. “It’s the truth.” And only a fraction of it. 

“Well, people hope that it’s a sign. That their new king values power and status less than his father. That he’ll consider the needs of his kingdom and not just live out a reign in search of self-serving pleasures.”

You can’t help it, the way your mind immediately goes to the prince. 

“But only a fool with a crown considers himself before his people.”

“It’s unfounded, I know,” Sunoo adds when you remain silent. “Nothing but a fool’s hope.”

“Perhaps,” you nod. “But perhaps not.” Turning to him, there’s a genuine earnestness in your gaze when you say, “Perhaps our prince will surprise us yet.”

Despite yourself, you hope it’s true too.

You’ve nearly made it back to your bedroom when the second summons in the span of days comes. 

This one, at least, is a bit less terrifying. Although it does inspire a similar sense of dread. 

The ladies’ maid waiting outside your door holds only a letter in her hands. One she passes to you with a bow and a customary greeting before hurrying back down the hall. 

Unlocking your bedroom door, you close it tightly shut behind you before sitting at the foot of your bed. Then, you slide your finger under the seal of the envelope, feeling nothing but slight resistance as it opens in your hands. 

Miss ____, the letter reads. 

Your presence is requested at the eighteenth hour of the same day this message is delivered. Please arrive promptly to the royal tailor’s fitting rooms at the requested time. 

You’re not entirely sure what to expect. When Riki has information, he usually goes about summoning you in less formal manners. But it’s difficult to think of any other business you could possibly have with the royal tailor. 

Well, you suppose, looking at the clock, you only have approximately an hour before your summoning time. You’ll find out soon enough.

…..

It’s a shame you aren’t in need of more gowns. The royal tailor is in possession of one of the loveliest rooms you’ve ever seen. 

Surrounded in golden dipped mirrors, the room reflects shiny things like it loves them. Instead of a traditional ceiling, the space above you is lined with windows. Skylights, they’re called. Designed to maximize the amount of natural light inside the room. To show how fabrics will looks and dresses will move beneath the sun.

In the early hours of the evening, candlelight picks up the slack for dying rays of sunlight. Still, the room is beautiful. Sparkling in a way that’s almost alive. 

In the center of the room stands the royal tailor. Hands always full of fabric and pincushions and a measuring tape, he places another pin in Mina’s bodice.

Mina. Your sister. Despite the fact that the two of you technically share a home, this is the first time you’ve seen her in nearly a week. 

A year your elder, age has been nothing but kind to her. She may not be royal yet, but she’s been groomed for queendom since she was a toddler.

Her skin glows with a certain vitality, hair shines from the efforts of custom hairbrushes and rare, expensive serums.

You see some of your own features reflected on her impossibly beautiful face, and you can’t quite explain in words the way it makes you feel like hiding. 

Beauty has never been at the top of your list of concerns, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t care at all. To say that the sight of your older sister positively glowing at her wedding dress fitting doesn’t make you simmer with something akin to jealousy. 

Even if Mina’s beauty weren’t so certain, the gown she wears would certainly pick up the slack. Much like the room around it, it’s less white than it is iridescent. It glows and glimmers and glides across each plane of your sister’s body like a lover’s caress. 

She’s practically dipped in starlight. Ethereal, stunning, painfully beautiful. 

She must know it too.

Still, there’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice when she catches your gaze in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mina,” you tell her truthfully. “You’re glowing, truly.”

Still, something in her wavers. “Is it fit for a queen?” 

“How could it not be, when it’s fit for you? And you are to be queen.” In this moment, you almost wish you knew her better. It’s a strange thought, that her ladies’ maid could probably provide her more comfort than you. Abate her woes with a more expert hand. 

“I suppose so. Have you thought more, about what you might wear to the wedding?”

You scoff. “No one cares what I wear.”

“Of course they do,” Mina counters. “Youre the sister of the queen. It would be foolish to think no eyes will be on you.”

“Whatever you think will suit me, then.”

Mina sighs, shaking her head slightly. “You’re hopeless. I’m to try on my coronation gown as well. Come, stand with the tailor and decide on a fabric while I change.”

“Forgive me,” the tailor speaks, “but I’m afraid I must accompany you, my lady. I would like to place a few more pins.”

“Very well,” Mina nods. “Then your assistant can accompany my sister.”

“Indeed,” the tailor agrees. “Riki,” he calls, “would you please assist Miss ___ in finding a suitable fabric?”

Stepping to the center, Riki bows in agreement. “Of course, sir.”

Your sister takes careful, measured steps on the arm of the tailor, and you watch as they exit to the adjoining room, door clicking shut behind them.

“Let me guess,” you mumble wryly, “lemon yellow would be just perfect for my features.” 

Riki just laughs. “I was thinking vomit green might suit you more.”

“Of course you were.” You roll your eyes. 

“Stand up,” he instructs, tone still light. “Come stand here.”

Your feet drag, but you follow his instructions. Stood in the center of the room, you can’t help but find the mirrors rather unforgiving. You understand Jaeyun’s concern from a few nights ago. You really do look like you haven’t slept in ages. 

Even if you were well rested, Mina is a difficult act to follow. Your clothes are plain. Utilitarian. Clean and well-made, yes, but nondescript all the same. Eyes trailing upwards, you can’t help but think the same of your face. 

Everything is duller in comparison. Your hair doesn’t shine the way hers does. Your skin doesn’t glow with radiance. There’s nothing special or royal or extraordinary in your reflection. You’re just… you. 

Still, Riki treats you like a high paying client. 

When he returns to your side, he holds two fabrics. One a rich burgundy and the other a deep violet. 

“What do you think of these?” he asks. In the mirror he holds them up to your chest, eyes narrowing as he tests them against your reflection. 

“They’re pretty,” you nod, suddenly finding it hard to maintain eye contact with your reflection. “Either’s fine.”

Riki drops the fabrics back to his side, exasperation crossing his features. “That is not the reaction I want from someone choosing a gown.”

“How can I?” you ask. Riki turns from you, takes a few steps back towards the dresser. He sets his original choices to the side and begins searching for another fabric. “You of all people know I have other things on my mind.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, back still turned. 

“Speaking of which,” you glance over your shoulder, ensuring the door to the adjoining room is still firmly shut. “Anything new to report these days? Any more tidbits from the palace ladies?”

After all, no one has a better penchant for gossip than them. It’s why you’ve learned some of your most valuable secrets from Riki. It’s amazing what people will divulge in the presence of someone they deem lesser than themselves. 

“Nothing much.” He shakes his head. “More of the same, mostly. Complaints about not being able to purchase their favorite tea leaves or jewelry or rouge anymore. A lord’s daughter did request a pair of leather shoes that we had to deny. Our stock has been low for months. Reserved for the royal family only.”

“Low leather supply?” you echo. 

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still rifling through drawers. “It’s unusual, but not uncommon. Supplies ebb and flow. Some things are hard to come by for a while and then suddenly, they’re available in abundance again. I’m not sure if it’s anything worth noting.”

“Right,” you nod, but you tuck away the information regardless. 

After another moment of searching, Riki stands back up to full height. Turning to face you, he asks, “What about this?”

Your lips press together. “Gold?” you inquire flatly.

“Something shiny for the vision of radiance herself.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “I really think this would suit you.” Stepping back to your side, he holds the shimmering fabric against your reflection in the mirror. 

You hate to admit it, but he might be right. Immediately, your features look softer. Something about the shimmer brings out your eyes, makes the curve of your lips appear almost more feminine. 

“See,” he urges. “It looks nice.”

“Isn’t gold a bit much for a wedding guest?”

“You’re more than a guest. You may not be queen, but this wedding will make you royal, too, you know. Even if it’s by relation. Eyes are going to be on you. You may as well look the part.”

A moment passes. Another. 

And then, you nod, almost imperceptible. You watch in the mirror as your chin moves. Quietly, you acquiesce, “Okay.”

“Good, then,” he nods. “It’s decided. Now, for silhouette—”

“I’ll leave that to you,” you interrupt. “Really, Riki,” you add when he gives you a look, “I’m sure you know much more about silhouette than I do. Besides, I trust you.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll send you a summons when it’s time for fitting.” 

“I’ll await it eagerly,” you tell him, trying not to let yourself sound too sarcastic. Glancing again towards the door, you ask, “Do you think I can sneak out before Mina starts her coronation gown fitting?”

Riki smiles, but shakes his head slightly. “Probably not. She values your opinion, you know. Besides, you’re not the only one who will be giving input.”

“What?” you ask. “Who else—?”

A knock sounds sharply against the main door, interrupting your question. 

With an exaggerated sense of urgency, the adjoining room opens, the tailor practically running to the source of the knock. In his wake, your sister trails. This time, the gown she wears is far less ornate. 

It’s a beautiful shade of violet, not dissimilar from the first fabric sample Riki showed you earlier. Fit for royalty. Perfect for a new bride to celebrate the ascension of her husband to the throne. 

To your left, the tailor falls into a deep bow as Riki slowly pulls the door open. 

And in walks the crown prince of the kingdom. 

It’s hardly been a day since you saw him, but still, the sight makes you draw in a sharp breath. 

It feels different. He feels more real, more solid somehow here, above the ground than he did in the chamber in the underbelly of the castle. 

At your side, your sister drops into a curtsey. 

Across the room, the prince’s eyes land on you. He holds eye contact, and you forget yourself for a moment longer. 

The sound of rustling fabric breaks your trance. Remembering yourself, you fall into a curtsey identical to Mina’s. 

“Your Highness,” you whisper beneath your breath, too low for him to possibly hear. 

“Please,” he addresses the room. “Stand.”

“Thank you,” your sister says, voice breathier than you’ve ever heard it, “for joining us, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” he responds. The edge from his voice, the tremor of desperation, is nowhere to be found. He’s every bit the measured prince when he adds, “It is tradition for an incumbent king to approve the coronation gown of his bride.”

Your eyes are still trained on the floor. You can feel his flickering over your features. 

“This is what we’ve decided on, my prince.” Your sister speaks with an even tone. “A violet color to represent the transition to the highest form of royalty. With flowers, lillies, embroidered into the sleeves to represent luck and prosperity for our kingdom.”

“It suits the occasion,” he nods. “Perhaps I too could have lilies embroidered on my sleeve.”

Orchids, you think, still not daring to look up fully. Your sister is a well-trained royal, but you were always a bit better at your studies. Particularly with details requiring memorization. 

Botany was a favorite subject of yours, reinforced by the time you still spend in the gardens. Even now, you remember the text as if it were laid in front of you. 

Lilies for harmony and fortune, peonies for wealth and honor, lotus for inner peace and spiritual growth. 

And orchids. For luck and prosperity. 

You dare not speak to correct her. It is hardly your place. And, you suppose, in the end, it will make little difference. Harmony and fortune are fitting wishes for his reign as well. 

“Of course,” the tailor agrees. “It would be an honor to add a lovely lily motif to your sl—”

“Or perhaps,” The prince interrupts. “We could change the flowers to orchids.”

At that, your gaze does snap up. And it locks right onto his. 

“Forgive me,” the prince continues. “Botany was never my strongest subject, but I believe it’s orchids, not lilies that have historically symbolized luck and prosperity.” 

It’s a terrible offence of propriety, the way you stare at the crown prince as if he’s grown a second head. 

But to hell with propriety. If you didn’t know better, you would think that the prince just read your mind. 

“I apologize,” he says. “I know you must have already dedicated much time and effort to embroidering such lovely lilies, but orchids were practically shouting at me.”

“Please!” the tailor practically exclaims. “It would be an honor to do the embroidery a thousand times over if Your Highness so wished it. And what a great mind you have. I should be embarrassed to have made such an egregious error, but I am rather so very impressed with your knowledge of flowers.”

“Thank you,” he inclines his head. “For your gracious understanding. With the changes, I approve this coronation gown.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence. The prince's mouth closes. Opens again.  

Your head is still spinning, racing a million miles a minute. It could just be a coincidence, but you have that feeling again. Deep in your gut. Something that burns like nausea but begs you to lean in. To embrace the discomfort and discover what lies beneath. 

Then the prince looks at you and asks, “What will you be wearing?”

You must have misheard him. He must be addressing someone else. He must.

“Me, Your Highness?”

But the prince only nods. 

“I…” You trail off, lost for words. “I don’t know. It hasn’t been discussed yet. I—”

“Something light, I think,” he interrupts. Looking directly at you, he tilts his head to the side, considering. “A pale blue, perhaps. Or maybe gold. With orchids too, of course. I’d like to be consulted before you make a final decision.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, your skin flaming as he assesses you. 

The tailor coughs. “Oh, I… of course, Your Highness. You shall be the first to know when we’ve decided on a color for your bride’s sister’s gown.”

“Very well,” he nods. “I’ll take my leave, then. Thank you for your time” Glancing around the room, his eyes land on you once again. Linger for a moment too long before he breaks contact. First, he addresses your sister. “Until next time, my lady.” And then he says to you, “Goodbye, Miss ___.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he’s gone once again.

A rather uncomfortable silence settles around you as the room reels in his absence. The tailor is the one to break it. 

After another forced cough, he says, “Well, I think we have our work cut out for us, Riki.”

Riki, doesn’t even spare the man a glance. Instead, he looks at you, gaze sharp and all too knowing. “Indeed we do.”

…..

The eastern stables are quiet tonight. Just as they always are. 

No matter how many alarming pieces of information you pick up around the castle and how many ways the prince manages to catch you off guard, at least this is always the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to speak to Sunghoon yet, so you’re praying that Blossom has made a full recovery and will be waiting for you behind the stable doors. If she’s not, you don’t know what you’ll do. Jaeyun’s expecting you tonight. 

But if Blossom is out of commission, you can hardly ride Maeum again. Not after what happened with the prince.

Pushing open the door at the far edge, you avoid the pressure points that make the hinges whine. The last thing you need is a startled horse. Especially one that whinnies. 

Pulling the door closed behind you, the light is too dim to make out much of anything. Counting down to Blossom’s usual stall, you nearly give a shout of joy when you find it occupied. 

“Good girl,” you whisper, pulling a carrot from your bag. “Good job, Blossom. You made a full recovery, didn’t you.” 

But as you reach up to stroke her mane, you realize that something is amiss. You’re at Blossom’s stall, yes, but the horse in front of you is not Blossom. The light is too dim to make out much of anything, but you can tell through touch alone that this horse is taller. By at least several inches. 

Squinting, you try to make out any details. You can tell that the horse’s coat is dark, but that’s about it. Reaching into your bag, you pull out your lantern. Striking a flint, you’re careful to avoid any wood and hay as you light the candle inside. 

Holding it up, you assess the horse in front of you. 

Lips pulling downward, you frown. “You’re not Blossom.”

“No, but she might suit you even better.”

In your surprise, you nearly drop your lantern. A certain disaster in a stable full of hay.

Spinning on your heel, heart hammering against your ribcage, you whip your head around to find none other than the prince of the kingdom. Leaned against the wall of the stable like it was made to do so. Like there’s nothing strange about him being here well past midnight. 

“What,” you hiss, still finding yourself short of breath after the fright he gave you, “are you doing?”

It’s no way to address a prince, but in the cover of midnight, he hardly looks the part. Wearing black head to toe, gone is the regalia, the finery that marks his position. 

His head is bare. Empty of the crown you’ve come to associate so closely with him. It makes him look strange. Younger, maybe. 

And you never realized just how long his hair was. 

In the glow of lanternlight, he doesn’t look like a prince. Just a boy. A young man. One you can’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

“I could ask you the same,” he counters. 

“I…” you trail off, remembering yourself. Your status. Dropping into a curtsey, you say, “Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not realize it was you. You startled me.”

“Please, ___.” Your name sounds strange in his mouth, without the ‘Miss.’ More intimate somehow. “Stand up. You can forget your propriety now. Just Jungwon will suffice.”

Jungwon. Jungwon. 

Distantly, you’re aware that it’s his name. But it’s not as if you’ve ever used it before. Even in your mind, the most private of your thoughts, he’s always been the prince or Your Highness. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Is it really so strange?” he asks. “To call me by my name?”

Your eyes fly to his. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Speak to me as if you can hear what’s in my head.”

For a moment, he does nothing more than look at you. His expression betrays nothing. 

After another beat of silence, he finally says, “Close your eyes.”

“What?” you balk.

“Please,” he says. “If I need to command it, I will. But I’d rather you just trust me.” His eyes are imploring, begging for a bit of faith. Again, he asks, “Close your eyes, ____. Please.”

You stare at him a moment longer. What you’re searching for, you aren’t entirely sure. And then, despite your better judgement begging you not to, you draw your eyelids closed. 

Losing what little light your lantern provides, the world around you goes dark. Hands clenched into fists, you can only hope your small shreds of trust haven’t been misplaced. 

A beat passes. Another. Nothing happens. The night stands still. 

And then, as if whispered against the shell of your ear, you hear it. Clear as day. 

Hello.

It’s his voice. You're sure of it. Eyes flying open, you expect to find him standing so close you could touch him. But the prince is still motionless, still leaning against the wall of the stable. A good four paces from you. 

“You heard it,” he asks, lips drawing thin as if he’s just confirmed a hypothesis. “Didn’t you?”

“I… I heard you, but it wasn’t real. It was like—”

“Like it was coming from inside your own mind,” he finishes. 

You stare at him, lips parted. 

He laughs humorlessly. “Yeah. For months, I’ve been hearing this… this voice in my mind. It wasn’t mine, but sometimes it felt like it was. It was impossible to tell where my thoughts ended and this voice began. I thought I was losing my sanity. The stress of the upcoming coronation was making me insane.”

He looks up at you, eyes assessing. “But then, that day in my chamber beneath the castle. You spoke to me, and it was familiar. Too familiar. And yesterday. In the tailor’s room. It was you, was it not? With the orchids.”

You nearly gasp. You hadn’t been imagining things. He had read your mind. “I thought of them, yes, but I certainly did not intend to… speak to you.”

“I didn’t either.” He shakes his head. “Just now was the first time I attempted to send my voice to you. But it wasn’t the first time you heard it, was it?”

“I cannot be sure—”

He won’t let up so easily. “If you had to guess, then.”

You’re quiet for a moment, weighing your answer. And then you tell him truthfully, “No. No, I suppose it was not.”

The prince looks at you, considering. “There’s something strange between us. A connection.”

With the way your cheeks flame, you're suddenly grateful for the cover of darkness. 

“I cannot pretend to understand it, Your Highness, but—”

“For heaven’s sake,” he exasperates, pushing himself off the stable wall, “we hear one another in our heads. Please, call me Jungwon.”

“I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“Fine,” he says. “Don’t say it then. At least not out loud. Speak it to me. In my mind.”

“I don’t know how,” you protest. 

“Try.”

You stare at him.

The prince doesn’t give in. Instead, he suggests, “It may help to close your eyes.”

For a moment, you just look at him, everything in you screaming in protest. Then, on a long exhale, you close your eyes. 

First, you let the thought pass through your mind. 

Jungwon. 

Even in the sanctity of your mind, it sounds like treason.

Next, you try again. This time, you imagine shouting it across an open field, sending it as far as the wind will carry it.

Jungwon. 

It’s to no avail. You open your eyes. Across from you, the prince just shakes his head. 

It’s not about volume, then. 

This time, you close your eyes, let your eyelids relax as if you were sleeping. You don’t shout. You don’t whisper. Instead, you search. 

For something, anything that might lead you to him. 

The inside of your mind feels like a chamber. Vast, expansive, but entirely self-contained. 

You think about what it sounds like, what it feels like, when he speaks in your mind. The way it always seems as if he’s whispering against your left ear. 

Opening your eyes slowly, you ask aloud, “When you hear my voice, where does it come from?”

He doesn’t need to ask for clarification. The prince knows what you mean. 

Wordlessly, he draws his hand upward, taps the space just beside his right temple, next to his eyebrow. “Here.”

Nodding, you close your eyes again. This time, you imagine closing the space between you. Your hands tremble, heart racing as you picture this phantom of yourself leaning in, far closer to the prince than you could ever dream of being. 

You imagine leaning forward, lips tracing that spot against his temple, feeling a stray strand of hair rustle beneath your lips. 

It’s like using an untrained muscle, stretching a long forgotten ligament. It strains a little. Burns with effort. But it’s there, and it’s real. At least in the expanse of your mind. 

Jungwon, you whisper. But your lips never move. 

You don’t even need to open your eyes. You know he heard it. 

When you do finally look at him again, he’s already staring at you, lips parted. And those eyes. Those damn unnerving eyes that seem to see right through you. 

Now, he’s looking at you in awe. As if you’ve just performed a miracle for him. 

“Do it again,” he whispers.

“Jungwon…”

“My name,” he nods. “Good. Was that so difficult?”

The look you send him is withering. “I hate to part ways early, but I do have a rather important errand to run.”

“More important than the duty you discussed with me?” He arches an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to report yet?”

You shake your head, trying to be firm while remaining subordinate. “I’d be happy to have this discussion at a later time, but I’m afraid I’m occupied at the moment.”

He won’t let you go so easily. “With what? Where exactly do you sneak off to in the night? And don’t tell me it’s for fresh air.”

“No,” you pause for a moment, deciding how much of the truth you should give him. “I have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” He echoes.

“Yes.” You nod. “A rather important one. Hopefully, I’ll have more information to share with you when I return, so if you’ll excuse me—”

His gaze never strays from your face. “Who are you meeting?”

You frown, suddenly defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your concern.”

The prince disagrees. “It’s entirely my concern. You're an informant for me now. Highly valuable. If anything were to happen to you, I could lose a very important source of information.”

“I haven’t even told you anything,” you protest. 

“So you understand my problem.”

It takes a great deal of effort not to roll your eyes. “I’m meeting a friend.”

He’s unrelenting. “Who?”

“I hardly see how that information is relevant to you.”

“I should like to know where to look, who to question, if anything were to happen to you. After all, you are planning to leave the safety of the castle.”

It’s infuriating, the way he has an excuse prepared for every rebuttal you make. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. This is a routine meeting. One that I am now going to be late for.”

“Still, I insist.” An edge of command, of order slips into his tone. One you’d have to be a fool to miss. 

The information you’ve divulged thus far already feels like too much. You’re not sure how much more you can bear to give. “He’s part of the resistance,” you sigh. “He’s like me. Someone who talks to people and monitors tensions and skirmishes and other strange patterns.”

“He?” If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was an echo in the stable.

“Yes, he.”

“What’s his name?”

Jungwon’s been begging for your trust, but this is pushing too far. Jaeyun is one of the only people in the world you consider a true friend. Someone you’d protect with your life. It doesn’t matter if Jungwon’s intentions are entirely aligned with your own. You’re not giving up his name. 

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Very well,” he agrees easily. Too easily. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Your lips draw into a thin line. “You most certainly are not.”

For a moment, Jungwon just looks at you. 

“Fine,” you throw your hands in exasperation, still mindful of the lantern in your grasp. “Fine. His name is Sunghoon. Will that information suffice?’

His voice is low now, dangerous. “How lowly you must think of me, to assume that I don’t even know the name of the castle’s own stable hand.”

A burst of surprise flickers through you. In all honesty, you didn’t think he would know Sunghoon’s name. 

Then, the prince gives you an ultimatum. “Either I come with you, or neither of us goes. And I believe you did say something about already being late.”

You sigh. There is no way you can bring the kingdom’s prince to an illicit, treasonous meeting. Jaeyun will just have to forgive you the next time you manage to sneak out. 

“Fine then,” you drop your shoulders. “We’ll stay. The horse I usually ride seems to be missing, anyway.”

“You didn’t hear me earlier?” Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “Her name is Nabi. She’s new to the castle. A young mare with a sweet temperament. She rarely whinnies even when startled. And she’s quite tall. Long legs. She has one of the fastest gallops I’ve ever seen.”

“A horse that impressive is surely valuable.” You shake your head. “People will notice if she’s ever missing. More tired than she should be.”

Jungwon just looks at you for a moment, and you feel you’ve missed something entirely. 

“She’s yours, ___, if you’ll have her. I know Blossom’s a good mare, but her hoof is taking longer to heal than the veterinarian thought. You won’t be able to ride her for a while. Plus, I happen to know her owner.” Jungwon winces. “Not a very pleasant man, despite his excellent taste in horses. Not someone you wouldn’t want to cross.”

But you’re still stuck on his earlier words. “What do you mean, she’s mine?”

“I mean just that. She won’t be ridden by anyone else here. Sunghoon will take her out for general exercise and care, but she’ll be able to rest during the day when she needs. You won’t need to worry about overworking her at night.”

“I…” you trail off, lost for words. “You did this?”

Jungwon’s expression betrays nothing. “An informant needs to be quick, do they not?”

Turning your back to him, you approach the horse, your horse again. 

“What did you say her name was?”

“Nabi,” Jungwon repeats. “It means—”

“Butterfly,” you finish for him. “Yes, I know.” Taking a deep breath, you turn back to face him, “Listen, Jungwon.” His name still feels strange against your tongue, but that sensation of wrongness is fading quickly. “I understand that you want to rule differently than your father.” You’re not sure when you lost your inhibitions, but something about the low light of the stable is making you feel bold. “I admire it, actually. But my friend, this network of resistance, they’re important to me. I know that you’re used to giving orders, but please just… please listen to me while we’re out there. I don’t think anything out of the ordinary will happen, but if it does, I need to know that I can trust you.”

For a moment, Jungwon says nothing. And then you hear it, quiet and familiar as a lover’s caress in your ear. 

I promise. 

The shudder that runs the length of your spine has nothing to do with the nighttime chill. 

And then, a handful of minutes later, dressed in black and trading in secrets like a pair of bandits, the two of you set out from the stables into the inky darkness of the night.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

[elikajinnie]

P: Camp Counselor!Jake X Camp Counselor!Reader (MDNI 18+)

Warnings: Prolonged Pining, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Teasing, Mutual Attraction, Oral Fixation, Begging, Big Dick!Jake, Praise Kink, Pussy Drunk!Jake, Attempted Humor, Needy!Jake, Body Worship, Tit Play, MESSY AND SLOPPY, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Dry Humping, Masturbation, Light Humiliation, Belly Bulge, Creampies, Marking, Heeseung being a W wingman.

Wordcount: 22,9k

Synopsis: Jake was the camp’s golden boy, everybody loved his sunshine energy. But around you? He was wrecked. Hopelessly, stupidly whipped. Always hovering, stealing hungry little glances. He wanted to tell you— “I’m in love with you. I want you so badly it hurts.” —but the second you brushed against him or laughed at something he said, his brain shorted out. One touch and he was done for, stuck wondering how much longer he could keep his feelings—and his desire—from exploding.

a/n: Hey! for once its not a dark fic :D but pure filth! so buckle up.. we all remember what that woman said about Jake. REBLOGS AND COMMENTARY IS APPRECIATED!

Jake Sim had never been lucky in love. Not once. Not even by accident.

It was almost comedic at this point: girls loved him at first—sweet, polite, helpful Jake—but by month two they would look him straight in the eyes and say something gentle and devastating like:

“You’re perfect… just not for me.” or “I think I need someone more exciting.” or, the personal favorite: “You’re too nice. It’s boring.”

Then they’d leave him with a broken heart and a playlist full of songs he couldn’t listen to anymore without wincing. After the last breakup—four months ago, six dates in, she’d left him “for someone with more edge”—Jake had sworn off relationships entirely

Jake felt something. Mainly humiliation.

So now he sat on Heeseung’s floor, sprawled on an unrolled sleeping bag even though there was a perfectly fine couch available, groaning loudly into a throw pillow that smelled faintly like beer and laundry detergent.

“I swear, man,” Jake mumbled into the cushion, “I must be cursed. Like—I don’t know—romantically hexed or something.”

Heeseung, who wasn’t listening in the slightest, hummed a vague, noncommittal sound. He was too busy packing: rolling shirts, stuffing toiletries into a bag, misplacing his water bottle six times in three minutes.

Jake didn’t see the suitcase at first.

He didn’t see anything. 

He was too busy wallowing.

“I treat them well, right? I’m nice. I try. I’m not a jerk. I’m respectful. And somehow, they still leave. Every. Single. Time. So clearly the common denominator is me—”

“Mhm.”

“So maybe relationships just aren’t in the cards for me. Maybe I should take a break. A long break. Like a… celibate monk arc or something.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

Jake lifted his head. “I’m dramatic! I’m heartbroken!”

Heeseung zipped up his duffel bag with one hand and tossed a pair of sunglasses in after it. “Then come be a camp counselor with me this summer.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Heeseung shrugged. “Fresh air. No dating apps. No situationships. No exes. Just kids, nature, and free meals. Might fix your brain.”

Jake stared.

Heeseung continued stuffing socks into corners of the bag.

Jake stared harder.

Heeseung wasn’t kidding, was he?

Jake sat up straighter. A distraction. A purpose. Something new. Something healthy. A break from the heartbreak factory his dating life had become.

He latched onto the idea like a lifeline.

“You know what? You’re right.” Jake sprang to his feet with renewed determination. “I’ll do it.”

Heeseung snorted. “Bro, I was just—”

Too late.

Jake was already gone.

The next morning Heeseung opened his door—and froze.

Because on his porch stood Jake Sim:

Two duffel bags slung over his shoulders.

A bright orange life vest buckled proudly over his shirt.

Sunscreen unevenly smeared in streaks across his face.

A crooked baseball cap.

Sunglasses too big for his head.

A whistle hanging around his neck.

Hiking boots untied.

And the most earnest, determined expression imaginable 

“Morning!” Jake chirped breathlessly. “I’m ready.”

Heeseung blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“…You’re joking.”

“Nope!” Jake stepped forward cheerily, boots thudding on the wooden porch. “Signed up, got accepted, printed the forms, even watched a knot-tying tutorial.”

“But—but I wasn’t serious—”

“Too late! I’m already mentally in nature mode.”

Heeseung ran a hand down his face. “Jaeyun, you look—ridiculous.”

“Prepared,” Jake corrected, beaming.

And prepared he was—prepared enough that when they arrived, he accidentally impressed the camp director by already knowing the emergency protocols, showing his whistle-usage demonstration unprompted, identifying poison ivy correctly and shaking everyone’s hand like he was running for office.

Within an hour, he was given a standard camp uniform, a set of keys, and a shared hut assignment with Heeseung.

Heeseung had mourned.

“Great,” He sighed dramatically, tossing a string of condoms into his drawer. “There goes my bachelor hut. No more bringing hot counselors back here.”

Jake blinked. “…Hot counselors?”

He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about women at all, actually.

The whole point was to get away from them. Reset. Recalibrate. Heal.

But then—

Then he walked into the staff orientation meeting.

And he saw them.

Women his age. Attractive women. Very attractive women.

Sun-kissed skin. Short shorts. Uniform shirts tied at the waist or stretched across curves. Laughs that carried across the field. Smiles bright as the July sun.

Jake’s brain short-circuited.

Heeseung slapped his back. “Forgot to mention that part. Oops.”

Jake choked. “You—you brought me to temptation island?!”

“It’s literally just a summer camp, bro.”

There was nothing “just” about it for Jake.

He tried his best—really tried—to stay focused. To be professional. To avoid unnecessary touching or staring. To keep his voice steady when talking to female counselors.

He failed often.

But all those attempts shattered the moment you walked in.

You had years of experience written in confident steps. A clipboard under your arm. Hair pulled back loosely, with strands falling in the sun. Two top buttons of your uniform undone,  enough to make Jake swallow hard. A glint of a lacy bra edge that seared itself into his retinas and soul. Little pins decorating your shirt pocket. Bandages sticking out of one cargo pocket. A smile that made the kids run to you like you were the sun itself.

You kneeling to tie a child’s shoelaces? Lethal. You laughing when a little boy told you you were “the prettiest lady ever”? Fatal. You twirling a strand of hair while listening to another counselor? Catastrophic.

Jake had been doomed before you even looked at him. 

And when you did look at him—eyes bright, lips curved in a friendly hello—Jake felt his knees weaken so dramatically he nearly collapsed into the nearest picnic table.

Heeseung, of course, noticed.

“Ah,” he said smugly. “Found your distraction.”

Jake didn’t answer, because for the first time in a long, miserable stretch of heartbreak…

He felt something spark. Something warm. Something like desire. Something like falling.

And unfortunately for him—

It was happening fast.

It was happening hard.

And it was happening with you.

Jake Sim had survived three breakups, one allergic reaction to a cat he tried to impress a girl with, and a disastrous blind date where the woman only talked about her ex’s crypto investments.

But you?

You were the first thing to genuinely terrify him. 

Which is exactly why he spent the next few days avoiding you like you were trained specifically to hunt down boys with fragile hearts. And luckily—miraculously—the kids kept him occupied enough to make avoidance a legitimate battle plan.

Jake made sure his entire schedule left no space for accidentally brushing shoulders with you.

Archery practice? He volunteered. Canoe supervision? Signed up. Arts and crafts? Already promised the kids he’d make them braided bracelets. Bug safety presentation? He memorized the handout and delivered it with genuine enthusiasm.

It helped that thirty-six children seemed determined to orbit him like satellites.

“Jake hyung! Jake hyung! Can you help me find my water bottle?”

“Jake! Tie my shoe!”

“Jake, can you do the whistle thing again?”

Heeseung, watching from across the field, looked like a man witnessing a strange phenomenon.

“Dude,” he said, leaning beside him, “you’re like… dad-coded.”

Jake wiped sweat from his forehead. “Perfect. The more dad-coded I am, the less chance I have of embarrassing myself in front of—” He abruptly clamped his mouth shut.

Heeseung smirked. “Ah. Avoiding that counselor, are we?”

Jake reddened. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m being productive.”

Heeseung pointed across the field.

You were kneeling beside a little girl helping her braid wildflowers into a crown, hair glimmering in the sun, shirt loose enough that the breeze caught it.

Jake immediately turned around and pretended to fix a crooked signpost.

Heeseung laughed for a full thirty seconds.

Jake perfected the art of being physically present but socially absent.

When you entered the dining hall? Jake exited stage left, carrying a stack of napkins he didn’t technically need.

When you walked toward the docks? Jake suddenly remembered he left sunscreen in his cabin and sprinted away.

When you greeted him with a warm, friendly “Good morning, Jake!” He panicked, waved too fast, nearly dropped his tray, then escaped into a group of eight-year-olds debating whether frogs could fall in love.

Jake’s system of avoidance worked flawlessly—until nature decided to betray him.

It happened during a swimming rotation.

Jake was teaching a small group how to float on their backs, explaining the basics with gentle encouragement. The sun was warm, the water cool, the kids giggling.

He was happy. Stable.

And then he heard your voice behind him.

“Jake! Can you help me with something?”

Every muscle in his body tensed.

Slowly—agonizingly—he turned.

You were standing at the edge of the dock, clipboard against your chest, sunglasses perched on your head, uniform shirt half-unbuttoned because of the heat.

Jake forgot what language he was speaking for a moment.

“What—uh—help you? Help. Yes. I—yeah. Some… thing. Help.”

You smiled, oblivious to his internal meltdown.

“One of my campers is scared of getting in. You’re great with the nervous ones. Mind giving her a demonstration?”

“Sure,” he croaked. “Happy to help.”

You guided the shy camper forward and knelt beside her, encouraging her gently.

Jake’s heart clenched.

God, you were sweet. Sweet in a way that made him ache. Sweet in a way that made him terrified of falling again.

He moved into the shallow water, demonstrating calmly, voice soft, arms open.

And it worked.

The little girl eventually stepped into the lake, holding onto Jake’s hands, trusting him completely.

You glanced at him, smiling warmly.

Jake forgot to breathe.

As you praised the camper who had conquered her fear, Jake found himself staring.

Not in a “wow, she’s nice” way. But in a “I am absolutely, undeniably screwed” way.

The sun hit your damp shirt in a way that made it cling, outlining the curve of your waist. Your hair was messy from the lake breeze, strands stuck to your cheek. You brushed them back casually and—

Jake swallowed.

He turned back to the kids, voice several octaves too high.

“GREAT JOB EVERYONE, LET’S—uh—float!”

It had started small. Then it got worse.

You had a habit of scribbling notes on your palm when you lost your pen. Jake noticed the ink smudge once and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what you had written. What you were thinking. What you cared about.

Every day, it felt like you were leaving breadcrumbs without even knowing it.

Breadcrumbs Jake kept picking up like an idiot. He often found himself watching you from across the field—telling himself it wasn’t weird, he was just… aware. Vigilant. Noticing. Except it was weird, because he wasn’t noticing anyone else. Only you.

The way you pushed your hair out of your face when the wind blew. The way your shirt rode up when you bent over to pick up stray sports equipment. The way your hands moved when you talked—soft but animated. The way your laughter rolled across the lawn, making the younger kids giggle just because you did.

He tried to stop.

He really did.

But every time you smiled at someone—even a kid—Jake felt that awful, sinking heat curl in his stomach.

At night in the hut, Jake lay on his back, staring at the wooden ceiling while the darkness pressed in around him. 

He remembered the way your shirt clung to your back when you came in from the heat, the thin fabric damp and outlining things he had absolutely no business noticing. He could still see it when he closed his eyes. He remembered the moment you stretched to hang a sign above the craft table, your uniform lifting just enough to reveal the soft line of your waist. He’d looked away immediately—too fast, too guilty—yet the image stuck to the inside of his skull like honey.

He remembered your voice going low and warm when you comforted a kid who scraped their knee.  It wasn’t meant for him, not even close, but it still sank under his skin, unraveling him from the inside out. He remembered walking behind you on the trail, watching how the breeze tugged at the hem of your shorts—how he’d forced himself to stare at the trees instead, counting them like that would save him.

Each memory hit him with the force of something he wasn’t prepared for, something he couldn’t guard against no matter how hard he tried.

And he hated—truly hated—how quickly his thoughts slipped into places they shouldn’t go. Places that made his breath hitch and heat rise under his skin. 

This summer was supposed to save him. Give him distance. Help him reset.

A clean slate. A distraction. A break from feeling too much.

But all it took was you—just you—and Jake was already spiraling. Falling again, harder than ever. 

Jake groaned low in his throat, the sound muffled against the crook of his elbow as he rolled onto his stomach. The thin camp mattress creaked under him like it was judging every pathetic shift of his hips.

The fan whirred uselessly on the nightstand, pushing lukewarm air across his bare back. It did nothing for the heat crawling under his skin—nothing for the way his pulse had taken up permanent residence between his legs.

He pressed his forehead harder into the pillow, trying to smother the images that kept flashing behind his eyelids.

You, laughing after that cannonball contest with the older kids. You, bending to tie a little girl’s shoelace, the curve of your ass filling out those damn camp shorts like they were custom-made to torture him. 

He imagined what it would feel like to slide his palms up under that damp shirt, fingers splaying wide over your ribs, until you arched into him.

Imagined pinning you against the boathouse wall after lights-out, your legs hooked around his waist, while he ground against you—slow at first, then desperate, fabric dragging over his leaking cock until you were both shaking.

His hips rocked once, involuntary, into the mattress. The friction sent a sharp jolt straight up his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

But his hand was already moving—sliding down his stomach, past the elastic of his boxers, wrapping around the thick, aching length of himself. He was so hard it hurt; the head flushed dark and slick, smearing precome across his palm the second he touched it.

One slow stroke and his breath punched out of him.

He pictured your mouth instead—soft, parted, tongue flicking out to taste him. Pictured the way your eyes would widen when you realized just how big he was, how you’d have to stretch your lips around the head, cheeks hollowing while you tried to take more. Pictured the little whimper you’d make when he hit the back of your throat, the way your thighs would press together like you were already soaked just from having him in your mouth.

Another stroke—tighter this time, twisting at the crown—and his hips jerked up off the bed.

He imagined flipping you onto your stomach on this very mattress, yanking your shorts down just enough, spreading you open with his thumbs. Imagined the way you’d gasp when he nudged the fat head against your entrance—teasing, barely dipping in—before sinking in until your back bowed and you sobbed his name into the pillow.

“Jake—”

He choked on a whine at the fantasy of you saying it like that—breathless, wrecked, needy.

His fist sped up. The wet, filthy sound of skin on skin filled the tiny cabin, louder than the fan, louder than his breathing. He didn’t care anymore if Heeseung woke up in the next bunk. Didn’t care about anything except chasing the image of you clenching around him, milking him, begging him to come inside, to fill you up.

Heat coiled low and vicious in his gut.

He turned his face into the pillow, muffling the broken moan that tore out of him as he came—hot, messy pulses spilling over his knuckles, soaking into the sheets. His hips bucked through it, chasing every last aftershock, thighs trembling.

Jake lay there for a long minute after, chest heaving, sticky hand still curled loosely around his softening cock. The fan kept droning like nothing had happened. The cabin smelled faintly of pine, sweat, and sex.

He dragged himself up on shaky legs, boxers half-down his thighs, come already cooling on his fingers and streaking the inside of his shorts. He hissed at the mess, at himself, at how pathetic this had become.

The bathroom was just a small stall tacked onto the side of the counselors’ hut— row of sink, flickering bulb, mirror that made everyone look like a zombie at 2 a.m. Jake flicked the light on and winced at his own reflection: flushed cheeks, wild hair, pupils blown wide like he’d been drugged. He looked wrecked. He felt worse.

He turned the faucet to cold and shoved his hand under the stream, scrubbing at the tacky evidence with furious little jerks. Soap foamed pinkish-white down the drain. He kept scrubbing long after it was gone, like he could wash the thoughts out too.

But they came back anyway. Uninvited. Relentless.

His cock twitched against his thigh—already half-interested again, traitor that it was.

“Stop,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink edge so hard his knuckles bleached. “Just—fucking stop.” He splashed cold water on his face. It dripped down his neck, soaked the collar of his tank top. Didn’t help. The images kept looping: your thighs parting for him, your fingers in his hair pulling him closer, your voice cracking on his name while he licked into you until you were shaking.

He groaned, low and defeated, forehead thunking against the cool mirror.

He was hard again. Not fully—yet—but enough that the waistband of his boxers tugged uncomfortably. Enough that he could feel the slow, heavy throb returning, insistent, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be over.

“You’re disgusting,” he whispered to himself.

The door creaked open behind him.

Jake’s eyes snapped to the mirror.

You.

Standing there in the doorway like a fever dream he hadn’t earned the right to have.

Tiny sleep shorts—barely more than cotton underwear with legs—riding high on your thighs, the hem frayed from too many washes. A thin, worn tank top clinging to you from the humid night air, straps slipping off one shoulder, the fabric so soft and faded it was practically see-through under the shitty bathroom bulb. Your hair was a wild, sleep-tousled mess, strands sticking to your neck from the heat. Flip-flops slapped softly against the tile as you took one hesitant step inside.

You froze when you saw him.

“Jake?” Your voice was sleepy, soft, and surprised. “I—I thought everyone was asleep. I just needed to… brush my teeth or something. Sorry, I didn’t—”

You stopped talking.

Because you’d noticed.

The way he was braced over the sink, shoulders rigid, tank top rucked up from where he’d been gripping the counter. The flush that hadn’t left his cheeks. The obvious, obscene tent in his boxers—thick outline straining against the thin cotton. 

Your eyes widened, pupils blowing out in the dim fluorescent light.

For a split second, the world narrowed to just the two of you: the hum of the fan outside, the drip of the faucet, and the way Jake’s cock twitched visibly under your stare, the fat head pushing insistently against the waistband like it had a mind of its own.

“Shit—fuck—wait—” Jake scrambled, voice cracking high and panicked. He spun half-away from you, one hand flying down to cup himself through the boxers while the other snatched the nearest thing—a thin, ratty hand towel hanging off the rack—and tried to hide it over his crotch like that would somehow erase the last thirty seconds.

The towel was too small. It barely covered anything.

“I—I wasn’t— I mean, this isn’t— fuck, I was just— washing my face! Yeah! Washing my face and— and thinking about— about tomorrow’s schedule! Canoe races! Kids! Lots of kids! Totally innocent!”

The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless rush. His face was scarlet, ears burning, eyes darting everywhere except your face. He kept shifting his weight, trying to angle his body away, but the mirror betrayed him—every desperate twitch of his hips reflected right back at both of you.

You just stood there, your gaze dropped again to where his hand was futilely trying to shield the bulge. You watched the way his fingers flexed, knuckles white, like he was fighting not to stroke himself right there in front of you.

Jake’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t— I’ll go. I’ll just— I’ll leave. Right now. You can— you can have the bathroom. I swear I won’t—”

Jake took a hesitant step forward, trying to sidestep you toward the door, but the bathroom was small and you were right there, blocking the narrow path like you’d grown roots into the tile.

He froze mid-motion, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides. Every inch of him screamed to bolt, but moving meant brushing past you—meant feeling the heat of your body, the soft brush of your bare arm against his, and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t trust himself not to shatter if he touched you right now.

So he stood there. Frozen. Breathing too fast. The air between you thick.

You still didn’t move.

“Uh—” His voice cracked. “Can you—please—just—” He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the door, then back to you.

You tilted your head, just a fraction. Still silent. Still watching.

The silence stretched until it hurt.

Finally, desperation won.

Jake reached out—gentle, careful, like you were made of glass—and placed one trembling hand on your upper arm. His fingers curled lightly around your bicep, warm skin under his palm, soft and fever-hot from the humid night.

The contact hit him like a live wire.

He pushed—just enough to ease you sideways, creating the barest sliver of space—and slipped past you in one frantic, clumsy movement. His shoulder grazed yours. Your arm slid against his chest for half a second. The scent of your skin—coconut, lake water—flooded his lungs.

The door banged shut behind him as he stumbled out into the cool night air. Flip-flops forgotten somewhere on the bathroom floor. Bare feet slapping against the wooden path as he half-ran, half-staggered back toward the hut.

He could still feel you.

The exact imprint of your arm under his palm—soft, yielding, alive. The ghost of your heat lingered on his skin like a brand. Every nerve ending in his hand tingled, replaying the texture, the warmth, the way your muscle flexed just slightly under his touch.

He burst into the hut, door slamming louder than he meant. Heeseung’s soft snores came from the other bunk—thank fuck he was still asleep.

Jake collapsed onto his mattress face-first, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

He pressed his hand—the same hand that had touched you—against his cheek, trying to cool the flush there.

It didn’t work.

Because now all he could think about was how close he’d been. How easy it would’ve been to pull you against him instead of pushing you away. How your skin had felt like silk under his fingers.

His cock throbbed painfully against the mattress, still hard, still leaking, still aching for the one thing he’d just run from.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice muffled and broken. He was never going to sleep tonight.

Not after… that.

So the next morning, Jake implemented Operation: Avoid you at all costs with military precision.

And he meant it.

He avoided you like you were a live wire and he was barefoot in the rain.

The first new rule: Never be alone with you.

He woke up early—before Heeseung, before the kids, before the mosquitoes even had the decency to start buzzing—just to leave the hut before you could walk by on your usual morning route.

At breakfast, he positioned himself strategically between two tablefuls of kids, knowing you’d never be able to squeeze into the chaos.

During activities, he always made sure another counselor was nearby—someone loud, someone distracting, someone who would prevent you from stepping within arm’s reach.

It worked.

For a few hours.

Then the universe remembered Jake was its favorite target.

And the main problem: You were everywhere.

You walked into the arts-and-crafts cabin to grab paint just as he was slipping out the door. Jake swerved so hard he crashed into a rack of hula hoops.

You laughed softly behind him and Jake nearly ascended into the stratosphere from shame.

Jake was supposed to be supervising the canoe station.

Supposed to be.

Instead, he stood rooted to the dock, gripping his paddle so tightly his knuckles whitened, because across the shoreline—just a few feet away—you were kneeling in the grass helping three little campers tie their life vests.

And the heat was brutal today.

Which meant the camp uniform—already a questionable sin—looked even worse on you. Your shirt clung to every curve. Your shorts were barely shorts at all. Your legs caught the sunlight like it had a personal vendetta against him.

Jake swallowed hard. No—he choked on air.

God, he was so screwed.

You leaned closer to one of the kids, brushing hair from their face. Your shirt dipped. Jake saw far more than he should’ve. His brain immediately short-circuited, crashing like a cheap computer overloaded with images he had no business imagining.

And then his body responded.

Fast. Painfully. Predictably.

Jake inhaled sharply and discreetly tugged his paddle lower, shielding the very visible problem forming in his shorts.

“Dude.”

Heeseung’s voice came from behind him like a death sentence.

Jake jumped. “Wh–what?”

Heeseung leaned his elbow on Jake’s shoulder, smirking like the menace he was.

“You’re staring so hard I’m shocked her clothes haven’t caught fire.”

“I—I wasn’t staring,” Jake stammered, sweating harder than the sun could account for.

“You’re literally drooling.”

“I’M NOT—”

Heeseung just laughed, clapping him on the back. “Bro, you’re gone. Like, beyond gone. NASA couldn’t retrieve your dignity at this point.”

Jake groaned into his hands. “Shut up.”

But it was too late. Heeseung had seen everything—Jake’s flushed face, blown pupils, and the way he kept subtly angling his paddle to hide the mess in his shorts.

Heeseung whistled low. “Wow. She bends over one time and you’re ready to propose marriage?”

“I’m NOT— it’s not— dude, stop talking.”

Heeseung leaned closer, voice dropping. “Then stop looking at her like you want to get on your knees in the middle of the camp.”

Jake choked on his own saliva.

“HEESEUNG!”

“What? I’m just narrating what I’m seeing.”

Jake was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with a life vest.

Jake, still recovering from the verbal assault that was Heeseung’s commentary, made the single worst mistake of his entire existence.

He looked back at you.

And you were already staring at him.

Not glancing politely. Not half-looking. Not scanning the field. You were focused. Eyes on him like he was something worth noticing—worth studying. Your brows lifted the barest amount, lips soft and parted, like you’d caught him mid-thought… mid-stare… mid-sin.

Jake’s brain detonated.

Full catastrophic system failure.

His throat tightened. His hands numbed. His pulse skyrocketed so violently he wasn’t sure if he was dying or being reborn in the worst possible way.

Because you weren’t just looking at him. You were looking into him.

He felt heat explode across his cheeks, racing down his neck, blooming under his shirt. His heartbeat slammed hard enough to rattle his ribs.

You saw him. You saw him staring. You saw the mess he was trying so desperately, pathetically, humiliatingly hard to hide.

Beside him, Heeseung made a choked noise of triumph—like a man who had just spotted Bigfoot and gotten it on video. 

“Oh my GOD,” he whispered, gleeful as sin. “She’s LOOKING at you—”

And that was it.

Jake panicked. He panicked like someone had just shouted “SHARK!” in knee-deep water.

His grip spasmed.

The paddle slid out of his hands.

“No no no no—” Jake lunged for it.

“DON’T—!” Heeseung snapped, reaching out.

But Jake was already in motion. Already doomed. His foot caught the edge of the dock. His balance tipped backward. His whistle swung up and smacked him in the chin. His sunglasses—how were they even still on—flew off into the air.

Jake grabbed wildly at nothing—truly nothing—because the paddle bounced away from him like it had been training for this moment its whole life. He went down hard, arms flailing, knees buckling, legs pinwheeling like a newborn deer.

And then—

SPLASH.

The sound burst across the entire lake like a small tidal wave. 

Kids shrieked. Counselors gasped. Birds took flight in a panicked cloud overhead. Even the lake seemed offended.

Heeseung made a sound like he was being physically strangled by laughter.

Jake sank beneath the surface with all the grace of a bowling ball. For one long second, he sat there at the bottom of the shallow lake, bubbles drifting up around him as he contemplated every decision that had led to this moment.

Then he kicked up, resurfacing in a violent gasp, sputtering, coughing, eyes wide, looking like a drowned cat that simultaneously regretted every life decision.

But it got worse. Much worse.

Balanced perfectly on top of his head— as if placed there by the comedic gods themselves— was a bright green lily pad.

A lily pad.

On his head.

And sitting comfortably on that lily pad, blinking slowly… was a frog.

A frog.

Jake Sim—camp golden boy, heartbreak survivor, current emotional disaster—was treading water with a literal frog crown.

Kids started laughing. One screamed, “JAKE IS KING OF THE FROGS!”

Heeseung folded onto the dock, wheezing, nearly crying from how hard he was laughing. “Oh—my—god,” he gasped between breaths. “This is the best day of my LIFE.”

Jake spit out lake water. “This isn’t—! I didn’t—! GET IT OFF ME!”

The frog did not get off. It simply adjusted itself, as if settling more comfortably into its throne.

Jake, sputtering and panicked, swiped his hand over his head in a frantic attempt to knock the frog off.

“GO—SHOO—LEAVE ME ALONE—!”

The frog blinked once, unimpressed. Then, with the dignity of a royal being dismissed by an incompetent servant, it hopped off the lily pad and launched itself into the lake beside Jake.

PLIP.

A small, perfectly aimed splash hit Jake right in the face.

Jake shut his eyes, jaw clenching.

Great. Perfect. Amazing.

There went any hope of impressing you. Straight to the bottom of the lake with the lily pad.

He groaned under his breath and swam—miserably—toward the metal ladder bolted to the dock. The water felt colder now, mocking him with each stroke. He grabbed the rungs, dragged himself up rung by rung, boots heavy, clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Dripping. Humiliated. Confidence somewhere downstream, probably floating next to the frog.

The moment he reached the top, two adult counselors rushed over, shoving towels at him.

“Oh my god, Jake, are you hurt?” “Are you okay?” “That was a fall, man.”

“I’m fine,” Jake muttered, rubbing water from his eyes. He was fine. 

Physically. 

Emotionally? He had the confidence level of a damp crouton.

A couple of the other male counselors snickered behind their hands, whispering to each other.  Jake didn’t have to hear the words to know exactly what they were saying. They weren’t exactly subtle. One mimed falling off a dock.  Another did a frog ribbit.

Jake’s jaw tightened. Great. Just great.

He was the newest counselor. The one who was already trying to prove he wasn’t a total walking disaster.

This definitely helped.

Not.

Of course.  He couldn’t even fall into a lake normally…

But none of that mattered.

Because suddenly—

You were there.

Right in front of him.

Where did you even come from? Had you teleported? Materialized from thin air just to make his pulse explode?

“Jake?” you asked softly, stepping closer. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jake forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to stand. He forgot everything.

Because you were looking at him with real concern—warm eyes scanning his face, brow furrowed just a little. Not laughing. Not mocking.

Worried.

About him.

Jake’s heart did a full somersault. And before he could react, you reached up and gently tugged the towel onto his head, fingers brushing his temples. 

“Here,” you murmured. “You’re freezing.”

Jake made a strangled noise.

You started blotting water from his hair, using both hands, the towel rustling softly. You leaned in slightly to reach the back of his head—completely unaware of how absolutely, catastrophically close you were.

Jake went rigid.

Your scent drifted over him—clean laundry, sunscreen, something sweet he couldn’t name. His face hovered dangerously close to your shirt, just inches from your chest, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you.

His brain ceased all function.

Thoughts: gone. 

Language: deleted.

Motor skills: offline.

He stared ahead helplessly, praying he wasn’t shaking.

You kept drying his hair, completely focused, completely gentle. “Hold still,” you whispered. “You’ll catch a cold like this.”

Jake tried to respond. He really did. He tried to say, “Thanks,” or “I’m okay,” or literally anything that resembled human speech.

What came out was:

“Ah—gu—h—”

You giggled softly—quiet, warm, like the sound was meant only for him.

The little puff of laughter brushed against his forehead, and Jake’s entire nervous system short-circuited all over again.

You kept drying his hair, gentle fingers working through the wet strands at the back of his head, tugging the towel this way and that. Every small movement seemed to pull you closer. Or maybe he was imagining it. Maybe the universe had decided to personally torture him today.

But no—no, he wasn’t imagining it.

Your chest was definitely inching nearer.

The soft swell of your breasts, barely contained by that thin, slightly damp camp shirt, hovered closer with every careful swipe of the towel. Close enough now that he could see the faint freckles scattered across your collarbone. Close enough that the fabric stretched just a little tighter across your skin. Close enough that when you leaned in to reach the stubborn wet patch at his crown, the very tips of your breasts brushed—barely, feather-light—against his cheek.

Jake’s brain flatlined.

A strangled, high-pitched noise escaped his throat—something between a whimper and a prayer.

Your giggle turned into a soft hum of amusement. “Relax, Jake,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, warm breath ghosting over his temple. “You’re so tense. I’m not gonna bite.”

He wanted to die.

He wanted to live forever.

He wanted both at the same time.

His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, fingers curling into fists so he wouldn’t do something stupid like grab your waist and pull you the rest of the way against him. His face was burning so hot he was sure the lake water was evaporating off his skin in little puffs of steam.

Jake’s eyes squeezed shut.

He was going to pass out.

Right here.

In front of the entire camp.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears, in his throat, lower—his shorts suddenly way too tight despite the cold water still dripping down his legs.

You finally pulled back—just enough to look at him, towel still draped over his head like a sad, soggy crown. “There,” you said, smiling that soft, devastating smile. “All better.”

Jake opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“…Th-thanks,” he managed, voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old’s.

Your eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to mischief.

“Anytime, Jake.” Then you gave the towel one last gentle pat—right on top of his head—and turned to walk away, hips swaying just enough to make sure he watched every step.

Jake stood there, dripping, red-faced, towel askew, heart trying to claw its way out of his chest.

After that towel incident, Jake’s dick officially declared independence.

It had a sixth sense for you now—like a goddamn compass needle snapping toward north the second you walked into a fifty-foot radius. Full traitor mode. Uncontrollable. Radar-locked to your presence like some feral heat-seeking missile.

You walked into the mess hall for lunch? Instant throb in his shorts before you'd even crossed the threshold, straining against the zipper like it could smell your coconut lotion from twenty feet away. He'd cross his legs under the picnic table, fist clenched around his fork, pretending to focus on his mystery meat while visions of bending you over that very table flashed behind his eyes.

You laughed during arts & crafts, that husky ripple carrying across the field? His balls tightened. Cock swelled heavy and hot, leaking into his boxers so fast he felt the wet spot bloom. He'd mutter excuses—"Gotta piss"—and bolt to the nearest bathroom stall, slamming the door and yanking his shorts down. Fist wrapped tight around his throbbing length—veins pulsing, head flushed purple and slick—stroking furious and sloppy while he bit his lip bloody to stay quiet. Imagining your thighs spread wide on the craft table, your pretty cunt clenching around his fingers. 

He'd come with a muffled groan, ropes of thick cum splattering the toilet rim, knees buckling as he slumped against the wall. Only then—only after painting his hand white—would the ache finally ebb enough for him to face the world again.

The worst was the day Heeseung walked in.

Jake had bolted to the hut after free swim, your bikini top had slipped just enough while you adjusted a strap, flashing a sliver of underboob that sent him spiraling. Jake thinking he had the hut to himself — curled on his bunk, shorts shoved to his knees, hand flying over his dick as he pictured you on your knees, tiny shorts pooled at your ankles, mouth stretched wide around his girth. Drool dripping down your chin. Eyes watering as you gagged, taking him deeper.

He was so close—thighs trembling, precome slicking his palm when the door banged open.

Heeseung froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, eyes wide.

Jake yelped—high-pitched, mortified—scrambling to yank the sheet over his lap.

"SHIT—HEESEUNG—FUCK—SORRY—"

Heeseung slapped a hand over his eyes, but not before that perv glanced down—clocking the sheer size of it.

“DUDE! WE SHARE THIS SPACE! THERE ARE RULES! AT LEAST WARN A GUY!”

"I'M SORRY—OH GOD, I'M SO SORRY—" Jake babbled, rolling off the bed in a tangle of sheets, cock flopping heavy against his thigh as he tried to hide like a cornered animal, trying to tuck himself away while babbling apologies like a broken record. "It won't happen again—swear—I'll go outside—I'll jerk off in the lake—PLEASE DON'T TELL ANYONE—"

Heeseung backed out, still shielding his eyes, laughing so hard he wheezed. "Chill, virgin! I'm not telling the whole camp you're blue-balling over her. But boundaries, bro! Boundaries!"

Heeseung peeked through his fingers, then dropped his hand with a dramatic sigh. “Bro. You’re jerking it like three times a day now.Your dick’s gonna file for workers’ comp.”

“I know! I know! I’m disgusting! I’m sorry—”

“Bro. Listen to me. You are not disgusting. You are tragically horny. There’s a difference.”

Jake dragged both hands down his face, smearing come across his cheek in the process. He didn’t even notice. “I came in my shorts during swim lessons yesterday. Just—watching her adjust her whistle. I had to dive into the lake to hide it.”

Heeseung barked another laugh. “Classic.”

“No it's not!” Jake wailed, flopping backward onto the floor like a starfish of despair. “I tried thinking about baseball. Taxes. My grandma’s knitting club. Nothing works. It’s like my brain is just… her. All the time. Her smile. Her laugh. The way her hair sticks to her neck when she’s wet from the lake. The way her thighs look when she’s sitting on the dock. I’m gonna die, Heeseung. I’m actually gonna die.”

“Okay, drama queen. First: breathe. Second: you need to do something about this before you actually combust. Or before you get caught jerking it in the supply closet again.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “You know about the supply closet?”

“Dude. Everyone knows about the supply closet. There’s a rumor you’ve christened every shelf in there.”

Jake made a sound like a dying animal and pulled the sheet over his head.

Heeseung snorted, leaning against the doorframe, suddenly way too amused. “You know what the funniest part is?”

Jake groaned into his hands. “Please don’t.”

“She’d probably love your little buddy.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “What?”

Heeseung grinned like the devil. “I’m saying, if she knew how whipped your dick is for her, she’d probably be flattered. Might even wanna meet it. Personally.”

Jake’s brain blue-screened.

With a wordless yell, he launched himself across the room—full football tackle—crashing into Heeseung and sending them both tumbling onto the nearest bunk in a tangle of limbs.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP—”

Heeseung cackled underneath him, arms up in mock surrender while Jake tried (and failed) to smother him with a pillow. “Okay okay! Truce! Truce! I’m just saying—she’s got you by the balls, man! Literally!”

Jake groaned—long, defeated, the sound of a man who’d lost every battle with his own dignity—and rolled off Heeseung, collapsing face-first onto the bunk mattress like he’d been shot. The pillow stayed clutched to his chest like a shield.

Heeseung sat up, still grinning, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You done trying to murder me?”

Jake’s voice came out muffled into the fabric. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You love me. I’m your emotional support wingman.” Heeseung poked him in the ribs with his foot. “Come on, bro. You can’t keep living like this. You’re one accidental brush of her hand away from coming in your shorts in front of the entire camp.”

Jake lifted his head just enough to glare. “I’m handling it.”

“You’re not handling it. You’re jerking off six times a day and jumping me like a feral cat every time I mention her tits. That’s not handling it—that’s a cry for help.”

Jake buried his face again. “Shut up.”

Heeseung sighed dramatically, flopping back onto his own bunk and staring at the ceiling like a philosopher. “Look. I’m saying this as your best friend who has seen you suffer more than any human should: confess. Or at least do something. Ask her to help you ‘check the boathouse inventory’ after lights-out. Corner her behind the craft shed. Hell, just tell her you’ve been thinking about her non-stop since day one and your dick won’t give you a single peaceful moment.”

Jake made a strangled noise.

“I’m serious,” Heeseung pressed. “She’s been looking at you like she knows exactly what’s going on in that horny little head of yours. The towel thing? The eye-fucking across the lake? The way she ‘accidentally’ brushes up against you every five minutes? She’s teasing you, man. She wants you to crack. She’s waiting for you to man up and take what you both clearly want.”

Jake rolled onto his back, staring at the wooden beams overhead. His chest rose and fell too fast. “And what if I’m wrong? What if she’s just… being nice? And I make it weird and ruin everything?”

Heeseung snorted. “Dude. She dried your hair like a mom while her tits were literally in your face. That’s not ‘nice.’ That’s foreplay.”

Jake groaned again, dragging both hands down his face. “Fuck.”

“Exactly. Fuck. Her. Preferably soon. Before your balls explode and we have to explain to the camp director why there’s a crater where you used to be.”

Jake was quiet for a long minute. Then, quieter:

“…What if she says no?”

Heeseung sat up again, suddenly serious. “Then at least you’ll know. And you can stop torturing yourself. But Jake—” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. The way her eyes linger. The way she bites her lip when you talk to the kids. She’s not saying no. She’s waiting for you to say yes.”

Jake swallowed hard. His heart was hammering again—not from embarrassment this time, but from something sharper. Hope. Terror. Want.

Heeseung kicked his foot lightly. “So what’s it gonna be, lover boy? Keep hiding? Or finally grow a pair and go get your girl?”

Jake stared at the ceiling for another beat.

Then he sat up slowly, jaw set, eyes a little wild.

“…I’m gonna do it.”

Heeseung’s grin returned full force. “Atta boy. Tonight?”

Jake exhaled shakily. “Tonight?”

The hut suddenly felt too small, the air too thick with the scent of pine and his own unresolved tension. He was still flushed from head to toe, cheeks burning, cock giving a traitorous twitch in his shorts at the mere idea of finally confessing—of touching you, kissing you, burying himself so deep inside you that neither of you could think straight. But first, he had to actually get you alone. How hard could that be? He’d spent the last week dodging you like a pro; reversing it should be easy, right?

Heeseung, sensing Jake's hesitation like a shark smelling blood, hopped off his bunk and grabbed a crumpled notepad from the nightstand—the one they used for doodling dumb canoe race strategies. "Alright, lover boy, let's strategize. We're not sending you in blind. This is Operation Get Jake Laid—er, I mean, Confessed. Whatever..."

Jake rubbed his palms on his thighs like he could wipe away the nervous sweat. "Okay. Plan. Good. What's the move?"

Heeseung paced the narrow space between the bunks, tapping the notepad with a chewed-up pen like he was a general mapping out a battlefield. "First things first: timing. Tonight's the bonfire sing-along after dinner. Everyone's gonna be there—kids roasting marshmallows, staff pretending not to hate 'Kumbaya' for the hundredth time. That's your window. Chaos equals opportunity. You slip away early, say you're grabbing extra firewood or some bullshit. I'll create a distraction—maybe 'accidentally' knock over the s'mores station. Kids go nuts, staff scrambles, and boom—you pull her aside to the boathouse path. It's dark, secluded, romantic as fuck with the lake view. Confess there. Worst case, if she rejects you, you can jump in the water and drown your sorrows."

Jake nodded slowly, picturing it. The boathouse—dim moonlight filtering through the trees, the soft lap of water against the dock. You standing there, close enough to touch, your eyes widening as he finally spilled it all: how he couldn't stop thinking about you, how every brush of your skin made his brain melt and his cock ache, how he wanted to drop to his knees and worship you until you were the one begging. His breath hitched. "Yeah. That... that could work. But how do I get her to follow me? Just... ask?"

Heeseung snorted. "Subtlety, man. Walk by her during the fire, lean in close—like, whisper something about needing help with 'inventory' in the boathouse. Make it sound urgent but flirty. You've got that puppy-dog charm; use it. Girls eat that shit up. And if she hesitates, flash those dimples. Bam. She's hooked."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "Okay. Distraction. Whisper. Boathouse. Got it." He stood again, pacing now himself. "What if someone's with her? She's always got a kid hanging off her or one of the other counselors chatting her up. Remember yesterday? She was braiding hair for like six girls at once during free time."

Heeseung waved it off. "That's why the bonfire's perfect. Everyone's scattered. I'll scout ahead—make sure the path's clear. If there's interference, I'll run blocker. Pretend I need her friend's help with something dumb, like fixing the guitar strings. Easy."

They spent the next twenty minutes hashing out contingencies: If the bonfire ran late, pivot to the morning hike trail before breakfast. If rain hit (unlikely, but summer storms were sneaky), use the supply shed as backup—cozy, private, full of ropes and tarps that Jake's filthy mind immediately twisted into fantasies he had to shove down before Heeseung noticed his shorts tenting again. Heeseung even drew a crude map on the notepad: X for bonfire, arrow to boathouse, stick-figure Jake with hearts for eyes confessing to stick-figure you.

By the time they finished, Jake felt a fragile buzz of confidence. "Alright. This is solid. Thanks, man."

Heeseung fist-bumped him. "Go get cleaned up. And hey—don't chicken out. You've got this."

Jake nodded, grabbing a fresh towel and heading to the showers. Under the lukewarm spray, he tried to psych himself up, but his hand drifted south anyway—wrapping around his half-hard cock, stroking slow as he imagined your reaction. Your lips parting in surprise, then curling into a smile. Your hands pulling him closer. Your thighs wrapping around his waist as he pinned you against the boathouse wall, cock sinking into your tight heat until you were whimpering his name. He came with a choked groan, cum mixing with the water swirling down the drain. Tonight, he promised himself. No more running.

But as dinner rolled around, the plan started crumbling like a stale graham cracker.

You were at the head table, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling preteens who'd apparently declared you their queen. They were all over you—handing you plates, showing off friendship bracelets they'd made "just for you," dragging you into their drama about who kissed who. Jake hovered at the edge of the mess hall, plate in hand, watching like a creeper. Every time he thought about approaching, another kid popped up. Heeseung shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, mouthing "After eating."

Post-dinner cleanup? You volunteered to help the kitchen staff, elbow-deep in soapy water with two other female counselors, chatting and laughing about some inside joke. Jake lingered outside the window like a stalker, pretending to tie his shoe for the third time. Heeseung wandered by, whispering, "Abort. Bonfire next."

The bonfire crackled to life as the sun dipped low, casting orange glows over everyone's faces. Kids clustered around the fire pit, staff scattered on logs and blankets. Jake scanned the crowd—there you were, sandwiched between a hyper ten-year-old boy telling ghost stories and one of the senior counselors, a chatty guy named Sunghoon who kept leaning in way too close to "share" his marshmallows. Jake's jaw clenched. Fuck. He circled once, twice, trying to catch your eye for the whisper ploy, but every approach was blocked: a kid running by with sparklers, the camp director calling everyone for the first song, Heeseung's distraction (a fake spill of chocolate syrup that only drew more people over).

"Pst—Jake!" Heeseung hissed from behind a tree as the group launched into a off-key "The Wheels on the Bus." 

"New plan: Wait 'til s'mores wind down. I'll lure Sunghoon away—say I need help with the canoes for tomorrow. You swoop in then."

Jake nodded, heart pounding. But s'mores time turned into chaos: Sticky fingers everywhere, kids demanding seconds, you organizing a impromptu "s'mores assembly line" with half the staff involved. By the time it quieted, the director announced lights-out in fifteen, and you were already herding your cabin group toward the bunks, arms linked with two girls who wouldn't let go.

Jake deflated against a log, watching your silhouette disappear into the trees. Heeseung plopped down next to him, clapping his back. "Tough break. Tomorrow, then. Early bird gets the worm—or the girl alone."

But tomorrow was worse.

Morning hike: You were at the front of the pack with the lead guide, pointing out birds and plants to an enraptured cluster of kids. Jake hung back, trying to work his way forward, but the trail was narrow, and every time he got close, someone needed water or a bug bite check. Heeseung tried distracting the guide with questions, but it backfired—drawing you into the conversation instead.

Arts and crafts: You were manning the bead station, kids swarming like bees. Jake "casually" wandered over to the paint area nearby, but before he could signal, a little girl dragged you away to judge her macaroni necklace.

Swim time: You were on lifeguard duty with three others, perched on the dock in that red one-piece that hugged every curve, whistle around your neck. Jake swam laps to "cool off," planning to ask for your help with "equipment" after. But post-swim, you got roped into a volleyball game on the beach—surrounded by laughing staff and kids spiking the ball like noobs.

By lunch, Jake was fraying. He and Heeseung huddled in the hut during siesta, notepad out again. "This is insane," Jake muttered, head in hands. "It's like the universe is cockblocking me now! She's never alone. Avoiding her was easy enough—getting her isolated? Fucking impossible!!"

Heeseung tapped the pen thoughtfully. "She's popular. Kids love her, staff loves her. We need stealth. New plan: Fake an injury during archery this afternoon. Nothing bad—twisted ankle or some shit. Ask her specifically to help you to the first-aid cabin. It's private, got that cot in the back. Confess there. I'll cover your group."

Jake's eyes lit up. "That's... genius. Yeah. Let's do it."

Archery rolled around. Jake "tripped" mid-demo—dramatic groan, clutching his ankle like he'd been shot. The kids gasped; staff rushed over. "I'm good, just—ah, shit—twisted it. Hey, can someone grab Y/n? She's great with this stuff."

But fate laughed. You were already there, kneeling beside him with concern etching your pretty face—but so was half the camp. The director insisted on two people helping him limp to the cabin, and a nurse volunteer tagged along. Inside, it was a circus: Ice packs, questions, kids peeking in the door. No alone time. The "injury" fizzled out fast—Jake had to fake recovery to avoid real medical attention.

Dinner: More crowds. 

Evening games: You refereed capture the flag, untouchable, no time alone.

By nightfall, Jake was back in the hut, collapsed on his bunk, cock throbbing painfully from a day of near-misses and pent-up fantasies. Every glimpse of you—bending to tie a shoe, laughing with wind-tousled hair—had him hard and leaking again. He'd jerked off twice already, once in the woods mid-hike (hiding behind a tree, fist flying as he imagined pinning you against it, rutting into your soaked pussy while you muffled moans into his neck), once in the shower (coming to the thought of you on that lifeguard chair, legs spread, his face buried between them until you squirted on his tongue).

Heeseung flopped down, undeterred. "Alright, Plan Z: Tomorrow's the talent show prep. She's emceeing. I'll sign us up for a 'duet' or something dumb—get you backstage with her. Private green room vibes."

Jake groaned, rolling over. "If this doesn't work, I'm quitting camp. Moving to Antarctica. Penguins don't tempt me."

Heeseung laughed. "Hang in there. She's worth the blue balls."

But as Jake drifted off, dick still half-chubbed under the sheets, he wondered if he'd survive another day of this torture. Getting you alone wasn't just hard—it was a goddamn quest. And he was more desperate than ever to win.

The talent show prep turned out to be another spectacular disaster in Jake's ongoing saga of blue-balled misery. He and Heeseung had signed up for a "duet"—some half-assed acoustic cover of an old camp song that Jake could barely strum through without his fingers shaking from nerves. The plan was simple: Get backstage with you during rehearsals, where you'd be organizing the lineup. The "green room" was really just a curtained-off corner of the main pavilion, cluttered with props and folding chairs—private enough for a quick confession, or at least a stuttered invitation to talk later. Heeseung would "forget" his guitar picks or something, leaving Jake alone with you for those precious few minutes.

But reality? A shitshow. The pavilion was packed with hyper kids practicing their acts: Little girls twirling batons, boys doing awkward magic tricks, a group of teens attempting a rap battle that devolved into giggles. You were in the thick of it, clipboard in hand, directing traffic like a pro—smiling that soft, devastating smile as you adjusted a kid's costume or gave a thumbs-up to a nervous singer. Jake lurked at the edge, guitar slung over his shoulder, heart hammering so loud he was sure the strings were vibrating from it. When Heeseung finally nudged him forward during a break, Jake approached, mouth dry. "Hey, uh..." he managed, voice cracking like he was back in puberty. You straightened up, turning with that warm gaze that made his knees weak. "Need help with... with the script? Or something?"

You blinked, then laughed softly—god, that sound went straight to his balls. "Actually, yeah! Can you hold this for a sec?" You thrust the clipboard at him, your fingers brushing his in the handoff. Electric. His dick twitched hard, thickening instantly like it knew exactly who was touching him. But before he could stammer out anything resembling a confession, a swarm of kids descended: "Miss, my hat fell off!" "Can I go next?" "Look at my dance!" You were pulled away in a whirlwind of tiny hands and excited chatter, leaving Jake standing there with the clipboard pressed awkwardly against his crotch to hide the growing bulge. Heeseung shot him a sympathetic shrug from across the room, but the moment was gone. Rehearsal ended with Jake barely exchanging three words with you beyond "Here you go" when you reclaimed the board.

That night, back in the hut, Jake jerked off furiously under the sheets—fist pumping his thick cock in brutal strokes. He came with a muffled groan, cum spilling hot over his knuckles, but the relief was temporary. Hollow. He needed the real thing.

The next day brought more failures, each one chipping away at Jake's sanity like a dull axe. Morning yoga session by the lake: You were leading a group stretch, and Jake "casually" joined, positioning himself in the back row for a view that nearly killed him—your body bending into downward dog, ass up, shorts clinging to every curve. His cock went rock-hard in seconds, throbbing painfully against his thigh. 

The plan was to linger after, ask for "private tips" on his form. But as the group dispersed, Sunghoon—that tall, smug bastard with the perfect hair and easy charm—sauntered over, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he owned the place. "Hey, great class. Wanna grab coffee from the mess hall? I could use some pointers too." You laughed, nodded, and walked off with him, leaving Jake frozen.

Afternoon canoe races: Heeseung rigged it so Jake's team "needed" your help as a spotter on the dock. But the races turned chaotic—kids capsizing, laughter echoing, and you ended up knee-deep in the water, helping flip boats and towel off soaked campers. Jake paddled close, ready to "accidentally" bump your section and pull you aside, but Sunghoon appeared again, "helping" by lifting you out of the water with his hands on your waist—your wet shirt clinging transparently to your breasts. Jake's vision tunneled red. Alarms blared in his head: Red zone. Danger. Back off. He paddled away furiously, beaching the canoe and disappearing into the boathouse for a frantic wank.

Evening campfire stories: Heeseung's new ploy—start a "scary tale" chain and "need" you to sit next to Jake for "moral support." But you arrived flanked by staff, including Sunghoon, who plopped down beside you first, sharing a blanket and whispering something that made you giggle. Jake sat across the fire, staring daggers, his dick traitorously hardening at the sight of your lips curving into that smile—even if it was for someone else. The alarms in his head screamed louder: He's too close. Touching her knee. Fuck him. 

Jake excused himself early, claiming a headache, and jerked off in the hut. 

The failures piled up like a cruel joke. 

By mid-week, Jake was a wreck—eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Heeseung was fraying too, his pep talks turning exasperated. "Dude, this is ridiculous. She's like a magnet for people. And Sunghoon? That guy's orbiting her like a fucking moon. Saw him 'accidentally' bump her during volleyball yesterday—hand on her ass for a second too long. If you don't do something soon, he's gonna beat you to it."

Possessive heat curled low in his gut, twisting with jealousy until he felt physically sick.

“I’m done, man,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “I’m done. She’s too busy. Too liked. Everyone wants a piece of her—kids, counselors, fucking Sunghoon. I can’t even get close without someone interrupting. Penguins in Antarctica sound better than this torture. They don’t have perfect tits and laugh like angels and make my dick try to escape my body every five seconds.”

Heeseung flopped backward onto his own bunk, arms spread wide, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams like they held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

“Maybe,” he conceded, tone dry. “But watching Sunghoon get closer? That’s the cherry on top of this shit sundae. Alarms are blaring for a reason, bro. Red zone. Full red alert. If he makes a move first…”

Jake’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles bleached white. The thought hit him like a punch to the solar plexus—Sunghoon’s perfect, smug face leaning in, lips brushing yours, hands sliding under your tank top to cup your breasts while you arched into him with that soft little gasp Jake had only heard in his filthiest dreams. Sunghoon’s cock—probably average, probably nothing like Jake’s—pushing into your perfect, tight, dripping pussy, stretching you open while you moaned his name instead of Jake’s.

The image was so vivid Jake could almost hear it: the wet slap of skin, your breathy whimpers, Sunghoon’s low groan as he bottomed out inside you. Jake’s vision tunneled red while his heart hammered with a mixture of murderous jealousy and bone-deep despair.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice raw. “I can’t watch him touch her. I can’t watch him make her smile like that. I can’t—I’ll fucking die, Heeseung. I’ll actually die.”

Heeseung watched Jake unravel for a long moment—fists clenched, eyes glassy, breathing too fast—like the guy was one wrong word away from either punching a wall or bursting into tears. Finally, Heeseung sighed, long and dramatic, and flopped back onto his bunk with the air of a man who had officially thrown in the towel.

“Alright,” he said, voice flat, resigned. “Fine. You win. She’s untouchable. Sunghoon’s probably already got his tongue down her throat behind the craft shed or whatever. Let’s just… move on. There are other fish in the lake, right? Plenty of hot counselors who aren’t currently being fought over by every breathing person in a ten-mile radius.”

Jake didn’t respond. He just stared at the ceiling, jaw so tight it looked painful.

Heeseung kept going anyway, ticking names off on his fingers like he was reading from a mental catalog.

“There’s Minji from the arts cabin—tall, legs for days, always smells like vanilla and paint thinner. She’s got that whole ‘quietly unhinged artist’ vibe. Could be fun.”

Nothing from Jake. Just a slow blink.

“Or Yuna,” Heeseung continued, undeterred. “Lifeguard duty with her would be a religious experience. She’s got abs you could grate cheese on and that little mole right under her left eye? Deadly. She smiled at me once during relay races and I forgot how to swim.”

Still nothing. Jake’s breathing was shallow, like he was trying not to hyperventilate.

Heeseung rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand. “Chaeryeong’s single now, too. The one with the short black hair and the lip piercing? She’s got that ‘I could ruin your life and you’d thank me’ energy. Probably bites. You like biting, right?”

Jake’s voice came out small, cracked. “Stop.”

Heeseung ignored him.

“Or hell—go for someone completely different. Jiwoo from the mess hall. She’s sweet, makes those killer brownies, always smells like cinnamon. Zero drama. Zero competition. She’d probably bake you cookies after you fuck. Low stakes. Safe.”

Jake’s fists clenched harder. His knuckles were white.

Heeseung kept listing, voice getting flatter with each name.

“Soojin. The one who teaches archery. Quiet, deadly accurate, thighs that could crush a watermelon. She’d probably pin you to the target board and have her way with you. Hot, right?”

Jake’s breathing hitched.

“Or Hyein. Blonde, always in those little sundresses, giggles at everything. Easy. No baggage. She’d probably blush the whole time and call you ‘oppa’ while you—”

“Stop.”

The word ripped out of Jake like a gunshot.

Heeseung finally went quiet.

Jake sat up slowly—elbows on his knees, head in his hands, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself.

“None of them are her,” he whispered, voice raw and trembling. “None of them laugh the way she does. None of them smell like coconut and lake water and summer. None of them look at the kids the way she does—like they hung the fucking moon. None of them make my chest hurt just by existing in the same zip code.”

He dragged his hands down his face, hard enough to leave red marks.

“I don’t want Jiwoo’s brownies or Yuna’s abs or Chaeryeong’s lip piercing or any of it. I want her. I want her smile. I want her teasing me across the mess hall. I want her thighs wrapped around my waist. I want her moaning my name. I want to wake up every morning and see her marks on my neck and know I put them there.”

He looked up at Heeseung—eyes red-rimmed, voice cracking on every word.

“And if Sunghoon gets there first… if he touches her, if he kisses her, if he makes her come… I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna fucking break. Because she’s supposed to be mine. She’s always been mine. And I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

Jake's life really sucked sometimes.

Jake’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time.

Fifteen minutes after lights-out, the camp had fallen into that soft, cricket-laced quiet. He was supposed to be in his own hut, following Heeseung’s latest desperate plan: wait until tomorrow’s canoe trip, “accidentally” capsize near you, then use the chaos to pull you aside on the far shore. Simple. Safe. Controlled.

Instead, he was crouched behind the big pine tree that overlooked the girls’ row of huts, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

Because he’d seen you.

You stepping out of your cabin door, hair loose and messy from the day, wearing that oversized camp hoodie that swallowed your frame and those tiny shorts that barely existed. And Sunghoon right there beside you—close enough that his shoulder brushed yours when you laughed at whatever smooth bullshit he’d just said. The two of you lingered on the porch for what felt like an eternity: heads bent together, your hand brushing his arm once—twice—before he leaned in and murmured something that made you smile that soft, devastating smile.

Jake’s stomach twisted into a green, burning knot.

Then Sunghoon gave you a lazy, smug little wave—fingers lingering in the air like he owned the right to touch you—and sauntered off toward the boys’ side, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed like a man who knew he was winning.

You watched him go for a second.

Then you turned, slipped back inside your hut, and closed the door.

Jake didn’t think.

He just moved.

His feet carried him across the pine-needle path before his brain could catch up. Every step felt like stepping off a cliff. Alarms blared louder in his head—not the jealous ones this time, but the: “this is insane, you’re going to get fired, you’re going to ruin everything” ones. 

He ignored them.

The door to your hut was in front of him, he tested the handle—quiet, careful—and it gave easily under his palm.

He pushed the bug net aside with trembling fingers and slipped inside.

The air hit him like a drug.

Warm. Sweet. Coconut sunscreen mixed with vanilla body lotion and the faint smoky trace of the bonfire that had clung to your clothes all night. Candles flickered on the small wooden table near the window—three of them, soft golden light dancing across the walls, turning everything hazy and intimate. The scent of melting wax and you wrapped around him so completely he nearly groaned out loud.

And there you were.

Standing with your back to him.

Undressing.

The oversized hoodie was already off, pooled at your feet. You were shimmying out of the khaki shorts, letting them slide down your legs until they puddled around your ankles.

All that was left were the tiniest pair of lacy panties—white, delicate, the kind with little satin ribbons. The fabric hugged the perfect curve of your ass, barely covering anything, the lace so sheer he could see the shadow of skin beneath.

You reached for the thin cotton sleep top folded on the edge of your bunk. No bra. Nothing underneath. Just soft, bare skin and the gentle sway of your breasts as you lifted your arms to pull the top over your head.

Jake’s mouth went dry.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

You were humming softly under your breath—some little tune from the campfire—completely unaware that he was standing in the doorway, staring like a man starved.

The green monster in his chest roared louder than ever.

She was alone.

No Sunghoon. No kids. No staff. Just you. In lace panties. 

And Jake—desperate, defeated, possessive, aching Jake—finally snapped.

He stepped forward.

The floorboard creaked.

Your humming stopped.

You froze, hands still tangled in the hem of your sleep top.

Slowly—agonizingly—you turned.

Your eyes widened when they landed on him.

“Jake…?” Your voice was barely a whisper, soft and surprised and a little breathless.

He didn’t move. Every muscle was locked tight, gaze raking over you like he was trying to memorize every inch before you screamed or told him to get out.

Your nipples were visible through the thin cotton of the top—hard little peaks that made his mouth water. The lace panties clung to you, the fabric already darkened slightly between your thighs.

You didn’t cover yourself. You didn’t scream.

You just stared back at him—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushing a deep, telling pink.

And then, so quietly he almost missed it:

“…You’re not supposed to be here.”

But you didn’t tell him to leave.

And Jake—heart in his throat, cock throbbing so hard it hurt—took another step closer.

“I know,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Jake took that final, trembling step forward, crossing the threshold completely into your hut. The wooden door swung shut behind him with a soft, definitive thud that echoed in the quiet space like a heartbeat.

He reached back without looking—fingers finding the simple metal latch—and slid it home.

Click.

The sound was small, but it rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit hush. No one could walk in now. No interruptions. Just the two of you.

Your breath caught audibly—a tiny, startled hitch that made Jake’s cock jump hard in his shorts. He watched the way your eyes widened fractionally, pupils blowing out in the flickering light. Your lips parted on a soft, involuntary exhale. You didn’t move to stop him. Didn’t protest. If anything, your body language shifted—shoulders relaxing just a touch, thighs pressing together almost imperceptibly.

The thrill of it surged through him like lightning.

You liked the sound of that lock.

You liked being trapped in here with him.

Jake’s pulse roared in his ears. His hands flexed at his sides, aching to touch you, but he forced himself to stay still for one more second, drinking in the sight of you like a man who’d been starving for years.

Jake’s voice came out rough, almost broken. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”

Your gaze flicked to the locked door, then back to his face. Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip and Jake nearly groaned out loud at the sight.

“I know,” you whispered, voice soft and a little shaky, but there was heat underneath it. “I… I didn’t want to.”

Another step. Closer now. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off your body, smell that intoxicating mix of coconut and vanilla and you.

His eyes dropped to your chest again—couldn’t help it—watching the way your breasts rose and fell with each quick breath. Then lower, to the lace clinging to your hips. “I’ve been going fucking insane,” he rasped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Every time I see you… every time you smile, or laugh, or bend over, or just exist… I get so hard it hurts. I can’t think straight. I can’t sleep… I can’t stop wanting you.”

Your thighs pressed together and a tiny, needy sound escaped your throat.

Jake took one more step. Now he was close enough to touch. Close enough that if either of you leaned forward even slightly, your bodies would meet. He lifted one shaking hand, hovering it near your cheek—giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you tilted your head just enough that your cheek brushed his palm. Soft. Warm. Perfect.

His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow and reverent.

“I saw you with Sunghoon tonight,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “Laughing. Touching his arm. Smiling at him like that. It fucking killed me. I wanted to drag him away and show him you’re mine.”

Your eyes fluttered half-shut at the rough edge in his voice, but the corner of your mouth curled—just a tiny, wicked little tilt that made Jake’s heart stutter.

“Yours?” you echoed softly, voice breathy and teasing, like you were tasting the word. Your cheek stayed pressed to his palm, nuzzling ever so slightly into his touch. “That’s a pretty big claim, Jake… especially when you’ve barely said two words to me all week.” You tilted your head further, letting your lips brush the pad of his thumb—barely a kiss, more like a ghost of one. Just enough to make his breath hitch audibly. “I mean,” you continued, voice dropping lower, silkier, “if I’m yours… then why did Sunghoon get to make me laugh tonight? Why did he get to walk me back to my hut? Why did he get to touch me right—” You lifted your hand and traced one fingertip down the length of his forearm, following the tense line of muscle. “—here?”

Jake’s entire body locked up. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest—half growl, half plea.

You leaned in closer, lips hovering just shy of his, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath against his mouth. “Were you jealous, puppy?” you whispered, the pet name slipping out sweet and cruel at the same time. “Did it hurt watching him get so close? Did you imagine ripping him away and fucking me right there on the porch so he’d know who I really belong to?”

That was it.

The last thread of Jake’s restraint snapped like a cheap string. With a broken, desperate groan he surged forward—hands clamping around your waist like iron bands, yanking you flush against him so hard your feet left the floor for a split second. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was filthy. Starving. All teeth and tongue and weeks of pent-up obsession pouring out at once. He kissed you like he was trying to devour you—lips bruising yours, tongue plunging deep to taste every corner of your mouth, swallowing the soft, surprised moan you let out. One hand slid up your back, fingers tangling roughly in your hair to angle your head exactly how he wanted.

His other hand slid down your body with rough, greedy purpose—fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass through the thin lace of your panties. He squeezed hard, kneading the curve like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin.

A low, broken groan vibrated against your lips as he rolled his hips forward—slow at first, testing, savoring—then harder, more insistent. The thick, heavy length of his cock dragged against your lace-covered pussy with every grind, the rigid heat of him pressing right where you were already soaked and aching. 

“Fuck—” he gasped into your mouth, voice wrecked and trembling. “You feel that? That’s all for you. Been like this for weeks.” He ground again—deeper this time, hips snapping forward in a filthy rhythm that made your clit throb against the swollen head of his cock through the layers. 

Jake’s control was unraveling fast. His brain was gone—completely hijacked by the pulsing, aching need between his legs. His dick had taken over like some feral puppet master, yanking every string, making his hips buck harder, faster, more erratic. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. “Shit—shit, baby—” he panted, forehead dropping to your shoulder, teeth scraping over your collarbone. “Can’t—can’t think—need you so bad it hurts—fuck, you’re so wet, I can feel it through everything—”

He was shaking now—whole body trembling with the effort of holding back, but his hips wouldn’t listen. They kept grinding, kept fucking against you like he was already inside, like he could come just from this alone. One particularly hard thrust had you gasping and Jake whimpered. A real, broken, needy sound that he couldn’t swallow back.

“S-sorry—fuck, I’m sorry—” he babbled against your neck, but he didn’t stop. “Just—need to feel you—need to—gonna come like this if you don’t stop me—please—”

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you leaned in closer—lips brushing the shell of his ear—and whispered, soft and wicked, “Come like this, Jake. Right here. Make a mess for me.”

That was all it took.

He came hard—so hard—hot, thick pulses spilling into his shorts, soaking through the fabric in heavy, obscene spurts. A long, wrecked moan vibrated against your neck, muffled into your skin as he shuddered through every wave, hips stuttering, cock jerking with each rope of cum that painted the inside of his shorts. “F-fuck—oh god—baby—” he babbled, voice cracking, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from how intense it was. 

When the last pulse finally ebbed, he sagged against you—forehead dropping to your shoulder, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon. 

You didn’t let him catch his breath.

Your fingers tightened in his hair again—harder this time—and you pulled his head back just enough to crash your mouth against his in a deep, filthy kiss.

Jake moaned into it—loud, devastated, the sound vibrating against your tongue. He kissed you back desperately, sloppy and needy, letting you lead. His tongue slid against yours, tasting faintly of salt and desperation, and when you tugged his hair again—sharp, possessive—he made the most broken, wrecked noise from the back of his throat. You pulled him with you, guiding him backward step by stumbling step until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bunk.

One firm push, and he went down.

He landed on the mattress with a soft oof, legs splayed, chest still heaving. The kiss broke with a wet, obscene sound—strings of saliva connecting your lips for a heartbeat before snapping.

Jake stared up at you, dazed and utterly ruined. His hair was a wild mess—strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes huge and glassy with that big, pleading puppy look that made your stomach flip. Drool glistened on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips and ran in a thin line down his chin. His cheeks were flushed dark red, pupils blown so wide they were almost black.

And between his legs—

The incriminating wet stain on his shorts was massive. Dark, spreading across the front, clinging to the thick outline of his cock. Even now—after coming so hard he’d nearly blacked out—there was still a heavy, obscene bulge there. His dick hadn’t gone down at all. If anything, it looked even thicker, twitching visibly under the soaked fabric like it was already begging for more.

You slid down slowly, your knees hitting the worn wooden floor of the hut with a soft thud that seemed to echo, Jake’s breath punched out of him in a sharp, shaky exhale as he watched you settle between his spread thighs, your hands resting lightly on the tops of his knees.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice cracking. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to reach for you or grip the sheets to keep himself grounded.

You looked up at him through your lashes—eyes dark, lips parted—and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his ruined shorts. The fabric was soaked through, clinging obscenely to his skin, the dark stain spreading from the thick outline of his cock all the way down his inner thighs.

You tugged.

Jake lifted his hips on instinct, helping you drag the shorts and boxers down in one pull. The elastic caught for a second on the swollen head of his dick before snapping free, and then he was bare—springing up against his stomach with a wet slap.

His cock was thick, veiny, flushed an angry dark pink at the base and deeper at the tip where precome still leaked in steady, glistening beads. The length curved slightly upward, heavy and throbbing, the slit weeping openly. Cum from his earlier release still streaked the shaft in pearly ropes, mixing with fresh precome to make everything slick and shiny.

You gasped involuntarily, eyes widening as you took him in fully.

Jake’s entire body tensed. His face flushed deeper, a wave of self-consciousness crashing over him even as his dick twitched violently at the sound. “Shit—sorry—I know it’s… it’s a lot, I get it, I can—” The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless ramble, hands fluttering like he wanted to cover himself. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, I can go if it’s too much, I don’t want to—” His babbling choked off into a strangled, high whimper the second your fingers wrapped around him.

Your grip was warm and perfect, circling the thick base where your thumb and fingers barely met. You gave one slow, experimental stroke upward, and Jake’s hips jerked up off the mattress like he’d been shocked.

Then you leaned in.

And kissed the tip. 

Just a gentle press of your lips to the swollen, leaking head, tasting salt and him on your tongue.

Jake’s head fell back against the pillow with a broken, devastated moan—long and raw, the sound tearing from deep in his chest. His hands flew to the sheets, knuckles bleaching white as he gripped them hard enough to tear fabric.

You lingered—lips still brushing the sensitive slit, letting your tongue flick out in a swipe to collect the fresh bead of precome that had welled up the moment your mouth touched him. The taste of him burst across your tongue: salty, musky, unmistakably Jake. 

A high, broken whine tore from his throat—raw and helpless—and his hips bucked upward, pushing the swollen head past your lips just enough for you to feel how hot and velvet-hard he was against your tongue. “F-fuck—oh god—please—” His voice cracked, trembling on every syllable. Veins pulsing along his forearms where his hands gripped the sheets like a lifeline. Knuckles white. Fingers shaking. 

You hummed softly around the tip—barely a vibration—and Jake’s head snapped forward. His eyes flew open, glassy and wide, pupils blown so huge they swallowed the hazel entirely. He looked wrecked: cheeks flushed dark, mouth hanging open, drool shining on his chin, messy hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. That big, pleading puppy stare locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

“Baby—shit—I can’t—I’m gonna—” 

You pulled back just enough to speak—lips still brushing the head, breath hot against the slick skin. “Shh,” you murmured, voice low and soothing, almost teasing. “I’ve got you.”

Then you took him deeper.

Just the tip at first—lips wrapping around the fat, flushed crown, tongue swirling slow circles over the slit while your hand stroked the base in long, firm pulls. Jake’s moan was immediate and devastating—long, ragged, breaking into little whimpers every time your tongue flicked the sensitive underside. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck—your mouth—baby, your mouth—” The words dissolved into another whine as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently, letting your tongue press flat against the underside and drag back up in one slow, wet stroke.

Fresh precome flooded your mouth. His cock throbbed so hard you felt it against your tongue, thick veins pulsing under your grip. You could taste how close he already was again—how the earlier orgasm had done nothing to take the edge off, only made him more sensitive, more desperate.

One of his hands flew to your hair—fingers tangling gently at first, then gripping tighter as he fought not to push. “Please—please—don’t stop—gonna—gonna come again—fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t—”

You answered by taking him deeper still—half his length sliding into the wet heat of your mouth, lips stretching wide around his girth. Your tongue worked relentlessly—swirling, pressing, lapping at the underside while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit.

Jake’s back bowed off the mattress. A strangled cry ripped from his chest—high and broken—and his thighs trembled violently around you.

“Baby—oh god—gonna—gonna come—”

He tried to warn you. Tried to pull back.

But you didn’t let him.

You sucked harder—hollowing your cheeks, tongue flicking the slit one last time—and Jake shattered. 

His hips snapped up, burying another inch deeper as he came with a long, wrecked moan that echoed off the cabin walls. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your mouth—pulse after pulse, so much it spilled past the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy streaks. 

Jake collapsed back against the pillows with a shuddering exhale, his entire body going limp as the last weak pulses of his orgasm ebbed through him. His head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth open in a dazed, wrecked expression—like he’d just been hit by a truck and loved every second of it.

You pulled off him slowly, lips swollen and glistening, a soft, wet pop echoing in the quiet hut as the head slipped free from your mouth. Thick strings of cum and saliva stretched between your tongue and the flushed, still-throbbing tip—glistening, obscene, snapping one by one as you leaned back. A final bead of his release clung to your lower lip before you licked it away with a slow swipe of your tongue.

“Your turn now,” he rasped suddenly, voice wrecked but burning with intent. “Been dying to taste you—been dreaming about it every fucking night.”

Before you could respond, he surged up—hands strong despite the way they still shook—and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed on the soft sheets with a quiet gasp, hair fanning out around your head like a halo. Jake climbed over you instantly, caging you beneath him with his broad shoulders and trembling arms. 

He kissed you deeply—messy, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning into your mouth like the flavor drove him insane. His lips were swollen, breath ragged, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he poured everything into the kiss: gratitude, obsession, raw need. 

Jake’s hands roamed—sliding up your sides, under the hem of your thin sleep top. His palms were warm, calloused from weeks of camp work, and they trembled slightly as he pushed the fabric higher. Inch by inch, he revealed you: the soft curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts. He broke the kiss just long enough to drag the top over your head and toss it somewhere behind him, only to immediately descend—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down the column of your throat like he was starving and you were the only thing that could feed him. 

When he reached the swell of your breasts, he paused, breath ragged and hot against your skin, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I…?” he whispered, voice hoarse, almost pleading.

You nodded, fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. “Please, Jake… touch me. Taste me. I want you to.”

Jake groaned and dove in like a man who’d finally been given permission to worship. His mouth closed around one nipple, hot and wet, tongue swirling slow circles around the hardened peak before he sucked—hard, greedy, pulling the sensitive bud deep into his mouth. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb brushing back and forth over the nipple in perfect rhythm with his tongue. 

You arched into him with a soft, needy moan, back bowing off the mattress. “Oh god—Jake, yes—just like that…”

The praise hit him like a drug.

He moaned against your breast and switched sides, giving the other nipple the same devoted attention. “Fuck—you taste so good,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled and wrecked. “So perfect—been dreaming about these tits every night—wanted my mouth on them so bad—”

You threaded your fingers deeper into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him whimper around your nipple. “You’re so good, puppy,” you breathed, voice trembling with pleasure. “So good with your mouth—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

His hands roamed everywhere—kneading, squeezing, thumbs flicking your nipples until they were swollen and aching. He buried his face between them, groaning deep in his throat as he nuzzled the soft valley, then dragged his tongue up the underside of one breast in a slow, filthy stripe before latching on again.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, voice thick with awe. “So fucking beautiful.”

He shifted lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your stomach, worshipping every inch. His tongue dipped into your navel, swirling lazily before he pressed a lingering kiss just above it. His hands followed—palms sliding up your sides, thumbs tracing your ribs, fingers splaying wide across your waist like he was trying to hold all of you at once. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, voice cracking with emotion. “Every single part of you—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted to touch you, taste you, make you feel how much I—” His hands slid down to your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle pressure, thumbs stroking the soft inner skin in slow circles.

He looked up at you again—eyes shining, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening.

“I love you,” he whispered, raw and shaky, like the confession had been ripped out of him. “I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts. Every smile, every laugh, every time you look at me—I’ve been gone for you since the first day. And now you’re here, letting me touch you… letting me love you…” His voice broke on the last word. A single tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away—he just leaned down and pressed his forehead to your stomach, breathing you in like you were oxygen.

Your breath caught at the trembling confession—his words sinking into you like warm honey, sweet and heavy and almost too much to hold. “Jake…” you whispered, voice soft and thick with emotion. “Look at me.”

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, glassy, shining with something so vulnerable it stole your breath.

“I love you too,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “I’ve loved you since the first time you smiled at me across the mess hall and tripped over your own feet. I’ve loved you every time you played with the kids and made them laugh, every time you looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I’ve loved you through every single one of your shy glances and every time you blushed so hard I thought you’d catch fire.”

A fresh tear slipped down his cheek. He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh—half sob, half joy—and turned his head to press a desperate kiss to your palm.

“Baby…” he choked out, voice wrecked. “You… you love me too?”

You nodded, smiling through the tears gathering in your own eyes.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you whispered. “So please… don’t hold back anymore. I want everything. I want you.”

“You mean it?” he whispered, voice barely audible, cracking on every syllable. “You really want… everything? All of me?”

“I mean it,” you breathed. “I want all of you, Jake. No holding back. No hesitation. I want you to take me—love me—the way you’ve been dying to. I’m yours. Completely.”

The last thread of restraint snapped. 

He trailed kisses down the crease where thigh met hip, then lower still, until his lips found the plush, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He kissed one thigh, then the other, alternating back and forth like he couldn’t decide which one deserved more attention.

Every time his mouth moved, his breath ghosted over your soaked panties, making you squirm. You moaned softly—fingers tightening in his hair—and the sound made him whimper against your skin, hips twitching helplessly against the mattress.

“Jake…” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please…”

He pulled back just enough to look.

And stare.

“Look at this pretty fucking pussy,” he rasped, voice raw with devotion. “So wet she’s crying for me…I’ve dreamed about this—imagining.. And now you’re letting me see it… letting me have it…”

You couldn’t take it anymore. The ache between your legs was unbearable—every word, every hot exhale making you clench around nothing.

“Jake…” you breathed, voice trembling, hips lifting just a fraction off the mattress in desperate search of contact. “Please… please, just taste me. I need your mouth on me—now.”

That single, pleading “please” snapped something inside him. With a low, guttural groan that sounded like it had been torn from his soul, Jake smashed his face against you.

No hesitation.

His nose pressed right to your clit through the lace—inhaling deeply, greedily, like he was trying to drown himself in your scent. A long, broken moan vibrated straight through your core as he breathed you in—once, twice, three times—his whole body shuddering with how good you smelled.

Then he opened his mouth.

Wide.

And dragged his tongue flat and hard up the entire length of your soaked slit through the lace. The rough texture of the fabric dragged deliciously over your swollen folds, catching on your clit with every pass. He licked again—broader this time—tongue pressing firm and hot, soaking the already drenched lace even more with his spit.

“God—taste so fucking good,” he mumbled between licks, voice wrecked. “Even through this… so sweet… so wet… can’t get enough—never gonna get enough—” His hands gripped your thighs tighter—fingers digging in possessively—as he smushed his face deeper, cheeks flushed and slick with your arousal, chin glistening. 

“Tell me you love it,” he pleaded against you, words muffled and frantic. “Tell me my tongue feels good—please, baby—tell me I’m making you feel so fucking good—”

“Yes—fuck, Jake—your mouth is perfect—don’t stop—please don’t stop tasting me like that—”

Jake was utterly gone.

“Jake—please—” you gasped, voice breaking on a whine. “Please… take them off. I need your tongue on me—properly. Need to feel you—please, puppy, I can’t take it anymore—”

“Anything,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Anything for you.” With shaking hands, he hooked his fingers under the soaked lace at your hips and tugged the fabric down your thighs. 

You were spread open for him—glistening, swollen, blooming like the prettiest flower he’d ever seen. Your folds were dark and slick, clit throbbing visibly, entrance fluttering with every shaky breath you took. A fresh trickle of arousal slipped free, sliding down toward your ass, and Jake made a low, devastated sound in the back of his throat before he dove back in—face-first, no hesitation, no lace in the way this time.

The first real taste of you made him groan so deep it vibrated through your entire body. His hands gripped your thighs harder, spreading you wider, holding you open as he buried his face between your legs like he never wanted to leave.

And god almighty—he never wanted to.

His mouth worked messily, greedily, with no trace of restraint left. Long, sloppy drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, lapping up every drop of your arousal like he was dying of thirst and you were the only thing that could save him. 

The sounds were filthy.

Wet. Obscene. Disgusting in the best possible way.

Every time his tongue plunged back into your dripping entrance, there was a lewd shlick—the slick glide of his tongue through your folds, followed by the wet slurp as he sucked your arousal straight from the source. 

Then his hands moved. He slid both palms up the backs of your thighs, fingers hooking under the soft, swollen lips of your pussy before he pulled them apart—spreading you wide open, exposing every inch of your glistening, fluttering core to his hungry gaze.

He didn’t even give you time to feel shy. He dove right back in—face buried even deeper now, tongue thrusting inside you, fucking you while his nose ground against your clit. 

“Jake—oh god—Jake—yes—right there—fuck—”

Your hips rolled shamelessly against his face, grinding your clit against his tongue, smearing your arousal across his cheeks, his chin, his nose. He was soaked—face glistening, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy as he devoured you like a man who’d never eat again.

Then—while his lips were sealed tight around your throbbing bud, tongue flicking fast and relentless—two of his fingers slid down through your dripping folds.

He teased your entrance first—slow circles around the fluttering hole, collecting your slick before pressing the tips inside. Just the first knuckles—enough to make you gasp—then deeper, until both long fingers were buried to the hilt.

The moment Jake’s fingers sank fully inside you—long, thick, curling perfectly against that spongy spot deep within—your whole body seized.

A sharp, broken shout tore from your throat—“Jake—oh fuck—!”—and then you were coming.

Hard.

Your walls clamped down around his fingers like a vice, fluttering and pulsing in violent, rhythmic waves as the orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his knuckles, coating his hand, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. Your back arched off the mattress, fingers yanking at his hair so tightly you were sure it hurt, but Jake only moaned louder.

When the first brutal wave finally began to ebb, Jake pulled back from your clit with a loud, wet pop—lips swollen and shiny, chin dripping with your release. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He crawled up your body in one fluid motion as he settled between your legs. His fingers never left you—still buried deep, still curling lazily inside your fluttering walls.

Then his mouth crashed down on yours.

You moaned helplessly into him, arms wrapping around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, arms wound tight around his neck, nails raking down the backs of his shoulders, leaving stinging little trails he’d feel tomorrow and love. 

Minutes passed like that. Maybe longer. Time dissolved into nothing but heat, wet sounds, and the feeling of Jake consuming you from the inside out.

Then—reluctantly—he pulled his mouth off yours. A thick string of spit connected your bottom lip to his for a heartbeat before it snapped. 

“Need to taste you again,” he rasped, voice ruined. “Everywhere.”

And then he started moving down. Open-mouthed kisses. Hot. Hungry. Worshipful.

He kissed the corner of your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, sucking a fresh bruise into the skin he’d already marked earlier. Lower. Lower. His mouth found your tits again—immediately latching onto one nipple. At the exact same moment, you felt pressure at your entrance.

A third finger.

He didn’t force it—just nudged, teasing the slick, fluttering rim, letting your own arousal coat the tip while he waited.

You answered instantly.

Your thighs fell open wider, hips canting up in a silent, desperate plea. 

He moaned against your breast—vibrating the sensitive bud—before he started pushing in.

Slow.

So fucking slow.

Just the tip at first, letting you feel the stretch, then deeper, until all three thick fingers were buried inside you, spreading you open, filling you so perfectly your eyes rolled back. Your walls fluttered wildly around the new fullness, clenching and releasing as he curled them gently, stroking that perfect spot over and over.

The stretch of his three thick fingers inside you was overwhelming—perfect, burning, delicious. They filled you so completely, knuckles brushing every sensitive wall as he pushed in slow and deep, then dragged back out with agonizing patience before thrusting in again. Every time he curled them—hooking right against that spongy, electric spot—your walls fluttered wildly around him, clenching down like you were trying to keep him buried forever.

“Jake—oh god—fuck—” Your fingers tightened in his hair, yanking him closer to your chest while your other hand cradled his face like he was something precious.

Jake never wanted to let go.

His mouth stayed latched to your breast—specifically that one perfect, swollen nipple. Every few seconds, he let his teeth graze—just a gentle scrape, a soft chew—nothing hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your whole body jolt. He’d nibble lightly at the tender flesh around the areola, then soothe it immediately with his tongue, sucking the nipple back between his lips like he couldn’t bear to be parted from it even for a second.

He had always had a thing for keeping something in his mouth.

A pacifier when he was little. A pen cap when he was nervous. His own fingers when he was deep in thought.

And now—you.

The taste of your skin, the weight of you on his tongue, the way you filled his mouth so perfectly—it was everything he’d ever craved without knowing it. 

You didn’t hate it.

Not even close.

Your reactions told him everything.

Every time his teeth grazed, you gasped—sharp and needy—hips bucking up against his thrusting fingers. Every time he chewed softly, nibbling like he was savoring the softest candy, your thighs trembled and squeezed around his head, trapping him there. Your fingers in his hair tightened to the point of pain, yanking him closer, pressing his face deeper into your chest like you were trying to smother him with your tits—and god, he would have happily died like that.

His mouth stayed locked on that one perfect breast—the right one, the one that seemed to fit his lips like it was made for him. It throbbed under his attention—dark, puffy, flushed an angry pink. It pulsed against his tongue with every heartbeat, swollen and hypersensitive, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight between your legs every time he drew it deeper.

“Jake—fuck—yes—don’t stop—suck harder—please—”

The desperate whines spilling from your lips, the way your body arched and shook, the way you clung to him like you’d die if he pulled away—it was too much.

Jake felt it—the perfect moment.

With a low, muffled groan against your breast, he shifted his hand. Three fingers were already stretching you wide—curling deep, stroking that perfect spot over and over—but he needed more.

You needed more.

He was big. Far too much to take without preparation. And he refused to hurt you. He wanted you ready. Desperate. Begging for every inch when the time came.

He kept his mouth working to keep you distracted, keep you lost in the pleasure. At the same time, a fourth finger nudged at your entrance—sliding through the dripping slick, teasing the already stretched rim before he pushed in.

The stretch was intense—burning, overwhelming. Four thick fingers spreading you wide, filling you so completely your walls fluttered wildly around him, clenching and releasing in helpless little spasms. He curled them gently—stroking that perfect spot in slow, deep drags—while his thumb found your clit and started rubbing circles.

You were a mess of high, needy sounds—whimpers turning into broken sobs, hips rolling up to meet every thrust, fingers yanking at his hair so hard it had to sting. Your other hand cradled his cheek, thumb stroking over the flushed skin as you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Only when your pleas turned truly desperate—when you were practically sobbing his name, begging for his cock, hips bucking wildly against his hand—did he finally decide you were ready.

With a reluctant whine he pulled his mouth off your breast—leaving the nipple dark, swollen, glistening with spit and throbbing in the cool air. 

Then agonizingly, he slipped his fingers out of you.

A thick, wet string of your arousal connected his knuckles to your entrance before it snapped, dripping down onto the sheets. Jake stared at the mess he’d made—your pussy gaping slightly, fluttering around the sudden emptiness, slick coating his hand from wrist to fingertips—and groaned like a dying man. 

Without hesitation, he brought his dripping fingers to his mouth. He sucked them in deep—eyes fluttering shut, cheeks hollowing as he licked every trace of you off his skin. 

You watched him—breathless, mesmerized—watching the way his tongue swirled around his knuckles, the way his eyes rolled back a little, the way he drooled over his own hand like he couldn’t get enough.

Then his gaze flicked back to you—dark, hungry, adoring. He pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop and brought them to your lips instead. “Open,” he whispered, voice trembling.

You did—immediately—parting your lips so he could slide his slick fingers inside. You tasted yourself on his skin and sucked eagerly.

Jake’s breath hitched. His eyes dropped lower—to your open, dripping pussy, folds swollen and glistening, entrance fluttering like it was begging for him. And god—it was begging. Winking at him. Opening for him. Practically pleading for his cock.

Jake groaned and pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. He wrapped his hand around the thick base of his cock—veins pulsing visibly under the flushed skin, head swollen dark and leaking a steady stream of precome that dripped in slow, silvery strands. He lined himself up, the fat, blunt tip kissing your entrance—hot, slick, pressing insistently against your fluttering hole.

He watched—completely entranced, eyes dark and glassy—as he started to push in.

The first inch was already a challenge.

Your pussy opened for him, stretching around the impossibly thick head like it was being forced to learn how to accommodate something so massive. Your walls fluttered wildly, clenching and spasming around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer girth that was splitting you open. It felt like he was carving out new space inside you, reshaping you to fit only him.

You couldn’t breathe properly. Every shallow inhale came out as a shaky whimper. Your thighs trembled around his hips, muscles jumping with the effort of staying open for him.

“Fuck—baby—” Jake choked out, voice wrecked and trembling. “You’re so tight… so fucking tight… trying to take me… god, look at you—trying so hard to let me in…” The head popped past your entrance with a soft, wet sound, and your walls clamped down hard around him in reflex. A sharp, high gasp tore from your throat—half pleasure, half overwhelmed sting—as the thick ridge stretched you wider than you’d ever been stretched before.

“Jake—oh god—” you whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re so big—too big—it’s—fuck—it’s stretching me so much—”

“Shh—shh, baby—I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice shaking with both restraint and awe. “You’re doing so good… taking me so perfectly… just breathe for me… let me in… let your pretty pussy open up for my cock…” He rocked forward another fraction—barely an inch—and you cried out softly, nails digging into his shoulders. The stretch burned hotter now, your walls fluttering desperately around the thick intrusion, trying to accommodate the impossible girth. You could feel every vein, every ridge as he sank deeper—slow, torturous, filling you so completely it felt like he was reaching places inside you no one else had ever touched.

“Fuck—look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. “Look how your little pussy is stretching around me… taking my fat cock… so greedy for it… so wet and hot… god, you’re perfect… made for me…”

Another inch.

Your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as the head nudged against that deep, sensitive spot inside you. The pressure was everywhere—filling you so full it felt like he was rearranging your insides, claiming every inch of space as his. “Jake—please—” you sobbed, voice trembling. “It’s so much—so deep—stretching me so wide—feels like you’re gonna break me—”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The sound of his voice pushed you right to the edge of sanity. With a soft, needy whimper you slid both hands up to cradle his face—thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw—and pulled him down into a fierce, hungry kiss. The moment your lips crashed against his—fierce, hungry, desperate—Jake’s entire world narrowed to that single point of contact and his restraint shattered like glass.

His hips snapped forward in one brutal, perfect thrust.

The last thick inches drove into you hard—burying him to the hilt so deep the fat, swollen head slammed right up against your cervix with a force that punched the air from your lungs.

You screamed into his mouth—high, startled, overwhelmed—back bowing off the mattress, thighs clamping around his hips like a vice. 

“You took me—” he rasped, voice cracking with awe and disbelief. “All of me—all of me—god, look at you… stretching around my cock like you were fucking made for it… so tight… so hot… I can feel you squeezing me—milking me—fuck, baby, you’re perfect… so fucking perfect…” The overwhelming heat, the tight, rippling grip of your walls clenching around every pulsing inch of him—it was too much. Too perfect. Too everything.

“You’re squeezing me so good… feels like you’re trying to keep me inside forever…” He started rocking into you—shallow thrusts. Just a few inches back and forth, never pulling out too far, never giving you a second without feeling him. The wet, filthy schlick of him moving inside you filled the room, mixing with your shared breaths and soft moans.

Then—he made the mistake of looking down. He only meant to admire your tits but his gaze drifted lower.

And he froze.

There—right above your pubic bone—was the unmistakable bulge of his cock. Every slow rock made it shift—his thick head pressing up against your lower belly, the outline visible under your skin like a brand.

Jake’s breath punched out of him in a strangled groan.

“Oh… fuck…”

Something primal snapped inside him. With no warning—no hesitation—he pulled all the way out. Until only the fat, leaking tip remained nestled against your entrance.

Your walls clenched around nothing—aching at the sudden emptiness—and you whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.

Then he thrusted in. Hard. Deep. One brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt again.

Your back arched off the mattress with a raw, broken scream “Jahke—!”

His mouth found your throat—teeth grazing, then biting down just hard enough to mark—while his hands flew to your waist, gripping your waist like handles, fingers digging into the soft flesh, using the leverage to yank you back onto his cock every time he pulled out. “Look at how deep I am inside you… look at this fucking bulge—see it? See how my cock stretches your little belly every time I bottom out? That’s me. That’s my dick rearranging your insides, making you feel me in places no one else ever has.”

He made sure you felt every thick, veiny inch drag against your fluttering walls before slamming back in with a wet smack. “Sunghoon could never fuck you like this,” he snarled, the name dripping with venom. “He could never fill you this deep. Never make you scream like that. Never leave you shaking and dripping and marked the way I do. He’d be done in two minutes—average little cock barely touching the sides—while I’m here splitting you open, ruining this perfect pussy for anyone else.” Another brutal thrust—hard enough to make your tits bounce, hard enough to punch a raw cry from your throat. “He’d never make you cry from how good it feels,” Jake continued, voice shaking with triumph. “Never make you come so hard your legs stop working. Never pump you so full of cum that it leaks out for hours. He’d never look down and see his own cock bulging in your stomach like this—like I’m branding you from the inside. You’re mine. This pussy? This body? All mine. Not his. Never his.”

He leaned back just enough to look down—eyes locked on the obscene outline of his cock moving under your skin—watching it shift with every deep, claiming thrust. “That’s me. That’s how much bigger I am. That’s how much better I fuck you. He could never do this. Could never make you take every fucking inch like you were born for it. Could never make you sob my name while your tight little cunt milks me dry.” He slammed in again—harder—making the bulge rise sharply under your lower belly. “Say it,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Tell me who owns this pussy. Tell me who fucks you like this. Tell me who you belong to.”

You could barely speak—voice wrecked, breath punched out of you with every thrust—but the words spilled out anyway, broken and desperate. “You—you, Jake—only you—fuck—only your cock—only yours—”

He groaned—deep, guttural, victorious—and fucked you even harder, hands bruising your waist, hips snapping forward like he was trying to imprint himself into your very core. “Damn right,” he snarled against your throat. 

Then—without warning—Jake’s hands slid under your ass. Strong arms flexed under your thighs, biceps bulging as he lifted you clean off the mattress in one smooth, powerful motion. The world tilted for a heartbeat—your back leaving the sheets, your weight shifting entirely onto him—as he pulled you up and settled you firmly in his lap, legs draped over his hips like you belonged there. 

You sank down hard—gravity and his guiding hands forcing you onto his cock in one brutal, breathtaking drop. The thick length speared into you deeper than before, the angle hitting new, untouched places inside you that made your vision blur and a raw, high-pitched cry rip from your throat. He was too big, too deep, too everything.

He set a punishing rhythm immediately: slow on the upstroke, lifting you with those powerful hands until only the thick, flared head remained nestled just inside your entrance, then he yanked you back down, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke that punched the air from your lungs. Your ass met his thighs with a sharp, wet slap that echoed through the cabin, followed immediately by your broken, high-pitched moan as he filled you completely once more.

Again. And again.

Each time he yanked you down, your breasts bounced heavily—full, flushed, marked with the dark red-purple blooms of his bites and the faint indents of his teeth. The soft, bruised flesh jiggled with every rough drop, practically begging for attention.

And Jake?

Jake needed his mouth busy.

Always had.

The sight of your tits bouncing right in front of his face—close enough to taste—was the most tempting invitation he’d ever been given.

With a low, broken groan that sounded more animal than human, Jake surged forward.

His mouth crashed onto your right breast like a starving man finally allowed to feast. No preamble, no teasing—he simply opened wide and took the swollen, dark nipple deep into the wet heat of his mouth, lips sealing tight around the areola as he sucked hard enough to hollow his cheeks. 

His free hand slid up cupping the underside of your other breast. He lifted it, squeezed, then slapped—hard enough to make the flesh jiggle. The sharp smack echoed through the room, followed immediately by your high, broken moan. He watched, utterly fascinated as the red bloom of his handprint bloomed across the pale skin. Another slap—harder—watching the flesh move in hypnotic ripples. 

“Jahykeee—” The sound came out high and needy, open-mouthed, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your head fell back. You couldn’t form full sentences anymore—just his name, over and over, moaned like a prayer.

Everything was wet.

Disgusting.

Perfect.

You were babbling now—incoherent, desperate little sounds that barely formed words. “gonna come—oh god—”

A few more brutal thrusts—deep, punishing, hips snapping up to meet every downward slam—and Jake broke. With a raw groan that vibrated against your breast, he buried himself to the hilt one last time and came. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you—pulse after violent pulse—filling you so full you could feel every spurt painting your walls. 

The sheer volume of his cum filled you so completely you could feel it sloshing gently with every tiny shift of your hips, warm and heavy, some of it already leaking out around the base of his cock in slow, creamy rivulets that dripped down his balls and onto the sheets beneath you. Neither of you moved to pull apart. 

You didn’t want to. He didn’t want to.

His mouth stayed latched to your swollen nipple—nursing with slow, lazy pulls that made the tender bud throb against his tongue. Every few seconds he’d give a tiny, gentle suck—like he was drawing comfort, drawing life from you. He gnawed softly at the areola, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you shiver, then returned to nursing with quiet, contented hums vibrating against your chest.

You let your own hands drift up—fingers threading gently through his damp, messy hair. You smoothed it back from his forehead, petting him slowly, lovingly, nails scratching lightly over his scalp in soothing little circles.

“Good boy,” you whispered, voice soft and wrecked. “Filled me up so perfectly…”

That made him melt.

A high, broken whimper escaped around your nipple as his hips gave a tiny, helpless roll beneath you. The motion dragged his still-hard cock against your sensitive walls, stirring the thick load he’d just pumped deep inside you.

You gasped—sweet and soft—at the sensation.

“Good boy… look at you—still so hard for me… still filling me up…”

Jake’s entire body trembled against yours—shaking like a leaf in a storm—his face buried so deep between your breasts that his nose pressed into the soft valley, inhaling you like you were the only air he needed. His arms wrapped around your waist tighter, hands splayed wide across your lower back, fingers digging in just enough to keep you locked against him. He wasn’t thrusting anymore—not really. He was just… moving. Like his body couldn’t bear to be still inside you. 

“Please say it again… please…” He sounded so small, so utterly wrecked. The filthy boy who’d just fucked you senseless was gone. In his place was this trembling, desperate thing. 

You cradled his face gently between your hands, thumbs brushing over the flushed apples of his cheeks, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. His eyes—big, glassy, and completely lost—lifted to meet yours, pupils blown wide with need and adoration.

“My sweet puppy,” you murmured, voice soft but firm, lips brushing his forehead. “You’ve been so good for me. You can fuck me again, baby. You have my permission, puppy. Take what you need.”

A broken, grateful whine tore from his throat—high and shaky—like the words alone were enough to unravel him completely.  “Thank you—thank you—” he choked out, voice cracking as he nuzzled into your neck for a heartbeat before lifting his head.

You tilted his chin up with gentle fingers, guiding his mouth to yours.

The kiss started soft—slow, deep, tender. You led at first, tongue sliding against his in lazy, loving strokes, swallowing the little whimpers he let out every time you nipped his bottom lip. He melted into it—letting you take control, letting you set the pace—hands trembling where they gripped your hips like he was afraid to move without your say-so.

But Jake was needy.

Desperate.

And he could only hold back for so long.

A low moan slipped out against your mouth as his tongue plunged deeper—still following your rhythm at first, but growing hungrier, chasing every slide of your tongue like you were pure nectar he’d die without. You could taste the salt of his tears, the faint musk of your earlier release still lingering on his tongue, and it made you moan softly into him.

You started moving—lifting yourself up his thick length with agonizing slowness, letting him feel every dragging inch as your walls clung to him, fluttering and squeezing around his girth. When only the swollen head remained inside you—stretching your entrance wide—you sank back down in one smooth, deep drop, taking him to the hilt again.

Jake’s entire body jerked beneath you, and his hands on your hips tightened, fingers digging in just enough to help guide your rhythm, lifting you just enough on the upstroke, then guiding you back down with gentle pressure, making sure you took every inch. But he didn’t thrust up into you. He didn’t dare. He just… assisted. Letting you use him exactly how you wanted.

Eventually you could feel it building again—slow, hot, inevitable. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably around his waist, breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pressure crested. “Jake.. gonna—gonna come—” you sobbed, voice breaking into a high, desperate whine. 

The second the words left your lips, something shifted in him. His hands—previously only guiding, tightened. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave fresh marks over the old ones, and he took over.

No more teasing rhythm. No more letting you lead.

He surged upward driving his cock deep inside you in one smooth, punishing stroke that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched violently, a raw cry tearing from your throat as he bottomed out again. One hand slid up your side cupping the heavy curve of your breast, thumb flicking over the swollen, spit-slick nipple before pinching it hard enough to make you gasp. His other hand slipped between your bodies—fingers finding your clit immediately, rubbing fast little circles, then pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers, rolling it gently before flicking it hard enough to make your hips buck. 

“Gonna come so pretty for me, aren’t you? Gonna cream all over my dick while I fill you up again—”

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave—walls clamping down around his cock in violent, fluttering spasms. Your thighs squeezed his hips so tight it hurt, toes curling, vision whiting out at the edges. 

You went limp beneath him, your arms flopped weakly to your sides, legs splayed open around him, chest heaving with ragged breaths. You could barely think, barely move—just lay there, wrecked and panting, letting him use you as he chased his own release. And with a few more desperate grinds, he broke.

With a muffled cry, he came again—hot, thick ropes flooding deep inside you, mixing with the first load until you felt impossibly fuller.

You both stayed like that—locked together, trembling—for long minutes. Jake’s hands roamed lazily over your body, petting your sides, squeezing your ass, like he was memorizing every curve.

Then slowly—ever so slowly—he shifted, with a soft, reluctant whine—he started to pull out.

You winced at the feeling—sharp and empty—as his cock dragged against your oversensitive walls. A gush of his cum followed immediately, spilling out of you in a warm, thick flood that ran down your ass and pooled on the sheets. The sudden loss made you whimper, thighs twitching.

But before you could even process it— Jake’s mouth was there, strong hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wide—and buried his face in your pussy.

You shouted—high and startled—“Jake—fuck—too much—!”

Overstimulation hit like lightning—your hips bucking up instinctively, hands flying to his hair to push him away as his tongue dragged flat up your leaking slit.

But Jake didn’t budge.

His tongue pushed past your swollen folds, lapping at the creamy mess he’d left inside you: his thick cum mixed with your slick, warm and salty-sweet on his tongue. He scooped every drop with broad swirls—moaning low against your pussy like the flavor was pure ecstasy.

“Gotta clean you,” he mumbled against your folds, voice thick and wrecked, lips moving wetly as he spoke. “Gotta taste us…”

He ate you thoroughly—relentlessly—tongue curling inside you, swallowing with a low hum—throat working visibly, nose nudging your swollen clit with every deep thrust of his tongue.

You tried to push at his head, but he wasn’t having it. He grabbed both of your wrists in one large hand and pinned them to your stomach—holding you down, while his other hand clamped harder on your thigh, thumb stroking the soft inner skin in slow, soothing circles.

“Stay still, baby,” he rasped between licks, voice muffled and dripping with need. “Let me clean you… I’m not done yet… not even close…”

He kept going—tongue plunging deep, then dragging up to your clit before sucking the swollen bud between his lips with gentle insistence. He nursed on it softly—sucking, licking, humming in quiet bliss.

He kept going until your pussy was clean, glistening only with his spit now, fluttering weakly around nothing.

He gave one last long, savoring lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit—collecting the final traces—before pulling back with a low, wrecked groan.

He crawled up your body until his face hovered over yours.

Then he kissed you.

Deep. Slow. Filthy.

His skin was flushed and sweat-slicked, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, but his eyes never left yours—dark, glassy, shining with something so raw and tender it made your heart stutter.

When his face finally hovered over yours—close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the salt and musk of sex clinging to his skin—he paused for one heartbeat, just breathing you in.

Then he kissed you.

His mouth sealed over yours like he was trying to crawl inside you all over again—lips soft but insistent, parting yours with a gentle nudge before his tongue slid in, hot and thick and unhurried. The first taste hit you immediately: the heady, salty-sweet mix of both of you—his cum still lingering on his tongue, thick and musky, blended with the slick tang of your own arousal that coated every inch of his mouth. It was obscene, intimate, utterly filthy in the most perfect way—evidence of everything he’d done to you, everything you’d let him do, still warm and fresh on his tongue.

You moaned into the kiss and he groaned back—low and wrecked—swallowing the sound like it was nectar, his tongue sliding deeper, curling around yours in slow, lazy drags that made your toes curl against the sheets.

The kiss was sloppy, unashamed—filthy in the best way.

He shifted slightly—weight settling more firmly over you—and one of his hands slid down your body with intent. Rough fingertips trailed over your ribs, your stomach, until they reached the space between your thighs. He cupped your pussy in one big palm—hot, calloused, fingers splaying wide to cover every inch of your swollen, sensitive folds.

Your thighs clamped around his hand instantly—reflexive—trapping him there. The wet heat of you was obscene— still swollen and tender from everything he’d done to you.

Without breaking the kiss, his ring and middle fingers slipped inside you easily—two thick digits sinking deep into your heat with a soft, wet schlick. Your walls fluttered around them immediately, still sensitive, still clenching like they were trying to pull him deeper. He curled them slowly—hooking against that perfect spot inside you—while his thumb brushed feather-light over your swollen clit, circling once, twice, then pressing down just enough to make your hips buck. Your own hand came down to cover his—fingers wrapping around his wrist, not to stop him, but hold on, feeling the flex of his tendons, the way his forearm tensed every time he pushed deeper.

He worshipped you like this for long, unhurried minutes—fingers massaging slow and deep, thumb circling your clit with perfect patience, mouth moving against yours in lazy, loving strokes.  You could feel yourself climbing again, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly despite the oversensitivity. But Jake felt it too. He felt the way your walls started fluttering faster, the way your breath hitched against his mouth, the way your fingers tightened around his wrist.

With a soft, reluctant groan he finally eased his fingers out carefully, curling them one last time against that perfect spot before sliding free. 

He broke the kiss just enough to press his forehead to yours—breathing hard, eyes glassy and dark with adoration.

“Don’t wanna push you too far, baby,” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling. “You’ve already given me everything.” He pressed one last, soft kiss to your swollen lips—gentle this time, then collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, chest to chest, legs tangling, his face immediately burying in the crook of your neck. His breath came in shaky, happy little puffs against your skin as he nuzzled closer, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, the other resting possessively on your hip.

“Mine…” he whispered, voice hoarse and drowsy, lips brushing your pulse point. “All mine…”

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your throat—then another, and another—like he couldn’t stop tasting you even now.

You hummed—soft, content—fingers threading gently through his damp hair, petting him slowly while your other arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close.

Completely, blissfully content.

The next morning dawned bright and mercilessly hot, the kind of summer day that turned the entire camp into a shimmering haze. You stood in front of the tiny mirror in your cabin, trying—and failing—to cover the evidence of last night.

The marks were everywhere.

Dark, blooming hickeys and faint bite marks painted your throat like a collar of bruises. A constellation of red-purple blooms trailed down your collarbone, over the tops of your breasts, and disappeared beneath the neckline of your top. Your inner thighs were mottled with finger-shaped imprints and suction marks, and your hips bore the faint outline of Jake’s hands where he’d gripped you like he never wanted to let go.

You tried a scarf—ridiculous in this heat. A high-collared shirt—immediately discarded when sweat beaded on your neck within minutes. Long sleeves? Impossible. The sun was already brutal, and the thought of layers made you feel like you were suffocating.

So you gave up.

You tugged on your usual camp uniform and stepped outside. Immediately, the heat pressed against your skin like a living thing, but more noticeable than the temperature was the way your body moved.

You were limping.

Not dramatically, but enough that every step sent a dull, delicious ache radiating from between your thighs. Your pussy still felt swollen, tender, stretched in a way that made you clench involuntarily every time you shifted your weight. And your skin—god, your skin—glowed. That unmistakable post-sex flush clung to you, making you look like you’d been thoroughly, repeatedly ravished.

The female counselors noticed first.

They were gathered near the mess hall, sipping lukewarm coffee, when you limped past.

“Holy shit,” Minji—choked on her drink, eyes widening as she took in the full display. “Girl, what the hell happened to you? Did you get attacked by a vacuum cleaner?”

Chaeryeong—leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “No, no, look at those marks. That’s not a vacuum. That’s a whole-ass man. Who fucked you so good you look like you got mauled?”

You laughed—hoarse, a little breathless—and tried to shrug it off, but the movement pulled at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, making you wince. 

“Someone got carried away,” you said, voice still a little raspy from all the moaning and screaming the night before.

“Carried away?” Yuna echoed, eyes sparkling. “Babe, that’s not carried away. That’s claimed. Look at your thighs—those are handprints. Plural. Who is this man and does he have a brother?”

The male counselors, meanwhile, were noticeably quieter.

They glanced over—then quickly looked away. Some flushed red. Others suddenly found the ground very interesting. Sunghoon, in particular, was standing near the canoe rack pretending to check ropes, but his ears were bright pink and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

The kids were… less subtle.

A group of eight-year-olds ran up while you were trying to help set up the morning activity board. 

“Whoa, Miss, what happened to your neck?” one little girl asked, pointing openly at the dark hickey just below your jaw.

Another boy gasped dramatically. “Did a bear get you? Or a tiger? You look like you got mauled by an animal!”

You crouched down—wincing slightly—and ruffled his hair. “No bears, promise,” you said with a grin. “Just… a very enthusiastic mosquito.”

The kids blinked, clearly unconvinced, but ran off to tell their friends about the “mosquito attack.”

The adult staff—counselors and the camp director included—mostly just stared at you like you’d grown a second head. A few raised eyebrows. A couple of knowing smirks. One of the older female staff members muttered something about “kids these days” while pointedly looking anywhere but at your neck.

But none of it really bothered you. Not when Jake was trailing behind you like a lovesick shadow.

He hadn’t let you out of his sight since breakfast—still a little dazed, still a little sore, still glowing. He carried your water bottle without being asked. He hovered while you handed out activity schedules. He practically vibrated with pride every time someone’s eyes flicked to your marks and then to him.

And when Sunghoon tried to approach you near the craft table—casual, friendly, like nothing had changed—Jake was suddenly right there, sliding an arm around your waist, chin resting possessively on your shoulder.

Sunghoon blinked, glanced at the obvious handprints on your hips peeking out from under your top, then at Jake’s smug little smile—and backed off without another word.

Jake practically preened.

By evening, the bonfire crackled high, kids roasting marshmallows, counselors scattered on logs and blankets. Jake was sitting on one of the bigger logs, legs spread, looking every inch the smug, satisfied man who’d finally gotten his prize.

You didn’t even hesitate.

You walked straight over—limp still noticeable—and plopped right into his lap. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling your back flush against his chest. His chin hooked over your shoulder, nose brushing your neck right over one of the darkest hickeys.

“Hi, baby,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and content, just for you.

Kids giggled and whispered. Counselors exchanged looks—some amused, some scandalized, most just resigned. Sunghoon stared into the flames like they’d personally offended him.

Jake didn’t care.

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck—right over a particularly dark mark—and sighed like the happiest man alive.

You were perfectly content right where you were: settled sideways across Jake’s lap, back resting against his chest, legs draped lazily over one of his thighs. His arms were wrapped around your waist like he was afraid someone might try to steal you away if he let go for even a second. His chin rested on your shoulder, nose occasionally brushing the side of your neck where the darkest, most obvious hickey bloomed like a bruise-colored flower.

You weren’t doing anything.

Just sitting.

Breathing.

Existing in his arms.

And that was more than enough. Because beneath you Jake started to harden.

You felt it happen in stages: the first subtle thickening against the underside of your thigh, the way his cock twitched once, then again, as if waking up. Then the gradual swell, pressing insistently against your ass through the thin layers of your shorts and his. He shifted once—barely a movement, just trying to adjust—and the motion only made him harder, the thick ridge of him settling right between your cheeks.

A soft, involuntary groan slipped from his throat—barely audible over the fire, but you heard it. Felt it rumble against your back. You tilted your head just enough to whisper against the shell of his ear, voice low and teasing, lips brushing the sensitive skin.

“Getting hard just from me sitting on you, puppy?” you murmured, letting your breath ghost over his earlobe. “Poor thing… can’t even control yourself around me anymore, can you?”

Jake’s whole body jerked. “Baby—fuck—” he breathed against your neck, voice wrecked and trembling. “Don’t—don’t say that—please—I’m trying to be good—”

But he wasn’t being good.

Not at all.

His hips gave another tiny, helpless roll—grinding his aching length against you—just enough to make you feel every thick inch. His breath came in short, shaky pants against your throat, lips brushing the bruise he’d left there like he couldn’t help himself.

Across the fire, Heeseung was watching the whole thing with the stupidest, most shit-eating grin on his face.

When Jake’s eyes flicked up—wide, panicked, pleading—Heeseung just raised both thumbs in an exaggerated double-thumbs-up, wiggling his eyebrows like he was at a comedy show.

Really helping the situation.

Jake buried his face deeper into your neck with another pathetic whine, hips twitching again despite his best efforts to stay still. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna lose it right here if you keep talking like that…”

You only smiled—slow, wicked—and shifted just enough to press your ass down a little harder against his straining cock.

“Shhh,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear again. “Be good for me, puppy. Or everyone’s gonna know exactly what you’re thinking about right now.”

Jake’s only answer was a low groan, broken, and completely wrecked.

a/n: i wrote most of this while at work. so sorry its shit.

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[en-thezone]

SPARKS FLY | S.JY

PAIRING: Sim Jaeyun x female!reader

GENRE: college!au, smut, paranormal!au, childhood enemies to lovers

SUMMARY: Your rivalry with Sim Jaeyun went back years: who got the best grades, who finished the exam first, who got compliments from the teachers, and even who had the best Halloween costume. But there was one thing Jake couldn't compete with you on, a little secret that gave you too much satisfaction... until it wasn't.

WORDS: 18k+.

WARNINGS AND CONTENT: childhood rivals to lovers with a twist, he fell first and harder x reader is bad a feelings, things about witchcraft and bad ideas, explicit smut, unprotected sex, forced creampie, fingering, squirting, pussy eating, dirty talk, spanking, praise, mention of dp.

Your little calico cat stared at you from his throne, more known as your comfy bed full of pillows. Jisoo flicked his tail lazily as he watched completely uninterested how you were losing your mind over a wrinkled sheet of paper. 

‘’I don’t understand! I studied for days,’’ you grunted, teeth clenched. Your exam laid on the floor, forgotten in the middle of a fury attack. ‘’I can’t believe that idiot got a higher grade! This is so unfair.’’

‘’Language!’’ Jisoo hissed, stretching with a big yawn after. He closed his eyes and pretended you weren’t there, ignoring the glare you sent his way. ‘’You got a good grade, stop complaining before you give me a headache. You’re interrupting my nap time, by the way.’’

‘’This is a disaster, Jisoo. He beat me by half a point, can you believe that?’’

‘’Darling, you don’t know what a real disaster is’’, the cat gave you a dramatic sigh. ‘’I’m supposed to guide you through challenges in magic, not Math exams. Sorry,’’ Jisoo shrugged, at least the way cats do. He didn’t seem sorry at all. ‘’This is under my payment range.’’

You rolled your eyes. ‘’You don’t get paid, you’re my familiar! And you’re not helpful right now,’’ you snapped. 

‘’Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe familiars should have a union,’’ he muttered thoughtfully, turning his back on you to end the conversation. ‘’And get payments agreements.’’

‘’You’re supposed to listen to me and give me advice,’’ you pouted, landing next to him and digging your fingers in his soft fur, petting him. ‘’This is a crisis.’’

Jisoo tilted his head when you started petting his ears, purring a little with his eyes closed. ‘’I was the best warlock in the century, now I’m a cat condemned to listen to boy’s problems. It’s insulting. Now that’s a crisis. I didn't know the afterlife was this bad.’’ 

You returned to pacing into your small bedroom, frowning. 

‘’It’s not a boy's problem, we’re talking about enemies here. I need to get back at Jake, you should see how happy he was. He looked at me like he didn’t care that he got first place. Ugh. I swear, his head got even bigger.’’

Jisoo opened one eye. ‘’These violent tendencies are worrisome. I suggest therapy.’’

‘’He already beat me in Literature, and now in Math. Mr Lee already chose him as his favorite,’’ you groaned. ‘’He even got the position of captain of the basketball team! I couldn't land the cheer captain position. He’s got ahead of me, the cocky bastard.’’

The cat judged you from his position. ‘’Oh my God,’’ Jisoo said under his breath. ‘’This has been going on since forever, aren’t you tired? You two are adults still acting like petty kids.’’

Truth is, Sim Jaeyun has been an annoying presence in your life since both were little. He was the new kid in class, all confidence and arrogance even at such a young age, all hidden in that stupid puppy face he had. Jake was the kind of boy who would pull your hair and somehow convince everybody he was innocent with his pretty eyes, like the time he threw his pink chewing gum on your hair when nobody was looking and you ended with a horrible bowl cut for the rest of the year.

Or maybe the time he filled your lunchbox with worms, or when he added without your knowledge too much baking soda in your volcano project in fifth grade. You smelled like vinegar and baking soda for a few days after the small explosion. 

By the time high school started, you named him as your biggest enemy. Things stopped being physical and turned more into psychological terror and competitiveness. You both were intelligent and talented in their own ways, Jake was pretty easygoing and truly the golden boy, and you were smart and gentle but more quiet so maybe there was hope that none of you would cross the other. After all, you two weren’t kids anymore, right?

That didn’t happen.

When Jake played basketball you were there as the prettiest, flexible cheerleader, stealing the attention and winning competitions with your team as well. You didn’t even love being one, but adored the way Jake’s face would fall every time he saw you around. He reclaimed his reign beating you in various subjects but most of the time you were head to head, truly losing by half a point most of the time. Classmates would hold their breath every time the exam results were published because they knew a storm was coming. 

You were cold wind and Jake strong rain, your arguments were as entertaining as watching a tornado hit the ground, unpredictable and destroying everything in its path. People didn’t want to be in the debate team because of you two. Both of your teammates pretended to be interested in the grass when you and Jake bumped into each other and argued about basketball and cheerleading practice schedules overlapping. 

Everyone knew that no one should get in the tornado's way. Once, a classmate, Yongmin, tried to join Jake and criticize one of your History presentations, and he basically got burned under the icy, unimpressed stare that silenced him quickly.

You and Jake had been banned from the winter musicals after getting the lead roles and ruining it by sabotaging each other's performances. It was a miracle that Jake's hair survived the glue on his wig and that you didn't break anything after the curtain fell on you in the middle of a high note.

Maybe when you two go into college things will be different, your mom said one time, now you’re both adults!

That didn’t happen. Again. 

You and Jake went to the same college but thank God not the same major. He was a Sports Science kind of guy and you were an Engineering and Physics kind of girl. Destiny was a fucked up thing, because you two ended up sharing some classes anyway and competing like you were eleven years olds again instead of grown up adults. Jake still had the same magnetism that pulled people into his orbit and somehow entered a frat with his group of friends, so his social life was just a tiny bit better than yours. He won the popularity award, because after a wrist injury you lost the possibility of being the captain of the cheerleading squad. 

Girls loved him and that was the weirdest thing to witness. To you, Jake was that annoying gremlin with a head too big and a worse mouth, the same mischievous, loud kid from your childhood. It turned out he grew up handsome and tall, as one of your friends, Sakura, said one time. Even weirder was when she asked if she could have a chance with him since you seemed to like him too.

Jisoo didn’t say anything when you told him how you see them kissing at a party one night with a horrified scowl, knowing that there was something else buried in your mocking tone. But the calico cat kept quiet. 

You ignored his jab, rolling your eyes. ‘’Turn into a panther or something and eat him. I don’t care. Just take him out.’’

The calico cat left out something like a laugh and a meow combined. ‘’You think I take orders from you? Leave me to have my afternoon nap in peace, peasant.’’

You glared at the cat, who dismissed you with one look like you were an annoying lady in court. Even in a tiny cat form he still held onto his aristocratic ways, that was for sure. 

With a thoughtful murmur, you approached the bookshelf, which was steadily filling up with more and more books on witchcraft. A wicked idea made you smile slightly as you searched for the right book, Jisoo's snores echoing in the room.

Jake may win over you in some things, but he didn’t have your powers nor your acknowledgement in magic. He was just a normal, human dude with nothing out of the ordinary and that thought made you smile even more. 

Even if it was your secret, you had something he didn’t have. 

‘’This is not a good idea,’’ Jisoo started, perched on your desk like a gargoyle, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

You hummed while adding bat’s wings into the potion that fumed red smoke into your room. ‘’Now you wanna give advice?’’

‘’Making magic to hurt humans is prohibited,’’ the calico cat reminded you. ‘’You’re gonna get us in trouble.’’

‘’Stop worrying, I don’t wanna hurt him. I just wanna mess with him,’’ you smiled, adding more headless fairy dust into the cauldron. ‘’Ruin his day a little, you know?’’ 

‘’Define little.’’ 

You pursed your lips thinking of examples, but you couldn't control the happiness that glowed your face just imagining it. ‘’Like… his shower turning cold out of nowhere. His chair breaks in the middle of class. His alarm clock runs late. Maybe he can’t find a good position to sleep or his pillow isn't cold on the other side.’’

Jisoo stared at you completely unimpressed. ‘’Damn, if this isn’t the height of dark magic I ever witnessed,’’ he sighed. ‘’You’re hexing furniture.’’ 

‘’It’s harmless magic,’’ you protested with a huff, pouring a little of green ogre pee into the potion. ‘’It's not illegal, just annoying things to ruin his day. That’s how you play and break someone’s mind, trust me.’’

The cat snorted in complete astonishment. ‘’You’re using time, energy and magic for a petty revenge. Do you realize this is tremendously dramatic, right?’’

‘’Gee, I wonder whom I get that from,’’ you wondered with a small chuckle. You started the incantation, something really simple that you mastered time ago. Truly, it was something that little kids do to test their magic and do mischief. 

Your fingers sparkled a little and blue light spiraled from them, making forms in the air before sinking into the cauldron. The materials inside mixed with each other and the spell took form, bubbling and boiling. A sweet smell filled your room. 

You squealed with excitement. ‘’Done. I present you a spell of daily inconvenience!’’

Jisoo said nothing when you looked at him expectantly, his ears flicked back as he seemed concentrated in the cauldron. ‘’What’s the real goal here? You’re a well trained witch, not usually dedicated to pranks.’’

You froze for a second, stirring your potion in the cauldron more slowly. ‘’What do you mean, Jisoo?’’

The calico cat gave you that look again— the one that felt like he could see right through your bullshit and into your soul. Sometimes you forgot that this little cat was indeed a powerful and ancient warlock who knew you like the palm of his… paw. Jisoo tilted his head and kept his eyes on you, reading you easily. 

‘’You’ve spent the whole afternoon on this. Thinking about him, channeling energy onto his name, getting the ingredients and also you talk about him everyday…’’

‘’I don’t talk about him, I complain,’’ you clarified. ‘’There’s a difference.’’

‘’Hm. This doesn’t feel like hatred or revenge. This is… misplaced affection. Heartbreak, maybe.’’

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle, a little confused by the warmness on your cheeks. Maybe you were too close to the cauldron. ‘’Please, Jisoo. I told you, I just wanna mess a little with him. Making him lose some of his control. It’s not heartbreak, it’s simply rivalry.’’

Jisoo meowed thoughtfully. ‘’Or maybe you want him to notice that you have control.’’

You closed your spell book with more force than necessary. ‘’That doesn’t ring any bells, no.’’

‘’Here’s some advice you wanted so much,’’ Jisoo's tone softened a little, making you tense. ‘’Careful, my darling girl. Magic born from emotions tends to misbehave. Even if it comes from a talented witch like you.’’

You stared at your fingers, now with a faint light glow, leftover energy from before. ‘’It’s a harmless spell. It will break in a week, is not that serious.’’

‘’I hope so. If you keep tying your energy to him like this, maybe something might start tying back.’’ 

You whined and throwed a bat wing at him. ‘’What does that even mean? Why you’re being so ominous and sinister?’’

‘’Let’s see what happens when that boy starts showing up late and falls onto his ass. Every decision has a reaction, don’t act surprised when the universe decides to have a laugh too.’’

You smiled, imagining Jake’s face when the cold water hits. ‘’Noted.’’

Jisoo grunted adorably, his paw resting on your hand. ‘’If this goes wrong, tell me. I’m the only one who can fix your messes. I’m like, literally and legally obligated to.’’

‘’Deal,’’ you muttered, petting his soft fur. He rested his chin on your other hand, a small gesture of loyalty and comfort. ‘’But don’t worry, nothing will happen.’’

‘’When the Familiar Union finally exists, romantic entanglements and magical sabotage are going to be my priorities,’’ the cat added.

You ignored the first part. ‘’For being a Duke from the eighteen hundreds you’re pretty into labor rights, you know?’’ 

‘’Just be careful what you wish for, darling,’’ Jisoo purred. ‘’Magic’s very sentimental. Sometimes it can give you what your heart asks for, not what you spell wants.’’ 

You sat in your room in silence for a while, until the only sound was Jisoo’s soft snoring and purrs. At some point the blue glow from your fingers faded. Outside, a soft storm took place, thundering in the distance. 

And in another part of the town, a certain boy’s alarm quietly lost twenty minutes. 

It started small. 

Your spell of daily inconveniences proved as effective as it was subtle. Things began to happen here and there just as you planned; Jake arrived late to class one Monday, his hair a tangled mess, muttering to his friend Heeseung about his alarm not working. On Wednesday, one of his chair legs snapped like a Pepero in the middle of class but he was quicker and managed to catch himself before he fell. Well, maybe the spell needed a few tweaks.

By Friday, the locker room showers had turned ice cold, and you had to cover your face to keep from laughing when you heard Jake yelp while you were spying on him. The best part was when he tried another shower and the hot water seemed to disappear for him. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

The following Monday you woke up with the sun on your face and Jisoo snoring beside you— a peaceful, cozy morning. Only until your sleepy eyes noticed your phone blinking with a silent alarm and the awful time marking noon mocking you. You had fallen asleep. You practically sent Jisoo flying with how quickly you threw off the blankets and ran to the bathroom; you had missed all your morning classes!

When you turned on the tap to wash your face, it was as if the sink had exploded and ice-cold water started gushing out like a fountain. Your screams and the sound of the water woke Jisoo up, who couldn't stop laughing from the top of the bed while you tried to turn off the water, completely soaked from head to toe while your small bathroom was flooding.

After checking your alarm about eighty times to make sure it was working for the next day, you arrived at class on time, but your favorite seat was already taken. You went a few rows back, put your bag down and sat down. As you listened to the lecture a little bored, you started to notice something else, a very weird sound: a small crack. You barely had time to react before the chair came crashing down, taking you to the floor with it.

You told Jisoo everything while rubbing your sore butt with a pout.

‘’Well, well, aren’t these the consequences of your own acts,’’ Jisoo laughed. ‘’Karma’s on time this week.’’

‘’Shut up. These are just coincidences, I can have bad luck from time to time. This is totally normal.’’

‘’An intelligent girl like you should know these are counterspells,’’ Jisoo rolled his eyes. ‘’The math isn’t mathing, like you young people say.’’

‘’Stop talking in riddles.’’

He jumped off the windowsill and walked towards you. ‘’This young man is a warlock. Maybe if you didn’t entertain your petty ways you could have noticed the trace of his magic.’’

A scoff left you. ‘’What? No way, Jake’s human as a human can get!’’ 

‘’How are you so sure? Does anybody know you’re a witch? Mind I remind you this is something to keep secret? Jake is a warlock, I can smell the magic,’’ the cat wrinkled his nose. 

‘’If Jake was a warlock, he would have already cast a spell on me years ago. I've known him since we were kids. He wouldn't be able to resist showing off his powers, trust me.’’

‘’You honestly can't believe that a copy of your spell is just a coincidence,’’ Jisoo snorted in disbelief. 

‘’The pipes are old and could burst, and the chairs in my classroom sometimes wobble a little,’’ you sighed. ‘’This is normal, Jisoo.’’

‘’And I’m a fucking racoon.’’

The following week, more strange things started happening. For example, you'd feel someone's heavy gaze on you, and when you looked up, you'd find Jake staring. The corners of his lips would twitch slightly, as if he couldn't contain the mocking smile he offered as a greeting. Weird.

By Friday, Jake couldn't hide how amused he was when something went wrong for you and of course you noticed. Like when your blue pen exploded, sending ink flying everywhere, but mostly onto your face. You spent the morning looking like a blackberry. Or like when you wanted to eat your apple, which magically disappeared from your bag. The one you'd had with you all day vanished like nothing, replaced by a bar of your favorite chocolate and a note that said: you missed a spot.

That same night you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by different spell books with Jisoo by your side, the pages pulsing with residual magic. You were determined to get to the bottom of all this.

‘’Something’s off,’’ you muttered. ‘’My spell shouldn't be rebounding but if it has, it should have ended by now. There’s something else happening and I need to know what it is.’’

Jisoo hummed. ‘’Maybe Jake has some kind of protection spell, or you used too much ogre pee. Or maybe... you've been caught.’’

You frowned. ‘’Caught?’’

‘’Sometimes the magic of two people recognizes each other. Your spell might have reacted to that, or perhaps something collided with it, amplifying its power. It can happen to destined souls,’’ Jisoo finished giving you a curious look, clearly measuring your reaction.

You blinked, feeling your heart race and your stomach drop. ‘’I’m telling you, Jake is just a human, a very normal one. Nothing more than a frat boy with good grades and soft hair.’’

Jisoo tilted his head, amused. ‘’Don’t forget pretty face too.’’

You groaned and throwed a pillow at him. ‘’Please be professional! This is a serious matter.’’

The calico cat dodged the pillow and headed to his favorite spot, the windowsill. ‘’If your magic keeps bouncing back, it’s not failing. It’s redirecting. Something is answering you— maybe even playing along.”

You chewed your lip considering his words, looking behind Jisoo into the night where a thunderstorm was forming. ‘’Mmmh. Maybe I should check it out to see if this is a counter-spell. Maybe I’ll find something…’’

You turned your attention back to Jisoo and for a few seconds you didn't say anything, until a smile began to form on your lips. The cat bristled slightly and shook its head, taking a step back.

‘’Oh, no. Don’t start. Don’t even think about it! I don’t know what you’re thinking but I know it is a bad idea,’’ Jisoo warned you, wary. 

You and Jisoo moved through the night completely camouflaged.

You were dressed in full in black, and so was Jisoo, with a small knitted hat covering his ears from the cold and a matching mini sweater. You were also wearing a hat, anything to make sure nothing about you was noticeable, neither your hair nor your face. You walked through the darkest streets as if you were carrying a secret in your arms and not Jisoo, who was tucked inside your backpack against your chest, grumbling under his breath.

‘’I can’t believe I’m coming with you,’’ Jisoo grumpily said, completely resigned. 

‘’I just wanna take a look from outside. Just a harmless little glimpse to see if I find anything,’’ you assured him. ‘’It’s legal.’’

‘’You went from casting hexing spells on a chair to trespassing private property. Make a deal with the devil, they said. He’s cool and eternal life is amazing, they said. You could pass all of your knowledge as a familiar, they said,’’ Jisoo sighed loudly. 

‘’Shhh! Keep quiet, I don’t want anybody hearing us.’’

Jisoo hissed quietly. ‘’We are literally on an empty street dressed as if we were going to rob a house.’’

You slowed your pace, ignoring Jisoo's further complaints. Just a few meters away was Jake's house, the same one you'd always known. You knew Jake’s parents had left a few months ago to go on a cruise after both retired, so the house had been left to him until then. You thought it would probably be a hotspot for parties and mayhem, but it actually looked quite well-kept, with a well-maintained garden and perfectly manicured lawn, which caught your attention. It didn't look like the home of a frat boy living alone.

You glanced both ways before jogging gently across the distance, making sure you were quick and wouldn't attract the attention of any neighbors who might be awake at that hour. The house lights were off, and there was no sound, no music or voices. Maybe Jake wasn't even there; it being a Saturday, he was probably at a party. You crouched between two bushes on the side of the house and carefully placed your backpack on the ground. Jisoo climbed out, stretching lazily.

‘’This is the plan,’’ you whispered to Jisoo, ‘’I'm going to take a look around his room and see if there's anything suspicious. I need to make sure there's nothing strange going on with my magic.’’

‘’I just want you to know that if the police come here, I'm leaving your ass behind,’’ Jisoo snorted but stayed, even walking a little way around the perimeter of the house. 

You ignored it and rolled your eyes. The air around you grew colder as you focused on the small incantation you were performing, your fingers tracing tiny runes that vanished and reappeared like fireflies in the darkness. Your hair lifted slightly with static, but anyone watching could easily mistake it for a gentle breeze.

Your power vibrated gently as if welcoming you, and Jisoo watched as your feet slowly but steadily rose from the ground, lifting you higher and higher into the air as if on an invisible thread. 

‘’You witches are so dramatic,’’ Jisoo meowed, still watching how you levitated on the air. ‘’Make it quick, before the neighbors call the exorcist.’’

You sighed and got to work, hovering just outside the first-floor window. There were some band posters, a made bed, and a desk piled with books—normal ones. You recognized some you'd read yourself the previous term. It was Jake's damn room. Nothing unusual. You clenched your jaw at the sight, still observing even though it was a bit difficult in the darkness, with only the moonlight illuminating the room.

But suddenly, you felt a strange sensation at the back of your neck, like when you know a jump scare is about to happen in a horror movie. And then your eyes meet what you were afraid to find. 

In a corner, there was a wood cabinet with items you also recognized because you had used them before: ingredients, a cauldron smaller than yours. Books, some older than others, but their contents were undeniable: symbols, spells, drawings. No fucking way.

You stifled the gasp that wanted to escape you and placed your hands on the windowpane just to check that everything was real and you weren't having a hallucination induced by magic. You weren't losing control of your magic, nor was the spell going wrong; Jake was the one sending it back to you.

‘’This asshole,’’ you whispered with clenched teeth. You couldn't believe it, he was hexing you back!

‘’Enjoying the view, little witch?’’

You tensed up when you heard the soft, amused voice literally behind you. Jake’s voice. 

Some things should never happen in a girl’s life. Like falling into your ass while spying on your enemy, right in front of him. You yelped and then landed on the bushes with a gasp, but nothing could have taken your attention away from Jake floating on the first floor, arms crossed. His eyes gleamed maliciously, and you could clearly see his mocking expression.

For a moment you forgot how to breathe, or perhaps it was the fall from several meters, but your mouth and brain lost connection. Jake was there, floating as if nothing had happened, as if gravity didn't apply to him. The moonlight reflected off his hair, turning it almost silver. You remembered what Jisoo had said earlier and paid closer attention, noticing that yes, there was something magical lingering in the air. A faint energy that vibrated and felt alive, not like yours, which usually felt charged. 

It was different but similar, and that scared you more than knowing your rival was a warlock.

‘’Cat got your tongue?’’ Jake asked, voice all velvety and low, as if it were curling around you.

You tried to get up in a panic, knowing how ridiculous you looked. ‘’I— I wasn’t— I was just—”

“Spying?” he offered helpfully, tilting his head with a grin. “Bold move. When I was wondering what you would do I never imagined you would visit me in the middle of the night.’’

Well, now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no need to be so subtle.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped, trying to get up with your dignity intact. “I was checking something. My spell has been acting weird.”

“Oh, that spell,” he pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “The one that made my chair break? Fuck up my alarm? Very considerate of you, by the way. Nothing says ‘I’m thinking about you’ quite like minor property damage.”

You glared. ‘’How— wait, you... knew? How did you know it was me?’’

He laughed, low and delighted. “Of course I knew. You left a signature. Cute one, too— all lightning and impatience. It tickled.”

The air crackled faintly between you. You could feel his magic brushing against yours —warm, playful, curious. What the fuck. The feeling was so surreal that you simply couldn't fully grasp the situation; you felt like laughing hysterically at any second. You felt overwhelmed too fast, like the world just hit the gas and was spinning out of control.

‘’Wait, just… wait. You’re telling me that all this time you were a warlock? You knew I was a witch?!

Jake smiled a little and then it began to descend slowly, until it landed next to the bush. His smile softened into something more intimate, as if it were abandoning its mocking facade. “You know, you really shouldn’t play with someone unless you’re ready for them to play back. You had it coming, pretty.’’

You ignored the nickname, refusing to blush at your idiot enemy. You rolled your eyes and proceeded to remove leaves and twigs from your clothes. “I wasn’t playing—” 

“Sure you were,” his voice dropped, almost fond. “You’ve been dancing around me for years, trying to win every little battle. Grades, awards, games... It’s cute.”

You simply blinked at him, feeling a little alarmed at his proximity. ‘’What are you doing?’’

The wind picked up, swirling around the two of you. Your magic hummed wildly, as if reacting to his proximity— alive, eager, unrestrained.

“I can feel it,” Jake murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Your power’s stronger when you’re angry… or nervous.”

You swallowed hard. “Then maybe you should back off. I could strike your smug face with lightning if I wanted to.’’

He only grinned, whispering near your ear. “Maybe I should get closer.”

A spark jumped between you —literal lightning, bright and sharp. Jake laughed, the sound light and boyish, almost giddy. “See? That’s what happens when you stop pretending. It was about time.’’

You could barely think. He looked utterly at ease, glowing faintly with magic and confidence, while you were trying to remember which way was up. Your hands rested on your chest, as if that way you could contain the leaps your magic was making and your heart was racing, feeling like the pieces would fall off your body at any second. 

“Don’t worry,” he added, going upwards again toward his now open window. “I won’t tell anyone your little secret. I think it’s more fun if it’s just between us, like always.’’

“Fun?” you echoed, still breathless.

He flashed that mischievous smile —the one that made it impossible to tell if he was challenging you or confessing something. “Of course. A proper competition always needs stakes, doesn’t it?”

And with that, he slipped back inside his room, leaving the window open— and the air between you still buzzing, like the world had just shifted a little closer to something dangerous and thrilling. 

What the fuck just happened. 

The next day, nothing happened. 

Your alarm went off, the water was hot, your lunch didn't explode, and you weren't chased by a giant worm the moment you stepped outside. Jisoo was in stitches when you told him about your encounter with Jake and basically reveled in the fact that he’d been right all along. 

He basically told you that you deserved the scare for going around casting spells on people, and you reminded him that he was hanged for the same thing. He ignored you for the rest of the day and threatened to report you to his future union.

Back at university, you did your best to avoid running into Jake. It wasn't that hard because, at the end of the day, you had different majors and schedules, except for the couple of classes you shared. So everything would be fine, right? So why were you hiding like a guilty, paranoid thief? 

There was no way you were going to confront him without first sorting out your thoughts. You'd spent the vast majority of your life locked in a rivalry with him, and what you thought was solely yours now... wasn't. Part of you was curious to know what kind of power Jake possessed. What had his years of training been like? What was his familiar like? What spells he got wrong, what weaknesses did he have?

It was foolish to think this could turn into a competition. Magic and sorcery were different from ordinary things like competing in an exam, and what was one person's strength could be another's specialty. It wasn't something to make fun of, either; at least, it was something Jisoo had taught you from the start.

So why were you so curious, if you weren't going to let it affect your mind any further?  Another part of you just didn't want to go there and think about Jake's voice, or what he looked like, or how he was getting close to you, or how handsome he looked floating around. Oh, no. That ship wasn't going to sail.

Just because you didn't get the captain's position didn't mean you didn't get a spot on the team. At first, you thought maybe you could still compete with Jake and annoy him, but now standing in the middle of practice with your pom-poms just felt silly. You felt silly. What were you even doing?

The gym smelled of freshly waxed wood and sweat, the squeak of sneakers filled the air, and the bouncing balls had the same rhythm as your heart: unsteady and fast. You refused to believe it was because of him. Jake was near the end of the court, chatting with his friend Jay while watching the team practice intently, looking for mistakes or adjustments. His hair was a little sweaty and stuck to his forehead, and his jersey fit snugly around his shoulders—

Jake glanced up for a second, but it was enough to catch you staring. You immediately looked away, pretending to fix your pom-poms and that the ceiling was really interesting.

Mina, one of your teammates, approached you and playfully bumped her hip against yours, whispering to you. ‘’Why are you flirting with Jake in the middle of practice?’’

You looked at her as if she had grown two talking heads. ‘’What? I’m not doing that.’’

‘’Girl,’’ Mina chuckled, ‘’you're practically devouring him with your eyes.’’

‘’How long do you think it will take for someone to suffocate with pom-poms?’’ 

Mina laughed and bumped into you again, smiling. ‘’Okay, I'll leave you to it. I'm just saying you two make a cute couple!’’

Her words left you more unsettled than you expected. Thank God your practice had also begun and you could think about something else and ignore other things happening around you, like Jake's gaze on you or the way your magic had begun to stir under your skin like an annoying buzzing.

Every time you moved you could feel him, as if his presence vibrated along with your magic even though he was meters away. You caught his eyes and gave him a warning look, not quite knowing what was happening but certain that he was somehow to blame. The corner of his mouth lifted, a half-smile that was totally annoying, as if he were challenging you.

Then, it happened.

A draft swept through the gym, which was enclosed and had no open windows or doors, so it was strange enough to turn some confused heads. It brushed against your legs like a gentle caress and even lifted your cheerleader skirt slightly. You trembled a little, but you didn't know why, caging that feeling deep into your mind with the ‘’no open’’ sing.

Your first thought was don’t react. Your second was he wouldn’t. When you turned to look at him, Jake was spinning a ball on his finger, staring at you with a small, evil smile.  

Stop it, you mouthed.

Make me, he mouthed back.

You gritted your teeth, eager to see how long it would actually take someone to be suffocated with pom-poms. The worst part of it all was your heart, which gave a strange jump, and you looked away from Jake so you could catch your breath. Damn arrogant idiot.

You didn’t catch the way his eyes sparkled or how his wrist flicked subtly, not until it was too late. The pom-poms you held in your hands sparkled, literally. Tiny blue sparks flew everywhere until they became fire, burning the tips. You gasped and dropped them, the small crackling sound echoing against the floor. Others cheerleaders turned, confused and startled by you, but Jake only shrugged innocently, still spinning the ball. 

When you looked at them closely on the floor, they were extinguished, as if you had only imagined the blue fire. They looked perfectly fine, like nothing happened to them. As if it had only been an illusion spell.

“Problem, sweetheart?” Jake called across the court, voice dripping with false concern. ‘’Do you need me to come all the way there to help you?’’

The rest of his team laughed, assuming it was another one of your petty rival moments, but Jake’s gaze lingered, sharp, soft, dangerous. You knew that look. It meant he was still playing. Oh, but two could do that. 

So you waited. You knew Jake and you knew he probably thought you'd make a scene, but not this time. You simply relaxed your expression and continued practicing as if nothing was wrong, even though inside you were seething. You still kept stealing glances, but now you were focused on how his game was progressing, how he moved around the court like he owned it. The moment you were waiting came when Jake was near the basket, waiting for Jay to pass him the ball. It was the final seconds before practice ended, the last shot that would win Jake the game. When Jay threw the ball you watched as it flew through the air, almost in slow motion, toward Jake's outstretched hands.

Your wrist flicked and you sent a harmless electric current to Jake's hands, which startled him and made him lose the ball. The ball continued bouncing until it reached your feet and you picked it up with a mocking smile. ‘’Problem, sweetheart?’’ 

Jake blinked and smiled slowly, taking you by surprise. It wasn't what you expected. You definitely didn't expect the way his eyes scanned your body or the way he bit his lip, his eyes shining not with anger but more with warmth.

Your cheeks turned a little red, your mocking smile faltering just enough for Jake to notice.

The gym was slowly emptying, the voices and bouncing balls fading away, a few laughs echoing. You lagged behind, making the effort to gather your things at a slower pace to kill time; the truth was, you didn't want to run into Jake on the way out. 

So you drank some water, tidied your pom-poms, stretched more than usual, drank some more water and checked your phone fifteen times. You thought you were safe until you heard it, that low, lazy, familiar voice you knew all too well.

‘’What are you doing here all alone? Thinking up more spells to ruin my game?’’

You turned around and jumped at Jake's proximity. The first thing you noticed was his cologne and how good he smelled. He had a towel over his shoulder and his hair was slightly damp, with the ends curling a little, his grin all trouble. 

You scoffed as you finished closing your bag. ‘’Maybe I should, that way I can erase your smug smile for once and for all.’’

‘’You’re so mean to me,’’ Jake chuckled, but there was no bite to it. He sat right next to your bag, looking at your things and then at you. ‘’I should be the one offended, after all, I was electrocuted. And don't forget that you put a curse on me too.’’

You rolled your eyes. ‘’It wasn’t a curse. And it's over now, so there's no need to keep crying about it.’’

‘’Since you hexed me,’’ Jake started, ‘’I haven’t been the same.’’

‘’It was a harmless spell,’’ you said, running out of patience fast.

‘’Harmless? I suffered a lot.’’

A sigh left you. ‘’What do you want, Jake?’’

‘’Payback,’’ he said immediately. Jake tilted his head and studied your face, a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘’I’m mentally scarred. Emotionally vulnerable. I don’t even sleep well anymore and it’s because of you.’’

‘’All of this just because of a cold shower?’’ You snorted, unconvinced. ‘’You’re weaker than I thought, Jakey.’’

You tried to grab your purse, but Jake's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to react before Jake pulled you down hard and settled you between his legs, almost falling onto his lap. Your hands landed on his chest, and when you tried to get up, Jake caught you in his arms. You froze in disbelief, ignoring how your breath caught in your throat and how Jake's face was too close.

‘’You owe me,’’ he continued, voice still playful but with an edge to it. His eyes drifted down to your lips. ‘’That spell? It messed with my focus.’’

‘’You also hexed me, Jake,’’ you murmured, squinting your eyes. ‘’You had your little stupid revenge already. Let me go.’’

His attention shifted to your hands on his chest, to the tiny sparks dancing from your fingers, a sign of how annoyed you were getting. When he looked back up, there was something different in his eyes— less teasing, but more intense. 

‘’I want compensation. And if you don't accept my terms, well... I'll have to pay a visit to the Witches' Council. One of them attacked me, after all,’’ Jake shrugged, not sorry at all, the threat hovering between you two for a moment.

You looked at him for a few seconds, but Jake's expression remained the same. ‘’Are you serious? That’s not fair,’’ you said with a scoff, shaking your head. ‘’It was just a joke, Jake, you’re being so ridiculous right now.’’

Jake smiled, slow and dangerous. “Since when have we ever played fair?”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, your magic humming beneath your skin, reactive and restless. You sighed and glanced to the side, knowing you were screwed. Among so many possibilities, it was possible the Council would take the complaint seriously; after all, it was a spell directed at another warlock. It was well known that the council sought peace among all, especially the young people of a new generation who needed to be more united. But above all, you knew the council president had some very strange ways of teaching a lesson. You didn't want to find out.

You sighed tiredly. ‘’What do you want?’’

Jake's eyes lit up like a fireplace and his hands settled on your waist, lazily stroking it and laughing when you squirmed. ‘’Don’t shock me again without warning.’’

You cheered up a little, straightening up. That didn’t sound so hard. ‘’You deserved it, but okay. That’s it?’’

Jake shook his head. ‘’I want one of those lucky charms you make. Don't put a plague spell on it or anything like that, though.’’

That took you by surprise. ‘’How do you know I make those?’’

Jake ignored you while moving a lock of hair away from your face, playing with it for a few seconds before tucking it behind your ear. ‘’And third, I want a date with you.’’ 

The shriek you let out was probably heard all over campus. You tried to climb down from Jake's lap hastily and clumsily, one of his legs getting tangled up with yours and almost sending you tumbling to the ground if it weren't for Jake's hands that caught you firm, secure, gripping your waist and pulling you back against him.

“Careful,” he laughed, breath warm against your cheek. “Don’t get nervous, pretty. You might get hurt.’’

‘’A date?!’’ you exclaimed, voice cracking. ‘’With you?! Uh-uh, pick something else,” you blurted out, palms pressing flat against his chest in a weak attempt to put distance between you. “Absolutely not. No. We don’t do dates. We compete. We—”

“We flirt,” Jake cut in smoothly.

“We do not—”

“You shocked me,” he said calmly. “On purpose.”

You gasped in offense. ‘’Because you lifted my skirt with the wind, you pervert!’’

‘’So you admit it was a tactical attack,’’ Jake teased you. 

You were losing territory, fast. You calmed down and tried another tactic, more calm. ‘’What's your angle here, Jake? Public humiliation? What would we even do on a date, just the two of us?’’

‘’Several things come to mind,’’ Jake murmured in his hoarsest voice. His thumbs traced slow, absent circles at your waist, not moving away, not tightening either. Just… there. It sent shivers down your spine, and it was irritating to admit that maybe it didn't bother you at all. 

‘’Maybe I just wanna date you,’’ Jake said quietly, staring at you. ‘’Even though seeing you freak out over it is almost payback enough.’’

You looked to the side with a mocking laugh. “I am not freaking out. I’m perfectly normal,’’ you snapped. 

“You’re vibrating,” he pointed out. ‘’Your magic is charging, I can feel it.’’

You clenched your fists immediately. “That’s unrelated. Are you an electrician or something like that?’’

Jake smiled slowly, devastatingly attractive. Now you understand why everyone fell for that innocent puppy face, damn it.

‘’It’s just a date, we’re not marrying each other. Or is that what you're thinking, and that's why you're nervous?’’

You stared at him, at the way his eyes softened just a little when you met his gaze, like he wasn’t mocking you anymore— like he was actually waiting. It scared the fuck out of you. 

“I don’t like you,” you muttered, sounding like a petulant child. 

“Liar,” he said gently.

You exhaled sharply, completely exhausted and cornered. ‘’Fine. You’re gonna get your stupid date and your stupid lucky charm. Do you want anything else, Mr Sim? Can I go now, or are you going to ask for something even stupier, like tucking you in for bed?’’

It was the wrong thing to say, because Jake's eyes sharpened with an interest you definitely didn't know how to handle. His eyelids drooped and he sighed heavily. 

‘’That depends. I don't think I'll sleep if you're in bed with me.’’

Your disgusted screams were as loud as Jake's laughter that filled the empty gym, now finally letting you go to prevent you from actually electrocuting him with deadly intent.

You were never afraid of Jake and his temper; you were always up for any challenge or encounter. It was common to huff in his face and mock him. But now you were a little ball of nerves, or something like that. The idea of ​​avoiding Jake at all costs was too good to pass up. Before, you would have been munching popcorn while watching your spell complicate his days, and now... well, let's just say that constantly making sure he wasn't around, hiding behind a pillar, wasn't exactly good for your sanity.

This had to be some kind of master plan by Jake, you were sure of it. Some kind of psychological torture, something he'd come up with to corner you. Hmm. It was suspicious. Maybe you were misreading everything and not understanding what he was really playing at. Jake asking you out? Good grief, you weren't even his type. Maybe that was the whole point, simply to get you into a situation you couldn't control. But what would happen if you took control and changed the narrative?

That same afternoon you told Jisoo your plan, who looked at you as if you had finally lost your mind.

‘’Reverse psychology. I'm going to catch Jake in his own game.’’ 

‘’Don't you think you're reading too much into this? I mean, the guy just asked you out,’’ Jisoo offered. ‘’Just go, maybe you can relieve all this sexual tension you're carrying around.’’

‘’First of all, ew. Second, more ew. And third, I know what I'm talking about. You'll see.’’

Jisoo simply sighed wearily and muttered something about needing a vacation.

Jake thought he had the winning hand, but you weren't going to let him get away with it. If he wanted your attention, then you were going to give him it until he repented and things returned to normal. You looked at your reflection in the full-length mirror and smiled with satisfaction. You resembled that hideous cliché of a sexy cheerleader, wearing a top tighter than usual that was crushing your ribs and breasts in the process, and a skirt short enough to be distracting. Your lips glistened with a pretty reddish gloss that made your mouth stand out. You usually wore your hair up or in a bun for practice, but now you had let it flow naturally, loose.

You looked like trouble. Perfect.

You arrived at practice as if you were entering a battlefield, confident and with your target in sight. Jake was in the middle of stretching on the floor when he heard footsteps approaching, and when he looked up, he froze. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he shot a venomous glare at a teammate next to him who had also been staring at your legs.

You smiled openly at Jake, without any mockery or sarcasm, and for a second he seemed a little bewildered by the vision. ‘’Hi, Jake,’’ you greeted him sweetly, too sweetly. 

Jake really just blinked as if he didn't understand what you just said when you moved closer and stroked his hair back, ending with a caress under his chin. 

‘’Hi, pretty,’’ he said, leaning back a little to look at you with a bit of suspicion instead of confusion. ‘’You seem to be in a good mood today,’’ Jake said carefully. ‘’Are you okay?’’

You could see the wheels on Jake's head spinning at a thousand miles an hour.

You rolled your eyes playfully. ‘’Of course, dummy,’’ you said as you knelt in front of him and stood face to face. ‘’Can you help me stretch, please? My body feels a little... stiff.’’

A cough echoed somewhere behind Jake. 

You began to stretch your arms, your face relaxed as if everything were normal, though inside you wanted to laugh at how red Jake's ears had turned. Oh wow, this was turning out to be fun very quickly, why hadn't you tried this before? You folded one arm behind your head and arched your back slightly, pushing your breasts forward. 

‘’I'm quite flexible, but sometimes I can’t reach that point, you know? I need help and a little pressure. Can you give it to me?’’ 

One of his teammates choked, perhaps Jay. Jake sighed heavily and didn't hide the way he was looking at you, first your thighs barely covered by your skirt and then your pretty tits. A spark of something reflected in his eyes and he seemed to relax a little, even smiling slightly. You could practically see him recalculating, and that set off red flags in your mind. 

‘’I’ll help you,’’ he hummed happily as he got up anyway. 

He stood behind you and took your bent arm, actually pushing it too further back until your side burned a little. You clenched your teeth. ‘’I just wanted to spend more time with you, since we couldn't finish yesterday what you started. I just wanted to tell you that it's okay; it happens to everyone sometimes, I guess.’’

Some of his teammates overheard the exchange and shared glances and a few murmurs. Even one of them, Ni-ki, was openly watching like his favorite drama just started. Jake's expression shifted to something calmer but also sharper, and that comforted you a little; it was the Jake you were used to. You could handle that. You were succeeding in irritating him.

His thumb rubbed right over your pulse slowly. ‘’Mmmm. Is that so?’’

‘’All men have a bad day now and then, I don't hold it against you. I heard there’s a pill for it.’’

Some male laughter reached you, enjoying the gossip. Jay's eyebrows shot up to the sky before he turned his head and started drinking water while pretending not to hear. Jake's voice suddenly sounded too close and you tried to move away, but he had you pinned against him. 

‘’I know what you’re trying to do.’’ 

You looked up with a smile. “Isn’t it humiliating?”

Jake’s lips curved slowly. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Your stomach dropped. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, making you gasp in surprise. You looked around but no one seemed to notice that he was holding you tightly, appearing to simply help you stretch.

“If this is your attempt to scare me off,” he added softly near your ear, “you’re going to have to try harder.”

Heat crept up your neck and you pulled back just enough to glare at him with a sneer.

“You’re supposed to be embarrassed!”

He laughed briefly and looked down at you, giving a condescending pat on your head. ‘’Why should I be? I've got the hottest cheerleader kneeling for me. Still need help stretching, baby? I'm sure I can stretch you just fine. Just relax and let me do the work.’’

You shrieked and got up pretty quickly, knowing you were losing the psychological war. ‘’Ew, pervert!’’

‘’You think I mind? I asked you out because I want you.”

You looked at him, offended and unable to say anything, so you simply turned to leave with an annoyed scoff. Jake gave you that full, goofy smile as he watched you until you went to the other side of the gym. You turned to look at him, frowning, as you nervously pulled down your skirt, cursing your stupid idea and Jake too. You stood there for a moment trying to gather your troops and think about the next move.

Your plan had backfired. Spectacularly.

You were sitting in your room, the music playing softly and relaxingly, lost in your own world and concentration. The ingredients were spread out before you: some fresh herbs, salt, horsehair, and honey, as you tried to cast a spell that Jisoo had given you as homework, pretty simple and medicinal, but it required just the right amounts.

A buzzing sound makes you look up from your spellbook, and for a moment you hesitate, but laziness wins out and you don't get up. A few seconds later, another buzz. You ignore it. Another buzz. You sighed irritated and set the book aside to reach for your phone on the bed.

‘’Now what?’’ You murmured, opening your messages. 

unknown number: hey pretty unknown number: what are you doing? unknown number: are you working on it?

You blinked, feeling a little lost. Huh?

you: who is this? unknown number: [photo attached]

You frowned as the photo loaded, and of course you opened it. Your breath caught in your throat before you knew it. It was him, Jake. He was lying on his bed, his hair a little messy, his lips full, his skin glowing and pink as if he'd just stepped out of a hot shower. Maybe he had, because he wasn't wearing a damn shirt. It was too embarrassing to admit how you were looking at the photo and analyzing every pixel of his face. Your stomach flipped annoyingly.

unknown number: now you know you: where did you get my number?  jake king of the idiots: are you making my lucky charm?

You glanced down at your ingredients and book, scoffing. 

you: yeah sure. the vudu doll looks good. jake king of the idiots: cute. does it look like me? you: the face is there, it has your ugly hair. jake king of the idiots: how about the body? 

Jake sent you a new photo and you opened it with your heart in your mouth. This time the angle was closer, more intimate, giving you a glimpse into his room as well. The photo captured the waistband of his grey sweatpants, the soft line of muscle disappearing beneath it. His hand rested lazily against his stomach. Your eyes were damn traitors and immediately noticed the imprint of his cock on his pants.

You weren't going to zoom in. You refused to zoom in. There was no way you were going to zoom in.

You zoomed in. 

Your pulse jumped in your ears as you studied the photo, and when the phone rang with a new message you almost dropped it.

jake king of the idiots: you’re staring jake king of the idiots: it was just for reference you pervert you: im not staring! weirdo. jake king of the idiots: why did you take so long to reply then? you: i was debating on where to stink the pins. jake king of the idiots: so you’re thinking about me when you're alone in your room jake king of the idiots: what do you look like right now? you: im surrounded by plants and horsehair. jake king of the idiots: going to sleep with that sexy image in my head jake king of the idiots: send me a photo of the doll when its finished

You were surprised by the small smile that came out of you.

The photos Jake sent you kept replaying in your head all night while you stared at your ceiling. He looked so soft, comfortable, and so attractive. Your mind kept going back to that picture, to those damn gray pants that fit him way too well, to his abs disappearing beneath the waistband… 

Jisoo noticed how distracted you were that morning, a little flushed and definitely thoughtful. He didn't say anything, but tried to comfort you a little by patting your hand with his paw while you ate breakfast.

You jumped when someone sat down next to you, interrupting your daily daydream. Jay smiled at you amicably and settled into his seat with an exaggerated sigh, as if he'd had a long day. You blinked, suddenly your mind snapped back to reality, realizing you were in one of your classes about to start.

‘’It kinda sucks,’’ he said casually. 

You glanced at him, a little puzzled and sleepy as well. Why was Jay talking to you? You ignored it for a few seconds going back to your notes, but it's rude not to answer, you guessed. ‘’Uh… what does?’’

‘’Oh, didn't you hear? The team’s practice has been suspended,’’ he tilted his head and inhaled through his teeth. ‘’Captain’s is in the infirmary. Jake’s losing a practice day, he must be fuming right now.’’

Your head snapped up too fast before you could stop yourself. ‘’What? What happened?’’

Jay paused for a moment as if he were waiting for exactly this to happen and was squeezing every second of your interest. He waved a hand dismissively, and you didn't notice how he was studying your reaction. ‘’Oh, nothing serious,” he said lightly. “Didn’t see Ni-ki coming and collided. Landed on his ass. Twisted his ankle. Maybe tweaked his knee too.”

Your stomach tightened. “He fell?” you asked, trying for neutral. You cleared your throat.

“Yeah,” Jay watched you from the corner of his eye. “Coach said he needs a few days off.”

You nodded once. Casual. Indifferent. ‘’Oh. That’s bad, I guess.’’

Jay hummed casually. He didn't move right away and you could feel his eyes lingering on you, waiting. You kept your expression blank, paying attention to the class that had just started.

After a moment, he shrugged. “Mmm. He’s sulking in the infirmary. Anyway, I’m heading back.”

You nodded and kept your attention straight ahead, a thoughtful, lost expression filling your features. You didn't even notice when Jay left, nor did you remember that you didn't share any classes with him.

After class ended, you found yourself standing in front of a door. The infirmary door. You studied it with a frown, as if the underworld lay behind it. It kinda did. You sighed and turned around to leave, but you didn't move any further, rooted to the spot. You hesitated, faced it again, and turned to leave once more. You sighed and wondered why you were having an internal conflict in the middle of the day because of Jay. You turned back to the door again and straightened your shoulders, determined to open it as if you hadn't spent ten minutes deciding about it. Luckily, no one was watching and witnessing how silly you looked.

The place didn't look like a hospital, more like a place for quick treatment. There were a few cots with curtains for privacy, the nurse's desk, and a cabinet with some things, like a blood pressure monitor. Fortunately, it didn't smell of disinfectant. You could hear some voices in the distance, which you followed cautiously.

Just a few more steps brought you to Jake on one of the stretchers, propped up against several pillows and chatting animatedly with the coach. He looked good, too good, as if the bandage around his ankle and the ice on his knee were just decoration for a photoshoot. A strange relief filled you and the small sigh you made interrupted the conversation.

The coach noticed you first.

“Well,” he said with a knowing smile, grabbing his clipboard. “Looks like you’ve got company, son.’’

Jake smiled, not in a foolish, boastful, or provocative way, just a very sweet and slightly tired smile. His face softened, too, and he said nothing, simply looking into your eyes as if he could see every thought in your mind, or at least trying to.

The coach patted Jake’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two. Take care of my star player, maybe spoil him a little.”

You almost spinned around and run away from there. Jake chuckled softly as the door closed, relaxing against the pillows. He raised a hand toward you, inviting you to come closer.

“If you came all this way,” he said lazily, “come say hi.”

You crossed your arms. ‘’I was just passing by.’’

‘’Mmm.’’

You took a step forward. ‘’The door was open and it was impossible not to see your big head.’’

‘’Of course.’’

Your eyes focused again on her bandage and the ice, studying them with a frown, as if their presence made no sense. A new feeling of unease filled you, making its way into the emptiness of your stomach.

Jake studied your face with an uncharacteristic seriousness and tried to reach you. ‘’Before you ask, it's not serious, I'll be fine in a few days.’’

You huffed under your breath, but even you thought it was weak and fake. ‘’I wasn't going to ask.’’

Jake smirked a little. ‘’You were going to. Come here.’’ 

You studied his hand as if it were the gelatinous hand of a monster trying to grab you, but you moved closer anyway. Jake shifted slightly to the side, making room for you to sit next to his hip. You did it carefully, for several reasons, first because you didn't want to make a move that would hurt him and second because being so close to him set off all sorts of alarms in your body.

“What exactly happened?”

‘’I crashed into someone while shooting and landed badly on the ground. Trip to the infirmary,’’ Jake explained, resting his hand on your thigh. ‘’But it was worth it.’’

You assumed that since he was an injured patient, you could let him be. As a favor.

‘’Worth it?’’ you repeated, taking a look at the ice on his knee. ‘’Enlighten me how, please.’’

‘’Well, you came to see me all nervous and worried. This happened an hour ago, so... you must have walked fast to get here.’’ 

You froze for a second and shook your head. ‘’Not really.’’

“Jay said you asked what happened.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jay gossips too much.”

Jake simply chuckled and began stroking your thigh, sending warmth and shivers through you. Silence fell between you, but strangely, it wasn't awkward. It was charged, yes, but it was one of the most comfortable silences you'd ever experienced, as if Jake was content simply with your presence. You abruptly climbed off and Jake grunted a little before trying to grab you, but you had already reached for your bag and were rummaging inside.

Jake was about to open his mouth when something landed on his chest, small and light. The first thing he noticed was a faint scent of eucalyptus. He picked up the small woven amulet and studied it closely, noticing at once that it was a dog with long, cute yellow ears. He blinked, realizing what he held in his hands, and raised his head, looking at you with a look so intense it rooted you to the ground.

You bit your lip feeling how his silence stretched and nodded at his ankle. ‘’Bad timing, isn't it? I should have given it to you earlier, maybe... it would have done its job.’’

Gravity ceased to exist for you, and suddenly you weren't standing, but on top of Jake. You screamed in complaint and surprise, trying to get up without hitting Jake's injuries in the process, but Jake was stronger than you and firmly positioned you on top of him, looking at you with dilated pupils and short, ragged breaths.

“Jake!” you hissed. “What are you doing— your ankle!—”

Up close, you could see it clearly. The way his jaw was tense, the way his eyes kept flicking between your face and the lucky charm like he was afraid one of you might vanish. His usual teasing smile was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. 

“You made this,” he said softly, lifting the amulet slightly between your bodies. “For me.”

‘’You literally asked for one, Jake.’’

‘’Bullshit,’’ he said, letting out a shaky laugh. ‘’Do you really think I'm an idiot? I know you. I know nobody can force you to do anything, not even my stupid blackmail. You wouldn't cast a spell for me if you didn't really want to.’’ 

You didn't know what to say or what to admit, because he was right. What was worse was trying to think, because the intensity, his cologne, and Jake's presence were enveloping you in a cloud that made it difficult to speak. You shifted unintentionally in his lap thinking about how to get out of that overly vulnerable conversation, but it was a bad idea, because Jake tensed up beneath you and then growled, grabbing your hips to hold you still.

Something hard pressed against you and you stayed still, staring wide-eyed at Jake, cheeks warm. Jake exhaled and closed his eyes for half a second, pressing the charm flat against his chest like he needed it there to breathe.

“Okay,” he said suddenly. “I’m going to say something, and I need you to not freak out.”

“I think it's too late for that,” you muttered.

He smiled faintly at that, then grew serious again.

“Forget the stupid spell,” he said. “Forget the rivalry. Forget all of it.”

You straightened up and tilted your head to the side. ‘’What?’’

“I don’t care about winning anymore,” he continued, voice firm now, like he’d finally decided something after years of hesitation. “I don’t care about getting under your skin just to prove a point. I don’t even care if you put a hex on me. I care about you. I… I like you.’’

Silence. Pure, shocked, stunned silence. You opened and closed your mouth, feeling too nervous out of the sudden, like a wave trying to drown you. ‘’Please tell me you're high on painkillers,’’ you whispered.

‘’I want us to date for real.’’ 

‘’Jake—,’’ you attempted to silence him. 

‘’I want to be your boyfriend.’’

“No,” you said, panicked. “No, no, no— this is not happening.”

Jake frowned slightly. “Is that a rejection or—”

“You can’t just say that,” you interrupted, hands flying up. “You can’t just— spring that on me! What do you mean ‘boyfriend’? We antagonize each other. We compete. I hexed you because you got a better grade than me!’’

‘’And I think it’s cute,’’ Jake shrugged. 

You scrambled to sit up straighter on his lap, accidentally putting more weight on him and immediately squeaking again, him grunting and clenching his jaw when you rubbed on his cock again. “Sorry— why are you smiling like that?”

Jake was watching you intently, soft, fond. Completely gone.

‘’God, it's just that... you never noticed, did you? I only competed with you all these years because I always liked you,’’ Jake bit his lip, smiling. ‘’I didn't know what to do to get your attention, until the first time I made you angry. Your eyes lit up and it was the most exhilarating feeling in the world.’’

It took you a few seconds to find your voice. ‘’A—always?’’

Jake reached up and brushed his thumb along your jaw carefully.

‘’Well, maybe not so much in elementary school. Or maybe I was too young to understand what a crush felt like. And when we were teenagers you had already decided that you hated me, so…’’

Your heart betrayed you completely, pounding like it had already decided. You watched the man below you with eyes too big and glassy, ​​waiting for your reaction as he clung to the amulet you made for him. He looked so… needy. So open and honest.

You let out a helpless half-groan and finally rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“I need a minute,” you said. Staying. And Jake noticed. 

‘’Take all the time you want,” he replied softly, arms tightening just enough to keep you there. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jisoo watched, amused, as you wandered around your room looking for an outfit for practice. His paw turned a page in a book and pretended to be focused so you wouldn't drag him into another boy problem or ask what short or skirt made you a better ass.

Things had changed, and you were losing your mind. Oh, how they had changed. It was as if you couldn't trust the memories you'd accumulated in your head over the years. Jake flirting with you? Jake liking you? It had to be a glitch in the Matrix. It couldn't be. But the more you thought about it, the more you had to admit it made a little bit of sense. Maybe just a little.

But at the same time it was ridiculous. Your brain tried to reject the idea on principle alone. For years Jake had been your personal headache, your academic nemesis, your walking ego with perfect teeth and a cute smile. That was the narrative. That was safe.

But the more you thought about it and overanalyzed it, the more you realized there were some things buried beneath the surface of the rivalry. Like whenever you received a grade, he would look at you before even looking at his own. As he only ever challenged you, seeking out stupid competitions that, of course, you took as a duel.

Or the times you turned down guys who wanted to be your lab partners because you had already chosen Jake and you were going to prove to him that you could run the project better than him. The way he’d leaned closer during those projects, pretending to argue when he was really just inches from your face. At the time you didn't even realize it, so used to the heated arguments you had. You mistook passion for the subject for what it really was.

You groaned softly.

Or the time you ditched your dates for the spring dance and started playing Sudoku under the table after Jake said the one in that day's newspaper was too difficult and you replied that he was just dumb. Jake had literally brought the Sudoku cutout to the dance. 

And what about the way he’d get oddly quiet whenever someone else stood too close to you? The way he’d interrupt conversations with some flimsy excuse. The way he always, always inserted himself into your orbit like gravity had personally assigned him to you.

You thought he was doing it to annoy you, to embarrass you in front of other guys, or even to ruin your chances with them. Well, he probably wanted to. But not for the reasons you thought back then. All of his sarcastic comments have been bait? Had every smirk been camouflage? You pressed your palms to your cheeks, feeling heat rise.

“That idiot,” you whispered. Or maybe the idiot had been you.

Because if you were honest—truly honest—there had been moments. Moments where his teasing lingered a second too long. Where his hand brushed yours and neither of you pulled away immediately. Where his eyes softened in a way that didn’t match the joke he was making.

You were supposed to be stretching with your squad, but your eyes kept wandering toward the court, towards the empty space where Jake should be. There were orders from the coach to rest, but you knew Jake would probably have some kind of healing spell in mind, so you were surprised that he wasn't actually at practice.

“Are you looking for someone?”

You blinked, startled, and turned to find Jaemin standing nearby, holding a basketball under his arm. His smile was charming— that kind of easy, practiced grin that made half the campus girls swoon. Too many sharp teeth.

You shrugged trying to play it cool. ‘’Oh, hey. Just spacing out, I guess,’’ you smiled politely. 

“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, tilting his head. “Spacing out in the direction of the locker hallway?”

You felt your cheeks warm. “I wasn’t—”

He laughed softly. “Relax, I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not cheering extra hard today. Thought you and Captain hated each other.”

Yeah, me too. You made a non commitment humm. 

Jaemin bounced the ball once, eyeing you. “You know, I heard Jake and Jay talking about you making him a good luck charm. That's sweet. I could use some good luck before the game,” he gave you a playful wink. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You wouldn’t know what to do with one of my charms.”

“Oh, I’d learn fast,” he teased, stepping closer.

Before you could respond, a sudden whoosh of air swept through the gym— that telltale hum of static prickling over your skin. You didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

Jake appeared behind Jaemin, freshly changed into his team uniform, hair damp and slightly tousled. His grin didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, Jaemin,” he said smoothly, clapping a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. “Warming up?”

“Uh— yeah,” Jaemin said, glancing between the two of you. “Just talking to—”

‘’Maybe four laps around the court will take away your desire to slack off. I need you focused, man,’’ Jake said, voice silky and too calm. His gaze flicked to you, and that faint, electric pulse sparked again between you.

Jaemin smiled doubtfully, feeling the sudden tension and deciding that the smartest decision was to leave. He jogged off toward the court, leaving you standing there, heart thundering.

‘’What are you doing? He was just being nice,’’ you hissed.

He leaned closer. “Stopping him from stealing what’s mine.”

You froze, pulse racing. “Yours?”

“Jaemin’s got a big mouth,” he said, stepping closer. “But I like what I heard.”

You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“That you were looking for me,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “That you won’t make any idiot a lucky charm, but me.’’

You opened your mouth to argue— but nothing came out. The gym lights flickered, your magic sparking involuntarily under his gaze. Jake noticed. He always did.

“You know,” he said softly, taking another step until you could feel the heat radiating from his body, “if you wanted to wish me luck, you could’ve just kissed me.”

You stared at him, speechless. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love that about me.”

His hand brushed against yours, fingers tracing slow circles. Your breath hitched. The coach's whistle blew and your captain called everyone over, practice starting. Jake chuckled at your silence and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then he turned and trotted toward the court.

“Don’t go running off,” he called over his shoulder.  “I’ll come collect my kiss!’’

Several heads turned with curiosity and you grunted under your breath at the attention, pretending that nothing had happened and picking up your pom-poms from the floor, secretly wishing that it would open up and swallow you.

You tried to keep your mind focused, but it was impossible with Jake just a few feet away. Maybe you should have cast a spell to make the ceiling collapse or something and stop practice. Your eyes kept drifting to him, watching the way his muscles tensed, his speed, the way he controlled the game and the sweat glistening on his forehead. 

At one point, he swept his hair back and his eyes scanned each player, scrutinizing their movements and yelling adjustments in such a commanding way that it made your thighs clench. His jaw was tense, his eyes alert, his breathing rapid. Damn, you could finally see it. You understood how some of your teammates and even girls in your class sometimes talked about Jake, whispering and giggling conspiratorially about him, about his muscles and stamina.

To say that your energy was bouncing around in your body would be to minimize how you felt; it was more like an electric ball had found its place in your stomach and decided to play with your anxiety and create internal chaos just for fun. Jake's team headed towards the showers and lockers, and you stayed behind, talking to some girls, but your attention wasn't really there, it was on the last thing Jake had mentioned about the goddamn kiss. The girls said something about a party, free alcohol, and the guys from the team there, and you just mumbled something about being busy without really listening and watched the girls drift away one by one, their laughter fading down the hallway.

The gym slowly emptied, the echo of sneakers and voices dissolving into a heavy, almost unnatural quiet.

The moment you turned to leave, you felt it. You recognized it, rather. The air took on a strange change as you walked toward the front door, quickening your pace, and you paused before reaching for the doorknob, noticing that it was... vibrating. As if it had suddenly become charged with heat, and blue sparks were flitting through the air. 

You jumped when Jake's palm landed next to your head, cornering you against the door, his heat immediately surrounding you.  His other hand lifted lazily, fingers flicking once, and the lights dimmed just a fraction— enough to turn the room into something intimate, dangerous.

You looked at him then— really looked. The playful arrogance was gone. What remained was sharper. Focused. The look he got right before winning and that he knew he was going to. 

“I’m done chasing you in circles,” Jake said quietly. “You’re always one step away from running, and I’m tired of pretending I don't want to kiss you until you forget everything.’’

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “This is not how you prove a point,” you said, even as your body betrayed you by not moving away.

“I know,” Jake replied. “This is how I make you stop lying to yourself.”

His gaze dropped to your lips and stayed there. Lingered, slowly igniting with a wilder glow.

“You think I flirt because I wanna annoy you?” he continued. “Because I want to humiliate you? Compete with you?” A humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “I compete because it’s the only language you don’t run from.”

Your breath came shallow when Jake leaned closer— not enough to kiss you, but enough that you could feel the brush of his breath against your own lips. You didn’t pull apart. 

“If I let you walk out that door,” he murmured, “you’ll convince yourself this was nothing. That I’m just playing another game. And I’m not.”

Jake exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. His hand finally moved —gentle, deliberate— cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, looking a little tortured and fascinated at the same time.

That was unfair, how could he disarm you and squeeze your heart simply by looking like that? You tilted your chin up, defiant and trembling all at once. And for the first time, you didn't see your old enemy, nor the boy who put worms in your lunch. Nor the boy who competed against you all through high school and won best Halloween costume instead of you. You saw a man touching you as if he couldn't believe he was doing it, as if he wanted to devour you and give you life at the same time. His usual puppy face was a mask of pure desire, his eyes wild, and you could feel his magic vibrating, on the verge of spiraling out of control.

“Jake—”

You kissed him.

It felt like something you didn't know you were carrying just fell into place. It wasn't strange or uncomfortable, but it was an explosion of things held in for too long. Jake's hands immediately gripped you and he pushed you against the wall with a force that made you gasp, using it to deepen the kiss. It wasn't a soft, loving kiss; it was more like a jolt that coursed through your entire body, igniting every part of you, and you needed more. You claimed Jake's mouth until your lungs screamed for air, gripping his shirt tightly so he wouldn't move an inch away from you.

He was no better than you, completely lost in the kiss. His tongue conquered every corner of your mouth, savoring you as if you were the juiciest fruit he had ever tasted. It was desperate, dirty, intense, real. Jake used his knee to push through and settle between your legs and you sighed at the contact, letting your body act on pure instinct and you whimpered into his mouth when his thigh pressed against your pussy, making you grind against him slowly.

Jake’s body pressed against yours, his mouth taking over with hot kisses that left you breathless. You had been kissed before, but hell, not like this. It felt like your body was charging a bomb, every second adding more power to it, until the force couldn't be contained anymore. It was electric and powerful, the magic sparkling so alive and strong, too much to handle. 

The bulbs in the gym flickered before bursting with sparks, just like the giant scoreboard, but neither of you cared. A pulse of energy ran through the air like a lightning strike. You hold onto Jake ignoring what was happening, too drunk on his kisses to care or pay attention. His hands gripped your ass and he grunted onto the kiss, dragging his mouth down your jaw and neck, biting and tracing the marks with his tongue while you kept grinding on his tight with a shaky moan. That’s when you noticed how he looked and gasped, unable to believe what you were seeing. 

Jake’s brown hair was lifted everywhere, like he just did some science experiment and was the conduct of static. You could swear the tips of his hair were slightly burned at the end and his skin was adorned with strange pink marks, his neck covered in them and making a trace until it disappeared onto his basketball shirt.

The lighting-shape across his throat glowed faintly like it was alive, fading but returning with every heartbeat. 

‘’Oh my God.’’

He noted the way you weren’t responding to his touch anymore, too mesmericed, surprised and guilty at the same time to do something. Jake had the audacity to laugh like it was nothing, breathless and grinning. 

‘’Looks like I really got under your skin,’’ he left out another laugh, looking at you. ‘’My little firefly.’’ 

You flushed, too stunned to speak. The nickname sent a wave of warmth though you, enough to make the end of your strands of hair levitate slightly around your face, your magic making you look like a goddamn rookie.

Your magic didn’t behave like that in years, not since you were a kid in training with your coven. You spent years controlling every spark, every lighting, every word, anything that could trigger you. And yet, every piece of perfect control that you spent years curating was gone just like that. Your heart fluttered and your magic hummed happily, free, playful, dangerous. But your human part felt vulnerable, like all your walls were destroyed and what was worse, you hurt him with some of the debris falling. 

You had hurt him. 

Of course he noted, caressing your cheek with a touch so tender it made your cheeks redden more. You caressed the lighting-shaped marks on his neck, your fingertips barely touching his skin, too scared and doubtful, fearing that you might make it worse. Jake didn’t flinch or took a step back, instead, his brown eyes softened a little.

‘’I’m so sorry, Jake,’’ you whispered, regretfully filling your small voice. You could still feel the energy with every heartbeat, a storm glowing faintly inside you, enough to make the air around both of you hum. ‘’I didn't mean to, I swear. I— you look—’’

‘’Hey, don’t look at me like that,’’ Jake said quietly. He hugged you closely, anchoring you. One hand cupping your cheek, the other stroking your back. ‘’I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me.’’

‘’But I—’’

‘’Shhh. Just look.’’ 

He smiled, soft and almost reverent, and he wouldn't be Jake if there wasn't some cockiness in there too. But what irritated you before now seemed so charming and boyish, and another rush of static jumped from your skin. Jake didn’t flinch. Instead, a faint shimmer spread from him, a low vibration filling the air, like an echo of music. You stared completely mesmericed, not ever seeing a power like that. It was calm and fluid, moving through the air like nothing and engulfing the traces of your powers like a warm blanket. It didn’t feel crushing or overpowering you, more like it was holding you. Keeping your head above water. The sparks and static softened into little lights, floating like delicate bubbles that danced around you both. 

Jake tilted your head towards him, claiming your attention back with a pretty smile that did nothing to calm your heart. It bumped faster. 

‘’Your magic just needs the right frequency.’’ 

You wanted to deny it, to scream he was wrong and you were perfectly powerful on your own and that managing your magic and energy was as easy as breathing. But that would be a lie. Your heart was beating at the rhythm his magic created.

You blinked as your mind caught on and uncovered something that surfaced, impossible to ignore. Too big, too bright, but above all, too real. And somehow, despite the chaos in your head, one thought stood out with terrifying clarity: you didn’t want him to go.

You liked Jake.

Hours later, your pulse hadn't calmed down. Hours later, the night had settled thick and warm around campus, and you were still replaying everything in your head. Hours later, you could still feel Jake’s lips on yours. 

And Jisoo watched with slight horror how you sighed, lovestruck and spiraling. The little cat had spied/observed with too much interest through the window as Jake had accompanied you home and was too tempted to transform himself into a fly just to listen to the conversation. Jisoo wasn't going to admit to anyone that maybe he rested his ear against the mailbox by the door.

“So,” Jake said, leaning against the frame. “There’s a party on Saturday. My place.”

You squinted at him. “Mmm, the girls said something about it. I'm busy. I have to finish your vudu doll, remember?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Yeah. You also weren’t listening, too focused in my arms.’’

Before you could reply and defend yourself and your honor, he stepped closer, one hand settling at your waist, the other brushing your jaw. He kissed you like it was already a habit— easy, familiar, devastating. You melted embarrassingly fast into his arms. 

“Come with me,” he murmured against your lips. “You can enter through the door this time. No need to float in through the window.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, surprising you, softer and without any heat to it. 

Jake’s eyebrows lifted in victory. “See? I’m charming. I can’t believe it took you years to notice, though.”

“You’re insufferable,” you said, smiling despite yourself. 

“And you’re coming,” he countered, kissing you again— slower, coaxing. “Just for a bit. We show our faces, dance a little and make sure no one dies early. Jay’s in charge, anyway.”

“That’s… not reassuring.”

“It should be,” Jake hummed. “He’s very responsible. Relatively.”

You hesitated— right until his mouth drifted to your neck. His teeth caught a spot that made your thoughts scatter entirely, and your protest dissolved into a sharp inhale.

“…Fine,” you breathed.

Jake grinned against your skin. “Good witch.”

Jake's house wasn't like that dark and silent night when you spied through the window, it had come to life: music thumping through the walls, lights spilling into the yard, laughter everywhere. The moment you stepped inside, your eyes searched for him instinctively. 

Something furry brushed against your ankles, and you looked down to find a black cat staring at you, tilting its head as if greeting you. Its eyes shone in a way that was too human and knowing for just a cuddly kitten. You felt a small touch, as if its gaze reached the core where you kept your magic, like Jisoo sometimes did just to let you know he was there with you. The cat slipped between your feet and went outside, meowing what sounded like laughter.

When you looked up you didn't see Jake, but what you didn’t know was that he had seen you the second you walked in. From across the room, cup in hand, his gaze tracked you with something dangerous and fond all at once. Pride curled in his chest. Desire too. He didn’t move until you turned— until your eyes finally found him.

His expression changed instantly when he noticed what you were wearing. You'd somehow elevated the outfit you wore to practice that time to annoy him, only this time it was definitely meant to give him a heart attack. You'd chosen an equally short but dark leather skirt that hugged your hips and accentuated your ass. Jake never thought witch boots could be sexy, but you were wearing a pair that laced up to your knees, making your legs look endless. The worst part was the top you were wearing, which barely contained your tits, bouncing gently with every step you took. He felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck.

You didn’t get to react before he was in front of you, pressing a red plastic cup into your hand.

“Drink,” he said.

You glanced inside, confused. “This is water.”

“Exactly. You’ll need it.’’

Before you could question him, his fingers laced through yours, firm and unapologetic, and he tugged you toward the staircase.

“Jake— wait,” you protested, half-laughing as you followed. “I thought we were supposed to socialize first? Make sure Jay doesn’t burn the house?’’

He didn’t slow down.

“Fuck Jay,’’ he scoffed. ‘’That stopped mattering the second you walked through the door,” he replied over his shoulder. “I’ve been patient for too long.”

Your heart hammered as he pulled you up the stairs, away from the noise, the music fading into something distant and irrelevant. Jake walked down a hallway to his bedroom door, opened it, pushed you inside unceremoniously, and locked it behind him. The door barely had time to close before Jake had you gently backed against it, or at least, that had clearly been his intention. Because the second you stepped into his room, your focus shifted entirely and you gasped low. Jake’s room was dimly lit by warm lamps and a faint blue glow from a charm hanging near the window. But what stole your attention wasn’t the bed, or the comfy couch, or the fact that you were very aware you were alone in his room.

It was the cabinet against the far wall. A raw, pure curiosity filled you, and you headed straight toward the cabinet you had been spying that night. Glass doors. Shelves lined with jars. Books stacked both neatly and chaotically. Small bundles of dried herbs hanging upside down from hooks. Everything looked so... Jake. Organized but not at the same time, a methodical mini chaos. 

You slipped away from him without even realizing, eyes big and shinning with interest. 

“Are those—” you stepped closer, fingers hovering over the glass, “—original texts?”

“You are in my bedroom,” he said slowly.

“Mmh? Yes, I noticed,” you murmured, already opening the cabinet.

Inside were books in worn leather bindings, titles etched in gold and silver. Some in Latin. Some symbols you didn’t immediately recognize. Small labeled jars sat beside them— powders, seeds, preserved petals. They were the materials of a seasoned and advanced sorcerer, that was for sure. There were definitely relics there, ancient and delicate, with too much power within their pages. Your eyes sparkled when you saw some of the carefully dried herbs up close and you gasped excitedly.

Jake, meanwhile, looked personally betrayed.

“Babe,” he groaned softly.

You pulled one of the books free and flipped it open carefully, reverently. “This one is hand-made. Jake, this is old. How did you get it?”

He walked up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chest pressing against your back.

“Baby,” he repeated, voice lower now, almost a warning. “You can see all of that later. I’ll give you a tour and some herbs if you want,’’ he pressed his face into your shoulder dramatically. “Now pay attention to me. Fuck, you smell so good.’’

You barely reacted, too busy scanning a page and reading attentively. A leaf of something dry slipped across the page and you gasped a little. “Wait— this plant doesn’t grow anywhere near here. How did you get moonvine in this climate? I tried, but it never grew.”

Jake made a wounded sound, a literal, offended little whine.

You arched a brow. “…Did you just—”

He tightened his hold and nuzzled into your neck like a sulking puppy. “We’re in my room. Alone. At night. And you’re flirting with my spell cabinet wearing the tiniest skirt in the world.”

“Oh my God,” you said, turning your head slightly, closing the book carefully. “Are you jealous of your own books?”

“Yes.”

You smiled and reached one hand back, fingers sliding into his hair. He stilled instantly at the touch and relaxed just as fast. “There,” you murmured, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Much better.”

He made another low, needy sound and suddenly spun you around, lifting you just enough to set you away from the cabinet. You barely had time to protest before he gently pushed the glass doors shut with his foot. He began to kiss your neck slowly but wetly, testing your skin with small hickeys that took your breath away.

“You’re here, with me. Focus on me, not a 14th-century curse index.”

You pretended to consider it. “…that curse index did look interesting.”

He groaned and buried his face in your neck again while sliding his hands over your ass and giving you a possessive squeeze, using his grip to lift you up completely and drag you towards his bed.

‘’Fuck, you dressed up so prettily just for me, don't you? Did you want to drive me crazy?’’

‘’Maybe’’ you teased him, laughing softly when he threw you there. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him thoughtfully and seductively, letting your eyes roam over his body. You carefully lifted your leg and placed your foot on his crotch, slowly brushing it against his hard length. ‘’What would you do if I told you I would suck your cock for some of that moonvine?’’

The reaction was too quick and desperate, Jake's body covering yours and taking your mouth in a fervent, hard, almost punishing kiss. His hands roamed all over your body as you cradled his face, never ceasing to kiss him while Jake opened your legs and made room for himself between your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist and sighed breathlessly as you felt his hard cock pressing against your pussy, rubbing torturously slowly against you. Jake devoured your mouth before deciding that was enough and began a trail of kisses down your neck to your breasts, biting, licking, and sucking every inch of uncovered skin.

Jake was determined to mark you as you had marked him.

He exhaled a shaky breath, groaning into your skin. ‘’You know how many times I thought about you here, after practice? Jerking like a loser teenager.’’ 

You shook your head as Jake pulled down your top, moaning at the sight of your naked tits. He cupped your breasts, burying his face between them, inhaling your scent like a man driven mad. He caught one of your nipples and played with it, sucking and licking it until it slipped out of his mouth. You moaned and arched at his touch, gently tugging at his hair while he possessively sucked your nipples, sighing contentedly. 

‘’Jake—’’ you tried to say, moaning when he rubbed harder against your pussy, making your clit throb. 

Jake untangled your legs from him and knelt on the floor, pulling you down until he left you over the edge of the bed with your legs on either side of his head. Heat pooled in your belly and your breath catched when you felt his mouth on you leaving kisses and drags of his tongue on your thighs possessively, gripping hard the cheeks of your ass with his hands. It was too much and too good, and you felt a twinge of shyness as you got wet, moaning behind covering your face. Jake chuckled a little, pushing your skirt up.

‘’All I could think about was you in your pretty skirts, so fucking short it barely covers anything. Your tits bouncing every time you jumped,’’ he groaned, burying his face into your cunt and inhaling, making you squeal. ‘’How sweaty your body was after cheering the whole game. Fuck, I could’ve lick you clean.’’

‘’You’re so nasty,’’ you gasped, trembling from the way Jake used his nose to rub up and down against your covered pussy, bending your knees and holding them there, exposing you. Your pussy was practically dripping, swollen lips spilling out of the fabric. Jake groaned and licked your pussy through your panties, making you jump a little, just enough to make him chuckle again, so fucking smug. 

He gently sucked your clit and you moaned a little, your hips rising and Jake slapping your ass to make you stay still. 

‘’Jake!’’ you hissed.

‘’You could've had this before, but no. You decided to act like a brat and test me everyday,’’ Jake scolded you with another spank landing on your ass, making you moan again from the sting. ‘’And then you fucking hexed me. You actually believe you deserve to get this pussy fucked?’’

You nodded, making Jake chuckle deep. He pulled your panties aside and caressed your pussy with his fingers in a V-shape, his touch light as a feather. You stirred needing more, and gasped as Jake slapped your pussy playfully once, twice, three times. He rubbed your clit slowly, letting his saliva drip there and trickle down your folds, staring at it. It was so... filthy and so dominant, the way he was touching you. You love it.

‘’Jake, fuck,’’ you whimpered, needy and restless. ‘’Please!’’

‘’Please what, baby?’’

You grunted. ‘’You know what. Do something!’’

‘’Beg for it,’’ Jake muttered, moving the tip of his tongue in circles over your clit, barely touching it, a ghost touch. ‘’Beg me to eat your wet, needy pussy.’’

You closed your eyes, feeling your cheeks flush slightly, and pushed your hips upward, needing to feel your mouth on you with a whine. 

‘’That’s not good enough. Use your words.’’

You almost pouted. ‘’Jake, I... I want you to eat my pussy, please.’’

Jake's mouth was on you right away, closing over your clit and rubbing it with his tongue, sucking and sipping your juices and his saliva all together. His tongue roamed up and down, licking and sucking, making a mess and loving the way your thighs trembled slightly.

If someone had ever told you that you'd be lying open in your rival's bed with his face buried in your cunt, you would have laughed. But there you were, entering a fog of pleasure that altered your senses, and you couldn't think of anything but more, more, more. Your body tingled, and the pleasure began to raise your body temperature, making its way into you. Your hands left your face and began to move down until you started to play with your breasts slowly, rubbing and pinching your nipples between your fingers.

You gasped as one of his fingers slid easily into your hole, and then another, stretching you with an almost too delicious ardor, pumping them in and out. Jake began to move them firmly, pushing them inside you until his knuckles touched you. He curled them inside and caressed your soft, wet, gummy walls, making you whimper at how deep his long fingers felt. You had never reached so deep, but Jake's long fingers had no problem making you see stars and moan his name desperately.

Jake's mouth lazily sucked on your clit, making shapes with his tongue and distracting you from how added a third finger, making you hiss. ‘’Jake! Fuck— so good,’’ you whined, trying to close your legs, simply to trap him and drown him against your cunt. ‘’Don't stop!’’

He shook his head and continued assaulting your cunt with more speed, pushing his fingers inside you faster, opening you up. Your body responded on its own, and more slick flowed from your throbbing, stretched cunt into his greedy mouth. You gasped and grabbed his hair, pushing Jake’s face against your cunt and grinding against him, desperate for the pleasure building in your lower stomach.

‘’Come on baby, take it, let me open that tight pussy,’’ he groaned against your tight, smiling wickedly. ‘’You're milking my fingers and soaking my hand, this pussy really loves me, mmh? So fucking needy.’’

You felt like you were about to combust. Jake fucked your pussy until the wet smacking filled the room and your pussy tightened around his fingers, you continued moaning and gripped the blankets biting your lip as he slapped your clit again. Your vision went white for a few seconds and your body arched, your legs opening even wider and you let out a muffled moan when you cummed, crashing down hard. 

Pleasure coursed through your veins and you whimpered when it didn't end right away, spreading throughout your body and awakening every inch to life, vibrating. Jake was still pumping his fingers in and out of you fast and deep, watching you intently with hungry eyes. The overstimulation made you moan and writhe, trying to escape him, but Jake pushed your hips down onto the bed and stood up, his body hovering above you.

‘’Don’t run from it,’’ Jake muttered kissing your throat. You clutched his shoulders and sobbed, feeling your hole open, wet, used, tightening around his fingers again. You shook your head and Jake silenced you with a deep kiss, swallowing your moans. ‘’Cum again for me, baby. You’re gonna make a fucking mess in my bed, yeah? Mmm, you look so pretty when you cum. Give me one more, I know you can.’’

You looked at Jake with disbelief and a little panic. ‘’What? Jake— I never —’’

‘’Shh, relax, baby. You can feel how much your body wants it, don’t you? You're so wet and stretched out for me, I bet I could slip my cock in along with my fingers,’’ Jake moaned huskily. ‘’I bet I could even fit two cocks in. Do you think there's a spell for that or should I just use a dildo? Maybe call Jay over?’’

You moaned at the dirty, hot thought, your breathing quickening. You trembled at the way you didn't hate the idea, even though you didn't know if it was Jake talking in the heat of the moment or his actual ideas. Your hand wrapped around Jake's arm for support, feeling the pleasure about to overwhelm you at any moment. You gasped his name while your body felt like it was splitting, convulsing slightly. Jets began to spurt from your pussy, falling onto the floor and sheets, and even then Jake didn't stop his fingers. You gasped, completely overwhelmed and trembling with pleasure, closing your wet thighs.

‘’That’s it, pretty, you did so well,’’ Jake’s voice praised you, kissing you softly. Your body feels like it's floating on clouds, a light layer of sweat covering your body and your panties completely soaked, sticking to your pussy. ‘’Squirting like a good girl for me.’’

Jake studied your dilated, glassy eyes, the way your body softened and sought his, how you moaned from the loss when he finally withdrew his fingers from your slippery pussy. More slick gushed out of your hole and he moaned, studying your pretty cunt, so soft and shiny. He quickly kicked his pants aside and your eyes widened slightly when you noticed his cock. You'd seen it outlined in a photo and felt it when you sat on top of him, but seeing it hard was something else entirely. It was long and quite thick, with some veins popping out. It was big,a  size you definitely didn’t have experience with. The tip was dark pink, already leaking. 

Jake's eyes were darkly deep as he watched you stare at his cock, his hand circling its width and slowly masturbating in front of your eyes. ‘’I'm going raw, baby. I need to feel your sweet pussy squeezing me,’’ he groaned. He pushed your knees up and pressed them against the bed until he replaced his hands with yours. He began to rub the head of his cock between your wet, slippery lips, tapping it against your clit. ‘’You’re dripping for me.’’

Your head was nestled in cotton wool, and you bit your lip, timidly taking his cock in your hand and rubbing it against your pussy, caring about nothing but having him inside you. You positioned it against your hole slowly and looked at Jake with droopy eyelids, slowly licking your lower lip. ‘’Just fuck me, Jake.’’

Your eyes closed with a moan as Jake began to push, your tight little hole opening under the pressure of his tip forcing its way in. He was entering slowly, inch by inch, turning the slight burning sensation into pleasure. You watched as he hadn't even gone in halfway and yet you felt so full, so stretched; it was maddening, and you moaned desperately.

You were restless and too hot and wet; everything was too much and yet not enough. Jake noticed how overwhelmed you were becoming and kissed you slowly, his tongue caressing yours almost gently while his cock was wrecking you. ‘’That’s it, baby, let me in. I’m gonna make you feel so good,’’ he promised, coaxing you. ‘’You look so pretty like this, so full of me.’’

He pinned you to the bed and began thrusting slowly, almost pulling out of you, then burying his cock completely inside your hot, wet pussy. You gasped against his mouth and clung to him, unable to believe that Jake was the one making you moan and beg, the one buried up to his balls inside you. Jake found the spot that made you see stars while he watched your reaction and smiled smugly when you gasped his name breathlessly, starting to move faster and pounding your pussy nonstop. 

You were just spouting nonsense, unable to form a sentence or any thought; all you could feel was Jake's cock thrusting into you until its tip grazed your cervix, leaving you a trembling mess. Completely possessed by the sensations that burned your body.  ‘’Jake— oh my God, you’re— so deep — please.’’

Jake was totally possessed too, with shadows dancing across his face giving him a dangerous look, he was a conquering beast, watching you with such a pure and perverse obsession knowing that you were right where you belonged, open and letting him use your pussy however he wanted. ‘’You're soaking my cock, baby. You're squeezing me like you don’t want me to let go,’’ Jake panted against your lips, kissing you sloppy. You moaned into his mouth kissing him just as messy, holding onto his shoulders. ‘’This pretty pussy is made for my cock, so fucking tight, it's begging me to fill her with my cum.’’

You squeezed around him, making him moan, as your fingers found your clit and slowly encircled it. Jake took your wrist and brought it next to your head, shaking his head. He laughed mockingly, tilting his face and giving you an especially deep thrust that made you gasp. ‘’Touching what’s mine, mmh? I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, not until you apologize for fucking cursing me.’’

‘’I’m sorry,’’ you begged, eyes rolling into the back of your head when his fingers found your clit and pressed in circles with the right amount of pressure. ‘’Jake, please, I’m sorry!’’

‘’Mmm, that doesn’t sound sincere, baby. Try again.’’

You sobbed a little, feeling your climax about to explode, making your pussy throb and your hole get wetter, taking Jake's cock more easily. Your body responded to his every move, every word and thrust, driving you wild. You didn't care about anything but cumming. 

You looked into his eyes, tears welling in your own, and moaned softly, pleading with your gaze. "I'm sorry I bewitched you, Jake."

Jake fake cooed at you, taunting you with a mocking grin. He kissed you again, deeply and demandingly, licking your mouth while continuing to rub your clit until you whimpered again.

‘’You better be, my pretty witch,’’ he warned you, tangling his hand in your hair and tugging roughly. ‘’You’re gonna pay for it, anyway. Day by day I’m gonna cum so deep into your tight pussy and you’re gonna take it, every drop. And fucking thank me for it.’’

Jake’s eyes sparkled evilly, charged with a heat so intense it left you breathless. Your mind cleared a little when you realized that he didn’t have any intentions to stop or pull out, pounding into you mercilessly. A little common sense penetrated the fog of your mind and you started shaking your head, trying to push him. 

‘’I’m not on the pill,’’ you whined, a spark of alarm amidst the pleasure that clouded your mind. ‘’Pull out!’’

‘’Nah,’’ Jake chuckled into your lips, ramming into you harder in a mating press, making you just take his cock deeper. His breathing was more labored, his touch more possessive as he fucked you so hard that you couldn't hold back and came with a scream, panting and creaming his cock. ‘’I'm gonna breed you real good, fill this tiny pussy up over and over,’’ he grunted, jaw clenching. ‘’Fuck, and you’re gonna let me. You owe me, baby. Time to payback, my pretty slut.’’ 

You were half-listening while spamming around him, your heart and breathing out of control, while Jake used your hole as he pleased. You watched with shining eyes as Jake's face transformed when he came inside you with a gasp, his brow furrowed, and a wild look in his eyes. He buried himself deep inside your cunt and lay still there as his load filled your womb, giving a few empty thrusts to push his semen in. 

You hissed from overstimulation, collapsing onto the bed completely exhausted with Jake on top of you, breathing heavily. He held your jaw and kissed you slowly, more calmly, coming down from the cloud of pleasure along with you. You felt his cum begin to trickle down from your hole and whimpered, punching him in the shoulder.  

Jake laughed briefly and kissed your cheek, making you look at him. ‘’You're not going to run away from me ever again. You belong right here, with me buried up to my balls inside you, filled with my cum. You're going to wear my jacket after my games, and then you're going to come back home with me and let me take care of you. Is that clear, little witch?’’ 

You rolled your eyes and sighed without denying anything he said. In fact, you didn't hate the idea, and incredibly, you didn't feel like running away either, imagining it in your head, your mind still turbulent from the number of orgasms Jake had given you in such a short time.

You considered it while caressing Jake's cheek, your thumb slowly rubbing his lips. "Okay," you murmured softly after a pause, your body betraying you and your cunt tightening around his cock, squeezing out every last drop he had to give you, heart fluttering. You sighed heavily. '’You'd better know how to cast a contraception spell or I’m hexing you again.’’

Then Jake let out a short, disbelieving laugh. He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at you like you were the most fascinating creature in existence before kissing you again, soft and loving. 

“You’re spiraling, firefly.”

“I am evaluating risks, since you don't.”

Jake slowly withdrew from you, making you whimper from how sensitive you were. He lay down beside you and gently tugged you against his chest, where you snuggled in, not caring that you were dripping with his cum. 

“Relax,” he murmured, brushing hair away from your face. “I know the spell.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You know it, or you think you know it?”

“Baby,” he said, smiling lazily, “I am not reckless.”

You gave him a look. He paused, looking somewhere between entertained and guilty.

“Mmm, okay. I’m selectively reckless, maybe.”

‘’That will definitely make me sleep soundly tonight.’’

Jake laughed softly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got it handled,” he said. “I promise. Don’t worry, yeah?”

You studied his face carefully, searching for even a hint of teasing, but you found none. Only warmth. And a very obvious fondness at the way your brain always jumped to worst-case scenarios, your buttons in the "freak out" mode. Jake sat down and began removing the rest of your clothes, slowly untying your boots as he massaged the areas he uncovered. Little by little, he had you naked, and you felt his hot gaze upon you, looking at you with satisfaction at the way you had simply accepted that you belonged to him.

Jake moved closer to you, maneuvering to spoon you and wrap his arms around you after covering you both with the blankets. His touch was still possessive but more protective, comfortable, familiar. You relaxed in his arms and snuggled closer. 

“You don’t have to panic every time we cross a line,” he murmured. “We’re figuring this out. Together.”

His words softened something in you, and you caressed his hand that had rested on your chest, holding you. You sighed dramatically and playfully pushed him with your butt, closing your eyes with a smile.

“If I wake up glowing tomorrow I’m killing you, Sim Jaeyun.''

Jake snorted behind you and kissed your neck, his nose brushing against it. ‘’If you wake up glowing tomorrow,” he murmured, “I’m taking full credit.”

[dollsette]

‎ AFTER HOURS ˎˊ˗ s.jy

✶ SYNOPSIS ── your coworker, jake, is the shameless office slut. he’s cocky, lazy, and infamous for fucking every girl in the office until they’re obsessed. you’re the opposite: organized, driven, and sick of his shit. your best friend heeseung keeps teasing you about the “sexual tension,” but you deny it every time.. until one night, you and jake end up staying after hours at the office.

✶ STARRING ── office fuckboy!jake, fem!reader, bsf!heeseung

✶ CAUTION! ── smut (minors dni), enemies to lovers, lots of cursing, office au, y/n overhears boss and jake getting freaky, unprotected sex (wrap it), spanking, lots of dirty talk, dumbification, cum play, masturbation, fingering, making out, kissing, breast play/sucking, spitting, dirty jokes, big dick!jake, teasing, heavy tension, mentions of gossip, jake is an absolute menace.

✶ DURATION ── 10.8k word oneshot.

EMI ✉️ jake has been bias wrecking me HARD lately, so it's only natural that i write a filthy fic for him !! considering this is my first long fic, i'm kinda proud of myself <3 enjoy reading my luvs, feedback + rbs are appreciated!

‎

‎

Truth be told, you loved your job at the office. You enjoyed working in a fairly quiet and independent environment—you know, having your own cubicle where you worked away at your desk, the only time you could actually talk to your friends being during breaks.

Not to mention, you’re dedicated. You’re a hard worker, somewhat uptight, but your boss always praised you for your work ethic. So really, to say you didn’t like your job would be a bold-faced lie.

However, there was one thing—someone who made your job fucking miserable. This one person made you regret clocking in to work every day. Heck, he even made you regret staying employed at the office.

Sim Jaeyun.

He made corporate hell ten times hotter by being handsome, loud, lazy, and disgustingly fuckable.

It’s 8:52 a.m., and you had just arrived at work after running on four hours of sleep trying to finish your report. You wore your typical office attire, a crisp white dress shirt, a fitted black pencil skirt, and a tailored blazer. Your heels clicked with every step, your shirt just slightly unbuttoned at the top from rushing out the door. If anything, today was the one day you really didn’t want to deal with Jake’s shit. Really, it’s every day. But today? You were particularly ticked off.

The minute you step out of the elevator and onto your floor, you already hear him laughing with someone three cubicles down. His laugh, in some unfair way, is hot. But it also makes you want to smash his head into a wall. It’s too fucking early to hear his voice, especially when he’s always the one that comes in late. But this time, he beat you by two minutes.

You turn your head just slightly, and there he is. His dark hair all soft and messy, yet it looks so effortlessly good. His white dress shirt is slightly unbuttoned, the tie hanging loose like he threw it on five seconds before leaving. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he flashes that awfully pretty smile of his while his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t even fucking need glasses. He just wears them because he thinks it makes girls get on their knees for him. Truthfully, that’s usually what happens. But it’s none of your business.

“Ay, two minutes late, Y/N!” he calls out, raising his tone and pointing at you so there’s no way you missed it.

“As if you don’t come late every day, asshole,” you mutter under your breath, walking into your cubicle and setting your bag down with a heavy thud. He didn’t hear you. Of course he didn’t. He was too caught up in whatever him and some other girl from your department were talking about. He probably fucked her too.

Jake’s the type of guy everyone loves, even though there’s not a single good trait about him. Except for the fact that he shows up to work looking hot with zero effort. In the bathroom, girls constantly gossip about him. There’s never a time you can pee, let alone wash your hands, without overhearing some girl rave about how good he made her feel.

“He made me cum in under five minutes.”

“He secretly edged me at my desk.”

“I still dream about how his fingers felt inside me.”

“He fucked me in the lounge room.”

These are just a few of the things you hear about him on the daily. And it’s usually a different girl every time. That’s what made him such a whore in your eyes. And sure, everyone knew about it, but no one cared. A guy as good-looking, probably big, and charming as Sim Jaeyun could get away with just about anything.

To say it pissed you off was an understatement. He showed up late almost every day—today being a rare exception. He flirted with HR and practically skated by with minimal effort, all because he was hot and somehow everyone’s type.

Yes, he does actually do his work on rare occasions just to avoid getting fired, but most of the time he coasts on charm. It’s the only fucking thing he knows how to do with that pretty face.

What everyone knows best about him, though, is his reputation for fucking his female coworkers and leaving them obsessed. The thought made you partially disgusted. But at most, all he is to you is just a guy with an insane face card who’s using it to his advantage and getting exactly what he wants in return: pussy.

And as if that didn’t already paint the perfect picture of him being an asshole, he always made it a point to specifically tease, flirt, and annoy you. The one person in the office he hadn’t gotten the chance to fuck. If you gave him that chance, he would absolutely take it. But since he’s your arch-nemesis, you promised yourself you’d never let him touch you, let alone lay a finger on you.

As everyone settles into their cubicles and starts their usual routine, the faint sounds of keyboard clicking, rummaging through papers, and coffee sipping fill the air. And of course, so does Jake, as he leans against the divider separating your two cubicles.

It was worth mentioning that your cubicles were just one apart. And no matter how many times you begged your boss to move you, it was never approved.

Of course, he’s doing anything but his assigned tasks and instead chooses to bother you for the second time today. But knowing him, once is never enough. Just like how he can never stick to sleeping with just one girl.

“How’s your little spreadsheet going, love?” He teases, slim and veiny fingers resting against his cheek as his elbow props on top of the divider. He stares down at you, voice coated in sleep, his accent making it sound like honey.

“Don’t talk to me,” you say firmly, not even looking up. The four hours of sleep were really starting to hit now that he was trying to push your buttons, and the urge to grab his head and smack it into the divider was growing stronger by the second.

“You sound so hot when you’re mad,” he hums, teasing you one last time before realizing you weren’t in the mood and finally retreating to his seat.

“I’m not one of your little office playthings,” you tell yourself silently, glancing at your spreadsheet that barely looked like one now. You could hardly focus with someone nagging you as much as he did.

Your lunch break was the one time of day where you finally got to breathe. To be away from him. And instead, spend it chatting with your best friend, Lee Heeseung, who worked in the same department.

You let out a pent-up sigh as you walk into the lounge room where the two of you usually met. It was quiet and secluded enough for you to vent in peace. The moment you plop down on the cushioned couch beside him, you cringe slightly.

Gross. Didn’t Jake fuck a girl here?

Heeseung was the only one who knew about your misery. The only person you truly expressed your hatred for Jake to.

“Jake? Again?” Heeseung asks, mid-bite, as he spots the familiar look on your face.

“Yes. He’s so fucking useless..” you mumble, running a hand through your hair. Heeseung silently offers you a bite of his food, clearly seeing how dead you look.

You chew slowly, letting the flavor melt on your tongue, and it makes your mood just slightly better.

“I don’t know how he even got hired,” you mutter, taking another bite and handing it back.

“Probably gave head to the hiring manager. Wouldn’t be the first,” he shrugs, like he somehow has Jake’s entire history memorized.

“You’re not helping,” you glare, crossing your leg over the other.

“What? You don’t think he’s good with his mouth? You know how many girls he’s probably eaten ou—”

“Hee! I don’t want to know! Probably a lot.. okay, I know that. But still, numbers can only say so much about a person,” you huff. The image alone makes your face twist with disgust—and your chest tighten.

“Just saying.. if you hate him so much, why do you know his entire fuck history?” He teases.

“Because everyone knows? Not that it’s any of my business. I could care less about who he’s fucking. He’s just always a dick, always annoying me like he thinks I’m one of his hoes,” you mutter, walking over to the Nespresso machine. You needed caffeine. Badly. Especially for this very conversation.

“You’re next,” Heeseung says from the couch.

You pause, turning your head back with a confused expression as you stir your coffee. “W-what? What do you mean?”

“I’m saying you might be his next little thing. I see the way he teases you.. it’s not for no reason,” he shrugs, tossing his lunch container in the trash.

“As if. He only wishes,” you murmur, shaking the carton of vanilla creamer before pouring it in.

“You say that now, but.. watch when he gets his way with you,” Heeseung calls out, already halfway out the door.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” You yell, throwing your hands out dramatically.

“I am!”

“Mhm,” you mutter under your breath.

You leave the lounge room with your warm cup of vanilla coffee in your hands, trying to mentally reset after your conversation with Heeseung before you have to get back to work.

The office is mostly quiet, the infamous keyboard clicks, murmurs of people chatting, and printer hums filling the air. You’re in a somewhat-decent headspace to get back on track, especially since you didn’t once hear Jake’s voice during your entire break.

No, that doesn’t mean you hate the way his voice sounds. His voice is attractive, oddly. His accent, the whiny undertones, and raspiness all make it sound so sweet. The only issue that occurs is what comes out of his mouth, and his repulsively cocky personality.

But who were you to say anything? He most definitely knows exactly what to say during sex, especially with a voice like that, that can draw anyone in. No wonder there was a new girl on her knees for him every week.

Just as you reach a few feet away from your cubicle, you see him leaning at the entrance, smirking at you while he reveals his perfect smile. His tie is looser now, sleeves pushed up higher, a pen between his fingers that he’s absentmindedly twirling.

“Miss me?” He teases, eyes locked on yours as your expression is blank, but your eyebrows slightly furrow when the sentence leaves his mouth.

“Move.” You demand, as his body is pretty much blocking the entire entrance into your small cubicle. You stand in front of him, but maintain your distance, staring up at his tall figure. You're not even sure if the caffeine from your coffee will help with anything anymore.

“Say please.” He crosses his arms, eyes still locked on yours as he looks down at your shorter figure, waiting for the satisfaction to hit of you saying the word that every single girl probably moans when being fucked by him.

“Go bother someone else, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, shoving past him, your shoulder harshly brushing past his as you set your cup down on the table and sit in your chair, only to resume your endless typing.

“Attitude, baby,” he says firmly, yet teasingly, before walking behind your chair. He felt oddly close to you, making your body nearly shiver as you look behind you, staring up at his standing figure.

“You want something? Maybe a quickie in the break room?” He mocks, watching how your eyes slightly squint in disgust. He always tried to get his way with you like this—through sex persuasions.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re staring.”

“Get out.” You dart your head back to your computer screen. He cockily smirks before leaving your cubicle and walking back to his.

Your stomach fluttered when he called you the name, but again, that’s what he probably addresses every female as in this office. You were no different, except that he just liked to annoy you to insanity.

You resume your typing while sipping your already-cold coffee, constantly hitting the backspace button as you find yourself writing nonsense, desperately trying to forget about your encounter with Jake just now.

Your phone lock screen flashes, a text from your boss appearing. “Can you send Jake in my office? He owes me a favour.”

Favour my ass. Just say you want him in between your legs again.

You simply like the message and walk over to the cubicle next to yours—Jake’s.

“Jake,” you whisper, trying not to be too loud, but he’s on the phone with his friend. Of course he can’t hear a damn thing.

He’s lazily manspreading in his seat, facing away from the computer screen with a blank document—typical. His phone is pressed to his ear as he rants away.

“I swear, she was basically shaking by the time I was done with her—”

“Jake!” You say a little louder, catching his attention as he looks at you, eyes wide and innocent—though deep down, he was the complete opposite of that.

“Boss wants to see you in her office,” you say with a stoic expression. He bites his lip before saying, “Ay, I’ll call you back,” and hanging up.

By the time he gets up and makes his way to the office, you’re already sat in your seat again.

Your phone’s lock screen flashes again. This time, it’s a text from Heeseung.

“Saw your boyfriend going into the boss’s office.”

“First of all, not my boyfriend. Second of all, Boss’s orders.”

“How much you wanna bet he’s fucking her so she can give him a raise?”

“I don’t even wanna bet on that, I know it’s happening.”

He replies with a laughing face before you shut your phone off, setting it down on your desk before your eyes catch the coffee you didn’t end up finishing. Frankly, you don’t want to anymore.

You sit up from your chair, cup in hand, before searching for the nearest trash bin, which happens to be right next to the boss’s office.

You approach it before tossing your paper cup in the bin, leftover coffee seeping out of it and piling on the other cups, some stained with lipstick and gloss on the edges.

You stay for a moment, the faint sounds of.. something coming from the office catching your attention.

Your ear moves closer to the locked door, until you finally hear it—pornographic moans. Your boss was getting fucked. By Jake.

Heeseung was right.

“Y-yes, fuck! Right there!” You hear her screams, making your face scrunch in disgust. But you keep listening in on it.

“You gonna give me a raise now, yeah baby?” You hear the familiar sound of Jake’s voice, all breathy and groany. The more your ear presses up against the door, the more the light sound of skin slapping is heard.

“Yes! Fuckfuck—” The moan escapes her lips. It’s almost as if she wasn’t even trying to hide it. It’s either she wanted everyone in the office to know she was getting fucked like a slut, or that his cock was just too good to stay quiet.

You’ve had enough. You can’t hear anymore of this. Your chest tightens as your ear comes off from the door, everything you had just heard made you feel a little uneasy.

Not that you cared, because again, his sex life was none of your business. But damn, even your boss got his cock?

This had further proved how much of a whore Jake was. Your boss was freshly thirty, and even though you both were only in your early twenties, it still disgusted you. He really would fuck anything, so long as it had a pussy between its legs and would personally benefit him—whether it was through a job raise, pleasure, or in this case.. both.

You quickly make your way back to your desk, trying to resume your previous typing, though it’s nearly impossible considering what you had just heard.

You didn’t know why it was still lingering in your head, like you didn’t already know that he’s done this to nearly every girl in the office. It doesn’t matter. It’s just Jake. He’s a sleaze, a whore, and the very reason your days feel ten times longer than they should.

And yet, you can’t stop thinking about what you heard. The way she moaned, the way he groaned and talked so dirty to her, the infamously cocky tone in his voice like he knew he was ruining her.

You squeeze your thighs together under your pencil skirt, looking away from the screen, utterly disgusted with yourself for letting your thoughts wander.

You keep clicking away at your mouse, moving tabs around, trying to look productive—like you’re doing something—but you can’t focus on anything. You type random words that float around in your noggin that don’t relate at all to what you have to write about, delete them, type again, until you eventually give up and roll your chair away from your desk, now facing the entrance and trying to take a breather.

Your thoughts still creep in your head. They’re almost impossible to push out.

“He fucks like that just for a raise?”

“She sounded so dumb for him.. Was it that good?”

“Is he that big?”

“Why the fuck do I care?”

Fuck it, you need another cup of coffee.

You step out of your cubicle, running a hand through your hair as you notice Jake walking out of the office. His hair is messier, shirt untucked, sleeves still rolled to the elbow. He looks even more disheveled now, yet he still looked so good, even post-fuck.

You really didn’t want to cross paths with him again, not after hearing him railing your boss in real time, when he didn’t think anyone could hear.

The minute he walks by you, your eyes meet, and he winks. “Slut,” you mutter under your breath, heart skipping in frustration. You blink, your heels clinking against the floor louder as you walk faster toward the lounge room, desperate to get away from everything and anything, even if that meant through another dose of caffeine.

You and Heeseung planned to meet at a small café in the lobby of your office building during a quick break. Since the workday had already started, the café was pretty quiet—soft music played in the background and just a few coworkers were scattered around. It was the perfect spot to catch your breath before heading back.. and to tell your friend what you had just heard not long ago.

“You look like you saw something you weren’t supposed to,” Heeseung says, noticing how you look down in your lap and stay oddly silent. Normally, if you were going to complain about Jake or your never-ending workload, it would’ve spilled out by now.

“Close enough..” you look up from your lap and at your friend’s bambi-like expression, and reluctantly tell him what you overheard just an hour ago.

“You heard it? Like.. full-on?” His eyes slightly widen—not that he was surprised or anything. He was only shocked that you had finally got a taste of it yourself, meaning you heard everything.

You nod, lips pressed together. “Gosh, she sounded like a pornstar..” you say, before cringing at your own words.

“Was he all like ‘who’s your boss now’?” Heeseung smirks, about to laugh at his own dirty comment.

“You’re disgusting,” you say, before realizing that’s one of the many insults you threw at Jake today.

“I’m just saying.. guess the real promotion was inside her all along.” He cracks another stupid joke.

“Heeseung!” Your tone goes higher.

“Jeez, sorry,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Bet you couldn’t even focus on your work after hearing that.”

You can’t even make eye contact with him anymore. Because it’s true, you couldn’t. The sole thought and memory of it was consuming you, and you hated it.

Jake’s high-pitched groans, his breathy filthy talk, the way she was moaning like it was the best sex she’s ever had—all lingered in your brain more than they should. It’s almost as if the second you heard it go down, the sound stuck with you for the rest of the day, clinging onto you like a reminder that the man who teases you every day, the man you despise, is willing to go as far as fucking his boss for a raise.

He doesn't even deserve one. Never did. But again, who says no to a face like his?

You part your mouth to speak before both of your phones buzz. You glance at your screens, only to see your Gmail app say: Subject: Quarter-End Team Assignments (After Hours)

It’s essentially a company-wide initiative that happens at the end of every quarter, in which select employees are asked to stay after work hours and help with outstanding internal reports, archiving client files, and assisting with next-week's executive presentations.

Your stomach sinks. You open the email and sigh loudly.

Not that you were nervous or anything, but you liked working on your own—and staying past the time you normally have to would drain the life out of you. Well.. depending on who you’d be paired with.

“Imagine you’ll be paired with lover boy,” Heeseung laughs, noticing your sudden mood change after seeing the email.

“Bite your tongue. And I don’t know yet..” you start, before adding, “But I’ve got a bad feeling.”

He raises a brow. “Bad or horny?”

You throw the crumbled sheet of paper from your straw at his face, hitting him right in the middle as he flashes his pretty smile in response.

“Well, I’m leaving,” you say, standing from your seat as you grab your bag. “Some of us have to go face our fate.”

The elevator ride back up to your floor felt oddly slow, almost as if the universe was preparing you for the news to come.

The minute you step in, you walk into one of the smaller glass offices, where you find the project lead—one of the newer coordinators. She didn’t look intimidating, but rather sharp, like she knew how to keep someone on their feet.

“Hi, Mrs. Kim,” you softly say, bowing in front of her as she looks up from her laptop and smiles politely.

“Good to see you, Ms. L/N. Thanks for dropping in,” she says, before continuing, “I see that you’ve been super consistent with your deadlines lately. This’ll reflect really well on your internal review.” She softly nods, lips pressed into a smile as her index fingers push up the round frames higher on her nose bridge.

“I’m sure you saw in the email, but we’re asking a couple of people to stay after hours the next few days throughout the week. It’s mostly to tidy up client files and organize emails for an important presentation early next week,” she adds.

You nod with a relaxed expression, but deep down, you already wanted her to spit it out and tell you who you’d be partnered with. Your apprehension comes to a stop when she finally speaks.

“Oh, and you’ll be paired with Jake for this. He’s got some catching up to do, so.. we’re giving him a little nudge. You both start tomorrow after the workday ends.”

You swear you feel your heart drop the minute you hear his name, but obviously, this just had to be your luck.

You nod, face stoic but trying to show some sort of satisfaction, before you thank her and turn your back, walking out of the office.

“This better get me a raise,” you think to yourself, letting out a pent-up sigh of despair before you step out—only to see Jake leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for you.

You already had a feeling he knew about the two of you being paired.. And he did.

“Looks like we’re in this together, sweetheart,” he smirks, voice smug as he throws his arm over your shoulder, his hand almost brushing your cheek.

You stay silent for just a second, rolling your eyes as your heart slightly feels warm—almost as if it melted a bit? You can only imagine how he’s probably still got the boss’s taste on his fingers, and how many skirts his hand has slid under.

You don’t know why the thought consumed you so much, let alone even bothered you a bit, but it somehow did.

“Don’t call me that,” you say, eyes refusing to meet his as you keep on walking, your breath hitching at the loss of warmth and touch on your shoulder.

He trails behind you regardless. “Just tell me what to do, boss.”

“As if you didn’t fuck ours.” You admit. As much as you didn’t want him to know that you heard a thing, it slipped out anyway.

“So you heard that, huh?” He tuts, his trailing behind you stopping. “I was wondering why you couldn’t look me in the eye all day.”

You turn back to glare at him, stopping in your tracks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Could’ve been you,” he says, before walking the opposite way.

And that sentence stuck with you for the rest of the day.

The next day flew by like a breeze. Your bickers with Jake had still persisted, to no surprise, but it’s almost as if he’d decided to be less annoying today. That is.. if he would save it all for tonight.

By the time 5pm rolls around, everyone is beginning to pack up and get ready to go home after another exhausting day. You had to say, the closer the presentation was approaching next week, the more everyone was in a frenzy.

You were somewhat stressed too, but considering you’d only have to stay a bit behind after hours today in preparation for it, you were okay with it.

You walk over to a big glass table, materials in hand, including Jake’s—typically where workers would sit to work if not at their cubicles. Jake had left the office a few minutes prior, promising a return, though you were ready to see him ten minutes before you left.

Heeseung passes by you on his way out, playfully and lightly ruffling your hair before he whispers a small, “Good luck.”

You sarcastically smile in return. Thanks. I’ll need it.

When the office is finally empty, you get to work. The light of the sun beginning to set casts a beautiful glow across the space as your head is down, mind focused, and brows furrowed. You sort through client folders—colour-coding them, updating labels with new information from recent meetings, and flagging anything missing before next week’s presentation.

In front of your hoard of papers is your laptop, opened to the email inbox. This was initially supposed to be Jake’s duty, but since there was still no sign of him, you decided to start the part for him, refusing to be more behind than you already are.

“Useless idiot,” you mutter under your breath as your eyes scan the screen and rummage through all the unorganized emails.

Your stressing comes to a stop when you hear the elevator ding, followed by the sound of slow footsteps. Jake walks in, a little too casually for someone who’s late. “Should’ve known you’d start without me.”

You don’t bother looking up at him, eyes instead switching from the laptop screen and back down to the papers occasionally. “We both know being late is your only real skill.”

He kisses his teeth before sitting next to you, his knee brushing your thigh. For the next few minutes, the space is filled with the surprising sound of silence—the only evident sounds being Jake’s typing and your papers rustling.

“I have to go print a missing file. Don’t move.” You coldly say, already rising from your seat.

You stand in front of the machine, waiting for your pile of papers to print when you notice Jake walk into the room.

“I told you to not m—” you start, before being cut off.

“Chill, I just need to get something,” he says, a smirk itching to tug at his lips that he suppresses. He walks past you to the shelf of boxes, his hip bumping against your ass when he brushes behind you. You slightly stiffen, breath caught in your throat as you notice him pausing behind you, not moving forward to get what he needs.

His eyes scan you up and down from behind, top lip running over his bottom lip as he traces the curve of your ass. His face moves closer to the back of your head, the sweet and alluring scent of your perfume intriguing him.

“You always smell this good?” He murmurs lowly, his accent mixed with the raspiness of his voice nearly making you go into a daze, but you stop yourself before you can zone out.

You click your tongue, gathering your papers before saying, “Get your shit and sit back down.”

He smirks behind you, finally moving away to grab one of the boxes on the shelves as you leave the print room and make your way back to the table.

Your eye catches the folder you were working on a little farther down the table than usual—probably because Jake was bored out of his mind from doing all the typing and wanted to see what you were doing.

You reach over for it, ass slightly perched up as you bend over the table. Simultaneously, Jake walks back in, only for his eyes to be met with the view of your tight little pencil skirt accentuating the arch of your ass. You already knew he was about to say something nasty about it.

Your back straightens again as you come up, folder in hand, before his hand grazes your lower back, leaning in to use that same low and cocky tone again. “If you’re gonna keep bending over like that, at least have the decency to ask for help.”

You suck in a breath, the feeling of his hand making contact with you nearly making you shiver. “Stop.” You simply say. The demand was simple, but it was enough to have him scoff and sit back down next to you.

You’re both seated, but he’s sitting closer to you than he was before—his thigh pressed against yours, making you shoot him a deadpan look. He notices, smirking before he says, “Don’t worry. I’m working.”

Those four words alone were laced with fake innocence, his eyes scanning the way your fingers flip through the papers, down to the way your plush ass sat against the chair, and down to your legs.

His staring caught your attention, though it didn’t particularly make you uncomfortable.

“Do you ever stop looking?” You say, not bothering to look at him, but the sharpness in your voice was enough to let him know that you were aware of his every move.

“Not when you’re this fuckin’ pretty.” He smirks, before his teeth chew on his bottom lip as he stays leaned back in his chair, barely touching your laptop.

As hard as it was to ignore the supposed compliment, you did, only so he couldn’t get a reaction out of you.

He leans in, lips nearly brushing your ear as he drops the bomb. “You really gonna keep pretending you didn’t care when you heard me fucking her?”

Your body freezes, only your jaw clenching. You hate how he noticed that. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were, simply put, slightly jealous and uncomfortable. You can’t deny it.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He smiles, watching your demeanor completely change the second he brought it up.

“You’re gonna break soon, baby. All that attitude, but you’re already so fuckin’ wet, aren’t you?” He says, standing up from his seat.

Your cheeks flush, body going into utter shock as the sentence slipped from his mouth. Those few words did something to you, and Jake knew it—oh so well. He was making it so damn difficult to resist giving in to his stupid temptations.

He gently tilts your spinning chair so you face him, before he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at his standing figure.

It gave him so much power, the feeling of you gulping and staring up at him like you knew he was about to ruin you any second now. It’s what he’s been wanting.. to get a taste of you.

“Go ahead. Keep acting like you don’t want it.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You glare, shoving his hands off as you stand up from your seat, still looking up at him as he was taller than you.

Your bodies are close, chests nearly pressed together as the heated tension lingers in the air.

“Make me.” He grins.

Unable to hold back, your lips crash onto each other’s.

Your soft lips move against his—both hungry, messy, like you’d been holding back for way too long. They move in sync, your hands wrapping around his neck as he grabs you under your thighs, pushes away the stack of folders and papers, and sets you on top of the glass table.

Part of your body was in a state of shock. The man who pretty much made work miserable for you was now making out with you, and you let him. However, part of you couldn’t deny the tension between the two of you, and that he always looked so good and fuckable.

Your skirt is slightly ridden up, your hand pulling him closer by his collar as his hands roam your entire body, only because you’ve never let him lay a finger on you up until now.

His hands start on your hips, squeezing them before they slide up to caress your waist, and then between your thighs, grazing over your soaked, clothed pussy. “Knew you’d be wet f’me,” he mumbles into the kiss, chuckling to himself.

You pull away, hands still wrapped around his neck as you look right into his eyes. “Aww, did you now?”

His eyes don’t leave yours—his gorgeous and enticing smile flashing once more before he says, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll fuck you right here.”

“I know you’ve been wanting to.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just fuck me already, Jake.”

“Say please, baby.”

“Dammit—please, Jake!”

He bites his lip, smirking at your plea before helping you down the desk and flipping you over, pushing your chest flat against the cold glass.

He lifts your skirt up fully, bunching it just above your hips so he can get a clear and full view of your ass and soaked panties. He groans at the sight, one hand roughly squeezing your ass as his finger runs along your clothed slit, the wetness picking up onto his finger. “Dumb little baby, you already this wet from a few kisses?”

You roll your eyes, already getting impatient as you wait for him to give you what you so badly want.

He hooks a finger around your panties before yanking them down, letting them pool around your heels. He unzips his pants just enough to free his cock—hard, flushed, and leaking at the tip. “Been dying to fuck you since day one,” he mutters under his breath.

He rubs the tip between your wet folds, collecting your slick as he teases your entrance, spitting a string of saliva that perfectly drips down right before he pushes in.

You squirm beneath as he palms your ass, doing anything but fucking you, before he says, “You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve wanted this. Every time you walked past me in that tight little skirt with your tits out—fuck.”

You gasp when he pushes the head in, a groan escaping his lips as he throws his head back, savouring how warm and tight you already feel when he’s not even fully inside you.

He pushes the rest of his cock in, easy to do with how your slick clung to him, mixed with his spit. A soft moan spills from your mouth when he bottoms out, cock fully buried inside your tight walls. No wonder he had the boss moaning like crazy—he’s fucking huge.

The stretch was unlike anything you’ve felt before. It was painful, but more addicting than anything. His thickness stretched you out so good, your pussy doing everything in its power to adjust to it before he absolutely destroys you.

He pulls out a little more than halfway, before slamming back inside you, over and over. Your eyes roll back, head falling onto the table, your cheek mushed against the cold glass as his hips snap into your ass.

The sound of skin slapping, mixed with your screams and moans and his heavy grunts, fills the room. His hands keep a firm grip on your hips, helping to fuck yourself on him so your thrusts sync and hit your deepest spots.

It doesn’t take long before his tip brushes your sweet spot with nearly every thrust, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he hears the stream of ‘yesyes’ and ‘fuckfuck’s spill from your mouth when he angles his hips to find that weakest spot of yours.

“That’s it, you take it so good for me. Knew this pussy was mine the second I saw you,” he breathes out, eyes locked on the way the flesh of your ass recoils every time it slams back against his pelvis. His hand lands a sharp slap to your cheek, making it turn a deep red.

“J-jake—Fuck!” You cry out once you feel the stinging sensation.

No wonder girls keep crawling back and giving into him. He knows exactly what to say during sex. All the right things, the ones that’ll have your head spinning and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You moan out his name over and over, trying to steady yourself on the glass desk with each brutal thrust that has your body jerking forward, but it’s nearly impossible with how limp you already feel—and you haven’t even come yet.

“This what you wanted, huh? To get bent over and used like a fuckin’ toy?” He tuts, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back a bit.

You can’t even form a response. All that leaves your mouth is a pathetic moan as his cock fucks into you so deep and perfectly. Your duties are long forgotten, discarded on the table. All you can think about is how good he feels and how dumb he’s fucking you. “You’ve got the best pussy in the office, don’t you?”

The more his tip slams into your sweet spot, the tighter the knot in your stomach grows, your pussy clenching around him. His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut at the sudden pressure, relishing how your walls squeeze him.

“F-uck.. been jerking off to the thought of this for weeks,” he moans, voice cracking. “And now I’ve got you dripping on my cock like a whore.”

You feel his tip begin to pulse, his hips stuttering as you both inch closer to release. “Gonna cum f’me, doll? Gonna be a good girl?” He says, voice breathy and desperate.

You nod frantically, eyes glassy and lips parted as you teeter on the edge.

He keeps fucking into you, hips slamming with every thrust. One hand keeps you pinned to the table while the other delivers another harsh slap to your ass, the flesh a deep, burning pink now as cries spill from your lips.

You whimper when you feel his cock twitch. He pulls out at the last second, grunting through gritted teeth as he spills his warm cum all over your ass, your release dripping just at your core.

His two fingers glide up your slit, collecting the mess from your pussy and your release, before bringing them around to your lips.

“C’mon, baby, suck on it,” he says, biting his lip when you wrap your mouth around his fingers, tongue swirling around them before you swallow every drop of your mess.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl. Y’know..” he breathes out with a cocky smirk, “You’re even tighter than I imagined.”

You glance back at him, brows raised, a lazy smirk tugging at your lips. You both chuckle breathlessly.

The realization hits you now. You just let your arch-nemesis fuck you at work.. But you don’t care. That was the best orgasm of your life. Now you understand the hype around Jake and his whore reputation. And Heeseung will definitely be hearing from you.

By the time you and Jake had calmed down after fucking like wild animals, to finishing your duties for the night, to going your separate ways to go home, you found yourself laying back flat on your bed—both conflicted and in disbelief.

The entire moment replays in your head, and all you can wonder is, how’d you actually let him fuck you?

Every single detail scrambles in your brain—how dirty he was talking, how rough he handled you, how deep he fucked you, how big he felt, how filthy his voice sounded while he had you bent over for him, how no guy has ever fucked you this good. And his mention of you having the best pussy in the office made your pussy flutter.

Your thighs press together, warmth and wetness pooling between them. Before you can even realize it, you slip your sweatpants off, discarding them on your side as you still lay on your back, legs almost raised to your chest before your hand rubs slow circles over your clit.

You let the images flash behind your eyelids as you do so—from him grabbing your hips, to spanking you, and then cumming all over your ass by the end of it.

Your rubbing stops before you push two fingers inside your entrance, whimpering at the stretch, though you had Jake’s cock ruin you just a few hours ago.

You try to mimic the way his cock had you filled up, how deep and warm it reached into you.

“Jake, fuck..” you moan under your breath, hips grinding into your hand as your slick-covered fingers quickly pump in and out of your pussy, ramming into your sweet spot as you chase another orgasm.

Sure, this was pathetic of you.. Considering you hated Jake. But the way he fucked you quite literally had you reminiscing, wishing it was his cock instead of your fingers right now.

With a few more curls of your fingers, your cum seeps out, painting your digits with the clear-milky fluid. Your chest heaves as you attempt to calm down from your high, hoping it would give you some kind of relief, but it didn’t.

You lie there, your room mostly dark as the only light source comes from your warm lamp sitting on your nightstand, before your free hand grabs your phone.

You open the message app, before clicking on Jake’s icon. Without even thinking, you type out:

“Round two tmr?”

You stare at the text, not sending it just yet as you reread it. Then backspace it all.

You groan, tossing your phone across the bed.

If tomorrow had already come by now, you would’ve deeply regretted sending any of those texts. You’re only horny in the moment, that’s all.

The next day, you walk into the office nervous as hell, heart pounding when you see Jake walking towards his cubicle.

Frankly, you wouldn’t have cared if he told anybody, though he probably didn’t. Nearly every girl in that office was known for having a one-night stand with Jake, so really, it would be to no one’s surprise.

Worst case scenario, he would’ve acted like nothing had happened between the two of you, leaving you attached.

He notices you as you walk to your own cubicle, and he shoots you that damn smirk before saying, “Morning.”

It left you flustered and annoyed, knowing he at least acknowledged you but didn’t mention anything at all regarding yesterday.

As you settle down in your office, everything still refuses to leave your head. You’re in desperate need of spewing your feelings out before you remember—Heeseung.

The one person you tell everything to, but hadn’t just yet told him about what happened last night.

You quickly grab your phone, sending a text to him that reads:

“Come to my cubicle rn”

Hee: “I’m busy doing smth”

“Pls? I’ll be quick”

Hee: “Is it about Jake?”

“No”

Hee: “Coming”

You were lying. It was about Jake.

You react with a thumbs up to his message and next thing you know, he shows up at your cubicle, leaning against your filing cabinet and crossing his arms, iced americano in hand, ready to listen to whatever shit you need to rant about.

“I did something so stupid,” you say, facing in your chair towards him, making sure to keep your tone down.

His adam's apple bobs before he shuts his eyes for a moment, only to say, “What did you do now?”

You hesitate before finally saying, “I let Jake fuck me.”

“You what?!” He says, a little too loudly as he nearly chokes on his drink, brows furrowing.

“Shh!” You hush. “It was a mistake. It just kind of.. happened. It was so good, but also the worst thing I could’ve ever done.”

“He probably doesn’t see it as a mistake, but.. yeah, no shit. You let someone whose guts you hate fuck you.” He says, still a little surprised at your sudden confession.

“I know that. It was.. really good though. He was so big, and I was like screaming the en—”

“Y/n, now I don’t need to hear about it.” He says, putting an emphasis on the ‘I’, before you remember he had just been the one telling you about all of Jake’s sexual encounters and you were the one to cut him off in disgust.

You roll your eyes dramatically, voice whiny as you say, “But I need to talk to someone! He was like—”

“Nope, I’m out.” He says, taking one last sip of his iced americano before setting it on your desk.

“You can finish it. Oh, and don’t fall for his shit. You and I both know he’s just a walking red flag with a pretty face.” He says, making his way towards the entrance of your cubicle so he can leave and return to his.

“Ughh, I know.. that’s the thing.” You say, taking a sip of the drink Heeseung gave you as he leans against the divider, already halfway out, before you say, “But I might let it happen again.”

He shoots you a playfully nasty look as you giggle into the straw.

After your conversation with Heeseung, you went back into spiral mode. It wasn’t full on, nor was it dramatic, but you were thinking way too much for your own good.

Jake hasn’t mentioned a thing about last night. Hasn’t tried anything—not throwing little hints, nothing. That made everything so much worse for you.

Part of you expected it, for him to have his way with you by having sex and then pretending like nothing happened. But the other part of you absolutely hated it. You wanted him to acknowledge it, to say something about it, to give you the validation.

You’re utterly embarrassed that you let him fuck you, especially in the way he did.. but it was so good. The orgasm, his cock, the dirty talk, the touching—every single little thing.

Needless to say, you were attached. Against your will.

You find yourself in the lounge room, making what feels like your fifth cup of coffee of the day, before Jake walks in.

You turn back, making eye contact just as he steps into the room. Your attention darts back to your warm cup of coffee, not saying a thing—instead gulping and looking visibly nervous. You weren’t expecting your body to tremble and your temple to sweat every time you saw him now, but here you were, looking like a chicken with its head cut off.

He walks past you, making his way to an empty couch to unwind after doing.. well, almost nothing. But just as he’s behind you, he says, “If you want me again, just ask.”

You try hard to act unaffected, but it’s almost impossible. Your cheeks flush and jaw clenches before you turn around, facing him as you snap, “Why don’t you go fuck one of your other girls?”

A bit harsh of you, but.. you were too frustrated and anxious in the moment to control what dumb shit came out of your mouth.

He pauses, raising his eyebrow slightly as a look of what seems like shock and satisfaction washes over his face. “Don’t want them. Kinda like the one who talks back.”

If this wasn’t a reference to you, you don’t know what is.

“At least you have the decency to fuck them and leave.”

Jake’s smirk drops a little, his adam’s apple bobbing like he was about to hesitate on what he was about to say before he goes, “Maybe you’re the first one I don’t wanna leave.”

Your mouth parts when the sentence leaves his mouth, though nothing actually comes out. The way he said it doesn’t feel like a joke, almost as if it’s too real, and this time, you have no comeback.

You walk off, leaving the lounge room with your coffee in hand, not saying a word as you’re too flustered and annoyed.

You leave him standing in the room on his own, alone in his thoughts. Shit. Do I actually want her?

You storm into Heeseung’s cubicle, ready to vent to him, even though you pretty much already did just an hour ago.

He’s on the phone with a client—feet up on his desk, but the minute he sees you in his office with a look of shock on your face, he doesn’t think twice before making some shitty excuse and hanging up. Wow, how professional. But in your defence, you would’ve hung up the phone for him if he hadn’t done it himself.

“What is it now..” he says, dramatically leaning back further into his chair and putting a hand over his forehead like he was a damsel in distress.

You sit yourself on top of his desk, legs dangling just a little before you speak, your voice a little more frustrated and louder than usual, “I can’t stand him, Hee. I just don’t know what to do, I-I mean first he—”

“Woah, easy.. calm down. Tell me what happened.”

You take a breather, his words putting you at ease before you speak again, “He hasn’t said anything about last night, nothing. And then today, he just tells me that I’m the only girl he’s fucked that he doesn’t want to leave after?”

Heeseung chuckles to himself, staring down at his lap when he says, “Yet your legs still probably shook when he told you that. Kinda like how they shook when he fu—”

“Lee Heeseung.” You hit him with a deadpan stare from the desk, silently urging him that this is serious and that he needs to get his shit together.

“S-orry,” his voice cracks. “But.. I don’t understand. What do you even want him to say? ‘Oh, last night was fun’?” He says, mocking Jake’s voice.

“Yeah? Any kind of assurance would’ve been nice.” You say, brows slightly furrowing at his lack of help.

“No one does that anymore. It’s kind of corny.”

“Whatever,” you say, hopping off his desk and slowly walking to exit his cubicle, before he says one more thing that sticks with you: “You either need to fuck him again or block him. Depends if he proves himself.”

You walk out without saying anything back, his sentence engraved in your mind as you still try to process it.

Before you know it, you’re already making your way back to your own cubicle, ready to resume the endless amount of typing and calls you’ll have to take, hoping that’ll clear your mind somehow.

Just as you turn the corner, Jake is leaning against your cubicle wall, chewing on his bottom lip as he zones out at the ground.

You don’t know if he was waiting for you, or just doing his own thing and acting dumb, but you never saw him like this. He almost looked.. anxious.

You approach him, not stepping into your cubicle just yet, but instead in front of him, staring up at him with big eyes as his gorgeous ones meet yours.

A small smirk tugs at his lips before he says, “Look, take it how you want but, I know you hate me.. and I know you’re gonna come back anyway.”

So he was waiting for you. And oh, there’s that cocky Jake you always knew.

You gulp as your eyes stay fixed on his, staying silent as you’re unsure of how to reply.

“You still thinkin’ about last night, yeah?” He says, his smirk becoming more evident as he sees your cheek flush and eyes drop to the floor, avoiding eye contact with him.

He already got his answer—he didn’t need you to say it. “I thought so,” he whispers, before his back comes off the wall and he walks away.

You still weren’t happy with how he approached everything, but at least he acknowledged last night. That’s all you cared about.

Later that night, you snuggle in your blankets, eyes still open as you stare off into the distance of your room, trying to forget about all the thoughts of Jake and his antics that consumed you today.

Your thoughts are shut down when your phone lock screen flashes. You grab your phone, only to see that it’s a text from Jake reading, “You awake?”

“Yeah”

Jake: “Wanna come over for a bit”

“For what?”

Jake: “Nthn, just bored”

“Be there in a bit”

He liked your message before you shut your phone off with a sigh. You don’t know if this was going to be a bad idea, but after all, he was the root cause of why you weren’t able to sleep.

You contemplate your decision for a moment before you think, fuck it, and change into sweatpants and a crop top, grabbing your keys and heading out the door, over to his place with the location he shared.

Luckily, Jake lived pretty close, so a 10 minute walk didn’t feel dreadful at all. Instead, you were wondering how everything was gonna go down. Should you mention what happened last night? Should you ask him if you’re something more than friends? What if he doesn’t care at all?

Your walk ended up feeling like 5 minutes before you found yourself in front of his apartment door, pressing the doorbell before he opened the door—greeting you with a bare and sleepy face, wearing grey sweatpants and a loose white shirt, his hair still looking good but a bit messier. Yet, he still looks so good. Typical Jake.

You walk inside his apartment, the fairly-neat space making you slightly surprised as you always thought of him to be the messy type. But who would’ve thought that he actually took care of his apartment?

You stare at the digital clock on one of the shelves, reading ‘12:54 a.m.’

He leads you to his room where you both sit on his bed—him laying his back against the pillows, legs spread, while you sit beside him, legs pulled up to your chest as your arms hug them close to you.

“You looked cute t’day.. All pouty. Made me wanna ruin you again.” He breaks the silence, his voice so disgustingly hot as it’s laced with sleep and extra raspiness.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you say, giggling a little as you refuse to make eye contact with him, too anxious to even do anything. You already started to regret even coming over. “You’ve always been.”

“Works on you though, doesn’t it?” He says, looking straight at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

You finally get the courage to make eye contact with him before you say, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Don’t gotta. You’re the one in my bed right now,” he chuckles, earning one from you as well. You didn’t reply because, frankly, he was right. You had every right to decline his request of coming over, but you did anyways—now sitting right on his bed.

The air is thick with tension and silence. You zone out before you finally look over to him again, staring at his lap before your words catch his attention. “Are we seriously not gonna talk about last night?”

Yes, he mentioned it once earlier today, but it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to pull more answers out of him.

“You want me to say I liked it? That I’ve been thinking about it all day?” He mocks, slightly raising an eyebrow as he realizes just how much you cared about that one night.

You go quiet, sucking in a breath. Yes, you wanted him to say exactly that, but there’s no way you were actually going to admit it.

“Cause I have.” He speaks, before adding, “I don’t gotta tell you, you’re a smart girl.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, heat pooling between your thighs as he smirks at your flustered reaction.

“Come here,” he says a little too casually, patting on his lap like he was telling a dog to come sit.

“W-what?” You stutter. You’ve already been fucked dumb by him, so you don’t know why you were so hesitant to sit on his lap—you just were.

“Just come sit. Why, you scared?” He tuts, patting his lap once more like it was the last opportunity he’d give you.

You roll your eyes at him before you slowly crawl onto his lap, straddling it as his hands immediately find their way to your hips, resting on them as he stares up at you with those pathetic, irresistible eyes.

You gulp at the sight, your hands snaking around his neck as your bodies are so close they could nearly press together.

One hand that was once resting on your hip comes around your waist, closing the gap between your bodies as his face nuzzles into your bare neck, pressing soft and wet kisses on your skin. It was unexpected and sudden, but felt so good—almost making you shiver in his touch.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft and messy locks, your breathing becoming heavier as his kisses trail down from your neck, to your collarbone, down to just the top of your breasts.

You softly gasp when he tugs your crop top over your breasts, the flesh recoiling as he smirks and looks at you at the fact that you came with no bra on. “Nasty girl.”

He helps pull the shirt over your head before his mouth immediately latches onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his other hand kneads your other breast, his large hand palming and squeezing the meat.

You throw your head back slightly, mouth parting as his tongue works perfectly against your tits, your hips unintentionally grinding on his bulge.

He whimpers into the suck of your nipple when he feels the friction, pulling off your peaked bud with a wet pop, his lips swollen.

“You gonna let me fuck you again, baby?” He says, looking back up at you, your brows furrowed in pleasure as both of his hands knead and squeeze your tits like they’re stress relievers.

You whimper before nodding, the wetness in your sweatpants collecting as you want nothing more now than his cock inside of you. Sounds desperate, but in this case, you were.

“Take it off,” he says with a throaty voice, tugging at your sweatpants. You do just as he says, slipping them off and discarding them on his floor as his hands firmly place you on your back, your body on full display for him as he tugs his own sweatpants down—enough to free his throbbing cock, already pink and leaking at the tip.

He aligns his cock with your soaked core before pushing in slow, both of you gasping. You still weren’t used to his size—though you never think you’re going to be able to.

A wet squelch echoes in the room when he bottoms out, loud and sticky. Your eyes flutter open at the noise, at how obscene it sounds.

He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulder, your ankles right at his shoulders as his hips move back and forth, giving you slow and deep strokes that already hit just right. You wondered how he found that sweet spot again of yours so quickly.

“Right there, hm?” he says, pressing down on your stomach to feel where his tip hits inside you. He memorized every spot inside your pussy—what a fuckboy thing to do.

“M-mhmm,” you whimper, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes flutter shut, the pure pleasure of his cock fucking into you agonizingly slow making your brain turn into mush.

The filthy squelch of your pussy gets louder with every thrust—a lewd, sticky and wet sound that fills the room. You swear you could feel yourself dripping down to the sheets.

He reaches down to cup your jaw, forcing your face to meet his. “Look at me. Look at me while I fuck this pretty pussy,” he says, before letting out a loud groan when he feels your core tighten at his words.

His thrusts pick up, your tits bouncing as your body keeps jolting with every movement, your legs still resting over Jake’s shoulder while his hands grip onto your hips—firm enough to leave a mark if he let go.

You throw your head back further into the sheets, hips jerking and a soft moan escaping your lips when his tip kisses your cervix, his cock so deep and warm inside you it could almost make you see stars. You shift a little, moving yourself a little further from him. Well, you try to.

“Don’t run, baby. Take it,” he says, pulling on your hips so your body comes down into the place it once was before. Your eyes roll back with each thrust, your pussy practically strangling him.

“F-uck Jake—G-gonna cum—!” Your voice cracks right at the last second, before you cum. Your milky mess drips onto his cock, getting shoved back inside you as he’s still chasing his high, but he’s very close—as you feel his cock pulsing inside your tight gummy walls.

“This pussy’s all fuckin’ mine,” he groans, throwing his head back before he pulls out just in time, stroking his length a bit before his thick ropes of cum paint your stomach.

His hands finally let go of your hips, his finger marks evident as he stays there for a moment, both of you catching your breaths before he walks into his bathroom and comes out with a towel.

He wipes down your messy and dripping pussy, as well as your stomach that he spilled his release on, before discarding it lazily on the bed.

He lays beside you, pulling you into his chest, your leg thrown over his hip as your head rests on his chest, his heart fluttering from the orgasm.

You lay in silence for a few minutes, not even realizing it. All you can remember is him gently stroking your hair while you softly breathe into his chest.

“How about I pick you up from your place tomorrow?” He breaks the silence, his fingers resting in your hair before he adds, chuckling, “Maybe we can stay after hours again.”

You giggle into his chest at his conceited remark. “And what if your little girlfriends see us?”

“I’ll tell them I’m taken.”

Oh.. so this is how he makes things official?

You feel a little stunned at the statement, but also grateful that he still stuck around to annoy you all those days at work, ever since your first day at the job—and grateful that he picked you amongst the swarm of girls who’d kill to be in a relationship with him.

Your head comes off his chest, your face leaning in to press a soft and warm kiss to his plush lips as he hums into your mouth, snaking his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

Maybe the man you so-terribly despised at your office job wasn’t that bad. Hopefully Heeseung approves.

[keonnies]

why isn’t a cute needy puppy boy named jake in my bed rnnnnn ;((( life’s so unfair ueueueueee ( ;´ - `;)

[juwonsicle]

NERDS NEED LOVE TOO! ✶ sim jaeyun

syn✷psis. who would've known that the hot guy you met at the nightclub and the absolute nerd from your physics course were the same person? definitely not you.

GOOD AT OVERTHINKING WITH MY HEART . . . nerd!jake × it-girl!reader ───✷ please watch out for profanity, mature settings, & alcohol consumption.

THEME . . . classmates to lovers, also kinda strangers to lovers, college au, non-idol au, mutual pining kinda, fast-paced, smau

click here! ✶ 01. 02. 03.

© juwonsicle . 2026

[hoonstrology]

ERROR 404: WORD LIMIT REACHED.  ✩ PSH.

"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

PAIRING ➤ park sunghoon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS ➤ he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

CONTAINS ➤ 18.3k words.⠀⠀college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. WARNINGS ➤ suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

  MASTERLIST.  ┆ EPILOGUE SERIES.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. send feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

  𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥♡

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday. 

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way — just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all.

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say "i do," and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm.

“fuck,” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince.

thankfully, the area was mostly empty, which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play, save for a tall guy just a foot beside you.

shit. 

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit.

“skirt,” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment. 

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined. 

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do. 

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you take this time to look at him — really look at him.

tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air. he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there, dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. 

that was odd. 

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it. 

menthol pain relief patches. 

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.” 

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception—and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that—but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, yes, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction. 

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake.

but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

as it turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them. 

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book. 

park sunghoon. 

you think it’s a pretty name—fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked: humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—” 

and just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying—and succeeding—to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused.

but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head. 

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye. 

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door. 

one student after the another, they all step out one by one.

then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak. 

“oh! i, uh– i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him.

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blond getting dragged away by his collar.

he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore.

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i'm sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—” 

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them. 

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going. 

you hold your hand out. “i’m Y/N, by the way.”

"i know. i'm sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. It’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket. 

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait—did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—” 

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon Y/N's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following aunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit and you try not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides. 

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his.

“we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon. 

“Y/N.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.” 

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with a flash of amusement, maybe surprise, showing in their eyes. 

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

you turn to jay with raised eyebrows. “are they… talking about me?”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake, he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.” 

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?” 

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so I'd take it that you guys are close?” 

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school. and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.” 

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence.

sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side. the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag, but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless. 

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offered to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off. 

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon, but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy. 

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes.

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect T. 

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation: his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you.

like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography. 

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel—it’s dangerous.” 

a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home. 

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes–but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji. 

but Sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes, even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom. 

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable.

you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gesture with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face. 

he does it like it’s routine. because it is. 

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks.

so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven PM.

“man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things whereas sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie! wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushed leaves of gold and orange past his feet. 

this is what he does.

if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head. 

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face. 

“sunghoon!” 

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay's, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend. 

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung.

it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while—the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon. everyone else but you. 

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. and maybe it never did.

sunghoon wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about.

you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm. so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others.

you’d scroll through your texts with Sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay,” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing yours.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w–what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side. 

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” sunghoon places a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you how uncomfortable it was, because you could tell from his strained expression alone that initiating that simple touch burned him.

“it’s nothing. just… some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee.

not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes. 

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing. 

three weeks. 

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence. 

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. He never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease. 

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday—his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it.

you don't even know it, but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light. 

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul!” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time. 

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway. 

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my Y/N-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand. 

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you. 

sunghoon sneered. “why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face. 

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom. 

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon's frown deepen. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out.

but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise—the bruise being his feelings for you. 

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl.

he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon. 

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours. you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye.

“wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you finally replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture. 

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely. though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop.

it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw — the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too.

he can’t text you either—not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)” 

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames.

things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up. 

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our Y/N-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? I thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?” 

they nod. “the one we did before break.” 

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief. 

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug. 

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her and everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with Sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too. complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections.

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories.

your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. 

"i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-laced tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely. “why he’s—why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and, a–and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”  

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep.

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you: sweet and kind, but from a safe distance.

close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else.

sunghoon still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on.

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shot you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you did know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine.

nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another X.

thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance—sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all: a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end.

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food.

the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café. the one you used to hangout with him.

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.” 

that was the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped—in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. y

ou made your friends read it too, and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box.

the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our Y/N! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter. 

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, Y/N.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month.

but of course, he isn’t there.

so you fold the letter again.another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory.

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.”

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.”

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope.

huh. it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges.

on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this?

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read.

if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve—the tiny amount left of it—wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately—the Y/N who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on, and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles.

“he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats.

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair.

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups.there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours.

behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him—just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep.

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it.

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” sunghoon says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort.

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general.

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms.

“i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench. the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him.

and it does. it still does. 

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it.

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i'm sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears. “i don’t. b–but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually.

"i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous tone, making you laugh even harder.

still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight.

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh.

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion.

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words,” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.”

“it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.”

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself.

until it hurts, until it stings.

but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“Y/N… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it. 

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?” 

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.”

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, Y/N. it’s just that…  just— y–you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin. 

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted—an ugly one.

the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continued to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold. when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself.

he's devastated. 

broken. 

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing.

you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder.

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

"what won’t, hoon?” 

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you let go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again. “are you doing anything tomorrow, angel?” 

you hum in thought. “no, why?” 

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side. “you’ve been counting too?”

“too? so you also did it?” he raises a brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away. 

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice...” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there. 

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w–we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home, i promise.” his taller body instinctively stepped once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. 

“i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!” 

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay.

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon—who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day—and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in.

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard.

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, Y/N. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair.

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i'm gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror.

is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case.

is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times.

should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe? 

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D 

he glanced at his watch. fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier. 

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one. 

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well—you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees.

his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat.

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms.

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later.

“your hair’s.. n–nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o–oh! and... and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers. white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a–and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you.

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go.

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.”

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a ski resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink.

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard.

sure, he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him.

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde. 

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?”

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if you’re still talking to him then… t–then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true.

“him? who? hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.”

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee. 

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression.

“Y/N. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—”

“sunghoon, that was my brother."

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.” it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk.

wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.” the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down.

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up. “you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c–can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat.

“drive, big guy.”

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience.

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings.

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today.

he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal—like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures.

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one.

black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you.

it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye. “i didn’t know you had moles.” you rub on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.”

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young—around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.”

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?”

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your leftovers with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips. “but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.”

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

he grins. "partly."

you smile and cup your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “when i was a kid, i used to be so timid. waaaaay way worse than i was with you,” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.”

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?”

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it—practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.”

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him.

you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory. but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo.iIt’s familiar. 

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo. 

wait...

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly.

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face.

he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand. he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day—to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind: the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles.

panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn.

“Y/N,” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?”

you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war. “my pengoo... my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head.

his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back. “it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay, i'm not leaving.”

his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back. "i can’t believe it’s you. i—”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head.

meanwhile, sunghoon’s trying his best to console you. his thumb lazily rubbed the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt.

sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.he sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment.

the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that made it look like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, Y/N. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which made you squeal and swat his hands away.

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again.pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing sunghoon on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb. "penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort.

he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm. “i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little Y/N’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years—i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i'd live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes.

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.”

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting. the actual one. the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he apparently tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm to stay, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for.

he waited for you that morning, until the last second—until his parents were yelling at him from the car.

"i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground."

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him—aloof and private—nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning at the university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become. there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car.

he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs. “of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.”

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

sunghoon rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident. “you know the answer to that already, angel.”

he pulls you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first. 

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before.

and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss, but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there. he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency.

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this.

so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth. so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin.

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air—but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure. it's hungry, handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between. sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth.

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly.

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his. pink muscles twirl together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock.

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?”

“okay, Y/N. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t on my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.." you clear your thraot. "you noticed that?”

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.”

“like what?”

he's quiet for a moment. “like how you’re starting to shiver,” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground. “i think it’s time to get you home, angel.”

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to. 

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again. 

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :)  to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :) 

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—”

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food.

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date.

gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and is replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together.

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you.

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time.

your eyes wander to him again—your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch.

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence. “i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?”

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile.

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for gods' sake.”

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment.

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.”

“don’t lie to me, angel.”

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though."

“what is it?”

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it. "have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?”

“angel… i just—” sunghoon sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.”

you frown. “you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.”

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again, and you flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?”

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here,” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.”

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips: colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden.

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me.aa garden. of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words. “at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness, and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.”

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers—the prettiest, kindest words. for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him.and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice. sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i've grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore," sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly,”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b–because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and—you’re doing that smile again. s–stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you.

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, Y/N.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either.

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a–and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i've admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s–since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.”

he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, Y/N. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"Y/N. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o–of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—”

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss.

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye—a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions—and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon.

“i love you too,” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i'd love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face.

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! Y/N’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more.

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little Y/N cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"Y/N, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool—and he still does—but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"ah.. y–yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." sunghoon sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little Y/N cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song, especially the confession part! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

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