contains: SoftDom!James, dubcon, kissing, somno, oral, porn without plot, unprotected sex
wordcount: 1081
Kiko's note: Hi my peeps!! This is my first time posting any of my writing on my account so I'm a little nervy. Originally this piece was a rommulas oneshot (lmfao) birf present for my best friend but the entire time I was writing this my mind kept coming back to James. He has been the only thing on my mind recently because just damn look at that man. I've been wanting to start posting on here so I thought what better thing to do then make this a oneshot that belonged to james!! Lol this is my first time writing smut as well so pls be kind and lmk what you guys think of it. Love ya lots and happy reading!!! (˶˃𐃷˂˶) ♡
Your bedroom was bathed in darkness, save for the faint slit of moonlight peeking through the crack of your curtains. Sleep had long overtaken you, exhausted with the effort that concluded being a college student during exam season. You were unaware that in the hours after you dozed off, James had pervaded your apartment, quietly making himself at home as if he didn’t already occupy the remaining space in your head that didn’t consist of environmental ethics or biological sciences.
The apartment remained silent, except for the occasional hum of traffic somewhere outside. James moved through the space with a familiar ease. His jacket, left behind on the coat rack near the entryway and his bag, discarded carelessly on the sofa. Eventually, his wandering led him to your bedroom doorway.
God, you just looked so pretty when you slept.
Your limbs splayed out, hair mused on that stupid silk pillow he had to buy you to get you to stop going on and on about the benefits of one, complaining until he finally gave in. He felt his cock twitch then, the image of you being in such a vulnerable state finally becoming a reality after weeks of sleepless nights touring and pathetically jerking off to the breadcrumbs of innuendo texts you would occasionally send only made the tightness in his pants grow.
Silently, he crept over to your bedside and lifted the covers gently, sucking in a breath at the sight of you in nothing but one of his old oversized band tees, the hem teasing him as it bunched at the crease of your ass. The mattress dipped imperceptibly beneath the weight of him. In sleep, your body registered it only as a subtle shift, a slight sigh leaving your lips as you shifted your position. It wasn’t your fault that you were unaware he would be home tonight.
He’s on you in an instant, fingers weaving between your closed thighs as he knees your legs apart and slots himself between them. You’re like a ragdoll in his arms. Something unmoving, limp in his arms, pliable under his touch. He tries his hardest to be gentle but the growing desire for you outweighs whatever self restraint he possessed when he first walked into your apartment. Looking down, he groans at the mess that your cunt is, slick and glistening in the small sliver of moonlight. Hurriedly, he unbuckles his belt and pulls himself out, unbothered with fully taking his pants off. His cock slaps against his stomach, heavy and hard as he reaches down and strokes himself , drawing a pained whimper from his mouth due to the sheer sensitivity. Placing his hands on each side of your waist, he forces himself inside with a low groan.
The feeling of your pussy fully taking his shaft has him twitching, his pace becoming rough and brutal as he fucks into you. Tiny whimpers and unconscious sounds are knocked from your chest with every thrust. Your eyes, closed and peaceful, begin to dance behind your eyelids as the sudden feeling of being full coaxes you from your sleep. James glances towards you then, a quiet shift in the air prompting him to look up as he’s met with your slitted eyes, sleep still evident on your face but pleasure beginning to override that feeling.
“Hi baby.”
His voice comes out rough, focus entirely on where his cock meets you. He pounds into you with reverence now, earning a loud keen from you as he hits your spot. Clutching at his shoulders, you throw your head back into your pillow, exposing the column of your throat to him. James dips his head down, licking a stripe up your throat before capturing your lips. He nips at your bottom lip, teasing slightly before dipping his tongue in your mouth. You're trembling now, breath hitching with every swipe of his tongue against yours.
His breathing turns heavy, thrusts staggering as he nears his climax. Every roll of his hips has you writhing under him, head spinning at the sensation of him hitting your prostate. Your swollen pussy swallows every inch as he buries himself to the hilt and grunts, filling you entirely. Clenching around him, you follow suit, your hips instinctively bucking up into him as you topple over the edge.
James collapses on top of you, his chest meeting your sweat riddled t-shirt. You're still reeling from your orgasm, stars dancing behind your eyes before you begin to feel him creep downwards, hands grazing your legs as he props them up on his shoulders, body yielding to his touch.
You whimper as his tongue brushes your folds, overstimulation flooding your system. He works at your walls, licking every drop of his own seed out of your sensitive hole. His nose brushes your clit as he sucks harder, rutting his face into your pussy. Your eyes roll back into your head and you grip his hair and break, body shuddering as you reach your second climax. Licking you clean, he sits back up, kissing his way up your body as he shifts himself into the space next to you.
Nuzzling your face into the small space between his neck and the pillow, your breathing starts to slow while you come down from your high.
“I missed you.”
The words leave you so quietly James can’t help but laugh, in disbelief that only a few moments ago he had you falling apart on his tongue. He pulls back, taking in the glazed over look in your eyes and disheveled state of your hair.
“I missed you too baby.”
“Yeah I could tell by the way I woke up to the feeling of your cock impaling me.”
You both laugh quietly now, his hand reaching up to card through your hair as he places a kiss on your forehead before collapsing back onto your pillow. Turning to the side to meet your gaze, your eyes have already shut, sleep overcoming you just as fast as it left you. The gentle rise and fall of your chest was the only movement in the quiet room. James stilled for a minute, just staring at you, heavy with the realization that he was the only one who ever got to see you this defenseless. Sliding a heavy arm around your waist, he tugged you backward until your spine was flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling a long breath into your skin, and let himself go.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
Thank u so much for reading this peeps! Im surprisingly satisfied with how it turned out and I hope you guys are too. I never thought I would have the courage to post my writing for people to see and judge but it is such an exciting feeling. I would love to delve into longer fanfics in the future esp ones with an actual plot... for the time being I probably will just be releasing shorter fics and working on designing my blog so it is easier to navigate lmfao. Thanks for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting/!!!
contains: SoftDom!James, dubcon, kissing, somno, oral, porn without plot, unprotected sex
wordcount: 1081
Kiko's note: Hi my peeps!! This is my first time posting any of my writing on my account so I'm a little nervy. Originally this piece was a rommulas oneshot (lmfao) birf present for my best friend but the entire time I was writing this my mind kept coming back to James. He has been the only thing on my mind recently because just damn look at that man. I've been wanting to start posting on here so I thought what better thing to do then make this a oneshot that belonged to james!! Lol this is my first time writing smut as well so pls be kind and lmk what you guys think of it. Love ya lots and happy reading!!! (˶˃𐃷˂˶) ♡
Your bedroom was bathed in darkness, save for the faint slit of moonlight peeking through the crack of your curtains. Sleep had long overtaken you, exhausted with the effort that concluded being a college student during exam season. You were unaware that in the hours after you dozed off, James had pervaded your apartment, quietly making himself at home as if he didn’t already occupy the remaining space in your head that didn’t consist of environmental ethics or biological sciences.
The apartment remained silent, except for the occasional hum of traffic somewhere outside. James moved through the space with a familiar ease. His jacket, left behind on the coat rack near the entryway and his bag, discarded carelessly on the sofa. Eventually, his wandering led him to your bedroom doorway.
God, you just looked so pretty when you slept.
Your limbs splayed out, hair mused on that stupid silk pillow he had to buy you to get you to stop going on and on about the benefits of one, complaining until he finally gave in. He felt his cock twitch then, the image of you being in such a vulnerable state finally becoming a reality after weeks of sleepless nights touring and pathetically jerking off to the breadcrumbs of innuendo texts you would occasionally send only made the tightness in his pants grow.
Silently, he crept over to your bedside and lifted the covers gently, sucking in a breath at the sight of you in nothing but one of his old oversized band tees, the hem teasing him as it bunched at the crease of your ass. The mattress dipped imperceptibly beneath the weight of him. In sleep, your body registered it only as a subtle shift, a slight sigh leaving your lips as you shifted your position. It wasn’t your fault that you were unaware he would be home tonight.
He’s on you in an instant, fingers weaving between your closed thighs as he knees your legs apart and slots himself between them. You’re like a ragdoll in his arms. Something unmoving, limp in his arms, pliable under his touch. He tries his hardest to be gentle but the growing desire for you outweighs whatever self restraint he possessed when he first walked into your apartment. Looking down, he groans at the mess that your cunt is, slick and glistening in the small sliver of moonlight. Hurriedly, he unbuckles his belt and pulls himself out, unbothered with fully taking his pants off. His cock slaps against his stomach, heavy and hard as he reaches down and strokes himself , drawing a pained whimper from his mouth due to the sheer sensitivity. Placing his hands on each side of your waist, he forces himself inside with a low groan.
The feeling of your pussy fully taking his shaft has him twitching, his pace becoming rough and brutal as he fucks into you. Tiny whimpers and unconscious sounds are knocked from your chest with every thrust. Your eyes, closed and peaceful, begin to dance behind your eyelids as the sudden feeling of being full coaxes you from your sleep. James glances towards you then, a quiet shift in the air prompting him to look up as he’s met with your slitted eyes, sleep still evident on your face but pleasure beginning to override that feeling.
“Hi baby.”
His voice comes out rough, focus entirely on where his cock meets you. He pounds into you with reverence now, earning a loud keen from you as he hits your spot. Clutching at his shoulders, you throw your head back into your pillow, exposing the column of your throat to him. James dips his head down, licking a stripe up your throat before capturing your lips. He nips at your bottom lip, teasing slightly before dipping his tongue in your mouth. You're trembling now, breath hitching with every swipe of his tongue against yours.
His breathing turns heavy, thrusts staggering as he nears his climax. Every roll of his hips has you writhing under him, head spinning at the sensation of him hitting your prostate. Your swollen pussy swallows every inch as he buries himself to the hilt and grunts, filling you entirely. Clenching around him, you follow suit, your hips instinctively bucking up into him as you topple over the edge.
James collapses on top of you, his chest meeting your sweat riddled t-shirt. You're still reeling from your orgasm, stars dancing behind your eyes before you begin to feel him creep downwards, hands grazing your legs as he props them up on his shoulders, body yielding to his touch.
You whimper as his tongue brushes your folds, overstimulation flooding your system. He works at your walls, licking every drop of his own seed out of your sensitive hole. His nose brushes your clit as he sucks harder, rutting his face into your pussy. Your eyes roll back into your head and you grip his hair and break, body shuddering as you reach your second climax. Licking you clean, he sits back up, kissing his way up your body as he shifts himself into the space next to you.
Nuzzling your face into the small space between his neck and the pillow, your breathing starts to slow while you come down from your high.
“I missed you.”
The words leave you so quietly James can’t help but laugh, in disbelief that only a few moments ago he had you falling apart on his tongue. He pulls back, taking in the glazed over look in your eyes and disheveled state of your hair.
“I missed you too baby.”
“Yeah I could tell by the way I woke up to the feeling of your cock impaling me.”
You both laugh quietly now, his hand reaching up to card through your hair as he places a kiss on your forehead before collapsing back onto your pillow. Turning to the side to meet your gaze, your eyes have already shut, sleep overcoming you just as fast as it left you. The gentle rise and fall of your chest was the only movement in the quiet room. James stilled for a minute, just staring at you, heavy with the realization that he was the only one who ever got to see you this defenseless. Sliding a heavy arm around your waist, he tugged you backward until your spine was flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling a long breath into your skin, and let himself go.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
Thank u so much for reading this peeps! Im surprisingly satisfied with how it turned out and I hope you guys are too. I never thought I would have the courage to post my writing for people to see and judge but it is such an exciting feeling. I would love to delve into longer fanfics in the future esp ones with an actual plot... for the time being I probably will just be releasing shorter fics and working on designing my blog so it is easier to navigate lmfao. Thanks for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting/!!!
𝐈n which you wake up inside a dating simulation game where the male lead is destined to fall for you. The only problem? A self-aware and jealous side character keeps sabotaging every romance event — ℳ.list | 19k w.c
❪ 6102 ❫ ｡ 𝒵. james 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝑖𝑛 stealing my ending! ⏻
⟳ warnings : if there are things that don’t make sense, this is a different reality. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, smut, violence, video game vocab, glitches, angst (a lot of angst imo) jay from enhypen, oral, unprotected sex, crying during sex & more; controversial attachment, a lot of ‘humanity’ talks, heartbeat talks etc, ───── this song is so them like litteraly “i don’t wanna say what’s scripted” hello???
⌯⌲ Achievement Unlocked: Wrong Guy
𝒴ou’re a total geek, picture this— spending 7 hours trying to finish Resident Evil Requiem while you’re technically supposed to work on a long due assignment for uni?
Hah, easy.
Forgetting to text back your family for days because you have a fortnite cup ongoing?
Piece of cake.
You’ve played them all, from Final fantasy to Cyberpunk, even Palia— you’ve spent at least 10k on steam. Your gaming setup is basically a shrine: shelves packed with switch games, a beefy PC that’s seen every major release, and a backlog longer than your actual to-do list.
Yet here you are at 2:17 PM, still glued to the bed in fuzzy socks and an oversized hoodie, switch gripped like it’s your lifeline. The RE9 screen glows in the dark, painting your cozy room in creepy greens and reds while your overdue uni assignment sits open on the laptop across the desk, cursor blinking accusingly on page 3.
You’re deep in a frantic hallway chase inside the chronic care center, muttering “just one more try” for the fifteenth time when your phone rings.
You pause the game with a sigh and answer on speaker.
“Dude,” your friend Mei laughs on the other end. “did you do the assignment ? You know I can see you’re online right?”
“…yeah yeah, multitasking,” you mumble, rubbing your tired eyes.
“Get dressed. I’m pulling up in ten. GameSphere’s still open and you clearly need a break from your addiction. We’re getting something cute to reset your brain.”
You glance at the sad assignment document, feel a stab of guilt, then shrug. “Fine. Thirty minutes max. I swear I’m finishing that paper tonight.”
“Uh-huh. Famous last words.”
Fifteen minutes later you’re both inside the bright, welcoming aisles of GameSphere. The store is dead, chiptune music playing softly in the background, colorful displays and pastel posters make the whole place feel cozy and inviting.
Max, the super enthusiastic vendor in his heart-embroidered polo shirt and Switch lanyard, spots you immediately and beams.
“Whoa, my favorite big-spender gamer returns! What’s up what’s up?” he says, grabbing a sparkling pink game case from the new releases shelf like it’s treasure.
He doesn’t even let you answer, his mouth pulling a script from some part of his brain and reciting it with jolly salesman energy.
“My Cozy Crush! the ultimate cute dating simulator for your Nintendo Switch! Limited edition bundle with the official immersion headset. After all those epic RPGs and cozy games, this is the perfect fluffy palate cleanser!!”
“Yeah, hello to you too…” you furrow your brows, eyeing the bright pink game case.
Mei reads the back dramatically: “‘Wake up every morning in your adorable Blossom Grove apartment! Daily romance events with dreamy Jay! Will today’s picnic date by the fountain be successful? Heart points, cherry blossom festivals, minigames, and the coziest soundtrack this side of Animal Crossing!’”
The cover is pure old-school Nintendo cozy vibes: bubbly glitter font, anime-style sunny town full of floating hearts and drifting pink petals, and a stylish guy winking.
It screams : ‘ew let’s get the fuck out of here before Mei buys it.’
Max leans in, full salesman energy. “The main guy Jay is the star— stylish, always got something to say. The soft pink immersion headset makes it feel real: picks up your voice, reacts to you. Every day you get stuff like ‘Today you have a picnic date by the fountain— will it be successful?’ Classic cozy game feel with dating sim mechanics.”
You cross your arms, unimpressed “Sounds awful. I’ll pass, thanks.”
Mei grins, ignoring your vibe completely. “Come on, it’ll be hilarious. We get it as a joke, roast the lines. Just shits and giggles.”
Max beams like he’s already won. “You won’t regret it. The headset is super comfy too— feels like stepping into a warm, pink hug.”
Oh he needs to go. Why is he so jolly all the time, he sounds like those christmas elves in bad seasonal movies.
You sigh, rubbing your temple. The assignment is waiting. Your eyes are burning. But Mei’s already pulling out her card.
That’s her money, she can do whatever she wants to do with her money.
“Fine,” you grumble. “Whatever. As long as that dude doesn’t get too close to the player it’ll be fine.”
Back at your apartment, Mei drops the pretty pink game box on your desk with a wink. “I’m leaving this with you. If my brother sees it he’ll never let me live it down. Play it first and send me the cringiest screenshots, okay?”
Alone now, you stare at the sparkling case. The assignment document is still open and judging you, but the pull of procrastination is stronger.
You’ve always been like this — the kind of person who watches hour-long compilations of the cringiest videos just to laugh at how painfully awkward things can get. There’s something weirdly satisfying about it. Might as well test this out for the ultimate secondhand embarrassment material.
Who knows maybe bright-smile-Jay might be entertaining.
You shove the RE9 cartridge aside, pop My cozy crush into your Switch, and slip on the soft pink immersion headset. It’s surprisingly lightweight and cozy against your ears, like wearing a warm cloud— Max was unfortunately right.
The title screen blooms in gentle pastels —animated cherry blossoms drifting across the screen while a happy, nostalgic melody plays.
You hit New Game.
The world fades to white, then everything shifts in the blink of an eye. Soft, warm sunlight kisses your skin— actual sunlight, not just pixels on a screen. You can feel it, gentle and golden on your cheeks.
Damn this game is… surprisingly surprising?
You’ve never seen something quite like it, the graphics are top tier, the sensations are out of this world— literally. The air is filled with the sweet scent of fresh cherry blossoms mixed with warm vanilla and a hint of sugary baked goods drifting from somewhere nearby.
The headset seems to be gone from your senses; instead, you’re lying in a ridiculously cute bed piled high with frilly pastel pillows and a fluffy comforter that feels impossibly soft against your arms.
You sit up slowly. The room is adorable in that classic cozy Nintendo way— white wooden walls with pink accents, little heart-shaped decorations, a window framed by lace curtains fluttering in a real breeze. Outside, you see a charming little town square: cobblestone paths lined with blooming cherry blossom trees, pink and white petals swirling gently through the air like slow-motion snow. Flower boxes overflow with pastel blooms, little shops have striped awnings in soft candy colors, and everything feels warm, inviting, and almost too perfect.
A cheerful notification floats in bubbly pink font right in front of your eyes, as clear as if it’s part of the real world:
Customize your Blossom Grove Self! 💕 Make it perfect for your romance adventure~
Ok, here goes nothing. Still half-asleep from your all-nighter, you tweak a few things. You slide the social skills stat all the way to max, watching the little heart meter fill up with sparkles. Why not?
You start messing with the sliders just for fun. Height? Normal. Hair? Keep it simple. But when you get to the body options, you see there’s a slot for… boob size?
Okay what? Wasn’t this a children game? Why would there be an option like that in the first place? You give yourself noticeably bigger boobs regardless— nothing ridiculous, just a generous, flattering boost. Just because the option is already here anyway, it can’t hurt anyone.
You hit confirm.
The menu dissolves in a shower of pink petals. The changes settle naturally into your body — the added curves and a quiet confidence hums in the back of your mind like a new skill unlocked.
Another notification pops in the air.
Good morning, Y/n! Welcome to Blossom Grove 💕 Today’s scheduled event: A sunny picnic date with Jay by the fountain at noon! Will it be successful? Your choices matter~
A warm, smooth voice calls from just outside your open window, dripping with over-the-top charm.
“Hey there, my shooting star! Ready to make today the most romantic one yet?”
Your stomach does a surprised flip.
“Oh my fuck… shit. Motherfucker.” you jump, bracing for whatever’s about to come. But nothing comes, because this is just a cozy game, no zombies or monsters.
You scramble back from the window, heart slamming, and yep — there he is.
Leaning against the windowsill like he was born leaning against windowsills, all tousled hair and a side smirk that screams ‘roblox noob avatar’.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” Jay says, not sorry at all. “I just couldn’t wait to see you. You’ve been on my mind since the loading screen.”
He sounds overly enthusiastic, then again he’s a video game character, of course he’s not gonna act normal.
“…um hi?.” you clear your throat, already cringed out.
“Too much?” He winks. “I’ll dial it back to a nine.”
He needs to stop winking. Expeditiously.
You stare at him, he stares back, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to swoon on cue.
Not gonna happen buddy.
A new notification blooms in the air, cheerful and oblivious to your internal thoughts:
Heads up! Today’s event has begun: Picnic Date with Jay 🧺💕 Affection Meter: 12%
Someone please point out where the affection is ?
The meter is floating next to his head like a health bar, except instead of HP it says how much he likes you, and right now you’re apparently performing about as well as a tutorial boss.
“Come on,” Jay says, holding out a hand that’s somehow already got a wicker picnic basket looped over the other arm, “the fountain’s waiting. So is destiny, probably.”
You can’t help the snort that comes out of you, it’s a mix of ‘im actually terrified’ and ‘what is this man talking about??’
You take his hand because what else are you supposed to do, you’re trapped inside a Nintendo cartridge and the alternative is standing in your underwear-adjacent pajama set in the middle of a sentient bedroom.
The walk to the town square is genuinely beautiful in an offensive, almost-too-charming way —petals drifting, a little bell jingling somewhere, an NPC baker waving at you from a window with flour on her cheeks like she’s been placed there specifically to be wholesome.
That’s when you feel it. The prickle of being watched.
You glance sideways and catch him —leaning against a lamppost half a block down, arms crossed, hood up despite the perfect cherry-blossom weather, looking like he wandered in from a completely different, much broodier game. Dark eyes. Unimpressed mouth.
Is there a villain in this story? You should’ve read the back of the game before starting it.
He’s not in your sightline for more than two seconds before he turns and walks the other way. But you’d swear —swear — his eyes flicked to the affection meter floating over your head before he left.
“Who’s that?” you ask.
Jay doesn’t even look. “Background character. Don’t worry about him.”
“He didn’t look very background.” you look around.
“Trust me,” Jay beams, flashing a smile that’s maybe forty percent too white, “the only character you need to worry about today is me. Now —picnic blanket, or my arms? Either way you’re landing somewhere soft.”
You actually gag a little. Out loud. He doesn’t seem to register it as anything other than enthusiasm.
The fountain comes into view, sunlight scattering gold across the water, and there’s already a checkered blanket laid out with a spread that looks suspiciously like every cottagecore pinterest board had a baby —little sandwiches cut into hearts, a teapot that’s steaming despite no visible heat source, a plate of strawberries arranged in a smile.
“Sit, sit,” Jay points, already lowering himself down. “So. Tell me something about you that the data doesn’t show.”
“The data?” you raise an eyebrow.
“The character sheet. Your stats. I can see your social skills are maxed, by the way.” His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep that makes you suddenly very aware you also adjusted other sliders. “Bold choices all around.”
“Okay, eyes up weirdo.”
“I’m not complaining though.” he shoots back.
What the— since when are characters in these types of games so shameless?
But you don’t even have the time to complain because somewhere behind a hedge shaped suspiciously like a heart, you catch the hood guy again. Watching. Not even pretending not to this time.
The affection meter over Jay’s head ticks up one percent for god knows what reason— and the hooded guy’s jaw visibly tightens, like he felt it happen.
You blink. “Okay, that’s —he’s reacting to the percentage. NPCs don’t react to the percentage.”
“He’s glitchy,” Jay says smoothly, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “Ignore him. Now. Quick— if you could compare your smile to one weather phenomenon, which would it be? I’m guessing sunrise, but I’m open to ‘gentle drizzle.’”
“What??” your eyebrows furrow.
What the hell is he talking about? Is this his version of a date?
“Was that a yes to sunrise?” he winks and suddenly moves to another subject, “let me teach you my signature handshake.”
You put your face in your hands and laugh, because honestly, what else is there to do?
The “signature handshake” is really just him holding your hand for an unnecessarily long time while narrating each step like a cooking show host. “And now, we rotate… we squeeze… we maintain eye contact for exactly four seconds— ”
“Please stop. Im begging.” you cringe, too unserious for your own good.
“Oh come on! It’s romantic choreography.”
The affection meter ticks up another two percent, and you swear you can feel it— like a tiny dopamine hit you didn’t consent to. Somewhere in the back of your skull a part of you that is definitely not you is going ‘aw’ at the stupid handshake thing, and that’s deeply concerning. Concerning is also the fact that you’ve done nothing that could potentially make Jay like you— so the affection meter augmenting is slightly weird
You’re mid-eye-contact, mid-cringe, when suddenly, a strawberry hits Jay square in the forehead.
“OW—”
You both turn. The hooded guy is standing maybe ten feet away now, arms crossed, looking like he has personally never thrown a piece of fruit in his life until thirty seconds ago and is already regretting the life choices that led here.
“James,” Jay groans, rubbing his forehead, voice suddenly a lot less dreamy-narrator. “We talked about this.”
“Did we,” James responds flatly. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything. I remember you talking at me.”
So he has a name. And a voice —lower than Jay’s, no honey in it at all, just dry and a little tired, like he’s been awake for too long.
“This is a scheduled event,” Jay says, gesturing at the picnic blanket like it’s exhibit A in a trial. “You’re going to tank my completion percentage.”
“Good.” he gives a sassy look.
“Okay,” you cut in, looking between them, “Is this a part of the script or something?”
James’s eyes cut to you, and that startled flicker is back — like the question landed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to.
“Ignore him, he says weird stuff for attention,” Jay stage-whispers, like that’s supposed to be reassuring and not deeply alarming.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “Forget it. Enjoy your picnic.”
“See? Glitchy,” Jay says cheerfully, already reaching for the teapot like the conversation is over. “Some NPCs just don’t get good dialogue trees. Sad, really. Now—”
“I have a name idiot,” James interrupts, sharp.
You blink, caught between secondhand embarrassment and genuine curiosity. This definitely doesn’t feel like normal NPC behavior.
Jay lets out an exaggerated sigh, the kind you’d hear in a low-budget rom-com. “James, buddy, we’ve been over this. You’re supposed to be scenery. Blend. Maybe sell some flowers or stand mysteriously in the background. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at James like he’s a misplaced prop.
James doesn’t move. His dark eyes flick from the male lead to you, lingering a second longer than necessary on your maxed-social-skills. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Scenery doesn’t have to watch this garbage every single loop.”
“Loop?” you mutter under your breath.
Jay laughs it off, all bright teeth and zero awareness. “See? Glitchy. Now, where were we? Ah yes—” He turns back to you, affection meter ticking up another pathetic 1%. “My shooting star, would you like me to feed you a strawberry? It’s practically tradition on day one.”
You make a face. “Hard pass.”
James snorts —from his spot by the hedge. “Sucks to be you.”
The other one’s smile falters for half a second before he recovers with another wink. “Jealous? Some of us here are main characters James.”
“Some of us aren’t douchebags,” James fires back, quieter but colder. He looks at you again, something unreadable in his expression —half irritation, half something warmer. The longer he stares, the more his shoulders tense, like being near you is physically uncomfortable. Annoyance? Intrigue? Both? Hard to tell when he looks like he wants to punt the picnic basket into the fountain.
You feel a weird flutter in your chest that has nothing to do with Jay’s terrible lines— more so the kind that comes when a slightly scary man is staring into your soul.
Before you can say anything else, the world glitches softly around the edges. Pink petals swirl faster.
Picnic Date Complete! 💕 Affection with Jay: 18% Jealousy Meter rising… Returning to apartment for daily recap~
Jealousy meter??? What the fuck is a jealousy meter—
Everything dissolves in a swirl of cherry blossoms and soft light before you can even ask a question. Next second you blink and you’re back in the cozy bedroom, sitting on the edge of the frilly bed.
A gentle recap screen floats in front of you like a pastel pop-up book.
🌸 DAILY RECAP! You survived your first date with Jay! 🌸 He tried his signature handshake (cringe level: expert) 🌸 +18% Affection 🌸 Warning: James from the outskirts has been watching. Rest up, y/n! Tomorrow brings new opportunities for love~
You flop backward onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “This game is fucking weird.”
Your body still remembers the weight of the curves you chose, the warmth of real sunlight, the smell of strawberries and vanilla. And James’s stare. That one felt way too real.
Your body shuts down before you can even process it, your eyes closing by themselves like someone is physically forcing you to go to sleep and darkness surrounds you.
The Next Morning
A cheerful notification chimes brightly, waking you up with birdsong and floating hearts. Everything is so painfully pink it hurts.
Good morning, Y/N! 💕 Today’s Challenge: Flower Festival Meet-Cute with Jay! Help Jay pick the perfect bouquet for you at the Blossom Grove Festival. Will your chemistry bloom? Special minigame included! Success = +25% Affection boost!
You groan, rubbing your face. At least it sounds less painful than yesterday’s handshake tutorial. You’re not sure how chemistry could ‘bloom’ though, bile might rise in your throat but certainly not affection.
You get up, and head downstairs toward the town square. The streets are even cuter today —stalls with pastel banners, strings of heart lanterns, and the sweet scent of candied petals in the air. It’s a complete antithesis to your real life, that’s probably what makes these games comforting, you think.
You spot Jay immediately. He’s standing by a flower cart, waving enthusiastically in a white linen shirt, that signature roblox smirk stretching the corner of his mouth.
“There’s my favorite player!” he calls, voice carrying across the square. “Ready to make floral magic together? I was thinking something romantic like… roses that match the fire in your eyes.”
He executes a hand gesture that looks a little silly, and a dramatic wink, you want to throw up, no need to throw up.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Dude. It’s 9 am.”
Before Jay can launch into another line, you feel that prickle again. You turn your head slightly.
James is leaning against a nearby stall, arms crossed, hood partially down this time. His eyes are locked on you —sharper than yesterday, more intense.
When Jay reaches out to brush a petal from your hair, his expression darkens noticeably, fingers tightening on the wooden post he’s leaning on. Will he always be there each time? Lurking like a creep, like he knows something you don’t? What kind of game does that…
He hates this. Hates Jay’s scripted perfection, hates how easily the affection meter moves for such shit dialogue. But every time a new player drops into Blossom Grove, every time he sees someone like you —with real choices, real reactions, real messy humanity bleeding through the code— he so desperately wants to be able to experience it firsthand.
Jay doesn’t seem to notice the extra presence at first. He’s too busy holding up two bouquets with a flourish. “Red for passion or pink for sweet romance? Choose wisely, my shooting star!! The minigame is easy! We match petal colors to how we’re feeling. I’ll go first.”
He plucks a bright red rose and holds it up dramatically. “This one’s for the spark I feel every time you walk into a scene.”
You stare at him, deadpan. The affection meter ticks up a tiny bit anyway.
And if you could choose right now, you’d choose to die, respawn somewhere far away from here.
But near, the longer James stares at you, the more conflicted he looks. He wants to get closer. Needs to. To understand why your chaotic, unscripted reactions make something in his code ache for real humanity. But the jealousy burns hotter every time Jay opens his mouth.
As you reach for a pink peony to play along (mostly to get this over with), a light breeze kicks up —just strong enough to scatter a few loose petals across Jay’s face.
He blinks, laughing it off. “Windy today, huh? No problem! Your turn.”
You pick a flower. Jay leans in closer, eyes sparkling way too hard. “Now tell me what it represents. Is it your growing feelings for—?”
A nearby stall vendor “accidentally” drops a small crate of ribbon spools. They roll slowly but steadily toward Jay’s feet, making him stumble mid-sentence as he tries not to step on them.
The affection meter pauses. Jay straightens up, still smiling but a little less smoothly. “Okay, minor glitch. Let’s keep going! I have the perfect matching set for us.”
James isn’t moved much. He’s still by the stall, now idly turning over a small bunch of wildflowers in his hands like he’s just browsing. But every time Jay tries another corny line or gets too close with the flowers, something small goes wrong —a loose heart lantern string dips low enough to brush Jay’s head, a sudden puff of pollen from an overripe blossom makes him sneeze right as he’s trying to do a dramatic “flower toss” minigame move.
You catch James watching your reactions each time. Not gloating, just… observing closely. Like he’s drinking in the way you snort at Jay’s lines or roll your eyes. Like those tiny, unscripted moments are feeding something in him he can’t get anywhere else in this looped little world.
Jay’s smile is starting to strain. “Alright, that’s the third weird thing. James, you don’t even work at the festival. Can you… not?”
James shrugs without looking over, tossing the wildflowers back onto the stall a little too carelessly. One stray bloom lands right on Jay’s shoulder, sticking there like it’s mocking him. The affection meter barely climbs past 15% for the whole event.
You can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out and James’s head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. He lingers near the edges of the square as the date drags on, his presence like a quiet shadow that keeps chipping away at Jay’s perfect script.
By the end of the minigame, Jay is brushing petals and pollen off his clothes, trying (pathetically) to deliver one last smooth line. “Even with all the… distractions, being with you makes every day feel like spring.”
“Right right,” your eyes widen awkwardly, “Appreciated man.”
And apparently Jay isn’t designed to feel the friendzone.
The world starts to shimmer with pink petals yet again.
Flower Festival Meet-Cute Complete! 💕 Affection with Jay: 27% Jealousy Meter rising…
You’re gently pulled back to your cozy apartment bedroom as the festival sounds fade. The daily recap screen pops up cheerfully.
Daily Recap! 🌸 Jay really tried with those flowers! 🌸 Some unexpected festival chaos today 🌸 +4% Affection Rest well, Y/N. Tomorrow’s event is loading~
You flop backward onto the mountain of pastel pillows, staring at the white wooden ceiling with its little glowing heart decals. “Okay. How the fuck do I get out of this thing?”
You sit up again, looking around for any kind of menu, pause button, or “log out” option.
Nothing.
Just the soft hum of the game world outside your window.
You try saying it out loud like an idiot. “Exit game. Quit. Home menu. Nintendo Switch menu. Log out. Close application. Hello??”
Nothing happens.
You wave your hands in the air, swipe at invisible menus, even try closing your eyes and willing yourself back to your messy real-life apartment.
Still nothing.
The whole thing is starting to feel less like a funny cringe experiment and more like a very weird, very pink experience.
You’re in the middle of muttering “this is some next-level immersion bullshit” when you feel it again —that prickle on the back of your neck.
You turn toward the window.
James is there. Leaning quietly against the windowsill from the outside, hood lowered just enough for you to see his dark eyes. He’s watching you, observing the way your hands are still half-raised, the frustrated crease between your brows, the way you’re breathing a little faster after yelling at the air.
Your stomach drops. “Jesus Christ—” You scramble back on the bed, heart hammering. “What the fuck are you doing? How long have you been standing there watching me?”
James doesn’t answer right away. He stays perfectly still, eyes tracking every small movement you make. After a long pause, he tilts his head slightly. “You were speaking to yourself,” he asks quietly, voice low and even. “Why?”
You stare at him, still creeped out but trying to catch your breath. “Because I want out of here. I want to exit the game. Go home, but this stupid thing won’t let me.”
”Home?”He blinks slowly. “Where do you go when you leave the Grove?”
You hesitate, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, back to my real life. My apartment.”
James processes that, fingers resting lightly on the windowsill, he wonders if your apartment looks like this one, cozy, pink, welcoming.
“You didn’t follow the script options today. Or yesterday. Most players do. They laugh at the right times. Pick the flowers he suggests. Say the sweet lines back. Why didn’t you?”
You let out a short, tired laugh. “Because I’m not here for any of that. This was supposed to be a joke. Shits and giggles, not… whatever this is. I wanna go home.”
James looks around the room, “Try the top button, right on top of the menu.” He says it calmly, but almost reluctantly, like he doesn’t really want you to go just yet.
You try, but the minute your arm lifts to click on the button, James goes “Wait wait!”
He’s quiet again, studying you like he noticed something. He leans forward slightly through the window, getting a little closer, fascination clear in his expression, as he analyses your eyes.
You tense. “Why are you looking at me like that? Stop being weird.”
James pauses, but doesn’t pull back. “Our bodies are different,” he says simply, almost like he’s stating an obvious fact. “Yours moves more. It’s warmer. Even from here. And your eyes they blink faster than mines.”
You cock an eyebrow, having a hard time understanding, but it’s true that he does look a little stiffer, like his skin is in slow motion in an inexplicable way.
“What are you talking about?” you ask. “Of course we’re different, you’re a… character. I’m a real person.”
He reaches out slowly —careful, hesitant— and gently takes your hand. His fingers are cool as he presses your palm flat against his own chest, right over his heart. It’s not really more than that, just a clinical touch, a search for explanations.
But there’s nothing. No heartbeat. Just stillness under the fabric of his shirt.
You freeze. “Wow, i thought there’d be at least a heartbeat” Your voice comes out smaller than you want, with a small nervous laugh.”
James looks genuinely confused. “Heartbeat?”
You swallow, heart racing under your own ribs. Tentatively, you take his hand and guide it to the center of your own chest, pressing his palm gently against the soft sweater. He can feel the steady, warm thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat.
James goes completely still.
His eyes widen, a deep flush blooming across his cheeks and up to his ears. His hand trembles slightly against you, overwhelmed by the constant rhythm of life pulsing under his fingers. He just stares at you, breathing a little uneven, completely short-circuited by the simple, undeniable proof of your humanity.
“It… keeps going,” he whispers, voice rough and awed. “It’s warm. What is it?”
The flush on his face deepens, spreading down his neck as he stares at the spot where his palm meets the soft fabric of your sweater. He looks completely overwhelmed, like someone who just discovered color for the first time.
You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady even though your heart is hammering harder now under his touch. “It’s my heart,” you say quietly. “It pumps blood through my body. Keeps me alive. It speeds up when I’m scared or excited or… you know— when something weird like this happens.”
James’s brow furrows slightly, processing every word with the curiosity of a child. He doesn’t pull his hand back, if anything, he leans in a fraction more through the window, eyes flicking between your face and your chest as if trying to match the feeling with what he’s seeing.
“Alive…” he repeats softly, almost to himself. His thumb makes the tiniest unconscious movement, tracing the rhythm he can feel. “Mine doesn’t do that. I’ve tried pretending, sometimes. Standing really still and imagining it. But it never… starts.”
There’s something heartbreakingly childlike in how he says it — curious and a little lost, not bitter. Just hungry to understand why his body seems frozen in time.
You let the silence sit for a second, then gently ask, “Does it feel… strange to you?”
James nods slowly, eyes still wide. “It’s loud. Not in a bad way. It’s like… the whole town gets quieter when I focus on it.” His voice drops even lower. “Players come and go. They laugh at Jay’s lines, they pick the obvious choices, they leave when they get bored. But you make faces when things are stupid. Your eyes move all the time. And this—” He presses just a tiny bit firmer against your heartbeat. “This never stops.”
You feel a strange mix of creeped-out and oddly touched. His fingers are still cool, but the longer they stay there, the more you notice how careful he’s being — like touching something fragile, like a science experiment.
“Well,” you say, a little softer, “I think you can let go now.”
He hesitates, then slowly pulls his hand back, his gaze stays locked on you. “I’ve never felt anything warm like that before,” he admits, almost whispering. “Not really. Everything here is… the same temperature. Always.”
“You’re really not supposed to be doing this, are you?” you ask, half-teasing, half-serious. “Sabotaging Jay’s dates. Watching me through windows. Touching players.”
James looks away for the first time, jaw tight. “No,” he says simply. “I’m not. But I can’t stop watching you either.”
You stare at him for a long moment, the golden evening light catching the faint flush still on his cheeks. The silence feels heavy between you. You want to go back home, this feels a little to close, a little too intimate for a game.
“I’m gonna go,” you say quietly. “Back home.”
You might also sue the company who produced this game, who knows !
You lift your hand and finally select the glowing Exit Game option that appears at the top of your vision.
Except nothing happens.
You try again. Then again. The option flickers but refuses to activate. No stupid swirl of petals. No fade. The bedroom stays exactly as it is.
Your breathing picks up. “No… come on.” You swipe at the air more urgently, voice starting to shake. “Fucks sake, just let me out.”
Still nothing.
Panic rises fast and your chest tightens. You stand up from the bed, hands trembling as you gesture wildly, trying every command you can think of. “Why isn’t it working??”
Your voice cracks. You pace a few steps, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to break through your ribs. The realization that you might actually be stuck sinks in deeper with every failed attempt. Tears of pure stress prick at your eyes.
This isn’t possible, this isn’t conventionally possible, nor scientifically. You must be out of your mind, probably drugs? Did someone roofie your drink? Did someone drug you???
James watches you from the window, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. When your breathing turns ragged, he leans further in.
“Breathe,” he says, low and steady. “Slowly. You’re panicking. It’s making everything worse.”
“Do you want me to do fucking backflips and dance??” you snap, voice tight with fear. “I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. What if I can’t get back? What if—?”
“Sit down,” he says gently but firmly. “Just for a moment.”
You hesitate, legs shaky, then sink back onto the edge of the bed. James carefully climbs through the window and sits at the far end, giving you space. He waits until your breathing slows just a little.
“Maybe the game won’t let you leave until you finish the route,” he theorises quietly. “Until Jay falls for you. Until the main quests are complete. That’s how these things usually work.”
You shake your head, frustrated and scared. “And how would you know? It shouldn’t be able to trap me. I should be able to leave whenever I want. I bought this game— things in the real world don’t work like that. I have a head set on and… and.
James doesn’t argue. Instead he seems to focus on the rapid rise and fall of your chest. “Your heartbeat is very fast right now,” he murmurs. “I can see it.”
“Yeah well, i’m just trying to go home. To my life. So if you could help me please?? At least do something— or you’re gonna tell me you don’t know what to do..” you clench your teeth.
Something in the way he looks at you right now tells you he has no clue.
“Oh for fucks sake—” you press the heels of your hands to your eyes.
James stays quiet for a while, then speaks again, softer. “What’s your real name? The one from outside.”
“Oh my fucking god, can you not read the room??” you full on scoff.
But then again, how can he take this seriously— when he’s been stuck here, when all he knows is Blossom grove?
Does he even know what a home is?
“My names y/n.” you say quietly after a beat, defeated.
“Y/n,” he repeats, like he’s memorizing it. “Whats your life like out there? What do you do when you’re not here?”
You let out a deep sigh, truly wondering if you’re gonna spend the next few minutes talking about yourself to a video game character who belongs to a cursed game. Nothing about this is funny in the slightest.
“I- I game and I… well i don’t do anything other than that really.” you shrug, evasive.
You didn’t really have a habit of collecting hobbies, you were strictly into video games and it didn’t get any farther than that— oh maybe the occasional karaoke— you were pretty boring, bland even. So you tell him about Mei, about your boring psychology major and your boring uni friends. You tell him about the president — because apparently he was wondering— then you talk about your dog Juju who can’t stop farting in your bed, he laughs at that even though you doubt he knows what a fart is.
You find yourself talking to him about your incapacity to focus, to study for school and to be the perfect girl your parents always wanted you to be, your lack of interest for anything academic, and your penchant for procrastination.
James listens, does he really have anything else to do anyway? Probably not.
Here, in his world, you’re source of admiration, of curiosity— in your world, you’re a discord mod, a weird house rotting creature who looks hot only when her passions are ignored. You tell him about your favorite dishes, your favorite nail color— dark red, your favorite mismatched avocado socks, and your big gorilla sofa (advertised with Ai but you didn’t know at the time).
He listens with vehemence, like a fish who’s never been out of the water— and comments from time to time, asking what something is, and how it works.
You’re not sure if he’s trying to distract you of the fact that you’re currently stuck here- if it’s some kind of inside-game magic, but it’s definitely working.
Because as time passes, it starts to feel like you just invited him over for a chat.
“So, now that i’ve told you everything, are you gonna help me out?” you try with a small tentative smile.
“Well, it’s not that I don’t want to, it s just— nobody’s ever had this problem. All the players ended up leaving after a while…” James says, eyes dropping to the floor as if he’s embarrassed of not being able to help you.
“So it’s me then? I must’ve done something, I don’t know what though, but… maybe I should ask Jay?”
James straightens up all of a sudden, “No no, he’ll never help you. He’s not —he’s not really nice. Just… just finish the quests, and I think you should be good to go after that.”
James says it quickly, almost too quickly, his fingers tightening on the edge of the bed. He glances at you, then away again, like he’s not sure he should have said anything at all.
You let out a tired breath, shoulders slumping. “How long is that gonna take?”
“It’ll be easy,” he says after a pause. His voice is quieter now, almost reassuring in its own stiff way. “The affection meter goes up either way. Even if the dates aren’t… successful. The game still counts the time you spend with him. You don’t have to actually like him.”
You nod slowly, though the idea of dragging this out still makes your stomach twist. “Fine. I guess I’ll just… show up and let him talk until the bar fills.”
You rub your arms, suddenly aware again of how real everything feels —the fabric against your skin, the weight of the body you customized, the way James’s presence makes the room feel smaller.
“Well, i’ll sleep now…” you clear your throat, gesturing to the bed.
“I’ll be here,” James says simply. “Well not here obviously. But I’ll be around.” His eyes drop to your hands for a second before returning to your face.
You nod, pursing your lips, and as he stands up, he does a quick spin last minute. “Wait. Can I—”
James points at your chest, and you look down, eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”
Is he pointing at your boobs right now?
“Can i feel it again?”
Oh.
You hesitate, heat rushing to your face.
This is weird. This is so fucking weird. He wants to feel your heartbeat again like it’s the most interesting thing in his entire existence.
Your mind spins, a messy mix of awkwardness, leftover panic, and something strangely vulnerable. Part of you wants to tell him no. The other part remembers how overwhelmed he looked the first time —like your heartbeat was proof the world could be more than scripted loops and automatisms.
Giving him a piece of your world wouldn’t hurt.
“…Okay,” you say softly, barely above a whisper.
James steps closer, innocence of a child and body of a man, you stay seated on the edge of the bed. He sits beside you again —closer this time— and gently lifts his hand.
His fingers are still cool as they rest against the center of your chest, right over your heart.
The moment his palm makes contact, the air feels thinner in your lungs. It’s intimate in a way that makes your face burn, the contact of a stranger, so manly yet so clueless. You can feel every steady thump-thump-thump against his hand, faster than before. James goes very still, eyes locked on the spot where his hand meets your sweater, then slowly drifting up to your face.
He looks at you like he’s never seen a real person before. Like you’re the first woman he’s ever experienced, the first woman he’s ever touched.
His breath catches. The flush returns to his cheeks, darker this time, spreading to his ears. His fingers press just a little firmer, not pushing, just feeling —completely absorbed by the constant, living rhythm beneath them.
He feels jealousy, pain, a pull, everything all at once— he wants a heart too, he wants to be able to to feel it thump in his own chest, to feel its havoc.
“It’s… stronger now,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “Faster.”
You don’t trust yourself to speak, the way he’s looking at you like you’re something miraculous— it’s confusing and strangely disarming. You just sit there, letting him feel the proof that you’re alive, warm, and temporary in his world.
James doesn’t pull away, he just stays there, overwhelmed and quiet, memorizing the feeling of a heart that’s beating incredibly fast because of him— like it might disappear the second you finally find your way home.
Good morning, Y/N! 💕 Today’s Event: Sunrise Stroll & Confession Corner with Jay! Walk along the Blossom Grove cherry blossom path with Jay. Share a quiet moment as the sun rises. Special heart-sharing event! Success greatly increases affection.
You stare at the floating text, stomach already twisting. The memory of last night. No exit button. No escape.
You get dressed in another outfit the game provided and head out. The town is bathed in warm morning light, petals drifting lazily as always, some getting in your nose.
Jay is waiting at the entrance to the cherry blossom path, looking annoyingly perfect in his stylish outfit.
“My shooting star! You look radiant today,” he says with a bright smile, offering his arm. “Ready for the most romantic walk of your life? The sunset here is almost as beautiful as you are.”
“Oh you’re doing too damn much” you give a strained smile, because even if you’re rude he won’t even notice anyway, he’s that delusional.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes and take his arm. The date begins.
The path is stunning — tunnels of pink and white blossoms overhead, golden sunlight filtering through, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent. Jay keeps up a steady stream of corny lines the entire time.
“Every step with you feels like a new level unlocked,” he says at one point, affection meter ticking up slowly. “You’re my favorite quest. Final boss of my heart.”
You give minimal responses, mostly humming or nodding— when you all you want to do is cuss him out.
True to his word, James is around. You catch glimpses of his hooded figure on rooftops, behind trees, or leaning against distant lanterns. He never gets too close, but every time Jay gets overly touchy —brushing your hair, holding your hand too long —something small goes wrong.
A branch drops petals right in Jay’s face.
A sudden gust messes up his perfectly styled hair.
A loose cobblestone makes him stumble.
Jay grows visibly irritated as the afternoon turns to evening. “Why is everything trying to ruin our perfect moment today?” “I don’t know, ever think maybe you’re ruining it yourself?” you say through your teeth.
“Haha, you’re so funny.” Jay smirks, “I’ve never met someone truly like you.”
The sun begins to rise, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. You reach the Confession Corner —a cute wooden bench under the biggest cherry blossom tree, overlooking the town fountain.
Jay turns to you, taking both your hands— the affection meter hovering around 45%.
His expression turns dramatically sincere.
“Y/n… being with you these past days has made me realize something,” he says, voice dropping into full romance mode. He leans in slowly, eyes half-closed. “I think I’m ready for our first kiss. I want this moment to be perfect.”
Oh for fuck’s sake, how corny can this get—
You freeze.
At the exact same second, something flies from the rooftop above —a small, overripe peach— and smacks Jay square in the side of the head with a wet thwack.
His eyes widen for a split second before they roll back. He collapses like a ragdoll, unconscious, landing in a heap on the grass with petals gently falling over him.
You stand there stunned, mouth slightly open.
“What in the—”
James drops down from the rooftop in one fluid motion. He doesn’t even glance at Jay’s motionless body— almost like it’s not the first time he’s done this.
“Let’s go”
Without a word, he walks straight to you, grabs your hand firmly, and starts pulling you away from the scene, leading you deeper into the lantern-lit winding paths of the town.
You glance back once at Jay’s unconscious form, then at James. Your heart is still racing from the sudden chaos.
“Was that— was that necessary??” you snort, half terrified half amused. You don’t even know anymore.
“Yes, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you” James says, hand gripping yours.“And the affection meter already updated anyway.”
“But, isn’t there like— a police in this place? Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?”
James glances sideways at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There’s no police. Just a few background NPCs who reset every morning. No one’s coming.”
The town paths are quiet this time of morning, only a couple of distant NPC villagers wandering by with empty, pleasant smiles. No alarms. No consequences.
You squeeze his hand lightly. “Show me around then? Somewhere that isn’t scripted, i’ve got time to kill.”
James doesn’t hesitate. He changes direction, leading you past the cozy shops and toward the edge of Blossom Grove.
The cobblestones eventually give way to soft grass as the town lights fade behind you. He brings you to a vast, open field on the outskirts. It’s huge and breathtaking —rolling hills covered in wildflowers glowing softly under the light, cherry blossom trees scattered like gentle guardians at the edges, and a wide, blue sky above.
James lets go of your hand only when you both sit down in the soft grass. He keeps a small distance, but not as much as before.
The wind here feels freer, less sweetened by the town’s constant vanilla scent.
“So what’s your deal with Jay?” you ask, hugging your knees.
James stares out at the field for a moment. “We’ve just… kinda been stuck here together for the longest time. He’s a dick. Too cocky for his own good. He’s always been the main lead. I’ve kinda always been on the sidelines, you know? Background NPC. So I grew to hate him somehow.”
It must be so annoying living in Jay’s shadow, someone that robotic shouldn’t even deserve any attention.
“Mmh, I see. Must be tough being here... Is it always a loop? What do you even do in here when the player isn’t here?” you interrogate next, out of genuine curiosity.
You can’t envision a world without 7billion people polluting and accelerating the global warming, committing crimes and being insufferable. Well turns out in his world, there’s only one nemesis, and it’s Jay.
James lies back in the grass, looking up at the sky. “It’s mostly loops. The same days repeat. The same events. I watch Jay run through the same routes with different players. Sometimes I walk the same paths. Sometimes I try changing small things— moving a flower pot, standing in a different spot, saying something that’s not in my dialogue tree. But everything always resets by morning. It’s… quiet. Empty.”
He stays quiet for a moment, then continues, voice low. “When no player is here, I mostly just exist. I go to the field sometimes. Think about what it would be like if the loops broke. I’ve tried leaving the town borders before, but I always end up back at the starting square the next day. So I wait. For the next player. For something different.”
He wants to continue- he wants to say, you’re the ‘something different’, but that would be naive. Just because you’ve given him a taste of your world doesn’t mean you’re singular.
“Sounds awful,” you say softly. “I don’t know how you do it.”
James lets out a small, dry sound —not quite a laugh. “Well, I don’t really have a choice. I can’t really get out of here now, can I?”
You laugh too, the sound surprising even you. “Yeah, I guess. I’d take you with me if I could. Maybe help you find a nice little apartment, help you get into college or something.” The words were meant as a joke at first, but then you realize how silly they sound and wince. “I’m sorry, I’m stupid”
James sits up slowly, turning to look at you with wide, earnest eyes. “No. No, continue. I wanna hear about it.”
You hesitate, then keep going. “I mean… it’d be weird at first. You’d probably hate how loud and messy everything is out there. There’s no reset button. No perfect pink skies every day. But at least there’s real food, there’s music that doesn’t loop,you can actually listen to whatever song you want. You could learn how to cook, or play actual video games instead of being in one. I could show you my favorite late-night ramen place, or take you to a concert. It’d be a mess, but at least it’d be real.”
James listens with complete awe, like every word you say is rewriting something inside him. He can see your world through you, and he loves every bit of it.
“I wish I could come back with you,” he says after a long silence, voice rough. “But people would find me weird there. My body isn’t like yours, I don’t have a… heart.”
You shake your head gently. “That’s fine. People in the real world never get close enough to feel it anyway. They don’t really care about those things, so you should be good.”
James looks at you, surprised. “They don’t? I thought—” He pauses, brow furrowing as he processes it. “I guess that makes sense why people play this game then.”
“Yeah, i think people invented these games to feel things. To have someone look at them like they matter. To hear stupid lines and pretend it’s real for a while.” you complete for him. “Even if Jay’s not the best, and he’s annoying, I still think some people crave to be interesting in someone’s eyes. To go on silly dates and eat strawberries. It’s part of— of how humans are.”
For a long moment James doesn’t speak, just absorbing your words like they’re something sacred— like he’s getting an insight on humans, like reading a book.
“I’ve seen hundreds of players,” he says eventually, voice low. “Most of them laugh at Jay’s lines at first, then lean into it. They like the fantasy. The perfect guy who always knows what to say. They want to feel chosen.” He looks down at his own hand, flexing his fingers slowly. “I used to hate them for it. For picking him every time. But now I get it. A little. Because I don’t know how to do these things, I don’t know how to flirt— and kiss, and whatever the heck he does, i’ve never been like that.”
He turns his head toward you again, the jealousy from earlier still simmering underneath Jay’s name.
“But you feel a hundred times more real. I’m not even sure how you can be a script, you speak, and think like a human. You articulate your thoughts and I understand you. There’s nothing robotic about you.”
James gives a small tired smile, “Do you think we’re the same?”
You nod, convinced, “You might not have a heart but you’re strangely like me yes. Maybe they messed you up in the program.”
The man snorts, amused. “I’m pretty sure they did, I’ve always been… more aware, of what was going on around me. Jay never was. He’s never questioned it, he just plays along and never looks past anything.”
Your worlds were quite the same in a selfish way; feeling like you were way too aware— way too observant, in the margins, for a world too small, wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to you.
The next days were made of ridiculously over the top dates. Jay had apparently woken up on the ground of the confession center, with zero memory of the peach incident. He simply restarted the loop convinced you two had “lost track of each other during the romantic sunset.” The game smoothed it over like nothing happened. That day, James had taken you back to the room, you’d fallen asleep, woken up to a brand new quest, and the loop went on and on again.
So the cycle continued. Ridiculously over the top dates. Picnics with heart-shaped everything. Boat rides on a glowing pond where Jay sang (badly). A fireworks festival where he compared every explosion to “the spark in your eyes.”
James was always somewhere nearby —sabotaging in increasingly creative and petty ways. A sudden raincloud over Jay alone. A flock of overly enthusiastic doves. One memorable time, an entire table of desserts mysteriously flipped itself.
But still, no kiss. Thank God.
You always ended up alone with the side character— visiting parts of Blossom grove that dates with Jay didn’t allow, talking about everything and nothing, sometimes just standing close without a sound.
You told about things you’d never told anyone, because he was stuck here, so your secrets were undoubtedly safe, and also because there was something easy to trust about him, the way you wouldn’t trust a machine.
One evening after a particularly painful fireworks date with Jay (where he compared every explosion to “the fireworks you set off in me”), James had silently taken your hand and led you to the wildflower field on the outskirts. You both lay on your backs in the grass, shoulders touching, watching digital stars flicker into existence above you.
You told him about the crushing pressure of uni, how you’d chosen psychology because it sounded impressive to your parents but now felt like a daily reminder that you couldn’t even figure out your own mind. James listened without scripted responses, just quiet “mmhs” and the occasional question that showed he was actually trying to understand.
When you admitted you sometimes felt like you were wasting your life on games and procrastination, he turned his head toward you and said, “At least you get to choose what you waste it on. I’m glad you do.”
Another time, after James had sabotaged a boat ride by making the oars mysteriously disappear, the two of you hid in an old, forgotten gazebo covered in ivy. You ended up sitting on the wooden railing, legs swinging, sharing a stolen basket of strawberries he’d swiped from one of Jay’s picnic setups.
You confessed your fear of becoming exactly like your parents wanted— polished, successful, miserable.
James, in return, told you about the hundreds of loops he’d lived through, how every player eventually left and the town reset, leaving him with nothing but echoes. “With you i’m not just decoration” he said softly, juice from a strawberry staining his fingers. You wiped it away with your thumb without thinking, and the silence that followed felt heavier than any confession.
There were quieter moments too. Once, after a long day, you found him waiting on the roof of your cozy house. No words at first—just the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, watching the cherry blossoms. His pinky brushed yours, then hooked gently.
You stayed like that for what felt like hours, breathing the same air, existing in the same fragile pocket of time.
You told him about your dog Juju’s ridiculous habits, the way you sometimes cried during cutscenes in single-player games because the characters felt more real than most people.
He listened like every word was rewriting his code. In exchange, he showed you little treasures he’d collected across resets: a perfectly round pebble, a bent paperclip from who-knows-where, a single playing card (the ace of hearts, naturally). “They’re proof that things can stay,” he explained one night, voice barely above a whisper as he placed them in your hands. “Even when everything else resets.”
The more time you spent with him, the easier it became to forget this was supposed to be temporary. James never pushed. He never demanded. He simply showed up—hood up, eyes watchful, presence steady— and slowly, without either of you realizing it at first, he became the reason you looked forward to the end of Jay’s dates.
Today’s Event: Starlight Rooftop Dinner with Jay!
You’re standing on a beautifully decorated rooftop terrace, string lights twinkling overhead, a small table set with candles and way too many rose petals.
Jay pulls your chair out with a flourish.
“My shooting star! Tonight, the stars themselves are jealous of how brightly you shine,” he says, voice dripping with cheese. “I had the chefs prepare a seven-course meal, each dish representing a different reason why I’m falling for you.”
He spends the first twenty minutes explaining every single plate while you audibly and visibly cringe.
“This pasta? It’s tangled together like our destined fates.”
“This salad? Fresh and crisp… just like the feeling I get every time you smile at me.”
Oh kill me already, you think.
“This dessert —chocolate lava cake— because my heart melts every time you’re near.”
You’re barely responding, just nodding and making small noises while the affection meter crawls upward.
Since when is your patience so high?
Maybe it’s because James is somewhere close. You can feel it.
Jay leans forward, eyes sparkling under the fairy lights. “Y/n… these past days with you have made me realize something important.” He reaches across the table and takes your hand. “I think you’re my endgame. My player two. My—”
A loud crash echoes from the side of the rooftop.
One of the decorative potted plants suddenly topples over, spilling dirt everywhere. Jay jumps up, startled. Then another pot goes down. And another. Like invisible hands are knocking them over one by one.
“What the—?!” Jay shouts.
James appears on the opposite edge of the rooftop, looking far too innocent. He “accidentally” kicks the last large planter. It rolls dramatically and bumps Jay’s leg, making him stumble backward into the dessert table.
James appears on the opposite edge of the rooftop, looking far too innocent. He “accidentally” kicks the last large planter and it rolls dramatically, bumps Jay’s leg, making him stumble backward into the dessert table.
The entire thing collapses in the most cartoonish way possible —chocolate lava cake exploding upward, plates flying, candles tipping over.
Jay lands flat on his ass in a pile of frosting and rose petals.
You can’t help it- you burst out laughing, clutching your mouth.
Jay’s face turns bright red with genuine anger this time. “That’s it!” he snarls, scrambling to his feet, frosting still smeared on his cheek. “I’ve had enough of you, you glitchy side character!”
He charges at James.
You can’t feel your lungs anymore from how hard you’re laughing, you swear you’ve never laughed this hard before. You need a reality check, this isn’t real life.
James’s eyes widen- not with fear, but with a flash of wicked amusement —and he takes off running across the rooftops.
The main lead chases after him, shouting threats and slipping on frosting every few steps.
You grab one last fancy cupcake and hurry after them without thinking. They disappear over the edge of the next building, and you lose sight of them as you scramble down a set of stairs into the town streets, breathing hard. You turn a corner into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway between two pastel shops-heart lanterns flickering softly— but there’s no sign of James.
The street is empty, no NPcs, no petals, just facades that look made out of cardboard.
Suddenly, a hand grabs your arm and yanks you sideways into the shadows.
Before you can make a sound, James presses his back against the alley wall and pulls you flush against him, his hand firmly covering your mouth. His other arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady.
You’re chest to chest now, empty chest to full chest.
His eyes are wide, sparkling with adrenaline and barely contained laughter as he listens for any sign of Jay, breathing slightly ragged. The alley is tight, forcing you impossibly close.
He looks human from this angle, his soft blonde hair spiking upwards from how fast he ran, his features are unrealistically accurate, pores, sweat. He’s the copy of a human, only without its principal organ.
You’re honest, you’d gathered this wasn’t a normal game from the second you’d started it. But it takes a lot to scare someone who was already trying to escape their original world.
In this moment while James’ hand stays pressed gently but securely over your mouth, his face inches from yours— the playful spark in his eyes slowly shifts into something heavier, as the seconds stretch.
Neither of you moves. The only sounds are your heartbeat (loud in your own ears) and the distant, fading shouts of a very angry, very frosting-covered Jay somewhere in the distance.
James’ eyes bore in yours, like he’s seeing something there. “Your eyes— there’s always something moving behind them. I never know what color they’ll be.”
The hand covering your mouth doesn’t move, but his thumb brushes lightly against your cheek in an almost absentminded caress. The alley feels smaller, all of a sudden, your words dying in your throat.
Your heart is hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it against his chest. Does he know the difference between a heart that beats faster just because of him— and a heart that only serves its purpose of pumping blood?
James’s breath ghosts across your skin as he leans in just a fraction more, studying you. No human has ever made you feel like this, so why is it that a fictional thing— the fruit of machines, is making you feel so unguarded?
“I’ve watched so many players,” he whispers, hand still gently muffling your mouth, “but none of them looked back at me like this.“
The moment stretches, thick and breathless, his fingers tremble slightly against your lips.
The jealousy, the curiosity, the raw want to understand you — to feel more of you- to be filled with your humanity — is written all over his face.
The moment breaks when James hears Jay’s shouts finally fade into the distance. He blinks, as if coming back to himself, and slowly pulls his hand away from your mouth. His fingers linger for half a second against your cheek before he clears his throat, stepping back as much as the narrow alley allows. 
“…Sorry,” he mutters. “It sounded funny in my mind, the plant.”
You let out a short, breathless laugh, still trying to process everything. “You’re actually insane, you’ve already knocked him out and now this?”
James gives you the tiniest smirk, the tension easing just a little. “Come on. Let’s get you back before he loops around again.”
The walk back is quiet, he keeps close, guiding you through side streets and behind buildings, making sure Jay doesn’t see the two of you together.
When you finally reach your cozy house, he sneaks you toward the door like a criminal.
But just as you’re about to slip inside, Jay’s voice echoes from the end of the street —still annoyed and frosting-free after presumably resetting.
You panic, grab James by the front of his hoodie, and yank him inside with you. You slam the door shut and quickly close the windows, heart racing again.
Both of you freeze, backs pressed against the wall, listening. When Jay’s footsteps eventually pass by without stopping, you both muffle your laughter, shoulders shaking.
“He’s so scary.” you breathe out, wiping the nonexistent sweat on your forehead. You gesture vaguely at the frilly bed. “You can stay for a bit… if you want. In case he comes back.”
He nods and sits on the far edge of the bed.
“I’m almost at the end of the affection meter,” you say after a while, staring at the floor. “I’ll probably be able to go back soon enough.”
“Yeah,” James replies, voice quiet. “I’m glad.” He doesn’t sound glad at all. “you’re lucky Jay doesn’t exist in your world.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Actually, he does. There’s a lot of guys like him out there. All cocky and polished. I always used to hate them.”
James turns his head toward you. “And me? Are there guys like me out there?”
You think about it for a long moment. It’s a complicated question, not one you can answer without sounding crazy.
“No, not really,” you say softly. “There’s plenty of heartless guys… but you, even though you don’t have a heart, you’re still full of feelings. So no… I guess not.”
James stays quiet, processing your words. The silence stretches comfortably between you until you continue, voice gentler.
“You can feel mine from different points, you know. Just like you —your heart’s in your eyes, and in your mouth when you speak. That’s slightly different… but is it that different?”
He looks at you, curious and a little lost. “Can you show me?”
You hesitate, then hold out your wrist to him. “Here. Feel.”
James gently takes your wrist in both hands, fingers pressing lightly against your skin. You can see the fascination return to his face as he feels the steady pulse.
“That’s my radial pulse,” you explain. “It’s connected straight to my heart.”
He nods slowly, thumb brushing over the spot in quiet awe.
You guide his hand higher, to the side of your neck. “This is my jugular. It’s stronger here. If someone cut here… I’d be gone in seconds.”
His fingers rest carefully against your neck, feeling the throb of your pulse. His eyes are wide again, breathing shallow.
Then you move his hand to your temple. “And here. These are my temples. See? We’re actually quite the same. My heart’s everywhere. Just in different places.”
James doesn’t speak for a long long time. His hand stays gently on your temple, feeling the rhythm of your blood, the undeniable proof of life running through you. He looks at you like you’re unraveling the entire universe for him, one heartbeat at a time.
“You should think about it this way,” you tell him softly, still guiding his fingers against your temple. “Your heart’s there somewhere. It’s just not beating loud.”
The words leave your mouth and something inside you twists sharply. What the hell are you doing? You’re deep in this —way too deep— comforting and explaining basic human biology to an NPC who technically doesn’t even exist outside this cursed game.
You’ve gone so deep into a quest for connection, one you’d never noticed before— that you’re looking to comfort a machine.
The realization hits you like cold water. You pull his hand away from your temple, letting it drop.
James blinks, confused. “No… let me feel it again,” he asks, voice quiet but urgent. He reaches back toward you, almost pleading. “When you— when you let me feel it, it feels like it’s mine. Like it’s beating out of my own body.”
And God, that’s heartbreaking. Pity floods through you, heavy and aching.
He’s so hungry for anything real, anything that proves he’s more than background code. And here you are, feeding that hunger even though you know you’ll probably disappear soon.
You hesitate, then sigh. “Come here.”
You shift back on the bed and lie down against the pile of frilly pillows. Your heart is pounding as you pat the space on your chest.
“Put your head here.”
James stares at you for a second, like he can’t believe you just offered. Then he moves carefully, almost reverently, and lowers himself beside you. He rests his head on your chest, ear pressed right over your heartbeat and his arm drapes lightly across your waist, careful not to hold too tight.
You feel him exhale slowly as he settles. It’s so silly, but so beautiful, letting him inside your veins like that.
“How does it feel?” you ask gently, your hand hovering for a moment before resting lightly on his hair.
“It’s… strong,” he murmurs against you, eyes closing. “Steady. I can hear it in my ear… and then it echoes a little in my head. Like it’s spreading.”
You nod, fingers slowly threading through his blonde hair. “That kind of feeling is when you have a really bad headache usually. Or when you’re under a lot of panic or stress. Your body’s trying to push more blood around.”
James stays perfectly still, listening. After a few moments, you feel his body gradually relax against yours —the tension in his shoulders melting, his breathing slowing to match the rhythm under his ear.
This is the safest you’ve felt ever in your life, and it’s sad that it’s with a machine.
James lets out a slow, contented breath against you, his ear still pressed firmly over your heartbeat. His arm tightens just a fraction around your waist possessively.
He wants to say the words, he wants to say you’re his human— only his. His scientific discovery, his beautiful excavated archeological evidence.
“I can feel it everywhere,” he whispers. “Not just here. It’s like it’s traveling through me.” His voice cracks the tiniest bit. “I didn’t know anything could feel like this.”
James stays quiet for a beat again, enjoying the peace of your heart then he speaks, voice soft and hesitant.
“Would you like Jay more— if he had a heartbeat?”
There’s no part of you that could ever like Jay, let alone tolerate him.
You shake your head, letting out a small laugh despite everything. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
He lifts his head slightly to look at you, eyes searching. “Well… maybe you want to lay on someone’s chest and feel their heart too, no? Maybe if he had that, you could want him.”
You shake your head again, still smiling. “I wouldn’t. A heartbeat is nothing if it doesn’t pump to his brain.” You laugh softly at your own words.
James watches you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression.
Then he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a small, strange-looking recording device. It’s compact, slightly glitchy around the edges, like something that doesn’t quite belong in the game’s usual aesthetic.
You don’t even ask where he got it from, would you even get an answer ?
He sits up a little and gently places the device on your chest, right over your heart.
“Be quiet,” he whispers.
He presses record.
The device hums softly as it captures the steady thump of your heartbeat. You stay perfectly still, barely breathing, watching his focused face the entire time. When he finally stops the recording, he looks at you with aquiet vulnerability.
“Is this okay?” he asks. “Can I keep it? For when you’re gone.”
You nod, biting your lip hard to keep from getting overwhelmed— your eyes sting a little, but you hold it together.
James lies back down beside you. He places the recorder on his own chest, exactly where a heart should be, and presses play— the soft, rhythmic sound of your heartbeat filling the quiet.
He closes his eyes, listening like it’s his favorite sound. Like even the birds singing, and the most beautiful songs couldn’t top this.
You watch him, click the way his eyebrows un-furrow, his whole face basking in the vibrations of your staccato heart.
After a few seconds, a small chuckle escapes him. “We share a heart now.”
How can a machine, a program, be so unsettlingly honest, so raw? How can it make you feel things that you haven’t felt in years, in the space of a few incalculable days?
You smile, warmth spreading through your chest despite everything.
James gestures to his chest with a shy tilt of his head. “Your turn now.”
You shift carefully and lay your head on his chest, ear pressed against the recorder. It’s a little uncomfortable — hard plastic against your cheek — but you don’t care. You close your eyes and listen to your own heartbeat playing through him.
It’s strangely intimate, he borrowed your heartbeat the way a starving man borrows sunlight
James threads his fingers gently through your hair, slow and careful, like he’s afraid you might glitch if he moves too fast. His other hand rests lightly on your back, holding you there.
The absurdity of it all eventually fades into exhaustion.
Your eyes grow heavy, and for the first time in months you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
You wake up slowly, warm sunlight filtering through the lace curtains. James is still there —curled against you, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist, his chin now tucked on top of your head. His breathing is slow and even, face relaxed in sleep in a way you’ve never seen before.
You stay still for a long moment, watching him. The way his dark lashes rest against his cheeks, the faint furrow that’s usually between his brows now smoothed out.
Somewhere in the code, there was a version of the story where he never met you. The tragedy was that you knew it.
Carefully, you reach over and turn off the recorder still resting on his chest. The soft sound of your heartbeat cuts offas you slip out from under him as gently as possible and get changed.
As you finish adjusting your clothes, a bright notification pops up in bubbly pink font:
Final Event: Starlight Confession at the Blossom Grove Overlook! Today Jay will confess his true feelings. Share a kiss to seal your love story! Affection Meter: 92% — One moment left to reach 100%
And how funny, that his meter took days to fill out while James’ took hours, minutes.
James stirs behind you. You turn and see him watching you quietly as you braid your hair in front of the small mirror, gaze soft, almost sad.
“I’ve gotta go,” you say, voice a little rough. “Final event.”
He nods and gets up without argument. “I’ll meet you there,” he says quietly. “Separately.”
He leaves through the window first. But he doesn’t go far.
You’re still standing in front of the little mirror, fingers halfway through braiding your hair, when James’s head pops back in through the open window.
“Forgot something,” he says, voice low but trying to sound casual.
You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Yeah? What’s that?”
He climbs halfway back inside, elbows resting on the windowsill, watching you with a soft, slightly crooked smile. “You.”
Before you can respond, he reaches out and gently tugs the half-finished braid from your fingers. “Let me.”
You let him. Of course you do.
James is clumsy with it — his cool fingers fumble with the strands, clearly having no idea what he’s doing —but he’s so focused, tongue poking slightly out the corner of his mouth in concentration, that it’s impossible not to laugh.
“You’re terrible at this,” you snort, shoulders shaking.
“I’m learning,” he mutters, mock-offended. “I like it, Makes you look… like you’re staying a little longer.”
The words hang gently between you. You both know what today is.
You lean back against his chest as he keeps awkwardly braiding, his chin eventually resting on top of your head.
Then James clears his throat. “So… you’re really going to kiss that idiot today.”
“Unfortunately,” you sigh dramatically. “Duty calls. Someone has to max out the world’s most annoying meter.”
He huffs a quiet laugh against your hair. “Tell him I said hi. Right before I punch him in the stomach.”
You grin. “Yeah make it look like an accident. Maybe trip and headbutt his perfect teeth.”
James chuckles — a real, warm sound that vibrates through his chest into your back. He finishes the braid (crooked, with several loose strands sticking out) and ties it off with a little pink ribbon he somehow produced from his pocket.
“Perfect,” he declares proudly, even though it’s clearly not.
You turn in his arms to face him, still half-sitting on the windowsill. “It’s lopsided as hell.”
“It’s nice, a nice little braid,” he argues, brushing a stray petal from your cheek with his thumb. His expression softens again. “You look pretty”
On the way to the overlook, your mind wanders. Back home there’s an unfinished assignment, empty Monster cans, Mei probably worried sick- a normal, lonely life. The thought of leaving this place —of leaving James— feels strangely bittersweet. You’ve only been here a short time, but it already feels more real than half the things waiting for you outside. He feels more real than any real human.
Is this what people feel when they truly reach something deep? The fear of letting it go, the ache of knowing it only started and it’s already over?
No one to be surprised by your humanity anymore, just a room with a PC and thousands of games that don’t contain him.
Jay is waiting at the beautiful overlook, the whole town sparkling below under golden sunlight. He lights up when he sees you. Needless to say you don’t.
“My shooting star! These past days with you have been the greatest adventure of my life,” he says, taking your hands dramatically. “We’ve bonded so much. I feel like you know me better than anyone else ever could.”
What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’ ?
You’ve barely spoken more than a few minutes at a time, you think, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. But you play along, smiling and nodding to push the meter higher.
“I’ve never felt this way before,” Jay continues, voice full of scripted sincerity. “Every moment with you is like a new chapter in our perfect story. You make me want to be the best version of myself. You complete me, Y/N.”
Stupid computer. You let it do its thing, spit out Ai digested romantic prompts with no meaning at all.
The affection meter climbs steadily: 94%… 96%… 98%.
Jay steps closer, eyes half-lidded. “I love you. Truly. Can I… kiss you?”
Love you? Oh my…
You swallow your disgust, just get it over with. “Yes.”
He leans in, lips puckered dramatically, you swear you could throw up in your mouth anytime but you suck it up. This is for a good cause. So instead you count sheep in your head, sing the national anthem— anything to shake off the feeling of his weird—
Suddenly, someone grabs him from behind by the neck and yanks him into a brutal chokehold. You can’t even say anything, the male lead is completely silent, mouth comically open.
James. Of course it’s James.
His face is dark with raw jealousy, eyes burning as he pulls Jay away from you.
The latter makes a strangled sound, flailing but James doesn’t let go, dragging him down to the ground in a surprisingly violent but still slightly comical struggle. Jay kicks and gasps until his eyes roll back and he goes limp, unconscious once again.
James stands over him, breathing hard, fists clenched. He turns to you, voice tight. “Is the meter maxed?”
Straight to business.
You check. It’s still at 98%. It probably didn’t count as anything since —thanks to him— you didn’t get to kiss the man.
“No… fuck not yet.” you palm your eyes, exhausted.
James’s jaw tightens, you can see how much this is costing him. How bad he wanted to kill that man for even thinking he could steal from him again.
The tragedy is that Jay was the designated route, the one the game rewards and James was just a side character who accidentally learns what longing is.
He know it, you know it, hell— even the game knows it.
You hesitate, staring down at Jay’s unconscious form sprawled dramatically among the scattered rose petals and golden sunlight.
This is it. One stupid, scripted kiss and the meter hits 100%. One kiss and you can finally leave this pink-tinted fever dream.
Your stomach twists.
The thought of pressing your lips to Jay’s— even while he’s out cold— feels wrong on every level. Not because he’s gross (though he very much is), but because James is standing right there, chest heaving, eyes locked on you like you’re about to carve his imaginary heart out of his chest and hand it to him.
James’s fists are already clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles have gone bone-white. A muscle jumps violently in his jaw, raw, ugly jealousy burns in his dark eyes.
He looks like he wants to kick Jay’s unconscious body off the overlook and into the town square below- like he’s barely stopping himself from doing it.
How does a machine develop this level of awareness— to feel jealousy over someone that isn’t even theirs?
You swallow hard. You have to. You can’t stay trapped here forever, you have a life. Sort of.
This… whatever this is isn’t real, it’s just a form of escapism because your life is too dull to content with.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You’re not sure if you’re saying it to James, to yourself, or to the universe that let this cursed headset drag you into a dating sim.
You kneel slowly beside Jay’s limp body- the grass is soft under your knees. His face is slack, lips slightly parted in that ridiculous, perfect way the game designed him to look even when knocked out.
You lean down, heart hammering so loudly you’re sure James can hear it from where he stands.
Your lips brush Jay’s— brief, mechanical, cold. No spark. No warmth. Just plasticine contact that tastes like artificial and scripted longing. You pull back almost immediately, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like you can erase the moment.
The affection meter above the unconscious man’s head flares bright pink and shoots up the final two percent.
Final Event Complete! 💕 Affection with Jay: 100% Route Unlocked: True Ending — Blossom Grove Eternal Love! Congratulations, Y/n! You’ve captured the heart of Blossom Grove’s golden boy~
your eyes lift immediately to James. He stands a few frozen feet away, fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the tendons stand out like wires under his skin. His jaw is locked, a muscle feathering rapidly.
He won’t meet your gaze.
Those dark eyes that once drank in your every blink are fixed somewhere on the ground, raw jealousy carving deep lines into his face.
The pull grows stronger, but you ignore it, you step toward James, reach out, and gently take one of his clenched fists in both your hands.
“One last time?”
He doesn’t look at you.
But after a long, pained beat, he nods— vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. You haven’t even told him, but he already knows what you’re referring to.
He sinks to his knees right there on the overlook grass, you stay standing as he leans forward, pressing his head against your chest, ear flush over your heart. His arms come around your waist, holding on.
He’s aware of his own disposability. That’s heartbreaking.
You thread your fingers through his hair as his breathing syncs to the rhythm beneath his ear. The world is shimmering harder now, edges softening, but you don’t pull away.
You were the first miracle that ever happened to a man made of instructions.
And the cruelest thing about being human was wanting things so deeply. Without even knowing why. Without knowing what it was.
James stays like that for several heartbeats— listening, memorizing— before he finally lifts his head.
His eyes are glassy, wide with something between awe and desperation as he looks up at you.
“You’re really gonna go now?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, throat tight.
“Look, I know we were fast, and I know we missed some steps, I know, God I know,” he says, words tumbling out raw and urgent. His hands stay anchored at your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes. “But y/n, you can’t. Just a little more please? Just a little more. I swear I’ll let you go after.”
In his eyes you see something so devastatingly humane, the look of someone who wants something he can’t have badly.
“You kept insisting I have a heart for so long that even I started looking for it.” he continues, “So don’t go now. Stay with me for a bit.”
The world doesn’t vanish, it simply waits—patient, glitching faintly at the edges like static on an old screen— for you to consciously press the exit button that now hovers persistently in your peripheral vision.
The game is stalled, holding its breath.
You nod slowly, throat tight.
One more moment, just one. You’ve already sold a kiss to a scripted doll for your freedom; what’s a few more minutes with the only person here who ever looked at you like you were real?
James exhales shakily against your chest, then rises to his feet. His hand finds yours, cool fingers threading through your warmer ones with quiet desperation. “I wanna show you a place,” he says, voice low and rough. “Before you go.”
You let him lead you down from the overlook. The two of you walk hand-in-hand through the lantern-lit streets of Blossom Grove— thhe usual cheerful chiptune music feels distant and muted, NPCs frozen mid-wave or mid-step as the game glitches around your deviation. Cherry blossoms still drift, but slower, almost hesitant.
The cobblestones give way to a quieter path on the outskirts— James guides you toward a small, tucked-away cottage half-hidden by wild overgrowth and low-hanging blossom branches.
It’s nothing like the bright pastel homes in town— this one is darker, weathered wood with deep teal and muted gray tones, ivy climbing the walls, a single dim lantern glowing beside the door. The windows are narrow, the roof slightly sloped like it’s tired from carrying endless loops.
It feels lived-in, secret. Human.
He pushes the door open. “This is… mine. When the loops reset, I come back here. It’s off-script.”
Inside is cozy in a melancholic way— low ceilings, shelves crammed with odd little treasures, soft blankets piled on a worn couch, a single window overlooking the wildflower field.
James gives you a quiet tour, never letting go of your hand. He stops at each object with careful reverence.
“This rock,” he says, picking up a smooth, dark stone with faint glittering veins. “Found it on the third loop after a player left. It’s heavier than the others. Feels… solid. Real.” He places it in your palm. “I keep it because it doesn’t change.”
He moves to a small shelf. “This cracked teacup. Jay knocked it over during one of his perfect picnics. I kept the pieces. Glued it back wrong on purpose.” A faint, almost-smile. “It’s imperfect.”
Another item: a single pressed wildflower, dried between pages of a blank book. “You laughed at one of his lines near this flower once. I picked it the next morning.”
These aren’t things computers are supposed to do, put feelings inside objects.
You turn one of the objects over in your hands, throat tight. “These things… they make you human, James. Collecting memories. Holding onto what matters.”
He looks at you, eyes soft and aching. “I’ll always be grateful that you let me get close. You let me feel it through you— and you keep saying these sweet words, I don’t even know why.”
“There doesn’t need to be a ‘why’, i’m saying these things because they are real. I think we’re much more alike than you think.”
A long silence stretches during which the cottage feels insanely smaller.
Then, quietly he says: “If you’ll let me… I want to feel your heart again. For the last time.”
You hesitate, heat rising in your face, but nod. You’ll give this beautiful, sensitive boy what he wants before he stays in a prison for the rest of his days.
“Yes. But wait.” You gesture for him to turn around.
He does without question, facing the wall.
You pull off your t-shirt, letting it drop, and stand there in just your bra, skin prickling in the cool air. “Okay.”
You guide him toward the simple bed in the corner— narrow, with a dark quilt. You ease his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing the smooth, cool expanse of his chest.
There’s no heartbeat, just quiet skin and the faint tension of someone trying desperately to be more.
You both lie down. Skin to skin. The contrast is immediate— his body cool and still against your living warmth.
You feel every inch where you touch: the press of his chest to yours, the subtle shift of muscle as he breathes, the way your heartbeat seems louder in the quiet space between you.
His arm slides around your waist, careful, reverent. No hunger beyond the simple need to be close.
He lowers his head to your bare chest, ear and cheek pressing flush against skin right over your heart. No fabric barrier this time, just warmth meeting coolness. You feel his breath hitch, then slow as he buries his face there, nose brushing the curve of your breast, listening.
His free hand rests lightly on your ribs, fingers splayed like he’s trying to catch every pulse. You hold him tighter, one hand in his hair, the other tracing slow circles on his back.
The intimacy is profound, you’ve never felt something quite like it and it scares you, it strips you bare and open to the wolves— like a sharing of life with something that was never meant to have it.
You’ve lived a whole life with barely any passion— and the second you finally find something thrilling— something that makes you wanna get out of bed and live it— it has to vanish away.
Oh how cruel this world is.
James shifts, sliding his chin up to rest on the upper curve of your breast so he can look at you. His dark eyes are wide, vulnerable —the way abandoned gods must look at prayer.
And you finally feel it, the insane pull.
You feel guilty for it, because he’s not real, because it’s not something tangible or measurable. Because a machine can calculate infinity— it can’t calculate wanting someone.
But James leans in slowly and presses a soft, lingering kiss right where your heart beats strongest —on the bare skin above the edge of your bra— and the contact sends a shiver through you.
Your fingers curl instinctively into his hair, holding him there as he pulls back just enough to search your face. His eyes ask for permission before he leans in again, leaving another kiss, then another —gentle, exploratory presses of his lips across the swell of your breasts, each one a silent question.
He doesn’t even know what he wants.
He has no frame of reference, no scripted dialogue tree for this. He doesn’t know what intimacy is, he has no idea how it works. But all he knows is that he wants to be inside of you and stay there forever —an instinctive, wordless ache to merge with the source of that heartbeat, to crawl into the warmth of your living body and let it overwrite every line of cold code that defines him.
To feel your pulse from the inside, to drown in the proof that life exists and that, for once, it’s choosing him.
You stroke his hair, breathing uneven. “What’s wrong?”
He lifts his head again, eyes dark and stormy. “You have to give me back the kiss.”
“What? What kiss?”
“The kiss you gave him.” His voice is low, rough with jealousy. “It was supposed to be mine.”
James hovers above you, bare chest rising and falling with shallow breaths he doesn’t need but can’t stop, waiting.
There’s a vulnerability in him, that makes you want to give him everything, not out of pity, but because he offers his own softness so freely.
You reach up, cupping his face in both hands. “Come here,” you whisper.
You guide him down. Your lips meet his — tentative at first. He freezes, unsure, mouth stiff and uncertain against yours. He presses too hard, then too softly, not knowing the rhythm. You tilt your head slightly, brushing your thumb along his jaw.
He’s never had to do this, it was always Jay’s thing, kissing players in the most beautiful places in Grove. He totally understands the appeal now.
“Relax,” you murmur against his mouth. “Like this… softer. Follow me.”
You kiss him again, slow and patient, showing him how to move. He learns quickly, mirroring the gentle press and release, the subtle tilt.
When your tongue lightly traces his bottom lip, he makes a small, startled sound —half surprise, half wonder— and parts his lips.
You guide him there too, teaching him the dance, the give and take- while his hands settle on your waist, cool palms sliding over your bare skin as he leans into it, growing bolder but still so careful, like he’s afraid you might glitch away.
The kiss deepens, and James turns needy almost instantly.
His mouth moves against yours with growing hunger, clumsy but fervent as he learns from your guidance— he presses forward, chest flush to yours, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, every point of contact madly electric.
He kisses you harder, deeper, until your back arches off the bed and you’re gasping for air. His weight settles over you, hips instinctively rolling down against yours in a desperate grind.
He doesn’t even know what he’s chasing, only that he needs more—more of your warmth, more of you.
“Slow down, James,” you breathe against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair to gentle him. “Breathe with me. Feel how I move… yes, like that. Open your mouth a little more—let me show you.”
He whimpers softly into the kiss, obeying, tongue tentative as it meets yours. You talk him through every shift, every press. “That’s it… softer now, then deeper. You feel how my tongue moves? Follow it. Good… you’re doing so good.”
He’s trembling, pressing into you until you have no breath left, his hands roam your bare back, cool palms mapping every inch of warm skin as if memorizing it before it vanishes.
You push gently against his chest, rolling him onto his back beneath you. He lets you, eyes wide and dark with wonder and want.
You want him to feel everything.
So you take your time. Leaning down, you kiss along the column of his neck—slow, open-mouthed presses that make his breath hitch.
Down to his chest, lips brushing over the silent spot where a heart should beat.
You trace his abs with your mouth, feeling the subtle ridges of muscle that the game sculpted perfectly but never meant to be touched like this.
Your tongue follows the lines, tasting cool, smooth skin. Then back up to his face—kissing his jaw, his cheeks, his eyelids as they flutter shut.
Your fingers trace the ridges of his abs next, then lower, following the sharp v-line disappearing beneath his waistband.
James shudders beneath you, hands fisting the sheets.
He catches your hand before you go further, bringing your palm to his lips— pressing slow kisses into it, eyes locked on yours the entire time—dark, awed, completely vulnerable.
The intimacy of it steals your breath more than any frantic press ever could.
You pause, hovering over him. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” he rasps, voice rough. “I need you— I’ve never felt things so intensely before.”
So you do. You slide lower, kissing down his torso until you reach the bulge straining against his pants. You press your lips there through the fabric— warm mouth against the growing hardness.
James gasps sharply, hips jerking up involuntarily.
You look up at him, still stroking his thigh. “Has this ever happened before?”
It’s your time to be curious.
He shakes his head, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensations. “Never… not like this. It feels so heavy. It hurts.“
His hand finds yours again, squeezing tight, silently begging you to keep teaching him what it means to be alive.
You hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and slowly slide them down his hips, taking his underwear with them. His cock springs free— hard, flushed, and straining upward against his stomach. He’s fully hard, thick and pulsing faintly with the intensity of new sensations flooding his system.
The sight of him like this, bare and vulnerable beneath you, sends a fresh wave of heat through your core.
You start teasingly, lowering your head. First, a soft kiss right on the tip, your lips brushing the sensitive head. Then kitten licks along the underside—slow, wet drags of your tongue from base toward the tip, tracing the vein there. You circle the head with the tip of your tongue, tasting the cool-smooth skin that’s already growing warmer from your attention. James’s breath stutters, hips twitching as you move lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his length before gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth, then the other, lavishing them with slow, teasing attention.
His hand suddenly threads into your hair, gentle but urgent, guiding you back up.
“I want you,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “Please. I want you to feel the things i feel.”
You look up at him, lips shiny. “You already make me feel this way, James.”
“Mmh,” James breathes out, eyes dark and determined. “I want more.”
In one smooth motion, he flips you over onto your back, settling above you. Now it’s his turn to worship. He starts at your forehead, pressing a slow kiss there, then moves to your closed eyelids, each one getting its own gentle press.
He kisses the bridge of your nose, the tip, then lingers on your lips—deepening it with the lessons you just taught him, tongue sliding against yours in a needy dance.
He trails downward, kissing along your jawline, behind your ear —where he pauses to breathe you in—, then down the column of your neck.
Open-mouthed kisses cover your collarbones, then lower to the swell of your breasts. He takes off the bra, lingers there, kissing every inch of soft skin, sucking lightly at the peaks of your nipples until they tighten under his mouth. His cool tongue swirls around each one, learning what makes your back arch.
Further down, James kisses across your ribs, tongue tracing the spaces between them like he’s mapping the rhythm of your breathing. He reaches your stomach, pressing slow, worshipful kisses around your navel, then lower to your hips.
He hooks his fingers into your remaining clothes and slides them off with surprising care, baring you completely to him.
James continues his devotion— kissing down one thigh to your knee, then the inside of your calf, all the way to your ankle and the top of your foot. He repeats the path on the other leg, taking his time then he works his way back up, this time along your inner thighs, breath ghosting over your core as he kisses the sensitive skin there, inching closer but not yet touching.
He returns to your center only after covering every other part of you, finally pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss right above your clit, then lower— exploring with gentle lips and tentative tongue, guided purely by your soft sounds and the way your fingers tighten in his hair.
“You’re so warm here,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with wonder. “Tell me… show me how to make it better for you.”
James settles between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs with reverent hunger. He gently but firmly opens them wider, spreading you open for him. His dark eyes drink in the sight of your bare, glistening core like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever witnesse — something the game’s perfect pastel code could never have prepared him for.
You reach down, threading your fingers through his hair to guide him. “Start slow,” you whisper, voice already breathy. “Use your tongue flat at first… lick from the bottom up. Yes— like that…”
He obeys instantly, messy and eager. His cool tongue drags broad and wet up your folds, exploratory and uncoordinated but so desperately attentive that it makes your hips twitch.
He’s needy, almost frantic —pressing his face deeper, lips and tongue working with sloppy devotion. He laps at you like a man starved, sucking gently on your clit then licking lower, pushing his tongue inside you experimentally.
A low, broken sound vibrates against your core when he tastes how wet you are for him.
You were the first thing he ever wanted and he can’t keep you.
That truth bleeds into every desperate movement.
James grips your thighs tighter, holding you open as he buries his face completely, nose pressed against your clit while his tongue fucks into you messily. He moans into your pussy, the sound raw and unfiltered, translating all that aching loss into the way he devours you— like if he can just make you feel enough, maybe the game won’t take you away.
“Focus on my clit now,” you guide him, breath hitching. “Circle it with your tongue— slower… then suck lightly. Fuck— yes, James, just like that. Use your lips too.”
He learns fast but stays messy, saliva and your arousal coating his chin as he alternates between long, hungry licks and tight suction on your swollen clit. His hips grind helplessly against the bed, his own cock leaking and untouched, but all his focus is on you. Desperate little whimpers escape him between licks.
“Tell me more,” he mumbles against your soaked flesh. “I need to make you feel good… need to feel you trembling because of me.”
You keep guiding him through i— praising when he finds the right rhythm, correcting gently when he gets too eager and loses precision.
He’s relentless, driven by that heartbreaking knowledge that this is temporary.
Every lick, every suck, every time he presses his tongue deep inside you is him trying to carve himself into your memory before you press that exit button.
The pleasure builds unbearably. You feel worshiped— utterly adored in a way no real person has ever managed. Tears prick at your eyes as the intensity overwhelms you, he’s pouring every fragment of his newfound humanity into pleasing you, like this act alone could make him real enough to stay with you.
You start crying softly at first— quiet tears slipping down your temples as your thighs shake around his head. The sobs mix with moans, your chest heaving. It’s cathartic, vulnerable.
You cry because someone —something— has never made you feel so seen, so wanted, so profoundly cherished.
The tears aren’t from pain or sadness alone; they’re the overflow of being loved so completely by someone who was never supposed to know how to love at all.
Every wave of pleasure pulls another sob from you as the worship becomes almost too much to bear.
James doesn’t stop. If anything, your tears seem to fuel him. He looks up briefly, eyes glassy with his own overwhelmed emotion, chin shiny with your wetness, before diving back in with renewed desperation.
The game taught him how to speak. You taught him how to ache.
So he keeps going until your orgasm crashes over you hard — thighs clamping around his head, back arching, a broken cry tearing from your throat as fresh tears spill. He licks you through every pulse and aftershock, messy and devoted, refusing to pull away until you’re trembling and oversensitive beneath him.
Only then does he crawl up your body, face wet, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks. “Did I do it right?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Did I make you feel even a fraction of what you make me feel?”
You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the wetness on his chin and cheeks. “You make me feel too much, so much,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion and lingering pleasure.
James leans into your touch, eyes shining. “Then let me feel everything with you,” he breathes, voice rough and desperate. “I want to be inside you… show me, yeah?”
He shifts between your spread thighs, settling there like he belongs. You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock — hot now from your earlier attention, hard and throbbing in your palm. He bucks sharply into your grip with a broken gasp, hips jerking forward instinctively.
“Easy,” you soothe, stroking him once, twice, guiding the flushed head to your slick folds. You rub him against your clit in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your wetness. The sensation makes you both moan. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue —sweet and messy.
He whimpers into your mouth, pressing closer.
You line him up at your entrance. “Push in slowly… feel me open for you.”
James sinks into you with one long, trembling thrust.
The moment he’s fully seated— buried deep in your tight, pulsing heat —his head drops straight to your chest, ear pressed over your racing heart as a raw, overwhelmed sound escapes him. “Warm… so warm inside,” he groans against your skin. “I can feel your heartbeat around me.”
He starts thrusting— deep, needy rolls of his hips, clumsy at first but driven by pure instinct. You wrap your legs around his waist, guiding his rhythm with your hands on his back. “That’s it… roll your hips like this. Harder when you want, but stay close.”
The intimacy is overwhelming. Skin to skin, his cool chest against your warm breasts, your heartbeat thundering against his ear while he moves inside you.
Every thrust drags against that perfect spot, drawing soft cries from you.
He keeps his face buried in your chest, kissing and licking at your skin between gasps, like he’s trying to consume your pulse from the inside.
You stay like that for a long time in missionary— slow, deep, grinding thrusts that let him savor every clench of your walls around him.
Then you roll him onto his back, straddling him. “My turn to take care of you.”
You ride him slowly at first, rolling your hips in deep circles so he can feel all of you. James’s hands grip your waist, eyes locked on your face, then drifting down to where you’re joined. “You’re… taking all of me,” he whispers in awe, voice cracking.
You lean down to kiss him, sharing breath as you move together.
You switch again— him behind you, spooning close, one arm wrapped around your chest so his palm rests directly over your heart while he thrusts into you from behind. The position is impossibly intimate, his lips on your shoulder, cock dragging slow and deep inside you as he listens to your heartbeat speed up.
It’s like you want a lifetime of contact to fit into a single moment.
Eventually you end up face to face again, legs tangled, him moving between your thighs in a lazy, desperate grind.
That’s when it hits him.
His thrusts falter for a moment. His eyes widen, then fill with tears. They spill over, hot against your skin as he keeps moving, unable to stop. “I’m doing it like you,” he chokes out, voice breaking on a sob. “I’m crying.”
You cup his face tenderly, thumbs wiping at the tears even as he continues thrusting deep and steady inside you. “Yes,” you whisper, voice full of warmth and wonder. “You’re like me. Just like me.”
Now, buried inside the first person who ever made him feel, the ache pours out of him while pleasure surges through his body.
He’s never been more human.
You feel him trembling harder, thrusts growing erratic and desperate as he chases the edge. His fingers lace tightly with yours, palms pressed together, hands clasped on either side of your head like an anchor.
You squeeze back just as hard, grounding him as the pleasure coils unbearably tight in both of you.
“Kiss me,” you breathe.
He surges forward, mouth crashing into yours in a messy, tear-streaked kiss. Tongues sliding, breaths shared, his sobs and moans vibrating into you.
You pull one hand free just long enough to thread your fingers deep into his hair and tug firmly at the roots.
James gasps sharply into your mouth, hips snapping forward hard as the sensation pushes him over.
He cums with a broken, shattered cry — deep and endless.
His cock pulses violently inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your walls in wave after wave. He can’t stop. His hips keep rolling in shallow, desperate thrusts even as he spills, pushing his release deeper into you with every twitch and jerk. It’s messy —warm, slick, overflowing.
You feel it leaking out around where you’re joined, coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you as he keeps cumming, hips stuttering helplessly against yours.
James buries his face in your chest again, lips pressing frantically over your racing heart in open-mouthed kisses, almost worshipful, like he’s trying to seal the moment there forever. “I can’t— I can’t stop—” he whimpers against your skin, voice wrecked with tears and overwhelming pleasure.
You keep your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him close while your own orgasm crashes through you —clenching hard around his pulsing length, milking every last drop from him as fresh tears of overstimulation and emotion slip down your own cheeks.
You stay locked together like that, hands clasped tight once more, kissing slowly and deeply through the aftershocks. His hips give a few final, weak rolls as the last tremors of his seemingly endless release fade, leaving him buried deep inside you, spent and trembling.
The aftershocks fade slowly, leaving you both tangled and breathless in the narrow bed. James stays buried deep inside you, softening but unwilling to pull away, his face still pressed to your chest like he could anchor himself there forever. Your combined releases drip messily between your bodies, but neither of you care— the silence heavy and sacred.
You stroke his hair, tears still drying on your cheeks. For a long while, neither of you speaks. James shifts slightly, not pulling away but turning so his cheek rests fully over your heart.
His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. “I used to think the loops were the worst part. Always the same. Always empty. But this… this is worse. Knowing exactly what I’m going to miss.”
You swallow hard, fingers still threaded in his blonde hair. “I know.”
He lifts his head just enough to look at you. “Tell me what it’s gonna like. Out there. The real one. So I can picture you in it.”
You hesitate, then speak softly, tracing idle patterns on his bare shoulder. “It’s… gonna be loud. Messy. My apartment will smell like lavender and whatever takeout i ordered the night before. The Switch will usually be on the floor next to a pile of laundry I keep meaning to do. Mei will text me every few days asking if I’m alive. It’s not gonna be pink. There won’t be any floating affection meters. No one sabotages my dates or collects weird little rocks because they matter.”
James listens like every detail is precious. A small, sad smile tugs at his lips. “But it sounds real. I’m glad you can have real.”
“It is,” you whisper. “But it’s also lonely sometimes. No one looks at me the way you do. Like I’m the first real thing they’ve ever touched.”
He presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing yours. His hand slides up between your breasts again, palm flat over your heart—one final time. You feel his cool fingers tremble slightly.
“Then remember this,” he says, voice cracking with a small chuckle. “When you’re back in that apartment… remember that somewhere in a pink loop that won’t stop resetting, there’s something that learned how to want because of you— learned how to cry. That would burn every scripted date just to hear your heartbeat one more time.”
You stroke his hair, tears still drying on your cheeks. “James… I can’t stay.”
He hasn’t said the words, but you know he had been taking you like he never wanted to let go seconds before.
He tenses, arms tightening around you. “Don’t say that yet.”
“I have to.” Your voice cracks. “I have a life out there. it’s my world. My real one. I can’t disappear into a game forever, no matter how much I—”
“How much you what?” he interrupts, lifting his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, fresh tears spilling silently. “How much you want to stay? How much this feels more real than anything? Tell me I’m wrong.”
You shake your head, throat closing. “That’s why it hurts so much. You made me feel seen for the first time in years. But I have to go back, you understand that? I’ll die in here otherwise. Or worse— I’ll forget what real life even feels like.”
James’s breath hitches on a sob. He presses his forehead to yours, hips still gently rocking once, twice, like even now he can’t stop chasing closeness. “Then take me with you. Or stay. I’ll glitch the whole town if I have to. Fuck…I learned how to want because of you. Don’t make me learn how to lose you too.”
The words shatter something in you.
“I wish I could. God, James, I wish I could download you into my shitty apartment. Let you sleep in my bed — and have you meet my dog. But you’re code. And I’m flesh and blood.”
Perhaps humanity was never something you were born with. Perhaps it was something another person recognized in you first.
A small part of your believed that. One naive part.
He wasn’t programmed to want you, that’s how you knew it was real.
After long minutes of silence, he pulls back just enough to look at you. “I’ll find you,” he whispers fiercely, voice hoarse and trembling. “Somehow. Some way. Even if I have to tear this game apart loop by loop until the code breaks. I’ll find you out there.”
You nod, unable to speak, and pull him into one last hug. Skin to skin, heart to empty chest.
His hand slides up between your breasts, palm pressing firmly over your racing heartbeat— one final time, memorizing the rhythm that had taught him.
You kiss him softly, tasting salt. Then, with shaking fingers, you reach for the glowing Exit button hovering in your vision.
James holds you tighter, hand never leaving your heart, tears streaming down his face as your body starts to fade from his arms.
As the cottage, the town, and his broken expression blur into blinding light, his final words follows you into the void:
“i wasn’t ever supposed to want anyone…but I’ll spend every reset learning how to reach you again, my human.”
You blink awake to the cold blue light of your monitor. The immersion headset slips off easily this time, but it leaves your skin clammy where it had been pressed. The apartment is exactly how you left it— stale and dim.
Juju doesn’t even lift his head. He just makes a sound in his sleep and shifts deeper into the unmade bed, oblivious. The unfinished assignment still glows on the laptop screen, chinese takeout half-empty sits warm and flat beside it. Rain streaks down the window in dirty rivulets. No petals. No golden light. No soft chiptune music drifting through the air.
You press both hands to your chest. Your heart is beating—steady, mechanical, indifferent.
It feels hollow.
The warmth is already fading. The memory of James’s cool cheek pressed against your skin, his quiet awe, the way his voice cracked when he begged you to stay… it’s all slipping through your fingers.
You reach up to touch your hair where he had clumsily tied that crooked ribbon. Nothing.
Of course there’s nothing.
A heavy, suffocating ache settles behind your ribs. Not really the kind that makes you cry. Just a dull, endless weight. Like something vital had been carved out of you and the wound was already scarring over, leaving an ugly empty space.
Your phone buzzes on the desk. Mei again.
Mei : dude did you die in that game or what lmao send screenshots
You don’t answer. You can’t. What would you even say? I attached myself to a glitch? He listened to my heartbeat like it was the most precious thing in the universe and now everything here feels dead?
Instead you just sit there on the edge of the bed in your fuzzy socks and oversized hoodie, staring at the sparkling pink game case like it might bite you.
The pull to put the headset back on is almost violent. To go back to the cottage. To the wildflower field.
But you don’t move.
Because you know the loops would have already reset. Jay would be smiling again like nothing happened. And James… James would be standing alone listening to a recording of a heartbeat that no longer belongs to his world.
You close the laptop without saving the document. The room feels colder than it ever has. Your own heartbeat sounds too loud in the silence.
And for the first time in years, you wish it would just stop.
📩 Ok wow, this was messy. Obviously not very thought through, a little over the top and dramatic (probably because i am) I’m sorry if it landed wrong ~ at least yo, the smut was nice. This isn’t love, so don’t come at me for portraying them like that but i think it deals more with dependency, James is clearly using her to feel something real even though he’s not a mean person, i think that’s how humans work. Not everything is black and white or right or wrong :) Ths made me think about these cases of people falling “inlove “ with AI just bc they’re terribly lonely.
I think my characters are always messy and almost never really in love but that’s why i enjoy writing them more. Intimacy scenes for me are very important because it allows them to talk without their words, i feel like they always have a hard time talking. But not in this, i think they did well.
It was short, passionate and fast-paced bc that’s just how some things are. What can i say. a shit show 😭
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓘.𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ teams up with you to wreck poor nerdjo :: mean girl!shoko + reader
satoru sure was something. the college's golden boy. the nerdiest little loser that somehow had a sharp tongue on him. able to bat away comments and still stay atop of all of his classes.
let's just say all that changed once you and shoko got your hands on him.
now? now he's a mess. cardigan shoved over his trembling abs. hair messy and sprawled over his pillow. glasses crooked and steamy, his face blotched and wet with tears. smart mouth hung in a filthy drool as he's ruined on the same bed he was trying to tutor you both from.
“please—” he hiccuped. “please please, pleaseplease— oh fuuuckk,” his glossy eyes roll back as shoko's cunt suffocates him again. dragging on his mouth to shut his pitiful begs.
“hm, where's that smart mouth now?” she crooned as she tossed you a look over her shoulder.
you giggled, breathless, and steered your hips down in a filthy grind. humping on his cock that twitched and spasmed endlessly in your tight cunt.
“fuck, he's so cute.” you traced a nail on his stomach and watched as it quivered.
he's breathing hard through his nose. eyes loopy as shoko gripped a hand in his messy hair and fucked his face. riding his desperate moans while you wrecked him with your wild bounces.
he couldn't speak. couldn't think. couldn't do anything but whine and cry as his body shook with overstimulation.
“I can't,” he slurred into messy heat. clammy hands scrambling to grip the sheets. “I-I can't— can't, 'm gonna—”
“gonna what?” you crooned, reaching up for a nipple and pinching. his sob was muffled. “gonna cum? again? is that all it takes to mess the little nerd up?”
your angle your hips so the sweet, sinful smacks of skin echo through the thick air. he's drowning. sobbing. “fuck. you can't even last a minute, can you?”
no. no he couldn't. not with your cunt suffocating him like that. not with shoko rutting into his face. not when two of the most popular girls on campus— a pair of mean girls, wreck him for all he's worth.
“I'm— I'm sorry,” he croaks, eyes fluttering as he tastes a new sweetness on his tongue. “sorry, I-I'm sorry— 'm sorry.”
his hiccups broke as his hips snapped up weakly. haphazardly pounding into you with a clumsy desperation as he pumped you full again.
“sorry?” shoko crooned, nails digging into his hair and yanking him up. forcing him to gulp down her release. his eyes rolled back. “prove it then. lie there and take it.”
he whined. loud and hot. you both shared a giggle.
“mm, my turn to ride his pretty face.” you whined.
“yeah, yeah, c'mon here baby.” shoko whispered, leaning back to press a filthy smooch on your lips.
you gasped when another load of heat flooded your insides. shooting a glance down at the meek satoru with his blotched face and teary eyes. trembling, whining. because he just creamed again from seeing his bullies since highschool make-out.
“keep playing” gojo murmurs barely audible, almost embarrassed to say it—but his fingers are already slipping under your shorts like he's done this in his head a hundred time. “i-i wanna see if… my good girl can win…like this.” his fingers slid past the hem of your shorts.
It was supposed to be just another quiet night. you, your switch, and your nerdy boyfriend with messy hair and a half-finished soda on the table. you were in his lap, like always, thighs straddling his left one, back against his chest. His glasses were crocked because of your head resting on the side of his face. his hands had been resting, harmlessly, mid-thigh.
but tonight it seems like they had a mind of their own. his palms slided up, awkward at first, like he was working up the nerve. and once he brushed your inner thigh and felt how warm you were—how you were already grinding a little without realizing, he sucked in a shaky breath.
“y-you’re, um…" he chuckled nervously, “you're kinda…really…wet already. that's-uh- that's cute.” you can feel how red his ears are. can hear the shaky exhale he lets out as he presses two fingers against the damp fabric of your panties.
you tried to focus on the screen, but his fingers pushed beneath your panties, hesitant but hungry, dragging along your slit with a low groan. his voice was uneven when he spoke again—like he was trying to sound teasing but couldn't hide how wrecked he was.
“wh-what kind of gamer gets this needy holding a controller?” he stammered.
you jolted, hips twitching into his touch, and he gasped softly against your neck—his cock straining against his sweats, and he bit down on a shaky moan.
“i—fuck, wait—don’t cum yet,” he breathed out quickly, as if panicked by how close you already felt. “you—you can’t. not unless you beat the level. that’s the rule.”
you whimpered, legs trembling, gripping the controller tighter as his fingers toyed with your clit in little circles. It was almost clumsy but somehow that made it worse. and the nerdy tone he used—the one when explaining game stats or why a manga panel made him cry—being used, now, to deny your orgasm was really hot.
“i just—it's stupid, but i get turned on seeing you so focused,” he admitted, voice breaking with a shy laugh. “you always look so serious when you play, and i just—kinda wanna mess that up…” when you buck forward, your hips grinding down onto the firm flex of his thigh, he gasps like he’s the one being touched.
“you’re—ngh—you’re seriously doing that on my leg?” His voice cracks in disbelief, cock twitching in his pants. “d-didn’t know you l-liked that…”
his hand creeps up under your shirt with all the subtlety of a boy who’s fantasized about this a thousand times. he palms your breast awkwardly at first, afraid he’ll mess it up, but once his fingers find your nipple—he’s not shy anymore.
he groans, deep and sharp, twisting the sensitive bud between two fingers. “f-fuck, that's so soft,” he breathes. “you're not allowed to b-be this soft when i'm trying…when i'm trying to be m-mean.”
your hands are trembling, buttons mashed half-heartedly as he toys with you like you're his favorite collectible. the pleasure clouds everything. your character on screen stumbles, gets hit, and before you can react—
game over. you freeze, the screen flashes in cruel pixelated defeat.
gojo blinks, “you lost?” his voice is unfortunately too high to be cocky, too breathless to be smug.."c-c'mon you're supposed to be my elite little gamer." you squirm in his lap, frustration boiling in your cheeks—not just from the lost, but also from the aching throb between your legs. “you k-kept distracting me!”
he hums, almost pathetic. then he presses two fingers against your clit, “close doesn't count,” he whispers as he pinches, a sharp flick to your swollen bud. the arm around your chest tightens, his thumb rolling your nipple like it's a fidget toy.
you whine, your head drop on his shoulder, “i w-will win.”
“that's ma girl,” he kisses your temple before licking a stripe behind your ear. “b-but until then…” he presses his thigh up, grinding it into your core while teasing your nipple between sharp tugs. “you're m-mine to play with.”
your fingers tighten around the controller, eyes locked on the screen. and every time you press a button, he mirrors it with a flick or a pinch or a firm grind of his thigh into your pulsing heat.
“shit—satoru,” you breathe, trying to keep your avatar alive.
“keep g-going, you're doing just r-right." he mutters, voice shaky. his glasses are fogged, his hands aren't steady, and his cock is rock-hard beneath you, straining uselessly against his sweats as your soaked core grinds down, again and again, onto his tense thigh.
“you wanna cum?” he asks as he licks the shell of your ear—shaky and wrecked. “t-then win… be my good gamer girl. beat the boss f'me, please...” he presses down harder, rubs the letters W-I-N in slow motion on your sensitive bundle. the pressure is maddening—never enough, always just shy of what you need—and it drags you into the haze of overstimulation.
the motion causes your character to stumble, again, and the screen flashes—again.
gojo groans, high-pitched. “babyyy—c'mon, you can do better,” he pants, cock twitching. “th-that's a little pathetic, don't make me beg f'you to win…”
you try to grind against his hand, desperate and needy to soothe the ach between your legs. “p-please—satoruu, just let me,”
he chokes out a laugh—breathless and delirious—his grip on your nipple tightens, making you whimper. “s-sowwyyy,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like an apology from someone completely gone. “rules are—ah!—rules, i gotta stick to 'em, right?”
but you lose. again and again.
and by the fourth try, you're barely able to see straight. your legs are trembling, pussy drooling over his pants, leaving an enormous wet patch on his thigh.
he buries his face against your neck, glasses slipping sideways, voice a ragged mess of broken need. “we’ll keep playing,” he groans, like it physically pains him, “until my perfect gamer girl learns to beat the boss while g-getting ruined so bad she forgets her own name.” you moan uncontrollably at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes.
his nose nudges your temple, “you sound so pretty when you whine like that.” his voice is so soft. “you feel even better.” your grinding gets slower, deeper, and gojo's hands go from gripping your breasts to fumbling—desperately—with the waistband of your shorts.
“he-he, wait—" his sentence breaks off in a cracked moan as his thumb drives back to your panties, finding your clit, drawing unfocused circles like he's forgotten what rhythm even is. his face is flushed, so desperate it's almost pitiful—fingers slipping and smearing your slick everywhere, breathing out broken pleas between every twitch. “y-you're so wet, i can't—fuck—i can't—t-this is so fucked up, i can't think—”
gojo groans through his teeth, his whole frame trembling. “fuuuuuck, y-you gotta stop, i'm-i’m…gonna…” he's desperately trying to keep it together but failing spectaculary. his cock jerking under you with every buck. “s-shouldn't feel this good—fucking h-hell, i'm gonna cum—gonna cum in m-my pants…OHSHITOHSHITFUCKSHITFUUUCK”
his whole body jerks, sudden and absolutely out of his control. an embarrassed moan bursts his lips as he ruts up against your ass—cumming hard, painting the inside of his sweats in sticky heat. his cock twitches helplessly, completely untouched. he whimpers your name into your shoulder like it's a confession. his glasses slip right off, forgotten, as his head lolls against you.
gojo still tries to move his fingers on your stimulated clit, as his mouth leaves open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder. he draggs his hand up back to your hardened tits—palming your breasts, rubbing, squeezing, thumbing your nipples with pure, overwhelmed need.
“we're not done,” he groans, like it's hurting him that you're not cumming. “you're dripping all o-over m'thigh, i c-came like a loser—please, win already, pretty.” he whines, “i-i'll help, i swear, just—fuck—win!”
his hand never stills. slippery fingers flick your clit in desperate, uneven motions, his other hand clutching your tits like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. you’re drooling against his neck now, wrecked and teetering on the edge, and gojo’s crying out every time you shift your weight.
“win,” he sobs, high and broken. “win, baby, please—i’ll cum again too, I will, I’m so close again, y-you feel sogood—“
And the boss’s health bar drops. One last combo. You slam the button.
Victory!!!!
you’re shaking, grinding down with abandon, the game forgotten for just one second—because it’s too much. he’s still whispering praise like he’s praying, hips jerking like he might cum in any second just from the way you clench around nothing. you scream, messy and guttural, because you need it—need him—and it’s all spilling over.
“'t-toru, i win—please, w-wanna cum—please ‘toru—pleaseee,” tears streak down your cheeks as you sob into his neck, twitching with every stroke, every messy rub of his soaked fingers. “c-can’t—’toru, i can’t—too much, ‘s too much—“
he’s not stopping. he whimpers your name, glassy eyes locked on your face memorizing every broken cry that falls from your lips. “you won, y-you get to cum now—I have to make you cum—” he sounds just as wrecked as you, maybe worse. his fingers finally slip inside—two of them, thick and long—he curls them immediately, searching that spongy spot, desperate to please you.
your walls clamp around him so tight he nearly cums again. bullet of sweats are dropping down his neck as he wines, “y-you're squeezing me reallyy good—shit” his breath stutters against your neck, sobbing out broken, pathetic moans as his fingers drag over that spot again and again.
“Let go for me,” he begs. “Please, please, I need you to—need to feel you cum, please, baby—" you're a mess in his lap, crying and convulsing, thighs slick and shaking—his fingers keep pistoning you as he babbles some uncoherent praise and filth against your hot skin.
“g-gonna make you cum so hard,” he pants, sounding half-feral. “gonna feel you soak m-my fingers, fuck—wan’ it messy, baby, wan’ it loud—”
and when you do, when your body snaps and you wail into his shoulder, soaking his hand in a gush of warmth—he lets out the filthiest, most broken moan you’ve ever heard as he cums a second time.
Unprompted. Pathetically. Just from feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers.
Student Council President Nishimura Riki ──. ⋆༺♱༻⋆ .
nishimura riki's goal is to make the school succeed no matter what, but he can't help but also want the submission of the Student Council Vice President-you, with that..
nishimura riki x fem!reader
content warnings: smut, angst, slut shaming, ass and pussy spanking, he gets mean, oral (m receiving), pussy eating, fingering, squirting, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, heavy makeout, mild dubcon, jealousy, reader is avoidant, not a lot of aftercare, riki becomes unhinged, and possessive, he kind of manipulates her sexually, reader refers to him as nishimura, but later calls him riki, porn with a plot, lmk if I missed anything!
word count: 10981
──────── . ⋆༺♱༻⋆ . ────────
Ravenchrest Academy, the most elite school in the country, only the richest, smartest students are accepted. Including you, Student Council Vice President.
People tend to use the word “bossy” or “demanding” when talking about you, which isn’t entirely false, you just like getting your way
So why does Nishimura Riki, the Student Council President think it's okay to boss you around, while you have to hold your tongue through it, even though most of the time you don't.
Truth is, he sees it as a power imbalance, in the end you have no choice but to listen, you two have a…complicated relationship.
Even though its the most luxurious School in the country, you still have to work in the same office as him, irritatingly so.
“So you're saying you haven't printed, nor made the sign up sheet for the student leadership conference?” Nishimura says, not even bothering to look up from his papers
“That's what I just said.” You say from your desk, the space isn't too cramped but it wouldn't be able to fit another person, your desks are nearly across from each other.
“And you think you deserve being in this position?” You hate the way he talks to you like you're beneath him.
“I was voted for among the students, and teachers. I think I'm perfectly capable of being in this position.” You say resisting the urge to throw your keyboard at his face
“Well I think you are too, but you can't even perform a simple task like making a sign up sheet, it's pathetic really.” He says, that “nonchalant” attitude radiating off him
You inhale and exhale, trying to calm yourself down before speaking “I'll work on it right now.” You say through your teeth, biting back the long list of insults you’re holding back
“Good.” He simply says
Honestly, he acts unbothered and everyone around him believes it. Anyone would bend their backs just to do what he wants. Does he abuse the power? Yes. But there's only one person who can’t seem to back down, and it's you. No matter what he does, no matter how much he establishes his authority over you, no matter how much he punishes you, you still don’t respect him the same way the other students do.
He tries to hide his shock at the way you didn't insult him, opening his mouth to make a smart ass comment before a knock on the door cuts through the silence
“Come in.” You both say at the same time, glaring at each other
A shorter girl comes in, black hair cut in a short bob, she looks nervous. You're too focused on her to notice the way Nishimura's gaze immediately goes to her.
“Hi–I um, you emailed me to come here” She says, voice quiet
“Do you need help with something?” You ask, brow raising
“Sori, we can speak outside.” Nishimura says, standing up, you don't miss the way his hand guides her, resting on her lower back
You've noticed, he likes the shy ones, the girls who are willing to do anything for him at any time, you also notice the way he seems so gentle with them, almost like they're fragile. The complete opposite of how he treats you.
You also don't miss when he comes back, 20 minutes later, tie disheveled, lips slightly plumper than before.
“What did she need?” You press, your eyes focused on the computer
“Why? Jealous she took away from our precious alone time?” He says, watching your face for a reaction
“I just wish she would have kept you longer so I could enjoy my precious alone time.” You say calmly
You don't see the way his eye slightly twitches, annoyed with your need to be a walking disobedience to him. But he doesn't say anything, because he knows he'll eventually break you too.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Since your school is known for its large charity events, and fundraisers, you're not surprised when the reporters come around to ask you about it.
So here you are, standing outside in the irritatingly hot air with Nishimura's hand on your back, and a reporter who won't shut the hell up.
“Hm..Can you two scoot closer together? This is going on the front page of the Academy's newsletter." The one holding the camera says
You look at Nishimura, he looks down at you before pulling you flush against his side, his hand splayed at the waistband of your skirt
“Perfect! And smile!”
You take a deep breath before putting on that performative smile you always wear around teachers, and classmates
“Thank you, the letter should arrive later this week!” You and Nishimura just nod as they walk away
Pushing him from your side slightly “They’re insufferable.” You say using your hand to fan yourself
“Taking a picture with me is really that bad?” He says smirking
“Do you really want me to answer that?” your attitude spiking from the heat
his eyes lock on yours, an intensity you know so well glinting in them
“Careful, don't forget your place y/n.” He says, walking back to the door
You just stare at him in confusion as he walks away like the cocky asshole he is
Later that week you decide to go to school a little earlier than everyone, walking to the student council office, pausing when you see him already there
You step in, setting your bags down “Shocker that you're here.” you say, he doesnt even look up- is he laughing at you?
You stride to his desk to see what he's looking at before snatching the paper from his hands
“What the fuck!?” You practically yell and he bursts out laughing
Nishimura Riki is laughing. Which is odd considering what an uptight asshole he is
“I think they got it right” he says watching your face as you study the newsletter’s cover
“Nishimura Riki Student council President, and L/n Y/n The Vice president are the ultimate duo, chemistry unmatched as they work together to lead the Academy to greater heights–” You look at him eyes wide
“Is this official?” you ask, tone serious
He looks up at you through his black framed glasses
“It's already been given to the teachers to pass out” He checks the time “And right about now they should be given to the students.”
You look back down at the paper in horror
“Do you know what this means Nishimura?” You say, he asked you to use his first name before, but you refuse to call someone who you despise that
“That we have great chemistry? That we lead the school to greatness?” sarcasm leaking in his tone
“It means all your little girl toys are going to come for my throat.” You say slamming the paper on his desk in aggression
“Girl toys? Really y/n?” he says, brow raising, with that obnoxious smirk you want to slap off his perfect face
“That's what I just fucking said!” you yell, anger filling in your voice
He stands up, towering over you, the only thing between him and you being his desk
“I suggest watching your tone, especially if you don't want me to tell the headmaster that your skirt is 3 inches shorter than the required length, breaking the dress code. I'm sure they wouldn't want their star student– well besides me, to be known for being a slut who flashes her light pink lace panties, now do they?” He says, tone calm
You swear your face is red, and someone definitely turned up the heater.
You don't know what to reply to first- the fact that he knows so much about how long your skirt is, or the fact that he knows what color underwear you’re wearing right now.
“You fuck-” You stop when someone knocks on the door
He just looks at you, that stupid ass smirk on his face “Come in” He says, a little too calm for someone who just practically violated your entire ego.
A boy you recognize from the student council meetings comes in, pausing in the doorway looking at the both of you standing up
“Um- Sorry did I interrupt something?” He says fidgeting with his clip board in his hands
“No, you didn't." You walk over to him
“Well I have the list of places to go for the student leadership conference-” he hands them to you
“This is good.” you say, scanning the papers
Nishimura sits back down, watching the way the boy nervously picks his nails “Ill review them and let you know if we need to make any changes.” Nishimura says, holding his hand out for the papers
You hesitate a beat before giving them to him
He watches as the boys eyes linger on your skirt before snapping back to your face when you turn to face him, making him scoff under his breath. That was his last straw.
“Thank you. You can leave now.” He says watching the boy shut the door behind him
“Fix the skirt issue, it's clearly distracting for your classmates.” He says, writing on the paper
You let out a sour laugh "You're still on that? Are you fucking serious right now?”
His eyes snap up to your face “You think it's okay to talk to me like that?”
“Yeah, actually. Considering you're wrong.” You say crossing your arms over your chest in defiance
“y/n, I would suggest cutting this attitude of yours off before I do something I wont take back.” He says, eyes testing
“Oh please, you’re not going to do shit—just because you’re literally one rank higher than me doesn’t make you any better.”
No one is able to get on his nerves as bad as you.
He stands up, walking around his desk till he's directly in front of you, reaching behind you to grab a ruler
“You really want to test me right now?” He says holding the ruler up
Now you’re doubting yourself, you watch as he holds the ruler up to your skirt
3 inches too short.
He tsks looking at you “y’know, you've been testing my patience this whole semester, but it's been even worse this past week.”
He stands up to tower over you again “How should I punish you then?” he says, letting the ruler trail down your arm, letting the words sit. you don't know why you can't talk right now– maybe shock?
“Speechless now? Interesting.”
“You're a pervert.” you say through your teeth
He chuckles, pushing his glasses up his nose
“Bend over the desk.” He says, eyes locked on yours
“What?” you're not sure you heard him right
“Bend.Over.The.Desk.” spelling it out like you're a child.
“Nishimura-im not–” You don't even register when he pushes you down onto the desk, the edge of it digging into your stomach, before lifting up your skirt
“Pink lace, I knew it” He chuckles, almost to himself
“What the fuck are you doing-” he doesnt let you finish your sentence before landing a sharp slap to your ass with the ruler causing you to nearly yell
“That's for having such a dirty mouth.” He watches the way your ass reddens
He hits your other with the ruler, making you let out a whimper on his desk
“Oh? Don't tell me you're actually enjoying this?” He says rubbing your ass with the ruler, as if to sooth the burn
“I knew you were a slut, but this is just- filthy” He says using the ruler and his hand to spread your ass
You whimper as the ruler grazes over your wet cunt through your panties
“F-fuck you” you let out through uneven breaths
He doesn't hesitate before bringing the ruler up and slapping it right onto your pussy making you choke on a moan
“Still acting like a spoiled brat even when I have you like this? You're going to need some work hm?”
Both your eyes move to the sudden ring of the school phone on his desk
He lets out a breath of frustration before he grabs the phone, answering, hand resting on your back to keep you from standing up, you don't bother standing up either because some sick, twisted part of you likes this.
You hate it when people try to put you in your place, so why does it feel so good when Nishimura Riki does.
He moves his hand from your back to pick up the ruler again, petting your ass with it, letting it tease your cunt, multitasking. Another reason why he’s so good at what he does.
“No, we haven't decided on a city yet.” he says tone clipped
“Yes and we'll get to it right away. I'm aware it's due soon” He says, angling the ruler corner to rub against your throbbing clit, making you bite back a moan
“Yeah, you too.” He says sharply before hanging up and setting the phone down
He retracts the ruler looking at it, the corner of it soaked with your slick. “Making a mess on my supplies now?” He says looking down at your pathetic state
“Stand up. Start looking for the best hotels in the cities from the list. Narrow them down and report back to me when you've finished.” He says, putting the ruler on the table and walking back around his desk
“Go on, I need my desk to work on my own things” He says, You use your arms to lift yourself up, pulling your skirt down
He just watches you, the blush on your cheeks, your hair a mess, a tear threatening to fall from your eyes.
“You’re still an ass.” you mumble under your breath, walking around your desk to sit down
He sits down as well, getting his pencil to write something
“You’re lucky we both have work to do, after all it is our duties as President and Vice president of the student council.” He says looking at you, reminding you yet again of your ‘place’
You try not to wince at the slight sting as you adjust yourself in your seat, or the wetness that's still pooled in your panties.
Fine. If he wants to act like nothing just happened, you can do that too. You’ve always been good at pretending anyway.
“Ill have the papers on your desk at the end of the day, Nishimura.” You say, tone cold as ice
He tightens his lips. How can someone act so normal after what he just did– he needs you to be affected, apparently bending you over the desk and spanking you wasn't enough. He needs you begging for more, he needs you to feel humiliated.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
You don’t bring up what happened, neither does he. With having to deal with community service day, and the upcoming student leadership conference, you don't even have time to.
During times like this you get snappy, impatient, He doesn't like that.
But when you do listen, and you dont talk back, he fucking loves it. He likes seeing the defiance in your eyes, when he tells you to do something, and you can't say a damn thing to him. Especially in moments like these, where you're proposing the final cities for the trip in front of the whole student council body, and he interrupts saying he's already come to a decision.
You can't disagree with him either, so he watches as you open your mouth to speak then shut it
This is almost a mere experiment for him, he wants to see how far you will go so he knows exactly how to push you.
He speaks up, and everyone quiets down “New York, it's the perfect city for it. I've already talked to the headmaster, and the other Student Council Presidents from Thornewood, and Redmont. It's been approved.”
You watch from beside him as their smiles light up, and they begin talking amongst each other
“Well get the room situation dealt with later this week.” He says over the talking, making everyone quiet again
“Thats all, feel free to stop by our office if you have any questions.” He says, not sparing you a glance before walking out of the classroom
You follow him, slamming the office door behind you
“How come you didn't confirm with me about the city?” You say, your nails digging into the flesh of your palm
He looks up at you from his desk chair with a smug smirk
“I don't need to confirm anything with you y/n. Do you need a reminder of who’s in charge here?” He says, brow raised over his glasses
“Last time I checked we’re supposed to work together on this whole thing–you can't just go and make decisions and claim we decided-”
“Who are you to tell me what, and what not to do? As Student Council President, the final decision was New York, and im not changing it regardless-”
“That's not fair! You didn't even let me know prior to the meeting with the rest of the student council! It made me look unprofessional in front of them!” You say, watching the way he rubs his forehead in frustration
“Do you think it's okay to interrupt me y/n?” He says, watching your movements intensely
You swallow, he watches your throat bob
“So when I ask you a question you suddenly can’t speak?” He says calmly
“Come here.” He watches you walk around his desk till your standing beside him
“Get on your knees.” He says, scooting his chair back slightly
“You can’t be fucking serious Nishimura– I swear-” He holds his hand up
“You keep opening that mouth of yours, even when you're told to shut it. I think it just needs to be filled. So get on your knees.” He says, pushing his glasses up so their resting on his head
You don't know why you listen, it’s like something takes over your body when you lower yourself on the rough carpet beneath you
He looks down at you, leaning to move a stray hair out of your face, swiping his thumb across your lip, you part them slightly and he smirks at that, you’re stunning.
He moves his hand to unbuckle his belt, and pulls down his pants and boxers waisting no time. his dick hits his stomach with how long, and thick it is, and flushed red at the tip, who knew Nishimura Riki was packing, but you don't admit that.
He watches as you look at his cock, your facial expressions being so easy to read make him chuckle before he strokes himself slowly
“Open.” He says, tapping his dick on your cheek
You hesitate a second before opening your mouth slightly
“Go on, show me what else you can do besides run your mouth.” He says looking down at you, eyes almost siren like
You wrap your lips around the tip, the taste of his precum coating your tongue
“Mmm.. such a good little slut for me huh?” He says pushing your head down a little so you can take more of his cock in your mouth, making you gag
“Fuck–” He lets out through a deep groan
“You look so much better like this baby, taking my cock so well” He says looking down at the way your head moves in attempt to take him fully in your throat, the nickname he occasionally gives you making your heart skip a beat
You brace your hands on his legs to steady yourself
“Your mouth is so fucking small for all the big talk you do-” He says before biting his lip
You mumble something, the vibration making him groan louder
He wraps his hand in your hair, moving your head for you, making you take him deeper, His tip hitting the back of your throat, as your saliva seeps out the corners of your mouth
You curl your toes to try and not gag as he speeds up, interlocking both hands on the back of your head
“Im gonna cum y/n– swallow it for me” He says through uneven breaths before bringing your face down till it touches his navel and shooting his thick load in your mouth, he lets out the most deep, broken sounds as your throat milks him dry
You lift your head, looking up at him before licking your lips
He laughs “You’re a little cum slut huh? Only good girls take my load like that.” He says standing up and pulling back up his pants, fixing his belt, not sparing you a glance before he walks around you
“Where are you going?” You say, using his chair to help you stand up
“I still have important manners to attend to, did you forget we have the assembly in–” He checks his watch “Less than 10 minutes?” he says adjusting the end of his sleeve
He takes in your state “I would suggest cleaning yourself up, can’t have everyone knowing what a pathetic little slut you are.” He says, tone way too calm for your liking before he walks out, shutting the door behind him.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Fuck Nishimura Riki. Fuck his stupidly hot hair. Fuck the stupid way his glasses fit his face perfectly. And fuck him for being at your favorite convenience store at 11:43 pm.
You’ve never seen him outside of school, and this is ultimately the last place you think he’d be. With your house being just 15 minutes away of course you’re going to stop by when your hungry. After all your parents seem to think you’re top chef with the ingredients they left before they went on their fancy weekend trip.
Typical, considering they’re practically never home.
You curse yourself for going out in your pajamas and a hoodie. The outfit being something you would never wear out unless you were desperate. And right now with your stomach growling at the thought of eating, you sure as hell are.
Opening the door to the store, you flinch at the bell above it that rings before swiftly make your way to the ramen section, Nishimura is on the other side—plus he doesn’t seem like the type to even eat ramen at midnight-
“Y/n?” you hear the smooth voice you recognize too well say
You sigh before turning to face him in the cramped aisle
“Nishimura.” you say, trying to take in his outfit, baggy jeans, black long sleeve..who the fuck wears jeans for a midnight convienence store run-
He looks down at your outfit with obvious distaste
“hm..interesting.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” you say crossing your arms over your chest
His eyes snap to yours, that look of authority glinting in them
“What did I say about your tone when talking to me? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?” He says, brow raising
You scoff at his words “Seriously? It’s midnight. Im tired, hungry, and you’re actually talking to me about that right now?”
“Y/n, I dont care if we’re off school hours or not, you still have to respect me regardless.” He says tone clipped
“Yeah okay sorry Mr. Student council president.” you say turning back around, and grabbing two of your favorite ramen
He shakes his head, tongue pushing against the side of his cheek, watching as you walk towards the cashier to pay
Coming beside you immediately he places his item down, the cashier scans it
“What the hell are you doing?-“
He hands the cashier the money, and gives you your bag before leaning down to whisper in your ear
“Thats for the other day, im not a total monster y/n. You deserve some sort of award for sucking dick that good.” He straightens before heading towards the door, leaving you with a dumbfounded look on your face
“See you on Monday Mrs. VP.” He says before walking out.
Even as you watch the water boil, you still think about the way his lips ghosted your ear when he whispered that to you, your mind drifting to the odd moments you two have shared over the past few weeks—what the fuck is going on.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
“I mean seriously you two would make a really hot couple.” One of the two girls who came to the office claiming they had important manners to talk about says. You don’t even remember their names
“You’re sure you two aren’t like you know..” the other one says
You look at both of them, eye brow raised
“I mean with the news letter and all- great chemistry? More like sexual tension.” The first one says casually
Nishimura stops at the cracked door to listen closer
“I promise you it’s nothing like that. Nishimura is hardly even my friend.” You say eyes going back to your laptop
“Well you’re better than the both of us, if Riki was by my side all the time id be on that di-“ she stops when he clears his throat and pushes the door open
He looks at them confused as if he hadn’t just eavesdropped on the whole conversation “Are you here about the student leadership conference?” He says, setting his bags down on his desk before walking around to sit down
“Uh no—wait yeah we were just asking y/n about it” One of them says before mumbling something like “have a nice day” rushing out, shutting the door
You both busy yourselves with your assignments for your classes before he interrupts the silence “Hardly even your friend huh?” He says eyes on his computer, you look up at him
“You were listenting to that?” You say foot tapping on the ground
“Yes, this is our office.”
“Well yeah—but its true, are we not mere.. acquaintances?” you say testing
He laughs at that. “Do all your acquaintances get you wet?”
Your face flushes red when he looks at you “Nishimura thats not-“
“Riki.” He says, tone assertive
“I want you to call me Riki. Enough of this professional, formal shit you pull. We both know its all just a mask to cover up what a pathetic slut you are.”
“Fine. Riki.” You say before looking back at your computer
He smirks before going back to his work
“asshole.” you whisper under your breath
He cocks a brow “Do you really want a punishment that bad y/n?”
You don’t respond.
He rolls up his sleeves before standing up and coming to your side of the desk, you turn your head, not quite looking at him, he moves your chin to look at him instead
“Spread your legs for me” He says, you dont even hear his next words with how loud your heart is beating. He could probably hear it too.
“Are you playing stupid now?” he snaps in your face
“Huh-?” you say looking up at him
He crouches down before placing both his hands on your thighs “I said, stop fucking hiding yourself.” He says before spread your legs for you to see your most intimate part
He drags a finger up the middle to collect the slick soaking your panties “I knew it.” He says before spreading them wider and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, eyes locked on your as he does.
He watches you bite your lip, smiling against your skin before bringing his lips to your cunt, you don’t expect him to but he flattens his tongue against your clothed core making you moan right at the contact
“Look at you. What would all those who voted for you to be in this chair say if they knew how wet you got from a few words hm?” He says before flicking his tongue over your clit through your panties
“Fuck Riki-“ You whisper, hands gripping the chairs armrest
He presses feather light kisses to your cunt, his lips being exactly what you need to feel yourself getting closer
“You want me to take these off baby?” he says, teeth at the top of your panties waistband
You nod, eyebrows furrowed
He pulls them off your legs, before bringing them to his nose to smell, dick hardening at the scent of your arousal
You watch as he stands up, putting your panties in his pocket
“What?” He says tilting his head at your confused look
“You really think I’d eat your pussy here of all places?” He says like you weren’t just taking his cock in your mouth last week
“You literally-“
“Im not doing that here y/n. I have to finalize the hotel situation with the headmaster.” He says before bringing your legs down, and fixing your skirt
“Just in case someone comes in. I don’t want anyone knowing how desperate you get for me okay? So keep your legs closed.” You watch as he walks out, leaving you yet again with more confusion in your head and an ache between your legs.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
“Tommorow we leave at 7:00 am for the train, Remember we will be there for the weekend so pack accordingly. The room situation is figured out, I have the papers here of who your roommate will be, requests were accepted as well.” You say before passing them out to the other student’s
Riki watches from the front as you perform your required duties, he can't help but let a smirk show at knowing how hard you try to keep up this ‘good girl’ facade
With you two being in the positions you are, its natural that you where allowed to have your own rooms, so you don’t have a roommate thankfully.
That night you packed your bags for the trip, formal wear for the actual leadership events, casual clothes, pajamas, mentally preparing yourself for what you know is going to be a long weekend. And not because of the convention, but because you would have to be by his side the entire time.
You watch as the students board the train, checking off their names as Riki talks to the headmaster beside you.
“And one thing I want both of you to make sure doesn’t happen is room crossing, Im trusting that you will enforce that rule as well.” The headmaster says
“Yes sir” You say before focusing back on the students
“There will be photographers and such at the venue, considering this is an important event for the school, so I need you two to play the part of hardworking partners, which shouldn’t be an difficult. Your teamwork is not overlooked.” You hear him say to Riki before walking back towards the teachers
“Shouldn’t be difficult huh?” you say as Riki comes to your side and you check off the last name
“Are we not compatible y/n?” He says looking down at you with that knowing smirk
You feel your cheeks beginning to flush “Shut up—we’re going to be late” you say before mumbling something and boarding the train
You walk to your seat, passing by the other students before you find two empty seats at the back—fuck.
He watches you pause
“Get used to it, Well be by each others side this whole trip. I call aisle seat.” He says as he watches you sit down by the window. Fine. You wanted window seat anyway.
Since this is a long trip, 5 hours exactly, you obviously brought the book you need to read for one of your AP courses. The chatter had died down a bit, the classmates around you seemed to be sleeping or locked on their phones.
Riki is on his phone, scrolling uselessly. You hate that he doesn’t even have to try to be one of the top students in the Academy’s rankings.
You don’t miss the way his hand rests on your bare thigh, his thumb rubbing mindless circles, as if this was some everyday occurrence.
“What are you doing.” you whisper
He glances at you, and down at your book resting above his hand on your lap
He doesn’t say anything before bringing his hand under your book, and letting his hand graze your inner thigh, you gasp at the contact before he leans closer to you
“Keep reading, don’t want you to lose second place in the rankings.” He says watching your face as irritation washes over you
But you listen. Picking up your book and starting where you left off, trying to ignore his thumb inching closer to your heat
“Fuck—“ he breathes out when he makes slight contact with your clothed core “Does being touched like this in a train full of your classmates really turn you on that much?” He whispers into your ear quietly
“You want me to finger your pretty pussy infront of all them? Make you come so hard you wont even care that they’re watching?” He says, pressing the pad of his finger against your warmth making you bite your lip
Realisation dawns when you hear laughing from a few rows up. You’re in a train for fucks sake, you suddenly stand up making a few eyes go to you, before chuckling awkwardly and walking to the bathroom of the train.
You come back 10 minutes later, looking down at Riki on his phone, who doesn’t spare you a glance as you sit back in your seat. The rest of the ride is quiet, at least between you two..Did you make it awkward? Is he upset with you? But you brush those thoughts aside before picking back up your book and reading.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Once everyone got situated at the hotel, rooms were found, and bags were unpacked, you sent a message to the student council group chat
“We are going to the main venue for the conference at 4:00, the other academy’s should be there at the same time. The dress code is formal, remember to make a good impression, this reflects the whole academy. We will meet in the lobby at 3:30” You send the message and shut off your phone to worry about what the hell you were going to wear
Settling for some dress pants and a blouse from an expensive boutique back home, you put your hair in a half up half down, before making your way to the elevator and stopping when you see Riki. spam clicking the down arrow button, you look at his attire, from the black business pants he’s wearing to the black formal long sleeve before coming beside him.
“If you keep clicking it, it resets it. Shouldn’t that be obvious?” You say giving it 5 seconds before clicking it yourself, watching as the door opens
He lets his eyes roam down your body, from the way your blouse hugs your chest, to the pants that fit your ass perfect, he doesn’t hesitate before guiding you in the elevator like you couldn’t do it yourself, his hand dangerously low on your back.
“Im not going to check you for your tone, only because you look sexy as fuck in this” He says before trailing his hand down further to cup your ass in his hand making you gasp slightly
“You wearing these to impress someone?” He says, looking at your face when you don’t move to look at him
“These are just regular pants.” You say when the elevator dings, stopping on the 4th floor to pick up a few of your classmates, his hand makes its way back to his side
You make room in the elevator for your classmates, trying not to take too much space, but also trying not to touch him
You’re half listening to their conversation when you feel him, pressed behind you “Riki what the hell-“ you whisper so only he can hear
“Shhh” he whispers before subtly placing his hand on your waist and pressing his front into your back, claiming it’s too cramped in the elevator—if you make any sudden movements your classmates attention will be on you—
Your eyes flick up when the door opens and you practically jump out the elevator, smiling when you see everyone in the lobby on time, once again putting on that mask. Riki follows behind you, shaking his head with a smirk on his face
⋆༺♱༻⋆
“Yeah, I think the work of student councils vice president is severely underrated, it always gets pushed aside by everyone. So I try to give as much credit to ours as possible” Says the boy infront of you, Yang Jungwon, Student Council President of Thornewood Academy.
“Well she’s definitely lucky..” you say admiring the way he talks so passionately about it
“You see that guy over there?” You say subtly pointing at Riki, making Jungwons eyes go to him
“You probably already knew but hes the Student Council President at Ravenchrest.”
“The one who keeps looking at you?” He says, eyes back on you when Riki glances in your direction again
“Yeah..Hes got this like weird possessive thing..”You say, before turning back to Jungwon
“Right, I gathered that” He says nervously, making you laugh
Riki watches from the table hes seated at, the words of the girl talking to him going in one ear and out the other, whats so fucking funny? Is he really making you laugh that hard? How about you go and be vice president of that school instead since you’re already so buddy buddy with him.
He excuses himself from the conversation hes in, and walks over to you and Jungwon
You two are too busy talking about how your schools are extremely wealthy, yet you still have one office to work in, when Riki suddenly interrupts
“Y/n, you dont enjoy our shared space? because I could have sworn—“ you cut him off
“Nishimura, this is Jungwon!” you say a little to cheerfully
Riki glares at the use of his formal name
Jungwon holds out his hand “Nice to meet you, in person” He flashes a smile, dimple evidently clear, Riki shakes his hand before facing you
“I need to speak to you about student council.” He says turning to you
“Can you wait a few min-“
“Now. Its important.” He says eyes lowering on you
You hesitate before turning back to a very uncomfortable looking Jungwon
“Im sorry Jungwon, duty calls. Maybe we can talk over breakfast sometime yeah?” You say offering a small smile
He nods “I’d like that y/n” he says before Riki practically drags you across the venue to the side of the stage, where its dark and secluded
“You won’t be meeting him for anything.” His hand splayed on your waist possessively
“I will-“
“you wont.”
“Thats an order, as Student Council President. And you will listen to me.” He says, tone sharp like a knife
“You can’t do that, thats not fair-“ You say
His eyes drop to your lips “Do you want me to punish you here y/n? Of all places? Make you take my cock so deep you wont-“
“Riki?” you hear a small voice say, and he immediately pulls himself from you when a girl rounds the corner, the one from a few weeks ago, short hair, small frame
She pauses when she sees you, looking between you two, voice stammering as she speaks
“Um-the reporters are looking for you..They said they wanted a picture of all the student council presidents together but I can just tell them you’re busy-“
“Thats not necessary Sori, Thank you for coming to get me.”
You watch as he smiles sweetly, tone suddenly gentle like he’s talking to a baby deer who’ll run away from him the second he makes a sudden movement, it makes you scoff
He hands you a card before whispering in your ear “Nine. Since you’re looking to be put in your place so bad.” He says before looking back at Sori, placing his hand on her waist as they walk back to where everyone is, she hasn’t done anything to you but you want to pull her by her stupid hair so fucking bad right now.
You look down at the card in your hands—the hotel key card to be exact, with his room number on it, biting your lip as you put it in your pocket
The rest of the afternoon is a blur, from people asking you questions about the school, to students asking you permission for every little thing, like yes the food on the table is there for you to eat. You even decided to get Jungwons number so you can make breakfast plans, since Riki rudely interrupted you two.
Its not like he’s your boyfriend so it doesn’t even matter if you get food with another guy anyway.
But your mind cant stop replaying the interaction between you and Riki earlier, your heart beating at the thought of what would happen if you actually went, I mean his room is on the same floor so theres no harm in it..right?
⋆༺♱༻⋆
You’ve been back at your room since 8:15 pm, contemplating actually going, pacing around like an idiot. Its 8:52 now. Why is time moving so much faster right now!
Sitting on your bed in your bra and underwear, matching set..for no specific reason. Trying to figure out what to put on, maybe sweatpants? No that feels to casual, but is this not casual?
You settle for some shorts and a sweater, after second guessing it five times. Looking at your phone “Shit!” 9:08. You lock your room door behind you, awkwardly waving at one of the housekeeping ladies before making your way to his room
“715..710…705.” You whisper as you approach the door, knocking on it, waiting for any type of response
You lift the key card to the door and it unlocks, the cold handle biting your skin when you open it.
“Riki..?” you whisper before taking off your shoes and walking further in the room, shutting the door behind you quietly, like someone will know you’re here if you close it too loud. He’s sitting on the bed, scrolling on his phone as you approach him, he’s wearing some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Casual. Because this is all casual right?
“You’re late.” He says looking at you, glasses resting low on his nose
“It’s only like 10 minutes-“ you start
“I don’t want your pathetic excuses.” He says before putting his phone down next to him
You look like a deer in headlights, just staring at him, the silence is brief. “You we’re talking to him again.” He says, eyes locked on yours
“Who?” You say, knowing exactly who.
“Jungwon.”
“Am I not allowed to talk to him now?” You say brow raising, that familiar temper rising
“I don’t like when you don’t listen.”
“Come here.” He says, and you walk over, stopping at the side of his bed
“Are you going to listen to me now y/n?” he says, eyes trailing down to your legs
“Depends what you ask-“
“Take off the shorts and sweater, I want to see if im right.” He says watching your face
“Right about what?”
“I’d bet my position as Student Council President you’re wearing one of those little matching sets underneath your clothes right now. So I want to see if im right.”
You can feel your face flush. because he is right. your expression is all he needs to know for that.
You lift your sweater off your body, letting it fall limply to the ground, watching as his eyes drop to your chest in the white bra you chose, before you pull your shorts down, stepping out of them to reveal your white panties with a pink bow on the front
He lets out a knowing chuckle, “You wore that for me y/n?”
“No-“
He pulls you to his lap, his chest against your back before whispering in your ear “I don’t want your pathetic lies either.” He says, using his hand to spread your legs as the other trails across your collar bone
You watch as his hand inches closer to your core, his finger brushing it slightly making you gasp
“Sensitive are we now?” He says before pulling them to the side, the cold air making you whine as it hits your bare cunt
He brings his middle and ring finger to your mouth urging you to open
“Suck” He says before you take his long fingers in your mouth, sucking them as if they were his dick
“Look at you, you really miss my cock that much?” He says before pulling them out and bringing his hand back down to your core
He gathers the slick, mixing it with your saliva and making slow, agonizing movements on your pussy
“Riki-“ you let out through a breathless moan
He uses his two fingers to spread your pussy open more, and uses his middle finger to flick at your puffy clit, making you gasp, his other hand slides down to cup your tit in his hand
Your head is thrown back against his chest, your eyes rolling at the sensation, but his eyes are locked on the way your legs twitch everytime his finger makes contact with your sensitive bud
You’re moaning gets slightly louder when we rubs your clit with two fingers, pinching it between them, he smiles at that
“Are you gonna come just from me touching you like this?” He says, voice mocking
You try closing your legs but he brings his hand down from your chest to hold you open
“Yes- fuck im close” You let out as he rubs fast figure 8’s on your pussy, he watches your breath pick up, and how your hole clenches around nothing
“You wanna come baby?” He says, somehow his fingers are moving faster
“R-riki im gonna-“ you let out a moan that turns into a sob as he moves his hand from your pussy to slap your thigh
“You think you deserve to come from my fingers? After the shit you pulled tonight?” He says, rubbing the spot he hit softly, watching as your clit practically throbs at the loss of contact
“Little brats like you don’t get to come so soon.” He says before landing a sharp slap on your pussy, making your hips jolt, you let out a choked moan at the sting
“L-let me come—“ you say before he lands another sharp slap to your clit before rubbing it again, picking up his pace, bringing you closer to the edge and then stopping again
You swear you feel a tear slip from your eyes “Aw, are you crying?” he says, bringing his hand that was on your thigh up to wipe the tear
“I-I cant—“ You let out through a whine
“Thats too fucking bad.” He says before slapping your pussy again, with more force, your hands claw at his arm
He watches as your sensitive pussy flushes at the harsh contact, yet somehow you’re even more wet
“I-I wanna come..Riki” You say looking up at him, eyes watery
He begins rubbing small circles again, teasing you
“You’re going to have to beg.”
You hesitate and he notices immediately. Landing another slap to your cunt making you practically yell
“Fuck!- Please Riki!” You say when he traces your pussy lips with his fingers
“Please what?” He says knowingly
“Please..make me come from your fingers” You say, that pleading tone in your voice making him bite his lip before he plunges his two fingers in your hole, sliding in with how wet you are
You let out a sharp moan as he curls them just right—your eyes threatening to close from how good it feels to be filled
“Open your eyes. Look at how good your pussy takes my fingers.” He says, trying to hold his own composure as your walls flutter around his fingers
He makes a scissor motion in you, stretching you more, moving his fingers in and out, and curling them
“mm y..yes im gonna- come—“ you say through whimpers, your arms hugging the one hes using to finger you
“Yeah you wanna come baby?” He says curling his fingers deeper in you, making you hug tighter on his arm as he hits the perfect spot, he watches as you throw your head back, using his fingers to ride out your orgasm, his dick hardening at the sight
But he doesnt stop. Instead of curling his fingers he thrusts them in and out, pushing your arousal back in you, his palm hitting your clit over and over again as he pounds his fingers ruthlessly into you
“F-fuck! Riki!” You say through a string of moans
“You’re not done. I want to see if your pussy can squirt for me.” He says, fingers reaching deeper at each thrurst, the sendation of your clit being hit making it even more euphoric
“I-i have to-“ You scream- actually fucking scream as the clear liquid comes out of you, soaking his hand- your legs- the bed beneath you, he’s fucking his fingers in and out of you, trying to milk every last drop your willing to let out, you’re nothing but a pathetic whimpering mess when he finally stops moving his fingers, he inches them out slowly “I knew you could do it, you’re a good little slut right baby?”
“Y-yes Riki-“ you say, trying to catch up to your breathing as you come down from your high, your legs are practically limp, he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them to taste you, he closes his eyes as your flavor hits his tastebuds
“I want-“ He starts and then stops at the sudden ring from your phone, eyes glancing to the nightstand at the sound
He used his other hand to reachover and pick it up and his movements still. You sit up to see what he saw and your heart drops at the reminder you had set earlier
Make reservations for breakfast with Jungwon
and right under that is a text message
Jungwon: Hey it’s Jungwon, im exited to talk soon without any interruptions lol :)
Riki hates the way he added that stupid fucking smiley face, your frozen between his legs, glancing between his unreadable face and your phone.
He moves you off him to stand up, pushing his glasses higher up his nose, before finally making eye contact with you
“I want you to shower, and then get the fuck out. When I come back you better not be fucking in here y/n” He says, not even giving you time to reply before grabbing his own phone and shoes and closing the hotel door behind him.
You feel like theres a wire around your throat, restriciting your breathing as a tear falls from your eye, why do you feel so guilty right now—was it wrong to get Jungwons number and make plans?
You force yourself up, not daring to look in the mirror as you walk to his shower, cleaning yourself, putting back on your clothes that lay beside the bed. You walk to the door, putting on your shoes, and make your way back to your own room.
You force yourself not to cry. Even if the pain in your heart right now wants nothing more than that to relieve it. After changing into your pajamas you curl into the hotels blankets, trying not to think about tomorrow. The fact that you still have to remain professional, by his side the entire time. You still have to act like nothing happened, put on that stupid fucking mask yet again.
Riki cant help but feel the dissapointment wash over him when he walks back into his hotel room an hour later, with a bag full of convenience store ramen, because part of him hoped you would keep that stubborn attitude and stay here, waiting for him to get back just to call him an asshole, he can’t help but feel like he fucked up instead.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
The morning was hell. Getting ready felt like a chore when it was supposed to be one of your favorite things. You put on a similar outfit to yesterdays, just with a white blouse, and black pants instead, you don't know why you decided to wear heels either when there a pain.
Riki hasn’t even looked in your direction this whole time. He didn't sit with you on the way to the venue, he didn't even touch you when you two had to take a picture for the “Most successful StuCo President and Vice President” award. Was he really this fucking mad over a text?
You’re helping one of your classmates prepare for their speech, as one of the best event planners in student council, when you see Riki, laughing with that girl. Sori. How can he be so unbothered right now? Why does your chest hurt at the sight of her touching his arm. The same arm you were clinging to last night. You should just go over there and tell her exactly what-
“Y/n?” Your classmate says
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was asking if I should just bring the note cards with me just in case?” She says looking at you with a worried look
“Um- yeah, just do that” You say before excusing yourself, you need to talk to Riki. Now. You're walking closer, when someone stops infront of you, Jungwon.
“Hey, you didn't answer my text last night, are you okay?” he says observing the intense expression your face
You fully turn to face him “Yeah im just nervous I guess” You say chuckling to ease the tension
“You? Nervous?” he says brow raising
“Well yeah..?” you let out awkwardly
“Do you want to come sit with us? Not like one of those weird rival schools kind of way- it's just, you look like you could use a friend.” He says offering that kind smile
You look past his shoulder, Riki’s eyes locked on you. But his hand is on Sori’s back. You look back at Jungwon before smiling and nodding.
“And then he tripped- actually tripped over his own shoe after that whole ridiculous lecture” Thornewoods vice president says through a laugh
Jungwon can't help but laugh too, which makes you let out a giggle
“It was truly humiliating..” he says rubbing the back of his head
Riki glances at you every few minutes, jealousy boiling in his chest, but you can't see it because you're faced away. You did that on purpose though, the sight of him touching another girl used to not bother you but in that moment, it made you want to throw up the appetizers that where passed out earlier.
Maybe it was a friendly interaction you needed, you open your mouth to say something when someone from the podium speaks
“Everyone please head back to your assigned school areas, we have a few more things to get through.”
You smile at Jungwon and his friends before going back to your assigned section, looking down at the chair that says your name, and then the one next to it ‘Nishimura Riki’ plastered on it under the Student Council President title.
You sit down, crossing your legs, trying to seem less tense, even when you feel the shift in the air as Riki takes his seat beside you.
After what feels like 3 hours of speeches, awards, pictures, they finally pass out the dinner, the food was truly rich, which makes sense with how wealthy each of these schools are. You try to ignore his presence beside you, making conversation with your classmates instead, The only time you acknowledge eachother is when the woman who was speaking at the podium comes over to compliment you and Riki's work ethic, him claiming “he couldn't have done it without you.”, then going back to ignoring eachother.
By the time the event was fully over, you said your goodbyes to Jungwon and his friends, thanking them for letting you join them earlier.
On the ride back to the hotel, you check off the names of the student council members, making sure you didn't leave anyone, once you were finished you sat down, satisfied. But you could feel his eyes on you. Two rows back diagonal from you.
Thanking God as you get to the elevator first, 7 other of your classmates joining, looking exhausted, you watch as the elevator doors begin to close when a hand stops it, making it open back up. Riki.
“What floor?” He asks the boy next to him
“Level two” He says, voice small, and Riki clicks it
The short ride is silent except for the whisper from your classmates next to you.
You watch as the elevator door opens and resist the urge to pull them back in there with you when 5 of them get off on this level.
“Im floor 3” One of the girls says, before clicking the 3 button
You look down at your feet, silently praying that the other girl is magically on the same floor as you, when the door dings open again your heart drops to your ass as they both get off. Leaving you and him here, alone.
He doesn't click the 7 button on the elevator keypad. Instead, he settles for the ‘close door’ one, before turning to face you
“Y/n” He says looking down at you
“Look at me” He steps closer, lifting your chin, watching the way you cant even look at him
“Fuck- baby..”
You swat his hand away “Dont fucking touch me- y-you spent the whole night glued to her side, touching her even after last night” You say, the words tumbling out of your mouth without a thought
“Well you spent the whole night practically eye fucking Jungwon so you're not completely innocent!” He says voice louder than intended
“He’s my friend! You don't get to take that away from me.” You say pushing him back, trying to make space in this small ass elevator
“A friend doesn't look at you like that y/n.” He says, hands resisting the urge to touch you
“Like what?!” You say, practically yelling even though you two were already close
“Like they want you as bad as I do.” He whispers, vulnerability leaking through his tone, a tone you haven't heard before until now
You look up at his face before letting out a sour chuckle sound, making his eyes snap back to you
“Thats bullshit- Riki you can’t even fucking kiss me.” You say, watching the way his eyes darken
“Yeah?” He says, tone low before he steps closer to you, you step back, cursing the elevator for being to damn small when your back hits it
“Yea-” Your words are gone when he cups your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, you're frozen, in shock.
He pulls back looking at you with the most desperate look in his eyes, before you pull him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him again, your lips move like they were made for one another, his tongue brushes your bottom lip, before he pushes in, groaning into your mouth, his hand slips down to your waist, pulling you against him, but also pushing you against the wall more, as if it was the only thing grounding the two of you.
He steps back for a moment before clicking the ‘7’ button and then his lips are back on yours, your hand lifts his glasses so they rest on his head, even as the elevator door opens he's still trying to savor your lips on his, reaching into his back pocket to get his key card out, opening the hotel door and shutting it as he pushes you against it
He lifts your leg over his hip, rolling his hips into yours, making you both moan at the contact, you blush at the sound of him being so vocal, he pulls back, both of you breathing for a few seconds before he finally speaks again
“Ive been wanting to do that y/n- I was just..” He sighs looking down then looking back at you
“I was scared.” The Nishimura Riki just told you he was scared. The same person who takes what he wants and nothing more is opening up to you..
You respond by pressing a soft kiss to his lips
“Fuck–you’re going to kill me”
Then his lips are back on yours, the same passion leaking in from earlier, you both kick off your shoes, and clumsily try to remove the clothing off of each other's bodies without tripping, you fall softly onto the bed, he climbs on top of you, before kissing your neck, leaving sloppy kisses down your half naked body before unclasping your bra, his lips are on your nipple instantly, his hand coming up to knead the other one
Your back arches off the bed when he sucks your nipple between his teeth, gasping at the feeling of it, before he focuses on your other one with the same precision, your hands go to tangle in his hair when he kisses his way down to your core, watching as he slides your panties down with ease
“Riki-” You breath out when he takes the glasses off his head
He looks up at you
“Want you to keep them on-” You say through a breathless moan
He chuckles “You want me to eat your pussy with my glasses baby?” He says kissing your thigh
“Please-” You manage to say, he puts his glasses back on before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking and licking, the same way he was kissing you earlier
He flicks his tongue over your clit, watching the way your eyebrows furrow at the stimulation
“Mm- tastes so good” He mumbles into your pussy making your hips jolt up, he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the sight alone could make you come right now
“W-wait” you say and he pauses, breathing heavily on your pussy
“Hm?” He says tilting his head
“Want to come on your cock..” You say shyly when he smiles up at you
He doesn't hesitate one bit before pulling his boxers off and guiding his tip to your entrance, smearing his pre cum on your pussy, hitting your clit just right
“Stop teasing-” You whine
“Why? Its fun” He says laughing at the way you squirm beneath him
Your legs move to lock around his hips when his hand stops you “Stop being greedy y/n” that tone of authority seeping in
He positions himself, hands gripped on your thighs before he pushes the tip of his cock in “Fuck- loosen up for me baby” his hand moving to rub slow circles on your clit, making you moan
He slides in deeper, bottoming out, groaning at the warmth of you around him. He pulls out halfway before slamming back into you, making you let out a high pitched sound
“Riki–It f..feels so good” You make a wrecked sound as your fingers claw at his shoulders, he repeats the same motion, moving his hips and rolling them into you, his cock hitting you so deep you know you're going to be sore in the morning.
“This pussy was made for me baby- You’re taking me so well” He says kissing your shoulder, and gripping the pillow beside your head as he fucks in and out of you faster
He kisses your cheek, before his lips attach to yours, swallowing your moans, drinking them like water as he feels himself getting closer
“I-im gonna come ki..” legs locking around his hips, pulling him impossibly closer
“Fuck y/n-” He lets out before his thumb slips between the two of you and he presses your clit, your hole flutters around his cock as you ride your orgasm out, his thrusting doesnt slow down as he reaches his high, using your pussy to milk every last bit of come inside you, letting out the most desperate groans
His forehead rests on yours, you're both breathing heavily against each other before he pulls out slowly, the sensitively making you both wince
He moves to lay down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You two stay like that, in each other's embrace.
You don't know how long after, but you eventually got up to clean yourself, before he stopped you. Hand tight on your arm before he got up saying he wanted to help you this time, yes he rinsed your body in the shower, kneeling down, watching the water wet your hair as he looked up at you, before lifting your leg up and pressing gentle kisses to your core, the words "I'm making up for how many times I should’ve done this” rolling off his tongue
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Riki’s hand slides to your waist as the headmaster takes a spot next to him
“1..2..3, Alright, perfect!” The photographer says looking at the photo on his camera, before the headmaster turns to you and Riki
“I wanted to congratulate the two of you for the conference, the outcome was amazing- I mean the publicity too, the people truly see you two as the ultimate power duo, Great Job on your hard work.” He says smiling at the both of you
“Thank you” You nod
“I couldn't have done it without her” Riki says looking at you, because he truly does mean it
“Glad you're aware.” You say smartly, making the headmaster laugh before he walks away to talk to the photographer
Riki leans down to whisper in your ear “Careful y/n, I have no problem putting you in your place again.” He says before looking down at you
Your heart races at his words before you smile sweetly “I’d like to see you try” You say before walking back to the main building, he just watches, smiling because he knows he's going to do a whole lot more than ‘try’.
⋆༺♱༻⋆
Thank you guys for reading!
Also, Thank you for 500 followers! 😊 if you guys have any requests on what you want to see next, I would love to hear it <3
SYNOPSIS. eom seonghyeon doesn’t like you. he doesn’t like how you challenge him intellectually, he doesn’t like how effortlessly charming you are, and he really doesn’t like how you somehow manage to creep into every little crevice of his life. but as the year goes on, the line between hate and love seem to blur, and fuck, he hates being wrong, but he's just going to have to swallow his pride and admit it: eom seonghyeon thinks he might actually really like you.
or alternatively, seonghyeon realizes that he might’ve confused love and hate.
GENRE. best friend's brother, kind of academic rivals?,one-sided enemies to lovers
WORD COUNT. 26.1k (whoops! sorry)
WARNINGS. swearing, kissing, seonghyeon's kind of mean in the beginning. emotionally constipated seonghyeon (please bear with him), reader's younger by one year but in seonghyeon's grade
AUTHOR'S NOTE. it's heree!!! ambivalence is my baby and i hope you adore it as much as i adored writing it. the poem that y/n and hyeon analyse in here is called "having a coke with you" by frank o'hara. it's one of my favourite love poems ever and i had to sneak it in somewhere. happy reading and i'd love some feedback on this. much love!!! <3
“YEAH, SHE’S SKIPPING A GRADE.”
It’s the first day of school, and Eom Seonghyeon’s heart drops when he hears his younger sister Sera say those words. He’s halfway through a bite of his toast when he hears that you, his sister’s best friend, is skipping a grade. He nearly chokes on the bread, and the strangled noise that he makes doesn’t go unnoticed by Sera.
She looks at him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon makes no comment. All he does is awkwardly take a sip of his coffee (another big mistake, it’s piping hot) and forces a smile.
The thing is, Eom Seonghyeon doesn’t exactly like you.
It’s a little cruel to dislike your younger sister’s best friend, and Seonghyeon’s well aware of that. But there’s something just so incredibly infuriating about you, and he just can’t help it. You’re annoyingly clever — clearly, since you’ve skipped a grade. Seonghyeon’s always been top of his class every single year, but now that you’re going to be in his grade, he knows that very well may change.
You’re far too smart, well-read and intellectual for someone your age. You read Plato and Aristotle for fun. For fun! Seonghyeon adores reading, but even he thinks that you’re insane. There’s no reason for someone’s ideal lounge-by-the-pool book to be The Republic. While he’s being sprayed with a water gun by Keonho, you’re sitting by the lounge chair learning about justice and the idea of a perfect society.
It’s tiring for him to always be compared to you as well. Words like Seonghyeon, you’re so smart, just like Sera’s friend infuriates him to no end. He knows that it’s not your fault that other people are comparing the both of you, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.
To say the least, you make Eom Seonghyeon feel stupid. And you don’t even intend to.
Another thing that Seonghyeon dislikes about you is how effortlessly charming you are. Seonghyeon, for a lack of better words, could sometimes act like a complete dick to you. He gives you curt nods when he sees you at his house, tries to not roll his eyes at your tangents (which Seonghyeon sometimes agrees with, but he’d never let you know that), and silently scoffs when Sera reveals a new fact about you.
And you? You always smile at him when you see him in the hallways. You always ask him if he’s eaten today. You even give him book recommendations sometimes when you notice what he’s been reading, and fuck, sometimes they’re really good. It’s infuriating.
He also dislikes that you’re… pretty, or something. He sees you far too often, and there's also far too many times where he has to remind himself that you're his younger sister's annoyingly clever best friend. Especially when he sometimes catches himself staring for far too long in your direction. Seonghyeon tells himself there's just something interesting that catches his eye nearby, like the light switch or a fly. He'd never admit that it's you.
Seonghyeon has shoved the thought of you being pretty to the back of his mind many times. He’s going to do that again right now.
He’s completely lost in his own thoughts about you and he doesn’t even notice that his half-eaten toast has fallen onto his plate, and Sera’s calling out his name. “Hello? Earth to Seonghyeon?”
He snaps out of it, picking up his toast again and taking a bite. “Yeah?”
“I was asking you if you could take a bit of time to look out for (Name) this year.” Sera’s words don’t come out like a request, but rather like a command. “Obviously, she’s skipping a grade so she won’t have me there — poor girl — and she won’t know anyone. You’ve seen her so many times over the years, so… please? Just make sure she’s settling in well and everything. She was telling me that she wasn’t really sure if she should actually skip a grade, but you know. Too easy for her.”
Seonghyeon nearly chokes on his toast for the second time today. His sister wants him to look after you. Seonghyeon would rather set himself on fire.
He’s being dramatic. He doesn’t hate you that much. It’s just that Seonghyeon would much rather stay away from you if he had the chance to.
“Please,” Sera said, as if she’s able to read his thoughts. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of her, but come on. She’s really nice, if you just got to know her. And she doesn’t even care about being top of the class.” Of course you don’t care, Seonghyeon thinks. It’s because you’re too humble for your own good.
Seonghyeon sometimes wonders if he’s a bad person for disliking you when you’re basically morally perfect.
“Oh, and make sure Keonho knows that she’s off limits. You and all of your friends are. If anything happens, just know I’m gonna get violent.” Sera says off-handedly.
“Won’t be a problem,” Seonghyeon replies, rolling his eyes.
“Is that a yes? To keep an eye out for her?”
“Whatever.” Seonghyeon says, taking another bite out of his toast. He’s chewing angrily.
He just has to agree, right? Does he have to actually do it?
Five minutes later, Seonghyeon finds out that the answer is yes.
Because you show up at his fucking doorstep, of course.
You’re beaming brightly while Seonghyeon can barely hide the frown on his lips. You’re holding The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli — of course you are, Seonghyeon thinks — and there’s around 500 of those colourful plastic tabs that you use to mark where you’ve made a note sticking out of the book’s edge. You greet Sera, him, and his mom with such genuine politeness and warmth, and Seonghyeon hates that he can’t call this bullshit.
Your uniform’s now the same as his, with the tartan on your tie being the same chequered pattern of green and beige. It’s an unpleasant reminder that you’re going to be in all of his classes, and that avoiding you will be far more difficult than it used to be.
Sera greets you with a big hug, which you return. “I can’t believe you’re ditching me in Year 10.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, frowning. “You know I’ll always be around, though. And I’m never gonna bail on our after school study sessions anyways. I kind of focus better here.”
Your eyes land on Seonghyeon, and you give him a small smile. It’s tentative, a little shy, but still has that warmth that makes him feel uneasy. “Hey! Did you like the book, by the way?” you ask.
Seonghyeon’s puzzled for a second. “What book?”
“The one I gave to you a couple weeks ago. Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong? I know you like history and everything, so…” you trail off. It’s like a lightbulb switches on in Seonghyeon’s brain — oh, right. That book. The book that he found so good he pulled an all-nighter to finish. Your brilliant book recommendation and the fact that you’re attentive to his interests stirs up this strange feeling in the pit of Seonghyeon’s stomach that he can’t quite explain.
“It was… alright.” he says, feigning indifference. He shrugs before turning curtly to grab his backpack from his room. Behind him, he can hear Sera telling you to ignore him, and that he’s feeling moody today. Sera also recounts to you about how Seonghyeon choked on his toast this morning, and his face flushes pink with embarrassment. And contrary to what Sera was saying, he was not moody. He just… didn’t like you.
When he grabs his backpack from his chair, Seonghyeon spots the copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms that you gave to him just sitting on his desk. It’s a glaring reminder of you.
He groans and shoves the book in his bag.
This was going to be a long year.
Everyone looks at you in bewilderment when they see you walk into the 11th grade math classroom.
The stunned silence, their wide eyes and gaping mouths tell you everything. They’re all asking: why the fuck would you would be here? They all know you as the genius from 9th grade — you left prizegiving last year with so many medals around your neck to the point where you'd nearly fallen over.
You’re a little late because you’d gone to the administrator’s office to grab your new schedule, since you’d been moved up a year. Your eyes scan the thin sheet of paper, mumbling to yourself the order of your classes and the teachers of each course, just so that you could get that information in your head.
You look around the classroom for any familiar faces, and you don’t recognise anyone, except for Seonghyeon. He’s laughing with Keonho — you’ve seen Keonho multiple times at the Eom family’s house. You want to go up to them, simply because you don’t know anyone else. But a weird, tight feeling in your chest stops you from doing so, and you opt for a seat at the back of the classroom. Alone.
It’s next to the window, and sunlight spills through the curtains. It gives you a certain sense of warmth that you find you enjoy. You place your bag down on the floor, unzipping it to pull out your notebooks.
They’re all organised meticulously and by colour — red for English, blue for math, purple for history, green for science, orange for Korean. You pull the blue math notebook out and set it on the left side of your desk.
Your pencil case is organised just as intentionally – blue pens to the left of the box, black pens to the right. Pens are stacked above your sticky notes. Only yellow sticky notes, never in one of the fun colours, because you found that it made your notes hard to read. You pull out one blue pen and one black pen and put it on the right side of your desk.
You’re so engrossed in making sure that your table’s organised to your liking to the point where you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes are still on you. Seonghyeon and Keonho included.
“I can’t believe she’s in our class,” Keonho whispers to Seonghyeon. “She must be crazy smart then.”
Seonghyeon lets out a deep exhale. His shoulders are tense as he watches you with hawk-like concentration. “Sure. Something like that. You know how she was reading Plato at our pool party.”
“Who the hell is Plato?”
Seonghyeon suppresses a sigh. Keonho was not exactly the studious type. As the school’s favourite student athlete, he spent more time at the pool than he did anywhere else, and won more medals for the school than anyone else. Training takes up most of his days, and it’s honestly a miracle that Keonho’s even here for first period. Seonghyeon would be surprised if Keonho even showed up to half the classes this year.
“Ancient Greek philosopher. Don’t worry about it,” Seonghyeon replies, and Keonho nods. “But yeah. She’s smart smart.”
“And you hate her for it?” Keonho asks. There’s a teasing smile on his lips, and Seonghyeon lets out another deep sigh to try and release the tension in his shoulders. It doesn’t work.
Seonghyeon knows that you make him feel stupid. And he doesn’t like feeling stupid. But his feelings for you, specifically, are complicated, and Seonghyeon would rather die than focus on dissecting them, so he settles on dislike.
He feels uneasy, on edge and there’s always that constant feeling of wanting to run away whenever you’re near. He must have some sort of aversion to you.
“Hate is a strong word,” Seonghyeon musters out. It's all he can come up with. “I don’t know. She’s just… never been someone I’ve vibed with.”
Keonho suppresses an incredulous laugh. “You don’t hate her? You look like you want to bolt out of the room whenever she’s around, or even when she’s mentioned.”
“I don’t know, man,” Seonghyeon replies. He doesn’t want to keep talking about this. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? We’ll have… I don’t know – the whole year to dissect whatever this is. We don’t need to get it over and done with in the first day.”
Seonghyeon pulls out the book that he’s currently reading — No Longer Human by Ozamu Dazai — and flicks to the page where he’d left off on. He scans the words on the page, quickly engrossing himself in the novel. He doesn’t notice how Keonho’s eyeing him with a look that’s almost like he’s trying to crack open Seonghyeon’s skull to see what he thinks about you.
As Seonghyeon’s best friend, Keonho knows of his aversion towards you. But there’s this odd feeling that’s telling Keonho that there’s more than Seonghyeon’s letting on, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.
Keonho’s eyes flick from Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you.
You’re a little freaked out. Keonho is looking at you like he’s trying to uncover your deepest secret, and for a boy you’ve only spoken to once at a pool party, you really don’t know why he’s eyeing you with the energy of Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a case. All you know about Ahn Keonho is that he’s Seonghyeon’s best friend, he’s a swimmer, and that he got a bruise after cannonballing into the Eom family pool.
You turn away, a little too aware of Keonho’s scrutinising eyes on you. But then you’re surprised by the sight of an unfamiliar girl, who gives you a smile that you aren’t quite sure is genuine. “Hi. I’m Haeun.” she says, and you nod.
“Hi. I’m (Name),” you say. Your voice is small — Seonghyeon, though his eyes never leave the pages of his book, notices. He realises that this is rare. He’s never heard you sound this shy, hesitant and unsure.
“We heard you skipped a grade?” Haeun asks, and you nod. “So you must be really smart then.”
You’re not quite sure what to say. Agreeing would be cocky. Saying no would be a lie. You settle for saying ‘Yeah, I did skip a grade.’ You don’t make any reply to the last thing Haeun said to you.
Her voice lowers, and she gives you this sickeningly sweet smile that makes you feel uneasy. “So… um… hypothetically. If I were to say – a friend of mine, that is – was unable to do her work due to some… circumstances, would you be able to maybe be so kind to… help out?”
This is the strangest first day of school experience that you’ve ever had. What were you even supposed to say? Haeun clearly wanted you to do her homework, but you followed a strict moral code — no was obviously going to be the answer, but you didn’t really want to get ostracised by the entire class. Everyone was looking at you expectantly. First period hadn’t even started and you didn’t really want to be making enemies.
You hear an exasperated sigh, followed by a voice that was all too familiar.
“Haeun, stop trying to get people to do your homework.”
Eom Seonghyeon was now standing in front of Haeun, and you think that things might’ve gotten even stranger. The last person you expected to even try and help you out was Seonghyeon – he’d always been cold and aloof to you. A stark contrast from the way you saw him act with Keonho.
Seonghyeon had always been distant towards you — unreachable, even. You tried your best to hash out whatever issue there was between you two, but you really couldn’t even figure out what the issue was. You were Sera’s best friend, so you sort of expected to be able to get along with Seonghyeon, considering that you had much more in common with him than Sera.
You both adored books. You both adored history (perhaps a little too much). You two even liked the same type of music, according to Sera. But Seonghyeon seemed adamant on keeping his distance. Even your book recommendations didn’t help. You thought you’d nailed it with Romance of the Three Kingdoms. You were a little disappointed when he told you that it was ‘alright’ this morning.
Haeun rolls her eyes before walking back to her seat. You’re sitting there in stunned silence. Seonghyeon’s about to walk back to his desk. Keonho’s looking at you two like he’s watching the greatest K-drama that’s ever been made.
“Seonghyeon.” You say his name without thinking. Fuck, why’d I do that? you think.
And Seonghyeon’s thinking, fuck, why did I get up and tell Haeun off? Seonghyeon also finds something new that he dislikes about you right at this moment. He dislikes how his name rolls off your tongue so sweetly, like honey dripping off the comb. He doesn’t know why his breath catches in his throat because of it. It’s absurd.
“You didn’t have to do that.” you tell him.
“I kind of did. Sera told me to take care of you,” he shrugs, and you let out a small ‘oh’. The idea that it was more obligatory on Seonghyeon’s end makes you feel a little disappointed, but you’re really not surprised that Sera had asked. She was always looking out for you. “And honestly? If you do Haeun’s homework, you’re going to end up doing the entire class’ homework. Except for mine.”
You look at him, tilting your head as you ponder on what to say. “So.. do I stay away from her?” you ask about Haeun, and Seonghyeon nods in response. He’s about to turn to leave again when you suddenly speak up.
“Thanks for sticking up for me, Seonghyeon.” you reply, giving him a small smile. There it goes again, his name rolling off your tongue like it’s honey. Seonghyeon makes a small noise of acknowledgement that’s akin to a “don’t mention it” without actually saying the words.
“I get it now,” Keonho says, voice teasing when Seonghyeon slides back into his own seat, picking up his book again. “You don’t hate her. You like her.”
Keonho’s words are so insane to the point where Seonghyeon drops his book. Not even onto his desk, but onto the floor.
“What?” Seonghyeon thinks that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard in the world — so absurd that he thinks it makes him a little sick. Those three words land like an odd blow to his chest too. It contradicts everything that he’s told himself for the past ten years, and it’s honestly so ridiculous that it does make Seonghyeon question whether or not he likes you.
“You like her.” Keonho repeats.
“You’re ridiculous.” Seonghyeon retorts.
“You’re not denying it.”
“I don’t need to deny it when it’s that ridiculous. Your psychoanalysis of me is incredibly wrong.”
“Whatever you say,” Keonho says, in that sing-song voice that makes Seonghyeon want to elbow him in the side. “You know it’s true. Plato would agree.”
“You’ve never read Plato.” Seonghyeon replies, matter-of-factly.
“Whatever. The Greeks had Plato, you have me.” Another ridiculous statement from Keonho, but Seonghyeon chooses to laugh at it a little, because of the sheer absurdity. The first thing he said was also absurd, but Seonghyeon found it to be no laughing matter.
Seonghyeon’s going to ignore it. What does Ahn Keonho know about love anyways?
Who cares that he was born on Valentine’s Day, right?
So far, your first day as an 11th grader is nothing remarkable by your standards.
You don’t really click with anyone — you chat with your deskmate Leean from history about the Cold War. Actually, you’re really the one talking, and she’s taking notes about what you’re saying. She calls you a lifesaver, because apparently Mr Jung is incompetent. You don’t think any proper friendship will come out of it.
Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables in front of you, listens as you basically give an oversimplified lecture about the Cold War in the ten minutes that it takes for Mr Jung to show up to class. Seonghyeon knows that you know everything about the Cold War like the back of your hand — he does too. He makes a mental checklist in his head to make sure you’re mentioning all the things that he would’ve mentioned. You tick off every single box.
You opt to sit with Sera and Nayeon at lunch like you always do. Seonghyeon’s table, where he sits with Keonho, Martin and Juhoon is just two tables down. Usually, Seonghyeon would avoid looking in your direction. Today, it’s the opposite.
You’re talking with Sera, and you look a little less energetic than usual. You’re picking at your food — he’s never seen you do that before. You’re letting Sera and Nayeon talk much more, which is not too strange, but you’re not even interjecting with your own short remarks. You’re just picking at your food and listening. However, The Prince is next to your lunch box. Seonghyeon can tell you’re itching to open it and read it, because your fingers are tapping rhythmically against the fabric-bound cover of the book.
Seonghyeon doesn’t even realise he knew this much about your habits until now.
“Thinking about something? Or… someone?” Keonho asks with that shit-eating grin on his lips. Seonghyeon rolls his eyes and stabs his salad with a little more aggressiveness, as if to tell Keonho to not provoke him. He’s got one hand holding his book, and every now and then his eyes flick towards your table. Martin notices, and he looks in your direction too.
“Oh yeah, I heard (Name)’s in your grade now,” Martin says. Seonghyeon furrows his eyebrows – how does he know you by name? Martin never really talked to many of the younger students (he only clicked with Seonghyeon and Keonho because of the music committee). Seonghyeon also knew Martin would never join philosophy club.
“How’d you know her?”
Martin looks at Seonghyeon sheepishly, as if he was a little embarrassed. “She tutored me for ethics. For like… a month.”
“She… tutored you?” Juhoon’s stifling a laugh, and Martin is not amused. “Bro, she’s like two years younger than you!”
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and she’s the only person in our entire school probably who actually reads stuff about it. Let’s be real, I’m pretty sure she knows more than Mr Hwang about stuff like… deontological ethics. Don’t quiz me on that, by the way. I purged all of that from my memory after the test.” Martin shrugs, and Seonghyeon fails to find any reason to disagree.
Keonho nudges Seonghyeon, leaning in to ask a question. “Do we have to know deonto–”
“You don’t need to know, bud. I don’t even think you’re enrolled in ethics.”
Keonho flashes Seonghyeon a thumbs up and a wide grin before going back to scarf down his lunch.
Two tables down, Sera’s asking you questions about your first day as an 11th grader. You shrug, picking at your lunch with your fork. “It’s been alright. Nothing too fancy. Maths got harder, I will say. Science… not horrible. History was fun. Did some stuff on the Cold War. I’m hoping that maybe we could venture into something like medieval history, but I don’t know if Mr Jung is really qualified to teach that. He’s not… great.” you say, and Nayeon laughs.
“Tell me about it. He’s hopeless, honestly. We had him this morning too. You should just teach the class instead,” she quips, and you shake your head. You’ve been told that far too many times, but you fail to agree. You don’t really think you’d be the best history teacher — you find yourself going on and on and then venturing into areas of history that aren’t remotely relevant to the topic at hand. “But what about everything else? Made any new friends?”
“Eh,” you reply. Your tone is dull, because your entire day has been underwhelming. Your first day’s been shaping up to be academically mediocre and socially lonely. At least in 10th grade it would be academically easy and socially vibrant — you’d have Sera and Nayeon to talk and joke around with. “I talked to Leean. Or well, I lectured Leean about the Cold War. And someone named Haeun tried to get me to do her homework for her before Seonghyeon stepped in.”
Sera’s pleasantly surprised at the mention of her brother. “Seonghyeon stepped in?”
“Yeah,” you say, taking a bite of your food. “Told her to go away. Nice of him.”
You don’t have much to say about Seonghyeon. You never do, because he never really gives you anything to talk about, even if you see him every single day at school and after school. You’d think that after being friends with his sister for ten years, you’d be close with him already. But Seonghyeon seems to want to avoid you like the plague, and you’ve got no idea what you’ve done to cause him to have such an aversion towards you. Him interjecting into your conversation with Haeun was utterly shocking — perhaps it’s why it’s stayed in your mind all day.
And you wouldn’t lie. Perhaps you had been harbouring a small crush on Seonghyeon ever since… forever. When you first became friends with Sera and headed over to the Eoms’ house, you’d always try and see what he was up to. You’d often find his nose in some history book, completely engrossed in it as if he was in his own little world. You’d actually started getting into history because of how interested Seonghyeon seemed in it. Perhaps he’d talk to you after you two had something in common.
But then you realised how much you loved it too. You spent all your lunch breaks reading about historical events, figures, everything — while the other kids played in the playground, you kept your nose buried in a book just like Seonghyeon. When you started middle school, it was apparent to everyone that you’d be dux by the time 12th grade rolled around.
Much to your disappointment, after you’d started reading more about the things that Seonghyeon liked as well, he only seemed to move further away. You tried to start conversations about historical topics that you knew he enjoyed, and he’d only give you a short response or a nod, before saying that he had homework to do and retreating into his room.
Frankly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. Perhaps to Eom Seonghyeon, all you’d ever be was his little sister’s annoying best friend. Nothing more.
You look at Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables down from you. The shitty cafeteria lighting is somehow making him look like a fucking Greek god.
The light hits just right on certain parts of his hair to emphasise his blond highlights. He’s laughing at some random joke that Juhoon just made, and the way laughter bubbles past his lips is so beautiful, it makes your stomach flip. He comes up with some retort that makes the table erupt in laughter. Your best friend’s brother is smart, funny and beautiful. He’s perfect, but he hates you.
Seonghyeon’s eyes wander around the cafeteria before they land on you. There’s a look in his eye. Soft, unrecognisable, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Maybe he doesn’t hate you.
But then his entire body stiffens, and the smile on his lips disappears. He coughs, and then looks away. You let out a dejected sigh before you tear your gaze away from him. That small glimmer of hope dissipates.
Eom Seonghyeon probably still hates you.
It’s been a week since you started 11th grade, and you think you’re getting more used to it now.
Leean actually makes for great company, and she ends up being the person you speak the most to in class. Through Leean, you’ve also befriended a girl named Hayoung. Keonho sometimes makes conversation with you when he’s here, but you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to psychoanalyse you or figure out your feelings for Seonghyeon.
And as for Seonghyeon, things are just about the same. He still gives you short and clipped responses, he barely speaks to you in class, and when he sees you after school, he simply glances at you and makes a noise of acknowledgement before heading back to his room. You thought maybe being in the same grade would bring you two closer together. You were incredibly wrong.
English is your last class of the day, and you’re more than ready to go home. You’re craving for a much-needed afternoon nap in your bed before you head to Sera’s house to do your homework. You don’t think you’ve done much schoolwork in your actual house, now that you think about it – you just seem to work better at the Eoms’ house.
“Looks like Keonho’s not here. We’ll need to put you in a pair with someone else, Seonghyeon,” Ms Kim says as she scans the register. Seonghyeon nods – he knew Keonho had a swim meet today. Seonghyeon just prays to God that he won’t get a partner that’s not going to do any work for this class. He knows today's lesson is about poetry analysis, according to the Google Classroom. He’s not excited.
You’re sitting alone again because Leean’s sick, and Ms Kim’s eyes land on you. You’re already highlighting a line in the poem that you found particularly intriguing, and you’re mid-grab for a sticky note when Ms Kim calls your name out.
“(Name), could you go work with Seonghyeon for this? It’s a paired exercise.” Ms Kim says. You suddenly sit up straight, stiffening as you look at her. You then look at Seonghyeon, and he’s looking down at the poem. Anywhere but you, of course. It’s like another blow to your heart. He won’t even look at you.
Seonghyeon’s hiding his face, because if anyone saw his expression right now – eyes blown wide in alarm, jaw slack and panic settling into his lungs – they’d think something was incredibly wrong. But firstly, Seonghyeon doesn’t really want to work with you, because he’s sure he dislikes you. You’re going to be making him feel stupid for the next 45 minutes.
Secondly, Keonho’s words from a couple of weeks ago are still in the back of his mind, and he absolutely despises it. Seonghyeon oscillates between his own thoughts of what he assumes to be dislike towards you, and thoughts of Keonho’s claims stating that he actually likes you.
However, he knows that he’s going to have to do it – Ms Kim is strict, and Seonghyeon thinks that 45 minutes can’t be that bad. You weren’t mean to him anyways. Seonghyeon just had to try and suppress those feelings of frustration that always bubbled up when it came to you.
“Oh, um… it’s okay,” you say quietly, and Ms Kim raises an eyebrow at your words.
“It’s okay as in… you’re going to go, or you’re not?”
“Just come.” Seonghyeon says, patting the empty seat next to him.
His eyes haven’t left the poem, and he’s highlighting with a bright yellow marker. Still not looking at you, always keeping a distance. Your heart is beating too fast. You hesitantly get up from your seat and walk towards Seonghyeon’s table, and even sitting down feels risky.
“I don’t bite.” Seonghyeon pipes up, almost reading your mind. He’s still not looking at you.
Well, you kind of hate me, you think. “No, I know. Um…” you trail off. You shake your head, and you think it’s best if you focus on the poem. You’re now the one that doesn’t dare to look at Seonghyeon, and you miss the way he’s looking at you somewhat expectantly, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “Never mind. Let’s just focus.”
You and Seonghyeon work surprisingly well together. You’re bouncing ideas off of one another like you’ve done it a million times before.
His analysis of the poem is incredibly insightful, like you expected. Seonghyeon’s always been brilliantly clever. He’s seeing these tiny, miniscule nuances and implications in the text that you don’t think you’d ever be able to notice.
He points out a line that he finds intriguing with his finger. You’re too engrossed in the commentary you’re making about a separate line on a sticky note, and instead of waiting (why would he?) he reaches over to grab an blank sticky note so he can write down his own thoughts.
The action brings Seonghyeon impossibly close to you. He’s never been this close before, and you can smell the lavender and birch from his cologne. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pause writing momentarily. Seonghyeon pretends not to notice.
You clear your throat and you get back to writing. Neither of you speak about it.
Seonghyeon twirls his pen in his hands as he watches you finish what you’ve been writing. Your handwriting is impossibly gorgeous, with letters that look too neat to the point where someone could say that it was typed. You stick your commentary next to the line that you’ve highlighted in purple.
“Why’d you use purple instead of yellow here?” Seonghyeon asks, pointing at one line.
“It’s the hinge of the poem,” you explain. “It’s the only line in the poem that’s short – it’s two words, after all. And then you realise that the rest of the poem is about the poet talking about the beauty of looking at their partner.”
As you explain your interpretation of the line, Seonghyeon realises that your voice isn’t as small as it was that morning when Haeun had basically asked you to do your homework. You sound confident and assured – you always have, when speaking to him. He’s looking at the poem and nodding along to what you’re saying. He thinks you’re right – of course you would be, he’s never doubted your intellect – but for the first time Seonghyeon’s not compelled to roll his eyes at your tangents.
“I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world,” you say, reading out the line. Seonghyeon’s eyes snap up to look at you, even though he knows that line’s in the poem. It’s also the one you’ve been talking about for the last two minutes.
But there’s something about the way you’ve said the words, or perhaps maybe the way Seonghyeon’s interpreted the manner of your speech. You say it with a breezy cadence, not stating it with any intention or deliberation. It’s a line from the poem, after all – but for some reason, the words strike Seonghyeon's chest. It makes his heart twinge in the strangest possible way.
“Yeah,” Seonghyeon breathes out. He shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind. “And then he mentions the Polish Rider right after. Perhaps he’s saying that painting is the only one comparable to his lover’s beauty?”
Your eyes light up at his words. “That’s brilliant — write that down.”
Seonghyeon doesn’t know why that weird twinge in his chest returns when he sees that look in your eyes. He nods, scribbling that thought out onto a sticky note before pressing it down next to the line that you’d highlighted for him.
He looks at the paper — there’s annotations and highlighting on practically every page. Your effortlessly gorgeous handwriting in blue dances across the page and mixes with his slightly italicised handwriting in black. He reads every single annotation that you’ve put down on the paper, nodding along as he begins to understand your interpretation of each line. Your analysis and interpretation is brilliant, and Seonghyeon makes a mental note to actually learn a little bit from you.
He also realises that for the first time in years, he hasn’t had to do most of the work in English. You two work together seamlessly, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s worked on a better literary analysis than this in a long time.
“We did a good job,” he says, nodding approvingly. He puts his pen back into his pencil case before smoothing down the sticky notes on the page. “Ms Kim’s going to be really happy.”
“You think?” you ask. You’ve never been taught by Ms Kim before, and you knew that she was notorious for being strict. English had always been one of your favourite subjects, but you knew that it got harder in 11th grade. It was a step up from anything that you’d had to do before, and you certainly didn’t expect this level of intensity early on in the year.
“I know,” Seonghyeon says with assertiveness. “Don’t worry. You’re good at English. The class won’t be too difficult for you.”
He’s still giving you these shorter, clipped responses, but you notice how his tone lacks that sort of iciness that you were accustomed to. It still doesn’t have that sort of melodic warmth that is evident when he speaks to his friends, however, you enjoy the slight change. It’s nice and gives you just enough hope that he doesn’t despise you as much as you think he does.
“Thanks,” you reply. You give him a soft smile. The corner of his lips quirk up just enough that you take it as a return of your gesture. He then refocuses his attention to the poem, reading it from start to finish once again.
The end of the poem sticks out to Seonghyeon.
it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it
It’s printed on the page with no capital letters, no punctuation in between, and there’s no period at the end. It reads like a tangent, breathless and a little rushed, but it’s ever so romantic. The words leave an enduring mark in Seonghyeon’s mind. He wonders if this sort of love — breathtaking, all-consuming and fervent — is even attainable.
As these thoughts run rampant in his mind, there’s a strange, compelling urge for him to divert his eyes to you. Seonghyeon listens to that urge.
That twinge in his heart returns. Maybe he’s just having casual heart palpitations at the young age of 16. That conclusion is completely illogical, but for the first time ever, Seonghyeon wants to believe in something that doesn’t make sense.
His thoughts, the weird twinge, the ambivalent feelings he’s having towards you... Seonghyeon’s not going to tell you about it.
The route to the Eoms’ place is something you know like the back of your hand.
You’ve changed out of your uniform, opting for a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Your books, laptop and pens are in your bag, and you’ve brought a tub of acai that your mom had bought a couple days ago from the supermarket. Sera had been talking about how much she was craving it at lunch, and you figured that since you hadn’t opened the tub yet, you might as well share. You weren’t going to finish all of it anyways.
You knock on the Eoms’ door, tapping your foot on the concrete as you wait for someone to open it. The door swings open, and it’s Seonghyeon who answers the door this time. He looks a little stunned to see you at his doorstep, but he quickly recovers. He’s no longer in his uniform too, and he’s got a striped t-shirt and dark-washed jeans on.
The blond highlights frame his face a little too well, with a few strands falling just in front of his face. You muster up a smile at him so that you’re doing something to acknowledge his presence rather than just gawking at how perfect he looks.
“Hey,” he replies, opening the door a little wider to let you in. “Sera’s asleep. I’ll go wake her up.”
You kick your shoes off and place them neatly on the shoe rack while Seonghyeon closes the door. “Oh, it’s okay. I just woke up from a nap too,” you say, waving him off. “She can come study with me once she wakes up. ”
Seonghyeon nods at your words. He hopes that you didn’t notice how he quite literally seemed to short-circuit when he saw you at the door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you, but he’d really never been the one to greet you first; it was always Sera.
He’s about to head back into his room until he sees you pull a cooling bag out of your already overstuffed tote bag. He’s eyeing you with a certain sense of intrigue, and he plans to stay silent until you pull out a tub of something that looks like ice cream.
“Did you bring ice cream? We have like, three tubs in the freezer already.” he pipes up, and you turn to look at him.
“It’s not ice cream,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s acai. My mom bought it a couple of days ago from the supermarket, and Sera was talking about how she wanted acai at lunch, so I figured I’d bring it over. I’m not going to finish this anyways, and my parents don’t like acai, so…”
“Oh, I see,” he says. Seonghyeon’s trying to hide his excitement over the fact that you’d brought acai. He doesn’t think you know how much he loves the stuff, but god, it’s taking everything in him right now to quite literally not devour the entire tub before Sera wakes up. “Thanks for that.”
“Do you want some? I can just put it in the freezer later so it doesn’t turn into melted soup before Sera wakes up.” Your offer is exactly what Seonghyeon wants to hear right now, and he nods in response.
“Yeah. I’d love some, actually. I haven’t really eaten.” he says, and you nod, opening the tub of acai. He heads towards the kitchen to grab two bowls, two spoons and an ice cream scooper, rinsing them with water before setting them on the table in front of you.
“Do you want toppings, or anything?” he asks, opening the fridge. “We’ve got strawberries. And there’s cornflakes in the pantry if you want to put them on top of it, or something.”
“No, it’s okay,” he hears you say. You’re busy scooping the acai out into a bowl, and you give Seonghyeon a generous amount considering that he told you he hadn’t eaten much. Seonghyeon takes out the strawberries and cornflakes for himself anyways. “Thanks for asking, though.”
He returns to the table, sitting down on the chair next to you. You realise he’s never done that before, and you try and ignore how your stomach does a flip as you wrestle with the ice cream scoop to get more of the acai out of the tub.
You push a bowl towards him. “Here, take this one. If you want more, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” he replies. He opens the box of strawberries, placing them on top of the acai in a deliberate, artistic manner like he’s a staff member at the most popular shop in the city. He sprinkles just the right amount of cornflakes on top of it, and when you peer over to look at his bowl, it genuinely looks like something you would’ve bought at the store.
“You’ve decorated it nicely,” you hum, and Seonghyeon’s eyes flick over to you.
“Hmm?” he looks back down at his bowl. “Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks.”
You put the lid back on the acai tub, placing it in the freezer next to the three different ice creams that they’ve got in there. There’s mint chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla – the vanilla one has a sticky note on top of the lid that’s got Seonghyeon’s name scrawled on it in big, bold capital letters along with three exclamation marks. You smile to yourself at the sight.
You sit back down next to him, pulling out your math notebook from your bag before taking a bite of the acai. Seonghyeon sits there awkwardly, observing you as he takes another bite of his acai.
He realises that he doesn’t exactly know how to act around you, after being cold and distant for ten years. English today made him realise that he didn’t really mind you that much. You were nice to work with as a study partner, you two got the work done in half the time it took everyone else to, and Ms Kim had said it was ‘the best analysis she’s read by 11th graders.’
“So…” he starts, scooping up more acai with his spoon and taking a bite. “How’s the first week been?”
You’re surprised that Seonghyeon is making small talk with you. Eom Seonghyeon. Your best friend’s older brother who has been avoiding you for ten years like his life depends on it. You’re so stunned to the point where you momentarily forget to answer his question until you snap out of it.
“Oh, um… it’s been chill,” you reply, shrugging. “It’s not great, not horrible.”
Seonghyeon nods. “You’ll get used to our class. It’s just the first week,” he hums, taking another bite of the acai. You can hear the cornflakes crunch as he chews. “They’re all mostly nice people. I know you’ve been getting close to Leean and Hayoung.”
He noticed. You thought Eom Seonghyeon wouldn’t even spare a glance at your direction. You nod, unsure of what to say. This time you’re the one giving shorter, clipped answers, and Seonghyeon’s actually talking to you more. His voice isn’t as monotonous as it used to be, it’s even a little warmer than it was in English, and you think – hope – the change in tone is signaling a change of heart. Regardless, today’s been incredibly confusing.
There’s an awkward silence that falls between the two of you amidst bites of acai. You don’t know how to make conversation with him anymore – should you bring up history? Math? Science? You just want to talk to him.
Seonghyeon’s almost finished, and you’ve barely gotten halfway. He clears his throat as if it’s a signal that he’ll be heading back to his room now, and you just get the sudden urge to say something so that maybe you’ll be able to talk to him for just a little longer.
“Is the acai good?” you ask, and Seonghyeon nods.
“Yeah, it’s really good. If you could, ask your mom where she bought it. Sera and I like the stuff a lot, so… would be good to have some at home all the time.” he says, getting up. He’s holding his now-empty bowl in one hand as he scratches the nape of his neck with the other. His eyes dart around the room, as if he’s unsure where to look. Seonghyeon thinks this might be the longest conversation he’s ever had with you, apart from in English today.
You learn a new fact about Eom Seonghyeon today. He likes acai. You keep that fact safely tucked in the back of your mind. “Sure,” you reply. “It’s good to know that you — you guys — like it.”
The quick correction of your words doesn’t go unnoticed by Seonghyeon, but he chooses not to say anything about it. Instead, he gives you a small smile, one that’s a little more obvious than the one he gave you in class. Your heart does a somersault.
Seonghyeon washes his bowl in the sink before he walks back to his room, and you’re left reeling from the interaction. You don’t even know if he said goodbye – that’s how out of it you were. Your acai’s starting to melt, and you only jolt out of it when you hear Sera loudly announce her arrival and give you the tightest hug ever for bringing acai.
And as you complete the worksheet Ms Seo had given to you today about integration, you still can’t get Seonghyeon out of your mind.
Three weeks pass, and you and Seonghyeon fall into a strange sort of rhythm.
He’s not as distant as he used to be, but he still keeps you at an arm’s length. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement when you pass by him in the hallways rather than ignoring you, accompanied by the faintest hint of a polite smile – even when Keonho’s blabbing his ear off about how ridiculous his swimming coach is.
But then there’s also this strange sort of dynamic where you two are competing for the top of the class. Every now and then, you pull ahead after a quiz, but a week later Seonghyeon would snatch the top spot by just the slightest margin. You don’t pay too much attention to who’s leading – you just want to do your best, but it adds an extra awkward element to whatever you’ve got going on with Seonghyeon.
Sometimes he’s a little colder, especially when there’s an upcoming test. You knew that Seonghyeon was competitive. You notice how his jaw tightens ever so slightly when Leean makes some off-hand comment about how Seonghyeon used to be the top of the class. Past tense.
The math topic test is coming up next week, and you genuinely would rather gouge your eyes out than to try and solve another equation. You were a humanities student – maths and science never came easy to you, but you managed to get good grades purely out of sheer effort rather than natural intellect.
But 11th grade math might actually kill you. You’re sitting at the Eoms’ dinner table, eyebrows knitted together in frustration as you try to figure out what went wrong in the last integration problem you’d solved. Your handwriting is neat and legible across the page, but there’s so many different answers that you’ve started and ditched to the point where it looks almost like a warzone by your standards.
“I don’t get it,” you groan, and Sera’s so taken aback by your words to the point where she drops her pen. You? Not understanding something? That was completely unheard of. “The math in 11th grade is so difficult. Or maybe I’m just not doing it right – no, scratch that, I’m definitely not doing it right – but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”
Sera peers at your paper, and her face contorts into one of confusion. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you and Seonghyeon are doing this. I'm dreading next year already.”
Seonghyeon somehow miraculously appears at the sound of his name. He bounds down the corridor holding his empty mug, smoothing down the creases in his hoodie as he heads towards the kitchen to refill his cup.
He looks over at you and Sera as he pours more water into his mug. He spots you with your head in your hands, shaking your head. “Um…” Seonghyeon looks at Sera – he’s never seen you this distraught over academics before. He assumed that everything was a complete breeze for you, considering your intellect.
“Maths. It’s killing her too.” Sera whispers, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows.
It’s like his body moves before he can think. He sets his mug down on the table, sitting down on one of the empty chairs. And then without thinking, he says: “Can I see the question?”
It’s too late, and Seonghyeon wants to slap his hand over his mouth. Why would he say that? He’s technically competing with you for the top spot in the class, and also, he thinks that he still doesn’t like you very much. The latter was slightly debatable after spending a whole month in the same class with you, but still – Seonghyeon had no idea why he said that.
You slide the paper towards him, hands still covering your face. You were so tired and you quite simply never wanted to see a question about integration ever again. Also, you didn’t really want Seonghyeon to see your embarrassing work. His eyes scan the paper and your working, trying to figure out what you’d done wrong.
“Oh, I see,” he pipes up. He taps your shoulder ever so gently, and you’d be lying if you said that his touch didn’t linger. “There’s a concept here that you didn’t apply – that’s why you don’t get it. I’m pretty sure we learnt it last year, but… you skipped a grade, so you never learnt it.”
He gestures towards the blue pen next to you. “May I?”
You nod, handing him the pen wordlessly. Seonghyeon writes down the working and the answer on a blank piece of refill paper, and an explanation of the concept that you didn’t learn. He hands the pen, the worksheet and the explanation back to you.
“Here,” he says. He still doesn’t know why he’s helping you. “Ask me if you have any other questions.”
Fuck, he thinks. He’s speaking before he thinks again. He tries to hide a grimace before he gets up from the chair, ready to head back to his room to finish his book. He glances at Sera, who’s looking at him like she doesn’t recognise him.
“When were you two chill?” she mouths at him, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. He wants to know the answer to that question too. Were you and him chill, per se?
He still had that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw you, he still disliked how you always were able to seamlessly challenge him in everything, and seeing you all the time did not help out at all. That wouldn’t necessarily describe chill.
But then again, Seonghyeon sometimes works with you in English, and that tension between you two seems to dissipate. And now, he’s helping you with the very same math worksheet that he had complained about to Martin mere hours ago. So maybe… you were chill.
You’re reading Seonghyeon’s explanation of the problem, and it all makes so much more sense now. He’s written the steps so clearly you think a child could understand it, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Oh,” you say, and Seonghyeon notices the excitement in your voice, how your eyes light up and how the corners of your lips pull upwards into a smile. “I get it now! Thanks, Seonghyeon.”
He nods, gulping when you say his name. Your voice is smooth and mellifluous – Seonghyeon thinks he’s going insane. His thoughts about you contradict every other second. Seonghyeon thinks he dislikes you, but then you manage to captivate him in a way that he just quite can’t explain. Something inside him compels him to look out for you, care for you – why?
“All good,” he chokes out. Sera looks at him with confusion plastered all over her face. Seonghyeon grabs his mug from the table, and turns around curtly to head back to his room. He closes the door and locks it. Then, Seonghyeon lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know that he was holding back in the first place.
He’s so confused. He’s convinced himself that he doesn’t like you, but then his body, his words, his actions – all of it betrays his mind. He wasn’t this unsure and hesitant of his feelings when he was avoiding you like the plague, so should he start doing that again?
But then he hears you laugh, and Seonghyeon knows that he can’t stay away. He hates himself for immediately thinking that it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard. He knows you’re probably at some joke that Sera made — he just hopes it’s not at his expense — and that strange twinge in his heart that he’d dismissed as early onset heart palpitations returns.
“Whatever,” Seonghyeon grumbles, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care that much. He grabs the first book he sees lying on his desk before settling into bed. He checks the cover before he starts reading, and of course it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It’s like the universe is either giving him a sign, or playing some sick prank that’s making Seonghyeon lose his damn mind.
There are glaring reminders of you everywhere. From you quite literally being outside, to the book that he’s holding in his hands right now.
So, like always – Seonghyeon pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, and tries to lose himself in the book.
Nobody likes exam week.
Everyone’s stressed and running on four hours of sleep. The cafe line is packed, with students drinking an ungodly amount of caffeine to even be able to function.
11th grade is taking a far bigger toll on you than you expected, or maybe it’s just because you feel like you really need to impress in the first round of exams this year. Sera tries to convince you to watch a movie with her just to take a break one Tuesday evening, but you reject her suggestion and opt to do another chemistry worksheet. You think the periodic table is going to be burned into your brain by the end of the week.
The cafeteria is much quieter than usual, with most students deciding to study. Seonghyeon’s tapping his foot on the cafeteria floor as he tries to write a practice essay for English. He writes two or three sentences, takes a bite of his food, and then picks up his pen to start writing again. It’s a cycle that lasts for most of lunch.
His eyes scan the cafeteria when he’s giving his hand a break from writing too much. The muscle of his hand hurts, and he winces a little as he massages it to try and ease the pain. He spots you two tables down. Sera’s talking to you, and you’re nodding at her words as you write.
Seonghyeon notices how you’re tapping on the cover of the book that he’s seen you carry around all week – Plato’s Symposium. The sheer presence of the book reminds him that you’re just that well-read for your age, but this time, Seonghyeon doesn’t grit his teeth in frustration when he sees it.
Maybe his feelings towards you have changed, he thinks. The two of you talk much more now after he helped you with math, and he notices that you’re actually comfortable with him. You always have been, but you seem to be a little bit more upfront with it now – perhaps it’s because you two actually have an excuse to talk because of school, but Seonghyeon finds that he actually likes speaking to you.
You're a great conversationalist, and you're somehow able to make even the most boring topics interesting. Seonghyeon has never enjoyed ethics class, but hearing you talk about morality in a class last week might've been one of the most interesting things he's ever heard.
Sometimes he’ll even be the one to start a conversation with you. Never in a million years would he have thought that would happen.
But Seonghyeon notices how your fingers are drumming on the cover quickly in a nervous manner, and your eyebrows are knitted together tightly. Your shoulders are tense, and he thinks you haven’t breathed in the last fifty seconds. He knows what you look like when you’re concentrating. But this was something different.
You were anxious.
When you were concentrating, your eyes would never leave the paper. Your eyebrows would still be furrowed, but not knitted together this tightly. Your shoulders were also never this tense, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you fidget this nervously before.
He sees Sera say something to you before getting up, and he notices that you don’t really seem to register it – you just nod, but it’s in an absentminded manner. His eyes quickly flick back to his own paper when he sees that Sera’s walking up to him, and he would rather die than get caught staring at you by his own sister.
“Hey, Hyeon,” Sera says, sitting down next to him. “Could you tell Mom that I’ll be home a little late today? The art committee is having a meeting today after school and Yeseo was saying that we’ve got a lot to go through.”
“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “How late will you be? Do you need her to pick you up?”
Sera shakes her head no. “I’ll probably be at home just before dinner. And it's fine – I’m gonna take the bus. I think (Name)’s still going to come over to study though. She says she focuses better at our place,” her eyes flick towards you, and you’re writing at an alarming pace. “Exam season’s not treating her well.”
“Is she okay?” Seonghyeon asks. There’s a flash of surprise on Sera’s face – she didn’t expect Seonghyeon to ask. She knew that he wasn’t as distant as he used to be, but she also didn’t think that Seonghyeon would notice how stressed you were.
“I mean, not that I care that much.” Those words make Sera look at him with an even stranger look on her face. “No, not like that. I’m just saying… tapping on that book that quickly is sure to shake a window nearby, or something,” he stammers. “And she just looks really tense. You should probably check up on her.”
Sera eyes him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart towards the first thing that isn’t her. They settle on Keonho’s lunch. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna go do that. Or… you could. After school today.”
Her voice is insinuating in that one way that Seonghyeon doesn’t particularly like. If they were at home right now, he knew that she was going to prod him for answers about how he feels about you. But with Martin, Juhoon and Keonho around, she knew better. Thank god for that.
“Sure,” he says breezily – as if he’s not internally freaking out over the way Sera’s looking at him like she just knows his deepest secret. “Thanks for taking care of my best friend.” Seonghyeon doesn’t like the amount of emphasis she puts on the fact that you’re her best friend. He’s well aware of that. Far too aware.
Sera walks away, and Seonghyeon lets out a small sigh of relief. Keonho notices, and he’s about to say something before Seonghyeon stops him by holding his hand out.
“Not a word.” Seonghyeon says, and Keonho obliges, but that teasing smirk doesn’t leave his lips.
When he’s home, it actually hits him that you’ll be coming over. He’s never had one-on-one time with you in his own house. It’s always been you, Sera and him. He jumps out of his bed, rummaging through his closet to find a better outfit to wear – he’s already felt enough embarrassment today after making it obvious to Sera that he was worried about you.
The least he could do was look somewhat presentable and change out of his pyjamas. He opts for a band tee and changes into a clean pair of sweats. As he’s pulling his shirt on, Seonghyeon realises that he’s trying to impress you. The realisation really sinks in when he’s looking at his reflection in the mirror, tucking in his shirt in just the right way. He gives himself an approving nod when he thinks that he looks half-decent before walking out into the living room, his cheeks tinted pink already from that realisation.
He pours two cups of water, one for him, one for you, and sets it on the table. He makes sure to take out the mug that you always use whenever you come over – it’s pink, with doodles of cherry blossoms on it. He pulls his notebook and laptop out of his bag, placing it on his side of the table. Just then, he hears the doorbell ring.
Seonghyeon heads to the door a little too quickly.
He opens it, and there you are – Seonghyeon swears that those heart palpitations return just at the sight of you.
You give him a bright smile, waving with your free hand. The other is holding a new book – Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil.
“You finished Symposium?” he asks, and you’re stunned at his words. You never told Seonghyeon that you were reading it. “You’ve been carrying it around all week,” he quickly adds. “Was it good?”
“Yeah, it was,” you stammer. You didn’t know that Seonghyeon actually paid attention to you like that. “Have you read it?”
“No, not yet,” he says, gesturing for you to come on in. “Should I?”
“I think so,” you chuckle. “It’s one of my favourite books, actually. That was actually a reread. It’s a short one too, so you can get it finished quickly. Exam week’s just cut into a lot of my reading time, so I picked a shorter one.”
You put your bag down next to one of the chairs on the Eoms’ dining table, taking out your notebooks, laptop and pencil case. You notice how Seonghyeon’s seemingly filled the cup that you always use when you’re at his house with water.
“Thanks for the water, by the way.” you beam, sliding into the chair. Seonghyeon sits down next to you, opening up his laptop.
“Don’t worry,” he replies. “We’ve got soda in the fridge if you want some. And there’s tea. You know which cabinet it’s in.” The Eoms’ house is practically your second home, considering how often you’re there. You think you’ve spent more time at their house than your own, oddly.
You thank him, taking a sip from the mug. The two of you make casual conversation as you both do your work – it’s remarkable how the two of you can still stay focused even while talking.
You find that studying with Seonghyeon is comfortable. You’ve never really hung out with him alone, with the exception of working together in class. Whenever you’re at his house, Sera’s usually always there too. For someone who you thought had hated you for the longest time, getting along with Seonghyeon is unexpectedly easy, and you really enjoy his company.
However, it really doesn’t help when it comes to the crush you have on him. The more you speak to him, the harder you fall. It’s hopeless, but you can only pray that you’re hiding it well enough from both him and Sera.
“I really hope Ms Kim’s nice enough to give us a good poem for the unfamiliar text paper,” you groan, highlighting a line in the poem that you’re analysing. “I looked at all the past papers that she gave the last year group – one of them was straight up evil.”
“They’re all evil,” Seonghyeon sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly, the play that she gave us two days ago to analyse might’ve been worse. At least we can mention more language techniques in poems.”
“True, but then I just feel like I’m rambling,” You’re quickly writing a note next to the line that you’ve highlighted so you remember what you want to mention in the essay. “Hopefully she won’t be so mean to give us something horribly difficult for the actual exam. We only have 45 minutes for each unfamiliar text, for god's sake.”
“I don’t think she’s given us anything easy for weeks,” Seonghyeon sighs. “Maybe it’s good that we’re getting challenged before the exams? Like… she’s preparing us for harder content so maybe the exam will seem easier because we’ve already gone through hell.”
“Hopefully,” you chuckle. “I do remember one poem that I really liked though. The one she gave us in the first week that we had to work on together?” you hum, highlighting another line in the poem that you’re working on. “The one where he mentioned The Polish Rider.”
“I liked that poem too,” Seonghyeon smiles. “Especially the last stanza – and the last line, actually. I thought it was really simple but also really romantic.”
“Yeah, definitely!” you say, putting down your highlighter as you nod in agreement. “I also really liked that he mentioned The Polish Rider. I love Rembrandt’s paintings. They’re all so lifelike – we’ve got this visual arts assessment coming up, so I think I might do a commentary on a painting of his. I was thinking maybe I’d do the painting he did of Aristotle, kind of merge two of my interests into one.”
“Sorry, I just realised I went off track from what we were originally talking about.” you chuckle.
“No, it’s okay. What do you like about the painting? Like the Aristotle one.” Seonghyeon genuinely seems interested in what you have to say – perhaps you never noticed it before, but you think this may be a first.
As you go on about what you like about the painting, Seonghyeon takes in every single word. From the way you’re talking about the thick paint that Rembrandt always used, the colours that he’s chosen, how Rembrandt’s depicted Aristotle’s eyes — he listens to every bit you say intently, burning it into his brain.
He also doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up in excitement, the way your hands are gesturing to describe it all, and how the corners of your lips turn upwards ever so slightly when you’re talking about something you’re so passionately interested in. It’s awfully endearing, and Seonghyeon’s heart skips a beat.
He then realises that he hasn’t even seen the painting. He types the title into his search engine — Aristotle with a Bust of Homer — and it pops up on his screen. It’s exactly as you described it, just based on your memory. The thick paint highlighting the brushstrokes. The dark colours of the painting. How Aristotle’s eyes are concealed by deliberate shadows that you’ve interpreted as him being lost in thought.
“Yeah, that one!” you say excitedly, pointing at the screen. “Isn’t it great? Now you get why the poet and I are so keen on Rembrandt’s work.”
“It is great,” Seonghyeon says. He’s more so impressed by how amazingly well you’ve remembered the painting and how eloquently you’ve described and analysed it. Dare he say, it may be more impressive than the painting itself — but Seonghyeon was biased. “Have you ever seen it in person?”
“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “I do want to, though. But it’s all the way at The Met, and I’m really not planning to go to New York any time soon.”
He clicks off the painting, typing up Rembrandt’s name instead. The first link — a paid ad, which Seonghyeon usually hates — is a link to an art gallery.
“There’s going to be an exhibition of his work in here in a few weeks,” Seonghyeon pipes up. “You might wanna go.”
Your eyes snap towards his screen, and when you see the details of the exhibition, your eyes light up. “Oh my god. What a crazy coincidence – I have to get tickets,”
“You should come!” you blurt out. Seonghyeon looks at you, surprise evident on his features. “If you’re interested in this kind of stuff. I don’t think you take visual arts, but Rembrandt’s work is really, really nice.” you add hastily, to not make things awkward. It’s definitely not because you want to talk to him more and that you enjoy his company far too much.
Seonghyeon lets your invitation hang in the air as he processes your words. Seonghyeon’s never been one to wander around art galleries willingly – he was far more fond of history museums, and could spend all day in them.
But Seonghyeon finds that he wants to go to this art gallery. With you.
“I’ll come,” he says, and the excited smile on your lips makes him all the more certain of his decision. “It sounds like fun.”
“It will be! I hope you don’t mind me rambling about the paintings, though. I’ll try and shut up about it.”
“No, it’s fine,” Seonghyeon says, giving you a soft smile. “I like hearing you talk.”
He wants to slap himself across the face for letting those words slip. He can see your stunned expression, and all he can do right now is hope he hasn’t freaked you out with his words. His cheeks heat up out of sheer embarrassment.
Should he say something like ‘because you talk about really interesting things’, or ‘you’re a great storyteller’? Seonghyeon doesn’t know if he should add anything to alleviate the awkwardness and tension that his words had just inadvertently created. Gosh, think before you speak, he thinks.
“Oh,” you stammer out before he can say anything new. Your cheeks are heating up at his words. “That’s kind of you.” You give him a soft smile as well, unsure of what to say next.
Seonghyeon realises that he wants you to smile at him like this forever. It’s also then when he realises that he definitely doesn’t hate you at all. Nobody would feel butterflies in their stomach and a blooming warmth across the chest when they see their archnemesis smile. And after studying with you today, he doesn’t really think he even cares about being the top of the class anymore.
Seonghyeon realises that logic needs to take precedence now. What he’s feeling is most definitely not early onset heart palpitations. He should never have believed in something so incredibly unrealistic and illogical.
Fuck, he thinks. He might actually like you.
Seonghyeon gets a violently sick feeling when he sees Sung Minjun walk up to your desk.
His jaw immediately tightens, eyes widening in the slightest hint of alarm. Sung Minjun is bad news, and everyone in the grade knows it. But you’re new to the year, and you haven’t been told about his reputation for messing with people’s feelings.
“Hey, (Name).” Minjun’s voice is sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Seonghyeon want to throw up. It’s never been more obvious that this sweet guy act is just a facade of his. You’re definitely unaware of his reputation, and you simply smile at him.
“Hi, Minjun. What’s up?” you ask.
“I was just wondering if you were free this afternoon? I’ve got two tickets to this amusement park, and I wanted to go with someone who I find pretty cool,” he says, and Seonghyeon rolls his eyes at Minjun's feigned shyness. “Would you wanna come?”
“Oh,” your voice is hesitant. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got plans.”
Minjun pouts, and Seonghyeon examines your face for any sort of reaction. He swears that he sees your eyebrow twitch in just the slightest way.
“Really?” Minjun asks, disbelief evident in his tone. “Come on, they can’t be that important. And the amusement park is fun — it’s one afternoon.”
You nod, sure of your decision. “I’m good, really. Thank you though.” Seonghyeon fails to hide the smile on his lips.
“What’s got you so giddy?” Keonho asks, nudging Seonghyeon gently with his elbow.
“Oh, nothing,” Seonghyeon replies breezily, eyes still fixated on your conversation with Minjun. Keonho’s eyes follow in the direction Seonghyeon’s looking at, and when his eyes land on you, he lets out a knowing ‘ah’.
“Admiring your girl?” Keonho quips, and Seonghyeon takes in a sharp breath.
“Not my girl,” Seonghyeon mutters.
“Yeah, definitely not your girl if you don’t make a move soon. Look at Minjun.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon groans. Minjun’s giving you that awfully fake smile, leaning in closer to perhaps make you try and feel something for him just because of proximity. Seonghyeon just hopes for your sake, Minjun didn’t spray that dreadful cologne that he uses all the time.
“She’s not into it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I hate you.”
“You’re jealous of Minjun,” Keonho teases. “And it’s because you like (Name). Tell me I’m wrong all you want. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.”
“Minjun’s a dick anyways,” Seonghyeon says. “I’m just…”
“What?” Keonho interjects, an amused smile on his lips. “Looking out for her because your sister said so? Which excuse is it going to be today, our lovely Seonghyeon?”
Seonghyeon doesn’t reply, eyes fixed on you and Minjun. He’s still trying to get you to go to that damned amusement park with him – Seonghyeon saw the advertisement for it online and he distinctly remembers that it looked like shit. Or perhaps his distaste for Minjun spending one-on-one time with you was clouding his judgment at the moment.
Oh. Oh.
He really was jealous.
“What is it that you have to do then?” Minjun asks. “Could I join you?”
Before he can even think, Seonghyeon’s already walking towards your desk. He interrupts your conversation with Minjun, and the boy looks almost offended.
“Hey, (Name), Sera has another art committee thing that’s going to run late today. You’re still welcome to come study and stay for dinner like usual, though.” Seonghyeon wasn’t lying, Sera had told him that this morning. But he’s shocked that he somehow came up with something so coherent and true when this was completely impromptu.
Seonghyeon notices how you visibly relax in his presence. He smiles softly at you, and you return the gesture. “Hey, Seonghyeon. That’s okay – I’ve got plans later today, so don’t worry,” you beam. “I also don’t want to trouble your mom again.”
“Nonsense,” Seonghyeon waves off your worries. “You know she loves having you around anyways.”
Minjun’s watching you and Seonghyeon interact with a stunned expression on his face. His eyes darted from you, to Seonghyeon, and then back to you again. He didn’t know that you and Seonghyeon were close at all – but seeing how you smiled brightly when Seonghyeon showed up out of the blue, and how comfortable you seemed to be in conversation, Minjun knew that he stood no chance.
“Alright, I’m gonna… go,” he announces. Seonghyeon lets him leave, not even bothering to look back.
“He’s not got a great reputation in our year,” Seonghyeon says, when Minjun’s out of earshot. “You dodged a bullet.”
“Well, you helped me dodge that bullet,” you reply, putting your books in your bag to pack up. “And I have heard murmurs, to be fair.”
“Makes sense – word does spread fast around here. So… are you still coming today?” Seonghyeon asks as you put your last notebook in your bag. You shake your head as you zip it up, and he looks at you with furrowed brows, clearly confused. It was unusual for you to not be studying at his place in the afternoon. And Seonghyeon would never admit it out loud, but he really wanted to see you.
“I’m going to a bookstore to pick up some books,” you hum, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I ordered them a while ago, and James is only opening up shop Thursday afternoon this week.”
“Oh,” Seonghyeon didn’t know that you were on a first-name basis with the owner of the bookstore. “Is this like a small shop?”
“Yeah, I found it a few years ago – James actually went to our school! He graduated two years ago. They’ve got a really good selection of philosophy and history books, so I go all the time. I really love it there. Once, I spent like… 6 hours just reading there. Time went by so fast,” you laugh.
“You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’re not busy. I think you’d like the place.” you add hastily. You’ve never brought anyone to James’ bookstore, but Seonghyeon seemed like the perfect person to bring. He loved reading, James’ bookstore had a fantastic history book collection, and you enjoyed his company. He was already coming to Rembrandt’s exhibition with you, but you did want to grasp at any opportunity that you may have to spend time with him. After all, you had been pining for basically 10 years now.
Seonghyeon’s somewhat stunned by your invitation. You want to spend time with him. Alone. It fills him with a sense of joy that makes him feel like he’s floating on cloud nine. Take that, Minjun, he thinks. A smile spreads across his lips before he nods.
“Yeah, of course. I don’t have plans after school today, and I do need to look for some new books to read, actually.” he replies, and you smile at him. Seonghyeon’s heart flutters again.
“Perfect! I’ll meet you after last period,” you beam. “It’s not far from here, so we can walk there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and you bid him goodbye, saying that you’ve got to meet Sera now. Seonghyeon nods, waving at you before he walks back to his seat, a giddy smile on his lips.
“Look at that smile,” Keonho comments. “You’re in love.”
For the first time, Seonghyeon doesn’t correct him.
The walk towards the bookstore that you love is quite short.
Or perhaps time just flies when you’re having fun.
You and Seonghyeon talk the entire way there. It first starts off with complaints about Mr Jung being an absolutely hopeless teacher, to the dreadful worksheet that Ms Seo had given for Math, and then into every other thing that somehow pops into the two of your minds.
You find out a lot more about Seonghyeon on the walk there. He shares his favourite music with you, telling you which albums and artists that he likes. You download them, making a mental note to listen to them when you study next. He tells you that he hates mint chocolate, and that he always has to watch a movie before bed.
“I watched Everything Everywhere All at Once last night,” he hums. Your eyes light up – it’s one of your favourite movies in the world. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” you reply. “I think I cried like three times. But to be fair, I am a crier when it comes to movies. I never leave the theatre without crying at least once. Unless it’s a comedy.”
Seonghyeon’s eyes crinkle into crescents when he laughs. Your heart beats faster in your chest at the sight. “I’m going to have to see this for myself – we’re going to have to go and watch a movie together.”
It slips out before he thinks (again), and his eyes widen slightly in alarm. He looks at you, and you simply nod happily. He lets out a sigh of relief – he was so worried that he’d embarrassed himself just then.
Seonghyeon finds that this happens all too frequently with you. He prided himself on knowing exactly what to say at the right time and always thinking before speaking. But when it comes to you, all of that just goes straight out the window – he lets comments that he planned to leave in his head slip and he’s stammering and stumbling over his own words. Nerves, he claims. He thinks he has an inkling of an idea of where those nerves may come from.
Meanwhile, all you can think about is how Seonghyeon wants to watch a movie with you. Now, you’re sure that he doesn’t mind your presence – rather, he seems to enjoy your company. You’ve never been happier – maybe you do have somewhat of a chance.
“Here it is,” you say, pointing at the bookstore. It’s tucked away in the corner of a back street. You open the door, the windchimes hanging on the handle jingling as you gesture for him to enter. He does, thanking you politely as he takes everything in.
He sees shelves and shelves of books, all organised by genre. The smell of books and bergamot infiltrates his senses, and the soft yellow light from the chandelier he sees hanging from the ceiling illuminates the entire room. There’s a record player in the corner that’s playing some music from the 80s’, and there’s a small corner with a table and a few chairs for people to read at.
Seonghyeon knows why you love this place so much instantly. It’s so distinctly… you.
“James!” you call out, and the boy working at the cashier turns to look at the two of you. His eyes light up, giving you a wave. Seonghyeon suddenly recognises James – they’ve never spoken, but he’s pretty sure James was the captain of the dance team.
“(Name)! Thanks for coming today – I’ve got some of the books you’ve ordered here,” he says, gesturing to a pile in the corner. His eyes then land on Seonghyeon, and he looks at him with an intrigued smile. “You brought a friend!”
“I did,” you beam. “Just gonna show him around the place and maybe pick out a few things before I come and pay for everything, if that’s cool.”
James nods in response. “Take your time,” he replies. “I was just finishing up an essay for uni anyways. We’re open until 7, by the way, just in case you two wanted to stay and read a few things.”
“Sounds good,” you reply. Your eyes land on the marigolds on the counter, perched in a porcelain vase. “Nice flower choice for the vase this week, by the way. Marigolds are my favourites.”
You like marigolds. Seonghyeon makes sure to remember that. You then turn your attention to him, who’s looking around the store and bobbing his head to the music.
“I’ll show you the history section, since I know you love the stuff. I’m pretty sure they just got some new books about the Cold War in.”
“Perfect – that’s my favourite topic, by the way,” he says, eyes lighting up.
“I know,” you laugh, and Seonghyeon’s surprised that you do. “You talk to Keonho about it all the time in history. It’s my favourite topic too, to be honest. Mr Jung does teach it horribly, though.”
You lead him to the history section of the bookstore, and there’s three whole shelves dedicated to books about the Cold War. You look at how Seonghyeon’s eyes light up, immediately scanning the section to see what interests him. He notices a few that he’s already bought, but there’s also so many that he’s never heard of before – you were right. This place truly was a treasure trove of books, and Seonghyeon’s stunned that he’s never heard of this place.
You watch as he pulls out books from the shelves, flicking through the pages with his brows furrowed in concentration. A soft smile makes its way to your lips before your eyes flick back to the shelves too, picking out your own books as you hum along to the music that James has picked.
You’re mid-grab for a book about the Middle Ages when you hear Seonghyeon ask you if you’ve got any recommendations. You can see that he’s picked out three books about the Cold War, one of which you’ve read.
“That one’s really good,” You tap your finger on the spine of the book, nodding approvingly. “I think you’ll like it. But recommendations… do you want them to be Cold War related or something else?”
“Anything’s fine,” Seonghyeon shrugs. “You always seem to give me good recommendations anyways. Even before this year.”
You’re somewhat shocked. You didn’t think that Seonghyeon actually liked your recommendations. You still remember when he said that Romance of the Three Kingdoms was just ‘alright’. You gulp, drumming your fingers on the edge of one of the shelves as you try and think of books that you think Seonghyeon might like.
“Maybe The Art of War,” you hum, eyes scanning the shelves to see if you can spot it. Your eyes light up when you do, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him. “Flick through it to see if you like it first, though.”
“What’s the last book you really really liked?” you ask him, your eyes still fixated on the shelf in front of you.
“Oh, um…” Seonghyeon is silent for a moment as he thinks about your question. He’s read so many good books this year – it was hard to really pick one. “ Probably No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. I read it a while ago, though.”
A book immediately pops into your head. It’s something you read recently as well.
“Camus,” you mumble, trying to find the book that you’ve got in mind. Seonghyeon follows you as you wander off to the philosophy section. “Ah, this – The Myth of Sisyphus. It’s a little bit more on the philosophy side, if you don’t mind. I quite liked it though, obviously.”
Seonghyeon stacks the book on top of the ones he’s picked out. You look at him, tilting your head at him quizzically. “You’re not gonna flick through it to see if it’s your taste?”
He merely shrugs in response. “I trust your recommendations,” he says casually. “Plus, you’ve kind of made me develop an interest towards philosophy books.”
The smile that graces your face is absolutely infectious. You’re overjoyed, and you immediately look for your favourite books on the shelf to recommend to him.
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, holy shit!” you say, and your excitement is evident in your tone. You’re pulling out books here and there from the shelf, and Seonghyeon can barely keep up. “Okay, Symposium is one of my absolute favourites, and it’s short. But you can just take my copy, to be honest.”
You’re mumbling to yourself as you pick out all of your favourite books, stacking them on top of one another. When you’re done, you look at a pile of eight books – you didn’t realise that you’d picked out so many.
“Oh. That’s way too many. We’re going to have to thin this herd,” you hum, eyeing the books you’ve selected. “Maybe The Prince. It’s quite short, like Symposium. So you can kind of get a taste of how these books usually are, and if you end up liking them, just let me know. We can always come back here.”
Seonghyeon nods, taking the book from you and adding it to the pile that he’s holding.
“I saw you reading The Prince on the first day,” Seonghyeon hums. “You had a lot of tabs in there.”
“Oh, yeah,” You’re surprised he remembered, but you feel as if you shouldn't be. Seonghyeon was incredibly observant, as you've noticed throughout the year. It’s kind of why I figured that you should probably get your own copy, because I’ve written all over it. I think I had a lot of opinions on that book.”
“We can talk about it when I’ve finished it then,” he smiles softly. “I think I’m gonna go put these on the counter and pay for them first, because my hands are starting to hurt. Do you wanna take the ones you’ve picked out and put them there as well?”
You nod, following him to the counter where James is sitting. He’s engrossed in watching an anime, and you clear your throat. His eyes snap up, and James immediately changes his tab to his essay.
“You saw nothing,” James hisses jokingly, and you raise an eyebrow. “I’m just procrastinating, okay? You and your friend here found some books you liked?” he asks, changing the topic.
“He’s picked his out. I’m gonna go grab something else from the history section, and I’ll be right back.” you say, and James nods. You give Seonghyeon a smile before placing the books that you’ve chosen on the counter, and you run off. Seonghyeon’s eyes follow your figure before James clears his throat to catch his attention.
“You like her, don’t you?” When you’re out of earshot, James looks at Seonghyeon with a teasing smile. He picks up a book from Seonghyeon’s pile, scanning the books that he’s planning to buy. Seonghyeon’s eyes widen, cheeks heating up as he’s caught off guard by James’ words.
“What?” he stammers – if a stranger that he’d only met five minutes ago could tell, surely everyone else would know. He’s hoping that James is just excellent at reading people, because god – if anyone else knew, especially Sera, he was done for. His friends at school already knew enough, with Keonho incessantly teasing him about it whenever he’s around.
“You like her,” James repeats. “It’s all in the eyes, man. And you’re buying all of her recommendations. I would’ve thought that you’d be buying Symposium too.”
Seonghyeon furrows his brows – how did James manage to hear the entire conversation? He opens his mouth to speak before James stops him, seemingly reading his mind.
“Yes, I heard. This store is small enough for me to eavesdrop on everyone. And even though I was focused on the anime, I was also focused on listening to you two.” James places a sticker on one of the book that Seonghyeon’s buying before putting it into a paper bag.
“She’s giving me her copy to read,” Seonghyeon stammers. “And well, about the other thing, I wouldn’t… I’m not sure.”
“No, deep down you’re sure.” James says, as if he’s some love expert. “I think you just don’t really want to admit it to yourself yet.”
Damn, Seonghyeon thinks. James is really good at reading people. Too good to the point where it makes Seonghyeon a little uncomfortable.
“She doesn’t just take anyone here, by the way. She’s been coming here for four years, and I’ve never seen her show up with anyone. Said it’s her secret spot, or something,” James adds breezily.
Seonghyeon stiffens at his words. He may be saying this in a casual manner, but the fact that James is basically saying that Seonghyeon is special to you makes his heart stutter. “So maybe she likes you too – but she keeps going on about this one guy named S–!”
“James!” you cut him off just as he’s about to reveal a name, and Seonghyeon winces at the missed opportunity to figure out who you’ve been raving about to James. “Did this just come in?”
“Yeah,” James replies, taking the book out of your hands. “Dream of the Red Chamber. You’ll like this one, since you liked Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Speaking of that book – you bought two copies, right? Did the person you give it to like it as well?”
Oh. Oh.
You bought the book specifically for him. All along, Seonghyeon thought that it was your copy that you’d given him. He supposes that he should’ve guessed, considering how there weren’t any tabs sticking out the edges and the pristine condition of the book. He was going to give it back to you too, but he just found himself rereading it over and over and over again.
But now he just feels guilty. You’ve been too kind to him for all these years, and it was only until a couple of months ago – weeks, even – that Seonghyeon was sure that he didn’t hate you. The feeling settles in his stomach, and he knows that he has to do something to make it up to you.
“I actually gave it to him,” you chuckle, gesturing towards Seonghyeon. You recall the words that he’d told you on the first day of school – that it was fine. “I don’t think he was a big fan.” Your voice is sheepish, and Seonghyeon shakes his head at your words.
“No, no,” he hastily interjects. “I really liked it.”
You look at him, surprise evident on your features. “I thought you didn’t like it that much,” you say, puzzled. “You told me it was fine on the first day of school.”
Seonghyeon scratches the nape of his neck, unsure what to say. He wasn’t going to straight up say that he had to hide how much he liked the book for the sake of his pride, but there really was no other logical explanation.
“I… reread it,” he mumbles. “I liked it better the second time.”
You nod, letting out a soft ‘oh’. Seonghyeon doesn’t think you’re actually convinced, but you don’t end up questioning it. James is much more obvious about how unconvinced he is, eyeing Seonghyeon suspiciously. The teasing smile on James’ lips is still there, as if he’s quite literally telling him to keep thinking about what he said earlier.
“So… do you want this one?” James asks, holding up Dream of the Red Chamber.
You nod without thinking, and James stacks it on the pile of books that you’re planning to buy. He looks at the large pile, and chuckles. “You’re going to be singlehandedly paying for my lunches for the next few weeks with this order. Thanks, (Name.)”
“Glad that my allowance is going towards something good,” you say. “I think that’ll be all for today.”
Seonghyeon looks around the store quietly as James finally finishes scanning all of your books. “That’s 250,000 won with the discount,” he says. “Do you have enough?”
You count together the notes in your wallet. Shit. You’re about 5,000 won short. You hiss before shaking your head, looking through the titles of the books you’ve selected to see which one you’ll just have to get next time. It’s a difficult choice, though – all of them are books that you want to read really badly.
“I can pay for her,” Seonghyeon pipes up.
Your eyes snap up to look at him. “Seonghyeon, what? No – I couldn’t let you do that.”
“It’s fine,” he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his card. “Think of it as a gift, or something I’m doing in return for the book that you gave me.”
“Seonghyeon, that was one book!” you exclaim, holding up one finger. “There are eight books! You must let me pay you back if you’re going to pay.”
“No, it’s okay,” he says, tapping his card on the reader before you can protest more. “I’m more than happy to pay for these – you’re going to read them anyway, and I know how much you like books.”
James is watching the interaction between you two like it’s his favourite television show. The two of you are bickering like an old married couple as you frantically search through your wallet for 250,000 won so that you can pay Seonghyeon back. He’s trying to grab onto your wallet so he can shove it back into your bag so you don’t have to.
Seonghyeon wins the battle, and you reach out to grab your wallet. “I’ll only give it back if you promise not to pay me back.”
“Seonghyeon, I can’t do that! 250,000 won is an insane amount.” you say, and Seonghyeon shakes his head, holding your wallet even further away from you now. You groan as you try once again to grab it from him, but to no avail.
“I’ve been saving.” Seonghyeon shrugs.
“Just let the man pay,” James interjects, and Seonghyeon smiles.
“Thank you – see, (Name)?” he says, and you groan.
“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “Thank you, Seonghyeon. That was really nice of you.”
Seonghyeon nods, finally satisfied. He hands you back your wallet, albeit eyeing you with a certain sense of caution as if he’s worried you’ll try and shove money into his backpack.
“You really didn’t have to do that.” you say, tucking your wallet back inside your bag, making a mental note to yourself that you have to get him something in return.
“I wanted to.”
Those three words carry far more weight than either of you expected.
A blush creeps up on Seonghyeon’s cheeks as he lets those words slip out without thinking. Your cheeks are hot as the gravity of those three little words sink in. James silently packs your books in a paper bag with an amused smile.
James hands you your books, and you thank him gratefully. It’s incredibly heavy – to the point where it nearly knocks you off balance. A little ‘oomph’ escapes past your lips as you get used to the weight of the bag. You’re honestly more concerned that the bag is going to break.
“I can carry it for you,” Seonghyeon says softly. “It looks heavy, and we’ve got to walk back home.”
“Yeah, that may be best,” you say, handing him the bag with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Seonghyeon.”
Your heart is pounding in your chest right now. Every single interaction that you’ve had with him at the bookstore feels awfully romantic, but you don’t want to delude yourself into believing that Seonghyeon perhaps has feelings for you too.
Maybe he’s just realised that he actually enjoys your company as a friend. Or maybe he just has an obligation to take care of you as his little sister’s best friend. The prospect of that makes your heart sink a little, because you’ve always wanted him to be something more.
Even James knows that, considering how much you’ve talked about Seonghyeon to him.
“Thanks for coming today, (Name) – sorry I had to get you to come after school, I know how much you value your study time. I hope it wasn’t a big hassle,” James’ voice cuts through your thoughts, and you wave his worries off. His eyes divert to Seonghyeon, and it’s then when James realises that he hasn’t asked for Seonghyeon’s name.
“And you are…?”
“Seonghyeon.”
James’ eyes widen in a comically exaggerated manner. “You’re the Seonghyeon? Oh, no wonder you’re the first person she’s ever brought here. (Name)’s said so much about you–!”
“Okay, thanks James! See you next week!” you cut him off, practically pushing Seonghyeon towards the door. Your voice is panicky, and Seonghyeon barely has time to register everything until the two of you are outside the shop.
“Please ignore him,” you say, cheeks hot from embarrassment. “He’s always pulling shit like that on me.” Seonghyeon looks at you, and he can tell that you don’t want him to pry about what you’ve been telling James. But oh, he is so curious.
“I’m was just telling him that you’re in my class and how you’re Sera’s brother,” you lie through your teeth. You hope Seonghyeon thinks it’s an acceptable answer – James really didn’t have to air out all of your dirty laundry by basically implying that you had been going on and on and on about him. “It’s… not like he made it out to be.”
Seonghyeon doesn’t know why he’s disappointed.
“Oh, look, an ice cream shop!” You don’t give him time to ponder over why he’s disappointed, as you change the topic. His eyes flick over to look at where you’re pointing, and sure enough, there’s a quaint little ice cream shop across the road that’s neatly tucked away from all the hustle and bustle from the main street. “Let me treat you to ice cream – it’s really the least I can do after you paid for all of my books. And then we can head to your place to study, since we left James’ earlier than I expected.”
Seonghyeon nods, thanking you as you lead him towards the shop. He opens the door for you, and you smile at him gratefully. It makes his heart flip.
The two of you look at the ice cream case for what flavours the store’s got. Seonghyeon always gets vanilla – in a cup, never a cone – so he doesn’t really know why he even bothers. You hum in satisfaction when you’ve made your decision.
“Hi,” you say, calling over to the girl who’s working the cashier. “Could I get one scoop of the chocolate?”
He’s about to pipe up about what he wants until you say his exact order. “And a scoop of the vanilla?” you turn towards him, tilting your head questionably as if you’re asking him to confirm if you’re correct. He nods, and you turn back again to look at the girl. “Separately, please. Thank you.”
He’s stunned. He doesn’t know how you know that he always gets vanilla. “How did you–”
“You guys have three tubs of ice cream in your freezer, and the vanilla one has your name on it. With like three large exclamation points. I figured that it was your favourite – I’m glad I got it right.”
Seonghyeon didn’t know how attentive you actually were to his interests. From his favourite history topics, to books, and even to ice cream. You noticed things about him too.
You pay for the ice cream, handing Seonghyeon his cup. He takes a bite, and it’s really good. Much better than the tub that he bought from the supermarket, even if it is just plain vanilla. “Woah,” he says, taking the wooden spoon out of his mouth. “I’m surprised I’ve never been to this place.”
You seem to be similarly shocked at how good the ice cream is. “Yeah, oh my god. I’ve been to James’ too many times to even remember and I’ve never even thought of coming here. I’m glad I did, though – we have to come back again.”
We. It’s an invitation. You want to spend more time with him.
“Yeah,” he beams. “I’d like that.”
As you and Seonghyeon walk back to his house, making casual conversation as the two of you finish up your ice cream. Your shared laughter rings through the summer air, and his eyes flick over to look at you.
There’s an undeniable feeling of being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Warmth and all-consuming affection settles in his chest, and for the first time, he’s comfortable with letting it linger.
Everything clicks into place.
Eom Seonghyeon is certain now. He does like you.
“Okay. I need your help.”
Keonho, Martin and Juhoon’s ears immediately perk up. Seonghyeon asking for help? This was unprecedented. It was usually Seonghyeon running around to help the three of them.
“Well, not me,” he says, sliding into his seat next to Keonho. He opens his lunch box to buy him time on figuring out what he’s supposed to say. “I have a friend who needs help.” Seonghyeon’s voice is unconvincing, and Keonho raises an eyebrow.
“So…” Seonghyeon starts, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to articulate his thoughts properly. “My friend’s a little bit stuck on how they feel about someone, because they thought they hated them for the longest time. But I – sorry, my friend – thinks that they might actually like them now. Maybe a little too much and maybe as something more than friends. So… how should they go about it? Like should I – my friend – confess, or just… I don’t know. Wait it out?” Seonghyeon’s slip of the tongue makes Martin smile in amusement.
“I fucking knew it!” Keonho yells, pointing at Seonghyeon. The entire cafeteria goes quiet, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart to you, sitting two tables down. You’re looking at Keonho with a confused look in your eye, clearly startled by his outburst. Your eyes then land on Seonghyeon, who feigns confusion too. You two share a small smile as you chuckle at Keonho’s antics, shaking your head before your eyes return to your book. Seonghyeon is absolutely mortified.
“Dude, be quiet,” Juhoon says to Keonho, before focusing his attention back onto Seonghyeon. “But yeah, we all fucking knew it. It was just a matter of time.”
“What?” Seonghyeon sputters. “You don’t even know who this friend is.”
Martin looks at him with a deadpan stare. “Come on, man. You clearly said ‘I’ before you changed it. It’s fine – we all thought you were gonna admit this at some point. I don’t really think you ever hated (Name).”
“Or maybe the hatred was fueling that romantic tension,” Keonho says with a shit-eating grin. Seonghyeon regrets asking for advice now, and he buries his face in his hands to hide the blush that’s creeping up on his cheeks. Juhoon, ever so attentive, notices how the tips of Seonghyeon’s ears turn pink too.
“You like (Name),” Keonho teases, and Seonghyeon groans, his hands never leaving his face. “I swear that weird feeling you always said you got when she was around was just you being nervous and not knowing how to act around her. And another thing – being annoyed that she was smart? Admiration. Maybe a bit of jealousy too. You’re just emotionally constipated and don’t know how to deal with your feelings.”
Fuck, Seonghyeon thinks. Why is Keonho’s psychoanalysis of him right?
“Oh, and another thing!” Keonho pipes up. Seonghyeon just knows Keonho’s going to have 500 of these ‘another things’ to bring up. “You’ve always looked out for her this year. It’s so obvious. First, the Haeun situation. Then you’re helping her with math. And you were glaring at Minjun so hard that day I thought you were trying to make him explode.”
“Oh my god,” Keonho’s eyes light up as if he’s had an epiphany. “You care about her. You’ve always cared too much about her. Maybe that’s why you didn’t like her. You care too much that she’s really smart, she’s really charming and she’s always around! And you also care about what she thinks of you – which is why you were so opposed to her being in our year. Because you don’t want to seem stupid in front of her.”
Juhoon hums, pointing his finger at Keonho in agreement. “Also, don’t forget about the time where you told Sera to make sure she wasn’t feeling too anxious because you saw that she was tapping her fingers on the cover of her book too quickly. Only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice that.”
Was he that obvious, or could his friends just read him that well? He stays silent as he digests everything that his friends are saying. But then he remembers James reading him like a book on the first time that they’d met. Fuck, maybe he was obvious, Seonghyeon thinks. Was he the only one oblivious to his own feelings?
“Yoohoo, earth to Seonghyeon?” Martin asks, waving his hand in front of his face. “I know you’re daydreaming about (Name) again, but we were saying that you should probably do something about it.”
“Like what, though?” Seonghyeon stammers. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… you know I’ve never really liked anyone before. How am I supposed to go about this?”
“He’s growing up,” Juhoon coos.
“You and Martin have literally both never had a girlfriend — you can’t be saying that to me right now.” Seonghyeon says pointedly. Then he realises that none of his friends will be of help, because they’ve simply never confessed to anyone.
“Woah!” Martin says, shocked by the sudden mention of his name. “What do I have to do with what Ju said?”
“Nothing,” Seonghyeon replies, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to think of what to say to you. Juhoon was awfully secretive of whoever he liked — Seonghyeon’s convinced he has a crush, he just wasn’t talking about it. Keonho, despite being the crush of far too many people in the year group, was too busy with swimming to even consider a relationship. Martin was a romantic, but he’d never found someone he actually liked enough to direct his affections to.
They’d been able to analyse him correctly because they knew him well. But they wouldn’t be able to help him devise a plan on how to confess. None of them knew you well — except maybe Martin, who you tutored.
“I just… I don’t know if you guys will be able to help, actually. No offence — it’s just… you guys don’t know her at all.”
“I think you should just tell her how you feel,” Martin hums. “What’s the worst she could do? Reject you?”
Seonghyeon looks at Martin like he’s crazy. “Yes? Obviously that’s the worst, and I don’t want that to happen. She’s Sera’s best friend, remember? If she rejects me, I’m still going to have to see her all the time.”
“Well, your other option is to silently pine forever,” Keonho says, and his eyes dart over to Minjun, who’s sitting nearby your table. Seonghyeon looks in that direction, and that ugly feeling of jealousy creeps up his spine again. His jaw clenches, and Keonho doesn’t miss it. “And I know for a fact you’re not going to do that when Minjun could very well make another move.”
Keonho’s right. Of course he is.
Seonghyeon’s eyes land on you, and you’re laughing at something that Sera’s saying. The look of pure unadulterated joy on your face is infectious, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.
You somehow catch his eye, and you beam at him, waving before returning to your conversation with Sera. Seonghyeon gently raises his hand to wave at you back.
“And you never know,” Martin hums, watching Seonghyeon’s expression with a knowing smile on his lips. “She might like you back.”
It’s another late night of studying for you and Seonghyeon. Sera complains that you’ve replaced her with her own older brother, but she’s the one who decides to sleep early while you and Seonghyeon make your way through the stack of practice papers that you’ve printed out.
But something tonight just feels a little different. The silence feels a little too loud, the scratching of your pencils is too unsettling, and the brushing of yours and Seonghyeon’s knees every now and then makes your stomach flip.
The room is dimly lit, with the only light on being the one from the kitchen. Seonghyeon’s eyes flicker towards you every now and then. He tries to talk to you a little bit, but there’s a certain sort of tension that he just can’t quite name that seems to stifle any conversation from continuing.
His stomach grumbles, cutting through the silence. He looks at you, wondering if you heard. “Sorry,” he mumbles, getting up from his chair. “I’m gonna grab some of the acai – do you want some?”
You stretch your arms, nodding. “Yeah, that would be nice. I’m also just going to take a little bit of a break too. I’ve been writing far too much.” You get up from your chair as well, grabbing two clean bowls from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. Seonghyeon grabs the tub of acai from the freezer and two spoons.
“Here,” He scoops a generous portion into one bowl, and he hands it to you first, along with the spoon. “Eat first.”
“Thank you,” you beam, taking a bite of the acai. It’s cold, and you wince as it hits your tongue. Seonghyeon chuckles gently at your expression – you know he doesn’t mean it mockingly. There’s a hint of affection that’s evident in the way he smiles afterwards.
The tension between you two still remains, and you’re just not quite sure what to say. There’s something about the way the kitchen light illuminates his features that makes your heart flip, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You like Eom Seonghyeon far too much, but after 10 years, you’ve kind of become an expert at acting ‘normal’ around him.
But right now, it was different.
You don’t know how to act around him right now.
At school, things were normal. It was only when you got to the Eoms’ house, something had seemingly changed. Perhaps it was how nice Seonghyeon looked in the gray striped shirt. Or how he’d fixed you a plate for dinner before making his own. Or how his touch had lingered when your hands had brushed while you were grabbing a sticky note.
Either way, small little moments that you had initially deemed insignificant had snowballed into creating tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
The two of you eat your acai quietly, but you can’t help but steal glances at Seonghyeon every now and then. It just so happens that he does the same too – only when you’re not looking at him.
It’s driving him crazy. After realising his feelings for you, everything felt right. He finally had all the answers.
But having to act on them was making him go mental. Because Seonghyeon simply doesn’t think that he can bottle up all his feelings and wait – you were always there, and if you weren’t, reminders of you were everywhere. His mind, more often than not, is consumed with thoughts of you.
You set your bowl on the counter, and you steal a glance at Seonghyeon again. This time, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes flick towards a smudge of acai on the corner of his lips.
“You’ve got something there.” Without thinking, you reach up and swipe it away with the pads of your thumbs. Seonghyeon’s breath catches in his throat.
You don’t know why you did that. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your face heats up. The tension between the two of you becomes even more intense – you didn’t even think that was possible – and you’re hesitant to even breathe. The two almost empty bowls of acai are left on the table, completely forgotten now. Your touch still lingers on the corner of Seonghyeon’s lip, and on instinct, he gently reaches up to touch where your thumb had been.
Your eyes flick to Seonghyeon’s lips. You realise that you really, really want to kiss him right now.
He notices.
You don’t know when you and Seonghyeon’s faces inch even closer to one another – it just happens. You gravitate towards each other like two magnets, and suddenly your face is just mere inches away from his.
It’s tonight when Eom Seonghyeon swallows his pride and finally admits it. He likes you far too much, and he has to do something about it before he drives himself mad.
“Seonghyeon,” you whisper his name like you’re begging for him to close the distance. He can feel your breath on his lips, and exercising restraint right now is agonising torture.
He hates you. He hates that you make his heart race, hates how you make him lose all clarity and self control, and he hates how much he wants to just press his lips to yours right now. But when your eyes flick to his lips once again, Seonghyeon just can’t hold back anymore.
Self control be damned.
His lips find yours in a manner that you can only describe as desperate. He kisses you like he’s been wanting to do this forever – urgent, certain, determined. You kiss him back, and you don’t miss the soft, small sound that escapes past his throat when you do. It’s one that’s barely audible, like he’s surprised that you’re kissing him back with the same kind of certainty.
As your lips mold against his, you allow yourself to believe that maybe Eom Seonghyeon never hated you in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it all along. Maybe he had always secretly longed for you, and everything just finally clicked.
You can taste the acai that still lingers on his lips, and the smell of lavender and birch from his cologne envelopes you in a way that is maddeningly intoxicating. When Seonghyeon’s hands find your waist and pull you closer, pressing your body to his, you allow yourself to melt like putty in his hands.
He whispers your name against your lips, and the low hum of his voice sends shivers up your spine. You press your mouth against his like you’re trying to memorise the outline of his lips, and his breath stutters.
Seonghyeon is too aware of everything right now; from the smell of your shampoo, from the way you’re clutching onto his shirt like your life depends on it, and from the taste of your mint lip balm.
He kisses you with more urgency, and Seonghyeon doesn’t know how he’s lived so long without having you like this. He can’t believe he had actually convinced himself that he despised you for 10 full years. Because with his lips on yours, all Seonghyeon knows is that he is maddeningly and absurdly addicted to you. The world melts away, and it’s like you and him are in your own little bubble.
“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. You melt against him – every touch of his lingers, and you’ve waited 10 years for this moment. For Seonghyeon to finally see you as something more.
She’s off limits. You and all your best friends are.
The bubble pops.
Fuck. Sera’s voice suddenly rings in his head, and Seonghyeon stops even if he doesn't want to. He pulls away momentarily, confusing you. You chase his lips again, but he puts the slightest bit of distance between you two.
“We can’t.” Seonghyeon mutters silently against your lips. But those words ring loudly in your ears. “You’re… you’re her best friend.”
You’re stunned for a second. His words strike like a knife to your heart. Of course. To him, you were always his little sister’s annoying best friend. Why would it change, even after he kissed you like that?
“Right,” you gulp. Your heart is heavy.
You slip away from his grasp, and Seonghyeon already misses having your lips on his. You hastily collect your things and put them in your bag. The air is thick with tension, and not the kind that filled the air before Seonghyeon kissed you like you actually meant something to him. You blink back tears — you feel stupid for leaving your heart right in the palm of his hands.
Eom Seonghyeon only kisses you once before he loses you.
He watches you disappear past his front door without a word, and he realises:
He already wants you back.
You’ve been avoiding both Seonghyeon and Sera like the plague.
You can’t get the kiss out of your mind. Seeing Seonghyeon hurts. Seeing Sera means that it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks and you tell her everything.
Seonghyeon notices — you never show up to his house after school to study anymore. You pair up with Leean for English now. You don’t even look at him in class. Keonho catches him staring at you a little too much, but a gut feeling of his tells him not to pry.
You know that he’s trying to come find you so you two can talk it out, but you’re somehow able to expertly dodge him for an entire week. It’s making him go insane.
You make some lame excuse about needing to study in the library to Sera so you don’t need to sit with her at lunch. You notice the hurt that flashes across her face before she agrees, and you feel awful for lying to her. It gets worse when you tell her that you’re going to study at home for the next week or so.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Sera corners you in the history classroom.
“Why are you avoiding me?” she asks you bluntly. You can’t even bear to look at her face. All you can see is that her arms are crossed over her chest, and after 10 years of friendship, you know that her eyebrows are likely tightly knit together in anger. If she was furious, you wouldn’t blame her.
“I’m not,” you lie through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. She looks at you incredulously. “I’m just busy, Sera.”
“We’re best friends, (Name). I know when you’re lying to me. What happened?” Your stomach twists with guilt when you hear the hurt in her voice. Your eyes flick up to look at her, and you just can’t lie to her anymore.
The dam breaks. You let out a choked sob and Sera’s face immediately contorts into one of alarm. She quickly wraps her arms around you in a hug as you cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her uniform.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” Sera gently pats your back in a move to comfort you, her voice soft and understanding. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
You don’t say anything for a few seconds, taking deep breaths to compose yourself before you speak. The feeling of guilt, hurt and pain twists in your stomach when you think of Seonghyeon. You think of how he kissed you and how sparks flew, and then how he crushed all of that hope that you’ve been holding with just a few simple words.
“Seonghyeon and I kissed,” you confess. You can hear Sera take in a sharp breath. “A week ago.”
“You… and Seonghyeon?”
You nod. “I thought maybe it could’ve been something. I thought maybe I… meant a little more to him. And then he said we shouldn’t.”
Sera’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m your best friend,” you mumble. “I get it. I’ll just… always be his little sister’s annoying best friend, right?”
“Do you like him?”
Of course you do. You like him a little too much, even. Even though he crushed your heart in his hands, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do. I really, really do.”
“And I hate how much I do, actually,” your heart hurts as you pour out all the feelings that you’ve been keeping to yourself for the past week. “Fuck, Sera – I know he’s your brother and everything, but I’ve liked him ever since I can remember. I started reading these goddamn history books because I wanted to find something in common with him just so we could talk. Before this year, I didn’t even think anything would happen – he always tried to avoid me, hell – he barely could look at me even when we were in the same room. I don’t even know why I kept on yearning when it was obvious that he didn’t want me around.”
“But then, this year,” you chuckle, thinking about how Seonghyeon’s entire demeanour had changed. “He cared. Maybe begrudgingly at first and at your request, but then I noticed that he actually cared about me. He noticed these things about me that I never even noticed about myself – like how I apparently tap on the covers of my books too quickly when I’m nervous.”
“And then we started spending more time together, and I fell even harder. He was just so easy to talk to, so nice, and we had so much in common. Then he paid for my fucking books at the bookstore when it was ridiculously expensive. And he had no reason to!” you exclaim. “And after, I just started thinking that maybe I wasn’t crazy to have waited for so long, because it was going to pay off.”
“And then when he kissed me, I allowed myself to have that sort of hope. That something would actually come out of my years of yearning. That I meant something more than just being your best friend. That… he actually liked me.”
“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear. Your best friend is in love with your brother,” you say, shaking your head. You know how awkward it is for Sera to hear this – she hated whenever anyone came up to her and asked her if Seonghyeon was single. It must be worse hearing it from her best friend. “This is all so stupid.”
There’s a moment of silence that falls between you and Sera. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking, and your heart sinks. You’ve already messed up your relationship with one of the Eom siblings. You can’t bear to lose the other one too.
“I always told myself that if I got to pick who Hyeon ended up with, I would want it to be you,” Sera confesses. You look at her through teary eyes, your face evidently shocked. “I mean… you two are too similar and too compatible. To me, it was just a matter of time until he realised that he didn’t dislike you, he just… never got to properly know you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m dead serious. And for the record, I’m not mad at you, (Name),” Sera replies. You search her eyes to see if she’s being honest, and you’re certain she is. You let out a sigh of relief – the last thing you wanted was your friendship with Sera to be ruined. “I get why you were avoiding me, as much as I didn’t like it. And that somewhat explains why Hyeon has been so… weird this week.”
“Look. I’m going to go talk some sense into him,” you gulp hearing her words. “I will most definitely yell at him and smack him over the head. I don’t want to promise anything, but… would you be okay to speak to him if he came up to you?”
You take a deep breath. You’re not too sure how you can face Seonghyeon right now. But some sense of closure, some explanation to that night would be better than nothing. If things didn’t end up the way you wanted them to, at least you could move on.
“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll have to mentally prepare myself a bit, but yeah. Might as well get that conversation over and done with. I don’t want to avoid him forever.”
Sera gives you a comforting smile before hugging you a little tighter. “Great. I love you, okay? And if it’s my loser brother who makes you happy… then of course I’m okay with it. I just wish you’d told me at first, so I could actually be a good wingwoman.”
Her words lighten up the atmosphere, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. “I love you, Sera. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier – I just didn’t want to make things strange between us, you know?”
“I know,” Sera nods. “You don’t have to justify yourself. Seonghyeon on the other hand though… he’s going to have a lot to explain.”
“Go easy on him,” you say. Sera looks at you like you’re crazy.
“I can’t believe he broke your heart and you’re telling me to go easy on him,” Sera groans. “You’re too kind for your own good.”
“I don’t know,” you mumble, staring down at your shoes. “I think unfortunately, I’m just in love.”
“Eom Seonghyeon!”
He’s woken up to Sera hitting him with a pillow. He didn’t even realise that he fell asleep – his copy of Plato’s Symposium is now somewhere near the foot of his bed, and he realises that he’ll have to flick through the entire book again to pick up from where he left off.
But right now, the more pressing matter is how his little sister is looking at him with a glare so intense he thinks she’s trying to shoot a laser through his skull. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger evident on her face. Seonghyeon knows that he’s fucked up. He doesn’t need Sera to remind him.
“How fucking dare you?” she hisses at him. Her voice is laced with venom, and Seonghyeon has never been scared of his little sister before, but there’s a first time for everything. “You kiss my best friend and then you tell her that ‘you can’t’? Are you serious?”
“Sera, I—”
“I’m not finished.”
“I told you at the beginning of the year to look out for her, and this is what you do? Fuck with her feelings? She’s been avoiding me for a whole week because of you!”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Seonghyeon stammers. “I didn’t intend for it to.”
“No shit, Seonghyeon — couldn’t you have thought it through before you made a move like that?”
“I didn’t intend to actually end up liking her, Sera!” Seonghyeon exclaims. “You don't think I feel guilty for saying that and pushing her away? Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.”
“I replay that kiss in my mind every second. I hate how just mere moments later I pushed her away. I hate that I made her feel like she meant nothing to me, because she doesn’t — I… I… fuck.” Seonghyeon’s voice cracks. He clutches his head in his hands as he tries to fight back the tears threatening to spill past his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how it happened — it wasn’t supposed to. I thought I hated her, and then somewhere along the way I guess I started liking her. I don’t think I ever hated her, actually. I just… I just didn’t realise it.”
Sera looks at him in stunned silence. She lowers the pillow, seemingly unwilling to attack Seonghyeon again now.
There’s guilt, regret and desperation written all over Seonghyeon’s face. As Sera looks at him a little closer, she notices the eyebags and the dark circles from tossing and turning at night, losing sleep because Seonghyeon just can’t stop thinking about you.
She looks at the book that’s at the foot of his bed — Plato’s Symposium. Seonghyeon had never shown remotely any interest in philosophy, and Sera’s shocked that he’s actually reading a book of that genre. But then she notices that there’s multiple plastic tabs sticking out of the book, and Sera knows only one person who does that when reading.
It’s your copy.
“You’re in love with her,” she gasps.
“Yeah,” Seonghyeon admits quietly. He thought it was just like initially, but when his heart physically hurts at the thought of losing you, it must be something more. It must be love.
He thinks he should feel some sense of relief at that realisation, but all he feels is guilt. How could he not when all he’s replaying in his head is kissing you like that before he just had to push you away?
He sees you in class and all he notices is that you’re awfully quiet, you barely smile, and there’s a certain dullness in your eyes that wasn’t really there before. Seonghyeon hates knowing that he’s the reason why.
“I am. And I fucked it all up.”
“I didn’t want to make things weird with you and her. You told me at the beginning of the year that she was off limits to me and my friends,” Seonghyeon mumbles.
“But this is killing me, Sera. I’m rereading this goddamn book like a madman.” he says, holding up Symposium. He really thinks that he might be going crazy without seeing your face. “I keep trying to find her and try to talk to her, but she won’t even look at me and avoids me every chance she gets. I think that even if she did want to talk to me, I wouldn't even be able to gather up the courage to say anything. That's how fucked I am."
“When I said that she was off limits… it wasn’t a definite thing. You should’ve just talked to me, Seonghyeon,” Sera’s voice is a little softer now, sitting down on the edge of Seonghyeon’s bed. “I want you both to be happy, and if you’re the one making her happy, why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”
“I don’t know,” Seonghyeon confesses. “I didn’t realise I didn’t hate her until a few months ago.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty bad with emotions,” Sera replies bluntly. “Sorry. Like I told you earlier in the year, you didn’t hate her – you just never got to know her properly.”
“Look, I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but… she told me today she’s liked you ever since she can remember.” Sera jabs her finger at Seonghyeon’s chest.
Seonghyeon's breath catches in his throat. You’ve liked him for that long. You’ve waited for him.
“I, for one, can’t believe I was so blind. But seriously, Seonghyeon – I know my best friend, and she’s not going to stop liking you anytime soon. She really likes you and I’m more than willing to bet money on the fact that she’s going to give you another shot. But you really have to apologise and tell her how you feel, because I know you feel the same way.”
“She told me to be nice to you,” Sera pipes up. “Even when you were a dick.”
God. Seonghyeon had hurt you that badly, and you were still asking Sera to be nice when you really had no reason to even extend the slightest amount of kindness to him. The guilt is eating him alive, and he knows that he has to do something about it. He has to find the courage to actually tell you how he feels.
“Go fix things tomorrow. You have to talk to her.”
“I will,” Seonghyeon sighs softly. “I just… don’t really know what to say.”
Sera scoffs. “You don’t need to say something perfect, Seonghyeon.”
“Just say something real.”
You’re nowhere to be seen.
Seonghyeon is freaking out.
He’s been running around the school like a madman, sprinting across campus just to see if you’re around. Keonho notices how restless Seonghyeon is in class, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and barely listening to the teacher. He’s never seen Seonghyeon act this way before.
When the bell rings, Seonghyeon’s the first one out the door. Seonghyeon’s sheer speed as he runs out the door makes Keonho question whether or not he should try and convince him to try out for athletics.
By third period, Seonghyeon’s nearly convinced himself that you’re dead. You never miss classes, let alone three of them. You also show up when you’re sick, so whatever your situation is – it must be dire.
He can’t find Sera because they’re in different grades, so he decides to go up to the person you’re closest to in class, besides himself.
“Leean, I need your help.” Seonghyeon’s breathless as she approaches her desk — after all, he had been running around the entire school today to see where you were. It was unusual for you to not be in class at all.
“Is this about (Name)?” She doesn’t seem surprised, but there’s a certain coldness in her tone that’s never been there before. She must know, he thinks.
Usually Seonghyeon would be embarrassed and flustered that for some reason his classmate knew that he was looking for you, but he didn’t care anymore — he had to make things right.
“Yeah, yes — where is she?”
Leean looks away, clearly hesitant to tell him. “Look, I don’t know if I should tell you,” she sighs. “She’s not… really doing well. You know why.”
“Please. I messed up,” He’s desperate. He doesn’t even care that Leean probably knows everything he’s done. “I have to make it right.”
She, too, notices the dark circles under his eyes and the urgency in his voice. His hair is unbelievably messy, probably from running his hands through them all day in frustration. She's never seen Seonghyeon — the boy known for looking too perfect and put-together — look this distressed and disheveled.
Then it hits her. The desperation in his eyes, the worry in his tone, even how his hands are shaking slightly – Eom Seonghyeon is in love with you.
She remembers how you were describing that night when you confided in her about everything. You couldn’t tell Sera, but you had to tell someone – bottling up your feelings simply felt awful. The hope that you had of him maybe liking you back, and then the heartache when he’d pushed you away. Leean knows that you’re in love with him, and you wouldn’t stop loving him anytime soon.
She knows that she really shouldn’t tell him. But she also really couldn’t get in the way of what she now realised was real love.
“Fine,” she exhales. “She’s not here today. She’s out all day at an art gallery for a visual arts assignment. I don’t know how you’re going to be able to find her, since there’s so many in the city.”
Art gallery. Visual arts assignment.
Rembrandt.
Seonghyeon knows exactly where you are.
“Okay,” he says, nodding. Leean notices the shift in his demeanour. “I’m gonna go. Please tell Ms Seo I’m not going to be here for math.”
Leean thinks Seonghyeon’s crazy. Missing any other class without a valid reason was fine, but missing math with Ms Seo was a death sentence. “You’re missing math? For what?” she sputters.
“I have to find (Name),” he says, running his fingers through his hair. He takes his phone out of his pocket, searching for the art gallery that he knows you’re at. It’s a 15 minute drive away — he’s just going to have to call a car to pick him up. “Yeah. I’m not gonna make it back in time for class.”
“Seonghyeon, Ms Seo is literally going to kill you. I know you’re worried about (Name), but can it wait? Maybe until lunch?”
“I’ve stalled for too long,” he shakes his head, clicking onto the rideshare app he rarely uses. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Seonghyeon has never felt this desperate. “It’s fine. I’ll take the detention and the six different worksheets she’ll give me. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do this.”
The conviction in his voice is enough to tell Leean that nothing she’ll say is going to stop him. She sighs, nodding. “At least just head to admin and sign out? Say that you have some health appointment — I don't think (Name) would want you to face Ms Seo's wrath either.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Seonghyeon says absentmindedly. He looks at his phone, and he sees that the cab is almost here. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” He slings his backpack over one shoulder, thanking Leean hastily before he runs out the classroom.
He runs right past the nurse’s office and the admin office – Seonghyeon really doesn’t care about the repercussions right now. Ms Seo is definitely going to kill him. His mother’s going to scold him when she finds out. Keonho, Martin and Juhoon are going to tease him about this mercilessly.
But love makes people do crazy things, and Eom Seonghyeon thinks that this is going to be one of the craziest things he’s ever done.
When Seonghyeon steps into the art gallery, he’s reminded about why he doesn’t go there willingly.
He likens them to mazes. To him, there’s no logical direction like there is in a history museum. Seonghyeon also especially hates that the map that he was given at the door doesn’t tell him where a specific painting is.
He's stopped by a ridiculously overpriced flower shop right at the front of the gallery, and he doesn’t hesitate to buy a bouquet of marigolds – your favourites. The ticket is also insanely expensive, but it doesn’t really matter. He can justify it to his mother later.
And considering that he has to find you in this maddeningly confusing place, Seonghyeon thinks that he’s really got his work cut out for him. He runs past every single painting, eyes flicking up to check if it’s the one that you mentioned. Much to his disappointment, the first few corridors that he runs down don’t have the painting displayed on the wall.
The other people in the museum – tourists, artists and critics – all look at him disapprovingly as his footsteps clack loudly on the wooden floor, disrupting the quietness and serenity of the space.
Seonghyeon grimaces when he spots someone glaring at him, muttering an apology for disrupting them. But he’s too preoccupied with finding you.
The stupid map he’s holding is of no help, and Seonghyeon practically wants to rip it apart until he wanders into a corridor that he thinks he’s never been to before. He doesn’t know where he is at this point, and he’s clutching onto the flowers for dear life as if they’ll somehow keep him sane. He’s been running around for 15 minutes, and he hasn’t found you yet. He’s starting to think that perhaps he’d gotten it wrong – maybe you weren’t here.
Seonghyeon turns the corner. His eyes flick up to the painting quickly, prepared to already groan in disappointment before he has to slink down another hallway that looks just about the same. But this time, he gasps.
Aristotle with a Bust of Homer.
Most people who go to art galleries would marvel at the painting for a few minutes before looking around the space.
Seonghyeon’s eyes immediately go to the figure sitting on the bench in front of the painting.
It’s you.
You’re writing something down in a notebook, one earphone in your ear with your brows furrowed in concentration. To Seonghyeon, you look unbelievably beautiful – you always do. His breath hitches in his throat, and suddenly all the words that he was preparing to say in the car are lost on him.
He can’t even bring himself to speak just yet — he just stands there for a few seconds, admiring you. Is it bad that he doesn’t care much about the painting?
Seonghyeon takes a deep breath before he clears his throat to catch your attention. You turn to look in the direction of the noise that had disrupted the silence, and you’re stunned when you see Seonghyeon standing there, with a bouquet of marigolds in his hands.
“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you here.”
You furrow your brows, setting your pen and notebook on the bench. “How’d you find me?” you ask in disbelief, taking out your earphones. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see him, but the ache from that night still stings a little.
“Rembrandt. You told me about his paintings and how you wanted to make your assignment about this exact work once when we were studying. And…I had to come find you,” he says, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I messed up that night.”
The mention of that night makes you grimace. “Seonghyeon, it’s fine — we really don’t have to talk about it. It was like a spur of the moment thing, or something. Just go back to class before Ms Seo literally kills you.”
“It wasn't,” The certainty in his voice surprises you. “I meant it. I wanted to.”
You don’t say anything in response, and Seonghyeon takes it as a cue to continue talking. Sera’s words ring in his head – just say something real.
“I always thought I disliked you,” he blurts out. Wow, bad start, he thinks. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? He sees your face fall slightly. “No, no, that came out wrong – um, let me finish. I don’t hate you. I’m just… really bad at realising my own feelings.”
“I always felt nervous around you, I never knew what to say, and I suppose I jumped to conclusions and thought that I hated you. But then this year… I realised that it was actually the opposite. My nerves really just stemmed from the fact that I… I cared about you. Cared about how well you were doing in school, cared about how you were always around, and I really cared about what you thought of me. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or anything or that I couldn’t match your intellect, as strange as it sounds.”
“And then this year I realised that I just knew things about you, even though I – stupidly – never made any attempt to try and get to know you better earlier on. Like how you tap the cover of your books when you’re nervous, and how you only use purple sticky tabs for pages in your books with annotations, and that you only use blue pens for essay subjects and black pens for subjects with numbers. His throat burns as he rambles. “Juhoon said that only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice these things, and I know I’m the latter.” Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way your breath catches in your throat when you hear him say that he’s in love with you.
“I’m sorry. I’m not good with emotions. I’m really stupid to only have realised it now. And I’m sorry that I pushed you away that night when I felt like… this. I got scared – everything got too real, I suppose, and thinking about what Sera said about you being her best friend and everything… I didn’t want everything to become strange.”
“But this week made me realise that I don’t think I could possibly live with myself without telling you how I feel and giving this a shot. I keep reading Symposium over and over again because it just reminded me of you, and I just… yeah. I know they're kind of mostly talking about platonic love there, but this line stuck out to me and I think it works. It was something about love being the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole, and... yeah. You just make me feel whole.
"I don't even know if that makes a lot of sense," he sighs, but Seonghyeon could not care less about looking dumb right now. "But I’m so stupidly in love with you.”
“I love how passionate you are about the things you’re interested in. I love how much you chat my ear off about Plato and Aristotle and Rembrandt’s paintings. I love how much you care about everyone – and how you care about me, such as knowing what kind of books I like, or my favourite flavour of ice cream when I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone before. It was that day at the bookstore where everything clicked for me – that I really, really liked you. And after that realisation, everything just finally felt right.”
“And I suppose what I’m trying to say here with all my rambling, is that if you’d still have me… I’d really want to be yours.”
He lets out a deep exhale after he pours his heart out to you. He quickly looks back down at his shoes once he’s finished speaking. He’s hesitant to even look at you and witness your reaction to his words. He’s never said anything this raw, this genuine, this honest – especially not regarding his feelings. But saying it out loud feels right. He loves you. Seonghyeon has never been more sure of anything in his life.
There's a beat of silence that falls between the two of you. Seonghyeon’s heart drops.
“Do you really mean all that?” you pipe up. You blink rapidly, as if you’re still trying to digest everything that he just said.
“Yeah,” He’s never said anything more real. “I do. Every word.”
“You’re… you’re insane,” you finally breathe out. Seonghyeon looks at you, and there are tears in your eyes. But you don’t seem angry or repulsed, and you’re not running away. He wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe the tears from your eyes for you, but he doesn’t know if you’re willing to let him get that close.
“I know,” he admits. His voice is low in a whisper, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “But I love you.”
He hopes it’s enough.
You step closer towards him, and Seonghyeon slowly looks up at you. “I thought I’d be the one to say all that first,” you shake your head almost in disbelief. After pining for him for so long, Seonghyeon ended up being the one who had confessed. You don’t think you ever saw that coming.
“So are you saying – you feel the same?” Seonghyeon stammers, panic evident in his tone. He doesn’t know why he’s actually asking that, considering that both Sera and Leean had confirmed it for him. He supposes that after that night, he didn’t know if you would actually still have feelings for him. “Like, I know it’s a lot to process, and I can wait–”
Your hands grab the lapels of his uniform, pulling him closer to you and capturing his lips in a kiss. He’s slightly taken aback at first before he kisses you back. One hand cups your cheek as the other finds your waist like he’s done this a million times before, and Seonghyeon kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe. Finally, he thinks. Everything feels right.
It was messy and desperate, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was the kind of kiss that conveyed every single emotion that the two of you felt for the last week after being separated for so long.
There couldn’t possibly be a more picturesque location for a first – well, second – kiss. The world crumbles away, and it’s only you and him. Seonghyeon doesn’t care that there’s other people in this damned art gallery that are acutely aware of their presence and what they’re doing. They’re no doubt either glancing at them oddly, or understanding that this is just young love.
When you pull away, your lips quirk up in a wide grin. “I love you too. I have, for a really long time now.” you say, whispering against his lips.
“I know,” he replies, remembering what Sera had told him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“Did Sera tell you everything?" You don’t seem surprised, but you are slightly embarrassed that Seonghyeon knows how long you’ve been waiting for him to like you back. He nods in response, and you try to hide the flustered expression on your face. “I figured. God, I can’t believe you know that I started reading history books just because I wanted to talk to you more.”
Seonghyeon now looks shocked. “You did?”
Your eyes widen – great, you’d just tattled on yourself. You groan, embarrassed as you bury your face in your hands. Seonghyeon’s airy laughter rings through the gallery, his hand gently caressing your shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. That’s… really sweet of you, actually. But I’m sorry for pushing you away all these years. And for pushing you away that night. I was a massive idiot.”
“I’m glad you know that,” you joke, but you’re still slightly embarrassed by revealing that small fact about yourself. “I really did want to speak to you, but I was just scared of getting rejected by a guy I’ve liked for a really long time. But I suppose this grand gesture does make up for most of it, though. I can’t believe you’re skipping Ms Seo’s class just for me.”
“This was important. And I know all the content anyways,” Seonghyeon hums. He suddenly remembers that the bouquet of marigolds is still in his hands, and his eyes widen in alarm. He checks them to see if the arrangement is ruined, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when they’re not. He nervously hands them out to you, and you accept them with a bright smile. “Sorry, I forgot to give you these earlier.”
“Marigolds,” you grin, admiring the flowers. You press a quick peck to his cheek and watch as his cheeks tint pink. “You remembered. They’re gorgeous.”
“I’m happy that you like them.” he beams. You think about every word that Seonghyeon said in that confession, and your heart blooms with warmth. “But I hope I’m not distracting you too much from your assignment with my confession. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here with you, right?”
You shake your head. You’re more than happy he’s here, but you’re genuinely worried that Ms Seo’s going to kill him when she finds out that he’s skipped her class. “I’m kind of done, I think. I made my notes and everything, and I just have to put everything together when I get home. But I was planning to stay and walk around the gallery a little bit more, since I’m signed out for the whole day. I just don’t want Ms Seo to… you know… make you suffer for the rest of the year?”
“I’ll tell my mom to maybe lie for me,” he replies, and you can tell that it’s sinking in for him that Ms Seo is not going to be easy on him unless he’s somehow able to pull an acceptable excuse out of his ass. “Surely my mom would understand. Sera would help me convince her too. Or maybe, Ms Seo would be totally okay with me saying that I had to pull off a grand gesture to get the girl I love back.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “That would be lovely, but also… no chance.”
“I’ll take the 15 worksheets she’ll give me. This was worth it,” he gives your hand a tight squeeze. “So… will you show me around the gallery? Just tell me everything about all of his paintings. We can start with this one?”
“I kind of talked way too much about this during that study session, Hyeon,” you laugh. You called him Hyeon. A giddy smile creeps up on his lips. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”
“I’d never get bored of hearing you talk.” he replies. You chuckle before flicking open your notebook. You read out the commentary you’ve made on the painting, pointing up at the specific parts that you’re mentioning. Seonghyeon listens to every single word with your hand laced in his, putting in his own thoughts here and there.
The two of you wander around the entire museum, and miraculously, with you by his side, Seonghyeon doesn’t get lost at all. Suddenly, he thinks that he loves art galleries.
He sneaks in a couple of kisses here and there as you’re rambling. He smiles in amusement as you completely forget what you’ve been saying after he presses his lips to yours.
The last painting the two of you see in the museum is The Polish Rider, and Seonghyeon finds it awfully fitting. The last painting he sees with you in this exhibit is the painting mentioned in the first poem that had in some ways, brought you two together.
As you’re telling him about the painting, he allows his eyes to wander a little. They land on you, and instantly, a lovesick smile stretches across his lips.
And it’s then when he just knows that the kind of love that had been described in the poem that you two had analysed together — breathtaking, all-consuming, fervent — was very much so attainable.
Because he feels it.
Despite being surrounded by paintings revered by all, Eom Seonghyeon would much rather look at you than all the other portraits in the world.
i know you haven't been here much but i need to share this like....... anton likes to be choked. look at that smile. jfc https://x.com/i/status/1998007266096865744
i can’t even.
i actually saw this before and i was fucking feral.
but i jus had to come back on here to acknowledge this. he’s such a freak ohmydays…
i’ve been so busy (i’m sorry😕) but writing sumth for this anton is on my mind🥹
imagine you riding him as usual and he’s just so into it not knowing what he’s saying, and all of a sudden asking begging you to choke him. saying “fuck i need your hands on my neck- b-baby please just—mmphh—press down a-a little bit” FFFUCK. and when you finally do it, you’re apprehensive at first, taking notice of his deep smirk, but then you get into it and press slightly deeper… his eyes are rolling all the way back into his skull, back arching off and his mouth changing from the smirk to let the loudest noise out that your hands can allow. the sounds he’s making are fucking music to your ears, he’s gasping for air, strained, dry whimpers and moans filling the room until he reaches his breaking point. now he’s jerking, cum spilling inside and painting your walls, tears falling from his eyes. when you let go, he’s coughing (some part of you turned on by that??) then looking up at you, still with that smirk, and saying “we’re doing that again.”
anton being a slut for your hands on his neck was genuinely not something i knew i needed until i saw that clip… him being that much of a freak, probably always staring at your hands, wondering why his dick always twitches and immediately goes stiff just by looking at them, when he’s by himself at night exploring and caressing his own neck pretending his hands are yours, him being so lost in the pleasure he doesn’t even realise he’s pressing deeper and deeper the closer he is, and then finally cumming with the image of you on top of him both hands to his neck and him being in complete submission to you…. this is driving me crazy bye
maybe i should write a full fic for this…. but i wont guarantee anything sorry my loves😞
.ᐟwarnings/tags: slow burn, religious/sacrilegious themes, blasphemy, small town, pastor's son!anton, slight hard dom!anton, sub!reader, virgin!reader, childhood friends to lovers, soulmates, anton has god complex, reader is a softie, reader worships anton, dirty talk, fluff, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, love, possessive anton, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, p in v, choking, marking, crying, creampie, aftercare
♡ you came back home expecting a quiet summer—then saw anton again. the sweet, golden boy, and all yours behind closed doors…the only boy you’d ever worship.
.ᐟwc: 17.4k
disclaimer! this content might offend or disturb some people, so if you don’t like this type of content please ignore.
You left the town when you were fourteen. Back then, you swore you wouldn’t miss it—this little town that moved too slow and talked too loud. The heat stuck to your skin like syrup, the neighbors always had opinions they shouldn’t, and everyone showed up to church twice a week like it was salvation itself. You were a kid, and the world outside seemed so much bigger. Better. But now, years later, you’re back. Not for a visit. Not for a funeral or a holiday. For good. Your parents wanted to return, said it was time to come “home.” Whatever that means anymore. You didn’t fight it. You didn’t exactly agree either. You just packed your things, followed the motion of their decision, and watched your life in the city shrink behind you. Now you’re here. Sitting on the porch of the same old house you ran through barefoot every summer, the one with the creaky floorboards and the paint peeling off the shutters. The door still groans the same way when it opens. The porch swing still drifts lazily. Some things don’t change, apparently. You pull one leg up under you, sip your ice tea, and squint into the sun. It’s the kind of sticky late afternoon that smells like grass clippings and pavement, almost too hot to breathe. Everything’s still and quiet. Until you hear it. A low voice carries from next door—gentle, warm, vaguely amused. It’s faint, but enough to stir something in you. A ripple of familiarity you weren’t expecting.
You turn your head, and suddenly, everything inside you stops. He’s standing in the yard next door. Anton Lee. At first, you don’t believe it. Your eyes try to make sense of him, this version of him, the one time has molded into something…different. He’s talking to a pair of old women in wide sun hats and floral dresses, probably fresh out of a church committee meeting. He’s got one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the other gesturing politely as he nods along to whatever they’re saying. You can’t hear the words. You’re not really trying to. You’re too busy staring. He looks…grown. Not in a “he got taller” kind of way—but in the way his shoulders fill out his faded t-shirt. In the sharp angle of his jawline, the curve of his neck, the slope of his nose, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends from the heat. Even from this far, you can tell—he’s beautiful. And he’s still Anton. Your neighbor. Your best friend. The boy who used to chase frogs with you until your mom called you in. Who used to pass you folded notes during service. Who once cried when your parents told you you were moving away.
You’d promised to stay in touch. You meant it. But you were fourteen, and life got loud, and somewhere along the way, the calls and texts stopped. Now here he is. Right there. You sit up straighter without meaning to. Your ice tea glass sweats in your hand. He hasn’t noticed you yet, still caught in conversation. You wonder if you look different—older, prettier, unfamiliar. Would he recognize you right away if he turned? You don’t wait to find out. Your nerves get the best of you. You stand, grabbing your empty glass, and head toward the door. You tell yourself you’re not avoiding him. You’re just hot. Tired. Not ready even. But just as your hand pushes the door open, something makes you glance back over your shoulder. And there he is—Staring right at you. The old women are gone now, vanished as quietly as they arrived. Anton’s standing alone in the yard, one hand shielding the sun from his eyes, the other still loosely in his pocket. His gaze is fixed on you. He looks confused. Not startled, but searching. Like he’s not sure what he’s looking at. Or like he is, and just can’t believe it. You don’t move. For a second, the world narrows down to that look, his eyes locked on yours, brows drawn just slightly, lips parted like he’s about to say your name. And then the door creaks open, and you step inside, heart pounding. You don’t look back again.
♱
The church hasn’t changed. Same tall stained-glass windows. Same dusty hymnals and creaky pews. The same low hum of whispers as the congregation filters in, dressed in their Sunday best. It smells like old wood and candle wax and someone’s too-strong perfume. You smooth down the dress your mom made you wear—soft blue, modest, snug around your waist—and slide into the pew beside her. She’s already smiling and waving at everyone like she never left. You, on the other hand, feel like an imposter. Like a ghost drifting back into a life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.
And then you see him. Anton. Standing at the front of the sanctuary, just off to the side of the pulpit, next to his father—Pastor Lee. His posture is perfect. His hands folded in front of him. His white button-down shirt is tucked in tight, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms. The warm light from the stained glass glows faintly against his skin, catching the edges of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose. He looks calm. Holy, even. But when his eyes find yours from across the room, he grins. Just slightly. It’s subtle. Private. Like a secret being passed from the altar to the back pew. You feel your lips pull into a shy smile before you even realize it. Your fingers twitch in your lap, and then, almost without thinking, you lift your hand and give a small wave.
He returns it. Barely a flick of his fingers. Then he glances away, face schooled back into quiet reverence. Your mom leans over and whispers, “Is that Anton? My goodness, he grew up so well.” You try not to show how warm your face suddenly feels. The final “Amen” echoes through the chapel, and the congregation begins to stir—hymnals closing, shoes scuffing, greetings starting before people even leave the pews. You trail behind your mom as she makes her way through the crowd, stopping to hug familiar faces and catch up with people she hasn’t seen in years. Everyone’s talking at once. You spot Anton near the front doors, his father deep in conversation with one of the deacons. Anton’s standing just off to the side again, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking toward you every few seconds. This time, you go to him. “Hey,” you say, voice soft, nerves bubbling in your chest like soda.
He turns fully, and when he sees you up close, his whole expression shifts—like he wasn’t prepared for it. Like he’s still piecing together the girl he used to know with the version of you standing in front of him now. “Wow,” he breathes, and then, quieter, “You came back.” You nod, feeling suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. “We moved back. For good.” His eyes drag over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every difference, every change. “You look…” He doesn’t finish. Just offers a crooked smile. “It’s good to see you.” You smile, heart pounding. “You too. You—uh. You look good.”
That makes him laugh under his breath, low and warm. “Yeah? Thanks.” But before either of you can say anything else—“Oh, Anton!” Your mom’s voice slices through the air like a knife, and both of you turn to her. She slips beside you with a bright smile and gently pats Anton’s arm. “It’s been so long! Look at you—such a handsome young man now. You’re the spitting image of your father.” Anton chuckles politely, hands still tucked in his pockets. “It’s really good to see you, Mrs. ___.” Your mom beams. “You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime! You and your family. How about tonight?” Your breath catches. Tonight? Anton’s brows lift slightly. “Uh—I mean, I’d love to. If my parents are free.” “I’ll ask your mother myself,” your mom chirps. “I’m sure she’d love the chance to catch up. You’ll come too, won’t you?” she adds, turning back to you with a wink, as if the two of you didn’t just meet like strangers five minutes ago. Anton looks at you. His voice is calm, but his eyes burn just a little too long on yours. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
♱
The evening sunlight filtered warm through the windows as your mother moved around the kitchen, humming a song under her breath. The table was already set, too neatly and too nervously. Everything felt like a performance. You sat on the edge of the couch, smoothing your dress for the fifth time, your heart fluttering even though you told yourself to stop. They were just neighbors. Old friends. Familiar faces. So why were your hands shaking? You heard the knock on the door, and your mom rushed to answer it, voice lifting in a cheery greeting. You stood slowly, swallowing the tight feeling in your throat as you peeked around the corner. And there he was. He looked like a dream. Soft, navy pullover, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he hadn’t even tried, and still, somehow, he looked perfect. He smiled, all warmth and politeness, as your mother pulled him into a hug, then turned his eyes toward you. Something in his expression shifted for just a second when he saw you—something unreadable. His eyes dragged over you slow, then stopped at your face like he had to remind himself to keep it respectful. And then, that gentle smile again. “Hey,” he said softly, walking toward you. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” Your lips parted, the sound caught in your throat. “Hi. Yeah, me neither.” He looked taller up close. Broader. And his voice had dropped since you were kids—low, smooth, just a little husky when he said your name.
The rest of his family trailed in behind him, greetings flying around the room. But all you could hear was the way his fingers brushed yours when he handed over the pie he brought. All you could feel was his gaze, lingering just a second too long when you sat beside him at the table. Dinner passed with polite conversation, church talk, your mom laughing too loudly at Pastor Lee’s stories. But beneath the table, your knees brushed every now and then. Barely. But you felt them. You felt him. And every time you got a little flustered—fumbling your fork, fixing your skirt—he noticed. Of course he noticed. At one point, when your mother stepped away to grab more wine and the conversation quieted, Anton leaned a little closer to you. His voice was low, just for you. “You look good tonight,” he murmured, eyes still trained politely ahead. Your breath caught, cheeks flushed immediately. “Oh…thanks. So do you.” He tilted his head just slightly, that same soft smile still on his face. “Yeah?” You nodded, biting your lip. He blinked slowly, eyes flicking over your face. Then you felt it—his hand brushing yours again under the table, fingers grazing your palm like a secret. And when dessert was served and your mom asked Anton if he could help you bring the dishes to the table, he stood right away, still perfectly polite and perfect.
The house was full of soft voices and clinking glasses. From the living room came the low hum of conversation, your mom and the Lees laughing about something from years ago, the kind of stories adults always went back to after dinner. But you weren’t in there. You were in the kitchen. Feet swinging gently from where you sat on the counter, hands resting at your sides, cool glass of water in your lap. Anton stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in soapy water as he quietly washed the dishes. The warm overhead light hit his profile just right—sharp jaw, lashes lowered, mouth set in focus. His back was broad beneath his shirt, shoulders flexing slightly with every quiet movement. He looked unfair like that. Domestic. Godly. You didn’t know how long you’d been watching him. He hadn’t said anything since he started washing, just passed you a small smile when you hopped up on the counter, like it was normal for you to sit there, legs bare and tucked beneath you, eyes trained shamelessly on him.
He rinsed the last plate, turning off the faucet. Flicked water off his hands before reaching for a towel. “You always watch people do chores,” he asked, drying his fingers, “or just me?” You smiled, letting your head tilt just a little. “Just you.” That made him laugh softly. It rumbled low, barely audible. He turned slightly to face you, still rubbing his hands with the towel. “You’ve changed,” he said, voice calm. “You’re…different.” Your heart thudded. You looked down at your glass. “Is that…bad?” “No,” he said. Then, quieter, “Not at all.” Another pause stretched between you. You didn’t move. Neither did he. Then, without thinking, you asked, “Do you wanna go on a walk?” His brow lifted slightly. “A walk?” You nodded, eyes meeting his. “Yeah. Just…around the neighbourhood. It’s still warm out.” He hesitated for a second. Not because he didn’t want to—but because it was too easy to say yes. And then he did. “Sure,” he said, smile slow. “Let me grab my shoes.”
The streets were quiet when the two of you slipped out the front door, the summer air thick with warmth and crickets. Porch lights flickered behind doors, and far-off wind chimes swayed lazily in the breeze. The town was asleep. You walked side by side in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps, arms brushing occasionally. Anton’s hands were in his pockets, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, his eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead as if he didn’t want to look at you too much. But he did. Every now and then, you caught him. “It’s so weird being back,” you murmured after a stretch of silence. “Everything’s the same. But not really.” He nodded, glancing over. “I know what you mean. I still expect to see you riding your bike down the road with that ridiculous blue helmet.” You laughed. “Hey, I loved that helmet.” I know,” he grinned. You walked like that for a while, laughter trailing into comfortable quiet. Eventually, you reached the edge of a small park—the same one you used to play in together when you were kids. The swingset was still there, creaking gently in the breeze. The old sandbox. The crooked bench. You tugged his arm gently. “Let’s sit for a while.” He didn’t hesitate. You both dropped into the cool grass near the trees, far from the streetlight. The ground was still warm from the day, but the night air had cooled enough to make the moment feel peaceful. You leaned back on your hands, head tilted to the sky. “The stars here are brighter,” you said quietly. “They always were,” he replied, watching you instead.
You talked. About church. About how weird it was being adults now. About the people who’d stayed, and the ones who left. And somehow the conversation slowed—turned softer and deeper. The kind of conversation that only happens when it’s late and quiet and you feel like the rest of the world isn’t real anymore. Anton sat cross-legged now, one arm draped over his knee. He looked relaxed, content. And you…felt brave. Your heart pounded as you turned toward him. His profile looked so serene in the moonlight, his lashes casting shadows, lips parted slightly, breath calm. And before you could stop yourself—You leaned in. A soft kiss. Just a quick, warm press of your lips to his cheek. Barely a breath. When you pulled back, his head turned to you instantly. You looked down at the hem of your dress, fingers nervously twisting the fabric in your lap. “What was that for?” he asked, a quiet laugh under his breath. “I-I don’t know, sorry—,” you mumbled, shoulders curling in a little. He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, he reached out. One hand cupped your jaw, soft and slow, his thumb brushing the edge of your cheek. He leaned in, tilting your face toward his. “Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.” You did. Big, nervous eyes meeting his calm, unreadable ones. And then—He kissed you. Not rushed. Not messy. Just firm and real, lips warm and sure, like he’d wanted to do it for hours but waited until you asked first, without saying a word. When he pulled back, his voice was quieter than ever. “I missed you,” he murmured. Your heart felt like it could explode.
The kiss lingered on your lips long after it ended. You didn’t speak as he helped you up from the grass, his hand brushing yours gently—barely holding it, but not letting go either. The walk back was quiet, the kind of silence that says everything. The air between you was different now. Warmer. Buzzing. When you reached your front porch, the light was still on. The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the Lees’ house next door, your mom probably inside chatting with Anton’s parents. Anton stopped at the base of your steps. Hands in his pockets again. Looking up at you like he was still memorizing your face. “My parents went home already,” he said softly. “I should head back too.” You nodded, unsure what to say. Still dazed from the kiss. From him “Thanks for walking with me,” you said, trying not to sound too breathless. He stepped up onto the porch now, closer. Just enough to make your heart skip. “Thanks for the walk,” he said, voice even softer. “And the kiss.” Your cheeks burned. You looked down again, fidgeting with the hem of your dress like you had earlier. He didn’t tease you for it. Instead, he leaned in, one hand brushing lightly against your elbow as he tilted his head and kissed the top of yours. “Goodnight.” he murmured into your hair. Your chest ached. “Goodnight, Toni.” you whispered. He lingered for a beat, then gave you one last glance, turned, and stepped off the porch, disappearing into the quiet dark. And you just stood there, frozen in place, barely breathing, fingers clutching your dress. Still tasting the kiss from earlier and trying to make sense of the boy next door—the pastor’s golden son, all grown up and kissing you like that.
♱
Days passed, warm and slow. You kept seeing Anton. Not on purpose, but always like clockwork. He showed up one afternoon with a Tupperware of still-warm cookies, claiming his mom made too many again. The day after that, you bumped into him outside while taking out the trash, and he offered to help like it was nothing—shirt sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing, that same easy smile on his face. There were walks again, too. Small ones. Night air between you, your arms occasionally brushing. The conversation was light—never touching that night. The kiss. The way your heart pounded every time you looked at him too long. But Anton never pushed. Just walked beside you like he had all the time in the world. The church bells rang slow and sweet, echoing through the summer air.
You sat next to your mom like always, her hands clutching her small bag. The usual crowd filled the pews, faces you’d known since childhood, some changed by time, some exactly the same. The windows let in golden light, and the air smelled faintly of old wood and floral perfume. Anton sat beside his father at the front—eyes forward, posture perfect. Button-up crisp, sleeves rolled just once at the wrists. His hands were folded, resting neatly in his lap like some model of quiet discipline. But then he looked over. Just a flick of his eyes at first. But then he saw you, and the shift was subtle but real. The corner of his mouth lifted. You smiled too—small, hesitant. He raised two fingers in the tiniest of waves, the gesture hidden just beneath the edge of the pew. You returned it, heartbeat thrumming. When everyone bowed their heads to pray, you did too. Eyes closed. Hands together. But you could feel him watching you.
The usual bustle followed—hymns fading, churchgoers chatting, children running in the yard. Your mom was pulled into a conversation with some older women near the back, and you stepped out into the hallway for a breath of air. That’s when you heard footsteps behind you. “Hey.” You turned, and there he was, smiling softly. Holding a paper cup of lemonade. Hair slightly messier now that the formalities were over. “Hi,” you said, a little breathless. You hated that he could still do that to you.He looked at you quietly for a moment, then reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear—so gently it made your chest ache. “You look good today,” he said, voice low. “Really good.” Your breath caught. You tried to hide your smile by looking at the floor, mumbling, “You too.” He chuckled, head tilted. “You think?” “Mhm.”“Then maybe you should come over tonight.” Your eyes lifted slowly. “Tonight?”“Just for dinner. Hang out a bit. My parents will be out…for a while.” He gave you a look. One you felt deep in your stomach. You swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.” “Okay,” he echoed, and his smile softened. “I’ll text you.” Then he leaned a little closer—just enough to brush his fingers against your wrist as he passed.
You knocked once—lightly. The door opened almost immediately. Anton stood there in a soft gray t-shirt and jeans, white socks, hair a little messy like he’d been running his hand through it before you arrived. His eyes dropped to your dress, the short, soft one you hadn’t worn in forever. White with a little blue. You saw the flicker in his gaze before he blinked it away. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “Come in.” You stepped past him, blushing. His house smelled like warm food and clean linen. Familiar and still somehow brand new. You slipped off your shoes by the door, glancing around as he led you to the living room. “My parents are out. Church committee stuff.” He looked over his shoulder, voice easy. “You want to eat on the couch?” You nodded. “Sure.” The two of you sat with plates on your laps—chicken and mashed potatoes and something buttery his mom must’ve made. The TV was on low in the background, but neither of you were watching it. You talked about dumb things. Summer. Church gossip. What your moms were probably up to. “I still can’t believe you’re back,” he said suddenly, glancing at you as you licked a bit of sauce from your thumb. “It’s like…I blinked and you turned into a whole woman.” You almost choked on your drink, cheeks heating. “Anton—” “Sorry.” He smiled softly. “Just being honest.” You tucked your hair behind your ear, glancing down at your lap. The hem of your dress barely reached mid-thigh. His eyes kept flicking down, and then back up, every time. He cleared his throat, then stood. “Wanna see something?” “What?”“Old photos. Us.” You laughed, instantly standing. “You still have those?”
“Unfortunately.” He led you up the stairs, your heart thudding harder with every step. His room was at the end of the hall, same as you remembered, but different now. Cleaner. Calmer and more grown-up. He let you sit on his bed while he rummaged through a drawer. You crossed your legs and the dress shifted, rising slightly. Anton paused, back still toward you, but you saw the way his shoulders rose with a breath before he kept going. “Here,” he said, finally holding up a crinkled photo album. You leaned close as he sat beside you, the two of you shoulder to shoulder as you flipped through the pages. “Oh my god,” you whispered, pointing. “You look so cute!” “I was 10.” “And this one! The matching outfits?” “Our moms were insane,” he groaned, grinning. But every time you laughed, every time your thigh brushed his or your shoulder pressed into his arm, you could feel the shift in the air. It was slow, creeping in like heat. His smile softened. His gaze lingered longer. And when you turned your head toward him to say something, your breath caught. Because he was already looking at you. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just…looking. Eyes dark. Jaw tight. Like he was holding something back so tightly it hurt. “What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. He shook his head a little, but didn’t look away.“You’re just…” He exhaled slowly. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Your breath hitched. “Anton…” He reached up, so slowly, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. Your cheeks flushed instantly. You could feel the warmth spreading down your neck, across your chest, like your skin knew something was coming before your mind did. Anton’s thumb was still brushing your cheek, and your heart was hammering like it wanted to climb into his hand. “I—um…” Your voice came out breathless. Quiet. Embarrassed. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your dress, twisting the hem like you didn’t know what to do with your hands.cAnton didn’t say anything at first. He just let the silence stretch—thick, humming, full of everything you weren’t saying. Then, softly, almost amused, “You always this quiet when someone tells you you’re beautiful?” You froze. Your breath hitched, lashes fluttering as you finally looked up again. His smile had softened, but his eyes hadn’t—they were still dark, focused, soaking in every little flinch, every blush. “It’s cute,” he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. “Makes me wanna see what else gets you like this.”You blinked. “Anton—” He moved before you could stop yourself. One hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. Not rough, but not hesitant either. His thumb brushed along the side of your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly, just enough for your eyes to lock again. “Can I?” he asked. You swallowed, lips parted, the air between you tight as a thread. And then you nodded, looking up at him with big sparkly eyes. That’s all he needed.
His lips were on yours before you could blink, stealing the air right out of your lungs. His hand stayed firm behind your head, holding you in place like he was finally letting himself taste what he’d been craving since the second he saw you on that porch again. It wasn’t rushed. But it wasn’t soft either. It was deep, and hot, and meant. Like he’d already decided you were his, and this was the first time he let himself show it. You whimpered into his mouth, hands clinging to his shirt, and that was when he groaned—quiet, low, right against your lips. “I swear, you look at me like that and I can’t think straight.” Then he kissed you again, harder.
And for a second, just a second, you felt everything else—church, family, rules—slip away like it had never existed. Just you. Just him. His lips moved against yours with growing heat, still controlled, but barely. You could feel it in the way his fingers curled tighter at the back of your head, the way his breath hitched when your body pressed closer to his. Then you felt his hand slip down, slowly, gliding from your jaw to your waist, and lower. You gasped softly when his fingertips ghosted under the hem of your dress, meeting the bare skin of your thigh. He stilled for half a second, almost like he was asking permission without saying it out loud, but when you didn’t stop him, his touch grew firmer. His palm slid higher, his hand large and warm on the soft skin of your inner thigh.
The kiss deepened. His tongue slipped into your mouth, slow and steady, tasting you like he’d been imagining this forever. You melted into him completely, fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, thighs parting just a little more as he leaned into you. He groaned quietly when you did that. “Lie back,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, like he was trying not to break. “Please.” You let him guide you down gently, back hitting the mattress, your dress shifting with the movement. He came with you, hovering, his knee slotting between your legs, hand still gripping your thigh as he kissed you again. You sighed into his mouth when his hand traveled up farther, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear, but stopping just short. “Fuck,” he whispered, lips moving against your jaw now. “You don’t get it…” his voice cracked. “I’m trying so hard to be good.” His hand squeezed your thigh, possessive, like he was grounding himself. “But you’re making it so fucking hard.” His mouth found yours again, open and hot, and all you could do was whimper into it, body arching into his like your whole skin was burning for more.
Your fingers slipped into his hair, soft and slow, and he let out the faintest breath, like even your touch could undo him. He was still kissing you like he didn’t want to take too much. Like he was holding himself back even though you could feel the tension in every part of him. And then you looked up at him. Sweetly. Eyes wide, lips parted, your gaze soft and honest like you didn’t even know what that look was doing to him.“Anton…” He pulled back slightly, breath shaky, brows drawn tight like he was trying to read you, trying to figure out if he could survive any more of this. Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones. You leaned in, barely a whisper between your lips. “You don’t have to be good with me.” The second it left your mouth, you felt it happen. His breath stilled. His eyes darkened. “Don’t say that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, more like a warning to himself than to you. “You don’t know what you’re giving me.” But his hands were already moving, gripping your thighs, pushing your dress up slowly until it was bunched at your waist. You gasped as the night air met your bare skin, and he hovered there for a second, eyes dropping.The sight of you underneath him—flushed, breathing hard, in your pretty little panties and dress—did something to him.
His mouth found your neck first. But this time, he didn’t hold back. He sucked hard, right on the soft skin beneath your collarbone. Then again, higher this time, where he knew it would show tomorrow. A visible claim. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair. “Mine,” he whispered against your skin, almost too low to hear. “You’re mine.” His lips trailed down, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, lower, down your stomach. Slow. Worshipful. Possessive. Then he knelt between your legs, hands caressing your thighs like he needed to memorize every inch. And then he saw them. Your panties—soft, soaked through, clinging to your folds just enough for him to make out the outline. He groaned, dragged his palm up your thigh and pressed it right over your center, fingers cupping you through the wet fabric. “Fuck…” His voice was ruined. “You’re already dripping, baby?” You couldn’t answer. Your hips lifted into his touch instinctively, a soft whimper breaking in your throat. He looked up at you, eyes wild now, barely able to stay soft anymore. “Want me to keep being good now?” he asked, thumb dragging along the dampest part of your panties. You shook your head no, and he smiled softly. You could barely breathe.
His thumb pressed gently over your soaked panties, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch. His touch was slow, like he wasn’t in a hurry. Like he wanted to feel every little reaction you gave him. He kissed your inner thigh again, soft and wet, then moved his lips even closer, brushing just shy of where you needed him. “God, angel…” he murmured against your skin. “You’re soaked.” You whimpered, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. He kissed you again, higher this time, just at the edge of your underwear, and your hips lifted instinctively.He smiled softly. He liked that. You could tell. “You trust me?” You nodded, breathless. “Yes.” “Good.” His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, slowly, teasingly, and began to pull them down. You lifted your hips for him without thinking, cheeks burning as the cool air kissed your skin. He dragged the fabric down your thighs, your knees, your ankles, then tossed them aside like he’d been waiting years to see you like this. And then he just stared for a moment. Silent. “So fuckin’ pretty…” he said, almost to himself. His hands slid back up your thighs, warm, slow and possessive, and when he reached your hips, he pressed a kiss right above your mound. Then lower. And lower. Until his mouth was right where you needed him most.
You barely had time to gasp before his tongue was on you. Hot. Slow. Unbelievably soft. Your hips jerked. Your back arched. And he groaned like he loved the way you tasted. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging on instinct, and the sound it pulled from him, that low, needy groan, shot straight through your spine. He looked up at you, cheeks flushed, lips slick and red, hair a mess from your grip. And you almost came just from the sight. Golden boy Anton. Saintly, sweet, so polite Anton. On his knees, tongue deep between your thighs, looking up at you like you were heaven. “Anton—” you gasped, nearly overwhelmed. “You—fuck—” He didn’t stop. He didn’t even blink.
His tongue moved faster, more focused now, licking slow deliberate circles over your clit, and when you tugged his hair harder, his grip on your thighs tightened. His eyes never left yours. “You taste insane” he whispered, voice thick and ruined against you. He went right back in, and your thighs threatened to close around his head—your saint of a boy, face buried in your heat, moaning like he was being blessed by every sound you made. His tongue kept working you, steady and deep, your thighs trembling against his big hands. You were falling apart underneath him, whimpering, gasping, one hand clutching the sheets while the other tightened in his hair, holding on like you were about to float away. “Toni—nghh—please~” you cried out, voice broken, eyes fluttering. That name from your lips, so sweet, so needy, made him groan so deep it vibrated against your clit. Then, without warning, he slid two fingers into you. Slow. Deep. Filling. You gasped—head falling back, mouth parted in a breathless moan—as he began pumping them in and out, curling just right, dragging wet, lewd sounds from between your thighs. “That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough, breath warm. “You sound so pretty like this.”
You couldn’t even think, you could only feel.The stretch of his fingers. The way his palm pressed perfectly against your heat. How his mouth returned to your clit, licking and sucking hard while his fingers fucked into you. You were so close. So close. “Toni—Toni, please, I—” His mouth pulled back, breath warm on your soaked skin. But his fingers didn’t stop. They kept moving inside you, deep and curling upward with every pump, the slick sounds making your whole body burn. You reached for him, desperate, your hand grabbing the back of his head and pulling him up fast. And then you kissed him. Hard, messy and needy. Your lips crashed into his, tasting yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as his fingers kept moving inside you relentlessly. Anton hummed into the kiss, hips pressing forward into the mattress like he couldn’t help it, like he was falling apart just from the way you kissed him back. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling your body closer to his chest as the kiss deepened—his fingers still fucking you, perfectly in rhythm with the way your body rocked against his hand. Your whole body tensed—hips lifting, hands tangled tight in Anton’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. And when his fingers hit just right, deep and curling, his mouth finding your clit again, you shattered. “T-Toni—! F-fuck—” You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you through it, swallowing every gasp, every broken cry, as your orgasm ripped through you like a wave. Your thighs clenched around his waist. Your fingers gripped his hair in both hands. Your body shook beneath him. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.
Even as your hips bucked and trembled, his fingers kept moving. Slowly drawing it out. Helping you ride it until your whole body gave out in his arms. And when you finally collapsed against the bed, gasping, boneless, lips parted, he pulled away slowly, breathless, mouth red and glistening, cheeks flushed like he’d just sinned and loved it. He looked at you like you were holy. He reached up and brushed his knuckles across your cheek, warm and gentle. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice rough around the edges. You nodded, barely. Still breathless. He leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your cheek, then one just below your jaw. Then lower to your neck, where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath your skin. His lips stayed there a moment, like he wanted to memorize the feeling of you. His hands moved down, big and warm on your bare thighs. He caressed the soft skin gently, thumbs stroking where he’d held you open, his touch full of something that felt like quiet praise. Then, without saying a word, he reached for your panties on the floor and helped you slip them back on, careful and slow. Once they were in place, he leaned forward again, resting his forehead against yours for just a second, both of you breathing the same quiet air. Then he murmured, “I think my parents’ll be back soon.” Your heart jumped, reality creeping back in, but Anton’s hand was already smoothing over your thigh again, grounding you. He looked at you like he didn’t want you to leave. But he would let you. For now.
♱
The night air was cooler now, soft against your skin as you stepped out into the quiet, still pulling your cardigan around you. Anton walked beside you in silence, his hands in his pockets, close enough for your fingers to brush every few steps. Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to. You could still feel him—on your skin, in your breath, between your legs. And he could still feel you too. You saw it in the way he glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking. That small curve of a smile he couldn’t quite hide. When you reached your front porch, you turned to face him, heart fluttering in your chest. He looked so soft in the dim porch light—hair a little messy, lips still a little pink, his eyes warm and unreadable. He stepped closer. “Thanks for coming over,” he murmured. “Thanks for…everything,” you whispered back, cheeks warming again, your hands behind your back. He chuckled quietly. Then he leaned in, hand gently cupping your waist, and kissed you. Soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way he’d touched you earlier…but just as overwhelming. When he pulled back, he stayed close. His forehead nearly touching yours, his voice low, “See you tomorrow?”
You nodded. “Yeah…tomorrow.” He smiled, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips again, and then turned to walk back toward his house, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders just a little looser than before. And you stood there a moment longer, fingers brushing your lips, your heart pounding so loud it felt like it echoed through the quiet street. You tried to blink it away, tried to smooth your face as you stepped inside your house, quietly closing the door behind you. The light from the kitchen was still on. “There you are,” your mom called from the table. “I was starting to think you fell asleep next door.” You let out a soft laugh, cheeks still warm as you stepped out of your shoes. “No… Just stayed a bit to talk.” “Mhm,” she hummed, sipping her tea. “Well, don’t forget—we’re helping set up for the charity event tomorrow after church. Anton will be there too.” Your heart skipped. “Right. I remember.” You turned toward the hallway, trying to keep your voice even. “G’night, Mom.” “Night, sweetheart.” You made it to your room, closed the door softly, and leaned back against it, chest rising and falling like you’d run a mile. Tomorrow. You’d see him again tomorrow. And the worst part? You were already aching for it.
♱
The church was warm with soft chatter and the scuff of shoes on tile. Long folding tables lined the walls, each draped with pale tablecloths and surrounded by open boxes of clothes and canned goods. It smelled like lemon cleaner and faint perfume and sunlight clinging to old wood. You stood at one end of a table, fingers smoothing out the cloth. Your eyes were focused, but your mind wasn’t. Not when he was this close. Anton stood just beside you, setting out trays and centerpieces like it was second nature. His sleeves were rolled up, veins in his forearms catching the light when he moved. He didn’t say much. Just worked quietly, side by side, like he was trying not to draw attention to the way his shoulder kept brushing yours. And then he leaned in. Not much. Just enough that his mouth was near your ear, his voice low, almost lazy. “You look beautiful.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like a confession. Your breath caught. You froze for half a second, hands paused on the table, before you slowly looked at him. But he was already turning, lifting another box, acting like nothing happened. Like your heart wasn’t now hammering inside your chest. You swallowed. Lips parted. Eyes burning into the back of his neck.
The church was mostly quiet except for the gentle shuffling of boxes and folding chairs. It was just the two of you now. The sun had dipped hours ago, casting golden light through the stained glass before fading completely into night. Only the warm glow of the overhead lights remained, soft and holy. Anton was stacking donation boxes near the front pew while you tried to make sense of the tangled folding chairs at the back. You were humming softly to yourself—half from nerves, half from the way his presence always made you feel too warm lately. You reached for one of the metal chairs, too quick, and your foot caught on another folded leg. Your balance slipped. “Oh—!”But before you could hit the ground, Anton was there. His hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you upright, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breath hitched. His eyes scanned your face quickly, his hands still steady on your body. “You okay?” You nodded, your hands splayed against his chest now. His pullover was soft. Warm. And under it, he was solid. “Sorry,” you whispered, the tiniest laugh in your throat. Your smile was shy, your cheeks flushed.He didn’t laugh. Didn’t let go. Just looked at you. Like he was thinking something he shouldn’t. And then, his arms tightened slightly around your waist.
His mouth parted just a bit, and his voice came low, “You’re really not making it easy for me.” You blinked up at him. “What?” But he didn’t explain. Instead, he kissed you. Right there, in the middle of the church, surrounded by donation stuff and folding chairs. It was sudden, and deep, and so full of everything he’d been holding back. His lips moved over yours with a kind of hunger that felt like it had been waiting for an excuse. And you—pressed to his chest, hands still curled in his sweater—kissed him back like you’d been waiting too. His lips moved over yours with more urgency now, rougher and deeper. Your fingers curled in his hair as his hand slid around to your lower back, pressing you closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the quiet growl in the back of his throat every time your breath caught.
You gasped into his mouth, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Anton… we’re at church—” His mouth chased yours, voice low and hard, “I don’t fucking care.” He kissed you again, hungrier, and in one swift, effortless motion, his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you up. Your breath hitched as he placed you on the edge of the long wooden table behind you, the one you’d just been sorting donation envelopes on. Now, forgotten. You looked at him, heart racing.“What if someone sees us?” you breathed. His hands slid up your thighs, firm and possessive, as he stepped between them.“Let them.” His voice was rough, wrecked. A low growl right against your skin. And then his lips dropped to your neck.
He kissed over the faint marks he’d left days ago, soft at first, then deeper. His teeth grazed the skin just below your jaw, and you whined, hands gripping his shoulders. He kissed lower, leaving new marks with every pass of his mouth, like he was reclaiming territory only he could touch. “Toni…” you whispered, breath trembling. He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips—like that. Soft, whiny, his. His fingers pressed into your thighs, thumbs brushing under the hem of your skirt as his mouth dragged down your throat, slow and hot. His hands were everywhere—firm on your thighs, sliding under your skirt, curling around your waist like he couldn’t get you close enough.
You gasped when his hands gripped lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you forward on the table until you could feel the pressure of his hard-on between your legs. “Toni,” you whimpered, dizzy, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his sweater. “We can’t—God’s watching—” He froze for half a second. Just long enough to lift his head, eyes burning into yours. Then he said it—quiet, calm, but full of something dark and unshakable, “I am God.” Your lips parted, breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know if you were shocked or turned on. Maybe both. He watched your face as the words settled in, his eyes hooded, the corner of his mouth twitching up when he saw the heat rising in your cheeks. His voice dropped lower, curling into your chest like smoke. “Right now…I’m the only one you pray to.” And then his mouth was back on you—kissing your collarbones, biting softly where your strap had slipped just low enough.
One hand slipped up your back while the other gripped the underside of your thigh, holding you wide open for him. You whimpered, arching into him without meaning to. “Anton—“ “Say it again.” His voice was ragged now, mouth warm on your skin, dragging against the edge of your bra strap. You barely managed a breath, “Toni…” He groaned, low and deep, fingers digging into your skin. “Mm. Keep saying my name like that.” His breath hitched as he pulled back just slightly, eyes locked on yours. His jaw was clenched, brows tight, voice lower than you’d ever heard it.“Get on your knees.” You blinked. “What?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, gentle but firm, as he leaned in close, lips brushing your cheek. “On your knees, baby.” Your heart practically jumped out of your chest. Heat flooded your face, your stomach, your thighs. You hesitated only for a second, just long enough for your breath to stutter. But then, you slid off the table slowly. Down to your knees. The cold floor pressed against your skin as you settled in front of him. You tilted your head up, shy, lips parted, eyes doe like and innocent, and his entire body visibly tensed. His gaze was fixed on you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he was trying not to fall apart. “Fuck…” He reached down, threading his fingers into your hair. Not pulling, just petting. Slow, reverent strokes, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you like this. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, soft and possessive all at once. “Look at you,” he whispered. “So sweet for me.” You sighed, eyes never leaving his. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “My pretty little angel…”
You stayed perfectly still on your knees, heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Anton’s thumb grazed your bottom lip slowly, and you parted your lips without even thinking. That’s when his smile shifted, something darker curling at the corners. He dragged his thumb down, then slid his index finger along your lip, tapping it once against your mouth. You let him push his finger past your lips—slow, deep—and your lashes fluttered as the pad of it pressed against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around it instinctively, and his breath stuttered. “Good girl…” His voice was a whisper, low and wrecked. Like just seeing you like this, on your knees, sucking his finger, eyes big and wet—was too much for him to handle. He watched you. Let you lick and suck gently, the corner of his lip twitching when you whimpered quietly around him. His other hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking along your skin like he was soothing you, even while you were on your knees, mouth full, obeying his every move. “So fucking perfect,” he murmured. And still, you held his gaze. Still, you sucked softly, cheeks warm and flushed, knees pressed to the cold church floor like you were praying to him. And maybe you were.
He pulled his finger slowly from your mouth, glistening and warm, a soft little pop echoing in the still air. Your lips were parted, your breath shaky, chest rising with every pulse of heat settling low in your core. And then, he took your hand. His fingers slid between yours, gentle but sure, and he guided it slowly downward. You followed instinctively until your palm landed against the front of his jeans—hot, hard, unmistakable beneath the fabric. Your eyes widened. “Toni—” He didn’t speak. He just pressed your hand more firmly to it, his breath hitching at the contact. And you could feel him. All of him. Thick. Heavy. Straining. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it. Your fingers twitched, and then you palmed him. Tentative at first. Just the softest pressure. He groaned. His head tipped forward, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.” Your cheeks burned, but you obeyed, letting your hand move slow and shy over the thick line of his cock through his jeans. You squeezed gently, experimentally. He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, baby…” One of his hands braced on the table behind you, the other still cradling your cheek, brushing over your temple like you were the softest thing he’d ever touched, even while you had your hand wrapped around the very thing he’d been trying to hide from you for days.
And then he looked down at you again. “Do you feel what you do to me?” he said softly. You swallowed, thighs clenching where you knelt, and nodded, dazed, completely lost in him. Your palm kept moving, slow, nervous strokes over the thick bulge, until his hips gave the tiniest roll into your hand. That low groan from his throat made your knees feel weak all over again. Then, still holding your gaze, he moved your hand to his waistband.“Go ahead,” he whispered. “Take it out, angel.” Your breath caught. You hesitated, cheeks already flushed deep pink. But your fingers moved anyway, slow and unsure, as they found the button of his jeans and undid it with a quiet pop. Then the zipper. Each slow tug of it felt impossibly loud in the silence of the church. Your hand shook just a little as you dragged the denim down his hips, revealing gray boxers. Tight, and so full. And then, finally, you let your fingers slide past the band. And when you lowered his boxers, his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, leaking already, and standing proud against his stomach. Your lips parted instantly. Your cheeks went bright red. You blinked like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was just…so big. So pretty. Long, veiny, flushed at the tip and glistening already with need. And it was all because of you. Anton chuckled softly above you, low and rough. “You gonna keep staring, pretty girl?” Your breath hitched. You looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted and completely overwhelmed. He smiled. One hand slid into your hair, petting softly again. Thumb brushing your cheek.
Your breath shook as you gently wrapped both hands around the base of his dick, like you were afraid to grip too tight. He was so warm in your palms, heavy and twitching. You looked up at him. He was already staring down at you, jaw tight, breathing uneven, one hand resting on the back of your head. You leaned in slowly, lips parting as you brought your mouth to him. Your tongue flicked out, just the softest lick over the flushed head. He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck…” You licked again. Slow and careful, like you were testing something sacred. His precum hit your tongue, and your lashes fluttered, still looking at him. Big, wide, innocent eyes. Your hands shifted, stroking softly as you leaned forward to kiss the tip, lips plush and pink, leaving a warm breath against his skin. Then your tongue circled it once, barely touching, and he groaned, deep and wrecked, head tipping back for a second before his eyes found yours again. “Jesus, baby…” He looked completely undone. Red-cheeked, hair messy, chest heaving. His fingers threaded deeper into your hair now. “So fucking pretty on your knees.” he muttered, voice hoarse. You whimpered softly and kissed him again, lower. Letting your tongue trail down the underside of his cock, slow and reverent. Worshipping him like he was your god. And he was.
Your lips parted further as you took him deeper, just a little. Just enough to feel the stretch, the pressure, the way he twitched against your tongue. Your hands gripped his base tighter, keeping steady, and your breath fanned hot against his skin as you hollowed your cheeks around him. His fingers threaded deep, gripping at the roots, but still gentle. Still shaking a little. Like he was trying so hard to keep it together. “F-fuck, baby…” His hips rolled the tiniest bit, pushing just a touch deeper, and you moaned around him. Then, a soft whimper escaped him. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. That sound? From him? It was everything. His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you, breathless, eyes dark. “You take me so well,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “So fucking good for me.” You sucked a little harder in response, tongue teasing the underside of him as you took him just a bit deeper, and that’s when the shift happened. His voice dropped. No more shaky breath. No more awe. Just that low, possessive rasp, “Yeah… that’s it, angel. Keep going.” He started to guide your head now—slow, steady movements. You blinked up at him, breathless, cheeks flushed, spit clinging to the corners of your mouth—and pulled back just enough to speak. Your voice came out soft and whiny. Worshipful.“I’ll take anything from you, Toni…” His entire body tensed. His hand gripped your hair so tight it hurt. Possessive. His jaw clenched, barely holding himself together. “Fuck…”
His voice cracked, like you saying that, looking like that, was too much. “You mean that?” You nodded, lips still brushing against the tip of him, warm breath spilling down his length. You weren’t teasing anymore. You were giving yourself to him. And he felt it. “Yeah?” he said again, voice lower. “You’d let me do anything to you?” Your hands tightened around him, and you nodded once more, eager and desperate. His thumb brushed across your wet cheek, eyes scanning every inch of your face like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus Christ…” he whispered. “Mine,” he muttered, half to himself. “Fucking mine. Made for me.” And then he pushed. Guiding your head lower, deeper. His hips rolled forward as his other hand braced the edge of the table behind you, his breath breaking in soft, strained groans. “Just like that, angel…fuck.”
You felt his control slipping. His soft-spoken calm replaced with something rougher, needier. He started moving his hips more deliberately, his cock slipping deeper into your mouth each time, and your hands gripped his thighs for balance. And through it all, he whimpered. Soft, broken sounds, raw from his throat. Frustrated moans. Curses. Praise. “Your mouth is perfect—mine—just for me—” He was unraveling. Desperate to cum. And when he did—his whole body shuddered. A high-pitched moan broke from his throat, his hand tightening just a second longer in your hair. When he finally stilled, breath ragged, he looked down. You blinked up at him, cheeks red, lips swollen, tongue out—clean. His eyes darkened. “Holy fuck.” Then, his hand slid from your hair to your throat. Firm. Possessive. He pulled you up in one swift movement, crashing his mouth against yours in a kiss that was nothing like before—messy, breathless, filthy.
His hand stayed on your throat, thumb under your jaw, holding you still as he kissed you like he didn’t care about anything else—not the church, not God, not anyone. Just you. You whimpered into his mouth, body flushed and weak, still kneeling slightly between his legs when—“Anton?” A voice echoed down the hallway. You both froze. It was his mom. Anton moved first—fast. He gently but quickly helped you to your feet, hands smoothing down your dress, brushing your hair from your face as your heart raced in your chest. He tugged up his jeans, zipped them shut in one motion, fingers trembling just slightly. You turned around, fixing your hair in the reflection of the dark window, smoothing the skirt of your dress down like it could erase the heat still buzzing across your thighs. “We’re here!” he called, voice clear, like he hadn’t just finished kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around your throat. His mom stepped in a second later, holding a tray of cookies. “Sorry for interrupting,” she smiled. “Sweetheart, you can head home now, it’s getting late. I’ll stay and help Anton finish up.” You nodded quickly, heart still pounding. “O-okay. Goodnight, Mrs. Lee.” You started walking toward the exit, but as you passed Anton, he stepped closer. His hand slipped gently to your waist, and he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was softer than ever. Barely a breath. Still warm with what just happened. But sweet. You nodded slowly, biting your lip to hide the smile. “Mhm.” And then you walked out, heart pounding, legs shaky, feeling like nothing in the world could compare to the way Anton Lee touched you like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.
The charity event had gone very well. Laughter floated through the air like music, kids running across the grass with lemonade cups in hand, neighbors huddled near folding tables stacked with donation boxes and home-baked cookies. The sun was high and golden, casting soft shadows through the trees that lined the old church yard. You stood near the donation tent, helping a few older ladies gather envelopes and sort through sign-up sheets. You were smiling, polite, answering questions when asked—but your eyes kept flicking toward the side lot where Anton was helping carry chairs, sleeves pushed to his elbows, arms flexing, the edge of his shirt sticking slightly to his back from the heat. He looked like he belonged here. Everyone loved him. You were surprised they didn’t hand him a halo.
It wasn’t long before he drifted your way again. You didn’t hear his footsteps, you just felt it when he was near. “Hey,” he said, gently. “Everything’s pretty much wrapped up. I think we’re just waiting on my dad to lock up.” You looked up from the papers in your hand and gave a soft smile. “You did good,” you murmured, “It all turned out really nice.” He smiled back, but he wasn’t looking at the tables or the decorations. He was looking at you. “Yeah,” he said. “It did.”His voice was a little quiet when he added, “My mom said your family’s coming to ours for dinner tonight.” You blinked. “Oh…really?” He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “She and your mom planned it earlier. You’ll come, right?” A hopeful tone in his voice. You nodded, a bit shy, heart fluttering in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll come.” You glanced around—most of the others were busy chatting or packing up, distracted. Without thinking too hard, you stepped a little closer, rose onto your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze. And then, just as his eyes found yours again, you smiled. “Only for you.” Anton’s gaze lingered on your face for a second too long, and you could see it—he was gone for you.
♱
You couldn’t stop checking the mirror. Your room was filled with golden evening light—curtains swaying gently in the summer breeze, the soft hum of cicadas outside blending with the faint creak of your floorboards as you moved back and forth, barefoot on the rug. Your heart hadn’t stopped fluttering. You curled your hair carefully, setting the pieces with care as the warm scent of your favorite lotion floated around you. You wanted to look nice. Not too much. But still nice. The dress you chose was soft violet—just barely off the shoulder, with a gentle sway to the hem that brushed mid-thigh. You smoothed the fabric down your hips and whispered to your reflection, “Just dinner.” But your heart didn’t believe that. Not really. Your mom called for you from downstairs, and soon enough, the three of you—your mom, dad, and you—were walking the short path next door to the Lee house. You felt like your whole body was humming, warm and restless, as the familiar porch came into view. Your mom knocked cheerfully on the door, calling out, “We brought dessert!” A moment passed before the door opened, and there he was. He looked up, lips parting slightly as he caught sight of you behind your parents. His eyes did a slow sweep—hair curled, cheeks flushed, the soft violet fabric of your dress catching the light. And for a second, he didn’t say anything at all. Then he smiled. “Hey. Come in.” You stepped inside behind your parents, heart hammering. His house smelled like warm food. You slipped out of your shoes and followed the others toward the dining room. Anton walked beside you, close enough that your fingers nearly brushed.
“You look…” he started, voice soft so only you could hear. Then he smiled like he didn’t trust himself to finish it. “Really good.” You looked down, smiling nervously. “You too.” And even as the voices of your parents floated down the hallway, and dishes clinked gently in the kitchen, you could feel it building The air changed when it was just the two of you. The night hadn’t even started yet. And you already knew it wouldn’t end the way it was supposed to. Dinner was loud in the way family dinners always were—dishes passed hand to hand, voices overlapping, stories being told and retold like it was tradition. The Lees had made roasted chicken, herbed potatoes, and something creamy with mushrooms that melted in your mouth. Warm bread sat in the middle of the table, along with a pitcher of juice that never seemed to stay full. You sat beside Anton, of course—because your mom had said, “Oh, let the kids sit together. They probably have so much to catch up on.” And now your knees kept brushing under the table, soft and warm every time, making your heartbeat flutter in your throat. You could barely focus on your plate. He looked good. Too good. His shirt sleeves were rolled again, clinging to his muscles, and the way he kept glancing at you made it almost impossible to eat. “It’s so sweet,” Mrs. Lee said suddenly, gesturing between you and Anton. “Seeing you two back together again.” Your fork paused mid-air. “I know,” your mom chimed in. “You used to be inseparable. I have pictures, remember? Anton, you were always following her around with your little toy guitar—” “Mom,” he groaned, laughing but clearly flustered.
You hid your smile behind your glass. “Well,” Mrs. Lee went on, cheerful and far too pleased with herself, “if this keeps up, maybe we’ll be planning a wedding soon.” Your heart stopped. Your cheeks flushed so fast it almost hurt, and beside you, Anton choked on his drink. “M-Mom—” “What?” she teased. “I’m just saying. You’d be a beautiful couple.” The table laughed. You looked down at your plate, smiling helplessly into your mashed potatoes. And then you felt it—his hand, sliding gently under the table, brushing against yours. You let your fingers shift, brushing back. He curled his around yours slowly, deliberately, lacing them together like it was the easiest thing in the world. When you looked up at him, he was already watching you, eyes soft, cheeks faintly pink, thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. You smiled. And he smiled back.
The night passed slowly. The dining table behind you was still full of empty glasses and half-finished desserts. Your mom and Mrs. Lee had moved to the couch near the window, feet curled up and voices louder than usual, giggling over stories you couldn’t quite make out. Mr. Lee was laughing too, and the scent of red wine lingered faintly in the air, swirling with candle wax and roasted herbs. You and Anton sat on the smaller couch in the living room, just the two of you. A little apart from the rest. Not hidden, but not seen either. The lights were dim, just the soft glow from the lamp in the corner and the flicker of something playing quietly on the TV, long forgotten. Anton’s arm rested behind you on the cushion, fingertips brushing your shoulder every now and then, and your bare knees were pulled up gently beside you. You were supposed to be listening to his dad’s story, something about his youth group days, but all you could focus on was him. The warmth of his body beside yours. The way his lashes curled when he blinked. The tiny scrape of his thumb brushing the side of your arm. He looked at you then, like he felt your gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched, soft and knowing. You leaned in slowly. Your lips pressed to his cheek, quiet and careful. He froze for half a second. You felt him exhale through his nose, like he wasn’t expecting it, but loved that it happened. And then you whispered, sweet and barely above the hush of the room, “Do you wanna go to my house?” “It’ll be more quiet.” He looked at you for a moment, eyes flicking from yours to your lips, then back again. Then he nodded once. Slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Let’s go.”
You both stood at almost the same time. Anton glanced at you like he was checking, making sure you hadn’t changed your mind, and you gave him the smallest nod. Your joined hands slipped apart gently, and he turned toward the adults still laughing behind you. “We’re gonna go for a walk,” he said casually, voice calm, steady. Your mom barely looked up, too caught in a story about a church retreat years ago. “Mhm—be back soon!” “Don’t stay out too late,” Mrs. Lee chimed in, waving a hand in your general direction, her words slightly slurred from too much wine. You and Anton both smiled politely before slipping toward the front door. His hand touched the small of your back as he opened it for you, barely there, but firm. Familiar. Protective. The summer night air wrapped around you the moment you stepped out, warm and soft, with the faint smell of pine and cut grass. The porch creaked beneath your feet as you walked down the steps together in silence, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your house was just steps away, glowing faintly under the porch light. You glanced at him once before opening the door, and he followed you inside.
The house was quiet. The TV hummed softly in the corner, volume low enough that it barely registered. Dim lamplight washed the living room in warm gold, flickering gently across the couch where the two of you lay, curled up like you’d been there forever. You were draped over him, head resting on his chest, the soft swell of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. His fingers traced lazy, featherlight lines up and down your spine beneath your dress. You could feel his breath rising and falling under your cheek, steady and warm. The laughter from next door didn’t fade. Your parents probably still telling stories they’d told a hundred times.
But in here, it was just him. Just you. Just this silence that held everything neither of you had said. Your fingers curled gently into his shirt, holding onto the slow rhythm of his breathing. And then, finally, you tilted your face up to look at him. He was already looking down at you. And that’s when you kissed him. Soft. Warm. Just your lips pressed gently to his—like you were testing the way it felt to be that close. Like you already knew it would change everything.
He didn’t hesitate. His arms tightened around your waist the second your mouth touched his, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single breath between your bodies. He kissed you back with heat and softness all at once, like it had been building in him for years. You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand pressing against the small of your back to keep you close. But then you pulled back slowly, cheeks burning, breath caught in your chest. Your lips brushed his jaw as you whispered, barely a sound, “Toni…I love you.” The words hung there. Heavy. Fragile. Sacred. You hadn’t meant to say them tonight. Not out loud. Not like that. But now that they were out, you felt the way your chest opened up with them, like it was relief to finally say what your body had already been telling him. His eyes locked onto yours. And something shifted in them. Not shock. Not hesitation. Just pure, undeniable devotion. He cupped your cheek, eyes warm and focused, and leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours. “Say it again,” he breathed. “Please.” You swallowed, voice trembling as you looked up at him. “I love you.” He kissed you again. Slow and deep. His hand curled at the nape of your neck, anchoring you there like he didn’t want to let you go—not now, not ever. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you too.”
His mouth moved over yours, deeper more sure. Like he wasn’t holding back anymore. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you tighter against him as the kiss grew hot, feverish. You moaned softly into his mouth, lips parting for his tongue, and the sound only seemed to make him hungrier. You shifted in his lap, straddling one of his thighs, and your hands gripped his shoulders, then slid up into his hair. “Let me…” you whispered between kisses, breathless. He leaned back just a little, eyes burning into yours, lips swollen. And you bent down, lips grazing along the line of his jaw, trailing lower. You kissed the soft skin just beneath his ear, your tongue flicking out gently, earning a low groan from his chest. You sucked a mark into the base of his neck. Visible. Yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter instantly. And then, his hand wrapped around your throat. His fingers splayed across your neck, tilting your face up toward him, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb brushed your jaw. “My sweet angel.” he whispered, before kissing you hard, tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming you all over again.
You gasped into him, fingers tugging at his shirt, your thighs clenching around his. In a swift, fluid motion, he shifted, flipping you beneath him on the couch, his body hovering over yours. His knee nudged between your legs, spreading them just enough. You let out a breathy whimper, arching into him, and he kissed down your jaw, down your throat, leaving hot, wet hickies in his path. Marking you his. “So pretty like this,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “So soft…all mine.” His hand slipped beneath your dress, slowly caressing your thighs—fingertips light and teasing, moving higher and higher, his mouth never leaving your skin.
You could barely breathe. And then, you felt his fingers slide under the waistband of your panties. His touch brushed your folds, gentle but sure. He exhaled slowly when he felt how wet you already were. His lips returned to your ear, voice rasped and low. “All this for me?” You nodded, biting your lip, eyes glazed. His fingers moved slowly between your folds, the heat of his hand making your back arch off the couch. His mouth stayed on yours, kissing you through every tiny gasp he pulled from your lips. You whimpered softly, hips shifting, and he groaned quietly against your mouth like he could feel everything you were feeling. Then, he pulled back slightly. He turned his head, eyes flicking toward the window behind the couch. The soft golden glow of the porch light still shone from next door, and through the sheer curtains, he could make out the faint shadows of your parents and his still hanging out. He looked back at you then, breath unsteady, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a thumb that trembled just slightly. “Can we…” he swallowed, voice quieter now, like the question was heavy. Sacred. “Can we go to your room?” Your heart thudded loud in your chest. You nodded. Softly. Shyly. Eyes wide and warm as they met his.
And that was all he needed. He kissed you again softly, like a promise. Then you took his hand in yours, fingers weaving together, and gently led him off the couch, past the soft glow of the TV and toward the stairs, his hand held yours tight the whole way up. The door clicked shut behind you, the soft sound swallowed by the quiet of the house. The hallway light spilled in for just a second before Anton reached back and flicked it off, leaving the room bathed in the dim, golden glow of your bedside lamp. Your fingers were still laced with his. You turned to him, heart racing in your chest, and rose onto your tiptoes, giggling softly as you pushed him back against the door. “What are you doing?” he murmured, laughing breathlessly as his back hit the wood.
Your hands slid up his chest, tugging gently at the hem of his shirt, and you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “Just wanted to kiss you first,” you smiled, lips brushing his. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, like he was overwhelmed that you were here, his, wanting this. “You’re dangerous when you smile like that,” he whispered, voice low. Then, suddenly, his hands gripped your waist tight, and he took over. He kissed you deeper now, stealing the breath right out of your lungs as he spun the two of you around and walked you back slowly, lips never leaving yours. Each step was careful. Controlled. Your knees bumped the edge of the bed, and his hands smoothed up your sides as he leaned down, guiding you onto the mattress. The soft fabric of your dress fluttered as you lay back against the pillows, looking up at him—eyes wide, chest rising and falling like you could barely contain the warmth inside you. Anton stood over you, breathing hard. His gaze roamed your body, drinking in the way your hair fanned across your pillow, the way your dress clung to you in the soft light. “You’re…breathtaking,” he murmured. Then he leaned down again, kissing you slow—taking his time now, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh beneath your dress. His fingers trembled slightly at first. But then you whispered his name, soft and trusting, and that’s when everything inside him shifted.
Your hands slid up beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, fingertips grazing the warm skin of his stomach. You felt the slight tremble in his muscles, the way he inhaled sharply as your palms flattened against his chest. Then you tugged. He pulled back just enough to let you lift his shirt, and without a word, he raised his arms and let you peel it off. The moment it hit the floor, you paused. Your breath caught. His body was lean, toned, broad shoulders and sculpted arms—but what held your gaze was the small gold cross resting against his chest, just above his heart. The chain glinted faintly in the dim light, almost glowing against his skin. You reached up with a shy hand, brushing your fingers gently over the planes of his abs, trailing up toward the delicate charm. Anton’s breath hitched. “You’re staring,angel” he said softly, eyes watching yours. “I can’t help it…” you murmured. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, soft, reverent. His hands came to the hem of your dress, fingers curling into the fabric, voice low against your skin. “Can I take this off?” The question settled between you like a vow. Your heart thudded as you looked up at him, cheeks burning, chest fluttering. And you nodded. “Please.”
Anton’s fingers slipped under the hem of your dress, eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pulled the fabric upward, inch by inch, until it lifted over your head and joined his shirt on the floor. His breath caught. You lay there beneath him, bare from the waist up, soft skin glowing in the golden light, your chest rising and falling with each nervous breath. The dainty lace of your panties and your frilly white socks were all you wore now, and his gaze swept down the length of you slowly, devouring. “Fuck…” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re fucking divine.” He leaned in without waiting, he couldn’t hold back another second. His mouth found your collarbone first, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat along your skin. Then he kissed lower, just beneath your throat, then lower, lips and tongue marking you up until you were covered in soft, red blooms. You whimpered, hands threading through his hair, stroking gently, helpless to the way his mouth worshipped your chest. Then his lips closed around one of your nipples, sucking slowly. You gasped. His other hand moved to your other breast, massaging gently, thumb brushing your sensitive skin in slow circles as his tongue laved your peak. Every motion was slow. Meant. He wanted to make you feel it, all of it. “T-Toni…” you whispered, hips shifting beneath him, thighs brushing together.
He groaned softly against your chest, the sound vibrating through you. He kissed your breast once more, then moved to the other, treating it with just as much attention, hand still caressing and holding like you were something he’d been waiting his whole life to touch. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, your soft breaths turning to quiet, broken whimpers. zhe kissed lower, lips trailing a hot, wet path down the center of your stomach. His hands smoothed over your sides as he went, fingers gentle but possessive, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him see you like this—bare, soft, trembling beneath him. When he reached your navel, he paused, pressing a soft kiss, then another, slower one just below. Your thighs shifted restlessly. He smiled against your skin. Then he leaned down and kissed over the delicate lace of your panties, a featherlight brush of his lips, more like worship than lust. “So fucking pretty…” he whispered. His hands hooked gently under the waistband, and he glanced up at you, eyes searching, voice tender. “Is this okay?”You nodded, lips parted, heart thudding so loud you swore he could hear it. “Yes…please.” He slowly tugged the fabric down your thighs, so slowly, like he was unwrapping a blessing, and dropped them to the floor, his hands smoothing along your skin as he did. And then he just looked. Like you were the most godly thing he’d ever seen. His hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling them apart just a little more. He bent down, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other.
You whimpered, body arching slightly. Then he started to mark you, again and again. Soft hickies bloomed across your inner thighs, his teeth grazing gently, tongue soothing after each one, until your skin was dotted with faint red love bites, claiming you. “Can’t help it,” he murmured against your thigh. “Want everyone to know who you belong to…” His breath was warm against your skin as he kissed even lower, lips brushing just beside where you needed him most. He groaned softly at the sight of you, already glistening, already so wet for him.“So perfect.” he whispered, voice almost reverent. Then he slid his fingers between your folds—gentle, exploring, just enough pressure to drag your slick along your seam. You gasped, hips twitching as he moved slowly, fingers gliding up and down, barely grazing your clit with every pass. “T-Toni…” you whimpered, voice trembling. He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lowered his head, mouth parting as he finally licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your heat. Your entire body arched. A cry slipped from your throat as your hands flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, overwhelmed. His tongue circled your clit, then closed around it with a soft suck, and you could feel him moan into you. One of his arms slipped up your body, reaching for your hand, and you instinctively laced your fingers with his, holding tight, grounding yourself.
The other hand curled firm around your thigh, gripping hard, holding you open. His fingers dug into your skin with quiet desperation, a bruise surely blooming beneath his touch. You looked down at him through heavy lashes—his face between your thighs, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and slick, hair messy from your hands. His eyes fluttered open just long enough to meet yours. And you swore—he looked at you like he just saw God. Anton’s mouth didn’t let up, slow licks, deeper pressure, his tongue working you with a rhythm that had your body trembling. You whimpered his name again, fingers buried in his hair, hips beginning to move without meaning to. Then he slid his hand from yours and brought it down between your thighs. You felt his fingers press to your entrance. And then he pushed them in—slow, steady, the stretch making your eyes flutter closed. You gasped as he began to pump them inside you, curling just right, dragging that tight, sweet spot with every thrust. All the while, his mouth never left your clit, sucking gently, tongue flicking and swirling, working in sync with his hand. Your legs trembled around him. “A-Anton—Toni—” you gasped, back arching. His fingers went deeper. His tongue moved faster. “Please—Toni, I’m—nghh—!”You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Your voice broke into high, breathy whimpers, thighs clenching tight around his head as your release hit you. Your whole body shook, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you cried out, hips jerking, his name slipping from your lips over and over like a prayer. And still, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, licking up every drop, soft and tender now, worshipful.
Anton kissed his way slowly back up your body—your inner thighs, the curve of your hip, the soft skin just under your ribs—until he reached your lips. His mouth met yours hungrily, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, still warm from where he ate you like he was starving. You cupped his jaw as he kissed you, soft whimpers still slipping from your throat, body trembling under his weight. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath shaky. Then, slowly, he sat back on his knees between your legs. You watched through heavy lashes, still dazed from your high, as he reached for the button on his jeans. His hands moved with quiet purpose, slow and deliberate. You could see the way his fingers trembled a little as he undid them, and then he slid the denim down his hips. His boxers strained with how hard he was—his arousal obvious, heavy, and thick beneath the fabric. You swallowed softly as he hooked his fingers under the waistband, his eyes on yours the whole time. When he pulled them down, you gasped. So beautiful, just like last time. Your cheeks went hot instantly, your thighs instinctively pressing together, but Anton just reached forward again, gently parting them with his hands as his eyes dragged down your body like he couldn’t believe you were real. His hand wrapped around himself, pumping slowly, a soft hiss of breath leaving his lips as he did. You could see the flush rising on his cheeks, the flex of his forearms, the tension in his body like he was holding himself back—barely. Then he leaned forward again, his forehead pressing to yours, voice low and almost shaking, “Are you sure? Tell me to stop, and I will. I swear.”
You looked up at him, eyes wide and wet, lips parted, skin still tingling from the way he’d touched you and kissed you. One of your hands rose to brush along his jaw, fingertips gentle. And then, with a voice barely above a whisper, breathless, soft, completely surrendered, you whispered, “I’m at your mercy, Toni…” He froze. You saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the sharp inhale that hitched in his throat. Something in him cracked wide open. His lips parted, and for a moment he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Then, without warning, he exhaled a low, broken groan and kissed you—hard. Rougher now. Deeper. His hands gripped your waist tight, possessive, pulling you flush against him as his hips rolled forward, his hard length brushing against your core.“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice lower now—gravelly, filled with something dark and desperate. “You say things like that…I can’t stop myself.” He kissed down your throat again, sucking harshly at your skin, teeth grazing, leaving deeper marks. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs, sliding up and gripping firmly. One hand curled around your throat while the other moved between your legs again, fingers stroking along your slick seam. “Mine,” he muttered, like a prayer.
Anton’s body was tense above yours, muscles flexed as he hovered over you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His lips were soft on your skin—gentle kisses, a contrast to the grip of his hands on your thighs as he guided himself between them. He rocked his hips forward slowly, the weight of him settling against your heat. His length slid along your folds, hot, heavy, teasing, and your breath hitched as your hips twitched under his. “Shh, baby,” he murmured, kissing just below your ear. “Just breathe for me.” You whimpered, your fingers gripping his biceps, legs trembling around him. The warmth, the stretch, the pressure of him right there—it was too much and not enough all at once. Then, slowly, he pushed in, just the tip. You gasped, a soft cry slipping from your lips as your back arched and your nails dug into his skin. “Toni—” you whimpered. He stilled immediately, breathing ragged as he pressed kisses along your throat. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I promise. I’ve got you.” Slowly and carefully he began to move, easing in deeper, inch by inch. Your breath hitched, legs tightening around his hips as you clung to him, your heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. He kissed your cheek, then your temple, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other squeezing your waist gently. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his voice tight with restraint. “Just a little more, okay?” You whimpered, a soft tear slipping down your cheek as the fullness settled in. He wiped it away instantly, thumb brushing under your eye. And then—he was fully inside you. All of him. He stayed still. Both of you breathing hard, wrapped in silence and heat, your bodies pressed together so close it was like you were one.
Your arms came up to circle his shoulders, holding him close. He rested his forehead against yours. “Are you okay?” he murmured, lips brushing yours. You nodded weakly, your voice nothing but a breath. “I just…need a second…” “Take all the time you need,” he whispered, kissing your cheek again. “I’m not going anywhere.”After a moment, when your breathing slowed and your hips shifted ever so slightly against him, he began to move. Slowly. Deeply. Carefully. Each stroke was patient, deliberate, letting you feel everything without rushing anything. Your cries were soft, your fingers tangled in his hair, your thighs tightening around him as you adjusted to the stretch and pressure of him inside you. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, voice shaking as he moved. “You were made for me.” His movements started slow, every thrust deep and measured, his lips brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. But then, you shifted, hips tilting just slightly, and he slid in deeper. Your breath hitched. A soft, shaky moan left your lips. “T-Toni—”He froze. “Too much?” You shook your head, fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes fluttered open to meet his. “N-no… it feels—” your voice cracked, breathless and trembling, “feels so good, Toni…” That was all he needed.
His jaw tightened as he exhaled shakily, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, the other braced by your head. He began to move again, faster now, the rhythm gaining confidence, deep, rolling thrusts that made your body shake. The pain was fading—replaced by a spreading heat, a pressure that built with every movement, making your back arch and your legs wrap tighter around him. “You take me so well,” he breathed against your skin, his voice now lower, rougher. “So perfect for me.” Your moans grew louder, your breathing faster, every stroke pulling another soft cry from your lips. His hips snapped harder now, a possessive edge creeping in. His control was slipping, and you could feel it, in the way he kissed you, the way he moved, the grip of his hands on your thighs like he was claiming every inch of you. His thrusts grew deeper, rougher now, his hand hooking under one of your legs—lifting it up, draping it over his shoulder. The angle changed everything.
Your back arched with a gasp, nails scratching down his back as he filled you even deeper. The rhythm was relentless, his breath ragged, your moans uncontrolled, bodies crashing together like waves. “T-Toni—ahh—” He kissed your calf where it rested on his shoulder, eyes locked on you, wild and reverent all at once. His hand gripped your waist, holding you right where he wanted you. “So fucking perfect for me.” You were crying out, fingers clinging to the sheets, your body trembling from the overwhelming pleasure. And then, eyes wide, lips trembling, you looked up at him with all the love you had burning in your chest and whispered, I’m yours, Toni,” you moaned again, breathless but his rhythm faltered. “All yours…you’re all I believe in.” He groaned, a deep, broken sound, like he couldn’t take it anymore, and leaned down to kiss you hard, your leg still high on his shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it left marks.
His hips snapped forward, thrusts rougher and deeper, angled just right, and when he hit that spot again, your whole body jolted.“T-Toni—! There—right there—” He grunted, burying himself to the hilt over and over, sweat-slicked skin pressed to yours, his lips dragging along your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “So tight—so fucking good for me.” he groaned, almost in disbelief. Your hands trembled on his back, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Use me as you please, Toni,” you whimpered, voice broken and full of feeling. “I was made for you.” He stilled for half a second, breath catching in his throat. Then he completely lost it. “Fuck,” he moaned, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t say that—don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it—” “I do,” you whispered through your tears, stroking his hair, your voice barely a breath. “I do, I do—I’m yours.” His hips drove into you harder, deeper, his rhythm desperate, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together—claim you, fill you, mark you forever. “You are.” he growled against your skin. “My sweet angel. My religion.”
Anton’s hand slid between your bodies,, finding the swollen bud at your core. He circled it with pressure, never stopping his deep, perfect rhythm. Your legs trembled around him, nails digging into his back as your body began to unravel beneath him.“That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Cum for me, angel.” Your breath hitched, high-pitched and broken, and then it hit you. A rush of heat, your whole body tightening, then shaking around him as you cried out his name, your release crashing through you. Anton groaned deep in his chest, kissing your temple and rubbing your clit gently as you rode it out, tears falling from the corners of your eyes. But he didn’t stop. He was still hard, still deep, and when you finally caught your breath, he leaned back to look at you. His gaze dark, reverent, full of hunger. “You can take one more for me, yeah baby?” he whispered, brushing your damp hair from your face. “Hm, angel? Just one more?” You nodded—quick, eager, breathless. “Yes…yes, Toni.” You clung to him for a second, chest heaving—and then you pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Can I…try something?” His brows lifted slightly, lips parted. “Anything.” You bit your lip, then gently pushed him to lie back. He let you, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you swung a leg over his hips and straddled him, your body still trembling. You guided him to your entrance, your hand shaking slightly as you positioned him, and then, with a deep breath and a soft whimper, you sank down slowly. Anton’s head fell back with a groan, his hands gripping your thighs hard.
“Fuck—baby…” You whimpered, your hands braced on his chest, taking your time as you adjusted to him again, so deep, so full, until he was seated completely inside you. “You’re unreal” he murmured, hands caressing up your sides. “So perfect like this…” You began to move, slowly at first, lifting your hips just enough before easing back down onto him. The stretch still made your breath catch, but the pleasure had bloomed so deeply now that it only made you want more. Anton’s hands gripped your thighs, sliding up to your waist, then down again to squeeze the soft curves of your ass, guiding you without saying a word. You leaned forward as your rhythm quickened, forehead pressed to his, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest brushed his with every motion, soft moans leaving your lips as your body moved in sync with his. “That’s it, baby…” he whispered, voice strained. “You feel so good—so fucking good.” Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently, your other hand on his gold cross, and he groaned into your mouth when you kissed him again—hungry, deep, messy. You rocked against him harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting growing louder, more desperate. His hands slid up your back, holding you close like he couldn’t get enough. And then, your lips brushed his ear, voice barely above a breath, thick with emotion and need, “You’re my god, Toni…I worship you.”
The words barely left your lips before everything snapped. Anton let out a low, broken growl, his hands suddenly gripping your hips tight—so tight it might bruise, and before you could brace yourself, he started lifting you up and slamming you back down onto him, hard, over and over. Your gasp broke into a high, helpless whimper, the air knocked clean out of your lungs with each deep, punishing thrust.“Yes,” he rasped, voice low and desperate, lips right against your throat. “Yes, angel. I’m your god. Say it again—say it.” You could barely breathe, clinging to him, your body trembling in his hands as he used your body like you were made for him, because you were. “Y-you’re my god,” you sobbed, mouth against his ear, “I only pray to you.”His hips stuttered at that, a broken whimper leaving his lips as his hand snuck between your bodies again, rubbing fast, tight circles on your clit. “That’s right,” he whispered. “No one else. Just me.” Your body was shaking, your legs quivering as the tension built so fast it stole your voice. You clung to his back, burying your face in his neck, whimpering through your sobs of pleasure.“Toni—S-so close—!” “Me too, baby,” he groaned, holding you tighter, thrusts getting messier, rougher, deeper. “Give it to me…come on.” “In me, Toni—please—I want all of you…” You came with a cry, voice high and raw, as your body locked around him, pulsing so tightly he choked on his own moan. He only lasted a few more thrusts before he followed with a deep, guttural curse, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, warmth dripping from where your bodies met, streaking down your thighs, pooling on his lower belly as he pressed into you one last time.
You lay there together for a moment, bodies still tangled, skin warm and damp, his heartbeat echoing against your chest as he held you. The only sound in the room was the low hum of your breathing slowly syncing back into rhythm. His hand stroked gently along your thigh, then up your side, then back down again, reverent, calming. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “You okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. You nodded slowly, still dazed, a soft smile on your lips. “Mhm…never been better.” His eyes softened, his hand cupping your face fully now. “I love you,” he murmured, barely audible. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, I think.” Your eyes widened a little, heart skipping, but your answer was instant—quiet, but sure. “I love you too, Toni. So much…” The way he looked at you nearly made you cry again. He kissed your lips gently, slow and soft, then moved down your body, lifting your legs up to his lap. He reached for your panties from the floor, and you blushed, but let him guide them back up your legs, sliding them into place himself with a kiss on your inner thigh. Then he whispered, just for you, “Don’t let it spill, angel.” Your cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dazed, and he grinned softly at the look on your face—still his sweet girl, even after all that.
He helped you sit up slowly, then slipped your dress back over your head, straightening the straps for you and smoothing it down your thighs. He kissed your shoulder, then moved to dress himself, slipping his shirt back on, buttoning his jeans. When he turned back to you, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hands tucked shyly in your lap, watching him with glassy eyes. “I should let you shower and rest,” he said softly, coming to kneel in front of you. “I’ll go check on our parents. Make sure they’re still alive.” You let out a breathy laugh, and he kissed your cheek once more before pulling you into a tight, grounding hug. His arms around you made everything feel safe again. Like he’d hold you through anything. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured against your ear. “Okay.” One last kiss, and then he slipped out quietly, leaving your room.
♱
The sun was warm on your shoulders, the church bells quiet now after service had ended. The yard buzzed with familiar voices, congregants laughing, chatting, hugging goodbye. You stood off to the side, just near the corner of the building where the ivy grew thick along the old stone. Not hidden, but not exactly out in the open either. Anton was already waiting there, leaning casually against the wall, hands tucked into his slacks. His white button-down sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his black tie a little loosened from the heat. But when he saw you approaching, he stood straighter, the corners of his mouth lifting into that soft, private smile he only gave you. You looked around once, then slipped into the little pocket of space next to him.“Hi,” you said, quiet and breathless. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes on you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I missed you,” he murmured, voice low. You giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I missed you too.” And then his hands gently found your waist, pulling you closer until your front pressed to his. His touch was light, his eyes flicking between yours. You barely had a second to catch your breath before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, sweet, tender, warm with everything you’d become to each other. You kissed him back, hands resting on his chest, heart thudding softly. But then—
“OH MY GOD!” You jumped and instantly pulled back, cheeks flushing. “You guys are TOGETHER?!” Anton’s arm dropped from your waist just as two very familiar voices came racing toward you from across the church yard. “I knew it!” your mom practically squealed. “I told your dad last week, didn’t I?” “I can’t believe it,” his mom gasped, all smiles and excitement. “I’m so happy!” “M-Mom!” you squeaked, face burning. Anton’s hand flew to the back of his neck, visibly flustered as he cleared his throat and tried to keep a straight face. “It’s, uh…new.” he said. “Not that new,” your mom grinned knowingly. “The way you two have been sneaking glances all month? Please.”Anton glanced at you, eyes twinkling, and despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile back. Your pinkies brushed, and he hooked his gently around yours.“Well,” his mom beamed. “I guess it’s time we start planning the wedding.” “MOM!” The four of you burst into laughter, joy bubbling like sunlight. And in that moment, in that ridiculous, love-filled chaos, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
a/n: yall i had to do research for this story bcs i don’t know anything abt catholic church terms in english LOL and also i hoped you liked this, personally this is my fav thing ive ever written but i know that it can come across as controversial
SYNOPSIS. ever since martin’s debut, he’s been touted as a master of fanservice, but he's got something to prove: that his flirting does work on anyone. meanwhile, you desperately want to turn your internship at stereo into a full-time job. the best way to do that is by writing something so eye-catching to the point where your boss will have no choice but to keep you on: an article on dating and losing an idol. so when martin spots you at their comeback showcase, the scene is set. he’s going to make you fall in love with him in 10 shows. you're going to make him dump you in that same timeframe. you’ve got your agenda. he’s got his. game on.
or alternatively, the question: “Does Martin know how to flirt??” is answered.
GENRE. crack, fluff, angst, idol! martin, inspired by 'how to lose a guy in 10 days'
WORD COUNT. 20.2k (I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT)
WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of drinking (james is drunk), questionable journalism practices for plot (as a journalist, i do NOT endorse what y/n is doing), reader is the same age as martin and is implied to be shorter
AUTHOR'S NOTE. yes this was inspired by seonghyeon's weverse reply. Does Martin know how to flirt?? enjoy this cheeky long fic as a gift to u all bcos i'm going to be working a bit so may b a bit more ia :p really loved this and i don't want to keep u guys waiting so i'm dropping it with no teaser. i hope yall like this!! <3
feedback and reblogs are much appreciated! <3
“Eom Seonghyeon, what the hell is this?”
Martin Edwards storms into his dorm room, holding his phone up. His brows are furrowed in mock anger as Seonghyeon peers at his screen from his spot on the bed.
“Wait, I can’t read it. I’m also too lazy to get up. Can you read it to me?” Seonghyeon’s buried under his blankets, head resting on his pillow as he squints at Martin’s screen.
Keonho, who’s lazily sprawled across his own bed, looks up from his phone to listen in on the conversation. Knowing him, Keonho’s probably watching some funny dog videos or going through his album of Cookie photos.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘does Martin know how to flirt?’ I have to find out that you think I have zero game from a Weverse reply?” he exclaims, exasperated. Seonghyeon and Keonho both explode into a fit of laughter, and Martin simply stands there, unamused.
Seonghyeon’s words ring heavy in Martin’s ears – look, although Martin hadn’t dated before, he does think he can flirt. He’s seen the discourse online.
Sure, was it a little corny sometimes? Yeah… a little. But most of the fans were eating it up, and Martin was more than happy to oblige if it meant that he would be making a little bit more money. Money didn’t fall from trees, and those clothes that Martin’s been eyeing for ages weren’t going to pay for themselves.
“What?” Seonghyeon asks, laughing as he hugs his pillow a little tighter. “Come on, the fanservice barely counts. I know everyone’s been saying that you’re a fanservice king, but they're all basically in love with you anyways!”
“Us,” Keonho pipes up. “They’re not only in love with Martin hyung. Also, you’re right – Martin, do you really know how to flirt?”
Martin narrows his eyes at Keonho. “I think I know what you’re insinuating, and I don’t like it.”
Seonghyeon and Keonho’s loud laughter somehow summon both James and Juhoon in the room, and Martin’s already preparing himself to become the laughing stock for the next 30 minutes. The life of a leader, he thinks. It's truly so difficult.
It also wasn’t like Martin didn’t want love. He wanted it more than anything – he just didn’t exactly have the time for it right now, like most idols. He had so much to do every single day, from dance practices, to music shows, to producing music. Martin Edwards, despite having so much love to give, simply didn’t have time to do so.
“James hyung, Juhoon hyung – do you think Martin can flirt?”
James snorts. Juhoon makes a noise that’s a mix of a strangled laugh and a cough. At their reactions, Keonho laughs so hard his pillow falls right off his bed.
Martin groans, turning his phone off and shoving it back into the pocket of his sweatpants.
“I rest my case,” Seonghyeon says, grinning triumphantly.
“I can flirt!” Martin says, defensively. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing so passionately for this – it wasn’t even that big of a deal. "Trust me, my flirting works on anyone."
He crosses his arms, letting out a deep breath as Seonghyeon lets out another laugh. He knows that the younger boy isn’t being malicious – they were just teasing each other like usual.
"Anyone is a bit brave, Martin." Juhoon jokes. Martin rolls his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Confident. Let’s see if you can make someone – a non-fan, by the way – fall for you before promotions end here in Korea,” James says, jokingly. But Martin can see the gears turning in Keonho’s head before that shit-eating smirk spreads across his lips.
“James hyung, you’re a genius!” Keonho says, jumping up from his bed. “That’s 10 shows. Martin, if you get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows, we’ll officially say that you can flirt.”
Martin furrows his brows. “That’s all I get out of it?” he frowns. “Seems like a pretty bad trade-off for something so risky, considering that we’re… idols?”
“Fine. We’ll say that you can flirt, and Seonghyeon will pay for all your clothes the next time you buy something.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon suddenly gets up from his bed. He looks at Keonho, shaking his head.
“Me? You’re the one doing the bargaining, you pay!” Seonghyeon protests, and Keonho rolls his eyes.
“Okay, new proposal. We all pay for your next shopping haul and we say that you can flirt. We’ll all chip in an equal amount so it’s fair, and so Hyeon can stop complaining,” Keonho grumbles. Seonghyeon sighs, nodding as he gives in to Keonho’s bargain.
“Works for me,” James replies, putting his hands up. “I for one, don’t think I’m gonna lose any money.”
“Oh, don’t be so confident,” Martin scoffs. Wow, his friends really had zero belief in him. It really made him all the more determined to prove them wrong. “You guys are so losing your money.”
Keonho looks at Juhoon, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Juhoon hyung… you’re the only one left,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Come on, it’s not even going to be that hard. It's easy money, let's go.”
“10 shows is still technically a lot, you know. It’s three weeks,” Juhoon hums, thinking it through. “Three weeks… well, Martin needs all the help he can get. Yeah, whatever – I’m in.”
“Juhoon!” Martin exclaims.
The boy looks at him, shrugging. “I’m sorry! I’m just too curious to see how this will pan out – we need a little bit of excitement in our lives! Performing is exciting enough, but this is like a whole new level. I’m going to be entertained for weeks.”
Juhoon drags the last word out, and Martin sighs. The air is thick with anticipation as the four of them look at Martin expectantly.
Honestly, getting all his clothes paid for by his friends wasn’t exactly a bad trade-off. He’s just going to make sure to throw in a couple more expensive things in there for some payback before he officially starts the bet. And the girl would surely understand that dating an idol was difficult, and if it ended a little earlier… that was sort of to be expected, right? In three weeks he would be going to New York City anyways. No harm, no foul?
“Fine,” Martin groans in exasperation, giving in. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Keonho pumps a fist in the air triumphantly, and Martin rolls his eyes. “Okay, and if you don’t get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows… you pay for our clothes. And publicly say that you’re shit at flirting and have zero game.”
“One piece of expensive clothing each. You’re four people, I’m one. If I paid for all of your clothes, I think I’d probably go broke.” Martin shoots back. Keonho shrugs, seemingly deeming it reasonable enough.
“It’s a deal,” Keonho says, holding his hand out for Martin to shake. Martin does, albeit a little reluctantly. What the hell did he just get himself into?
The room erupts into cheers so loud Martin thinks he’s suddenly transported back to MAMA.
Seonghyeon’s already immediately searching for a new pair of shoes that he wants to buy. James has rushed back into his room to grab his phone to go on Gentle Monster to see which pair of glasses will suit him. Juhoon’s already pulling up photos of this jacket that he’s been talking about for ages. Keonho makes it a big show out of telling Martin the price of this bracelet that he wants.
At their antics, there’s a fire lit up in the pit of Martin’s stomach.
He was going to win this bet. Even if it was stupid.
Your internship at Stereo is about to come to an end.
You’re distraught. Most people would love for their internships to end – no more shitty coffee from the 10-year old dispenser that someone brought in as an ‘office gift’, no more tapping away at a dim-lit cubicle, and no more measly half-assed articles to write that are assigned haphazardly. But you’re not most people.
Being a journalist at Stereo is your dream job. You get to write about the music that you love, review new albums, and you get exclusive perks and invites to music award shows every single week. You’ve been interning at Stereo for one and a half months now, and in just two weeks, you’re just going to be a high schooler in your final year.
You’ve heard stories of Jisoo, your boss, giving an offer for a full-time job to interns before. You desperately want to be one of those people.
You’ve heard her complaints behind closed doors about how Stereo’s latest content was becoming a little drab and boring, and that Stereo wasn't getting enough clicks online anymore. The most reads the publication had gotten recently was a review on Taylor Swift’s new album, but come on – it was Taylor Swift.
You needed to find a way to write the most eye-catching, niche and exclusive article that the music world had ever seen. That way, Jisoo had to give you the job.
Yoonchae, another intern who you’ve befriended, rolls her chair over so she’s sitting next to you. She taps her nails on your desk to get your attention. “So… last two weeks. How are you feeling?”
Yoonchae started around the same time as you, but unlike you, Yoonchae wanted to get the hell out. She was tired of writing the weekly ‘Songs You Need To Know’ article. “I’m a gatekeeper,” she had said. “I don’t want people discovering the artists I like!”
“Stressed,” you sigh, taking a sip out of your mug. “I’m trying to rack my brain to figure out how to write something so… fresh, I guess. Something that no other publication will be able to write.”
Yoonchae raises a brow. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with keeping this job, (Name). What we’ve been writing really isn’t that interesting, is it? I just had to review some album from a rookie group that I don’t think anyone’s heard of yet,” Her voice drops low into a whisper. “It was like nails on a chalkboard. I threw away that pair of company-provided earphones because the memories of listening to it were so traumatic.”
You look at Yoonchae like she’s insane before diverting your eyes back to your laptop screen. You’ve just finished a review on ILLIT’s new album – you skim through your article, making sure that there’s no spelling mistakes or other errors before sending it to Lily, the in-house copy editor.
“I love it though,” you say honestly. “I love music, I love writing about it – plus, Stereo’s the best place to get off the ground running if you want to work in this industry. I was at ILLIT’s comeback showcase literally last week – do you know how many people would die to have this opportunity?”
“I have to get that job offer from Jisoo.” Your voice is laced with determination, and despite Yoonchae not understanding why in the world you’d want to stay, she gives you a nod in support.
In the cubicle across, you hear a loud noise from another intern – you can’t tell if it’s a screech or a wail, or something in between. You and Yoonchae’s eyes snap towards the direction of the noise. It’s Yuna, and she looks towards you two with absolutely zero shame on her face, even if the entire office was startled by the sound.
“It’s my favourite idol! He’s dating someone! How could he?” She’s saying it like it’s the end of the world.
You’re looking at Yuna like she’s insane. You can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, and you blink at her. “Um… are you okay?”
Suddenly, her demeanour changes, and she smiles brightly at you. “Yeah! I was literally just being dramatic, I couldn’t care less,” she says, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn’t really want to be working with someone who was so incredibly parasocial over some guy who barely knew her. “It’s just crazy how he even has the time with how busy his schedules are.”
You hear the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor, and your eyes widen. It must be Jisoo.
“Was that you?” Jisoo asks, pointing at you. “The one who screeched?”
“Oh,” you stammer. “No, Jisoo – it was Yuna.” You felt bad for throwing her under the bus, but you weren’t going to lie to Jisoo and take the fall. Jisoo's eyes divert towards Yuna, who gulps.
“What happened?” she asks. Jisoo doesn’t sound like she really cares. She does have better things to be doing than partaking in conversations with interns who she probably won’t remember the names of in two weeks.
“Oh, just some… idol… dating,” Yuna says, acting like she doesn’t care at all. It’s hard for her to pretend that she doesn’t when a photo of said idol in question is in a picture frame sitting on her desk. “Maybe we should report on it briefly, or something…”
Jisoo takes in a sharp breath, sucking her teeth. You can hear the disapproval just from the noise, as if she’s already prepared to get rid of you three. “Alright. Get back to work.”
You turn your head quickly back to your laptop, not wanting to be berated by Jisoo. The disapproving tone was already enough, and you feel embarrassed under her gaze. You click onto your calendar to see what you’ve got going on next week. You’ve got two comeback showcases to attend with Yoonchae – IVE and CORTIS, along with a couple of music shows. You pencil them in your notebook, along with the words ‘remind Yoonchae to bring the camera!’
“You know,” Yoonchae hums. “Speaking of dating idols, I do wanna know what it must be like to date one. It’s like Yuna said – they’ve always got so much going on, how would they have the time? Hey, maybe you should write an article on this.” Her words aren’t meant to be serious, but you take it as such.
You can hear your pulse in your ears as your brain processes what Yoonchae has said. She’s tapping away at her laptop like she hadn’t just pitched the most amazing idea in the world.
“Wait,” you pipe up, dropping your pencil on the desk. It clanks to the ground, and you don’t even bother picking it up. Your eyes snapping up from your notebook to look at her. “You’re onto something.”
Yoonchae’s idea, if put into action, would give you an inside scoop that no journalist had ever had access to before – even if you were cordially invited to the shows and showcases of every group on the planet. Everybody wanted to know what it was like to date an idol, there was no doubt about that.
If you turned this into a piece, you knew it would tick all the boxes. Exclusive? Check. Daring? Check. Eye-catching? Check. Three big fat checks. It was perfect.
This… this was exactly the pitch that would land you a full-time job at Stereo. For someone who said they hated working in the news publishing industry, Yoonchae had just given you a golden ticket to a full-time job at Stereo. You’re just upset that you hadn’t come up with it first.
“What it’s like to date an idol,” you hum under your breath as you brainstorm, drumming your fingers on your desk. “Sure, it may be gossipy and scandalous, but Jisoo was saying that we’re not getting enough clicks, right? And after… I don’t know. 10 shows, maybe? I could just… dump him. Or find a way for him to dump me.”
You say that so casually, and you wince when you’ve realised what you’ve said. You’ve never been one to be a heartbreaker, or one to get into casual relationships with an ulterior motive, but you really wanted this job.
Finding someone to even be able to “date” for this article would probably be difficult. And once you got them to fall in love with you, getting them to dump you would likely be easy. Idols barely had time for relationships anyways, right? You wouldn’t necessarily be heartbroken at the prospect of losing him, because you had a job to do, and he wouldn’t really care that much. No harm, no foul.
You thought she had gone back to her office by now. Your head snaps to look at her, fear evident in your eyes until her words register in your brain. Jisoo had just said the idea was brilliant. Your heart is beating so incredibly fast you think it might jump out of your chest.
“Write it,” Jisoo says, and her lips quirk up into a smile. It’s like she can see the thousands, if not millions of views that your piece will bring in to Stereo already.
“If you can, of course. You’ve got two weeks left here, but I’m more than happy to extend your internship if you need more time to work on the article. And if it goes well…” she trails off, and you swear that if you could read her mind right now, you’re sure she’s about to say something along the lines of: you have a place here permanently.
You look at her, bright-eyed and with determination. “Of course, Jisoo. I’ll get right to it,” you stammer. Jisoo nods at you approvingly before she walks back to her office, heels clicking on the floor with a certain enthusiasm that wasn’t there before. She’s excited about your article. Your boss – the one who was notoriously difficult to appease, was happy with an article pitch of yours. Well, Yoonchae gave you the idea, but technically, you’d be the one to flesh it out.
Yoonchae looks at you, eyes wide with a look of bewilderment. “What… what have you gotten yourself into?” she asks, her tone laced with disbelief. She wheels her chair over to you, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you.
“How… How the hell are you going to go bag an idol in the two weeks that we have here? Are you crazy?” she hisses, and the realisation of how difficult your task was actually sinks in. Thinking about it was fine and seemed easy enough, but now… now you actually had to do something.
“I… I’m going to figure something out, Yoonchae,” you say. “I have to.”
You wanted this job. You were going to make it work.
Jisoo would get that article, and it's going to be the best article that she’s ever read in her life.
The CORTIS comeback showcase is buzzing with people.
You scan your media pass at the entrance and wait at the side before Yoonchae comes through. You’ve got your notebook, pens and laptops in your bag, and the two of you head towards your designated seats at the front.
The plastic chairs are arranged in an orderly fashion, with yours and Yoonchae’s names printed out on paper and stuck to the chair to tell you where you both will be sitting. Much to your delight, you two are seated in the front row.
When the two of you sit down, you pull out your laptop, setting it on top of your lap. It’s been three days since you told Jisoo that you’d be writing that article, and as the days have gone by, you think you might’ve been a little too confident.
Music Bank was at the end of the week, and you think that you probably have your best shot there, but waiting was making you incredibly nervous. You didn’t want Jisoo to scrap the idea before you even started.
“So… found an idol to date yet?” Yoonchae almost reads your mind, and you groan as you open up your notes app. You click to the note titled ‘CORTIS comeback’, and all the questions that you have prepared pop up right in front of you.
“No, I haven’t,” you sigh, tapping your foot on the ground. “Thank you for reminding me, Yoonchae.”
Yoonchae smiles with amusement, as if she’s somewhat entertained by the predicament that you’ve put yourself into. You groan as you think about the article once again, and you scan through your options. You really could only take your pick from some 4th gen groups and the 5th gen groups.
This assignment was way easier in your head. The dating and dumping part was easy. The part where you had to get an idol to want to get to know you enough to move on to the dating stage was the hard bit.
Backstage, Martin peeks behind the curtains to get a good glimpse of the crowd. Although their new album just released today, Keonho just had to remind him of the bet as they were getting dressed.
Now, Martin has to actually find someone to make them fall hopelessly in love with him. Keonho had been ever so gracious to say that the comeback showcase didn’t technically count as a show, so in reality, Martin kind of had 11 shows. One more show couldn’t possibly make much of a difference, but 11 was a little less daunting than 10.
So now, he's searching amongst the crowd to see if he can find someone who he thinks would help him win the bet.
Keonho joins him, and it's like he can read Martin's mind, because he instinctively does the same. “Okay, let’s see. Which girl…” he hums. His eyes are scanning the crowd with hawk-like concentration.
“Okay, what about her?” Keonho says, motioning towards a brunette girl sitting in the second row.
“No,” Martin replies quickly, shaking his head. “Looks like she’d ghost me, but tell all her friends that we dated for a month.”
“Hard to argue with that,” Keonho replies. Seonghyeon catches wind of what’s going on and decides to join the two of them. Seonghyeon’s eyes land on a girl sitting not far away from the brunette, and she’s got dyed pink hair. He tilts his chin towards her.
“Her?” Seonghyeon proposes.
“Nope,” Martin says. “Feel like she’d ask me if I can give her BTS’ phone number. Which I also wish I had.”
“Fine,” Keonho says, and his eyes land on Yoonchae. “What about her?” He gestures towards her, but Martin’s eyes land on you.
You’re typing away at your laptop with determined focus, and Martin doesn’t know why he finds it so intriguing. You’ve got one earphone in your ear, the other dangling as you talk to Yoonchae. You’re wearing a striped zip-up jacket and jeans – you’re not trying to be noticed at all, but it makes you stand out even more to Martin. You’re sitting in the front row with a media pass around your neck, so Martin knows that you’re definitely not a fan.
That checks the box.
For him to actually win the bet, he should’ve made it easy for himself. But there’s something about you that makes Martin want to actually get to know you better. And truthfully, he did like a challenge.
Keonho notices how Martin’s gone silent. He’s looking in the direction that Keonho had originally pointed towards, but he sees that Martin’s looking at you, rather than Yoonchae. “Ah,” Keonho hums. “The one sitting next to her’s caught your eye.”
“Sure,” Martin replies casually. “You could say that. You said any non-fan, right? She fits the bill.”
“Alright, Martin hyung,” Keonho grins in amusement. “10 shows. It’s all you’ve got to make her fall in love with you.”
“That's all I need,” Martin replies.
Martin prays he’s right.
The comeback showcase goes well.
You enjoy the music a lot – you liked CORTIS’ debut album anyways, so you weren’t really surprised that they had released something good again. Their stage presence was always insane from the videos you’ve watched online, and witnessing it in person was no different.
However, you did seem to notice one of the members’ – Martin’s – eyes on you a little too often. You also had a hunch that perhaps they had talked about you, because whenever there was someone asking a question from your direction, Keonho would elbow Martin with a knowing smirk on his lips.
“So, what was that?” Eight out of ten?” Yoonchae asks you as she begins to pack up her things. The fans have been told to leave by now, and the only people really left are media and industry professionals. You look at what you’ve written down, and you’ve practically given five stars to all of the songs. The lowest is a 4.5, and you’d like to think that you have a pretty high bar for greatness.
“I mean… nine?” you hum. “There’s always room for improvement, right?”
“High praises,” you hear a voice that’s not Yoonchae interrupting your conversation. It’s also a voice that you’ve heard far too many times tonight. You turn to look at the stranger, and you meet eyes with none other than the Martin Edwards. “It means a lot. Thank you.”
Yoonchae opens and closes her mouth like a fish, stunned at Martin’s sudden presence. But then she remembers something the same time you do – the article. She purposely moves to stand behind him, mouthing at you: ‘he’s the one!’
You know Martin Edwards is exactly who he thinks he is. 6 '3, gorgeous dyed blonde hair, impeccable music-making skills and the coolest fashion sense in the industry right now. If you hadn’t seen more of him on your social media, you’d be genuinely a little intimidated by him.
But you know that he’s a sweet guy. He’s also a little bit of a goofball too – loud, likes making his friends laugh, and often gives in to a little too much of his fans’ requests. The fan call videos were certainly something, and you’re really wondering how much he gets paid to tell someone else ‘I love you, you’re my girlfriend.’
He’s still in his clothes from the showcase – silver jewellery hangs around his neck, with three rings on each finger. You observe his features for perhaps maybe a little too long, and his lips curl up in the slightest hint of a smirk.
Yoonchae clears her throat, giving you a wink. “So, I’m gonna go grab something for us at the convenience store nearby. (Name), I’ll be back in about 15 minutes.”
Before you can protest, she’s already darted off. You curse under your breath before looking back at Martin, who’s eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eye. You can’t quite place your finger on why that is, but maybe he caught you staring.
“So… (Name),” he says. His voice is smooth, and his name rolls off your tongue like he’s testing the waters. There’s a certain cadence in his tone that sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “I’m glad you liked the album. We worked hard on it.”
“I’m sure you did,” you beam. “Do you go thanking every member of the media after the showcase?”
Martin’s airy laughter rings through the air, and his smile grows even wider. “Oh, no,” he says breezily, waving you off. “Just the pretty ones.”
You’re knocked off your feet for just a split second. Was Martin Edwards flirting with you? And was it… dare you say… working?
And suddenly, the article doesn’t feel so difficult anymore. With Martin Edwards standing right in front of you, you realise that you have the perfect candidate.
His group was still new on the scene, but everybody wanted to get to know CORTIS just a little bit better. Your article would do that. Even if fans said that Martin was practically an open book, the boy standing in front of you now wasn’t necessarily the one you saw on stage mere minutes ago.
Sure, he was still confident and assured. But there was the slightest difference in the way he carried himself – a little less guarded, a little less… idol-like. Perhaps it was the flirting, honestly.
You come to your senses, quirking a brow at him. “Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”
The air is electric, and usually you’d be nervous, but just this once, you think that it’s perfect. Martin’s grin somehow grows wider before he nods.
“I do,” he hums. “Thought I said that before. And if my eyes didn’t deceive me just before your friend scurried off… you might’ve been staring at my face for just a smidge too long.”
Your cheeks heat up. “I… I was not!”
Martin lets out another laugh, clearly amused at how flustered you were. “I’m just teasing,” he replies. “Regardless, it’s not often I see someone working in the media that’s around the same age as us. And as I’m saying this, I’m hoping that you’re in your last year of high school.”
You nod at his words. “I am,” you reply. “Same age as you.”
“Perfect,” he grins. “I’m glad I was right, or I would’ve embarrassed myself coming up to you.”
“Right,” you chuckle. “So… any other pretty members of the media you want to thank?” you look around, and the exhibition hall is just about empty. Martin shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Just you.”
“Way to make a girl feel special, Edwards,” you quip. Martin ignores how his heart flutters when you simply just call him by his last name. “What's the phone for? A selfie? Just a reminder that you're the idol there."
"You're funny," Martin replies. There's sincerity in his tone. "But, I was hoping that perhaps I could get your number.”
You look at him, your lips curling up into a smile. “Ah, you’ve beat me to it,” you pout, jutting out your bottom lip. “I was hoping that I’d be the one to make that move.”
Your words are awfully confident, making you sound completely unfazed at Martin’s flirtatious words. But inside, you’re internally screaming. You’re trying to hide your nerves, and Martin’s gaze on you is not helping as your thumb carefully presses the keys on the screen.
“There we go,” you say, pressing the ‘save’ button. “You should text me. I’d love to hear from you.”
“You would?” Martin asks, almost in disbelief. He can’t believe how well the flirting is going. Keonho, Juhoon, James and Seonghyeon would so be losing their money.
“Of course,” you beam. Your eyes tilt towards the exit, and you see Yoonchae standing there. She’s not hurrying you, but you know that it’s time to go. “Listen, I’ve got to head back home, but… yeah. Text me, and let’s hang out.”
“Are you asking me out?” Martin says, a coy smile on his lips.
“Maybe I am,” you reply. Your eyes dart back to Yoonchae again, and a sudden wave of boldness makes you inch closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to Martin’s cheek. You watch as his cheeks flush bright pink, and you can’t help but feel satisfied with yourself. Got him, you think. “I’ll see you around, Edwards.”
Before Martin can say anything, you’ve already rushed off. He instinctively brings a hand to his cheek, and he smiles triumphantly.
“Oh, you’re already falling in love with me,” he says to himself, a wide grin on his lips.
Meanwhile, as you’re darting off to the car, a similar expression graces your lips. “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead,” you whisper.
Conversation with Martin is surprisingly easy.
He texts you as soon as he gets back to the dorm, and you reply just as quickly. You shoot off flirtatious messages every other second like a seasoned professional, and Martin replies with just as much enthusiasm. You just know he’s probably cheesing behind the screen. You don’t notice how you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, though.
Martin is incredibly flirtatious, like you’ve seen online. You really thought it was all just fan service, but it turns out, Martin did really act that way. You’ve earned a new nickname now, thanks to him – pretty.
Minutes turn into hours, and sure enough, the two of you found yourself talking to each other until four in the morning. It’s not until you remind him that he’s got a schedule tomorrow and that you’ve got work, and then you two say goodnight.
Martin gives you recommendations of his favourite songs, and you rate them just like you usually do for Stereo. You find that your music taste is surprisingly similar, and Martin just tells you that ‘perhaps it’s a sign that we’re meant to be.’ You smile a little too wide at that response, and your heart flutters in the slightest way. You reply with a ‘I think so’, and Martin beams seeing those words on his screen.
You didn’t think that it was that easy to get Martin Edwards to fall in love with you, but honestly at this point, you think that you’ve got him absolutely whipped.
For three days, you and Martin talk non-stop. Whenever you’ve got a break, and he’s got a break, the two of you are talking about anything remotely that interests you. Bailey, another colleague of yours, tells you that you seem awfully invested in this considering that it’s just an article assignment.
On the fourth day, you head into work and find that there’s a tray of iced coffees on your desk. Yoonchae looks at you with a knowing grin as you pick up the sticky note, and sure enough, it’s Martin’s handwriting.
Hi, pretty. For you and the team. – Edwards.
You fail to hide the smile that’s unconsciously crept up on your lips. When Yoonchae points it out, you just tell her to shut up. This was all for the article, you remind yourself. You weren’t really in love with Martin Edwards. You hand out the coffees, and when you give one to Jisoo, she raises an eyebrow.
“Did you bring this in?” she asks, and you shake your head.
“Martin from CORTIS did,” you say. There’s a coy lilt in your tone, and Jisoo seems to remember the article. She smiles at you proudly, and gives you a pat on the shoulder before taking a sip of the coffee.
“Good work,” she beams. “Can’t wait to see the article.”
She then walks off, heels clicking on the floor. Yoonchae clears her throat to catch your attention, and you look at her, taking a sip of the coffee that Martin had bought you.
“So… what’s the plan to get him to dump you? Because… getting him whipped seemed pretty fucking easy. Like, this is three-month relationship stuff.” she says, gesturing to the coffee on her own table. Bailey, who's curiosity is piqued at the sound of Yoonchae's words, rolls her chair over to you to join in the conversation.
“I’m going to be entirely too much, too overbearing and too clingy to the point where he has to break up with me,” you say. Your plan is absolutely fool-proof. “They’re heading to New York in three weeks. Let’s get this done in the 10 shows they have in Korea.”
Bailey hums, nodding at your words. “Okay, but like… do you have any specifics?”
“Calm down,” you reply. “I don’t have to move that fast. We’ve known each other only for four days. No sane person is going to ask someone to be their girlfriend in four days.”
“You have three weeks, (Name) – you better hurry up…” Yoonchae replies, her voice trailing off. “Maybe just a date? Tonight? You know how they’ve got to basically be in the middle of the night though, right – because cameras are everywhere. Your sleep schedule is going to be fucked when you’re dating Martin.”
“Well, you didn’t have to put so much emphasis on the ‘fucked’,” you raise an eyebrow. “But yeah, a date sounds good. I’ll text him now.”
you | 7:32am
thanks for the coffee, edwards
it was really sweet of you
can i thank you with a date?
martin edwards | 7:33am
ah, i was waiting for that text from you
of course!
tomorrow? after you’re done with work?
you | 7:34am
sounds like a plan
wear something nice
martin edwards | 7:34am
i always do
gonna step it up to impress you though
can’t wait to see you, pretty
Yoonchae peers over your shoulder. “Don’t they have to go to Inkigayo tomorrow? How will you two have time to actually… go on a date?”
“Shoot, you’re right,” you reply. You quickly type out a message to Martin, your fingers flying over the screen.
you | 7:35am
you have inkigayo
martin edwards | 7:35am
ah. right
date at inkigayo? you could be my plus one
you’ll be there anyways right? as media?
you | 7:36am
first date at inkigayo is highly unorthodox
i’m in, though
only because it’s you
martin edwards | 7:37am
i feel so special
sneaking around is gonna be awfully romantic
i’ve got dance practice now and i’m sure you’ve got work
talk soon pretty
“Well… first date at Inkigayo,” you say, almost in disbelief. So this was what it was like to date an idol – music show dates, late-night dates, probably getting blown off because dance practice takes precedence. You note that down in your notebook, because you’re sure that it’ll be of use to you later. “That’s settled.”
“I suppose it is,” Yoonchae says. She’s still in disbelief at the entire interaction – she was peering over your shoulder the entire time. “Also, you should probably change his contact name to something other than his full name. It’s not that romantic.”
“I… ‘Chae, he’s not my real boyfriend,” you say, pointedly. “Heck, he hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend. Which actually reminds me, I have to get on that.” You do take her advice though, and change his name simply to ‘Edwards’ with an orange heart emoji. It’s plausible enough, considering that you do call him exclusively by his last name.
“I must say… this is going surprisingly well,” Bailey hums. “Even though I know it’s really new. Just… don’t go falling in love with him, or something. That would ruin the entire thing.”
You laugh, dismissing Bailey's words as if they were ludicrous. “Don’t worry,” you hum, your tone laced with a little too much confidence.
“I’m not going to actually fall in love with Martin Edwards.”
For someone who’s allegedly not invested in this ‘relationship’ at all, you do spend an awfully long time picking out your outfit for Inkigayo tonight.
CORTIS had a reputation for being incredibly fashionable – if you were going to be introduced as ‘Martin Edwards’ talking stage and to-be girlfriend’ tonight, you had to at least look the part.
You opt for something so outrageously Martin-esque to the point where you look like you could genuinely be the sixth member of CORTIS. So much so, that any random staff member would probably think that you pulled it out of his closet.
Members of the media were supposed to be unassuming, trying to avoid the public eye at all costs – but just for today, you were going to break that rule. Just based off of your outfit alone, you wanted it to be glaringly obvious that you were talking to Martin.
You pull on these black, chunky boots that you haven’t worn in forever (you even have to blow the dust off of them) lacing them up with a smile on your lips. Martin Edwards was so going to freak out when he saw you. You could just envision it.
Yoonchae looks at you oddly when you jump into the car – this was certainly not your style at all. “Okay, Martin’s girl. You might as well just dye your hair blonde too,” she quips. Usually you’d tell her to shut up, but that was exactly the reaction you were looking for.
edwards 🧡 | 6:23pm
let me know when you’re here
we’re in dressing room 103
you | 6:24pm
im on my way
see you 🧡🧡🧡
“You go find Martin,” Yoonchae tells you, a playful smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you where we’re seated for tonight’s performances… if you’ll even be joining me here.”
You laugh, waving goodbye to her before you go off and find dressing room 103. You see a bunch of staff members at Inkigayo give you odd looks. They saw you here last week too, and you most certainly were not dressed like this. A girl you’ve made conversation with a couple of times – her name was Yoojung – mouths ‘Martin fan?’ at you, and you simply give her a wide grin before disappearing down the corridor.
You knock on dressing room 103, tapping your foot on the floor. Your mind runs through the plan – too overbearing, too clingy, too boisterous. You’re going to make Martin go insane.
Martin opens the door, since he was expecting you anyways. But what he did not expect was for you to be dressed in clothes that seemed like they were pulled from his closet. He looks you up and down, mouth opening and closing as if he’s about to speak – but all the words he has to say become strangled in his throat.
“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual. You want him to think that no, this outfit did not take me forever.
“You look…” Martin stutters.
Time to pack on the dramatics, you think. “Gorgeous? Stunning? Beautiful?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. “Tell me something I don’t know, Edwards.”
Martin’s brain almost short-circuits. He’s still at a complete loss of words, and for a split second he thinks that Seonghyeon may be right – does he even know how to flirt? He’s trying to rack his brain for a compliment, or anything that makes it known that he thinks you look good.
Keonho clears his throat, and it brings Martin back to his senses – the bet. Time for him to make you fall hopelessly in love and make you weak in the knees, he thinks. He instantly puts a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “All of those things.”
“Next time though, if you wanted to dress like me, you should’ve just said so,” he adds. He hopes Seonghyeon’s listening – he was about to deliver a masterclass in flirting. “Just wear my actual clothes instead.”
Your heart flutters a little too much at those words, and for a brief second, Martin thinks that he can see your confidence falter ever so slightly. Bingo, he thinks. Another win.
“Oh, so that’s an invitation for me to just wear all your clothes, isn’t it?” you ask. “Moving fast, Edwards.” You peek behind him to see the other four boys watching the two of you talk with curiosity. Keonho’s eyes are practically sparkling.
You raise your voice a little before you say your next sentence. “Mind you, you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend.”
You don’t know which member it is that hollers loudly hearing your words. Martin turns around so fast you think he’s going to snap his neck. He glares at the four of them, before diverting his attention back to you.
This was going exceptionally well. Four days in, and you already wanted to be his girlfriend. Anyone who said that he didn’t have game was going to regret it.
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word as a smile plays on his lips. “Let me introduce you to the members first, and then we’ll talk about that, pretty.”
He opens the door a little wider to actually let you into the dressing room, and the four of them blink at you, stunned when they see your outfit. Your outfit was almost a carbon-copy of something that they think they’ve seen Martin wear before. Was it a little tacky to dress almost identical to your talking stage? Probably. But their reactions were golden, and you hope to God that Martin’s cheeks are heating up in embarrassment.
“Guys, this is (Name),” Martin says, introducing you. You beam at the four of them just before lacing your fingers with Martin. The action comes out of nowhere, and Martin freezes for a split second before he closes his hand around yours. Your hand is warm, and Martin doesn't know why having your hand in his just feels oddly... right.
You swear Juhoon’s eyes pop out of his skull. Seonghyeon’s jaw practically drops. James puts his glasses back on to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Keonho shrieks before falling to the floor dramatically.
“I’m his…” your voice trails off. Suddenly, an idea pops into your brain. What did anyone in a talking stage hate the most?
The dreaded ‘what are we?’ question.
Martin would hate it even more if you asked that question right in front of his friends. It was perfect.
A devious grin threatens to creep up onto your lips before you turn to Martin. “What are we, exactly?”
Seonghyeon chokes on his water while Juhoon has to suppress a laugh. Martin can’t believe you asked that question in front of everyone – you were impatient, alright. He was actually going to ask you to be his girlfriend, but in private. But considering your outfit choice today, perhaps you were someone who wanted to make your affection for him known. He knows that he should feel embarrassed, but surprisingly, he doesn’t.
Four days is awfully fast to ask someone to be their girlfriend, but Martin wanted to win this bet. Badly.
And the first step to actually make it known to his friends that he was going to win, was to loudly announce that you were his girlfriend. Martin can’t wait for Keonho to pay for those Rick Owens shoes that he’s been eyeing for ages.
“She’s my girlfriend.” he says, a coy smile tugging at his lips.
The room practically explodes with questions, shouts and what you think are cheers. You weren’t exactly expecting this reaction from Martin, but it’s more than welcomed, considering the predicament that you’ve gotten yourself into. The first half of your job was done – you’ve gotten the idol. Now you just needed him to dump you.
But for some odd reason, him telling everyone in the room that you were his girlfriend makes your chest tighten ever so slightly. You ignore the feeling, telling yourself that it’s just nerves. You’ll ease more into the role of annoying girlfriend as the days go on.
You look at him, tilting your head with a small smile on your lips. “Didn’t even ask me,” you whisper in his ear. You hear Martin let out a light laugh amidst the chaos that those three words had created.
“Isn’t that what you were hinting at me to do when you arrived at the door?” he replies, voice matching yours. Touché, you think.
“Well,” you say, turning to face him. “That’s true. And I’m happy you did.” Your eyes quickly divert towards the four boys sitting on the couch – they’re still going on and on about how Martin actually has a girlfriend. They’re saying it as if they’re in disbelief that he’s actually with you.
Believe it, you think. To really sell it, you dramatically plant a kiss on Martin’s cheek. You’re thanking yourself that you decided to wear lipstick that wasn’t transfer-proof today, and you can practically hear Keonho’s gasp. When you pull away, there it is – a glaringly obvious stain of your lips on the side of his cheek.
“Oops,” you say, but Martin can tell you’re not really sorry about it at all. You bring a hand up to wipe the stain off, and Martin just shakes his head, gently clutching your wrist as if to tell you to leave it.
“I’ll just use some makeup remover,” he replies, calmly. You’re surprised that Martin’s face isn’t heating up with embarrassment – maybe you just had to be even more dramatic than you already were. In fact, he was smiling like an idiot in love. Was he crazy? “Thanks for the good luck kiss, girlfriend.”
It’s official. All Martin has to do is get you to stay with him until the end of the tenth show. All you have to do is get him to dump you before the tenth show.
And as you squeeze Martin’s hand a little tighter before planting another overly obnoxious kiss on his cheek, you’re almost certain that you’re going to get that full-time job.
Over the next week, Martin realises that first impressions are deceiving.
You’re not who he thought you’d be when he first saw you at the comeback showcase – rather, you’re the complete opposite. Loud, boisterous, unrestrained. You’re overly sweet and romantic in a way that Martin thought only existed in rom-coms. It’s nice to be showered in love and affection, and Martin – despite his better judgment – allows his heart to flutter whenever you lean a little closer, or when his name rolls off your tongue like honey over the phone.
You send him texts almost every single second now that you two are officially a couple (can he even call you his actual girlfriend when this was all a bet?). You also show up at almost every performance of theirs throughout the week.
The members and the staff all get used to your presence rather quickly – it’s not surprising, considering that whenever you’re there, your presence somehow commands the entire room. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and he doesn’t know if he loves or hates the extra attention that you bring with you. In addition, Martin doesn’t even know how you have the time to basically cling to him like glue when you’ve got a full-time job.
His phone pings again, and he already knows who it’s from. It’s you, sending him twenty messages in a row – each text is one word, and Martin would usually get a little frustrated, but it was you. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to actually get mad at you, which is the crazy part considering that this was all a bet.
You send him four selfies of yourself sitting in the front row of the same exhibition centre where you guys had met. He’s admiring how pretty you look until he realises the article of clothing that you’re wearing is awfully familiar. It’s then when it hits him – you’re wearing his striped red and black zip-up hoodie.
The one that he precisely wanted to wear today.
Martin knows that the zip-up basically swallows you, because he’s seen you in his other clothes before. His heart does a flip at the thought. It’s just a bet, he reminds himself.
You look pretty, he tells you. You respond almost immediately.
I know, is your response. Martin doesn’t realise how hard he’s grinning at his screen right now.
Is that my jacket? he asks you.
Your response? It’s mine now.
His nostrils flare slightly at the fact that you’ve just claimed his favourite zip-up hoodie, but he relents and lets you have it anyway. You did look good in it, he had to admit.
You practically demand his attention at all times, which is a little impossible considering his job. More often than not, whenever he’s practicing with the rest of the members, his phone would be buzzing so much to the point where it fell off the bench. Keonho only looks at him teasingly before Martin quickly shoots back a response to you, telling you that he’s got dance practice.
You don’t seem to care, and you continue spamming him anyways. Despite this, Martin can’t seem to push you away. Or mute your contact.
You’re sitting in the exhibition centre, confused as to why Martin hasn’t gone batshit crazy over the fact that you’ve taken his favourite zip-up without any warning. Keonho had warned you about how Martin didn’t like sharing his clothes. Perhaps you just had to take it a little further, then.
So, a day later, Martin opens the door to his dorm to find you standing there. You hadn’t announced that you were coming, and Martin assumed that you had work anyways. What he didn’t know was that you’d asked Jisoo for some time off today to work on the article – it was going well, you had told her. At those words, Jisoo nodded, giving you time off without a single thought.
“Hi?” Martin asks, stunned at the sight of you at his doorstep.
“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me,” you pout, and Martin shakes his head.
“No, no!” he says hastily. “I was just surprised to see you. Come on in,” he opens the door a little wider for you. You kick your shoes off at the door, and Martin winces a little when you just leave them there instead of putting it on the shoe rack. He decides to do it for you, like any good boyfriend would – placing your shoes next to a pair of his own sneakers.
“Thank you, ‘Tinnie.” you beam, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Even though there’s nobody else there right now, you make it a big show and exaggerate every motion. You deliberately say ‘mwah’ when you pull away, admiring the lipstick print on Martin’s cheek.
Oddly, Martin doesn’t wipe it off. Maybe he’s insane. Or maybe he’s just insanely whipped like Yoonchae said.
“Tinnie is a new one,” he hums. “Finally moved on from calling me Edwards?”
You shake your head, bounding down the corridor like it’s your place rather than his. Martin follows you like a lost puppy. “Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’. “Just trying out something new. But, I wanted to grab some clothes.”
Martin furrows his brows. “You want to go shopping?” he asks. “Sure, I’ll just go grab my coat.”
You hold a hand out to stop him. “No, I want to wear some of your clothes,” you say like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It’s totally not like you two have only been dating for a week. “If that’s alright with you, of course?”
Martin can’t say no to you. Not when he remembers how nice you looked in his striped zip-up. He nods reluctantly, and you squeal, dragging him towards his closet.
You’re raiding Martin’s closet like it’s a department store sale. You’re grabbing hanger after hanger and asking him to hold onto them for you, and Martin can barely keep up. In five minutes, he’s somehow holding five of his own hoodies and three of his t-shirts, while you’re trying on another one of his zip-ups.
You’re twirling around in it, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You look at Martin for his approval, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Looks great on you, pretty.”
You really should be used to the compliments that Martin dishes out, but your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Bailey’s voice rings in your head – don’t fall in love with him. You can’t believe you have to remind yourself.
Seonghyeon walks in to grab a jacket, and he’s stunned at the scene. Martin’s got hoodies and shirts and jumpers draped over him as you pull out something else from his side of the closet.
“What the…” he says, and Martin turns to look at him.
“Hi,” Martin says. He can barely see. There’s a hoodie over his head, and he can’t bring his arm up to pull it off. “(Name) wanted some of my clothes.” Seonghyeon, who’s ever so kind, pulls the hoodie off Martin’s head.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon giggles. “Have fun, you lovebirds.” Before he leaves, he mouths at Martin, 10 shows. Though your presence is awfully over-the-top, Seonghyeon doesn’t quite mind having you around. It was rather funny to witness yours and Martin’s dynamic.
You take four more pieces of his clothing, and Martin helps you fold them all up neatly before placing them into a bag. “There you go,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Happy?”
“Very,” you giggle. You do feel a little guilty for stealing half his closet. “Thank you, ‘Tin. Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll let you pick, since I’ve taken so many of your clothes.” Though it was for an article, you weren’t a monster. You don’t realise how instinctively, you’ve leaned into his touch.
Martin nods, grinning as he kisses your temple like he’s done this a million times before. It’s getting awfully easy for him to slip into the role of your boyfriend. “Sure,” he hums. “We can watch something on my laptop.”
You curl up next to him on his bed, your head resting on his chest and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind playing on his laptop. Martin presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you.
This domesticity feels a little too natural. A little too real – like you two are actually two teenagers in love.
The slightest twinge of guilt pangs at your heart. You don't know it, but when the thought of the bet flashes through Martin's head, that same feeling strikes him in the chest too.
Martin’s eyes leave the screen for a split second to look at you, and he pushes the thought of the bet to the back of his head.
His closet may be a little bit more empty now, but his heart feels the slightest bit more full.
“I think Martin is a lunatic.” you confess to Yoonchae at work one day.
CORTIS had five more shows left in Korea before they were due to leave for New York City, and any logical person would have already broken up with you at this point.
But for some strange reason, Martin stayed. Not even just stayed – pulled you closer, even. He flirted with you more. Peppered your face with kisses. Proudly showed you off to his friends.
He’s either insane, or he loves crazy girls. You don’t know which is worse.
What you didn't know, of course, was that Martin was practically clinging on to this relationship for dear life. 10 shows, he reminds himself. He needed a girl to stay with him for three full weeks and to somehow put up with his insanely hectic schedule. Martin half-expected to barely see you, but you somehow managed to find a way to sneak into his life more often than not. It was welcomed, of course – he could show his friends that yes, he could flirt, and yes, an idol was able to date.
You were acting batshit crazy, and he still wanted you to be his girlfriend. Martin still hasn't dumped your ass, and that was absolutely shocking.
Idols were always busy, so you decided to do the very thing that all busy people hated: you spammed Martin all day.
You sent him stupid TikToks, telling him to reply to each and every single one. You called him at random hours, sent him voice messages, and practically demanded his attention every single second.
The crazy thing was, Martin would reply to every TikTok. He’d always pick up. He’d reply to every single voice message with his own, and you hated how you always smiled hearing his voice and his loud laugh through your headphones.
You showed up unannounced to so many performances to the point where his manager would only sigh, and reluctantly let you in. You’ve embarrassed him by showering him with affection in front of quite literally everyone. You heard how Keonho tried – and failed – to hide a shriek when you made a big show of calling Martin ‘baby’ five minutes before they were due to head on stage.
One night at his dorm, you’d even spent one whole hour asking the most basic questions about music production, forcing him to overexplain like he was teaching a toddler. You knew all the answers to the questions, but you’d asked them anyway just to rile him up.
Martin thinks that for someone who’s working at Stereo, you should know. But regardless, he explains it all to you patiently, smiling like he’s glad that his girlfriend is actually interested in what he does – much to your dismay.
Martin didn’t even bat an eye when you purposely stole all of his favourite clothes from his closet a few days ago. You’re sitting at your desk in the Stereo office, wearing Martin’s hoodie that is outrageously large on you. You’re shocked that he didn’t protest more, especially when you grabbed one of the expensive ones. Instead, he smiled, told you that you looked gorgeous, folded it up neatly and then gave it to you.
You also realise that you don’t hate the affection that he showers you with. It feels quite nice, actually – to be cared for by Martin Edwards.
But, this was truly not going well for your article.
“Why is that?” Yoonchae asks. “Because he hasn’t dumped you?”
“Yes!” you exclaim, as if it was the obvious answer. “He’s staying! Which is the crazy part! Idols don’t have time for this clingy, over-the-top nonsense, do they? So it’s either he’s insane, or he loves crazy girls.”
“There’s another obvious answer,” Bailey chimes in, a smile playing on her lips. “He just likes you.”
Bailey’s words hit you like a truck, and you ignore how your heart jumps at the thought. Martin Edwards likes you? You hate to say it, but that was truly… not implausible. But if Martin actually liked you – with all your craziness – surely, he had to be just the slightest bit insane.
“I…” your cheeks heat up. “Okay.” you grumble, eyes diverting back to your laptop screen. You need to figure out a way to drive Martin absolutely up the wall – he had a strong resolve, there was no doubt about it. Something about music seemed right.
Your eyes sparkle with delight when you remember that Martin said that he was going to be working on some music tonight in his studio. Something about recording some adlibs and some lines for their next album. Even while promoting music that was released recently, Martin was always working on something new. It was honestly incredibly admirable.
So, you find yourself slumped on a chair next to Martin at 9:30 at night, watching as he works on a new song. There’s a microphone in front of his lips as he clips sections together with silent precision. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and you deem it the perfect time to enact your plan.
“Tinnie,” you say, dragging out his name. He hums, acknowledging you, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. You nudge him gently, and he glances towards you. There’s a soft look in his eye, and a small smile graces his lips. “What do you think about this dog?”
You show him a picture of this random white poodle that came up on your For You page. He squints at it, nodding. “It’s cute, baby. Why?” he asks, before his eyes divert back to his screen again.
“I want a dog,” you say. “Let’s get a dog.”
That catches Martin’s attention. “You want… us to get a dog?” he asks, in complete disbelief. You nod, and Martin’s eyes bug out of his skull. He can’t believe what you’ve just said. A dog was a big relationship commitment, right?
Martin could barely take care of himself sometimes – how was he going to take care of a dog? And who was going to pay for the dog? He’d made enough money from the song royalties, but still. The proposal was a little insane.
“That’s really sweet, baby – but we’ve only been dating for like a week,” he hums, hand gently caressing your shoulder. “And I don’t know how we’d even take care of it – would it live at your house? It can’t live in our dorm, you know.”
You pout at his words.
“I’m sorry. We can… go to a dog cafe, or something. I’ll take you sometime next week,” Martin looks at you sympathetically. Just give me a few minutes to work on this song, is that alright? I have to record some bits tonight, and then we can watch a movie.”
You nod, letting out a small sigh. Martin thinks it’s because he lightly rejected your proposal for you two to get a dog. In reality, it was really because you can’t seem to figure out a way to get Martin to actually dump you. What normal person asks their boyfriend of one week to get a dog with them?
Martin glances at you before he pulls up the lyrics of the song on his phone. He taps the record button, and just as he’s about to sing into the microphone, your voice cuts through the air.
“Tinnie,” you pipe up, and Martin pauses the recording. He really wanted to get this song finished by tonight. You see the slightest hint of frustration on his face, and you do feel bad – but despite all your past attempts to get him to drive you away, nothing else seemed to work.
“Hmm?” he asks.
“Do you have any drinks?” you ask, and Martin nods, rolling his chair back so he can open the mini-fridge under the desk. He pulls out a can of Coke – he knows your favourite – cracking it open for you before sliding it over to you.
“Thank you, Tinnie,” you beam. Martin thinks that seeing your smile is worth it, even if he did have to pause recording for a bit. Even if you sometimes did have awfully bad timing, he’s realising that he’s grown accustomed to your antics. “I’ll be quiet now.”
“Okay,” he replies. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.”
You take a loud, dramatic sip of your drink just as Martin presses record. He pauses it again before turning to you, and this time, frustration is evident on his features.
Guilt washes over you, and you realise that honestly, you didn’t really want Martin to get so mad at you to the point where he ended things. He looks tired, and you know it’s probably from a mix of hectic promotions, working on music and dealing with your incredibly annoying ass.
Martin was too sweet for his own good, and you’re suddenly re-evaluating every little thing. You didn’t like seeing him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to be upset at you.
You look at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” you wince, and Martin shakes his head, waving it off.
“It’s okay.” he sighs, but exasperation is evident in his tone. He huffs, pressing the record button again.
This time, you don’t interrupt – and now you know why everyone in the industry calls him a musical genius. Martin’s working like a seasoned professional, putting in clips of his voice here and there. He presses play on the section that he was just working on, nodding in silent approval when he’s satisfied.
You realise that you don’t want to drive him incredibly insane to the point where he can’t bear to see your face anymore. The article wasn’t going to write itself, but writing it meant that you had to hurt Martin. And looking at him now, and thinking about all of the times he had put up with you, you really didn’t want to hurt him. But you needed a way out.
The guilt is eating you alive as you sit there, making sure to quietly sip your drink. You think about every single moment you’ve shared with him for the last week, the flirting, the affection, the laughter – you don’t really want to let that go either. What were you going to do? This wasn’t supposed to be that complicated. You didn’t intend to actually catch feelings—
Oh.
Shit.
You might have feelings for him.
Everything clicks into place right then and there. You like Martin Edwards. You make sure to say those words in your head so you don’t interrupt him, but those words settle in your chest like they actually belong there.
Fuck. You did the one thing Bailey told you not to do.
“Hey,” he says softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, and Martin doesn’t know why you’re looking at him a little differently. Your gaze is soft, warm, and filled with what Martin thinks – and he doesn’t realise, but hopes – might be love. He doesn’t think he’s seen this look in your eye before. “I’m done.”
“Okay,” you say. Your voice is quieter than it’s ever been before. Martin’s slightly startled at the change. “Tin, I’m sorry.”
Martin furrows his brows. “What for?”
Everything, you want to say. “Interrupting you when you were working,” is what you say instead. Martin shakes his head, pulling you close in a hug.
“It’s okay,” he replies. He presses a kiss to your cheek to comfort you, and you hate how much it works. “Don’t worry about it, baby.”
You smile, albeit a little stiffly. “Movie?” you ask, pretending that everything is fine. Martin nods, gesturing to the couch situated at the back of the studio.
You sit down on the couch, and Martin plops right down next to you, giving you a bright smile as he places his laptop on his lap. “What’d you wanna watch?” he asks, and you shrug, resting your cheek on his shoulder.
“You pick,” you reply, and Martin nods. You lace your fingers with his, and he randomly clicks on a movie that he thinks Keonho had offhandedly mentioned was good before. He presses play before glancing at you to make sure you’re okay.
Martin squeezes your hand a little tighter, just to let you know that he’s here. You hate that he’s far too good to you.
You gulp, trying to ignore how the guilt is eating you alive.
Then, you take a deep breath before pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder, slipping into the role that you think you’ve gotten too good at playing.
You have to end it with Martin.
It’s what you realise is best for the both of you. You get your article, and he gets to rid himself of an annoying, overbearing girlfriend. You head into work with a little less enthusiasm, and Yoonchae can immediately tell.
“What’s wrong?” Yoonchae asks, as you let out another loud sigh. Martin’s face is everywhere on your Instagram, and you hate that your lips instinctively tug into a smile at the sight of him. You were in love, damn it.
“Nothing,” you reply. “The article’s just… a little harder than I thought.” You weren’t necessarily lying. Every word you typed out felt wrong. The bitter taste of guilt in the back of your mouth reminds you that you were technically a horrible person for inflicting psychological warfare on Martin Edwards, who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly.
“Oh?” Yoonchae asks, surprised. “I thought it was going well with Martin.”
“It is,” you mutter under your breath. “A little too well. He won’t end it with me. So I think I’m going to have to do it.”
Bailey quirks a brow. “Oh, really? How are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know,” you reply. “Maybe come up with some lame excuse saying that he doesn’t have time for us anymore, and it’s breaking my heart.” Bailey nods, giving you a look that indicates that it’s not that bad of an idea.
You knew that Martin’s schedule was packed today – he had two variety shows to film and then Music Bank later. If anything, today was the perfect day to spam him and then complain about how you got no response. Then, you could use that as an excuse to break up.
It was better to get it done early on before you both got too invested. Your heart does, however, twist at the thought of letting go. But it was for the better, you remind yourself. And you had an article to write.
So, after one whole day of no responses from Martin like you’d planned, you find yourself standing outside the CORTIS dorm, rehearsing your words. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you could do this. You could play the clingy, overbearing girlfriend role to perfection – this was the last time that you had to, hopefully.
You knock, and you hear Martin’s voice. You fail to stop the smile spreading across your lips.
When he opens the door, he instantly beams when he sees you. “Hi, baby!” He moves to wrap his arms around you in a hug, and for a split second, you nearly let him – until you remember that you’re going to break up with him.
“I can’t believe you,” You slip into your role, sniffling to show how heartbroken you were. “I sent you messages all day and you didn’t reply to me! It’s like I don’t matter to you anymore.”
Martin steps back in horror. Shit. Did he mess up? Well, not really, he thinks. He was far too busy – he barely had time to even check his phone all day, but seeing you heartbroken in front of his doorstep makes his stomach twist.
“No, no,” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug in an attempt to comfort you, and you push him away. “Baby, I’m so sorry – I was really busy all day, and I didn’t have time to check my phone. The guys and I just got home, and I was going to text you, believe me!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you say. Your words are absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. “I think we need to break up.”
Saying those words makes your heart sink. You hated it. You didn’t want to let Martin Edwards go.
Martin’s heart drops. The rest of the members can hear everything, and all of their eyes widen. Martin had not a single clue of what to do. He didn’t reply for one day and you wanted to break up? This was ridiculous – he turns to Juhoon, who’s shaking his head as if to say: don’t ask me!
He then looks at Keonho, who’s reminding him: 10 shows.
10 shows. He’s got a week left until he hits 10 shows. Shit. If you ended it with him right now, he would lose the bet.
Asides from that, Martin found that he genuinely did care for you. He didn’t want you to hate him over his schedule being far too packed. He had to find a way to reason with you so you’d stay – not just for the bet, he tells himself.
Seonghyeon’s watching this as if it’s the best episode of television he’s seen in his life. Martin Edwards, begging for his overdramatic, overly clingy girlfriend to stay with him. This was gold.
What did couples do when their relationship was in trouble? Martin racks his brain for ideas.
He’d apologised already. What about gifts? He could get you those. Couples counselling?
“What?” you pipe up. It’s only then when Martin realises that he’s said ‘couples counselling’ out loud. His eyes widen with panic, before he pretends like that’s what he intended all along.
“Yes!” he says. “Let’s do couples counselling. Please, let’s fix this, baby.” Desperation is evident in his tone, and you’re so shocked at his proposal to the point where you don’t quite know what to say.
“I…” you stammer out. You look at Martin, and you realise that you really can’t say no to him. Fuck, you think.
You’d have to find a fucking couples counsellor. Or someone who could pretend to be one. Maybe you could just get Yoonchae or Bailey to say that the two of you weren’t meant to be, and then that could be your excuse to end it.
Yes, that would work, you think.
“Okay,” you sigh, reluctantly. You suppose that you were in this predicament for a little longer. "I'm picking the therapist."
Martin lets out a loud exhale in relief. He's unbelievably happy that you've decided to give your relationship another chance, despite all this being a bet. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he seems to care more about you than the bet now. Even if you did, at times, drive him a little crazy.
He pulls you closer to him in a hug, and this time, you let him.
The smell of blackberries and cedar envelopes you in a comforting embrace, and you allow yourself to melt in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and it’s all just too genuine – you feel awful.
Your heart twists with guilt at how genuine he sounds in his apology.
He holds you a little closer, and all you know is that you don’t deserve Martin Edwards at all.
One day later, you find yourself in Bailey’s apartment – or rather, Dr. Sok’s apartment. You didn’t even have to beg or bribe Bailey to pretend to be a fake therapist for you and Martin – she had said yes immediately, and with a little too much enthusiasm. Bailey wanted to witness whatever the hell you two had going on firsthand.
“It’s going to be good,” she says, tapping her fingers together mischievously. She’s talking about it as if your couples’ counselling appointment is going to be the best movie she’s seen in years.
Martin’s sitting beside you as he taps his foot nervously on the floor. This was insane. He feels a little too out of place here. Why did he agree to couple’s counselling for a relationship that had only just reached the two week mark?
Despite Bailey’s living room looking very much not like a therapists’ office, she comes up with some lame excuse saying that her actual office (which doesn’t exist) is going under some construction. She peers at the two of you through her blue light glasses, leaning forward as she holds a clipboard in your hands.
“So, (Name), Martin. Tell me what’s going wrong in your relationship,” Bailey says. You take a deep breath before slipping back into the role of annoying, overbearing girlfriend.
“He doesn’t have time for us and this relationship!” you huff, crossing your arms. Martin gives you a pained look, sighing. “He’s not taking us seriously anymore.” You sniffle a little for good measure to really sell the fact that you’re heartbroken.
“I… I have a lot to do, baby – you know this,” he pleads “I’m trying my best to make as much time for you as I can, I’m sorry.” You watch as Bailey writes something down on her clipboard. She’s never met Martin before, but she could immediately tell that he harboured a lot of affection for you.
She’s starting to realise that maybe you were right in thinking that Martin was a lunatic – she’d heard about all the antics you’ve pulled, and yet, Martin was still grovelling and wanted you to stay?
“It’s like you care more about being an idol than me,” you say – as the words leave your mouth, you realise how unreasonable it was. Perfect. You needed Martin to dump your ass. The longer you stayed in this ‘relationship’, the harder you knew you were going to fall. You were already in deep, and you needed to get out before this article left you completely heartbroken.
“I…” Martin’s at a complete loss for words. “I can balance my work and our relationship, baby. Please.”
Bailey hums, tapping her pencil on the side of her clipboard as an idea pops up in her brain. You watch as her eyes light up in that way you’ve seen before – you just know this is going to be bad. You’re praying to God that you’re wrong.
“I know,” she says, leaning forward with a glint in your eye. “I think you two need an opportunity to spend a little bit more time together, away from all the idol life. Maybe then, you’ll see your relationship with clearer eyes.”
Your eyes widen in horror. Oh no.
Martin leans forward, suddenly curious. Double oh no.
“What may that be?” he asks – he’s genuinely invested in keeping this relationship, Bailey thinks. It was more clear than ever to her that Martin genuinely liked you, despite how you acted insane.
“When’s the next time you have a day off?” Bailey asks.
“Tuesday. I’m heading back to my parents’ house to spend some time with them before we head off to New York,” Martin says. “Oh!” he looks at you, eyes gleaming with delight. Your heart sinks. Whatever idea Martin had, you knew it was going to be bad for you.
“You can come with me,” he beams. “Right? Is that a good idea, Dr. Sok?”
Bailey is surprisingly shocked at Martin’s willingness to introduce you to his family only two weeks into your relationship. But she had to admit, it was a brilliant idea. She plasters a smile on her face to hide her shock, and nods in satisfaction.
“It’s brilliant, Martin,” Bailey grins. She turns towards you, who’s got a look of horror on your face. “(Name), you should go meet Martin’s parents. After all, you said he wasn’t taking this relationship seriously. What couldn’t be more serious than meeting the parents?”
You fail to come up with a coherent response. Fuck, you think. You should’ve asked Yoonchae to be the fake therapist.
Martin’s looking at you expectantly, and you can tell just based on his gaze alone that he wants you to come. Your gaze softens, and you realise that you’re in way too deep. You’re in love. Shit.
“Fine,” you huff. “Let’s do it.”
Martin beams, so bright that it could rival the sun. The corner of your lips pull upward into a smile at the sight, and he laces his hands with yours. You hate how it feels right.
“Perfect.” he says.
To you, this was anything but.
Tuesday rolls around much faster than you thought.
You put much more effort into your outfit to meet Martin's parents. You’ve practically been living in Martin’s clothes for the past few weeks, and as much as you knew that he liked it, you still had to make a good impression on his parents. Showing up in Martin’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats wasn’t going to cut it.
You opt for something simple, a little more similar to what you wore at the comeback showcase. You arrive at the CORTIS dorm wearing a striped shirt and a pair of jeans. Seonghyeon greets you at the door, and the boy points at what you’re wearing, and then what he’s wearing.
“Oh,” he says. “Why are we matching?”
You let out a little laugh. “Don’t bring it up,” you reply. “Tin wouldn’t like it.”
If Martin notices that you’re somehow dressed like Seonghyeon, he doesn’t make any mention of it. He holds your hand as the company car drives the two of you to his parents’ place, and the two of you share earphones, listening to Martin’s music.
You gulp. This was not what you had planned when you first decided that you were going to write the article. You didn’t think that you’d have to go this far – you had already accidentally fallen in love with the subject of your article, and now you were meeting his parents. This was… simply great.
When the two of you arrive, it’s like Martin can sense your nerves. He looks at you, his gaze soft and gentle like usual. “Don’t worry,” he beams. “They’re going to love you.”
You don’t know if you love or hate the idea of Martin’s family loving you. On one hand, it was nice to get his parents’ approval – on the other, this relationship was practically completely fake. Or at least it started that way, until your real feelings got involved.
Martin’s mother answers the door, and when she spots you, she pulls you in for a hug. You’re slightly stunned at how affectionate she is, but it’s awfully kind of her, and you return the gesture nevertheless. “You must be (Name),” she beams. “Martin’s been going on and on about you.”
“You have?” you ask, turning to Martin. His cheeks heat up and he shrugs, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Martin’s father greets you once you’re inside, sitting down at the living room table. He’s easy to talk to, much like Martin. He jokes around with you right off the bat, and your stomach twists with guilt. Your presence feels a little too foreign, as if you don’t belong – because truly, you don’t.
Here you were, sitting at the Edwards’ dining room table as if you were exactly who Martin said you were. His loving girlfriend who cared about him more than anything in the world.
The truth? All you were was a music journalist who was writing an article on how to lose an idol in 10 shows, and their son was the target. It was simply awful, and here you were, basking in the Edwards’ family’s praises like you deserved them. Like you deserved their son.
You didn’t. Martin Edwards was far too good to you, and for you.
You listen as his mother tells you stories about Martin’s childhood, such as how he composed a piece of music at the ripe age of 10 about the Spider-Man movie that he’d watched. His sister teases him lovingly, telling him that he shouldn’t have hid you for this long – she doesn’t seem to know that you two have only been ‘dating’ for two weeks. They treat you like family. You realise how much you adore all of them.
It makes the guilt that’s been simmering in your stomach much, much worse.
When Martin tells the story of how you two met at the comeback showcase, his sister’s eyes widen. “Wait, I thought you guys have been dating for two months!”
“Nope,” you chuckle nervously. His sister only hums, nodding. That reaction strikes genuine fear in your heart. Is she okay with it? Does she hate you? Martin seems to notice how anxious you are, and he gently caresses your hand with his thumb in an attempt to comfort you.
Martin beams as his family gushes over the new album, and you sit next to him, your fingers laced with his. You look at him, pride evident on your face as he talks about the songs, and Martin’s father realises that it’s only then when you relax your shoulders.
When Martin’s whisked away by his mother and sister, his father approaches you.
“(Name),” he says, pouring you a glass of water. “Thank you for being so kind to Martin. And being there for him.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. Martin’s father looks at you, handing you the glass. “It’s not an easy life for him to be an idol, especially since he’s so young,” he hums. “I’m glad he has someone like you to… you know. Keep him grounded amidst all the chaos.”
Oh god. The guilt. You want to throw up. His dad was extending so much kindness to you because he genuinely believed that you loved his son.
And you did, but you had started everything with ulterior motives. Did it even matter now that you truly had feelings, when you’d approached Martin with zero intention of anything genuine?
But you plaster on a smile, something that you’ve gotten a little too good at doing. “Of course,” you say. You look out the window, seeing Martin and his sister laughing about something. Martin’s father recognises this look in your eye – one of genuine affection for his son – and he too, smiles. “I’m glad that I can… be that for him.”
“And really, he is… absolutely amazing,” you say. “I don’t think I deserve him.” It’s the most truthful thing you think you’ve said all day.
The smile on his father’s lips grows a little wider. “For what it’s worth, I think you two are perfect for each other. Even if this is all a little recent.”
Perfect. Those words should make you feel relieved. But now that you have his father’s stamp of approval, it makes ending things much more difficult. How were you supposed to do that now?
It’s then when it hits you. You couldn’t write the article anymore. You had to tell Jisoo that you couldn’t. Because you’ve fallen for Martin Edwards. Hard.
Martin returns, seeing you and his father speaking to one another. He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You lean into his touch, even as the guilt from the past two weeks piles up and threatens to crush you like a boulder.
“Pops, what’d you say to her?” he asks, hoping that his father hasn’t embarrassed him in front of you.
“Oh, nothing bad, Martin. Don’t worry,” he laughs. “Do show her around the house, though. I’m sure she’d love to see your room.”
His father gives you a nod before going outside to find Martin’s mother and sister. Martin looks at you, and you’re standing there silently. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod, coming to your senses.
“Of course,” you say. He smiles at the nickname before lacing your hand with his. He does it so casually now to the point where you’re not fazed by it at all. “So… are you going to show me your room?”
He nods, leading you down the corridor. It’s the first room on the right.
“Tada,” he says, flicking on the light switch. Your eyes immediately dart to the plane drawn on the wall, and Martin notices.
“My dad painted that for me when I was little,” he says, and your eyes flick back to look at him.
“He’s really good at painting,” you say, and Martin beams. Your eyes wander across the entire room, and the next object your eyes land on is a little Spider-Man figurine sitting on top of a cupboard. “You really did like Spider-Man, didn’t you?”
Martin chuckles, walking over to pick it up. “I did,” he hums. He hands it over to you, before grabbing something else perched on top of the same cupboard. “I was a big Marvel fan. Case in point – Thanos’ gauntlet.”
He tries to put it on, but it’s clearly too small for him now, and you laugh. “You try it,” he says, handing it over to you.
You put it on, and it fits. “If I snap my fingers, would we all turn to dust?”
Martin bursts into a fit of laughter – were you really that funny? But the sound of his laughter is infectious, and for a second you allow yourself to forget about that daunting thought of feeling like an intruder in your boyfriend’s own home.
You take off the gauntlet, handing it back to him so he can place it back in its original spot. He flops down on his bed, patting the empty space next to him. “Come,” he says. “My bed here is comfy. Much better than the dorm one, to be honest.”
You lay down beside him, and to be fair, he was right. The mattress was slightly softer. Martin tugs at the corner of your shirt to get you to move slightly closer to him.
“Your room is cozy,” you say as he wraps his arms around you. You turn to look at him, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity and love. That feeling of guilt creeps up once again.
“I know,” he hums. “Listen… I’m happy that you decided to come meet my family. I’m sorry about that day, by the way. I should’ve probably told you that I was going to be busy.”
You shake your head. You knew how unreasonable you were being. “It’s okay,” you say. Looking into his eyes, everything feels far too real – and instinctively, like you’ve done a million times before, you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry for causing a scene. I was being overdramatic. Like usual.”
Martin chuckles, his laugh light and airy. “Don’t worry.”
Over the two weeks, Martin has found that he does care for you. Perhaps a little too much for something that was just a bet. But with you here in his home, things just felt right. His father seemed to love you, and outside in the garden, his mother and sister had both said that you were amazing.
Martin doesn’t know what to do – was he supposed to tell you about the bet? You’d surely break up with him for good once you found out.
But he looks at you, and he just can’t help but think about how pretty you are. Truthfully, his heart did skip a beat when he first saw you at their comeback showcase, and despite your overdramatic antics, Martin did… want you to stay. That realisation settles in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he should be happy about it.
He’s not in love with you, is he?
You look at Martin. Silence falls between the two of you, and it’s comforting, really. You look at him like he’s the most beautiful person in the world, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s too pretty. Too kind. Too good for you.
You don’t know when your eyes flick to his lips, but you realise that over the last two weeks, you two haven’t actually kissed. He’s kissed your cheek far too many times, you’ve done the same, but you’ve never actually pressed your lips to his.
And the scary thing was, that you really, really wanted to.
You lean in a little closer, inching his face closer to his. Martin suddenly seems to notice the proximity between you two, and he too, realises that he hasn’t actually kissed you on the lips before. For someone who his sister claimed to be ‘so in love’, he hadn’t even kissed his own girlfriend.
He wants to kiss you. Really, really badly.
You’re the one who leans in first, pressing your lips to his. It’s hesitant and slow, and Martin’s a little shocked at your tentativeness. For someone who was so dramatic, over the top and boisterous – this was a little out of character.
Martin can hear his own pulse thundering in his ears as he kisses you back – slow, gentle, like he means it. Yes, this was exactly what he had been missing this entire time. Everything feels right, and Martin completely forgets about the bet. At this moment, all of it was real.
His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as the other finds your waist, and you kiss him a little harder, a little more insistent. As Martin melts into the kiss, he’s also simultaneously praying to God that he’s closed his bedroom door. The last thing he really wanted was his parents or sister catching him making out with his girlfriend – he'd never hear the end of it.
But when your hands find his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, that thought leaves his mind completely as he allows you to kiss him senseless. It’s fine if the door’s open, he thinks. All he cares about is you, and how your lips feel on his. He’s drunk on the feeling, almost – he doesn’t think that he can go a day without kissing you now.
When you pull away for air, you’re beaming at him like an idiot in love. Because truthfully, that’s what you were. The guilt that’s been eating at you is completely forgotten, and all you really want to do is kiss him again.
“You kissed me,” Martin says, a little breathless and a little astonished that this was all real. You had kissed him. And he felt something. Something real, something genuine – something that told him that it wasn’t a bet anymore, at least not to him.
Martin Edwards might really be in love with you.
It was horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. On one hand, Martin was thinking about what would happen if – god forbid – you found out that you were a bet. On the other, Martin just wanted to kiss you over, and over, and over again.
“Is it that hard to believe?” your voice cuts through his thoughts, your breath hot against his lips. Your eyes flick down to his lips once again, stained with your lipstick. Martin doesn’t – and won’t – wipe it off. “I think you better get used to it, Edwards.”
And when Martin Edwards leans in again to press his lips against yours, he allows himself to be irrevocably and truly yours.
You tell Jisoo that you can’t write the article.
She’s disappointed, but simultaneously, not surprised at all. “I thought you might’ve caught feelings for that CORTIS boy,” she hums, tapping her pencil on the desk. You don’t think you’re getting that full-time job now. “It’s okay. I knew it was too good to be true.”
Ouch, you think. That stings.
But you’re honestly on too much of a high after that kiss in Martin’s house. With the weight of the article off your shoulders, you can actually date Martin without feeling completely guilty now. Sure, some of it still remained knowing that you started the relationship with ulterior motives, but it was slightly more of a clean slate than before.
Despite Jisoo's disappointment in you, she still does invite you, Yoonchae, Bailey and Yuna to this music awards show after-party. You immediately text Martin, asking him if he’s going to be there. He responds with a yes, and you beam.
I can’t wait to see you, he tells you. You smile at your phone, giddy and far too much in love.
“I knew this was going to happen!” Bailey exclaims as you two get ready for the after-party in her apartment. “I told you, that Martin boy was so deeply in love – he was practically looking at her with stars in her eyes when we were doing ‘couples counselling.’ Honestly, I’m surprised that you didn’t see it earlier!”
You curl your lashes, coating them with mascara carefully. “I mean, I didn’t expect to actually fall for him.”
“We all saw it coming a mile away, (Name),” Yoonchae laughs. “Come on, at the showcase you were gawking at him like he was your personal Prince Charming. The only thing I’m surprised at was how persistent he was in staying. If I were him, I would’ve broken up with you the second you humiliated me like that in front of all my friends.”
You gasp at Yoonchae’s words, and she simply shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. The rest of the time spent getting ready is filled with chatter about how you and Martin are going to cope with having eyes on you the entire night tonight. He couldn’t hold your hand like he usually did – you now had to hide.
When you arrive at the after-party, you immediately send a text to Martin, asking where he is. You look around the room to search for him, and you see idols, industry professionals and journalists like you conversing with one another.
“Hi,” a voice all too familiar to you makes you turn around, and you see Martin standing there, in all his glory. He’s wearing a crisp, sharp suit – Dior, you assume, considering the brand deal – and he looks absolutely perfect.
Your voice catches in your throat as you’re about to tell him he looks good, but rather a strangled noise escapes past your lips. You suppose you finally know what it’s like to actually be left speechless. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, and Martin simply laughs.
“Hi,” you breathe out, when you’re finally able to speak. “You look really nice.”
“And you do too,” Martin replies, looking at you. You’re wearing this stunning, satin yellow dress. In all honesty, Martin had grown accustomed to seeing you wearing his clothes, and seeing you in something like this made his heart race. A dainty necklace hangs around your neck, and Martin thinks that he might’ve just fallen in love all over again.
“Thank you,” you say. You’re unsure how to actually speak to him knowing that there were always going to be eyes watching his every move. “So… you doing anything after this?” is the only thing you’re able to come up with, and Martin chuckles.
“No, I don’t happen to be,” he replies, fixing the collar of his suit jacket. His voice drops low into a whisper, looking around carefully to make sure that nobody is listening. “Come to the dorm later for a movie date?”
“Of course,” you whisper back. You fail to hide the lovesick grin on your lips, and Martin’s practically fighting the urge to kiss you right now. You look irresistibly good, and Martin hates that every move of his is likely documented right now.
His manager approaches him, and he gives you a nod in acknowledgment. “Martin, we’re going to have to meet some members of the media. Please come with me – I’m sure the two of you will find time to talk later.”
You nod, understanding that duty calls. Martin waves goodbye to you, and you wave back. You didn’t even realise how fast your heart was racing there. You find Bailey, Yoonchae and Yuna near the drinks, and you grab a glass of fruit punch and converse with them about some new album that Yoonchae reviewed recently.
Martin straightens up his suit jacket before he walks up to the rest of the members, who are already talking to someone. “Hi, I’m Martin, the leader of CORTIS. Apologies for being late,” he says politely. “I had to catch up with a friend.” It’s a lie, but he couldn’t call you his girlfriend to everyone here.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the lady says, waving him off. She seems awfully drunk, and she’s already taking another sip of the champagne in her glass. “We were just talking about some of the articles that we’ve been publishing about your group. You boys are some of the most exciting faces on the music scene.”
“Thank you.” Martin beams.
“Her name is Jisoo,” James whispers in Martin’s ear. “I think she’s super drunk. Manager says that the rest of us are going to speak to some guy named John, but Jisoo really wanted to talk to you. So… we’ll leave you guys to it?”
Martin nods in agreement, but he doesn’t really want to speak with her. She’s incredibly drunk, and to be honest, Martin would much rather be talking to you right now.
“Oh, and we’ve got something much more than just about your albums,” Jisoo pipes up. “Well, did. One of my interns – talented girl – was writing a piece about one of you.” Jisoo's so drunk that she thinks that the five of them are still there, when it’s really only Martin who’s left.
She searches around the room, and her eyes land on you. She points in your direction.
“Ah, her. Over there,” Jisoo says. “(Name).”
Martin immediately straightens up at the sound of your name. He leans in to hear Jisoo better, curiosity suddenly piqued. “What article may that be?”
“Oh, it was a little bit more fun. How to lose an idol in 10 shows, or something. Dating an idol, and then trying to get him to dump her in 10 shows or less. I was gonna give her that full-time job, honestly.”
Martin’s heart drops.
An article? You... were writing an article on dating an idol?
It hits Martin right then and there. That’s why you were so adamant on breaking up over something so trivial – he knew that you weren’t that unreasonable.
The next realisation hits Martin like a truck. That’s why you would act so ludicrous and over the top sometimes – he had a feeling that it wasn’t really who you were. The night at the studio, the moments the two of you shared at his parents’ house. That was the real you. But Martin didn’t really care, he told himself he loved you all the same.
But knowing that all of this was just for an article? It sends a knife through his heart.
You kissed him like you actually loved him that day at his parents’ house. He thought you did. Did you love him? Did you even like him?
Jisoo is so drunk she doesn’t even seem to know the state of shock and distress that she’s just put Martin through. His mouth suddenly runs dry, and he doesn’t know what to do – all he knows is that he feels sick at the thought that perhaps none of it was real. His heart aches with betrayal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awful before.
His eyes are hot as he tries to blink back tears. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice cracking. “I have to go.”
Jisoo's too drunk to notice as Martin pushes past her, trying desperately to find any corner away from the cameras.
When he finds a place secluded enough, covered by the black satin curtains, Martin finally lets a tear slip past his cheek.
This must be what heartbreak feels like, he thinks.
You’re already starting to get a little bored at this after-party.
You know that Jisoo's practically drunk off her mind, and Bailey’s gone over to make sure that she doesn’t hurl on any of the guests. Yoonchae winces seeing Jisoo stumble on air, and Bailey sighs as she knows that she’s going to be babysitting her all night.
You look at the crowd, trying to count how many idols you can see that aren’t completely drunk off their mind.
“(Name)!” James snaps you out of your little game – you were at roughly 12 idols – and you direct your attention to him. He beams, greeting you with a wide smile.
He’s got a glass of champagne in his hands – after all, he is the only one legally allowed to drink. You can tell that he’s slightly tipsy.
“Hi, James,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice to see you again… after seeing you yesterday night.”
James laughs, a little louder than normal – yeah, the alcohol was definitely kicking in. “That’s funny. Yes, so nice to see you again. I know that our Martin was a bit late speaking to some important people because he was caught up with you,” he says, wagging his finger at you. “It’s okay. No worries.”
“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” he says, trailing off. There’s a beat of silence that falls between the two of you before James seems to remember something. “Oh! Oh! Don’t tell Martin. Wait, you two are dating for real, for real now. So you must know!”
You look at James, confused. You don’t have a single idea in the world of what he was insinuating at.
“Our Martin can flirt, can’t he?” James says, dragging out the word. “We all thought he couldn’t, so he proved us wrong. Now we all have to pay for his next shopping spree. Bleh. I’m going to be broke.”
Your brows furrow, but there’s a sinking feeling in your stomach – you think you know what James is hinting at, but he’s tipsy, so he’s somewhat circling around the topic.
“James, whatever do you mean?”
“We made a bet!” he says, a little too gleefully. “So like, Seonghyeon was saying that Martin couldn’t flirt, so we made a bet – 10 shows to get a girl to fall in love with him with his flirting skills. And he had to make sure you stayed with him through those 10 shows.”
He doesn’t know that those words had basically caused your personal apocalypse. You were a bet?
You look at James, betrayal evident on your features. Your chest pangs with pain so visceral, you think you might actually double over. You were just a bet to Martin, and the betrayal and pain from that realisation hits you like a tidal wave. Martin being awfully sweet to you, being too kind, being too understanding – that was all a lie?
You feel like you don’t even know him. You stand there, stunned, and at your silence, James somehow seems to sober up.
“Oh, shit – you didn’t know,” James’ face contorts into one of horror, and he brings his hands to his lips. “Oh my god, (Name) – I did not mean a single word of what I said, I am so sorry–!”
You push past James, running for the exit. You feel so violently ill – all you want to do is go back to your house and cry until you’ve got no tears left. You’re going to block Martin, and you never ever want to listen to a CORTIS song ever again.
You push past the gates, but then you’re stopped by a voice that is awfully familiar, but it’s the last person you want to hear from right now.
“Skipping town?” Martin asks. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets. Of course he still looks devastatingly beautiful, and for a second you forget that this is the boy who had made a bet that you’d fall in love with him in 10 shows.
Congratulations, it worked, you think. Maybe he should win a prize for it after you get over your heartbreak.
You turn to look at him, brows furrowed in anger. “What do you want, Martin?”
“What do I want?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. He steps closer towards you, and you realise that he’s angry too. You don’t know what for. “I want to know why Jisoo told me about an article that you’d pitched called: how to lose an idol in 10 shows. Yes, she was drunk. But you know that drunk words are sober thoughts. I could tell she wasn't lying.”
You’re stunned. Martin notices your expression, and his eyes narrow. “Yeah,” he replies, gritting his teeth. “Sound familiar?”
You gulp, and that guilt that you thought you’d rid yourself of comes back tenfold. But then you remember the bet. You, in similar fashion, grit your teeth and look at Martin with the same betrayal in your eyes.
“Right,” you hum. “And I want to know a little bit more about this bet that James told me about… perhaps something along the lines of you getting a girl to fall in love with him in 10 shows.”
This time, Martin’s the one with the stunned look on his face. His breath stutters, and you cross your arms. “Yeah,” you tell him, using the same words he did mere seconds ago. “Sound familiar?”
“You used me for an article,” Martin exhales. The heartbreak in his tone is evident, and you hate knowing that you’ve hurt him. But he hurt you too.
“I was just a bet to you,” you gulp. Saying it out loud makes it more real. “I meant nothing to you, didn’t I?”
“You can’t be the one saying this to me,” Martin says, pointing at you. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” you retort.
“You wanted to lose an idol in 10 shows?” Martin seethes, trying to ignore how it feels like his heart is quite literally breaking. “Congratulations. You just lost him.”
You gulp, trying to fight the tears that are threatening to spill past your eyes. You take a deep breath, strengthening your resolve – you were a bet to him anyways. It didn’t matter.
“No, I didn’t.” you say. Even those words feel like a lie. You did lose him, and you feel terrible. “Because you can’t lose something you never had.”
With that, you turn on your heel and leave. You only let the tears fall when you know that you’re far away enough, and you reel with the realisation that you’ve probably just lost the first person that you’ve ever truly loved. Because of some stupid job that you weren’t quite sure you wanted anymore.
You leave Martin hanging as he watches your figure disappear. He opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to say something, but you’re already too far gone. It’s fine, Martin tells himself. It was just a bet. You were just a bet. You didn’t mean anything to him.
No, he can’t lie to himself. It hurts much more than the truth.
Martin stands there as the cool evening air tousles his hair. It’s then when he finally allows himself to sob as he crumples to the floor – despite it all, he doesn’t know why he once again, can’t bring himself to hate you.
Martin Edwards lost you, and you lost Martin Edwards.
Maybe after all of it, this was the outcome that you both deserved.
Martin feels absolutely awful.
The members all look at him sympathetically, and they all notice that Martin’s not really his usual self nowadays. Seonghyeon buys him that jacket that he’s wanted for ages. Juhoon breaks his bank account to get Martin three hoodies. Keonho finally buys him those Rick Owens shoes, and he doesn’t complain about it.
James, who feels the worst out of all of them for letting the news slip to you, buys him two pairs of expensive earrings and cashes in on an extra bracelet as if it’ll cure the heartbreak.
"Well... I guess you can flirt," Seonghyeon says. He knows that it's really not helping Martin get over the heartbreak, but he's not quite sure what to say to make him feel better.
Sure, he could flirt. Hooray, Martin thinks. But he didn't really care about that anymore. Not when he just wanted to see you.
His life falls into the routine that he was so accustomed to before you barged into his life. Wake up, practice, make music, perform, repeat. Despite how much his stomach twists in anger at the thought that he was just an article to you, he misses your presence.
In those two short weeks, you’d changed his life in a way that he didn’t think was possible. His eyes always linger a little too long at the dressing room door, hoping you’ll show up. He stocks up on Coke for the mini fridge in the studio just in case you swing by and want a can. He can’t even tell his parents that he’s not speaking to you anymore.
He messed up too. You weren’t the only one. The guilt eats at him every single day, and he’s immediately reminded of it when he wakes up. Martin Edwards, despite it all, still thinks that he loves you. That may be even more ludicrous than your antics.
He hears the doorbell ring, and Martin gets up from his seat at the couch to go answer the door. He’s the designated one to do that now, because he’s always hoping that perhaps you’ll show up.
He swings open the door, and he realises that it’s Yoonchae. He recognises her from the comeback showcase.
“Hi,” she gulps, a little hesitant. “Martin?”
“Yes?” he asks. “How did you find–”
“I’m not a stalker,” she says. Martin figured, considering that she was a friend of yours. “Sorry, I had to get that out of the way. But… I think you might want to read this.” Yoonchae hands Martin a stack of papers, and he furrows his brows, confused as to why.
Yoonchae looks at Martin, and she knows that’s a devastated man if she’s ever seen one. His hair’s messy, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and there’s just something heavy seeming to be weighing on his conscience.
“Please,” she says. Martin motions for her to come in, and Yoonchae sits down at the dining room table. Martin flicks open the page, and there it is – the dreaded headline. How to Lose an Idol in 10 Shows. Your name is plastered right under it.
Martin doesn’t even want to read it. He feels sick already seeing the title. But curiosity kills the cat, and he reluctantly reads the words printed on the page, letting out a deep sigh.
Step one: Ask the dreaded question – “What are we?” in front of all of his friends.
He remembers that day. He also remembers the instantaneous shock that he felt hearing those words spill past your lips, and how it filled him with a sense of intrigue but also overconfidence that he was going to win this bet.
Step two: Be overly obnoxious – yes, again, in front of all of his friends.
The over the top cheek kisses, the way you’d cling to him like a koala and the loud displays of affection – yep, that tracks, Martin thinks. The crazy thing was that he didn’t mind at all.
Step three: Annoy him with text messages every single minute.
You did that. But Martin wasn’t annoyed, per se. He went through every single message, replying to them with equal enthusiasm. You always had something interesting to talk about – it wasn’t just filler, so Martin didn’t quite mind. And it did bring him some much needed entertainment after busting his ass for a performance.
Step four: Steal all his favourite clothes.
Martin smiles, stupidly. The memory of you wearing his clothes and looking a little too good in them cuts through the anger and bitterness he’s been feeling for the past few days. The mention of those also makes him also remember that you haven’t given any of those clothes back.
Step five: Interrupt him at the studio…
The next few words make Martin’s breath catch in his throat.
Despite my ridiculous antics, Martin Edwards somehow puts up with me and has the patience of a saint. I decide that he’s either a lunatic who loves crazy girls, but my colleague Bailey offers me something else: that he might genuinely like me. It’s when I’m halfway through step five I realise that I’ve fallen in way too deep.
It’s the first time where he actually shows frustration with my insanity, and it’s the first time where I realise that I don’t want to hurt him. Because despite starting this with unfortunately ulterior motives, I think I may have fallen in love in the process.
My goal was to lose an idol in 10 shows. But after getting to know Martin Edwards – the real Martin Edwards – I didn’t want to lose him at all, and yet I have. He’s admirable. Dependable. Too kind for his own good. I don’t even think I deserved him during those two weeks.
These two weeks have been riddled by mistakes. Starting this article, lying about my intentions, pretending that I was someone that I truly wasn’t… but the biggest mistake of all?
Losing the love of my life.
His vision blurs as tears prick his eyes. He was the love of your life? The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and Martin almost forgets how to breathe. The weight of those words settles in his chest, and somehow, the anger dissipates and is replaced with disbelief. He was the love of your life.
The crazy thing is, Martin thinks you may be the love of his life too.
He looks at Yoonchae with a look of determination in his eyes that wasn’t quite there before.
“I… is she at the office?”
“No,” Yoonchae replies. “She quit. I can give you her address, if you need—”
“Please,” he says, desperation evident in his tone. He throws on a random pair of shoes as he practically shoves his phone into Yoonchae’s hand so she can type in your address into his GPS app.
Martin runs out the door, Yoonchae trailing behind him and nearly failing to keep up. Juhoon asks him where the hell he’s going, but Martin doesn’t answer – he has pressing matters to attend to right now. Yoonchae calls a car for the two of them to head to your place, and on the way, she tells him that she really wasn’t supposed to show him the article – but she had to. She knew you were miserable too.
The ride to your place feels like forever, and Yoonchae tells him that she’ll just wait downstairs. He bounds up the staircase – the lift was a waste of time, you lived on the third floor. Yoonchae thinks that he doesn’t even register her words.
Martin double checks the apartment unit that Yoonchae had given him, and he knocks, tapping his foot on the ground nervously.
You fling open your door, and you’re stunned to see Martin there.
He’s almost speechless at the sight of your face – he hadn’t seen you in so long, and Martin has missed you, devastatingly so.
“Martin?” you say in disbelief. You’ve been dreaming about him so much for the past few days to the point where you really wouldn’t be surprised if he was a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
He holds up the article that Yoonchae had handed him less than an hour ago. You recognise it, and a mixture of guilt, shame and anxiety pangs in your chest – so he’s read it. That sickly feeling that you’ve grown accustomed to for the past week returns tenfold.
“This article,” he breathes out. “Did you mean it?”
“What?”
“Did you mean it?” he asks. He’s looking at you with desperation, practically pleading for you to say yes.
You blink back the tears in your eyes. A beat of silence falls between you two before you finally speak.
“I meant every word,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.
Martin tries to hold back the smile that’s threatening to creep up on his lips. “Really?” he asks, and you nod.
“Yes,” you say, a little louder this time. “ And I’m sorry about it all – you mean… so much more than an article to me.”
Martin has another question. “And am I really the love of your life?”
“Yes,” you exhale. “You are. I told you, I meant every word.”
Martin finally allows himself to breathe, his shoulders relaxing as he beams, wider than ever before. “Ask me the same question.” he says, grinning. You look at his expression, a little confused but hopeful all the same.
“Am I the love of your life?” you ask, your voice brimming with hope.
“You are.” Martin replies.
“Oh,” you reply softly, and you let a tear slip past your cheek. You’re crying, but they’re happy tears.
Martin reaches out to you, pulling him close to you. His hand finds your waist like it belongs there, and like nothing has changed in the last few days the two of you have been apart.
“I love you,” you choke out. “Unbelievably so. I’m sorry I lost you.”
Martin leans in, inching his face closer to yours as he smiles.
“I love you too,” he replies before he presses his lips to yours, and everything just feels right again. He pulls away for a split second to look into your eyes. “You’re never going to lose me.” he says, giggling before he pulls you in for another kiss.
And now, Martin Edwards is truly, irrevocably yours.
notes: song-inspired fic, fem!reader, brother's best friend, cunnilingus, recreational drug use, high sex, biting, references to cannibalism as a metaphor for lust/love lol, semi-angst (?)
a/n: i technically ended with an euijoo fic here, so we will start it up again with an euijoo fic. it's actually the same trope but different. this is based on the song 'Pag-Ibig ay Kanibalismo II' by Fitterkarma (translation: lit. love is cannibalism).
shoes at the door. laughter in the living room. a smile in the doorway. telltale signs that your brother’s best friend is here.
nicholas has had euijoo over almost every day since the start of summer break. this was nothing new, as euijoo had always been around for as long as you can remember.
what you can’t remember is if he’s always looked at you this way.
euijoo. looking at you. eyes soft as they so often were, but with a depth that makes your insides flip.
his lips would turn up at the corners every time you’d glance at him, almost shy, as if you hadn’t seen each other grow up, albeit from afar. you were background characters in each other’s lives, framed against your brother, his best friend. but something had come into focus this particular summer, the lens shifting ever so slightly.
it’s like that anticipation before a horror movie when you know something’s about to jump out. you’re waiting for the pin to drop. for the jolt of exhilaration before you giggle and realize it’s all in the tv. your fear is contained.
-
“hi.”
“nico isn’t here.”
you peer up at euijoo. standing in your doorway, he has his hands inside the pockets of his sweats. you can tell he just took a shower because he smells of that aftershave you love. not that you notice his aftershave. not that you’d admit that you do.
“nico isn’t here,” you repeat. “he drove mom to an errand. didn’t he tell you?”
euijoo shrugs, noncommittal. “i guess he forgot.”
you stare at him and he stares at you. after a moment, he chuckles, ducking his head and averting his eyes after a second. you think you hear a little embarrassment in his voice.
“sorry, i’ll just come back. sorry to bother, ______,” euijoo says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“i didn’t tell you to leave.”
euijoo glances back at you and you open the door a little wider.
“no one’s home. it’s just me,” you add.
euijoo nods, stepping across the threshold. he toes off his shoes, leaving it along with the other shoes by the door. like he’s done a million times before.
later, you would think that the familiarity was the first sign of trouble.
“have you eaten?” you ask, heading for the kitchen. you look back at euijoo, and he’s still standing, hovering between the door and the couch a couple of feet away, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself without your brother around.
you giggle, and euijoo regards you with those wide, imploring eyes.
“euijoo?” you ask again. he blinks and you can see him swallow thickly.
“have you eaten?”
euijoo shakes his head.
“alright. i made lunch,” you inform him, slipping into the kitchen.
euijoo follows you in, and he hovers once more. you’re not sure if it’s nicholas’ absence or your presence that seems to be unnerving him so much.
you busy yourself with the pot on the stove, recently heated, the aroma of the stew you just made permeating everywhere. you cautiously sneak a peek at him over your shoulder and you’re immediately startled when you catch euijoo already looking.
he’s leaning against the kitchen island, hands braced against the surface.
“thanks,” is all he says.
“i was feeling pretty hungry.”
-
you start hanging out with nicholas more. and by extension, euijoo, too.
you sit in on their gaming sessions, watching the screen with mild interest. sometimes, you’d join in on the third switch controller. this always ended one of two ways: your brother cussing you out for sucking at the game or with you laughing, full of mirth, as you unexpectedly beat one or both of them.
one thing stays constant, though.
euijoo looks. and smiles. and looks some more.
his eyes drink you in every time. every shift of your legs on the couch, your knee briefly brushing his thigh as you cross your legs. the couch can barely fit the three of you, but it’s comfortable enough. especially with euijoo’s heat radiating so strongly.
you start to wonder if your brother notices. if he does, he doesn’t say. or he doesn’t give a shit.
then you think if there’s anything to notice at all. it isn’t bad to look.
you flinch when you feel a brush of fingers against your arm. euijoo is looking at you expectantly. you see nicholas behind him, also raising a brow at you.
“i’m ordering dinner. what are you craving for?” nicholas asks. it’s obvious he asked it once already because he always has that tone when he repeats himself to you.
you swallow. euijoo’s hand is still on your arm.
“whatever euijoo wants. he’s the guest,” you supply weakly. nicholas snorts.
“guest, my ass. he’s been squatting here all summer.”
this coaxes a chuckle from you and you gently extract your arm from euijoo’s touch. you glance at him briefly.
no.
not here.
not where he can see.
-
“pass it here.”
you reach across the couch, snatching the weed pen from nicholas. euijoo sits between the two of you as always, so when you lean to retrieve the slim plastic from your brother, your arm rests against euijoo’s firm chest.
euijoo has his head tilted back, obviously already feeling the effects.
this isn’t the first time they’ve smoked in your house. but it is your first time joining them.
it feels as if euijoo has been here every day. nicholas was right. he’s seemingly squatting, occupying space where he shouldn’t. in your house, in your head, in your mouth when you whisper his name as you cum all over your fingers late at night when you’re alone in your room.
it’s getting harder and harder to get rid of him.
not that you want to.
you take a drag and exhale a moment later. all the fans are on, and the windows are open. euijoo reaches down on the floor where a can of air freshener lies. he gives a generous spray and an extra one for safety. for some reason, this makes the three of you laugh.
“mom and dad know we’re doing it,” nicholas says, his speech slowing as he gestures for the pen back. you chuck it at him.
“hell, i know they have a stash of their own somewhere,” he adds with a laugh.
“i know where you two get it from, then,” euijoo quips, sending you into a fresh bout of giggles.
“i’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate walking down to a house stinking of it, either way,” you point out. nicholas grunts in assent.
euijoo’s head lolls to the side, coming to rest on your shoulder. you lean your own head against his. a moment later, your eyes close.
“i need to pee,” nicholas declares, pushing off the couch. you listen to his footsteps grow fainter up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway.
a silence settles over the house. your mind is fuzzy with the weed and your breathing is lazy. euijoo’s hair tickles your cheek but you like it. he smells nice.
euijoo’s head turns slightly and you feel his nose brush against your bare shoulder. there’s only the thin cotton layer of your tank top separating your body from him. from his eyes. from his touch.
his lips graze your skin and it’s like an electric shock through your body. then he kisses right there, slow and hesitant.
you laugh. you laugh because you don’t know what else to do.
you feel yourself relax against him, loosening, edges softening. tender beneath his lips.
when he laughs along, it’s right next to your ear. you think: if he bit you now, you wouldn’t stop him.
-
your brother never returns from the bathroom.
in all fairness, you waited it out. fifteen minutes. twenty. thirty. you’re convinced euijoo fell asleep on your shoulder.
but you feel his hand snake around your waist, his head lifting, eyes immediately finding yours.
he’s so close, he’s so fucking close. he trails his gaze down your face and you exhale. euijoo’s eyelids flutter shut. you take the plunge and kiss him.
it’s sweet. he tastes so sweet, like a dream come true. you press harder against him and he responds just as enthusiastically. his lips part at the same time his hand comes up to hold you in place. you lick into his mouth and he groans. euijoo’s fingers thread through your hair, nipping at your lower lip.
you climb onto him, inhibitions long gone. who cares if you’re in your family’s living room? who cares if you kiss him again now, settling on his lap like some feral animal looking for attention? certainly not you. you don’t care. and neither does he.
his erection presses flush against your aching core and you groan into euijoo’s mouth when he shifts, friction dragging between you two.
“euijoo…,” you breathe, grinding gently against him.
“d-don’t,” euijoo pleads, keeping you in place. you look straight at him and there are those eyes again.
but this time, they’re dilated, dark, and absolutely ravenous.
“lie down,” euijoo instructs. “i wanna eat you out.”
he doesn’t give you much time to protest as he practically manhandles you down onto the couch. you let out a whine, which you quickly bite back. you pray no one upstairs heard.
one moment, there was euijoo. leaning over you, arms braced on both sides of your head, eyes red from the weed and lips swollen from kissing. then the next moment, there’s a shiver up your spine as your shorts and underwear are discarded.
euijoo hugs your thighs close to his head, right up against his ears as he slinks down into position between your legs.
the first pass of his tongue has you trembling. then euijoo seals his lips over your clit and you know you’re a goner.
he hums softly into your cunt, as if he’s the one being pleasured. you’re crushed by all the sensations; the haze of the substance consumed, the warm and wet press of euijoo’s lips against your pussy, the silky threads of hair between your fingers as you tug him closer, closer, please, more, need more.
euijoo fucks you with his tongue and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you cum from this.
he doesn’t let up for a while, even when you whimper pathetically, begging him to stop.
“please, wait, euijoo–!”
and then you’re cumming again, and this time euijoo shoves his tongue deep in your hole, like he can’t get enough, like you’re all he ever wants to taste.
when he resurfaces, his chin is drenched with you.
-
one night, a week later, as you’re high off your minds again, euijoo kisses your shoulder blade as he fucks you from behind. then he bites, teeth digging into your flesh, right at the junction of your neck and shoulder.
“does it hurt?” he asks softly, so unlike the way his hips are snapping against your ass.
you’re in your room now, thankfully. nicholas and euijoo had retired earlier in the night after another one of your sessions, but your dear brother’s best friend just couldn’t stay away.
he was knocking at your door not even fifteen minutes ago.
“yes,” you admit in a whisper.
“but i like it.”
euijoo reaches in front of him, hand coming around to seal over your mouth. you whine, voice muffled against his palm. he’s grunting in your ear and the stretch of his cock against your walls has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
you barely register it when euijoo re-angles his hand and shoves two fingers inside your mouth.
you’re more than happy to indulge him, suckling on his digits, drooling and making a mess of both of you.
-
you and euijoo have your moments of sobriety, of course. when the kisses are saccharine, melting like honey against warm skin.
“did you do something with your hair?” euijoo asks, brushing some of your strands behind your ear.
you’re sitting cross-legged in front of him, knees knocking against his. there’s a movie softly playing on your laptop, long forgotten. you flush at euijoo’s words.
“i did. i cut my bangs shorter,” you say, fiddling with the ends of your hair. euijoo takes your hand and smiles, pressing a kiss on your palm.
“it suits you,” he says.
you grin, leaning over to capture his lips in yours. and you’re dizzy once more, spiraling and tumbling into a place where you shouldn’t go.
there are times. times when you feed off his smiles directed only at you, only for you. times when his mouth says grace so innocently against your cheek, cooing and whispering.
but never more than this. never more than stolen moments in your room late at night. never past your bedroom door, never in front of your brother, never where it mattered.
it eats away at you every time you come down in the morning to find euijoo already there in your kitchen, having breakfast with nicholas. there’s a gnawing in your gut when you message him when he’s away and the conversation slowly dies down, reduced to a single emoji reaction.
a piece of your heart seems to be carved off every time he leaves your bed, the unspoken words loud against the soft rustle of sheets.
stay there. we don’t want them to see.
-
you never define what you two are.
best friend’s sister.
mistake.
craving.
euijoo leaves marks that fade by morning, like burn marks seared in all the places no one can see. then by night he comes again, masticates on what you offer him.
and still, you let him eat.
you let him, and you keep coming back to the mouth that knows nothing but how to devour you.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
word count: 9.3k
warnings: cursing and alcohol use
includes: childhood friends to strangers to lovers, insane amount of mutual pining, the slowest of slow burns, asshole!steve, and drama
summary: steve harrington used to be your other half. practically bonded at the hip since you were both in diapers, but when he starts high school the steve you once knew no longer seems to exist. instead he's been replaced by an ass who only seems to care about sports, parties, girls, and his popularity. when steve starts seeing your best friend nancy you're forced to face the one thing you've been running from — how you actually feel about steve. but with the disappearance of will byers and your other best friend barbara holland, you come to find out that things are not what they seem in hawkins and steve and you are forced to face more than just how you feel about each other.
a/n: hi!!! here is chapter 1 of my steve fic. yes i know the finale is wednesday yes i plan on still writing this after the finale. this fic will start at the beginning of the series and i'm hoping to be able to stick with it and have it follow through the end of the whole series. which means this is going to be a long ass fic so i hope you all will stick around :) as always please let me know how you felt about the chapter, leave a comment, reblog, etc. knowing people enjoy our work means the world to us writers!
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Hawkins, Indiana
November 1983
The incessant beeping of your alarm clock has your eyes slowly blinking open as your hand aimlessly reaches for the torture device on your nightstand. The beeping turns off as your hand smacks down on the top of it and the bright red 6:30 a.m. stares back at you as you begin to rub the sleep from your eyes. Downstairs the house is already alive, the smell of breakfast being cooked wafts through the house, your Dad getting ready to leave for work, and your younger sister already laying claim to the bathroom first thing this morning.
You reluctantly pull the covers off of you causing a shiver to run up your spine as the chilly air hits your exposed legs. There’s a moment where you contemplate skipping school today, wanting nothing more than to crawl back under the warm covers and sleep the day away, but then you remember the test in coming up in Kaminsky’s chemistry class tomorrow and your luck he’d start teaching new material today and throw it on the test. So, you force your legs to carry you to your closet and get ready for the day.
The bathroom that you share with your little sister is a mess of brushes, hairspray bottles, and your makeup. “Julie, leave my stuff alone!’ You holler, fully knowing she’s already downstairs eating breakfast without any remorse for using your things without your permission.
When you finally make the trek downstairs and find her sitting at the table eating with what looks to be a whole can of hairspray on her hair and every makeup item you own on her face you can’t help but laugh. Your twelve year old sister looked like a clown and surely to god your Mom wasn’t about ready to let her go to school like that.
You eye your Mom as you pass by to grab your plate, giving her a look that says do you see her? but she just waves you off.
Julie sits across from you at the table, happily eating her bacon, without a care in the world. You on the other hand can’t stop staring at her. Your eyeshadow is haphazardly smeared across her eyelids and your lipgloss has somehow ended up on her cheek.
You want to say something to her so bad, but your Mom beats you to it as she leaves the table and comes back with a dishrag. “Sweetie I know you like putting on makeup, but how about you ask me or your sister to help you next time huh?” She states as she begins to wipe your sister's face. Julie squirms in her chair, pissed about all her hard work being wiped off, but good lord she’d be made fun of so badly if either of you let her go to school like that.
“And start asking before you use my stuff!” You interject. Which causes Julie to start mumbling something about how she didn’t use your stuff as your Mom wipes the lipgloss from her lips.
It’s too late to do anything with her hair, but at least she no longer looks like a clown. “Alright, off to school you two go. Have a good day!” Your Mom presses a chaste kiss to both of your heads before you’re both out the door.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It’s a chilly November morning as you step out onto the front steps and then on cue you hear commotion coming from the house to your right– the Wheeler’s.
Mike Wheeler comes barreling towards your front yard on his bike and before you can even say a word Julie is on her bike and they’re both already on the road and heading towards the school.
“I guess I didn’t want to say bye to you anyways.” You mumble as you throw your backpack into the passenger seat of your Mustang.
Before you’ve even pulled out of the driveway you’re turning the volume dial on the radio all the way to the right and Maneater by Hall & Oates blasts through the speakers. You tap your fingers on the steering wheel along to the song as you begin your journey down the road.
The parking lot is almost full by the time you arrive, but thankfully the final bell hasn’t gone off yet. You take one last look at yourself in the rearview mirror before grabbing your bag and following the herd of your peers inside.
You spot them right away as you enter the double doors– Nancy and Barbara. They’re in too deep of conversation by Nancy’s locker to notice you coming up behind them and you show up right in the middle of Barb’s sentence.
“So did he call?” Barb asks, oblivious to you standing behind her.
“Keep your voice down-” Nancy exclaims before her voice dies as she spots you behind Barb.
“Well did he?” Barbara doubles down, still oblivious, that is until Nancy gives her a look and she quickly turns to see you standing there. They both have nervous looks on their face, like they’ve been caught talking shit about you. You’ve clearly been left in the dark by your two best friends, you can’t believe Nancy has been potentially talking to someone and you weren’t told about it– the three of you told each other everything. An uneasy feeling slowly starts to wash over you as you realize this was something they clearly didn’t want you to know about.
“Are you talking to my Dad or something Nance? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about a new beau for you?” You try to break the tension a little, try not to overthink this whole situation. Nancy and Barb share a look and now you’re worried that maybe she is talking to your Dad. “Well come on tell me.”
Barb takes a deep breath and you can see Nancy giving her a look that says don’t tell her, but if there was one thing about Barb it was that she was going to tell the truth– it was one thing you loved about her.
“It’s Steve.”
Nancy squeezes her eyes shut and turns to face her locker, wanting to be anywhere else but here right now.
You slowly blink as you stare back at Barb. “Steve…” You trail off hoping there was some other Steve you didn’t know about.
Barb looks at you like she’s about ready to tell you your dog has died and that’s when you know there’s no other Steve. “Steve Harrington– your Steve.”
For a brief moment it’s like everything around you is moving in slow motion– like you’re outside your body and watching this scene unfold in front of you. To hear someone refer to him as your Steve shouldn’t still make your heart race, but it does, and you hate it. Because Steve hadn’t really been your Steve for awhile now.
It wasn’t that Steve was ever your boyfriend or anything like that and Nancy had committed the ultimate girl code betrayal– no he was something way more than a boyfriend to you.
Steve and you had known each other since you were in diapers. Which growing up in a smallish town in Indiana, so many people knew each other since diapers, but Steve and you were truly inseparable. Your parents were friends all throughout school and when they grew up and decided to start families it was a no brainer that their children would be friends too.
Steve and you did everything together– he was your other half and you were his. Both of you parents had always teased that you two would get married and really for the longest time, even though you were a child, there wasn’t anyone else you could imagine marrying than Steve. Mainly because you couldn’t imagine anyone understanding you or knowing you as well as Steve did.
It was always Steve and you against the world and sure you both had other friends, but none of them compared to either of you.
Up until the age of 14 Steve had always been caring and compassionate especially when it came to you, but when he started high school and left you behind in middle school– things changed. He suddenly cared more about how he looked and who he hung out with and his main focus was popularity and sports. Tommy was his best friend now and Steve had turned into a grade A assshole.
You stuck it out through your freshman year, thinking that maybe once you got to high school things would be different, but you were wrong. You couldn’t stand to be around him, it was like someone had replaced the sweet boy you once knew so well. He always had some smart ass comment to make or you’d find him and Tommy being asses to someone.
Steve was never rude to you, but you couldn’t stand to be around him. So you slowly distanced yourself, which was something Steve had already been doing. The two of you never seemed to hang out anymore and you had hoped maybe that once you stopped reaching out he’d maybe realize what he was losing, but it was actually the opposite. Steve never seemed bothered about you exiting his life and it broke your heart.
When you have such a deep connection with someone for so long and then to have them act like they don’t even know who you are in the hallway is something that leaves a deep scar.
You’d known Nancy since you were also in diapers since the two of you grew up right next to each other. And while she was your closest girl friend, there was never that connection like what Steve and you had, but to hear she’s talking to him and more than likely going out with him, you couldn’t lie– it hurt.
Nancy had every right to do what she wanted, to see who she wanted, which included Steve. Steve and you didn’t necessarily end your friendship on bad terms, you just left each other's lives, but she knows first hand how much it hurt for you to distance yourself from him. And really you just can’t imagine Nancy going out with someone like Steve, or at least the Steve everyone knows now.
You don’t even realize how in your head you’ve been until Nancy’s rambling brings you back to reality. “Y/N, it’s not like what you think. I promise.”
You shake your head at her, but your face doesn’t match your tone. “It’s fine Nancy really. You can do whatever you want– it’s not like he’s my ex boyfriend. Hell, maybe you can bring back the old Steve if you try hard enough. Lord knows I couldn’t.”
There’s an awkward pause and you take it as a sign to just leave and head to first period, there wasn’t anything else that needed to be said about this topic. So, you adjust your backpack on your shoulder and give the two girls a tight lipped smile before stopping by your locker that’s catty cornered from Nancy’s.
God love Barb, but she was horrible at whispering, and you want to ignore what she’s trying to whisper to Nancy, but you can’t and you so wish you had just skipped school today.
“Don’t lie to her again Nance. You two clearly have something going on– you made out what two times already?”
The warning bell rings and you try to ignore the weird feeling in your chest as you turn on your heel and walk towards Chemistry class.
The whole day you’re distracted, not really present in the moment. You know you’re taking this news a little harder than you should be– Steve and you haven’t talked since this past May (well really there was that night in September, but you don’t like thinking about that). Plus, once again you have to remind yourself that you two were never together, just really close friends, so Nancy wanting to see him shouldn’t be a big deal. It shouldn’t— right?
Lunch arrives and you eat at one of the rusty picnic tables outside instead of your usual table in the cafeteria. You pick at your food, the school lunches were never anything to rave over, but today nothing looked edible.
Nancy nor Barb try to talk to you after this morning and honestly you’re fine with that, you know it would just be both of them trying to convince you that nothing is going on between Nancy and Steve. The whole situation really makes you wonder if Nancy felt the need to keep this from you and try and downplay it– then why is she doing it in the first place if she’s one of your closest friends?
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
You power through the rest of the day and there’s just one little thing left in the way of you going home and crawling into bed and never coming back out– last period English class.
The class that just so happens to have you, Barb, Nancy, and Steve in it.
Yes– Steve is a junior taking sophomore English. No, you don’t understand how someone can fail English class, but Steve Harrington was a walking example.
It still amazes you that the Steve you once knew no longer seemed to exist. Sure he did care more about sports than academics, but he always at least tried. He wasn’t a 4.0 GPA student, but he never failed classes until his sophomore year and now it seemed like school was just a place him came to so he could pick up girls and hear how cool he was from other people. Steve wasn’t stupid, but if you didn’t know him before high school you sure would think all he amounted to was just a pretty face and luscious hair.
Whatever the teacher is talking about is just background noise because all you can seem to focus on for the whole class period is Steve. You’re sitting at the back of the class, with Barb next to you and Nancy in front of you, while Steve is two rows over and slightly in front of Nancy. So he has to look back slightly to look at her– which he does about every five minutes.
You don’t blame Steve for getting with Nancy, she’s smart and gorgeous, has a good head on her shoulders– she’s everything a guy would want and more. You just can’t help but think why does it have to be Steve. A little part of you wonders if he’s chosen Nancy to somehow get back at you, for whatever reason you aren’t sure, considering there was never a true falling out between the two of you, but the Steve that’s sitting in this class now is someone you don’t know. So a little part of you wouldn’t put it past him.
You watch on as Steve continuously glances back to get a look at Nancy and how sometimes their eyes would meet and they’d both have smitten smiles on their faces. It makes you green with envy.
There’s still a part of you that knows that the old Steve is still there in him– even if it is deep down. And you’re proud enough to admit that Nancy might bring that out of him again and she’d get to experience the person you missed the most and it makes you jealous beyond belief.
When Steve goes to glance over at Nancy for the last time during class he realizes she isn’t looking, her face is buried in her notebook, diligently taking notes, something he should also be doing considering it’s his second year taking this class. Then for a brief second his eyes flicker to the person sitting behind her– you.
Of course you’re already looking at him. It's what you’ve been doing practically the whole class period and the moment you lock eyes it’s like the world stops for a brief moment. This was the first time in you don’t know how long you’ve actually interacted with Steve, hell he never would even give you the time of day if he passed you in the hall. So some eye contact was like having a thirty minute conversation with him.
Those big brown eyes of his seemed to stare straight into your soul and you started to recall all the times when you two were younger and all he had to do was look at you with those baby cow eyes of his and you’d fold like a cheap lawn chair and give in to whatever dumb thing he wanted to do.
Unbestowed to either you or Steve– Barb had been watching the whole interaction between the two of you. Barbara was always on the shyer and quiet side, but that meant she was observant and more in tune with how people were actually feeling. She had told Nancy that getting with Steve wasn’t a good idea, that you wouldn’t take it well, but Nancy wouldn’t listen.
Barb had always been able to tell that there was a deeper connection between Steve and you, something that doesn’t go away just because you haven’t talked in what you claim is half a year. She wasn’t going to be the one to come out and say it, mainly because it was just a hunch, but to her there was no way the two of you didn’t have romantic feelings for one another.
Just by her watching the two of you maintain eye contact for a minute she could tell there was something unresolved between you two, something hidden deep down under emotional baggage and a million other things, and she knows this whole situation may very well be the demise of your friendship group.
The staring into one another’s souls was abruptly interrupted by the dismissal bell ringing and you’re both quickly brought back to reality. Steve scrambles to get up from his seat and make his way over to Nancy while you quickly gather your things and head towards the door, but not before sneaking once last glance at Steve, who while waiting for Nancy to pack up her things was already looking at you. Your cheeks are hot when you realize he was looking at you again and you quickly tear your eyes away from him and leave the room.
You’ve stopped by your locker, grabbed your things, and are peeling out of the parking lot in what is surely record time. The radio blasts as loud as it can be to try and drown out the millions of thoughts racing through your head and by the time you get home you’re probably half deaf, but you couldn’t care less.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
As soon as you pass through the front door your Mom is hollering something from the living room, but you ignore her, heading straight upstairs and to your room. Your bookbag is thrown haphazardly onto your floor and you starfish onto your bed. You aren’t sure if you want to scream into your pillow or cry into it, but you do know that something is going on with you more than you’re willing to let on.
You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until there’s a knock on your door followed by your Dad’s voice.
“Dinner is ready sweetheart.”
There’s drool all over your pillow and your clammy from falling asleep in your school clothes. It’s dark out already and if it wasn’t for your Dad telling you dinner was ready you would have thought you’d slept till morning. Glancing at yourself in the mirror your eyes widen at how disheveled you look and you make quick work to ditch your sweater and try and smooth out your hair before going downstairs to join your family for dinner.
The smell of your Mom’s famous spaghetti travels through the house and you’re upset because it’s so good, but your nerves are so shot that the idea of eating makes your stomach twist even more than it already is. You shuffle the pasta around your plate, trying to make it seem like you’re eating, but your Mom clocks your trick right away.
“It probably wasn’t a good night for my spaghetti was it? Seems like no one has an appetite with everything going on right now.”
You look up from your plate for the first time tonight and realize no one else has really touched their food either, especially your little sister. Your gaze travels back to your Mom and you watch as she reaches out for Julie’s hand across the table. Then you look over at your Dad who doesn’t seem as distraught as your Mom or sister, but you can still tell something is on his mind.
“Poor Joyce– I can’t even imagine what she’s going through right now. I’m going to swing by their place tomorrow and bring a casserole or something easy that she can just throw in the oven. The last thing I’d be thinking about is cooking right now.”
You are so out of the loop on what she’s talking about and you realize that you clearly should know what is going on, but you’ve been so caught up with all this Nancy and Steve stuff today that if something had been said to you or if you heard it being talked about in passing it hadn’t registered in your mind at all.
“What’s going on with Joyce?” You ask timidly.
Your Mom’s eyes widen slightly and you see her squeeze your little sister's hand before she speaks. “Honey, how do you not know? It’s all over town.” She pauses like she can’t believe what she’s about ready to say. “Will Byers went missing last night.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. People in Hawkins don’t go missing, stuff like this doesn’t happen here. That kind of thing is what you see on the news happening in Indy, not Hawkins. “Missing? As in someone took him or what he got lost? I mean what are the police saying?” You question.
Your Mom shrugs. “No one knows anything yet. Only that he left the Wheeler’s last night and never made it home.”
“Oh my god.” You mumble, sinking slowly into your chair. Suddenly all your issues from today seemed minuscule to what the Byers family was going through. Jonathan was in your grade and you had a couple classes together, but you weren’t friends by any means. He mostly kept to himself and the most you had ever talked to him was when you’d both occasionally pick up your younger siblings from the arcade.
Oh god poor Julie.
You glance over at her and she’s slumped in her seat, worry written all over her face. She’s only twelve and one of her friends goes missing, you couldn’t imagine how she was feeling either. Julie could be a little shit sometimes, but you loved her more than anything and to imagine that happening to her makes your stomach churn. The legs of your chair scrape against the linoleum floor and you walk around the table to wrap her up in your arms.
“They’ll find him, Jules. Don’t worry.” Even though Julie can’t apply makeup to save her life, she’s smarter than the average 12 year old, and you know she knows you’re just telling her that to try and make her feel better, but you still tell her anyway.
Moments later you’re in the kitchen helping your Mom clean up after the dinner that no one ate. Even after hearing the news of Will’s vanishing, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to the Nancy and Steve issue as you wash the dishes. It still bothered you and you know you just need to get over it because clearly there were other things in this world that you should be worried about, but you couldn’t help it.
“I’ll finish these up. Can you take out the trash for me?” Your Mom says as she shoos you away from the sink. You wipe your soap suds covered hands on the dry dish towel and grab the full trash bag.
The neighborhood is eerily quiet as you make the trek to the trash cans at the end of the driveway. As you’re tossing the bag into the can as quickly as you can you spot something out of the corner of your eye. You do a double take, wanting to make sure your mind isn’t playing tricks on you, but unfortunately you’d recognize that car anywhere.
Not directly in front of your house, but in between your house and your neighbors to the left sits Steve’s burgundy BMW. The street light across from it lets you know he’s not in it and you begin to wonder if the universe is playing some sick joke on you. A loud noise from behind you makes you jump and you quickly turn around expecting some killer to be coming after you, but somehow it’s worse than that.
It’s not a killer, or a rabid raccoon, or even your imagination— it’s Steve Harrington.
Who looks to be trying to climb up the side of the Wheeler’s house. He’s a damn idiot who clearly has never learned how to sneak around because he’s making such a racket. You stand there watching him as he takes his second attempt and then gets caught by Mike, who seems to be sneaking out. Their voices travel and you hear Mike say something about Steve being unbelievable before he peddles away on his bike.
As Steve goes to try his third and final attempt at sneaking into Nancy’s room he turns and catches sight of you standing at the end of your driveway staring at him. It was one thing to hypothetically think about Nancy and him together, but to see him sneaking into her room has you feeling weird. This time there’s no staring at each other because you're promptly turning on your heel and marching back towards the house.
Your Dad stands on the front steps, a lit cigarette between his lips. “What’s Steve’s car doing out there?” He asks, oblivious to the storm raging in your mind right now.
“No idea.” You mumble as you push your way past him and back into the house.
He doesn’t even bother commenting on your mood, he’s learned over the years when to pick his battles, and figures it’s just the whole ordeal with the Byers boy missing, but then he hears the same racket you did. Your Dad turns his head just in time to see Steve entering Nancy’s bedroom window and he knows your mood has nothing to do with the missing kid.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
After some very detailed journaling that night and a venting session to yourself in the mirror, you woke up the next morning telling yourself that the whole Steve and Nancy thing really wasn’t any of your concern and that it didn’t need to bother you– you weren’t going to let it bother you. Life was too short too get so hung up on trivial things like your best friend dating your old best friend who was like your other half. It’s truly nothing.
Your Mom insists you take Julie to school from now on until Will is found, no more riding her bike, even if she is with Mike and Lucas. It’s not a big deal, the middle school is right next to the high school, but you feel obligated to make conversation, and really you don’t even know what to say to her right now.
“Have you talked to any of the boys? Have they heard from Will?” Julie just shakes her head no at you. “I think Mike was out looking for him last night. I saw him leave on his bike when I took out the trash.”
“Yeah. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin went out looking for him last night. They wanted me to come, but I knew Mom wouldn’t let me. She’s already being weird about me riding my bike in the daytime, let alone at night.”
There’s silence for a moment, you knew Julie was probably feeling like she was on house arrest for something she had nothing to do with, but you also know how your Mom is feeling right now too.
“Is that when you saw Steve sneaking into Nancy’s room last night?” Julie asks suddenly.
You nearly choke on your spit, totally not expecting that to come out of her mouth. “Sorry what?”
“You said you saw Mike leave, is that when Steve was trying to sneak in?”
Your hands grip the steering wheel extra tight and you glance quickly back and forth from the road back to her. “How do you know about Steve?”
Julie has a little smirk on her face as she replies. “Dad came in last night after you took out the trash, said you were in a mood because you saw Steve sneaking into Nancy’s room.”
A gasp escapes past your lips, so not only was your little sister a gossiper, but so was your Father. “First of all I was not mad because Steve was sneaking into Nancy’s room. Second of all, Dad needs to mind his business.”
“He never said you were mad, but said you were in a mood. So what I’m gathering is that you were mad then?”
You roll your eyes at her, you were not having this conversation with her right now. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“Not doing what? Still denying that you’re in love with Steve Harrington?”
Your head whips around to look at your little sister, who has the biggest shit eating grin on her face in your passenger seat right now. “I am not in love with Steve.”
“And I don’t get into your makeup.”
“Jules for real, knock it off. I don’t love Steve. We haven’t even spoken in half a year. He’s an asshole and I don’t want to be friends with someone like that, let alone be in love with them.” You state as you pull into the school parking lot.
“Deep down you love him and you’re never going to get rid of that, no matter how much of an asshole he is.” Julie replies as she gets out of the car.
“You're twelve, what do you know about love?” You holler over the roof of the car.
“You’re sixteen! What do you know about love?” She counters as she walks backwards towards the middle school before turning around and catching up with some of her friends.
Your plan to not care about the whole Steve and Nancy thing is foiled right in your hands after Julie does what she does best and gets under your skin. You were not in love with Steve Harrington and that is not why you felt a little bent out of shape about him being with Nancy. Sure you had love for him when you guys were close, but not in a romantic way, it was all platonic.
As you enter the double doors you have to worm your way through the sea of bodies to get to your locker— the people of Hawkins really needed to stop reproducing.
You catch sight of Barb and Nancy coming down the hall and Barb is quizzing Nancy for what you know is the test in Kaminsky’s later today.
“When alpha particles go through gold foil, they become…?” Barb rattles off.
“Unoccupied space.” You answer as you join the two of them on the journey down the hall.
They both seem surprised to see you or at least joining them and talking like yesterday didn’t happen, but you ignore their surprised expressions and act like everything is normal, because that’s how it’s going to be, it has to be.
“Next question Barb!” You exclaim as you hug your books tighter to your chest as you squeeze past a couple making out.
“Um yeah right sorry.” She stumbles on her words a little and fumbles as she flips to the next index card. “A molecule can then…” She begins, but doesn’t get to finish as you guys come towards an intersection in the hallway and the cards are promptly ripped out of her hands.
The culprit? Of course none other than Steve Harrington.
His annoying ass friends Tommy and Carol are of course in tow and you immediately regret joining Barb and Nance for their study session this morning.
“Hey!” Nancy hollers trying to get the cards back from Steve.
Steve has a slight smirk on his face as he teasingly shakes his head at her. “I don’t know, I think you’ve studied enough, Nance.”
“Steve…” She trails off.
“I’m telling you, you know, you got this. Don’t worry. Now, on to more important matters.” He pauses as he puts the index cards in his back pocket. “My Dad has left town for a conference and my Mom’s gone with him-” Steve’s eyes quickly glance over at you and you would have missed it if you weren’t already looking at him. “cause, you know, she doesn’t trust him.”
You shift your weight between your feet as you stand there uncomfortably. Of course he looks at you when he talks about his parents and it makes this whole situation that much worse for you because you know things he wouldn’t dare tell anyone else, yet you two act like strangers now.
“Good call.” Tommy says, like anyone cares to hear him speak.
“So are you in?” Steve asks directly to Nancy, like Barb and you aren’t standing there.
“In for what?” Nancy asks with a look of genuine confusion on her face.
“No parents? Big house?” Carol chimes in.
“A party?” She asks, even though she already knows she’s correct.
“Ding, ding, ding, ding!” Carol exclaims in her annoying voice.
Nancy scoffs a little, like the idea of a party on a school night is the craziest thing she’s heard lately. “It’s Tuesday.”
“It’s Tuesday! Oh my god!” Tommy mocks Nancy causing Carol and him to laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Steve ignores his jackass friends and tries to convince Nancy one more time. “Come on. It’ll be lowkey. It’ll just be us. What do you think? Are you in or are you out?”
You can see Nancy considering it and you know how tonight is going to end if she goes. It’s like that with every girl Steve has dated since he got into high school.
“Oh, God. Look.” Carol commands as everyone turns to see what she’s looking at.
“Lord, that’s depressing.” Steve states and you can’t tell if he’s saying it in a matter of fact kind of way or if he’s being an ass. Either way he’s not wrong.
You all stand there and watch as Jonathan Byers pins up a missing poster for Will and you can’t help but feel for him. You couldn’t imagine what he’s going through right now, you don’t even think you could function if Julie went missing, let alone put up missing posters.
“Should we say something?” Nancy is the first to say something.
“I don’t think he speaks.” Carol replies.
“How much you wanna bet he killed him?” Tommy asks and you want to tell him to fuck off, but Steve beats you to it, in a nicer way.
“Shut up.”
You’re taken aback by Steve actually putting Tommy somewhat in his place, you figured he’d go along with Tommy’s dumb theory, and it has you wondering if maybe the old Steve is still in there.
Suddenly Nancy walks over to Jonathan and you all watch as she talks to him. Steve, Tommy, and Carol couldn’t care less and they’ve already moved on to something else, but Barb and you watch on with genuine interest and you realize you should have gone over and talked to him too. Your sister was friends with Will too after all.
The bell rings before you can even move an inch and you watch as Nancy joins the group once again. Everyone else moves along down the hall, but you linger and watch as Jonathan secures the last push pin onto the poster. He turns and finds you still standing there staring at him– it’s awkward and you don’t know if you should say something to him or not. So you give him a sincere smile and watch as he just gives you a kert nod back before he leaves out the side door.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Later that night you’re in your room journaling when the phone rings. You don’t think anything of it and let someone else get it, that is until you hear Julie holler from downstairs.
“Y/N! Nancy is on the phone!”
You grab the blue phone from your nightstand and steady it between your shoulder and ear as you continue your journaling. “Hello?”
“Y/N. Listen I know you’re going to want to say no and it’s probably going to be awkward, but will you please come with me to Steve’s tonight.”
You scoff as you close your journal and grab ahold of the phone. “I really thought you might have hit your head when I found out about you and Steve, but now I’m thinking you really have taken a hard fall. Why would I want to go to Steve’s?”
“I don’t want to go by myself!”
You roll your eyes, this girl could not read the room. “Then ask Barb!”
“Y/N please! The more people I have around me that I’m comfortable with, then maybe it won’t be so awkward. Plus if I just bring Barb then she’s going to be there by herself.”
You twirl the phone cord around your finger, bored with this conversation already. “You really think me being there isn’t going to already make things awkward? Also, Steve clearly just invited you, not Barb, not me, not me and Barb. Just you.”
“Barb already agreed to go, so really this is all about if you care about Barb being by herself tonight or not.”
You groaned at how manipulative Nancy can be sometimes. You know Tommy and Carol are going to be there and you know how Barb is. You can hold your own against those assholes, but you aren’t about ready to let Barb just sit there and be a punching bag all night. So against your better judgement and every single thing in you telling you to not agree to doing this– you do.
“I’m doing this for Barb, not you Nancy.”
You hear her squeal and you already regret this decision. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“I’ll see you later Nance.”
After convincing your Mom to let you go to the assembly for Will and that everyone was going and it would be weird if you weren’t there. You’re in your car and on your way to Steve’s house. Your plan is almost ruined when your Mom mentions something about taking Julie with you, but she was acting stranger than you tonight, claiming she was going to Mike’s instead. Although it really didn’t matter to you what she was doing as long as she wasn’t being pawned off on you tonight.
The whole drive there you keep asking yourself what are you doing? You should have stood your ground and told Nancy no, but then you think about Barb being there by herself and you tell yourself you can suck it up for a couple of hours– for Barb.
As you pull onto Steve’s block you don’t see Barb’s car or the Wheeler’s station wagon parked on the street or in the driveway, but you do see two figures walking down the street towards you. You park your Mustang behind Steve’s Beemer and as you look in the rearview mirror you see that the two figures are now walking up the driveway and that they are Nancy and Barb.
“Did you guys freaking walk across town?” You ask as you get out of your car.
“Little miss worrywart here was too scared to park in the driveway so we parked three blocks away.” Barb states, clearly annoyed with Nancy.
“I didn’t want the neighbors to see.” Nancy mumbles as she pushes past you to get to the front door.
You can hear the music blasting from inside the house as you and Barb trail behind Nancy. Your stomach flips as Nancy rings the doorbell and when the door swings open to reveal a smug Steve you realize you made a horrible decision.
“Hello, ladies.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The Harrington household is exactly as you remember it as you walk in, granted it’s not been that long since you were here last. You remember clear as day the last time you sat foot in this house. This past September when Steve had called you late at night, he needed you, and you really thought things were going to change with him after that, but you were wrong.
Steve’s house has always been big and extravagant, but never felt homey in a sense. It was empty and never felt lived in. There were only a handful of family photos and one picture of Steve that got changed out with each year's new school photo. It had always seemed to be void of any love and well from knowing what you know, it’s no surprise.
Steve leads you three out back and that’s where you find Tommy and Carol, surely already drunk by the way he’s trying to throw her into the pool. You opt to sit in one of the lounge chairs a little further away from the action. You sit and watch as the steam rises from the pool and memories of past summers spent swimming until your skin is pruned and wrinkly replay in your mind. Who would have thought things would be so different now?
Barb sits in one of the empty chairs next to you and you can tell she’s uncomfortable, this is not her crowd whatsoever. Hell it’s not your crowd either, and it’s sure as hell not Nancy’s, but here you all are.
“The things we do for Nancy.” Barb says under her breath.
You laugh a little. “You mean the stuff I do for you. I wasn’t going to let you be the fifth wheel.”
“I was surprised when she said you were coming, hell I’m surprised you’re even talking to her.”
You shrug. “Yeah I surprise myself sometimes.”
The two of you watch on as Steve grabs a beer from the cooler, punches a hole in the side with a knife, and then proceeds to shotgun it. Nancy watches on in amusement and you can’t help but watch the scene unfold in front of you as Steve plops down on the chair next to her and puts a cigarette between his lips.
“Was that supposed to impress me?” Nancy asks.
“You’re not impressed?” Steve counters.
They’re flirting and it makes your stomach churn.
“You’re a cliche, you do realize that right?”
Steve scoffs. “You’re a cliche. What, with your grades and your band practice.” He finally lights the cigarette and you wonder when he picked up that habit.
Nancy laughs at him. “I’m so not in band.”
Steve grabs the knife back out of his pocket. “Okay, party girl.” He hands Nancy the knife. “Why don’t you just show us how it’s done then?”
“Okay.”
Barb and you share a look, fully knowing how this is going to end. Nancy is a petite little thing and the girl cannot handle her alcohol. She’s drunk after like two beers. Steve tries to tell her how to do it, but head strong Nancy ignores his advice and begins to shot gun the beer. Steve and his entourage cheer her on, coaxing her to chug the beer, while Barb and you sit there like bumps on a log.
Nancy drops the can onto the deck and relishes in the cheers. She looks over at you and Barb and you know what she’s about ready to ask.
“Barb you wanna try?”
Barb scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous thing ever. “What? No.”
Nancy grabs a beer out of the cooler and brings it over.
“Nance, I'm good. I don’t want to.”
You hear Steve start to heckle Barb and you know Carol and Tommy will start soon enough.
Nancy shoves the beer can towards Barb. “It’s fun! Just give it a try!”
“Barb you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not drinking tonight either.” You try and convince Barb to stick to her guns, but she’s not as strong willed as you and she reluctantly takes the beer can and the knife from Nancy.
Barb tries her best to punch the hole in the side of the can, but the knife slips and it cuts a deep gash in her thumb. You immediately jump up from your chair and hurry to Barb.
You hear Tommy make some dumbass remark and then you hear Nancy speak up. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Barb replies, but you know she’s in shock, she hasn’t seen just how deep the knife cut her.
“Barb you’re bleeding, you’re not fine.” Nancy moves closer to Barb to try and help, but you’re already grabbing hold of her, ready to drive her to the ER.
“I said I’m fine Nancy.” Barb looks over at Steve. “Where’s your bathroom?”
Before Steve can answer you’re ushering her back towards the house, you don’t need him to tell you something you already know.
As you’re entering the house you hear Tommy mouthing off. “Oh that’s right I forgot about Y/N and you. Of course she knows where the bathroom is. Are you still in love with her Stevie? Or did you move on to Nancy cause Y/N didn’t want you?”
He’s drunk, you know that, but that still doesn’t mean his comment doesn’t affect you in any way. Though, you don’t stick around to hear Steve’s response, there’s more pressing matters at hand, like Barb’s bleeding thumb.
Nancy though, her ears perk up at Tommy’s comment, and she looks to Steve for his reaction. She pretends not to notice the way he slightly squirms at the comment and how he doesn’t come outright and deny Tommy’s claim. Or the fact that he won’t make eye contact with her and keeps glancing back at the house every five seconds. She knows he’s not worried about Barb, he’s thinking about you.
Her spiraling session doesn’t last long because Tommy pushing Carol into the pool seems to bring both Steve and Nancy back to reality and before Nancy can even give herself a fighting chance, Steve’s got his arms around her and she finds herself with the same fate as Carol.
While the other four are having a grand ole time in the pool, you’re administering first aid in the bathroom. You’ve got Barb sitting on the toilet seat lid while you’re crouched down trying to figure out what the hell to actually do with this wound. It’s quiet, neither of you have spoken a word since you’d entered the downstairs bathroom.
You search through the cabinets, knowing there’s got to be at least a first aid kit or something and on the last drawer you hit the jackpot. You grab a washcloth from the linen closet and run it under the warm water before starting to clean the wound.
“You know I told her not to go for Steve.” Barb’s voice is soft as she speaks.
You look up at her through your eyelashes and then back down at her hand as you continue working on her thumb.
“It doesn’t matter to me Barb, she can do whatever she wants.” You reply just as softly. It’s not like you’re worried about being heard, you can clearly hear them still acting like fools outside, but the idea of talking at full volume right now doesn’t seem right.
“I know she can, but that still doesn’t mean she should have.” You don’t reply for a moment as you grab more gauze from the first aid kit and Barb takes your silence as a sign to continue talking. “I told her it would make things weird between you two and it was going to put me in the middle, but she got swept up in his charm and great hair and I guess the idea of popularity.”
You give Barb a sad smile. “Happens to most girls in Hawkins. I don’t blame Nancy.” You wrap some medical tape around the gauze. “I just wish it wasn’t Steve ya know. Out of all people, why did it have to be him? The one person who meant everything to me and now he acts like I don’t exist? I think that’s what bothers me the most. I just feel a little betrayed by Nancy because she saw how much it hurt for me to lose Steve and now she’s with him? I just– wish I could tell her that without seeming like I’m jealous.”
“You want to know what I think?” Barb states.
“What do you think Barbara Holland?” You ask as you gather everything back into the first aid kit and put it back into the drawer.
“I think Steve is lost and you’re the only one that’s going to be able to bring him back to shore.”
You lean against the wooden door, a deep sigh escaping past your lips. “I tried already, that ship is going to have to sink and he’s going to have to swim to shore himself. I’m not wasting my breath on someone who doesn’t want my help anymore.”
“You really think Nancy is going to bring the old Steve back?”
You look at Barb and you know you’re both thinking the same thing, as much as it hurts to say about your mutual friend. Nancy was unfortunately going to be another stop on Steve’s campaign through Hawkins.
You throw your head back against the door, why couldn’t you just completely exile Steve from your life? “Why am I still so concerned about a guy like Steve Harrington? He’s an ass and a womanizer.”
Barb offers you a small smile. “Becuase you still hold onto the old Steve, who wasn’t like the one outside right now. You’re still holding out hope that he comes to his senses, drops Tommy and Carol, and comes back to you.”
“He’s not going to come back to me Barb, he’s with Nancy.” You say barely above a whisper.
She stands up and comes over to you, wrapping her arms around you tight, and you melt in her embrace. “He may be with Nancy, but you’d be stupid not to think his heart belongs to you.”
You pull back from the hug, your mind and heart are being pulled in 50 million directions right now. “If his heart belonged to me then he wouldn’t be out there with Nancy right now. He wouldn’t have cut contact with me. He would know how much I hate the person he’s become and he would become a better man. But this isn’t a fairytale or a romcom Barb. This is real life and Steve doesn’t care about me or love me, so why should I still waste my breath on wondering what happened and if he’s ever going to change?”
You take a deep breath as you feel the tears start to well up in your eyes. “He’s no longer in my life for a reason and every time I think maybe things might be different and that he’s coming back to me– the universe shows me that’s not the case. So I’ll support Nancy and however this whole thing with Steve ends up, because Steve isn’t any of my concern anymore. It doesn’t matter what he once was to me or if there’s a part of my heart that has been carved out for him over the years. Time heals all wounds, Barb and I think that’s just what I need.”
She looks at you with what you think is the saddest look you’ve ever seen paint itself across Barb’s face and you don’t even realize you’re crying until she wipes away your tears with her good thumb. “But you’re always going to love him aren’t you?”
Your breath catches in your throat and you don’t really know what you feel for Steve. You don’t know if it’s actually love or the feeling of nostalgia that can sometimes feel like love. When you have all these memories with a person and a connection that runs so deep that sometimes you think it’s love, but it’s not. You think you’re in love with what might be, with an alternate universe where Steve never turned into someone you don’t recognize, and things hadn’t changed between the two of you.
You don’t get to answer Barb though because you hear commotion coming from inside the house, which sounds like Tommy and Carol going upstairs. So, you wipe your tears and clean up the remainder of the mess before turning your attention back to Barb and quickly change the subject. “I tried my best to bandage you up Barb, but I really think I should take you to the ER, I think you need stitches.”
Barb shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I’m Nancy’s ride home.”
“You really think she’s gonna need a ride home?”
Barb shrugs, knowing you’re right, but she still isn’t going to leave Nancy here alone. The two of you exit the bathroom figuring you’ll find someone making out somewhere, only to find Nancy heading up the stairs.
“Nance.” Barb calls out, but Nancy doesn’t stop. “Nancy? Where are you going?”
This time she stops and almost turns around sheepishly. “No where. Just… upstairs. To change.” She opens her towel to reveal her sopping wet clothes. “I fell in the pool.” She laughs as she wraps herself back up in the towel. You see Barb shake her head out of the corner of your eye, while you aren’t surprised one bit. “Why don’t you go ahead and go home. I’ll just… I’ll get a ride or something.”
You glance over at Barb, who genuinely seems taken aback by Nancy’s behavior. “Nance seriously?”
“Barb, I’m fine.” Nancy insists.
“This isn’t you.”
You hear a door open then close and then you see Steve standing at the railing at the top of the stairs, clearly waiting for Nancy, but his eyes lock onto yours. You forgot you’d just been crying just a minute ago and you’re sure your eyes are red and bloodshot.
“You alright?” He asks, while still looking at you and you can see his eyes soften the longer he looks at you.
“Barb’s okay, but I think she needs stitches.” You quickly reply, making it seem like Steve was asking about Barb, even though you know he wasn’t, and neither does Nancy from the way she keeps looking between Steve and you.
“Barb seriously, let Y/N take you to the ER. I’ll be fine here.”
Nancy doesn’t wait for a reply, she turns and continues walking up the stairs and follows Steve into his room.
Barb ventures back out to the pool and you sit there and beg her to let you take her to the ER, but there’s nothing you can do to convince her to leave Nancy. You know either way you aren’t staying here, so you try one last time to get Barb to leave, and when you get the same response you give up.
“Fine, you’ve stood your ground. I’m going home. I still suggest you do the same, but I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”
“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Barb replies.
You take one last glance at Barb before you close the back gate behind you and head out front to your car. There’s something that tells you that you shouldn’t be leaving Barb, but you can’t force her to come with you, and really you think your nerves are just shot after everything that went on tonight. So you’re sure in the morning everything will be just fine.
CAN YOU DO A NSFW AUDIO FINGERING AND SUCKING ESTROJUN CUNT (my beautiful whiny girl btw 🥰
69JUNNIE YOUR BACK HEHEHEHE!!!~ i like what you’ve done with your page—it’s very cute, gabby approved hehe. since i have too much time on my hands, i’ve blessed you with an almost 3min audio YES YES my generosity knows no bounds hehe!!~~
SYNOPSIS. he hunts you before you even realize it. the werewolf who stalks the forest knows exactly how to push your boundaries, testing your fear, your desire, and your obedience. every brush of his claws, every growl in your ear, drags you deeper into a game where surrender isn’t optional—and the price for resisting might be more than just pleasure.
the forest smells like pine and damp earth and the sharp, metallic tang of your own fear, a scent so thick it clings to the back of your throat like copper pennies, choking every breath with the taste of panic. moonlight drips through the canopy in silver shards, fractured and cold, painting the undergrowth in ghostly streaks that twist and vanish the moment you try to follow them, leaving you blind, dependent on instinct alone. but it’s not enough to see by. not really. your ears—soft, velvet, the color of fresh cream, longer than your forearm—twitch at every rustle, every sigh of wind, every distant hoot of an owl that sounds too much like a warning, too much like him. you’re small here. prey. your cotton tail, fluffy and white, trembles against the small of your back, tucked tight beneath the hem of your oversized sweater, but it’s no use. he can smell you. he always smells you—sweet hay and crushed clover and the faint, unmistakable musk of a bunny in heat, even when you swear you’re not, even when you scrub yourself raw in the stream to hide it, to scrub him away.
you shouldn’t have come this deep. the elders warned you in hushed, trembling voices—stay to the burrows, little bun, the wolf prowls at dusk, and he does not play gentle, he does not leave survivors, he takes what he wants and leaves only bones—but the blackberries were fat and ripe, glistening like drops of blood on the brambles, heavy with summer’s last sweetness, calling to you like a siren song you couldn’t resist. you were greedy. you told yourself just one more handful, then just to the next bush, then just one more, until the path behind you vanished and the trees closed in like a fist, trunks pressing closer, branches clawing at your sweater, snagging on your ears. now the woven basket lies abandoned somewhere in the dark, handle snapped, berries crushed under your bare feet as you run, soles stinging on thorns and roots, tiny beads of blood welling up to mark your trail like breadcrumbs for the beast. your breath comes in panicked puffs, fogging in the chill, heart hammering so loud you’re sure he hears it—thump-thump-thump—a frantic drumbeat that calls to him like a dinner bell, like a mating call, like a challenge.
the first time was a glimpse—amber eyes between the trunks, glowing like twin coals in the dusk, gone when you blinked, leaving only the afterimage burned into your retinas, a warning you ignored. then a growl, low and rolling, curling around your spine like smoke, making your knees buckle even as you bolted, your tail fluffing in terror, ears flattening. then claws—long, black, glinting like obsidian—dragging slow across bark, leaving deep gouges you found the next morning, still wet with sap and reeking of musk, the scent thick enough to taste, to feel. he’s been circling, closer each time, testing the edges of your courage, your speed, your desire. he left gifts—rabbits, gutted and arranged in perfect circles around your burrow entrance, throats torn out, still warm, eyes glassy and accusing. you buried them, hands shaking, dirt under your nails for days, but the message was clear: i see you. i want you. run. tonight he’s done testing. tonight the circle snaps shut.
you hear him before you see him: a crack of branches, deliberate, unhurried, the sound of something that knows it has all the time in the world, that knows you’re already caught, already his. he’s not running. he’s hunting. your legs burn, lungs screaming, but you dart left, weaving between ferns taller than your waist, hoping the underbrush will slow him, tangle his paws, buy you seconds, anything. it doesn’t. a shadow melts from the trees ahead—tall, broad, impossibly fast—and you skid, claws (your own tiny, blunt ones) digging into moss, spinning to bolt the other way. too late. he’s there, cutting you off, a wall of muscle and fur and heat that blocks the moonlight entirely, casting you in his darkness, his shadow.
jay.
he’s half-shifted, caught between man and beast—shirt torn open down the middle, hanging in shreds from his shoulders, chest bare and heaving, every breath rippling the dark fur that dusts his pecs and trails down his abs in a thick, tempting line that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, low-slung and torn at the knee. his claws are fully extended, black and curved, catching the moonlight like scythes, long enough to gut you with a flick, to claim you with a swipe. his ears—wolf, pointed, tufted with silver—twitch forward, alert, and his grin is all fangs, sharp and wicked, lips peeled back to reveal canines that could snap your neck with a single bite, that will if you fight, that might even if you don’t. “found you, bunny.”
you freeze, ears pinned flat against your skull, tail quivering so hard it aches, a white flag of surrender you can’t control, can’t hide. “i—was just—” your voice cracks, high and reedy, the sound of a creature that knows it’s caught, that knows the game is over, that the hunt has ended and the feast begins.
“running.” his voice is gravel and smoke, laced with dark amusement that makes your stomach flip, your cunt clench, your thighs slick with shame. he steps closer, slow, letting you see the way his claws flex, the way his nostrils flare, drinking in your scent—fear, sweat, and beneath it all, the shameful slick of want that’s been building for weeks, that you’ve been denying even as you touched yourself in the dark. “thought you could outrun me? thought those pretty little legs could carry you faster than my hunger? than my need? than the way your scent calls to me every fucking night?”
you back up until your spine hits a tree, bark rough and unyielding against your sweater, scraping the soft skin between your shoulder blades, grounding you in the pain, in the realness of him. “please—” the word tumbles out, desperate, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. mercy? more? your body doesn’t know either—it’s trembling, thighs slick, tail twitching like it’s trying to wag, like it’s happy to be caught.
he’s on you in a blink, one clawed hand slamming into the trunk beside your head with a thunk that vibrates through the wood and into your bones, the other gripping your chin, tilting your face up with bruising force until your neck aches, until you’re staring into eyes that burn gold. his thumb presses your lower lip, smearing the cherry gloss you wore for no one, dragging it across your teeth until your mouth parts on a gasp, until he can see the pink of your tongue, the wet of your mouth. he leans in, nose brushing your throat, inhaling deep, a rumble building in his chest that you feel in your core, in your cunt. “you smell like mine,” he growls, the sound vibrating against your pulse, making it race faster, making you dizzy. “been smelling it for weeks. sweet little bunny, dripping fear and cunt, leaving your scent on every leaf you brush, every blade of grass you crush. did you think i wouldn’t follow? did you think i wouldn’t hunt? did you think i wouldn’t take?”
you whimper, thighs clenching instinctively, the slick between them betraying you in a hot, shameful rush that coats your inner thighs, that drips down your leg. he smells it instantly—head snapping down, eyes narrowing to slits of molten gold—and laughs, dark and low, the sound curling around your spine like his growl, making your knees buckle, making you wet. “already wet. knew you’d be a good girl. knew you’d cream yourself the second i caught you, the second you realized you were mine, the second you stopped pretending you didn’t want this.”
his claws shred your sweater in one swipe, fabric parting like tissue paper, the sound of ripping threads loud in the silence, final. cool air hits your bare breasts, nipples pebbling instantly into tight, aching peaks, and he groans, a guttural sound that makes your cunt clench around nothing, makes slick drip down your thigh in a slow, sticky trail. he dips his head, mouth closing over one nipple, tongue rough and hot, teeth grazing just enough to sting, to send sparks shooting straight to your core, to make you arch. you arch, hands flying to his hair—thick, coarse, threaded with silver under the moonlight—and he growls approval, the vibration buzzing through your breast as he switches to the other, sucking hard, relentless, until you’re sobbing, hips rolling against nothing, chasing friction that isn’t there, that you need, that you crave.
“jay—please—” your voice breaks, a plea and a prayer, but you don’t know which god you’re begging—him, maybe, the beast who’s claimed you without a word, who’s marked you with his scent, his teeth, his hunger.
“please what?” he pulls back, eyes feral, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of gold remains, glowing like embers in the dark. “please stop? or please fuck you right here against this tree until you can’t walk, until your legs give out and you’re dripping my cum, until you’re bred?” his claws drag down your sides, slow, deliberate, slicing through your shorts in a single, practiced motion, the fabric falling away to leave you bare, vulnerable, moonlight painting your skin in silver and shadow, highlighting every tremble, every flush, every mark. he steps back, just enough to look—your cunt glistening, thighs trembling, tail twitching uncontrollably, slick shining on your folds like dew—and licks his fangs, slow, savoring, like he’s tasting you already, like he’s memorizing. “look at you. soaked and shaking. bet you’ve been dreaming of this every night, fingers stuffed in that greedy little hole, pretending it was my cock, my knot, my cum, pretending it was me.”
you can’t answer. your voice is gone, stolen by the heat pooling low, by the way his claws tease the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, by the thick, musky scent of him—pine and smoke and alpha—filling your lungs until you’re dizzy, until your head spins, until you’re his. he drops to his knees, shoulders forcing your legs apart with bruising strength, claws digging into your hips just enough to warn, to hold, to claim, and buries his face between them without warning. his tongue is rough—long, thick, textured like velvet over steel—dragging from your entrance to your clit in one slow, filthy stroke that makes your knees buckle, makes you scream into the night, makes the forest hear. he pins your hips to the tree, claws pricking skin, drawing tiny beads of blood that he laps up with a growl, and devours.
he licks into you like he’s starving, nose pressed hard to your clit, growling into your folds until the vibration makes you see stars, until your legs shake so hard you’d fall if he wasn’t holding you up, if he wasn’t keeping you. his tongue fucks in and out, curling to lap at your walls, drinking down every gush of slick like it’s nectar, like it’s life, like it’s his. you come hard, sudden and shattering, gushing over his tongue, and he drinks it down, lapping every drop, teeth grazing your thighs as he marks them—bites that bloom red and purple, claiming, branding, mine. he doesn’t stop. he keeps licking, sucking, growling, until you’re sobbing, oversensitive, hips jerking away only for him to drag you back with a snarl. “stay still, bunny. alpha’s cleaning his mess. alpha’s tasting his prize. alpha’s marking what’s his.”
he stands, licking his lips, fangs glinting with your slick, your blood, and spins you with one hand, pressing your front to the tree. bark bites your breasts, your cheek, scraping skin raw, but you barely feel it over the ache between your legs, over the need, over the want. his claws rake down your back, not breaking skin, just teasing, raising goosebumps in their wake, and then his cock—hot, thick, knotted—nudges your entrance, the blunt head smearing through your folds, coating itself in your slick and his spit, in you. “gonna breed this little bunny cunt,” he snarls, voice shredded with lust, pushing in slow, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch until you’re sobbing, until your walls flutter around him, until you’re full. “gonna knot you, fill you, make you mine until you’re dripping my pups, until your belly swells with me, until you smell like me forever.”
you sob, clenching around him, the burn exquisite, the stretch impossible, perfect, right. he bottoms out with a growl, hips flush to your ass, balls heavy against your clit, and stills, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, every throb of his knot already swelling at the base, pressing against your entrance, promising. “fuck, so tight. made for me. made to take my cock, my come, my knots,” he groans, voice breaking on the last word, and you feel it—the way he’s holding back, the way he’s restraining himself for you, for this.
then he moves—hard, deep, relentless. the tree shakes with every thrust, bark flaking under your palms, your tits scraping raw, his claws digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, to mark, to claim. he reaches around, finds your clit, rubs brutal, precise circles until you’re screaming, coming again, pussy milking him in desperate, fluttering waves that make him growl, make his hips stutter, make him lose control. he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it, knot swelling, catching at your entrance with every drag out, until you’re babbling—please, jay, please, too much, can’t—until your voice is gone, until you’re nothing but sensation, nothing but his, nothing but prey.
he knots you with a roar that shakes the leaves from the branches, cock pulsing, flooding you with heat, come spilling out around the stretch in thick, creamy rivulets that drip down your thighs, pool on the roots below, mark the earth. you come again, vision whiting out, body shaking apart, ears ringing, tail twitching helplessly, sated. he stays locked inside, grinding slow, milking every aftershock, every clench, until you’re limp, boneless, held up only by his knot and the tree, by him, by alpha.
but he’s not done. not even close.
he pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, come dripping down your thighs in slow, sticky trails, and scoops you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you through the trees to a clearing ringed by ancient oaks, their roots twisting like fingers into the earth, like they’re watching. moonlight pools on soft moss, cool and damp, and he lays you down gentle, reverent, but his eyes are still feral, still hungry, still alpha. he eats you out again—slow, lazy, licking his own release from your cunt, tongue delving deep to scoop out every drop, to taste the mix of you and him until you’re sobbing, oversensitive, hips jerking away only for him to drag you back with a growl. “stay still, bunny. alpha’s cleaning his mess. alpha’s savoring. alpha’s preparing you for more.”
then he flips you onto your knees, chest pressed to the moss, ass in the air, tail twitching helplessly, and mounts you from behind, cock sliding home in one brutal thrust, knot catching immediately. he fucks you like an animal—hips snapping, claws digging into your waist, growling filth into your ear. “gonna breed you again. gonna keep you knotted all night. gonna fill this cunt until it can’t hold any more, until you’re swollen with me, until you leak me for days, until every bunny in the warren smells me on you.” he edges you mercilessly, pulling out when you’re teetering on the edge, cockhead dragging over your clit until you’re crying, begging—please, alpha, need it, need your knot, need your come—until your voice is gone, throat raw, tears soaking the moss, until you’re nothing but need, nothing but his.
he knots you twice more in the clearing, each time more intense, come overflowing, dripping down your thighs, pooling beneath you in a sticky mess that marks the earth as much as it marks you, that claims the forest itself. he marks every inch of you—neck, breasts, thighs, the soft fur of your ears—with bites and claws and scent, rubbing his wrists against your skin, your throat, your cunt, until you reek of him, until anyone who comes near will know you’re claimed, bred, owned, loved.
the first knot locks in with a wet, obscene sound, his hips grinding deep, grinding deeper, as if he could burrow into your womb and never leave. your body shakes, thighs trembling, toes curling into the moss as he floods you—hot, thick pulses of come painting your insides, spilling out around his knot in messy rivulets that soak your fur and the earth beneath. you feel it everywhere: the stretch, the burn, the fullness, the way your belly already feels heavier, warmer, claimed. he stays buried, chest heaving against your back, one massive paw splayed over your stomach like he’s already cradling what he’s put inside you.
he doesn’t let you rest. doesn’t let you think. the second he feels his knot soften—just enough to pull free with a filthy, wet pop—he flips you again, this time onto your back, legs shoved wide, knees hooked over his thick forearms. your ears flop against the moss, damp with tears and sweat, and he looks at you—really looks—eyes glowing gold in the dim light, pupils blown wide with hunger and something darker, something possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing.
“look at you,” he growls, voice rough as bark, “already leaking me. already mine.” he drags his cock through the mess between your thighs, smearing his spend over your clit, your folds, the soft fur of your mound, marking you with it like paint. then he lines up again and slams home, knot catching faster this time, your body so slick and open for him it takes him like it was made for this, like you were born for this.
this time he fucks you slow. cruel. every thrust deliberate, dragging over every sensitive spot inside you until you’re sobbing, arching, trying to chase the friction he denies you. he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding down to press just above your pubic bone, feeling himself move inside you, feeling the bulge of his cock beneath your skin. “feel that?” he snarls, teeth bared. “that’s me. that’s mine. gonna keep you like this—stuffed, swollen, dripping—until you can’t walk straight, until every step you take reminds you who you belong to.”
you come with a broken cry, walls fluttering around his knot, milking him as he grinds deep and spills again, more come, so much come, it gushes out around him, soaking your ass, your tail, the moss in a puddle that smells like sex and forest and him. he doesn’t pull out. just stays locked inside, licking the tears from your cheeks, nipping at your throat, your collarbone, the soft spot behind your ear where your scent is strongest.
“third time’s the charm,” he murmurs, voice softer now but no less dangerous, and you whimper because you know—you know he’s not done, know he’ll knot you again, breed you again, until you’re boneless and breathless and so full of him you’ll never be empty again.
he maneuvers you carefully this time, rolling you onto your side, one leg hooked over his hip, his knot still tying you together as he spoons you from behind. the position is almost tender—almost—except for the way his claws rake lightly down your belly, the way he growls every time your cunt flutters around him, the way he bites the back of your neck hard enough to bruise, to mark, to leave a brand that won’t fade for weeks.
the third knot swells slow, deliberate, his hips rocking in tiny, filthy circles that make you sob into the moss. he’s everywhere—inside you, around you, on you—his scent in your fur, his come in your womb, his teeth in your skin. when he finally comes, it’s with a guttural roar that shakes the leaves above, his cock pulsing so hard you feel it in your throat, come forcing its way out around his knot in thick, creamy waves that drip down your thighs in slow, obscene rivers.
he stays knotted longer this time. hours, maybe. the sun dips lower, painting the clearing in bruised golds and purples, and still he doesn’t move. just holds you, one arm banded under your breasts, the other splayed over your belly, thumb stroking the slight swell there like he’s already imagining it rounder, fuller, his.
“gonna keep you like this,” he whispers against your ear, voice hoarse from growling, from claiming. “gonna knot you every night. every morning. gonna breed you until you’re so full of me you can’t think of anything else. until your body knows me. until your cunt aches for me when i’m not inside you.”
you whimper, exhausted, oversensitive, but your hips still rock back against him, instinctive, needy, his. he chuckles—dark, satisfied—and licks a stripe up your throat, tasting salt and sex and you.
when his knot finally deflates, he doesn’t let you go far. just pulls out slow, watching with hungry eyes as his come gushes from your cunt in a thick, creamy flood, pooling between your thighs, soaking the moss in a claim that won’t wash away. he scoops some up with two fingers and pushes it back inside you, slow and deliberate, making you whine and clench around the intrusion.
“none of that,” he growls. “you keep it. you carry it.”
then he marks you again—rubbing his wrists over every inch of your skin, your throat, your breasts, the soft fur of your ears, the slick folds of your cunt—until you’re drenched in him, until you reek of him, until the forest itself smells like alpha and omega and mated.
he gathers you close as the stars come out, your body limp and trembling in his arms, come still leaking from you in slow, steady pulses. your tail twitches weakly against his thigh, and he presses a kiss to the bite mark on your neck, gentle now, almost reverent.
“mine,” he murmurs, voice soft but unbreakable. “all mine.”
and you are.
dawn creeps through the trees in pale gold fingers when he finally lets you rest, curled against his chest on the moss, his claws gentle now, stroking your ears with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, that makes you want to stay, to belong. “good bunny,” he murmurs, nosing your throat, scenting you one last time, his tongue lapping at the bite marks until they throb, until they heal under his care, until they’re permanent. “all mine. no more running. no more hiding. you’re home.”
you whimper, nuzzling closer, tail twitching against his thigh, slick and come drying sticky between your legs, on your skin, in your fur, in you. your body is wrecked—bruised, bitten, knotted raw—but you feel full, claimed, safe in a way you never did in the burrows, in a way you never thought you could, in a way you crave.
outside, the forest wakes, slow and deliberate, like a lover stretching after a long night of dreams. the first tentative chirp of a wren slices through the hush, answered by the rustle of leaves as a squirrel scampers along a branch overhead. dew clings to every blade of grass, every fern frond, every curling tendril of ivy that snakes up the ancient oaks. it catches the newborn light and fractures it into a thousand tiny rainbows, shimmering, fragile, untouched. the air is crisp, carrying the sharp bite of pine and the sweeter undertone of crushed blackberries from some distant thicket. a breeze stirs, cool and clean, lifting the scent of earth and moss and wild mint, weaving through the clearing like a promise that the world keeps turning, indifferent to the storm that just raged within it.
the sun climbs higher, spilling gold between the leaves in lazy, slanted beams that warm the moss where you lie, still tangled in him, still full of him. the light catches on the slick mess between your thighs, turning the pearly rivulets of his come into liquid silver that drips slow and steady from your swollen cunt. it pools beneath you, soaking into the earth, marking the forest floor with the proof of what he’s done, what you begged him to do. the ground drinks it greedily, just as you did, just as you still do, your body clenching weakly around the ghost of his knot even now, hours later, trying to keep every drop inside.
inside, you’re his. there is no other word for it. no softer way to say it. every inch of you bears the brand of his claiming, his teeth in the tender slope where neck meets shoulder, deep enough to bruise, to scar, to stay. his claws have left delicate crescents along your hips, your thighs, the soft curve of your waist, thin lines of red that bead with blood and then crust over, tiny constellations mapping the places he held you down, held you open, held you still while he took what was already his. his scent is everywhere, in your fur, your skin, the damp curls between your legs, the hollow of your throat where he rubbed his wrists again and again until the glands there wept their oily musk into your pores. you reek of him. you are him. alpha. mate. owner. the words circle in your mind like a prayer, like a curse, like the only truth left in the world.
and you don’t want to run anymore.
the thought arrives soft, almost shy, curling in your chest like smoke. you test it, roll it over your tongue the way you once tested the idea of escape, of burrows and warrens and the safety of numbers. back when you were just a bunny with quick feet and a quicker heart, when the forest was a maze of shadows to dart through, when alpha was a word hissed in warning around the fire, a shape in the dark that made kits whimper and does clutch their ears flat against their skulls. back then, running was instinct. it was breath and blood and the thunder of your pulse in your ears. it was the only thing that kept you alive.
but now.
now your legs won’t hold you. now your cunt throbs with the ache of being used, stretched, bred, and the ache is sweet, is right, is a hymn you want to sing with every step you’ll never take again. now the thought of leaving this clearing, of washing his scent from your fur, of letting the wind steal his come from between your thighs, it makes you whine low in your throat, a broken, needy sound that has him tightening his arms around you, his chest rumbling with a growl that’s half comfort, half warning.
“easy, little one,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, the fur there damp with his spit and your tears. “i’ve got you.”
you believe him. gods help you, you believe him.
you want to stay. here, in this moss-soft cradle of earth and root and sky. here, where the birds are singing the sun higher and the dew is already starting to steam off the leaves. here, where his cock is half-hard against the small of your back, where his knot has finally, finally deflated enough for him to slip free, but he hasn’t. he’s still inside you, shallow and lazy, rocking in tiny, gentle thrusts that make you flutter and gasp and leak even more of him onto the ground. you want to stay knotted. you want to stay bred. you want to stay his. forever.
the word blooms in your mind like blood in water. forever. it should terrify you. it should send you scrambling for the underbrush, ears pinned, heart jackrabbit-fast. instead, it settles in your bones like warm honey, thick and golden and inevitable. you turn your face into the crook of his neck, nuzzle the thick fur there, inhale lungfuls of his scent, pine and smoke and hot iron and sex, until your head spins. your tongue darts out, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint copper of the scratch you left on his shoulder when you came the third time, claws digging in as he’d snarled mine, mine, mine against your throat.
he chuckles, low and rough, and the sound vibrates through your chest, through the place where your heart is trying to crawl out and nest inside his. “greedy bunny,” he says, and there’s fondness there, sharp as his teeth. “thought you’d had enough.”
“never,” you whisper, and it’s the truth. your voice is wrecked, hoarse from screaming, from begging, from praying his name like it could save you, like it could damn you. you clear your throat, try again. “never enough. want, want you always. want your knot. want your pups. want, want to smell like you until the stars fall.”
his arms tighten, almost painful, and then he’s rolling you, slow and careful, until you’re straddling his hips, his cock sliding deeper with the shift in angle. you both groan. you’re so full already, so ruined, but your body opens for him like it was carved for this purpose, like every inch of you was designed to take him and keep him and love him. he cups your face, thumbs smearing the tears and dirt and come across your cheeks, and his eyes, gold and glowing and ancient, search yours.
“say it again,” he demands, voice gravel and thunder. “say it so the forest hears. so the gods hear.”
you lean down, press your forehead to his, and let the words spill out raw and shaking and true. “i’m yours. bred. claimed. knotted. loved. forever. i don’t want to run. i want to stay. i want, want your teeth in my neck every night. want your come in my belly every morning. want your pups kicking inside me. want to leak you for days, weeks, years. want every bunny in every warren to smell you on me and know i’m taken. know i’m happy.”
his growl is a storm, a benediction, a vow. he surges up, claims your mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperation, tasting himself on your lips, tasting you. when he pulls back, his eyes are wet. yours are too. neither of you care.
“then you’ll have it,” he says, fierce and soft all at once. “all of it. every knot. every drop. every pup. every sunrise with my cock inside you and my teeth in your skin. you’ll never be empty again, little one. never be alone. never be anything but mine.”
you nod, frantic, and then he’s moving again, slow, deep rolls of his hips that make you sob with overstimulation, with joy. the clearing spins. the birds keep singing. the dew keeps glittering. the world keeps turning. but inside this circle of moss and come and fur and love, time stops. there is only the wet slide of him inside you, the stretch of your cunt around his thickening knot, the way your belly already feels warmer, heavier, changed. there is only the way he holds you like you’re fragile and unbreakable all at once, the way he whispers filth and devotion in equal measure, the way your bodies fit together like they were never meant to be apart.
when his knot catches this time, it’s gentle. almost sweet. he locks inside you with a sigh instead of a snarl, buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, like you’re air, like you’re life. you come quietly, a soft, rolling wave that leaves you trembling and clinging, your walls milking him in slow, lazy pulses that draw his own release out in thick, endless spurts. you feel it everywhere, in your cunt, your womb, your blood. you feel claimed. you feel whole.
after, he doesn’t pull out. just holds you close, one massive hand splayed over your lower belly, thumb tracing circles over the faint swell there. the sun is high now, beating down warm on your fur, but you’re sweating for other reasons. your thighs are sticky, your cunt is throbbing, your heart is so full it hurts. you’re leaking again, his come and yours mixing in a slow trickle that drips down his balls, onto the moss, into the earth. the forest drinks it. the forest knows.
“gonna build you a nest,” he murmurs against your ear, voice drowsy and satisfied. “right here. softest moss, sweetest clover. gonna line it with my fur so you never forget who keeps you warm. gonna fuck you in it every night until the moon wanes and waxes again. gonna watch your belly grow round and heavy with me. gonna lick the milk from your breasts when it comes in. gonna teach our pups to hunt and to love and to claim what’s theirs.”
you whimper, hips rocking instinctively, a tiny, helpless roll that drags his knot along your oversensitive walls. the motion sparks lightning behind your eyelids, and he groans, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. his knot pulses inside you, thick and hot, answering your body’s plea with another lazy surge of come that pushes past the seal and trickles warm down your thighs. “yes,” you breathe, voice cracked and small, barely louder than the breeze. “yes, alpha. please. want it. want all of it.”
he kisses you again, slower this time, reverent. his tongue traces the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, slipping inside to taste the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your surrender. he maps every corner of your mouth like he’s charting territory he intends to rule forever: the sharp edge of your teeth, the soft give of your tongue, the little hitch in your breath when he sucks gently on your lower lip. when he pulls back, his smile is crooked and fond and a little bit wicked, gold eyes glittering with promises that make your cunt flutter around him all over again. “then rest, little bunny,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across your swollen mouth. “you’ll need your strength. because when this knot goes down, i’m flipping you over and starting again. and again. and again. until the only thing you know how to say is my name. until the only thing you are is mine.”
the words settle in your bones like warm stones. you close your eyes, burrow into his chest, and let the forest sing you to sleep. the birds keep chirping, bright trills that stitch the morning together. the dew keeps shining, catching the sun in tiny prisms that dance across your fur. the world keeps turning, indifferent and ancient and alive.
but you, you’re still. you’re his. and you’re not going anywhere.
his heartbeat thuds steady beneath your ear, a drum that lulls you deeper. each pulse echoes the throb of his knot inside you, a matched rhythm that says stay, stay, stay. your own heart answers, softer, faster, a frantic little drum of yes, yes, yes. you can feel the slow drag of his claws through your fur, not scratching now, just petting, soothing the places he ravaged earlier. the sting of bite marks flares and fades under his touch, pleasure-pain braided so tight you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. his scent is everywhere: pine smoke, crushed moss, the sharp musk of sex and satisfaction. it clings to your tongue when you breathe, coats the back of your throat, sinks into your blood until you’re certain if someone cut you open they’d find him written in every drop.
sleep tugs at you, but you fight it just long enough to catalog the ache between your legs, the delicious ruin of being used so thoroughly. your cunt is swollen, slick, stretched around the thick base of his knot like it was molded for this purpose. every tiny shift sends a fresh pulse of come oozing out, warm and sticky, painting your thighs, his hips, the moss beneath. the earth drinks it greedily, the same way you drank him down, greedy and grateful and changed. you feel heavy with him, belly warm and full, the faint cramping deep inside already shifting into something softer, something that whispers ours. it’s too soon for certainty, but your body knows. your body remembers. every thrust, every snarl, every hot flood of seed painting your womb. you clench experimentally, and he groans again, hips jerking just enough to make you gasp.
“be still, bunny,” he rumbles, but there’s no heat in it, only fond exasperation. his hand slides down to cup your ass, holding you flush against him, keeping his knot seated deep. “let me keep you full.”
you nod against his chest, nuzzle into the thick fur there, and finally let sleep take you. it’s a gentle fall, like sinking into sun-warmed water. dreams come in fragments: his teeth in your throat, his cock splitting you open, the weight of a belly rounded with his pups. you dream of a burrow lined with his shed fur and soft clover, of mornings spent licking milk from your own breasts while he watches with hungry eyes, of nights spent knotted and breathless and loved. you dream of never running again.
when you wake, the sun has climbed higher, slanting golden bars across the clearing. his knot has softened, but he hasn’t moved. hasn’t let you go. his cock is half-hard inside you, nestled in the mess he made, and when you shift experimentally he growls low, fingers tightening on your hip. “told you,” he says, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction. “again.”
this time he’s gentle at first, rolling you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you’re on your knees, chest pressed to the moss. he enters you slow, savoring the wet heat, the way your body parts for him like it’s been waiting its whole life for this. his hands roam your back, tracing the ladder of your spine, the curve of your waist, the swell of your ass. he fucks you in long, deep strokes that make you sob into the earth, make your toes curl, make your tail twitch helplessly against his stomach. when his knot catches, it’s with a sigh instead of a snarl, and he folds himself over you, chest to your back, arms caging you in.
“mine,” he whispers against your ear, and you echo it back, voice broken and blissful. “yours.”
he stays knotted longer this time, rocking gently, letting the aftershocks ripple through you both. when he finally slips free, he doesn’t let the emptiness last. two fingers scoop the come dripping from your cunt and push it back inside, slow and deliberate, making you whine and clench and beg. “keep it,” he says, voice dark with possession. “keep me inside you always.”
you nod, frantic, and he gathers you close, arranging you so you’re facing him, legs tangled, his cock soft but still pressed against your belly. he licks the tears from your cheeks, the sweat from your throat, the come from the corner of your mouth where it leaked when you screamed. his tongue is rough, reverent, marking you all over again with scent and spit and love.
outside, the forest keeps waking. a fox barks somewhere distant. a stream giggles over stones. the wind combs through the leaves, carrying the scent of rain on the horizon. inside this circle of moss and fur and come, time is measured in heartbeats and knots and the slow drag of his claws through your pelt. you are boneless, breathless, his. your cunt throbs with the memory of him, your womb aches with the weight of his seed, your skin sings with every bruise and bite and scratch. you are marked in ways that will never fade, claimed in ways that will never break.
and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
you press your face to his chest, breathe him in until your lungs burn, and whisper the only truth left: “again.”
his laugh is low, delighted, dangerous. “greedy little thing,” he says, and flips you over.
the birds keep singing. the dew keeps shining. the world keeps turning.
but you, you’re still. you’re his. and you’re not going anywhere.
warnings: breeding, talks of pregnancy, age gap, dilf yunho, size kink, etc.
a/n: this is one of my favorites, clean up aisle- my pants !
enjoy.
The dad of the sweet little girl you babysat during the week was too much for your poor heart.
The gentle way his hands settled on your waist when he walked behind you, when you were in the kitchen making yourself a glass of water.
The lingering looks you could feel on your exposed legs when you wore shorts around his house.
The dreams you would have of him late at night, fogging up his glasses and taking everything he'd be willing to give.
The way his hands softly curled a lock of your hair around his finger when he looked down at you while you two talked, the look in his eyes, much more than attentive.
How he treated you like a sweet, chaste little girl, nibbling on the nail of his thumb, never being able to pull his eyes from you when he watched you move around his home like you belonged.
"Would you like me to reach that for you sweetheart?"
"Be careful, you could cut yourself darling."
"Bundle up, love. Or you could catch a cold."
You knew what you were doing, or at least you thought you did. But Yunho liked games, so, he played along.
You called him, "Mr. Jeong." A respectful title, one that rolled off your tongue too sultrily for Yunho’s taste.
He had a plethora of little names for you, referring to you as a little minx to his coworkers whenever they asked about how the new babysitter was faring.
He admired the way you cared for his daughter like she was your own, your smile when you played doctor with her, and your blooming creativity when she asked you to draw with her.
You were perfect in every way. Yunho's favorite part of the day was when he arrived home from work, after having put his daughter to bed. You both would share a fufilling dinner, you'd tell him about the day you and his daughter had, branch off into talks about school and how life had been treating you.
And then Yunho'd send you home, with your wage in hand and a less than innocent smile as he watched every step you took as you walked down his driveway, got into your car, and drove home into the night.
Not tonight, though; tonight was different.
Yunho wasn't home yet. You assumed he had a late-running meeting. His daughter was sound asleep in her bed, the house quiet as you were the only soul awake inside.
You wandered about as you waited for Mr. Jeong to arrive home, scrolling on your phone and passing the time.
That's when you walked past his closed bedroom door. On the second floor, the closed door beckoned to you. Yunho never really gave you any restrictions as to where you could or could not go in terms of bedrooms in the house. You were curious as to what his living space was like. Where he spent most of his time when he wasn't working, a person's room can say a lot about them.
You held your hand over the knob, listening to make sure he hadn't gotten home yet, before gripping and twisting it, pushing the door open softly.
Immediately, the smell is what you noticed first. The whole space smelled like him. Powdery, aromatic, woodsy. Fresh, clean, and sexy. The next thing you noticed was how his room looked clean, but lived in. A few ties draped over his chair near the shuttered window that overlooked the backyard pool, which you had spent many a time floating in. The open walk in closet and the ruffled sheets that hinted at a rushed morning routine.
You found yourself gravitating to his bed, sitting down on the edge, and taking in the space. Degrees laminated on his wall, a few plants placed in corners of the room, a collection of watches sitting on his desk inside an open ashwood lock box. You stood and walked to his open closet, stepping inside and looking around.
A wide array of clothes on hangers, the walk-in so large it could possibly count as another small bedroom, and miscellaneous items scattered on the top shelves. Your hands found the sleeves of one of his button-up shirts, running your fingers over the soft fabric. lost in your own little world as you intruded on your employer's space.
Click!
The sound of the closet door shutting, and before you could turn around, the room was shrouded in darkness, the light having been turned off.
Before any sound could esxape your mouth, a soft, large hand pressed over your mouth, a chest molded to your back as your front was urged against the closet wall. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, feeling undeinably big compared to you.
"Hello, sweet girl." Yunho's familar, saccharine tone dripped over your ears, and immediately you felt your body relax in his hold, and maybe the way you melted into his unexpected touch should have concerned you, but you could not find it in you to care.
"If you're looking for your paycheck, it certainly isn't in here." Even in the pitch black darkness, you could imagine the face he'd be making right now. Playful, teasing.
His hand slowly slipped from over your mouth, his fingers gently grazing your cheeks, along your chin, before finding its home at the base of your throat.
"Sorry, Mr. Jeong..." you muttered, sounding pathetic as you were unable to mask the need in your voice as you shivered under his touch. You felt his lips press against the shell of your ear, a low chuckle from him, then he pressed himself further against your back, forcing you closer to the wall.
His broad chest easily shrouding your smaller back, you felt so small in his arms and it made your blood rush with excitement. Anytime you had a conversation with him, you had to mask the giddiness in your voice when you took notice you had to physically crane your neck upward to meet his gaze. Or how when he hands you your paycheck, and his considerable, rugged hands brushed over yours.
"It's okay, sweetheart, don't apologize. You were probably just wondering where I was, weren't you?" His tone was condescending, like he knew the real answer, knew the nasty effect he had on your mind and your body.
You nodded, a barely there whimper bouncing around the dark room. Yunho groaned quietly, smiling as he pressed a whisper of a kiss against the side of your throat.
"Did you miss me?" His voice was barely a whisper, so quiet and so gentle it went straight to your gut. He felt you squirm against him, and he had his answer.
His free hand ghosted down your chest, over your stomach until it landed right above the waistband of your shorts. Unable to see anything, every part of your body felt like it was on fire. His hand stopped, waiting for you to push him off or tell him no. Instead, you pushed your hips back so your ass rubbed against his crotch, a hiss escaping his lips.
So he let his hands slip beneath your shorts, his fingers finding your embarrassingly soaked cunt. "Oh, baby..." he moaned into the crook of your neck, his fingers spreading your lips open beneath your panties, a soft whine hitting his ears as you keened into his touch. He inhaled deeply, sighing at your sweet sugary perfume that curled around his senses, and he felt lightheaded.
He slipped his fingers up your slit, the wetness so profound you could both hear it in the silent confines of the closet, and Yunho thought his brain was going to short-circuit.
"So fucking cute," he murmured, cooing when his fingertips slipped over your clit and you gasped at the sensation. Quickly, he turned your body around so your back was pressed against the wall. He fumbled in the dark until his hand found the light switch, flicking the light back on.
His cheeks were flushed and his pupils were blown wide, breathing heavily with a look in his eyes that was so far from pure you weren’t even sure if you were looking at Mr. Jeong right now.
He swallowed your lips in a filthy kiss as his hands rushed to pull your shorts down your legs, letting the fall to the soft carpeted floor. His fingers were back on you, trailing a ghost of a path from your bellybutton, over your mound, then slipping between your lips coating themselves in your arousal. He circles your entrance teasingly, grinning when you gasped at his touch. His fingers were freezing cold.
Languidly, taking his sweet time, Yunho slid his soft fingers inside your cunt. Yunho's fingers were long, perfectly so they sat against that spot inside of you that made you arch into him, your moans breathless as you felt him inside of you.
Your hands gripped his shoulders as his other hand slipped beneath your thigh, urging you to follow.
"Jump," he whispered against your lips, and you did. He pressed his body against yours, holding you to the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist, his fingers curling as he stretched you open, moving in deliberate, perpetual patterns deep inside of you.
You moaned around his tongue as he let it slide over yours, his kisses greedy and sloppy, fingers circling over your G-spot tantalizingly slow, but with just enoguh pressure that your thighs shook around him.
"You're so sweet, baby." Yunho pulled his lips from yours, kissing the corner of your mouth, smiling at the way your eyes watered and your mouth fell open when his fingers curled particularly roughly. "Want me to fuck you, huh? Wanna scream and cry for me like the good girl I know you are?"
"Yes, please, Mr. Jeong!" you cried, kissing him again as you begged for his touch. He pulled away from your lips, breathing heavily like it hurt to not kiss you. He reached up and slid his foggy glasses off his face, setting them on the shelf before he swallowed your lips again, groaning unabashedly at your taste.
When he was sure you were soaked and stretched enough, he slipped his fingers out of you, the slick sound deafening.
He brought them to his lips, slipping them into his mouth, his eyes nearly rolling when your taste hit his tongue. His hands fiddleed with his belt, the metal clanking loudly as he shoved his boxers down just enough to free his cock.
Thick, intimidatingly long, and you understood why he spent the time stretching you out. "Didn't wanna hurt you, baby," Yunho purrs against your lips, sliding the length of his through your dripping folds, lubing himself up with your slick. "That can wait for another day, when I put you in your place for snooping in rooms you don't belong."
You whined unashamedly at the guise of there being a next time, and the shameful thought of Yunho administering a punishment for your behavior.
When he was coated in your arousal, he lined himself up with your entrance, your legs tightening round his hips in anticipation. Sliding one hand behind your neck, cupping the back of it, and pressing your forehead to his, his eyes locking with yours, barely even blinking. Painfully slow, Yunho pushed himself into you, keeping your neck in place so you couldn't look away, smirking when your eyes rolled and your lids fluttered when you felt him stretch you out.
Unable to escape his burning gaze, his eyes drank every micro expression on your face, and you felt his cock jump inside of you once there was no space left between your hips, filled to the brim wth him.
He only held the back of your neck tighter, pulling his hips back and thrusting in with such a force that your breath caught in your throat. The pressure was unbearable, and the pleasure was enough to immediately knock you stupid.
Yunho grinned, keeping his hand on your neck while the other gripped the underside of your thigh, helping support you against the wall as he ravaged. And still he never pulled his eyes away from you.
Lips just barely hovering over yours, so close you could feel the skin, but never quite kissing you, your breaths and moans mingling together in the air, eyes half lidded and watery, taking everything he was giving you.
Every slip of his cock in and out of your cunt made your thigh twitch in his hold, effortlessly sliding against that spot inside of you, like he already knew where to angle his hips.
"You're so dirty, baby," he cooed against your mouth, lightly biting yout bottom lip, smiling when a particularly rough thrust sent your moans up in pitch. "Snooping around my room when I'm not home, letting me fuck you against the wall, taking it all-" he punctuated each word with a deep stroke. "So. Fucking. Well."
The eye contact was killing you, and you could already feel yourself flying towards your orgasm. "Yuhno- please, sir, I'm close."
Yunho growled, the honorific making his skin prickle and his dick throb. "Yeah, you close? Want me to cum in this pussy? Fill you up? Fuck a baby into you, huh?"
It should have scared you, make you second-guess your already bad decision. But you moaned loudly, clenched around him, and came all over his cock like a bitch in heat, as he fucked you through it. The way your body reacted to his words alone told him all he needed to know, and his mood switched like a light.
Rough, claiming, and unforgiving, Yunho drove his cock into you, the wet slapping echoing around the closet, filthy. Squeezing the back of your neck, he kissed you as he fucked you through your orgasm, sucking on your tongue, kissing you like he was trying to swallow your breath.
"Sweet girl wants me to breed her, huh?" he teased into your mouth, the hand on your thigh moving to press against your lower stomach. "Gonna fill you up, right here." He pressed down, emphasizing his point, and he could feel his cock through your tummy, eyes rolling at how big he felt inside of you.
You were crying now, hot tears spilling down your cheeks, the pleasure undeniably riveting, losing your mind to the feeling.
"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm going to make you a mommy... gonna fucking breed you, baby. You'll take it right, won't you?" Yunho felt you clench again, and he knew you were cumming. You were perfect, so willing to him, so sweet and so lovely. He'd love for you to give him another kid, maybe a boy this time.
A few more deep thrusts, and Yunho stuttered his hips, cumming inside you with a sinful groan into your open mouth, eyes finally closing as he came down from his high. His hips stilled for a moment before he began slowly moving again, barely giving either of you time to catch your breath. "Can't let any slip out, hm? Gotta make sure you stay full of me."
You whimpered, overstimulation setting in your poor cunt, the slick sound of his cum mixing with yours echoing in your ears as he began to fuck deep up into you again.
"Don't whine, you know we have to make sure it works right, sweetheart?" Yunho pressed his lips against the shell of your warm ear, and you felt him smile against it, his hips finding a rhythm again. His free hand slid up to cover your mouth, muffling your sweet, overstimulated whines and loud cries for mercy.
