myun9ho

"breathe, y/n, stay with me." jaemin’s voice cut through the heavy fog clouding your mind. his hand was wrapped tightly around yours, grounding you, his thumb brushing against your trembling knuckles. "donghyuck, file a report now," jaemin ordered, his tone sharp and urgent. donghyuck doesn't hesitate, already pulling out his phone, dialing the police with shaky fingers.

but you couldn’t move. your body refused to. the world felt muffled, far away. your thoughts ran wild, colliding, scattering. only one thing was clear—jun. your son. your baby. the only piece of love you had left in this godforsaken world.

"y/n!" jeno’s voice pierced through the chaos as he shoved past the crowd, eyes wide, heart pounding. he looked between you and jaemin, voice strained. "what’s going on?"

"she must’ve taken him away!" you screamed, the words tearing out of you like they had been clawing at your throat for hours. your glare found jeno, sharp, accusing, and desperate. he froze. confusion flashed, then realisation hit like a blow to his chest. he looked around—donghyuck whispering frantically into the phone, jaemin steadying your shaking form, and you… eyes wild with fear.

the “she” in question—he knew who it was.

his lover.

and “him”— his only son, jun.

the air around you shattered. anger, grief, panic—all tangled and suffocating. you stumbled forward, pushing against jaemin’s grip. "i have to find him," you said, your voice breaking.

"y/n, wait—" jaemin caught you by the arm, pulling you close, his voice low, trembling but firm. "listen to me, you can’t run around like this. you’re not thinking straight. i’ll get the car. just… just stay here, okay? please. i’ll be right back."

he squeezed your shoulders, searching your eyes until you nodded, barely holding it together. then he ran off toward the parking lot.

and then jeno appeared again. breathless. disheveled. guilt written all over his face. "where is she?" you shouted, stepping closer until he had to stumble back. "where did she take him? where did that bitch take my son?"

"y/n—" his voice cracked. his phone was in his hand, trembling, the screen showing soomin’s name flashing. "i’m calling her—i’m trying to—i swear, i don’t know!"

"don’t lie to me!" you shoved him hard in the chest. jeno staggered back, barely catching his balance. your vision blurred with tears and rage.

"you did this!" you screamed, your voice raw. "you brought her into our lives! you let her near him! everything i love—everything that mattered to me—is gone because of you!"

jeno’s lips parted, but no words came. only a broken sound—half sob, half breath. he looked at you like he’d been hit, eyes glassy, his chest heaving. "i didn’t know," he whispered, voice trembling. "y/n, i didn’t know she’d—"

"you never know, do you?" you spat, your tears finally spilling. "not until it’s too late."

silence hung heavy between you—shattered only by the sound of sirens in the distance, drawing closer. jeno’s hand was still on his phone, but it had slipped to his side, forgotten.

you turned away before he could say another word, your knees weak, your heart breaking all over again. jaemin’s car screeched to a stop nearby, "y/n!" he called out, practically jumping out of the care to get you.

you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. because if you did, you’d see the devastation in jeno’s eyes—the same kind that mirrored your own.

jeno’s heart stopped the second your front door slammed behind you and jaemin. at first, he tried to tell himself everything was fine—that you were just upset, that jaemin would calm you down, that this wasn’t the worst thing it looked like.

his mind shot straight to his son, to every worst-case scenario a parent should never have to imagine. if anything happened—if even one thing went wrong—he would never forgive himself. not now, not ever.

he shot to his feet, almost stumbling as he sprinted toward the parking lot. his fingers trembled around his phone, thumb slamming the call button over and over.

“pick up, damn it—”

but the ringing didn’t even last.

straight to voicemail.

“fuck!” he barked out, voice cracking with fear as he fumbled for his keys. his heartbeat was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else as he ran to get his car.

meanwhile in jaemin’s car, time had lost all meaning.

you sat folded forward, elbows braced against your knees, hands buried in your hair as if you could physically hold your thoughts still. your breathing was shallow and uneven, each inhale scraping painfully against your chest.

the world outside the windshield moved in cruel slow motion. traffic lights lingered on red. cars crawled forward at an infuriating pace. every second stretched thin and taut, threatening to snap.

jun.

his face flashed behind your eyes, sleepy smiles, sticky hands, the way he called you mummy when he was scared. your chest tightened until it hurt, a sob lodging painfully in your throat. you pressed your palms harder against your temples, as if that might quiet the panic screaming inside your head.

jaemin noticed everything.

the way your shoulders shook.

the way your breaths stuttered.

the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together.

his grip on the steering wheel tightened. he hesitated—because touching you felt like crossing a line he didn’t know if he was allowed to cross anymore. but then you let out a broken sound, halfway between a gasp and a sob, and instinct took over.

slowly, carefully, he reached out.

his hand settled on your arm lightly. the contact made your breath hitch violently. your teeth sank into your lower lip as tears finally spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. you tried to stop them—you really did—but fear had hollowed you out from the inside, and there was nothing left to hold it back.

“i shouldn’t have…” your voice cracked, barely audible. “i shouldn’t have pursued the case.”

the words fell out like a confession.

jaemin’s head snapped toward you, eyes dark with concern.

“if i didn’t—if i just kept my head down—jun would be home. he’d be safe.” your shoulders shook harder now. “i should’ve known better. i should’ve—”

“no.”

the word cut through the air, firm despite the tremor beneath it.

you shook your head, tears streaming freely now. “this is my fault—”

“it’s not,” jaemin said, voice stronger, urgent. his hand tightened just slightly, anchoring you. “listen to me. you did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

the car rolled forward another few feet. another red light loomed ahead like a cruel joke.

“you protected your son,” he continued, jaw clenched. “you fought for the better of this society so that he can have a good future. you didn’t stay quiet when something was wrong. that doesn’t make you responsible for this—it makes you a good mother.”

your breath shuddered, a sob tearing free as you covered your face.

jaemin swallowed hard. “i’m going to find him i promise,” he said, the promise heavy, unbreakable. “i swear to you. i don’t care what it takes or who i have to talk to—I will bring jun back to you safely.”

you looked at him then, eyes red and glassy, clinging to his words like they were the only solid thing left in the world. jaemin’s jaw tightened when your gaze met his, the fear there mirroring his own. “but i need you to stay strong too,” he said quietly, voice gentle despite the tension running through it. “you cannot collapse now.”

you nodded, even though your body felt like it was on the verge of giving out. your fingers reached for his hand almost instinctively, curling around it where it rested on your arm. the warmth of his skin seeped into yours, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you desperately needed. your chest loosened just slightly, the crushing anxiety easing enough for you to draw a fuller breath.

you didn’t say thank you. you couldn’t. but jaemin seemed to understand anyway.

he traffic light flicked to green.

jaemin stepped on the accelerator without hesitation, the car surging forward. his mind was already racing ahead, mapping routes, possibilities, contingencies. first, he needed to get you home—somewhere safe, somewhere you could breathe, somewhere he could think clearly without watching you unravel beside him.

his phone buzzed.

then buzzed again.

and again.

each vibration felt like a warning.

jaemin glanced down briefly at the screen when traffic slowed, his grip tightening on the wheel as donghyuck’s name filled the display over and over. he opened the messages with a sinking feeling in his gut.

lee donghyuck: checked with the school.

lee donghyuck: cctv footage is gone.

lee donghyuck: teachers said jun was last seen at the sandbox.

lee donghyuck: alone.

the word alone hit like a punch to the chest.

jaemin swallowed hard, his jaw locking as his eyes flicked back to the road. the city suddenly felt too open, too exposed—every passing street another place where something could have gone wrong. his fingers flexed unconsciously around yours, grip firming as if to reassure both of you at once.

your breath caught when you noticed the shift in him. “what is it?” you whispered, voice fragile, afraid of the answer before it even came.

jaemin didn’t answer right away. he exhaled slowly through his nose, steadying himself—because he had just told you not to collapse, and the last thing you needed was to see him do the same.

“donghyuck checked with the school,” he said carefully. “the cctv tapes… they’re gone.”

your hand tightened around his.

“jun was last seen at the sandbox,” jaemin continued, his voice low, controlled. “he was alone.”

the words settled between you like something heavy and unforgiving.

your heart stuttered painfully in your chest, fear surging back up so fast it made you dizzy. the image of jun sitting by himself—small, vulnerable, unaware—flooded your mind, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from breaking apart again.

“alone?” you echoed faintly, like saying it out loud might make it less real.

jaemin tightened his hold on you, just slightly. grounding. “we don’t know how long,” he said carefully. “and we don’t know who saw him. but someone did. kids don’t just disappear without leaving a trace.”

your breathing started to spiral again, sharp inhales cutting short in your chest. “what if—” your voice broke. “what if he followed someone? he’s so trusting, jaemin. he talks to everyone.”

jaemin’s jaw clenched. the thought crossed his mind too—jun’s easy smiles, his curiosity, the way he believed the world was kind because the people who raised him tried so hard to make it so.

“hey,” jaemin said softly, glancing at you when traffic slowed. “look at me for a second.”

you did, reluctantly. your vision blurred, but you saw the resolve there. not panic. not doubt. resolve.

“we’re not going to spiral,” he said. “not yet. we’re going to do this properly.” he took a breath. “we’ll go home first. you need to sit down. the police are already on it and jisung's also driving around on a lookout. ”

your throat tightened. “and jeno?”

jaemin didn’t answer immediately. his grip on the wheel shifted, knuckles whitening.

“he’s probably already on the road,” jaemin said finally. “and panicking.” guilt twisted painfully in your chest. jeno’s face flashed in your mind—his fear, his desperation, the way his voice cracked when he said jun’s name earlier.

“this is my fault,” you whispered again, the words automatic, like a wound you kept pressing just to see if it still hurt.

jaemin shook his head sharply. “no no. stop.” his tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for argument. “nobody could've seen this coming."

the car turned into your street. familiar houses blurred past, looking wrong somehow—too normal, too untouched by the terror tearing through you.

when jaemin pulled into the driveway, he didn’t turn off the engine right away. he looked at you, really looked at you, like he was committing this moment to memory.

“you’re not alone in this,” he said. “do you hear me?”

your lips trembled. you nodded.

inside the house, everything felt frozen in time. jun’s sports shoes by the door. dino-chan that he loved so much sitting by the sofa. the silence was deafening.

the moment you stepped inside, your knees nearly gave out.

jaemin caught you immediately, steady hands on your arms. “sit,” he urged, guiding you to the couch. “just sit.” you did, curling inward, arms wrapping around yourself like that might hold you together.

jaemin pulled his phone out again. messages were still coming in. missed calls now—jeno’s name flashing across the screen.

he hesitated for half a second.

then he answered.

“jaemin,” jeno’s voice came through raw and frantic. “have you received any updates yet?” the question hung in the air and heavy.

jaemin closed his eyes briefly before replying. “we don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “but we’re working on it. the school’s cctv was wiped. last sighting was the sandbox.”

there was a sharp inhale on the other end. “how about y/n? is she okay?” jeno asked. even at times like this, jeno couldn't help but worry about you.

jaemin glanced across the room, catching sight of you hunched over the dining table, shoulders drawn inward like you were trying to disappear. “we’re back at her place,” he said quietly. “i’m trying to calm her down. you should come over.”

“no. she definitely doesn't want me around. i'm only going to make everything worse.” jeno said quietly, voice almost defeated.

“trust me, she needs you.” jaemin insisted. because if there's anything that he's learnt in the years of watching the two of you, it was that the two of you were each other's emotional pillars. you steadied one another in ways no one else could. and that's the very thing that jaemin was envious of since university days.

jeno doesn't answer and instead, the line went dead.

jaemin turned back to you. you were staring at nothing, eyes unfocused, like your mind had already gone somewhere dark. he crouched in front of you, lowering himself to your level. “jeno's on his way,” he said gently. “we’re all here now. we move together.”

your eyes finally filled again. “what if he’s scared?” you whispered. “what if he’s calling for me and i’m not there?”

that was the moment jaemin’s composure cracked—just a fraction.

he reached up, cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. “then we find him faster,” he said, voice thick. “because he has people who love him enough to tear the world apart if we have to.”

outside, a car screeched to a stop.

jeno had arrived.

jeno barely made it to the door before pounding on it. the sound cracked through the house like a gunshot, sharp and desperate. jaemin was already moving, opening it just as jeno stumbled inside, breath ragged, eyes wild like an animal caught in a trap.

“have we heard anything from the school other than what we know yet?” jeno demanded, voice breaking on the last word. his gaze swept the living room, the hallway, the stairs—every place jun should’ve been.

you stood up so fast the room spun. “we don’t know,” you said, and the words tasted like poison. “jeno, we don’t know yet.”

jeno’s knees nearly buckled at that. he dragged a hand down his face, pacing like he couldn’t stay still for even a second. “soomin won’t answer. she won’t pick up. i’ve been calling for an hour.” his chest heaved. “this isn’t like her. she wouldn’t—” he cut himself off, fear swallowing the rest.

the door opened again before anyone could respond.

chenle and renjun rushed in, coats half-on, expressions tight with worry. chenle didn’t even bother with greetings. “okay,” he said quickly, eyes scanning everyone. “tell us everything. from the beginning. no skipping.”

jaemin gestured for everyone to sit, though no one really did. you perched on the edge of the couch, fingers knotted together so tightly they hurt. jeno leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“school,” jaemin started. “donghyuck checked. cctv’s wiped. jun was last seen at the sandbox. alone.”

renjun swore under his breath. “wiped how?”

“gone,” jaemin replied. “not malfunctioned. gone.”

silence fell heavy.

chenle ran a hand through his hair. “that means this was planned.”

“we believe soomin has intent to kidnap jun,” jaemin said, his voice controlled but grim. “if she’s expecting anything in return, she’ll reach out soon. but for now, we don’t know where she’s holding him.”

chenle frowned. “does the police have all of this?”

“yes,” jaemin replied. “they’re on alert. but her whereabouts are still unknown.”

renjun turned to jeno, his expression careful. “jeno, you know her—and her family—better than anyone here. is there anywhere they might take him?”

jeno shook his head slowly. “her family never fully trusted me. not until i married into them.” he let out a hollow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “and after i refused to ask y/n to drop the case in front of them… they were already guarded around me.” his eyes drifted to you without meaning to. the air shifted. it was a sore subject—one he never wanted to drag back into the light.

then, as if summoned by the tension itself, his phone rang.

unknown number.

everyone froze.

jeno answered immediately on loud speaker, his heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else. “hello?”

“you betrayed me.”

soomin’s voice came through shaky, brittle, vibrating with something close to hysteria. every muscle in jeno’s body locked up.

“and now,” she continued, breath uneven, “i’m going to hurt the most important thing in your life.” in the house soomin had bought in quiet anticipation of building a future with jeno, jun sat bound to a chair. rope cut painfully into his small wrists. a strip of tape covered his mouth, muffling his sobs, a blindfold pulled tight over his eyes. tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into the fabric. faint bruises marked his skin—evidence of rough hands, of fear, of a moment that never should have happened.

the school janitor—paid and bribed, was already long gone.

back in your house, jeno’s face drained of all color.

“soomin,” he choked, voice breaking as panic tore through him. “please. hurt me. do anything to me—just don’t hurt my son. please.”

the silence in the room turned suffocating.

jeno stood frozen, phone held tightly in his hand, his knuckles white as if gripping hard enough might keep the world from slipping any further out of his control. no one spoke. no one moved. even the air felt like it had stilled, waiting for soomin to breathe again on the other end of the line.

her laughter came instead.

it was soft—too soft. unsteady, brittle around the edges, like glass about to shatter.

“hurt you?” soomin repeated, almost thoughtfully. “jeno, you don’t get to decide that anymore.”

his throat closed. “please,” he whispered, the word tearing out of him. pride, anger, dignity—none of it mattered now. “he’s just a kid. he doesn’t understand any of this. this is between us.”

“between us?” her voice wavered, then sharpened. “you made it between everyone the moment you chose her. the moment you let everything that my family and i built burn into ashes today. the moment you left me to fend on my own.”

you felt your knees weaken.

jaemin was beside you instantly, steadying you with a hand at your back. chenle’s jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching. renjun had already pulled out his phone, quietly dealing the primary investigator's number that donghyuck had sent over to him, his fingers moving fast but controlled.

jeno swallowed hard. “tell me where you are,” he said. “whatever you want—money, my shares—I’ll give it to you. just let him go.”

there was a pause. long enough for hope to flicker.

then soomin sighed. “see? this is all i wanted. for you to finally understand what you’re worth to me.”

your stomach dropped.

“you’ll do what i ask,” she continued. “you’ll make this right. and if you don’t—” her voice trembled, then steadied with resolve, “jun stays with me.”

jeno’s legs nearly gave out.

“he’s crying,” she added quietly. “he keeps calling for you.”

the sound that left jeno’s chest wasn’t quite a sob, not quite a scream. it was something broken and animal, ripped straight from fear. he dropped into the nearest chair, one hand braced against the table as if the ground itself had betrayed him.

“i’m begging you,” he said, voice hoarse. “don’t do this. he’s scared.”

on the other end of the call, jun whimpered.

it was faint—but unmistakable.

your hand flew to your mouth, a sob escaping before you could stop it. your vision blurred, the room tilting violently as your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

“that’s enough,” jaemin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel. he leaned closer to jeno, speaking loud enough for soomin to hear. “soomin, the police are involved. every second you stay on this call increases your sentence.”

soomin laughed again, breathless. “oh, jaemin. always the hero.”

jaemin’s eyes hardened. “you don’t want to do this. once you cross this line, there’s no coming back.”

“i crossed it the moment he left me,” she snapped. “and i won’t be the only one paying for it.”

the call ended.

just like that.

the dial tone echoed loudly through the living room.

for a second, no one moved.

then jeno slammed the phone onto the table so hard it skidded across the surface. he dragged both hands through his hair, breathing uneven, eyes unfocused. “this is my fault,” he kept repeating, over and over, like a punishment. “this is my fault. this is my fault.”

“she didn’t say where,” chenle muttered, rubbing his palms together like friction might spark an answer. “nothing. no hint.”

renjun was already pacing, steps short and restless. “the police checked her parents’ place. hotels near the school. jewel corp properties that are still active. nothing lines up.”

you sat frozen at the dining table, staring at the wood grain like it might rearrange itself into a map. jun’s cry—muffled, terrified—still echoed in your ears, replaying over and over until your chest hurt from the effort of breathing around it.

jeno hadn’t moved.

he was staring at nothing, eyes unfocused, lips parted like he was trying to remember how to breathe. his hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles white, veins standing out starkly against his skin.

“jeno,” you whispered, your voice barely there. “please—if there’s anything—”

he flinched, like the sound of his name dragged him back into his body.

“there’s… there’s one place,” he said slowly. his voice sounded wrong—flat, distant, as if it didn’t belong to him. everyone turned to look at him at once. “one place i didn’t think to check.”

chenle stepped closer. “what place?”

jeno swallowed hard. his throat bobbed. “she mentioned it once. months ago.” his brows knit together as he searched his memory, fingers pressing into his temples. “she said she bought it as a wedding gift. something about… starting fresh. somewhere quiet.”

your heart stuttered painfully. “a house?”

jeno nodded, breath uneven. “a coastal house.”

the room seemed to tilt.

renjun stopped pacing. “coastal how?”

“out of the city,” jeno continued, words coming faster now, urgency creeping in as the memory sharpened. “near the cliffs. private road. bad signal. she said that was the point—no distractions. just family.” his voice cracked on the last word.

jaemin straightened instantly. “address.”

jeno shook his head, panic flashing across his face. “i never went. she never took me.”

your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. a coastal house. isolated. hidden. every instinct in you screamed that this was it.

“she said it was close enough for weekend trips,” jeno added, like he was afraid the thought would disappear if he didn’t hold onto it. “about two hours out. there’s a long driveway. cameras. she joked that it was impossible to find unless you knew where to look.”

jaemin was already pulling up maps on his phone, fingers moving fast. “there aren't any coastal properties purchased under her family name in the last two years,” he said to renjun. “we'll have to narrow it down by private access roads.”

"do you think... she could've bought it under your name jeno?" you slowly pieced it together through your hazy mind.

jeno's breath hitched, “what… what do you mean?” jeno finally asked, his voice barely audible. it wasn’t anger that colored his tone—it was fear. the kind that crept in quietly, already knowing the damage it would leave behind.

you looked at him, your chest tight, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. “you told us it was a wedding gift,” you said slowly, carefully, as if each word might shatter something fragile. “a surprise. something she wanted to give you once everything was… settled.”

jeno nodded faintly, eyes unfocused. he remembered soomin’s smile when she’d mentioned it—soft, almost shy. a place for us, she’d said. somewhere quiet. by the sea.

“she was obsessed with legitimacy,” you continued, your voice trembling now. “with making everything look right. secure. permanent. what if she bought it under your name so no one would question it? so it would look like it already belonged to you… to your family.”

chenle swore under his breath, pushing his chair back hard enough for it to scrape loudly against the floor. “that’s not just manipulation,” he muttered. “that’s premeditated.”

renjun, who had been silent until now, slowly turned his laptop toward jeno. his expression was tight, all humor gone. “jeno,” he said gently but firmly, “did you sign anything recently? contracts. ownership papers. trusts. anything she told you not to worry about?”

jeno’s head started to pound.

paperwork blurred through his mind—documents passed across polished tables, soomin’s fingers tapping impatiently, her parents’ eyes watching him from across the room. he remembered how tired he’d been. how badly he’d wanted the tension to stop.

“there was something,” he admitted, voice cracking. “she said it was about asset restructuring. pre-marital arrangements. i thought…” his throat closed. “i thought it was normal.”

jaemin exhaled slowly through his nose, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “it’s searchable,” he said. “if it exists, we can find it.”

as if summoned by his words, jeno’s phone vibrated violently on the table.

everyone froze.

jeno stared at it for a second too long, dread pooling in his stomach. then he picked it up with shaking hands.

a system notification glowed on the screen.

property registry accessed — gold coast residence ownership record located

his heart dropped.

“jeno,” you whispered, stepping closer.

his fingers trembled as he scrolled.

registered owner: lee jeno co-trustee: han soomin

the room seemed to tilt.

jeno staggered back a step, like the ground beneath him had given way. “she…” his voice broke. “she used my name.”

jaemin swore quietly, already grabbing his keys. “that’s where she took him.”

“it’s the only place,” renjun said, already pulling up maps. “remote. private. easy to disappear.”

jeno’s hands came up to his face, nails digging into his skin. guilt crushed his chest until it felt hard to breathe. “this is my fault,” he whispered. “if anything happens to him—”

you moved without thinking, standing directly in front of him, forcing his eyes up to meet yours. your own were wet, red-rimmed, but steady. “listen to me,” you said, voice shaking but unyielding. “she did this to you. but jun is still out there. and he needs his father standing, not blaming himself.”

jeno stared at you, lips trembling, then nodded once—sharp, desperate.

“take me there,” he said. “please.”

jaemin didn’t slow down.

the engine screamed as he pressed harder on the accelerator, tires skidding slightly as he cut between cars, horns blaring behind them like distant warnings he refused to heed. chenle barked directions from the front seat, voice clipped, eyes glued to the glowing gps screen.

“left here—no, tighter—don’t miss it.”

in the backseat, the world felt smaller.

jeno’s body shook beside you, uncontrollable, silent sobs wracking his chest as if his lungs were collapsing inward. without thinking, you pulled him toward you, his head falling against your shoulder like he had no strength left to hold himself upright. his breath came out uneven, broken.

“he’s going to be okay,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair, voice barely louder than the hum of the car. you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince anymore.

jeno swallowed hard. “he’s going to be okay,” he echoed, clinging to your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

the road narrowed.

city lights faded behind them, replaced by darkness and the distant roar of waves crashing against rock. the gps guided them onto a single-lane road that twisted along the coast, sharp bends hugging the cliffside. there were no streetlights now—only headlights cutting through the dark, illuminating jagged stone and wild grass bending violently in the wind.

the closer they got, the heavier your chest felt.

“that’s it,” renjun said quietly from beside you. “that house.”

it appeared suddenly—perched dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, a modern structure half-swallowed by shadows. the ocean stretched endlessly behind it, black and unforgiving.

jaemin slammed on the brakes and everyone piled out at once.

the sound hit you first.

jun’s muffled crying.

your heart stopped.

she was already there.

soomin sat on the concrete steps leading up to the house, hair disheveled, eyes wild and red-rimmed. one arm was wrapped tightly around jun, fingers tangled violently in his hair, forcing his head back. he whimpered, small hands trembling as they clawed uselessly at her sleeve.

and pressed against his temple—

a gun.

"i knew you'll figure out." soomin let out a scoffed laugh. “soomin—” jeno choked, taking a step forward before jaemin grabbed his arm. “stop right there!” soomin screamed, voice cracking as she stood abruptly, dragging jun with her. the barrel shook in her hand, but it never left his head. “one more step and i swear i’ll do it.”

jeno’s face crumpled. “please,” he begged, tears streaming freely now. “he’s just a kid. he loved you."

"daddy!" jun sobbed, his little legs kicking up in hopes to release himself from soomin's tight grip.

soomin laughed hysterically, the sound sharp and broken. “you're fucking delusional jeno. your precious son hates me. you too. you chose her. you chose to let her continue with that case. you took everything from me.”

the wind howled around them, whipping her hair across her face. her grip tightened. jun cried out.

something in you snapped.

“it was me.”

all eyes turned to you.

you stepped forward slowly, hands raised, heart pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it. “i’m the one you want,” you said, voice shaking but steady enough to stand. “i ruined your plans. i exposed jewel corporations. i didn’t back down.”

jeno turned to you in horror. “don’t—”

“leave him alone,” you continued, eyes never leaving soomin’s. “jun has nothing to do with this. hurt me. point the gun at me. if you need someone to blame, blame me.”

soomin’s eyes flickered.

for just a second, doubt cracked through the madness.

jaemin felt his heart slam violently against his ribs the moment you stepped forward.

“y/n stop.” he said, reaching out for you instinctively, fingers grazing the back of your sleeve before you slipped just out of reach. his voice wasn’t loud—but it was raw, stripped bare of composure. “don’t do this. please.”

you didn’t look back.

each step you took toward soomin felt heavier than the last, gravel crunching beneath your shoes, the wind clawing at your clothes as if trying to pull you away from the edge. jaemin followed half a step behind you, hand hovering uselessly in the air, afraid that touching you might startle her. afraid that not touching you would lose you entirely.

“y/n,” he said again, desperation bleeding into his tone now. “stop. this isn’t on you. you don’t have to carry this.”

you shook your head slightly, eyes never leaving jun. the gun trembled against his temple. he was crying quietly now, small shoulders shaking, too afraid to make a sound loud enough to anger her again.

“if she needs someone,” you murmured without turning, “let it be me.”

jaemin swallowed hard. “she’s unstable. you don’t know what she’ll do.”

“i do,” you whispered. “and that’s why i can’t let it be him.” you drew in a shaky breath, forcing your voice steady even as your hands trembled.

“if you want to hurt jeno badly,” you said, eyes never leaving hers, “kill me instead.” jeno broke behind you, a strangled sound tearing out of his chest, but you didn’t turn.

“that’ll hurt him for life,” you continued, each word deliberate, cruel in its honesty. “not just today. not just right now. forever.” your throat tightened, but you pushed through it. “i’ll be gone from your lives. and he’ll have to live with it.” you bit your lips.

“isn’t that what you want?” you asked softly. “to leave him with something he can never recover from?”

soomin’s grip on jun faltered—just slightly. the gun wavered, her breathing coming apart in sharp, uneven gasps.

jaemin’s voice cracked behind you. “y/n—please—”

you ignored him.

“let him keep his son,” you said, quieter now, almost pleading. “take me instead.”

the sound came faint at first—so distant it almost felt imagined.

sirens.

low, wailing, carried by the wind from somewhere far down the coast.

soomin stiffened.

her head snapped towards the sound, eyes blown wide, pupils trembling as reality finally caught up with her. whatever fantasy she’d been clinging to—control, revenge, leverage—it collapsed all at once.

“…there’s not much time left,” she whispered.

the words were soft, almost calm. that was what terrified you “soomin,” you breathed, stepping forward again, palms open. “please—”

the wind surged harder, ripping at hair and clothes, the ocean roaring beneath the cliff like it was waiting. soomin’s chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths. her grip on jun loosened just enough to be dangerous. her finger brushed the trigger—not pressing, not pulling—just grazing.

your heart dropped.

you didn’t think. your body surged forward on instinct alone. “jun!”the world exploded into motion—jeno shouting your name, jaemin swearing, chen le and renjun sprinting behind you. feet pounded against concrete, gravel skidding under shoes, the wind screaming in your ears. “y/n!” jaemin shouted behind you, panic tearing through his voice.

your shoes scraped violently against the concrete as you ran, lungs burning, vision tunnelling until there was nothing but jun’s small frame and the gun shaking beside his head.

soomin jerked in surprise as you lunged.

jeno reached him first. he crashed into soomin with the force of pure panic, tearing jun from her grasp as if nothing else in the world mattered. jun was yanked free, stumbling into renjun’s arms as chen le pulled him back, shielding him with his own body.

jaemin caught you instead. his arms locked around your waist, hauling you backward just as soomin shrieked, the sudden movement jerking her hand and then—

bang!

the sound ripped through the night. the sound was deafening, echoing violently off the cliffside, bouncing back at you in sharp, disorienting waves. your ears rang, the world blurring as the bullet tore upward into the sky, vanishing into nothing but darkness.

soomin screamed as the gun slipped from her hand, skidding across the concrete and her legs gave out beneath her. she collapsed hard onto the steps, sobbing uncontrollably, nails scraping against the ground as if she were trying to claw herself back from the edge she’d already fallen over.

sirens wailed closer now, lights flashing harshly across the scene—red, blue, red—casting fractured shadows across the house and the cliff.

renjun ran after the gun and jeno collapsed to his knees. jun was in his arms, shaking violently, face buried against his father’s chest. jeno sobbed openly, clutching him so tightly it bordered on desperation, rocking him back and forth as if afraid letting go would undo everything.

“it’s okay,” he choked, voice breaking completely. “you’re okay. daddy’s got you. you’re safe.”

you stood frozen, knees threatening to buckle, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. adrenaline drained from your body all at once, leaving nothing but shaking limbs and a hollow ache in your chest.

jaemin tightened his hold on you from behind, steady, grounding, his forehead pressing briefly against the side of your head as if to make sure you were still there. "she's alive... she's alive..." he gasped over and over again, anxiety high in body.

police cars screeched to a stop nearby. officers flooded the space, weapons drawn, shouting commands as they swarmed soomin, forcing her hands behind her back while she screamed and cried, her voice dissolving into the chaos.

the ocean roared below, endless and indifferent.

but above it—on the edge of everything—jun was alive.

and the night, brutal and unforgiving as it had been, finally began to loosen its grip.

the chaos around you—the flashing lights, the yelling officers, the screaming wind—faded into nothing as jun ran into your arms.

“mummy!” he cried, burying his face into your chest, tears streaking his small cheeks. you pressed your lips to the top of his head, holding him as tightly as you could, inhaling the sharp, salty smell of the ocean and the faint scent of gunpowder still lingering in the air.

jeno knelt beside you, wrapping his arms around both of you, a trembling, raw mixture of relief and exhaustion written across his face. “i’ve got you buddy,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i’m never letting you go again.”

you held him both, rocking back and forth gently, your heart pounding with a fierce, uncontainable mix of love and fear. on the side, jaemin leaned against a police car, arms crossed but loose, watching quietly. his gaze softened as he observed the reunion, his chest tight as he swallowed the lump in his throat. When your eyes inadvertently met his, he quickly looked away, shaking his head and taking a small step back, as though he weren’t allowed to be part of the scene.

but you didn’t care about rules tonight.

you pulled yourself from jeno and jun, brushing past officers and shouting, racing across the gravel to him.

“jaems,” you said softly, breathless, voice carrying over the roar of the ocean.

he froze, hand half-raised, stepping back instinctively.

“you should be with j—” you cut him off without thinking, crashing into him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was raw, desperate, and demanding. your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, while his hand hesitated at your waist before finally settling, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

when you pulled back slightly, chest heaving, jaemin’s voice broke the silence, low and almost trembling.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, forehead resting briefly against yours. “i'm so, so fucking sorry.” you didn’t speak. you just let him hold you, letting the emotions spill.

“you’re the only one i’ve ever wanted,” he continued, voice breaking. “devastatingly… maddeningly… i tried to protect myself from losing you by pretending i didn’t care. by keeping you at a distance. i told myself you could never love me back… that i’d be safer if i let you go.”

he paused, swallowing hard, eyes glistening. “but i was wrong. every moment away from you, every second, it only made me want you more. i wanted to be with you, always, even if it destroyed me to admit it.”

he shook his head slightly, desperate, raw, as if saying it out loud could somehow cleanse years of self-inflicted pain.

“i should have fought,” he admitted, voice cracking with pain and regret. “i should have taken the chance, instead of locking myself away in my head. i was terrified… terrified that you’d never choose me. but all i’ve ever wanted was you.”

his lips hovered near yours again, eyes searching yours, trembling like a man who had carried his heart in pieces for far too long.

you reached up, cupping his face, brushing the tears from his cheeks.

“i love you, jaems,” you breathed, voice soft, trembling with everything you had kept inside for so long. his breath hitched. his chest heaved, heart pounding violently against his ribs, as if it might break free from the weight of his own longing. the words—your words—echoed inside him, loud and undeniable. “i love you too, y/n,” he choked out, voice rough, cracked with emotion. “i really… fucking do.”

for a heartbeat, he just stared at you, memorising your face, memorising the warmth of your touch, trying to convince himself this was real. after all these years of pining, of watching from the sidelines, of thinking that he had no chance against jeno, that he had lost you forever… now, finally, he heard the truth. you loved him too.

and that truth hit him harder than anything ever had. he pulled you into him with a force that nearly stole your breath, arms wrapping around you like he was trying to merge your bodies into one. you felt the tremor in his chest, the shaky rhythm of his breaths, the heat of the tears on his cheeks mingling with yours.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for you to say that,” he whispered into your hair, voice thick, shaking. “i thought… i thought you’d never feel the same. that i’d have to watch you love him and be happy without me. and i—i couldn’t. i couldn’t stand it.”

you held him just as tightly, letting yourself feel the flood of his desperation, his relief, his love, all the emotions he had buried for so long.

“i'm sorry for making you wait so long,” you whispered. he buried his face into your neck, inhaling you as if he could commit your scent to memory, and murmured against your skin, “i’ll never let you go. not ever. not after tonight. not ever again.”

and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to fully, completely, unabashedly feel it—all the love, the longing, the ache that had consumed him—because finally, finally, you were his too.

jeno watched from a distance, jun still wrapped tightly in his arms. he saw the way jaemin pulled you close, the way your hands stayed curled into his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. he saw the way jaemin bent into you, protective, reverent, like loving you was something sacred he never wanted to mishandle.

and for the first time that night, jeno smiled. it wasn’t bitter nor was it jealousy. it was soft and full of understanding. for so long, jeno had carried the weight of knowing he had failed you—failed to protect the love you once had, failed to be the man you needed when it mattered most. seeing you now, held so carefully, so fiercely, something in his chest finally loosened.

you’re safe, he thought. really safe.

jaemin wasn’t trying to own you or save himself through you. he loved you quietly, deeply, the way jeno once wished he had known how to. the way you had always deserved.

jeno pressed a kiss to jun’s hair, blinking back the sting in his eyes.

“that’s your mum,” he whispered softly, more to himself than to his son. “and she’s loved right.”

he looked back at you one last time—your smile, finally free of the hurt he’d helped carve into you.

and he let you go.

not with regret, but with relief that you had found someone who could love you the way he never learned how to.

and jeno knew without a doubt, that you deserved nothing less.

two years later, the sunlight poured through the grand stained-glass windows of the chapel, casting fractured rainbows across the polished floor. the air was warm, heavy with the scent of roses and lilacs, and the gentle murmur of family and friends filled the room with life.

jeno stood quietly to the side, shoulders slightly hunched but eyes steady, watching. he watched you—his heart giving a quiet, tender ache—as you walked down the aisle in your flowing gown. your hair shimmered in the light, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with happiness, and a smile tugged at your lips that seemed to radiate a calm joy he had never thought he’d see again.

and yet, beneath that joy, he could see the way your gaze lingered for just a second, long enough for only him to know, as if tracing every line of a past you had both survived.

after the ceremony, when the last guests had smiled and clapped, you found your way to him. your dress brushed softly against the floor, the train trailing like a gentle echo of the life you had lived, and when you reached him, your eyes softened.

“jeno…” you whispered, voice hushed and trembling slightly, you took a breath, eyes glistening with the faintest shimmer of tears, and reached out to rest a hand lightly on his arm. “i want you to know… i have no regrets. none at all. everything we went through—the heartbreak, the fear, the nights when we thought we’d lose everything—it all brought me to this moment. and even now, standing here, marrying jaemin, living my life… i love you deeply. always. in the way i know you’ll love me too, the way only we could understand each other.”

jeno’s throat tightened. the hollow ache from old wounds opened just enough to sting, but there was no bitterness, only a quiet, profound sorrow that seemed to settle in his chest. “you deserve all this happiness y/n. you really do.”

you released him gently, turning as jaemin appeared beside you, hand outstretched, a soft smile playing on his lips. your eyes met jaemin’s, a spark of laughter and comfort in them, and you slipped into his hand as if it were always where you belonged.

in the years that followed, you, jaemin, chenle, and renjun moved to canada, opening your very own law firm. it was a quiet, bustling life, filled with late nights in the office poring over case files, laughter echoing through open-plan meeting rooms, and the soft clamor of phone calls blending into a rhythm that felt like home.

jun thrived in the new life. he grew tall and curious, taking a strong liking towards the work that you and jaemin are doing. mornings were spent biking along quiet streets, afternoons at the local park or library, evenings at the dinner table with stories spilling between bites of food. weekends were for laughter, building forts in the living room or snowball fights in the garden during winter, and the house always smelled faintly of cookies and freshly brewed coffee.

every night, after tucking jun into bed with one of his favorite bedtime stories or a soft song, jaemin would hand the tablet to him. jun’s eyes would light up the moment jeno appeared on the screen.

“daddy!” he’d shout, waving frantically as jeno’s face filled the screen, smiling despite the distance. jeno’s voice was always warm, patient, filled with the same love he had poured into your lives long ago. “hey buddy! how was your day?”

the conversations were filled with laughter, teasing, homework help, and little victories jun wanted to share. and though miles separated them, the bond between father and son remained unbroken. every three months, jeno made the trip to canada, and those visits were filled with hugs so tight they took your breath away, afternoons at the park, and evenings telling stories while jun sat cross-legged between you and him, soaking up every word.

you watched those visits quietly, heart full, understanding that jeno had found his place too. not as a rival, not as a ghost from the past, but as someone who loved jun unconditionally and respected the life you had built. he had become a quiet, steady presence in your world—a man who had learned to love without possession, to care without expectations.

and as you stood beside jaemin one evening, watching jun play in the garden with jeno’s laugh echoing through the video call tablet at your feet, you realised how far you had all come.

the sun was setting, casting long amber shadows across your backyard. jaemin’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining naturally, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“we did good,” he murmured, voice low and content.

you smiled, eyes tracing jun’s joyful movements on the screen, then looking at jaemin, your heart swelling with a quiet, unshakable peace.

“we did,” you replied. “and we’re still going to do good. together.”

the sound of distant waves, the laughter of your son, the soft murmur of life around you—it was imperfect, messy, and real. and finally, it was enough.

because love had survived heartbreak, distance, fear, and chaos. it had survived everything.

and in this moment, surrounded by the people who mattered most, your heart could rest.

this was home.

and it was everything you could ever wish for.

// the end

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smut tags: p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, breast play, missionary, window sex, slight exhibtionism, pet names (princess, baby), rough sex, fingering. wonwoo kinda has a creampie kink

MDNI !!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

Panic was a common name in your house. You could name about a dozen times just this week where you freaked out over an quiz or a practical exam result you weren’t particularly satisfied with. Everyday was a war between you and your (lack of) discipline.

It wasn’t like you hated being a medical student—of course you couldn’t. Becoming a qualified doctor was your biggest dream since the day you learned the word. You fought hard every day of your life, and you were grateful to be able to do what you’ve always wanted—to save people, to be reliable in a patient’s most vulnerable moments, to be the reason someone can have a future.

But you couldn’t lie and tell yourself that you enjoyed every moment of your present life. There were days where you couldn’t even keep your eyes open for a full minute, where you has to skip a few meals to buy a particularly expensive textbook, or cancel on a high school friend’s birthday party because you had a nasty exam that same night.

Today was one of those difficult days. You had been spending the last few weeks cramming for the three exams you had this week. Each one seemed to get better—until it got worse. You had a pharmacology final this afternoon, and you felt confident enough that you could get through it with a solid passing grade. You had been studying for it, along with your other exams, with everything you had. The minute you saw the test paper, though, you knew you were absolutely, utterly screwed.

You had been studying the wrong content. You mastered your knowledge in the completely wrong topics. You felt panic rush through your bones when you read questions you only vaguely recognised. Your face felt icy, your hands were shaking with vigour and you could barely even breathe. Your eyes scanned the room, hoping that this was a plain misunderstanding and the exam proctor had just accidentally given everyone the wrong papers. But to your dismay, everyone else was busily writing down their answers and working their way through the test paper, their eyes focused and sharp. You felt faint. Like you were going to fall and trap yourself within a dark abyss. You could only wish that could happen.

You turned your attention back to the paper laid on your desk, staring at the words that mocked you. You vaguely recalled going through the content when the lecture was released, but you didn’t study it enough to confidently know what the answers to the questions were.

The feeling you were experiencing right now was indescribably terrible. The fear of failing—of losing everything you ever fought for, was a nightmare you never wished to experience.

The questions on your test paper swirled around in your line of sight, every word sounding more daunting than the last. Though, you were partially thankful that the exam was multiple choice—because you at least had a small shot at getting some of the questions right. You took a deep breath in and took your time to read each word carefully. It was only when you were halfway through the paper when the proctor announced that the exam time was up, and ordered everyone to place their pens down on the desk.

Your blood ran cold. You silently hoped that this was just some sort of sick joke and that you were a victim of a cruel prank played by a group of famous pranksters. There was no way that 2 hours had already passed. You desperately began circling random answers, your pen shaking in your hand. A voice cleared itself in front of you. Your eyes followed, finding the face of an annoyed old woman, her slender arms crossed against her chest.

You apologised quickly before handing her your exam, defeat settled instantly in your joints. You watched her turn away with your pathetic piece of paper held in her hands. You felt tears well in your eyes when the realisation dawned upon you. You definitely failed that exam. There was no way you could have passed. You were doomed from the very start.

When all the test papers were collected, everyone walked out of the room, their postures showing their confidence. You couldn’t tell whether you hated their smug attitudes more or yourself for not preparing enough to have that same confidence. You speed walked past the door, not even turning back to ask your colleagues about how they went. You really were not in the mood.

You needed to go somewhere—someplace secluded or at least someplace quiet. You dragged your feet along the concrete path, your steps heavy and slow. You didn’t know where you were headed. You didn’t know where you even were. You just kept walking aimlessly until you could find a suitable place to cry your heart out.

You eventually found yourself on a bridge, an overway crossing over a car-filled highway. You watched as the cars sped past, their lights flashing momentarily in your eyes. You had forgotten your despair for a moment, until the emotions you were holding in earlier came crashing back into you at full force. Your knees buckled and you crouched down, your head dropping to your knees as you sobbed uncontrollably, like an inconsolable child during a full blown tantrum.

You wailed and screamed and thrashed about, letting out every breath you held in that cursed exam room. Your mind was numb with deep regret and anger. You cursed out every single day you wasted during the past few weeks studying for questions you wouldn’t even be asked.

You eventually calmed down from a full blown meltdown to a calmer one. You had no energy to scream, but the tears could not stop falling. You laid your head on your knees, hoping the mild pressure would ease the debilitating ache in your head. You fell silent as darkness rose from the sky, the stars revealing themselves from beneath the blanketing clouds. You heart calmed down just a little as you stared into the sparkling abyss.

“Rough night?” A deep voice echoed, slightly concealed by the sounds of cars driving past. Surprise slipped through your body. Your eyes shifted to the tall build of a man standing before you, adorned in the rich silk of an immaculately curated suit. His sharp eyes, stationed behind a thin pair of frames, stared at you intently. You gulped down your nerves.

Standing before you was a dangerously handsome man with features sharper than a knife. You hated how nervous his appearance alone made you feel. You shifted your gaze away, hoping that the darkness of the night would conceal the redness of your eyes and the puffiness of your face.

“You could say that.” You replied vaguely. He raised a sharp brow.

“Boyfriend dumped you?” His terrible guess could only make you laugh.

“Worse.”

A chuckle left the stranger’s mouth, the sound so deep you felt it reverberate through your body. A chill slipped down your spine.

“Hm. Would you mind sharing?” You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. You didn’t feel the need to pour your heart out to a stranger you didn't even know the name of.

But maybe, that was exactly what you needed right now.

“I bombed a test. Terribly.” You sighed. A wave of silence engulfed the air.

“…Was it a hard one?” His voice sounded softer than earlier.

“No…I just…I spent weeks studying for it but, I realised during the test that I studied all the wrong things.” Your voice was cracking. Your throat was horrifically dry and sore from your earlier session of crying and screaming.

You stared at a random spot on the ground. You refused to look at him. Not in your most vulnerable moment. Not when the only thing you felt at the moment was pure and utter shame.

“…Is that really so bad?” His words were infuriating, but his tone was soft. He clearly had no ill intention behind his words, but it didn’t help ease your frustrations in the slightest.

“Of course. I’m in medical school. Failure isn’t an option. People’s lives are at stake.” Your tone came out defensive. You regretted it almost immediately.

You carefully stole a glance at his face, taking in his unreadable expression.

“…I see.” His eyes were fixed on you. You felt yourself burn under his gaze.

“Has this happened before?”

You shook your head.

“So it was just a simple mistake then?” You grew silent at his question. A long moment passed before you responded.

“…I guess.”

“Everyone makes mistakes. Even doctors do too. They’re humans after all.”

“Don’t let a simple mistake take over you like that. Learning from your failures and preventing them from happening again is what true growth stems from. Your capabilities won't be diminished because of a mistake.” His words made your heart skip a beat. Your nervousness grew stronger with each passing second, but you knew his words were right. It definitely was comforting to hear it from a stranger. A handsome one at that.

“…Thank you.” You eventually replied, your voice softer than before. He simply nodded before slipping his hands into his suit pockets. Silence.

He turned on his heel and began walking away, his broad shoulders taking up your line of vision. You quickly stood up before he could get away further.

“What’s your name?” You called out, curiosity biting into your brain. He turned his head toward you, a smirk evident on his face.

“That’s a secret.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

The walk back home was an odd one. While one part of your brain was trying to figure out where the hell you were, another part was playing back the conversation you had earlier with the handsome stranger. His words surprisingly made you feel better than when you had left the exam room just a few hours ago, which is saying a lot.

You felt drained, though you pushed yourself to get home as quickly as you could. The darker surroundings sent a wave of fear coursing through your body. You needed to get home soon.

A muffled chime sound reverberated from within your pocket. You pulled it out, eyes scanning over the glowing screen.

A message was sent from your best friend and roommate, Gyuri. She was a law student whom you met a few years ago when you were assigned to the same dorm room as first year undergraduate students. Needless to say, you continued to be in the same room as the years went on, and built a lifelong friendship as a result.

“Are you on your way home? I’m about to order in. Do you want anything?”

You typed and sent back a half-hearted response before slipping the device back into your pocket. You sighed deeply as you continued your journey back to your dorm, your body dancing dangerously close to the road. Something you were going to regret in about five seconds.

A car blitzed passed you. On other days, this wouldn’t have been an issue. It would’ve given you a jump scare at most. But today, on your worst bad luck day since birth, the car splashed into the largest, most dirtiest puddle in existence. Some would call it divine timing, others—such as yourself—would call it divine punishment. The murky water splashed all over your body, staining your white clothes, of course, into an awful shade of green-brown. The driver didn’t even stop to apologise.

It took a full moment for the situation to register in your brain. To have a completely terrible day, from start to the very end had to be an insane streak of luck—no matter how cursed that luck may be.

You felt your eyes water again. You had only just finished piecing yourself together, and now it felt that the strings you used were ripped apart for good. The cold air blew past your body, emitting a chilling shiver from within. You crossed your arms against your chest, holding onto yourself for warmth—and maybe a little comfort. A few people walked past you, their eyes staring at you with pity. But no one was kind enough to ask if you were alright. To offer you the slightest hint of comfort in a moment of pure and utter anguish.

The tears fell from your eyes as you continued walking, your steps shorter and slower than earlier. Your mind bustled with curses of doom and anger to the world and your entire existence. At this very moment, you couldn’t name anything you hated more.

The temperature continued to drop as the night grew older, and its effects were starting to manifest in you in the form of mild hypothermia. Your shivering only grew worse, your teeth chattering against each other. You were still fairly far from your destination, and it made you feel that maybe you weren’t going to make it home without a half frozen body.

You increased your pace. Your mind was in disarray but you were eager to step into the warmth of your dorm room. Maybe a little too eager.

You bumped harshly into someone, making you stumble back from the sheer force. A mortified look formed on your face. You bowed your head immediately, not having enough courage to meet their eyes.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” You apologised regrettably, your tone almost pitiful. A wave of silence hit you, and you hoped to God that it wasn’t because they were inexplicably angry.

“…Are you okay?”

That voice.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

Your head immediately lifted. Your eyes found the same eyes that stared at you earlier. The same alarmingly attractive face that watched you fall apart, but pieced you back together unknowingly.

“It’s you again…” You muttered, your voice soft and hushed. His sharp eyes scanned over your appearance, an unreadable look written all over him.

“How could one’s day be so terrible?” A simple chuckle left your mouth at his query.

“I would love to know too.” His gaze softened at your response. He quietly slipped off his dark suit jacket, and when you realised what he was doing, your eyes immediately widened.

“No no, it’s okay. I’m all dirty.” You pointed at the muddy spots on your clothes. He lifted an eyebrow with disbelief.

“You’re also shivering.” He replied simply, pointing at your shaking body.

Before you had a chance to retort, he wrapped his jacket around your shoulders. The warmth of rhe fabric and the faintly masculine scent of his cologne engulfed you immediately. The intimacy of the moment almost made you collapse with weakness.

“…Thank you.” Your eyes stared into the depths of his, looking for something you couldn’t quite name. Something you didn't want to name.

“Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo.” He spoke, his voice quiet but firm. It took a moment for you to realise he was informing you of his name. The corners of your mouth lifted.

“What happened to Mr. Secret?” You teased. A deep chuckle left his mouth. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Is that what you wish to call your knight in shining armour?” He replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I do enjoy a hint of mystery.” You played along, your voice mildly bitten with a flirtatious energy. You almost slapped yourself when you realised.

“Touche.” He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips were slightly lifted. A beat of silence fell.

“Are you going to tell me your name? Or do I have to outright ask?” His frank nature made you smirk.

“That desperate, huh?” You teased. He rolled his eyes at you again. You giggled softly.

“It’s [First name]. [Last name] [First name].”

His eyes stayed pinned on you.

“So, Miss [Name]. Would you like an escort home?” His choice of vocabulary made you cheese like a schoolgirl.

“What’s with the choice of words? I’m not a princess, you know.” You joked, a shy smile forming on your face.

In this moment in time, you had completely forgotten the despair you were feeling the entire day. Every moment that had ruined you didn’t matter anymore. It was odd that one small encounter could flip your entire day around.

“My apologies, Miss [Name]. Would you rather me leave you stranded when you’re cold and covered in puddle water?” You rolled your eyes at his remark.

“No need for the sass. And just [Name] is fine.” You began walking towards the direction of your home, and his large frame walked beside you.

“So [Name], you’re a medical student, right? Where do you study?”

“Yonsei University. 2nd year.”

“So that makes you…” He trailed off, his eyes trained on you. You understood his question immediately.

“23. What about you?” His eyes remained unreadable.

“31.” Your eyes widened slightly, but you didn’t make it obvious. You were taken aback by the age gap, and also because you realised you were attracted to someone almost a decade older than you.

“And what do you do for work?” You questioned, your tone curious.

“I’m the CEO of JeonTech.” Your eyes almost bulged out of its sockets. You stopped in your tracks.

“…JeonTech, as in…the JeonTech?” You were half convinced that he was lying. Only half because his words would explain the reason behind his exquisite attire. He nodded curtly, his face indifferent to your surprise.

“You’re lying. Why would a tech company's CEO be walking around in the streets and not riding around in a million dollar car with a personal driver?” Your eyes squinted at his, searching for any hint of dishonesty.

“Look me up.” You scrunched your eyebrows and squinted your eyes further at his indifferent face before whipping out your phone. Your fingers typed in “JeonTech CEO” into the search bar. When the images loaded, you almost threw your phone away.

Professional quality images of the same ridiculously handsome man appeared on your screen, his features so ludicrously attractive it made you weak in the knees.

You turned your phone off immediately.

“Still think I’m lying?” His face was smug. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. Maybe both.

“Well, no one would expect to meet a company CEO on the street on a random Wednesday.” You muttered under your breath before continuing to walk. A chuckle left Wonwoo’s mouth.

“Maybe your luck isn’t so bad, then.” You turned your head toward him. A small smile formed on your face.

“Yeah. Maybe it isn’t.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

The long journey home officially came to a conclusion. You were stationed outside your dormitory, the darkness of the night hugging the breezy air. You played with your fingers nervously before staring up into Wonwoo’s dark eyes.

“Thank you for walking me home. And for the jacket, too.” You whispered, your voice gentle. His face remained indifferent. You were about to slip out of the warmth of his jacket, but his hand landed on your arm, effortlessly holding you in place.

“Keep it on.” He gently ordered, his voice firm. The warmth of his palm spread over from your arm to your entire body. Your heart skipped a beat unknowingly.

“…How will I return it to you, then?” You asked, your cheeks warming indescribably. A faint smile formed on his face as he kept his firm grip on you.

“Meet me at the overhead bridge this Saturday. Same time as when we first met today.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment too long. You almost shrank away from him.

“…Okay.” You nodded. Your nervous radar was through the roof. It had been a while since you had felt this way. A long while.

A minuscule smile of content formed on Wonwoo’s sharp face, only barely visible from the dim street light’s illuminance.

“Go inside, now.” He ushered you towards the door, his touch firm but gentle. His fingers lingered on the curve of your waist for a beat too long. His touch was electrifying.

“I’ll see you on Saturday, Wonwoo.” You turned around and stepped towards the door, a slight smile on your face. His piercing eyes never left you.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

The weight of the day felt lighter than when your string of calamities initially started. You could only owe it to a single encounter. A single person.

Every gaze that was given, touch that lingered, and words that were spoken played in your mind over and over again like a broken record. Every moment you spent with Wonwoo—even every breath you took in his presence—lived in your mind, clear as day.

You weren’t a believer of fate. Hell, you were barely even a believer of love. But something in the way you were led to him—twice in the same night at that—made you hopeful that rhe little thing called fate could actually be an existing reality.

The entire day felt like a fever dream. An unrealistic scene from an overly cheesy rom-com. Maybe a book written by a young, hopeless romantic author.

You spent the rest of your night completing your routine mindlessly, your brain all too consumed by the face of the strikingly handsome gentleman you met incidentally today. Gyuri had noticed your peculiar behaviour since the moment you stepped into the room. When she asked you about it, you recounted the entire story to her, from the nightmarish pharmacology exam to the final word you exchanged with Wonwoo.

The story-telling experience was a roller coaster in itself, just like your day had been. Gyuri’s face constantly shifted, from expressions of sadness to squeals of excitement. She rambled on for 10 minutes about how fate truly exists, or something about a soulmate connection. Truthfully, you lost track of her words at some point.

But to say you weren’t just as excited would be a bit of a lie.

You could only hope that Saturday would come sooner.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

One thing you’ve realised in your years of living was that when you looked forward to something, the universe would do everything in its power to keep it as far from you as possible.

Today was officially Saturday. In the three days that passed since Wednesday, you had experienced one hell of a rollercoaster. You barely even had time to rest and recover from the Wednesday catastrophe. You kept yourself busy with other tasks and assignments that you were due to submit soon.

Then, your pharmacology professor got into contact with you on the early morning of Thursday, requesting that you sit a make-up exam on Saturday. Because of course, you had failed.

It wasn’t much of a surprise. Of course it wasn’t. But some stupid little part of you had hoped that every question you guessed was miraculously correct. Now you know that wishful thinking is a complete waste of time, along with studying the wrong content for an exam.

You were equal parts grateful and equal parts unhappy with how it all turned out.

Grateful because your professor was giving you a second chance. That in itself was a miracle and a half.

Unhappy because due to your horrible, horrible luck, the 2 hour long exam was scheduled at 4pm. You were supposed to be meeting Wonwoo at around 5pm. You didn’t even have his phone number to inform him about it. A wave of dread washed over you. You could not believe it.

Of all the times it could’ve been scheduled.

Though, you had no choice but to oblige. This was your only chance to redeem yourself. They only give so many second chances in medical school. You may not even allowed to continue your studies if something like this happened again. You were grateful that they were being so generous.

You only wished that it could’ve been scheduled even just an hour sooner.

You let out a deep breath before packing your bag. It was well past 3 o’clock now. You had been spending the past few mornings rigorously studying for this test—actually studying for it—with full wishes to pass. You were nervous of course, but you felt a shred of confidence that you could pass this time around. You needed to.

You forced yourself to relax and headed out, bidding goodbye to your equally stressed-out roommate. The gleam of the afternoon sun illuminated the entrance of your dormitory. The warmth of the afternoon lifted your spirits just a little. The atmosphere was calm, a complete contrast from the state of your mind.

You began the 3 minute walk to the scheduled room, anxiety filling your shoes with each step you took. When you eventually arrived at the location, you noticed the proctor was already present within the room. It was the same old woman who watched you pathetically circle answers in the last millisecond.

You let out a breath before seating yourself on a nearby bench. You quietly fumbled through your bag for your supplies, when you realised you had subconsciously brought Wonwoo’s jacket with you today.

You didn’t even know if you were even going to be able to see him today. The circumstances were completely against you. Yet you still believed—hoped—that the universe would be a little more forgiving today. You hoped that he would wait for you.

The door to the exam room opened. The grey-haired woman stared at you expectantly, a plastic clipboard tucked beneath her arm. You stood up instinctively, and followed as she gestured you into the room. Anxiety was deeply settled into your bones as you sat down at the nearest desk, settling down your weighty belongings.

The proctor read through the exam instructions as you stared mindlessly at the paper. Truthfully, your mind was filled with a tinge of guilt. You wanted to see Wonwoo today. You’ve been looking forward to it ever since you parted ways with him 3 days ago. You didn’t know when the opportunity would come again if you missed it today.

“You may start the exam.” The proctor’s flat voice interrupted your unending train of thoughts. You instantly wiped your mind clean and shifted your focus onto the paper in front of you. Right now, your priority was to ace this exam.

Anything else, you can worry about after it is over.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

5:43pm.

As soon as you had finished triple checking your answers, you hurriedly handed in your paper and thanked the proctor. You repeatedly checked your phone for the time, each passing minute resulting in a spike in your anxiety levels. Your feet moved faster than it had ever before, as you trekked the path that led to the very bridge you had met Wonwoo.

Please, please, please.

You pleaded, begged, prayed to the universe to excuse you just this once. To give you the one thing you've been anticipating. The one thing you've hoped for since your life as an exhausted adult began.

You turned onto the familiar road, your feet slapping against the crumbling grey concrete. The familiar stairs eventually came into view. You clutched tightly onto your bag and sprinted faster than you ever had before, disregarding the shooting pain you felt in your abdomen.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you fell down to your knees, energy depleted from the sudden sprint. Chest rising up and down, you lifted your head. Your eyes widened immediately.

Staring out at the incoming cars, was the tall and handsome Jeon Wonwoo, wearing an opulent black suit that made him look extravagant.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his serene form. You hastily stood up, but lost your balance and immediately fell back down to your knees. The commotion caused Wonwoo to turn his head, and when he realised the state you were in, he rushed to your side at once.

"[Name]? Are you alright?" His voice—his deep voice that you craved to hear again—filled your ears, the sound almost euphoric.

His large hand landed on your back as he inspected you carefully.

"I...I'm so sorry I'm late." You spoke in between breaths. His gaze softened.

"I don't care about that. Are you okay?" You nodded, your breaths finally starting to even out. He held out a hand, offering to help you stand up. Your hands found his instantly, the touch electrifying. Your heart picked up its pace as you stared into his eyes for three moments too long.

"...Thank you for waiting for me." You finally let out, your voice barely a whisper.

"I had a feeling you would show up eventually." His breath fanned your face, the proximity making you weak in the knees. There were no better words to describe this moment than intimate—soul-shifting even. You barely knew the man who stood before you, but it felt that something in the universe shifted the moment you met him. You didn't know him, but your soul did.

You looked down at the ground nervously, your hands fidgeting.

"I had a make-up exam scheduled today. With my horrible luck, it was booked at 4pm." A humourless chuckle left your mouth.

"I'm really sorry I was late." You apologised again, the words coming out of you naturally. A soft thumb covered your lips.

"Apologise again and I will kiss you." He warned, his voice serious and stern. Your eyes widened immediately as your heart picked up at full speed.

"Is that a promise?" You joked, and you were fully expecting at least a chuckle from him. Instead, his lips found yours, his touch gentle yet commanding. His hand wrapped around your cheek as his mouth moved against you like a man starved. Your knees buckled but you were quick to kiss him back, your arms wrapping around his neck for support.

A moment had passed. Then two. Then ten.

The two you of continued kissing like you were making up for the time you were apart from each other. Like you knew each other for longer than just three days.

Your face was warm and your legs were incredibly weak, but you held onto him like the world would end if you let go. His hands moved from your warmth of your cheeks to the curve of your waist, holding onto you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Eventually, the lack of oxygen caused you two to part. You stared at his face, eyeing his swollen lips and disheveled appearance. It was almost sinful. Your palms flattened against his broad chest as his large hands held tightly onto your waist.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" His question came out hushed, drawing out the most intimate atmosphere you could imagine. Your cheeks warmed as you nodded your head.

"Of course."

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

Life had continued on without stopping for a break. Months had passed since that fateful day you had met Jeon Wonwoo. The man of your dreams, or otherwise known as your soulmate.

You feared that becoming romantically involved with anyone would hinder your life as a busy medical student. Surprisingly, though, the two of you had built your routines to slot perfectly into both of your bustling lives.

He would visit you once a week during your late night library study sessions, feeding you snacks and offering his shoulder for your mini-naps. You would go over to his apartment every weekend, studying in his office on a desk he built for you while he worked on his own things. Silent moments were common of course—but they weren't the deafening kind. Neither of you needed to be loud to know that the love was still there. You just knew—from the way he would tuck you into his bed if you fell asleep while revising, how he would always make sure you were well fed with your favourite foods, or how he would quietly listen to all the troubles on your mind and comfort you in his arms.

The day you met him was both the worst and best day of your life. But you would go through it all again if it meant you could experience him again.

Right now, you were over at his apartment, flashcards held tightly in your hands as you studied rigorously for the anatomy exam you had that upcoming Friday. You still had around a week more to prepare, but you wanted to make sure you were thoroughly ready. Your notes and supplies were sprawled all over Wonwoo's plush white couch.

Your mind was occupied as you muttered anatomical terms under your breath. Your boyfriend, Wonwoo, smiled at your focused form and sat down on the spot beside you. Suddenly, your face warmed and you were hyper-aware of his presence, making your voice trail off.

Wonwoo lifted an eyebrow at your sudden silence. You gulped and tried your best to shift your focus back to whatever you were doing before he got here. Your eyes read over the questions on your flashcards, but your mind was completely blank. Not a single word was registering. Until, a genius idea popped into your mind.

"Can I trace the anatomy on your body?" You turned to your boyfriend, your eyes flickering with anticipation. A look of confusion formed on his face as he registered your request.

"As in..."

"As in I draw out the anatomy I'm supposed to learn on your body. Just the veins and arteries. Please?" You used the best pleading face you could muster, knowing the kind of effect it had on your boyfriend. A sigh left his mouth—that's how you knew it was a yes.

Wonwoo held out his arm, and you excitedly grabbed a pen and slowly started mapping out the venous system. You held onto his arm gently began drawing the veins you confidently remembered onto his upper arm. Your focus sharpened and you were in full-concentration mode. Wonwoo watched your face carefully, his face full of love and adoration. He took in each of your expressions of confusion, confidence and contentment like it sustained his life.

It kinda did.

When you finished drawing up the veins, you looked up at Wonwoo, your eyes meeting his loving ones. Your face warmed under his gaze.

"What?" You asked, voice shy.

"You're amazing. You know that, right?" His sudden compliment made you nervous, like you had only just met the handsome man before you.

"Your knowledge is quite sexy." He whispered, his face nearing yours. His words made your legs clench together immediately. His large hand enveloped your face gently, and he kissed you. Hard.

Your hands landed on his chest as you kissed him back, your touch anything but gentle. Your flashcards, notes—heck, anything that even had to do with anatomy was long forgotten now.

The kiss eventually grew hungrier and more passionate, your tongues clashing against each other in a one-sided battle for dominance.

Wonwoo broke the kiss and pushed you down onto the couch, your back flushed against the soft surface. The intense look in his eyes made the wetness between your legs grow. He kissed you again, keeping it brief before his lips traveled lower towards your neck and collarbone. He left a trail of wet kisses along the ridges of your bones, taking his sweet time in each area. His hands fondled your confined tits, eliciting a sweet moan from your lips.

“Take it off me, Wonwoo. Please.” You begged, your voice barely a whisper. He obliged immediately, his hands ripping off every piece of fabric from your body. You gasped, but had no time to think about it further when he began to play with your dripping folds. A sinful moan left your mouth when he slipped a finger into your hole, his pace slow and excruciating.

He watched your reaction carefully and slipped another long finger in, making you whimper loudly.

“F-Faster, please, Wonwoo.” You begged, your voice desperate. A smirk formed on your boyfriend’s face, but he eventually complied to your request. Slick sounds resounded through the living room of Wonwoo’s expensive apartment, the sounds sinful and scandalous.

You felt yourself reach closer to your high when he increased his pace, and it was evident with the way your voice grew near pornographic. His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking on it until it was red, raw and swollen. The sensation was accelerating the rate of your orgasm. He let go of your swollen nipple with a small popping sound.

“Cum on my fingers, princess.” He whispered into your ear, and you did just that. You shook around him as his fingers continued to move inside you, milking out every drop of your orgasm. You repeatedly moaned his name like it was the only word you knew as you came back down from your high, your plush walls pulsing around his slender fingers.

Wonwoo kissed your forehead gently before taking his fingers out of you to take off his own clothes. You watched carefully as he slipped out of his casual wear, your body mildly tired from your recent high. You stared seductively as he released his rock hard cock from the confines of his underwear, the raging red tip oozing out drops of precum.

He kissed you again before lining his length to your entrance.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, as if he hadn’t just fucked the living daylights out if you with only his fingers. You nodded eagerly and he wasted no time sliding into your wet hole. The two of you groaned out loud at the contact, immediately feeling arousal from the way he filled you up perfectly.

“God, you are unbelievably tight.” He groaned, making you clench around him. He started with slow thrusts, making sure you weren’t feeling any pain. When you eventually got used to his size, you begged him to go faster, and he immediately complied with a smirk on his face.

The lewd sounds of skin-on-skin reverberated through the room, the filthy smell of sex filling up your noses. Your tits bounced with each thrust, making Wonwoo stare at them with pure lust in his eyes. He pinched and squeezed your already sensitive nipples, increasing the pleasure you were feeling.

“God, I can’t believe you’re mine. You’re literally perfect.” He grunted, voice deep and husky. His rough thrusts and sweet words made you moan like you didn’t know how to do anything else. You could feel yourself driving closer to the edge.

“Wonwoo, I’m so close.” You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Me too, baby.” He groaned, keeping up his fast pace. His thick cock continued to slip in and out of your hole, until you eventually reached your high again. Your walls clenched around him, and you almost screamed when your vision turned white. Wonwoo groaned and stilled to a stop, his swelling cock still wedged deeply inside you. It twitched and shook until eventually he released his thick, white cum deep into your hole, a non-stop supply coming out of him. The warmth made you moan out loud.

Wonwoo kept his length inside you, plugging up his release to prevent anything from leaking. After a while, he pulled his half-hard cock out of you, watching carefully as his hot seed trickled out of your tight and swollen hole. The view itself was enough to arouse him again.

“Can I fuck you again? Against the window?” He asked with a hushed voice, his fingers gently pushing your hair out of your face. You briefly looked at the window that he was referring to. Correction: a large floor-to-ceiling window that allowed for the perfect view of the city, and likely, a perfect view of the both of you to the city.

The thought of being watched made you embarrassingly wet. You clenched your thighs together.

“Please.” You whispered before smashing your lips against his. After a long moment of clashing tongues, he stood up and led the two of you towards the window, turned you around and pushed you up against it. The coldness of the glass hit your chest, squishing your tits and your face against it. The cold temperature elicited a pleasured noise from your parted mouth.

The possibility that someone could be watching you from somewhere right now was turning you on more than you wished to admit, but you had no time to dwell on it further. Wonwoo slipped his hardened cock back inside your hole again, making you arch your back and press harder against the glass. Your swollen nipples pebbled again as a result of the cold, increasing amount of pleasure you were feeling.

He began his rough and relentless pace again, making you press your hands against the window to hold yourself steady. His hands landed on your hips to continue his rough thrusts, his fat cock kissing your cervix deliciously. Your fat and swollen tits bounced against the window, your hardened nipples receiving pleasurable stimulation from constantly rubbing against the glass. High pitched moans left your mouth, leaving a mark of blurred condensation on the window.

The two of you were sensitive enough from your last high, so you knew it wouldn’t be long until you would be trembling before him again. But unexpectedly, Wonwoo pulled out of you and turned your body around to face him, and signalled to you to jump onto him.

You did what he asked and jumped, slowly wrapping your legs around his toned torso. He moved forward and pressed your back against the glass window, the icy sensation sending shivers down your spine.

Wonwoo’s lips quickly met yours again before he slipped himself back inside your wet hole, making the two of you groan out loud from the sensitivity. He wasted no time in starting up his pace again, only this time much more rough than the last, if that was even possible. Your swollen tits bounced hard in his face with each thrust, making Wonwoo slip his tongue over the bud of the right breast and sucking hard until your nipple was even more red and sensitive. You arched your back against the cold glass, a seductive moan leaving your mouth when he groaned with a mouth full of your tit, sending a vibrating sensation along the curves of your chest.

“Wonwoo, I’m so close.” You whimpered, feeling like your soul was starting to be ripped out of you when you felt yourself beginning to reach euphoria again.

“Me too, baby.” Despite him looking visibly more tired, he never gave up or slowed down. He continued pounding into you deeply, his leaking cock slipping in and out of you mercilessly. A loud whine left your mouth as you couldn’t hold back anymore and you came again, your walls pulsing desperately against his twitching cock.

You felt like you were going to pass out from too much pleasure, but eventually he slowed down his pace, thrusting inside you slowly as he shot loads of his hot cum inside your hole again, filling you to the point where it started gushing out of you. He moved his hips a few more times to fuck his mess back inside you, making you nearly cry from overstimulation.

Your boyfriend then kissed your forehead sweetly, a complete contrast from his sinful actions just two seconds earlier.

“You did amazing, baby.” His fingers gently moved your hair out of your face, making room for him to kiss your cheek. An exhaused smile formed on your face.

“I studied the wrong content again.” You joked, your breath uneven. A hearty laugh left Wonwoo’s lips.

“You’ll pass this time, though. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll help you study.”

You looked into his eyes lovingly, before kissing his soft lips.

“I love you.” You whispered. He responded back with a deeper kiss.

“I love you more.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹︶

a/n: thank you for reading! please let me know what you think, i would love to hear your thoughts <3

You don’t argue. Instead, you pull your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself. He watches you for a moment before reaching behind him.

“Here.” He handed you something small, something rectangular. You took it hesitantly, fingers brushing his, and when you looked down, you saw a disposable camera resting in your palm.

You blink up at him. “Wonwoo, what is this?”

He shrugs, looking almost shy. “Just thought… whenever you think of me, you could take a picture. So you won’t forget me.”

Your heart aches at the way he says it—lightly, like it’s a joke, but the meaning behind it is anything but.

“Idiot,” you murmur, gripping the camera tighter. “Like I could forget you.”

He smiles at that, but there’s something in his expression that makes your chest tighten. You don’t want this moment to end, because when it does, it means morning will come, and with it, the goodbye you’re not ready for.

But time is cruel, and before you know it, the night slips away.

—

The train station is busy, filled with people coming and going, but to you, it feels like you and Wonwoo are standing in your own little world.

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. You hate how they always feel too short, no matter how long they actually last.

Wonwoo shifts his bag on his shoulder, looking down at you. “You’ll be okay, right?”

You nod, but you don’t think you really mean it. He sees right through you, sighing as he reaches out to ruffle your hair—something he always does when he doesn’t know how else to comfort you.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

You bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry. “Liar.”

That makes him laugh, and for a moment, it’s just like any other day. Like he isn’t about to step onto that train, like he isn’t about to leave for months.

The announcement echoes overhead. Wonwoo glanced at the clock, then back at you. His eyes soften.

“Guess this is it.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

He hesitates, then reaches for your hand, squeezing it once before letting go. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. You feel the words lingering between you, the ones he’s never been good at saying out loud.

You watched as he took a step back, then another. And then, with one last lingering glance, he turns and walks away.

Your fingers tighten around the camera in your pocket.

The first picture you take is of the train as it disappears into the horizon.

The First Few Weeks

The first thing you notice is the silence.

Wonwoo never filled a room with noise—he wasn’t the type. But the absence of him is loud in a way that makes your chest feel hollow. You woke up the morning after he left, instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed, only to find cool, untouched sheets. You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ll get used to it.

Except you don’t.

The first week is the hardest. Every little thing reminds you of him. The empty coffee mug sitting on the kitchen counter because you keep forgetting that you only need one now. The folded-up blanket on the couch, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne. The Spotify playlist he made for you playing on shuffle while you try to focus on anything that isn’t the aching space he left behind.

You held out for a call, a text—something. But the military isn’t generous with communication, and you know you won’t hear from him often. You try to be rational about it. You tried to focus on other things. But every time your phone lit up, your heart stumbled, hoping it was him.

It never is.

You don’t want to admit how much you miss him. It’s embarrassing, really. He’s only been gone for a few days, and you’re acting like you’ve been separated for years. But the quiet moments are the worst—the ones where you have no distractions, nowhere to direct your thoughts.

And that’s when you remembered the camera.

It had been sitting on your nightstand since he gave it to you, untouched. You pick it up hesitantly, rolling it over in your hands.

"Whenever you think of me, take a picture."

You scoffed under your breath. He’s going to regret saying that.

Because the first picture you take is of his empty side of the bed—a silent complaint, a little jab at how much you miss him already. You didn't let yourself linger on it for too long, tossing the camera back onto the nightstand and climbing out of bed.

___

Days passed, and the camera became an extension of your routine.

You take pictures without thinking too hard about it, little pieces of your life that he’s no longer here to witness. The second picture is your morning coffee, still made in two mugs before you remember there’s no one to drink the other. The third is the bookshop you both love, his favorite aisle tucked into a quiet corner.

You find yourself narrating moments to him in your head, like he’s still beside you. Wonwoo, you wouldn’t believe the way our neighbor’s cat tried to steal my lunch today. Wonwoo, I went to that ramen place you like, and they gave me extra toppings because they felt bad I was eating alone.

You don’t say them out loud, but somehow, taking the pictures feels like sending a message. Like you’re keeping a record of your days, waiting to share them with him when he comes back.

___

One evening, you caught yourself reaching for your phone before realizing, again, that you couldn't call him. Frustrated, you grab the camera and snap a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror—tired eyes, a messy ponytail, an expression that practically screams, "I miss you, idiot."

You roll your eyes at yourself. Pathetic.

Still, you didn't delete it.

Somewhere in the quiet, you started to realize—this wasn't just about missing him. This was proof. Proof that life is still moving, that you’re still finding ways to smile, to laugh, to exist, even in his absence.

And maybe, just maybe, when he finally came back, you’d hand him this little stack of memories and say—

"See? I never stopped thinking of you."

The Changing Seasons

The world keeps turning, even when part of you feels frozen in time.

Autumn faded into winter, and with it, the sharpness of your grief softened. Missing Wonwoo doesn’t feel like an open wound anymore—it becomes a quiet, familiar ache, something that sits in your chest like a second heartbeat. You still woke up reaching for him, still caught yourself glancing at your phone too often, but the loneliness no longer consumed you.

Winter was harsh this year. The first snowfall blankets the city in white, and for a moment, it’s almost beautiful. You remember the way Wonwoo used to stick his hands into his coat pockets, his nose red from the cold, mumbling about how he’d rather be inside reading. The memory makes you smile, and without thinking, you grab the camera.

Click. A picture of the snow-covered street. The kind of scene he’d roll his eyes at but secretly find pretty.

The days were slow, but they passed. You kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Work keeps you busy, friends pull you into plans you’d rather avoid, but you go anyway—because that’s what Wonwoo would want.

You started writing him letters.

Not the kind you send—just scribbled thoughts on paper, folded neatly and tucked away. Some are short: I saw someone today who looked like you, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Others are longer, rambling about your day, the books you’ve been reading, the songs you’ve been listening to. It’s comforting, in a way, to pretend he’ll read them someday.

Then spring came, and with it, a shift.

The world thawed. Trees blossom, the air turns warm, and the weight on your shoulders lifts—just a little. It’s strange how time does that. How grief doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape, fitting itself into the life you’re still trying to live.

You took more pictures now. Not just for him, but for yourself.

The cherry blossoms are in full bloom—soft pink petals against the sky.

The first ice cream of the season, melting too fast in the sun.

A selfie, just to prove to yourself that you’re still here, still living.

There was a moment—just a fleeting one—where you thought, Maybe I’m okay.

Then summer arrived.

And so did his letter.

You recognized his handwriting instantly, your breath catching as you tore open the envelope. It was short, because Wonwoo had never been one for long-winded words.

"I miss you. Are you still taking pictures?"

Your hands shook as you held the paper.

And for the first time in months, you cried.

Not because of sadness. Not because of longing.

But because you finally understood.

This distance—it was temporary. Seasons change. Time moves. And eventually, he’ll come home.

And when he does, you’ll have a whole life’s worth of memories waiting for him.

The Hardest Days

Some days pass in a blur—wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. You go through the motions, keeping busy enough that the ache in your chest doesn’t have time to settle. But the hardest days?

The hardest days drag.

They stretch endlessly, pressing down on you until you feel like you might sink under the weight of them. They aren’t loud or dramatic; they don’t come with warning signs. Instead, they creep in quietly, disguised as ordinary moments that turn into reminders of how much you miss him.

__

The first bad day comes two weeks after Wonwoo leaves.

You were doing okay, keeping yourself distracted, until you stepped into your favorite bookstore—the one you used to visit together. At first, it felt fine. You even reached for a book you thought he’d like, flipping through the pages with a small smile.

Then, you glanced to your right.

His usual spot—third shelf from the entrance, where he’d always linger, eyes scanning the titles like he was searching for something he’d lost—was empty.

The realization hit you like a punch to the stomach. You could almost see him there, adjusting his glasses, tilting his head slightly in thought. You could hear his voice in your head, muttering about how he “wasn’t going to buy anything this time” only to walk out with three new books.

But he wasn’t there.

And for the first time since he left, you truly felt his absence.

You left without buying anything.

__

The days bleed into each other after that. Some are manageable. Others make you feel like time is moving too slowly, stretching the distance between you even further.

Then the second bad day comes.

It starts with an innocent notification—a new game update.

Wonwoo had been so excited about this one. He’d rambled about it for weeks, explaining all the new features in way too much detail, his eyes lighting up in that rare, boyish way. You’d teased him for it, but truthfully, you’d loved seeing him that excited.

Your fingers hover over your phone, debating whether to open the game.

But what’s the point? He’s not here to play with you. There won’t be any late-night matches, no playful competition, no quiet chuckles when you mess up and pretend it was lag.

Still, you tap the icon. The screen loads, and suddenly, your vision blurs.

Because there—at the top of your friend list—is his username, followed by the dreaded words:

"Last online: 14 days ago."

The tears come faster than you expect.

You stare at the screen for a long time, hands clenched tightly around your phone, chest aching in ways you don’t know how to fix. The world keeps moving, but for you, time feels frozen in the moment he left.

___

And then, the hardest day of them all.

It’s late—past midnight. You should have been sleeping, but instead, you were lying in bed, curled up under the blanket Wonwoo used to steal half of.

Your body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and loneliness.

You roll over, reaching for your phone, because on nights like this, instinct takes over. You want to call him. Just to hear his voice, just to know he’s still there, even from miles away.

But you can’t.

So instead, you do something even more reckless.

You scroll up in your messages. Past the "good luck" text you sent before he left. Past the "I landed safely" reply he sent hours later. Past the little check-ins, the random inside jokes, the "I miss you too" he sent on a particularly bad night.

You scroll all the way back—weeks, months—until you find the voice messages.

Your fingers tremble as you press play.

"You always stay up too late, you know that?" Wonwoo’s voice filters through the speaker, quiet and familiar.

"I swear, if you don’t start sleeping earlier, I’m gonna—ugh, never mind. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

There’s a slight pause, then a soft chuckle.

"You’re probably rolling your eyes right now."

A shaky breath leaves your lips.

"Alright, go to sleep. Goodnight, dummy."

The recording ends. The silence that follows is deafening.

And that’s when it really hits.

It’s not just that you miss him. It’s not just loneliness. It’s the fact that you can’t reach for him whenever you want. You can’t call him and expect an immediate answer. You can’t see him, can’t hear his real-time reactions, can’t fall asleep to the sound of him breathing beside you.

He’s gone.

And no amount of scrolling through old messages will change that.

So you do the only thing you can do.

You clutch the phone to your chest, squeeze your eyes shut, and let the tears fall.

Somewhere, across the distance, Wonwoo is probably doing the same.

The Small Joys & Healing

Time has a funny way of moving. Some days stretch endlessly, the hours dragging with a weight that makes everything feel slower, heavier. And then, without warning, weeks slip past in a blur of routine and half-hearted distractions. You don’t know which is worse—feeling like you’re stuck in time or feeling like you’re moving too fast without him.

But eventually, somewhere in between the long nights and the quiet mornings, you start to find something like peace.

It’s not the kind of peace that makes the missing go away. No, that lingers, settling in your bones like a familiar ache. But it’s a softer kind of longing now—one that doesn’t consume you, one that reminds you that love doesn’t disappear with distance.

___

The first few weeks were the hardest, but the world didn’t stop turning just because he was gone.

You still wake up every morning, even when the bed feels emptier than usual. You still go about your day, even when every little thing reminds you of him. The bookstore you both used to visit, the ramen place he always craved at the most random times, the late-night walks that feel lonelier without his quiet presence beside you.

At first, you avoid these things. It feels wrong to do them without him, like you’re leaving him behind somehow.

But then, slowly, you do return.

You find yourself stepping into the bookstore one afternoon, the familiar scent of paper and ink wrapping around you. It’s instinct to glance toward the third shelf—the one where he always stood, hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the titles. He’s not there, of course. But you let yourself linger anyway.

Your fingers brush against the spines of books you know he would’ve picked. A classic novel with poetic prose. A sci-fi story with a plot twist he’d figure out before the halfway mark. A historical book he’d read just to debate the accuracy of it later.

Before you know it, you’re picking one up.

Not just for him. For you.

Maybe, when he comes back, you can tell him about it. Maybe you’ll finally have something to recommend to him instead of the other way around.

The thought makes your chest feel lighter.

__

Then, there’s the laughter.

It sneaks up on you one evening while you’re on a call with friends. They’re arguing over something ridiculous—whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza, or maybe which video game has the worst NPC dialogue. You’re half-listening, offering the occasional hum of agreement, until someone casually brings up Wonwoo.

“He’s probably trying to act all serious in training,” one of them says. “But I bet he still zones out mid-conversation like usual.”

The memory of Wonwoo’s blank, unreadable expressions comes rushing back, and before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up. A real one.

And just like that, you remember:

Wonwoo might be far away, but he’s not gone.

He’s still him, still existing, still part of the world you share.

It’s a simple realization, but it lifts something inside you.

You laugh again that night, and for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like you’re betraying the ache in your chest.

___

And then come the letters.

They don’t arrive often, but when they do, they feel like tiny lifelines. A piece of him, sent across the miles, just for you.

The first one is short, the paper slightly crinkled at the edges. His handwriting is neat but rushed, like he was scribbling between moments of exhaustion.

"I’m fine. Tired, but fine. It’s weird not having my phone. I keep reaching for it before remembering I can’t just text you. I hope you’re eating well."

You trace your fingers over the ink, swallowing the lump in your throat. Even in the middle of everything, he’s still thinking of you.

"Oh, and don’t let them trick you into watching horror movies without me. You know you’ll regret it."

A small, breathy laugh escapes you. He knows you too well.

That night, you sit at your desk with a pen in hand, writing your own letter back. You tell him about your days, the little things he might miss—the bookstore visit, the ramen place, how your friends still argue over the same things. You try not to sound too sad, even though the words feel heavier than they should.

At the end, you add, “I miss you. But I’ll wait. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”

You don’t expect an immediate reply, but when his next letter arrives weeks later, your heart pounds as you unfold the paper.

"I could never forget you. Don’t even joke about that."

And just like that, the waiting feels a little easier.

___

Healing doesn’t come all at once. Some days are lighter, some days are heavy. There are moments when the longing feels unbearable, when all you want is to hear his voice, to see him sitting beside you, to feel the warmth of his hand in yours. But there are also moments of quiet contentment—when the missing turns into something gentler, something that reminds you that he’s still yours, even from a distance.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

Because love like this—steady, unshaken, unwavering—is worth waiting for.

And when he comes back?

You’ll be right there, waiting.

The Return

The moment you spot him, the air in your lungs disappears.

You’ve been preparing for this day for months—counting down, dreaming about how it would feel to finally see him again. But none of those daydreams could’ve prepared you for this.

For him.

He steps past the arrival gate, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his uniform crisp and perfectly fitted. His posture is straighter, his movements sharper, his presence heavier. It’s him, but at the same time, it isn’t.

Wonwoo has always been broad, but now he’s different—stronger. His shoulders are wider, his arms more defined, muscles straining slightly under the fabric of his uniform. Even his stance is different, more solid, more certain.

And his face.

Your heart stutters at the sight of him.

The softness of youth has faded from his features, replaced by sharper angles, a sculpted jawline, a quiet confidence that wasn’t there before. His skin is tanned, kissed by the sun after months of training outdoors. His lips are slightly chapped, a little more serious than you remember. And his eyes—

They meet yours across the crowded terminal, and everything else ceases to exist.

Your chest tightens.

His gaze is the same.

Still warm, still familiar, still your Wonwoo.

For a second, he doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching you, taking you in. And then—

The corner of his lips twitches. A breath of a smile.

And just like that, you’re running.

You push past strangers, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out the noise around you. He sees you coming, and before you even reach him, his bag is slipping from his shoulder, arms already opening—

Then you crash into him.

He’s solid. So, so solid. Your arms wrap around him, and for a second, he stumbles back from the force of your embrace. But then his hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, pressing you closer.

And oh.

He feels different.

The Wonwoo you remember was warm and comforting, but this Wonwoo is unshakable. His back is firm under your touch, his arms secure around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He smells like fabric softener and something distinctively him, something you missed more than you can ever put into words.

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, voice muffled against his shoulder.

He exhales shakily. “Yeah,” he murmurs, like he can’t believe this is real either.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands fisting the back of his uniform. He doesn’t let go. Neither do you.

When you finally pull back, your hands instinctively find his face, palms pressing against his cheeks. He lets you look at him, watching as you take in every detail—every sun-kissed inch of his skin, every small change time has left behind.

“You got buff,” you whisper, half teasing, half awed.

His lips quirk slightly. “That’s the first thing you say?”

You laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. “You just—” You pause, eyes sweeping over him again. “You look different.”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Yeah?”

You nod, fingers brushing over his jaw, feeling the rougher skin there. “But you’re still you.”

His expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten just slightly. “Still me,” he echoes.

You smile. “Still mine.”

Something shifts in his gaze. His thumb brushes against your hip, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s memorizing this moment, memorizing you.

Then, voice quieter than before, he murmurs, “Always.”

And with that, he takes your hand, laces his fingers with yours—strong, sure, steady.

“Let’s go home.”

Epilogue: Home

The apartment feels the same, yet entirely different.

It smells like the candles you kept burning, like fresh linen and the faint scent of coffee. The same bookshelf stands against the wall, still overflowing with your shared collection of novels and mangas. The couch still has the blanket you always curled up in, the one that used to smell like him before it faded away.

But now—he’s here.

Wonwoo stands in the center of the living room, eyes scanning the space like he’s reacquainting himself with it, like he’s trying to remember what it felt like to belong here. His duffel bag rests by the door, abandoned the moment he stepped inside. His jacket is slung over the back of a chair, and he’s wearing the plain black tee and gray sweatpants you had set out for him, finally out of that uniform that made him feel distant—unreachable.

His hair is shorter, his shoulders broader. His stance is different, like the months away have reshaped him in ways that are still settling. But his eyes—they are the same. Warm. Familiar. Home.

And then his gaze landeds on what you’re holding.

The disposable camera.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You still have that?”

You nod, turning it over in your hands, fingers brushing over the familiar ridges of the plastic body. “Of course. You gave it to me before you left.”

He had slipped it into your hands that day at the departure gate, voice teasing but eyes serious. "Take pictures. So I don’t miss too much."

So you did.

Of your morning coffee, of the stray cat that lingered by the bookstore, of the first snowfall that settled on the windowsill. Silly things. Little things. Things you wished he could’ve seen.

Wonwoo stepped closer, his fingers ghosting over the camera. “How many are left?”

You glanced at the film counter. “One.”

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in his gaze before he reached out, fingers wrapping around the camera.

Click.

The shutter snaps before you can react.

Your eyes widen. “Wait, what—”

Wonwoo lowered the camera, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Wanted the last one to be of you.”

Your heart stutters.

You should’ve expected it. He has always been like this—quietly sentimental in ways that take you by surprise. But something about this moment, about the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to memorize every detail—it makes warmth bloom in your chest.

You reach for the camera, setting it gently on the table before stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him.

Wonwoo exhales, his hold firm, grounding. His chin rests against the top of your head, and for the first time in months, you feel complete.

“You’re back,” you whisper.

His lips brush against your temple. “I’m back.”

A pause.

Then, softer—“I missed you.”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, your throat tightening with emotion. “I missed you too.”

Outside, the city hums with life, the world moving as it always has. But here, in this small apartment, time stills.

And as you stand there in his arms, the disposable camera sitting beside you, its final photo safely tucked away inside—you know you’ll never need it to remember this moment.

“Shh,” Mingyu coos, his thumb slightly brushing your cheek as he pulls you closer to steal a kiss. His lips are soft, just like any of his touches. A whine leaves your lips despite trying your best not to and it’s muffled in his mouth. The movements of his fingers between your thighs stop and you whine again, shaking your head in disagreement. “You need to be quiet, baby,” he says, as if you didn’t know his friends are just behind the door. “You don’t want Hansol to hear us, do you?” 

You shake your head and he leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You don’t want him to think about what we are doing, right? Imagine us, me deep inside of you and your eyes rolling back,” he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s just for my eyes, right, baby? You can’t give him a chance to even think about it.” 

Your hands tremble behind his neck, shaking your head again. “Please,” you whisper, trying to rock your hips forward. It’s no use. His hand is still under your panties, but he made sure his fingers wouldn’t touch your clit. “Hm?” He hums with a smile, kissing his way down your neck. You stumble to the side, accidentally bumping into the toilet beside you. “You’re so impatient.” 

“Gyu, please,” you try again, tangling your fingers in his hair. “I need you. I– I need to feel you. I’ll be so good. I’ll keep quiet.” You feel his smile widen against your skin, raising his head again. “Will you? You know you can never hold back with me,” he teases, his fingers circling your clit again. You nod, biting your bottom lip to prevent any sounds from escaping. 

His thumb stays on your clit as he pushes two fingers inside, curling them just right. Your head hits the wall behind you, moans leaving your lips despite your best effort. Mingyu just chuckles, fucking his fingers into you and kissing you again to muffle your sounds. You struggle to kiss him back, the feeling of his fingers filling you up making your head dizzy. “Is this what you wanted? What you need?” You nod rapidly, chasing your high. “Please don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t, letting you finish on his fingers as you moan into his mouth. He thrusts his fingers inside a few more times just to let you ride it out before pulling his hand out of your panties. They are soaked, and he should really get them off. Thankfully, your boyfriend was always amazing in reading your mind, and so he does, letting your panties hang at your ankles along with the skirt he took down earlier. 

There’s a loud knock on the bathroom door that makes you snap out of your thoughts, Hansol’s voice a reminder of where you are as he yells he needs to piss. You stay quiet, your eyes wide as you look at Mingyu for some help. “We’ll be right out!” He calls back, not really caring about what his friend said as he takes down his jeans, the boner obvious in his boxers. “Go piss outside in the meantime!” 

Another bang on the door, this time even louder. “Stop fucking in out bathroom!” You recognize Seungkwan’s voice, becoming one with the wall as your eyes flicker between the door and your boyfriend. You just can’t leave now, right? Not when he is so painfully hard and all your rational thoughts are gone, replaced with the need for his cock to fill you up. 

You don’t say anything and neither does Mingyu, watching your hand trail down from his stomach over his boner, feeling him with your fingertips. A smirk spreads across his face as you pull his underwear down, looking up at him with your best puppy eyes. He’d be a fool to refuse you when you look at him so prettily with your hand wrapped around his cock. 

He replaces your hand, closing the space between you fully and slapping his cock against your clit. You moan quietly again, biting onto your bottom lip. You give him a nod when he asks for permission with his eyes, your mouth falling open as he sinks his entire length at once. 

They’re going to hear. There’s no way they couldn’t. And still, somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

Before you can do so yourself, he presses his hand in front of your mouth, covering it so any sounds you make could stay between the two of you. You keep your eyes on his as he slowly thrusts into you, never looking away. His other hand slides up your waist, holding onto any flesh he can as watches your fucked-out eyes. This might be the best thing he’s ever seen, and he has to fight himself not to cum just from the eye contact. 

“Fuck,” he curses, dropping his eyes to where you swallow his cock. He wishes he could devour your whole, brand you with his cum and never let go of you when you look at him like that. He’s sick, unable to think straight as your nails drag across his bare shoulders, pleads leaving your covered mouth. His thrusts are fast, hard, the urge to keep filling you up until you can’t recognize anything but his touch growing stronger. 

“Let me fill you up, pretty girl. Let me cum inside, please,” he meets your eyes again, drowning in their color as he squeezes your waist tighter. You nod, moaning into his hand. You’re on the edge again, and by the way his cock twitches inside you, you know he is too. 

Mingyu leans down to your shoulder and groans into your skin as he reaches his orgasm, your walls clenching around him as you follow right after. He pulls his hand away, listening to your heavy breathing. He thrusts up a few more times before pulling out, watching some of his cum drip down your thighs. It’s truly an amazing sight. 

He helps you clean up quickly, kissing you anywhere and everywhere he can as he showers with you, not a single care in the world that there are probably more of his friends behind the door by now, waiting to use the bathroom. He still takes his time with you, as if you are the most important thing in the world. Because really, you are. To him at least. 

And because of that, you manage to ignore the looks Hansol and Seungkwan give the two of you as you walk out of the bathroom, focusing on your boyfriend only.

🏁 Race: Overtake by @sailorsoons

🏎️ Driver: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: Seungcheol and your brother Joshua battle over everything - pole positions, championships, the title of Mercedes’ best driver. The one thing they were never supposed to fight over was you.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: all for one by @amourcheol

🏎️ Driver: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: three-time world champion choi seungcheol races for greatness—even if it sacrifices red bull's constructor trophy. you, principal strategy engineer, cannot allow favouring the self-centred driver over the entire team. when a new red bull rookie threatens his position and certain rivals begin to tempt you, seungcheol must consider winning you over—a feat more difficult than a fourth championship.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: Off The Record by @soo0hee

🏎️ Driver: Yoon Jeonghan x reader

🛞 Race Stats: 3 seasons with sky sports. 3 seasons of navigating between drivers, the fia and stubborn team principals. 3 seasons and non had taken your breath the way 2025 had thus far. The reason? Yoon Jeonghan. Ferarris posterboy and the man haunting your gridwalks.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: Revving for Love by @nerdycheol

🏎️ Driver: Yoon Jeonghan x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: You didn’t expect the guy you swiped left on at the airport to show up at your new job — let alone be one of Formula 1’s top drivers. As the team’s new physiotherapist, you’re here to keep things professional — no distractions, especially not Jeonghan. Charming, smug, and all too aware you once swiped left on him. What starts as cooldowns and awkward stretches quickly turns into something messier. Jeonghan is flirty, unpredictable, and far too in sync with you — and despite your best efforts, he’s getting under your skin. And without you even noticing… the lines start to blur.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: Birdie by @aeristudios

🏎️ Driver: Joshua Hong x reader

🛞 Race Stats: It would be fate that you would be filming a documentary of the same F1 team as your former high school sweetheart: Joshua Hong, F1 golden boy. He still remembers you as Birdie— the one that flew away without saying goodbye. Now, years later, you have to look him in the eye as he recounts what his life has been like without you.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: build this dream together by @joshujin

🏎️ Driver: Joshua Hong x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: As his race engineer, you’ve spent five amazing years guiding McLaren superstar, Joshua Hong, to victory after victory. But in that fifth year, you learn something horrifying about yourself: you’ve fallen in love with your driver. You’re not willing to let your heart get in the way of everything you’ve worked for, so you do the one thing you know is guaranteed to keep both of your careers safe: you leave. Two years later, Joshua inadvertently comes crashing back into your life with an announcement that rocks the F1 world. Before you know it, you’re on his doorstep with an offer you know he won’t be able to refuse, ready to guide him back to where he needs to be—one last time.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: burn for the win by @mylovesstuffs

🏎️ Driver: Wen Junhui x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: being the engineer who knows too much and the sister who’s had enough means standing at the eye of the storm while two men she cares about tear each other apart. jun’s pride could still cost him everything, and yet he refuses to fight to fix what’s broken; neither will minghao. she’s tired of the fallout, but no one listens. a crash was only the beginning. now, can anything bring them back?

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: open channel by @sknyuz

🏎️ Driver: Wen Junhui x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: open channel follows you: a young radio engineer who joins the haas f1 team as the apprentice to laura müller, the first female engineer in the paddock, now the chief engineer who has you under her wing—and as the unexpected successor to your own father, the long-time race engineer of haas’s most elusive driver: wen junhui. junhui is cold to the media, clinical on the grid, and famously unreadable behind the visor. but when your voice cuts through the static, clear and steady, even he can’t help but lean in—though neither of you knows yet how deeply your pasts are tangled in the echoes of a long-ago memory on the track.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: as seen on screen by @imnotshua

🏎️ Driver: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: Wonwoo doesn’t pay you any attention, not since you were both rookies - him on the track and you in the paddock. You’ve been at Ferrari for years, and now he’s joined the team you’re supposed to be working together, but it seems he still has that same stick up his ass whenever you have something to say.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: behind the lens by @wheeboo

🏎️ Driver: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: Years ago, you and Jeon Wonwoo were inseparable. First loves, reckless hearts, and dreams too big to share—until it all fell apart. He chased after podiums; you stayed behind your lens. Five years later, you’re commissioned in the paddock as a global motorsport photographer for a behind-the-scenes shoot, and he’s back in the centre of your frame as F1’s quiet, unstoppable force. And for the first time in a long time, your photographs begin to feel real again. This time, will your frame capture an ending, or a second chance?

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: playing with fire by @starlightkyeom

🏎️ Driver: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: soonyoung doesn't do relationships. or strings. or repeats all that often, honestly. he's one of the best drivers on the circuit and he doesn't need to. the one exception? you, his biggest rival's on-and-off partner. he's always your first call when your relationship is splashed across the headlines again and he never seems to care.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: heartbreak champion by @straylightdream

🏎️ Driver: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: After being together since you were fifteen, things hit a rough patch as your husband chases his goal of being world champion.

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🏁 Race: Under Investigation by @diamonddaze01

🏎️ Driver: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: Lee Jihoon doesn’t break the rules. He bends them. Just enough to get away with it. Just enough to make your job harder, just enough to see if you’ll flinch. He’s testing the boundaries. And the worst part? You kind of want to see what happens if he crosses them.

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🏁 Race: shit, this is red bull by @gyubakeries

🏎️ Driver: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: the version of you that jihoon sees in front of him is not the you he remembers. bleached denim and torn flannels have been replaced by shiny heels and a crisp blazer. jihoon also learns that there are lots of things besides your new appearance that have changed, the most obvious one being — your love for racing. he has no time to waste on all these new facts though, not when the press is behind his ass and you're the only one who can get him out of the messes he creates.

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🏁 Race: Burning Bridges by @bluehoodiewoozi

🏎️ Driver: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: When your fiancé chooses his Formula 1 career over you and makes it everyone’s problem, his teammate Seokmin is not about to just sit back and watch.

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🏁 Race: red wine nights by @hannieoftheyear

🏎️ Driver: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: what's the worst time to hook up with your best friend and change your relationship forever? probably the night before he gets on a plane and flies far away to become a world famous star.

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🏁 Race: Rumour by @gyuswhore

🏎️ Driver: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: It’s hard to dislike Mingyu, an acknowledgement he risks his modesty for. So when he approaches you with rose tinted glasses, clad in the team kit of his dreams, he’s ready to build a rapport of a lifetime with his brand new race engineer. Until, the brakes screech loud enough for the entire paddock to hear. It’s hard to dislike Mingyu, but you make it look easy.

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🏁 Race: perfect strangers by @studioeisa

🏎️ Driver: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: for the first time in seven years, kim mingyu thinks he might actually have a shot at standing on the podium. he has a decent car, a good teammate, and... a girlfriend? after f1 tv erroneously tags a complete stranger as his 'partner', mingyu now has to reckon with being one half of the newest couple on the grid.

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🏁 Race: one track mind by @haologram

🏎️ Driver: Xu Minghao x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: after years in the spotlight, you've learned one thing: how to get used to new environments, good and bad. despite the time and the friends you've made along the way, things never really change — and that includes the mentality that winning is the only option.

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🏁 Race: victory lap by @minisugakoobies

🏎️ Driver: Xu Minghao x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: minghao's just led his team to another championship - so why can't he enjoy it? he's jaded, having grown disillusioned with his life, and in desperate need of the familiar spark that’s driven him all these years. lucky for him, a chance encounter with the enemy of his rival will set his ignition ablaze with one wild ride.

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🏁 Race: bae-watching by @shinysobi

🏎️ Driver: Boo Seungkwan x reader

🛞 Race Stats: boo seungkwan is over it, really. he's been on the sports circuit for years, but covering any f1 championship gets harder every time. on top of that, he's supposed to get a "fresh angle" on a game that has none-until he's staring down the barrel of history, when she appears right beside the ferrari chief engineer. he's looking at you, but you have stopped looking at him a decade ago.

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🏁 Race: along the rubble or the dust by @heartepub

🏎️ Driver: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: in the high-octane world of formula one, boo seungkwan has clawed his way up with a mix of charm, grit, skill, and pure luck. he knows, more than anyone else, how coincidence can be a turning point. when, in an improbable series of events, his childhood friend starts lurking in the paddock as his new performance engineer, he gets the distinct feeling that this is about to be one of them. even if (or especially because) he’d rather trust you with his life than with his heart.

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🏁 Race: Podium Pleasers by @shadowkoo

🏎️ Driver: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: F1 driver Vernon is no stranger to stunning women whispering wicked things in his ear during race season, but no voice has stopped his heart quite like yours. The ‘missing’ younger sister of one of his oldest friends. The girl who disappeared two years ago without a word. And now, you’re on his lap with your bare breasts pressed against his chest. He’s horrified to learn that you’re working at an exclusive strip club, tangled in a complicated contract where sex appeal is currency, personal relationships are forbidden, and your freedom is nothing but a twisted illusion. He wants you out, but walking away from a fantasy life built on status and money isn’t that simple. So, in a last-ditch effort, he offers you something else. Something real. A fresh start on the circuit as his assistant, where you can rebuild your future, possibly even a future by his side.

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🏁 Race: slow and steady by @haoboutyou

🏎️ Driver: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: Aston Martin— once a top class, championship winning team, has become riddled with bad press. What better way to cover it up than throwing your driver under the bus? In a not-so elaborate scheme, Vernon and rising star Y/n are entrapped in a dating scandal to cover up the company’s ass, subjecting them to the wrath of public scrutiny instead. Will the awkward dates and busy schedules make way for something more? Or will they let their relationship be dictated by greedy corporations?

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🏁 Race: This Town by @wqnwoos

🏎️ Driver: Lee Chan x reader

🛞 Race Stats: Ten years ago, Lee Chan left your hometown without ever looking back. Now, after a crash that loses him the championship, he’s back and asking for your forgiveness — but you’re not sure if you’re ready to risk your best friend leaving you again.

Practice Session 🏁 Paddock Pass

🏁 Race: The Boundary Concept by @kkooongie

🏎️ Driver: Lee Chan x f!reader

🛞 Race Stats: Lee Chan didn't know which was worse: the fact that he still liked you since high school (despite shutting down completely whenever you were around) or the fact that you wanted to meet up with him... for a research paper. But hey, he was willing to take any crumbs as long as he got an opportunity to make you realise he was a super cool racer now. That is, assuming he didn't crash under the intense pressure. Or, in which, you never knew writing a paper on the boundary concept would make you question the boundaries between you and Chan.

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Of course, once that guy hears you’re taking Wonwoo instead of him, he dumps you without ceremony. And now Wonwoo sits on your bed in a rented suit far too expensive for him to feel entirely comfortable in, watching your reflection choose which earrings to wear, and he wonders if you’re even bothered. He doesn’t know how to talk to you about this. Partners are off limits, usually, but since he had some involvement in the break up, in some roundabout way, he thinks maybe he should at least check. He wets his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Since Hongseok?”

You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Fine,” you say. “I don’t think it was going anywhere. He wanted something more traditional. I started to get the impression he was setting up to cheat on me, actually.”

Wonwoo is unsurprised, sounds like you are too. “You’re better off without him,” he says, picking at bits of fluff from your blanket clinging to his trousers. It’s one his mother knitted for your sixteenth birthday. “You’ll meet someone new in no time.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you start. “I think I’ll stay single for a while.” 

Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows in surprise and you catch him in the mirror. With a laugh you say, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’ve been a serial dater since we moved to this city and you’re stopping now?” Wonwoo’s lips twist into a grin. Teasing is easier than edging too close to real. “Just when you’ve hit your prime?”

You scoff. “Rude. I’ll hit my prime in my thirties. Just watch.”

Wonwoo watches as you apply your usual lipstick and thinks about the time you didn’t wear any. You were just kids but it didn’t seem so long ago. You’re almost the same. Eighteen years of your starkly different lives intertwined and somehow still as close as you ever were. Still the sharpest person he’s ever known, still the sweetest if only in private. Still his parents' favourite person, still his. (His stomach twists). 

You’re giving yourself a final appraisal in the mirror before turning to Wonwoo and asking how you look. 

“Good,” he says, with a nod. Breathtaking, really. “Pretty.” 

“Thanks,” you say, smiling relieved, moving to sit next to him on the bed and linking his arm. “We scrub up well, don’t we?”

“Mm,” he agrees, following your gaze into the mirror, pinpricks creeping over his skin. You look like you’re together, he thinks, as he notices you’ve chosen earrings that go with his tie. Anyone could make that assumption. 

“You look sad, Wonwoo,” you say, quiet and soft. “Are you sad?”

“No,” he says, throat tight and feeling like his back is pressed against the wall. “What would I have to be sad about?” He lets you slip your hand into his, lets you lean your head on his shoulder for a moment, because this is how you make him feel better. Because you know that he can’t be pushed to talk about things he hardly understands. Barely a minute goes by before he sucks in a breath and says, “Shall I call us a taxi?” 

“Sure, number’s in the book next to the telephone,” you say. “Want a drink? I need one for this.”

“Water for me, someone’s got to get you home.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t make me drink alone.” You laugh when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. My reputation’s on the line.”

“One beer,” he offers. You pout and he can’t stop his smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It went like this:

Both of you had no less than three drinks before the taxi showed up.

Your peers kept thinking that he was your “elusive boyfriend” and upon correction that he was ‘just Wonwoo’ their eyes lit up and exclaimed “oh we’ve heard so much about you!” 

The way he blushed made you want to kiss him silly (you had another drink instead).

Drink five? Four? Everyone here is obliterated, no one notices you and Wonwoo readying to leave.

He looks so pretty like this, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, watching your lips as you talk.

The taxi you pre booked won’t be here for another ten minutes but the room was so stuffy (in both the literal and figurative sense) that as soon as you tell Wonwoo you need to get out of there, he’s nodding and pulling you out into the street. It’s so busy– of course, it’s OT week– that you struggle to find a spot where you won’t be bumped into for a while, eventually settling against the wall of the building opposite, in good view of the road. The noise around you is hectic, and you’re desperate for something less bothersome. Wonwoo looks drunk, looks fucked out. Cheeks flushed and lips parted. Eyes closed, he tips his head back against the brick and exposes the column of his throat. Pretty.

“Hey,” you say, slipping your arms around his waist. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Wonwoo hums. “Yeah, ‘course.” A pause– he wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s so heavy but you like how it feels. “Anything for you.”

There’s a saccharine sweetness stirring in your stomach. You ask him to tell you the story of Baucis and Philemon again, press your body against his and hope he can still read you like he used to. It’s been years. Maybe he won’t want to.

“Why do you like that one so much?” he asks. You take in the smell of his soap. You know you shouldn’t want to go down this road again. “It’s hardly even a love story.”

“They’re the ultimate love story,” you insist, looking up at your friend to find him already watching you. “They’re precious to each other. I want that kind of love.”

It’s more than that. Baucis and Philemon have a timeless love. Their lightness oozes out of them, their love is both infectious and tender. So devoted they choose to die together. Never without the other even after they’re gone– turned to trees, and their branches and roots weave together so tightly that you can’t tell where either one of them starts and they stay like that, as relics of a lost ancient world. 

There is something ancient about Wonwoo, too. For as long as you can remember he has been older than his years, telling stories of places long buried, of deities forgotten about. You think maybe he was meant for then and not now, the cusp of the twenty-first century. He keeps echoes within him. Carries heavy stones to turn over in his hands and spend time memorising the marks. He is deliberate in the way he moves, no ill-perceived rush, and Wonwoo’s silence carries more weight than his words. 

So when his eyes flicker to your lips again, and he still doesn’t move, you know it’s on you. You know you’re going to have to be the one to shift the sands, change the direction of the tide. You’ve been lovers before. Neither of you have ever said never. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’d been thinking about it all night but you were the one to press your lips against the corner of his mouth, eyes on his and holding the proximity. Are you thinking about it like he is? Is your heart thrumming in your chest like his? 

“I can feel you thinking.” 

“Uh huh.” His mouth goes dry. He can’t kiss you with a sandpaper tongue. 

You run a finger between two buttons on his shirt, eyes up, watching his reaction. “Can I stay at your place tonight? Hansol’s at his parents' house this weekend, right?” 

Wonwoo’s mind goes blank and he can feel the pink creep over his cheeks. “Did you squeeze your Pompompurin pyjamas in that little bag?”

Your lips twitch in an almost smile, lean in to ghost a kiss against his bottom lip. Wait to see if he pulls back– he doesn’t. His hands just slip down your back, touching the skin under the strap of your dress. Didn’t imagine when he helped you zip up earlier that he’d be the one invited to pull it off you. Has he hidden his desire so poorly? “Do you wanna fuck me in those pyjamas, Wonwoo?”

The street noise is drowned out when you kiss him properly, and it’s embarrassing the way he’s breathless, gripping at your waist and pulling your body closer. Humiliating that this is in full view of strangers, doesn’t want them to see how you lick into his mouth, doesn’t want them to hear your sharp gasp as his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He spins you on the spot, crowds you against the brick and blocks out the world with his shoulders. You pull on a button and slip your hand through the gap. The touch burns. Your kisses are suffocating, loves the way you smile into it, the way you make him chase your lips, run your fingers along the waistband of his trousers an– fuck– he’s gonna get hard in the middle of the street. 

Desperate, he pulls off you and whips his head around to look for the taxi, you’re already complaining. “Not here–,” he says, words rasped, catching in his throat. He can see the taxi rounding the corner, and in a beat he’s pushing off the wall and dragging you toward it by the hand. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He doesn’t touch you in the taxi. Hopes you know it’s not because he didn’t want to, he just doesn’t want to lose himself. His fingers flex eager on the leather seats, wanting something he won’t take. As the driver fiddles with the radio, you lean over to lay your hand across his, to whisper in his ear, “do you still lick your fingers after you’ve made someone come on them?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but he can feel the way you watch him swallow– thick– and stare hard out the window at the passing lights. He never did that with anyone but you.

Now you’re paying for it. He’s more confident in the privacy of his bedroom, in the dark. Cages you in his bed, doesn’t bother to turn on the lights before smothering you with his body. Your mouth on his– wet, and eager, and bruising. His hands move to your face, in your hair, angling your head to give his lips access to the tender spot behind your ear. He’s got your dress bunched up around your waist. Takes up all the space between your legs, still too much fabric separating you. One of Wonwoo’s hands cast over the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing circles over your nipple through the thin fabric. You melt into the touch, rolling your hips against him, he sighs into your skin. “Can feel how hard you are,” you gasp, hands pulling at his hair. Makes his skin electric. 

He moves faster, desperate, and you trap his body between your legs, angle your hips so his cock can rub against your clothed cunt just right. “Gonna ruin your trousers,” you whisper. Yeah yeah yeah, fuck it, he’ll pay for dry cleaning for once. The warmth, the wet, seeping through makes him insane. Needs it more than ever, needs you just like this, breath ragged and pupils blown. Needs you needing him so bad you can’t even get out of your clothes before you come. Needs you whining, needs you telling him how badly you want it. Won’t ask for anything, but you know what he likes. It’s always been easy with you. 

“Feels good,” you say. Wonwoo nods into your neck, the pressure building so fast it’s blinding. Hips thrusting rough, rutting like an animal against your clit, desperate for you to get off before he falls apart but he’s so cl–”Missed you so much, Wonwoo.”

“Ah, fu- fuck–” You’re sucking a mark into his neck and Wonwoo can’t stop. Comes hard, breath catching and his rhythm is all fucked up, so fucking embarrased that he couldn’t draw this out. You’re talking him through it– sounds like heaven whispering how good he is, how good this feels, how you love how he sounds when he forgets himself. Didn’t realise he was groaning. A mess of a person reflected in the cum staining through the fabric of this horribly expensive rental. 

Shit.

Needs to get out of this fucking suit. Needs to press his face into your cunt. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. Four years– you wasted four years with other people when you could’ve been doing this. Pushes away thoughts of you being someone else's not even a week ago. Some sick, possessive slice of him wants to reclaim you, mark you up and present you as his to the world. Wants to take the cum in his underwear and push it into your body. Look, see, she’s mine mine mine. Wonwoo’s chest aches.

Your clothes shed in silence. You lay him back against the pillows, kneeling next to him with spread legs, he loves when you let him see. You take one of his hands in yours and work circles into his palm as you pull two of his fingers into your mouth. Get them slick with spit, work your tongue over the tips of his fingers. He can hardly breathe watching you manoeuvre his hand down your body against your cunt, using him like a toy, until his remaining brain cells start to work and he takes over the movement. He’s half hard again already. 

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasps. Crooks his fingers and you whine. Wants to eat the sounds spilling from your lips. Needs to do something with his mouth so he doesn’t say something stupid. “Sit on my face?” he asks, obvious urgency in his voice. 

“N-no, like this first,” you say, almost like you’re begging. “Missed your hands so much.”

You look at him through hazy eyes as he works you quickly to the edge, pulling whimpers from your throat every time he plays with your clit. Feels you get impossibly wet when he slips his fingers in deep and moans unashamed along with you. You buck into his palm, head tipping forward to watch his soaked long fingers fucking into you agonisingly slow. Your breath stutters in your throat as he uses his other hand to tease your skin, trailing gently over the meat of your thigh, your ribs, cupping your breast and then dragging you over him to take a nipple in his mouth. Flicks his wet tongue over until it pebbles between his teeth, and you gasp. 

“M’close already,” you whisper. “Gonna come, Wonwoo.” He ruts his hard cock into the air, chasing heat that isn’t there. Fucking loser. You don’t even notice with the way he’s got your breaths coming in fragments. You come undone like lightning, cunt soaking and pulsing around his fingers, your body collapses on top of him, your forehead pressed into his chest. Wonwoo wants a taste but wants to work you through the aftershocks first. He teases slow circles over your clit until you fall apart with a sob, and have to drag his hand out from between your legs.

He waits until you sag to your side– catches sight of your cheeks, flushed and sweat sticking to your skin, your pupils blown out and breathing shallow, more beautiful than he’s ever seen you– before he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. 

“You’re indecent,” you laugh in disbelief. He almost feels gross until you’re babbling about how hot he is. How he makes you insane. You laugh again when he rolls you onto your back and settles between your legs. It’s been so long he needs to do this right. Starts by pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, ghosts more over your centre, waits for the sound of your gentle sigh before laving a thick stripe over you. Knows just the way to make you molten. He laps at your core until you’re almost sobbing. You jolt whenever his nose slips over your clit, and you’re begging for him to stop the tease. He’ll never deny you what you want. His tongue flicks fast over your clit, his face wet with you now. His moans sound muffled against your cunt when his name falls from your lips in staccato breaths. 

Things have hardly changed. Four years and now, it’s just the fucking same. Your fingers still find purchase in his hair the same way. Mouths at your inner thighs to give your cunt a break. Shit, you’re so hot. You’re clenching around fucking nothing. Pulls the skin between his teeth and you’re writhing, trying to get his tongue back where you need it. Love when you get desperate like this. 

Your nails drag over the nape of his neck and he’s close to losing control– fucks his cock against the mattress and almost cries at the pressure. You grind against his face, Wonwoo knows you’re close. Blacks out as he eats you like he’s been starving, his face so slick with spit and you it drips down his chin to the sheets. Doesn’t dare stop to breathe as he feels your legs begin to shudder over his shoulders. He watches the way you look down at him, brows pinched pleasure, waits for your lips to fall apart with a broken sob before licking into you so deep. He can’t tell who comes first, can’t tell who the enormous wet patch on the mattress belongs to, doesn’t fucking care, just wants to keep you. 

He moves over you when you’re done, pressing chaste kisses to the corner of your mouth, to your cheeks, to your temple, before you’re giggling and pulling his body next to yours. 

“Shift over,” he says, tapping at your hip. “Don’t wanna sleep in the wet patch.”

“Did you come again?” you ask, moving to the side to give him space.

Wonwoo nods, cheeks instantly flushing with heat. But there’s no need for embarrassment because you’re sucking in a breath. Seriously, you say “You have no idea how much I like that.”

He doesn’t reply, just fits his body against yours and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets your words wash over him. Sleep comes for him quicker than he wants it, but not before he slides his hand into yours, not before telling you he missed you too. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mascara stains Wonwoo’s pillowcase but right now he doesn’t care. It’s still too early, still dark outside, but this room is hot, his breath is hot, your leg thrown over his waist is hot, and he’s considering just how monumental this is. It’s been almost four years since you touched him like this. In school it started with a ‘one kiss won’t ruin us’ and ended just before university with a ‘are we still friends?’ Way back then you both swore blind that you could just go back to your regular scheduled programming and nothing had to change. An agreement that those brief months you had (not quite) together in high school were just two best friends helping each other out. A mutual understanding that the love you share is completely and utterly platonic, and platonic friends can totally kiss/touch/fuck for a few months without it ruining something more special than sex. Except he didn’t really mean it. The trouble was that Wonwoo knew even then that he wanted something all consuming. Felt it with you. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the same.

Wonwoo is absolutely not spiralling. 

You’re still sound asleep (always are after nights like the last), and his arm is trapped. Back then he’d use this time to bask in you. With you wrapped up in him it was easy to feel like you were completely his. He used to feel like he could do anything to you, and you’d let him. You’d want it, even. Didn’t actually want to take you over but knowing that he could– the intensity of that scared him. Now that feeling doesn’t come, maybe because you’ve had the separation of time and different lovers, he doesn’t know really. He still doesn’t understand what happened before university. Doesn’t get why you stopped coming over when he was so close to unbottling the feelings in his chest. Just knows that the conversation took him by surprise even after a week of distance. Just knows how his chest ached even as he agreed that it’d be sensible to put it all to bed before leaving your sleepy town for the big city. Knows how his gut twisted sharp when you said that just because you were going together didn’t mean you should go together. Maybe he should’ve protested then, showed you how much he needed you. Impossibilities stretch out before him– if it went that way, last night wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t be tracing tiny figures of eight on the small of your back right now. If you’d been together then, young and stupid, would you have stood the test of time?

You stir, half roused, and Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, choosing to be grateful for the now. He pulls your waist closer, runs his hand under your thigh to gently adjust the weight. Your eyes are still closed but you make a soft sound of surprise. 

“What time is it?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Too early,” he whispers back. “Go back to sleep.” 

“I was dreaming,” you murmur. 

“What about?” 

Your smile is lazy against his skin. “Can’t tell you,” you say. “You’d run away.”

Wonwoo thinks hard about this. “I don’t run away,” he says, quiet and serious. 

You blink open soft eyes to look at him, and Wonwoo feels too much. “Your face is all frozen, Wonwoo,” you say, gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Kiss me. Wish me good morning.” Wonwoo’s voice comes out with more edge than he intends. Doesn’t sound like his own. Feels cheap, something sleazy. Feels tragically guilty about it until he sees the look on your face. Like you want to eat him.

Your gaze is dark when you lock eyes with him. Push up with your hands, straddling his hips, his cock against your rear. You take his hands, larger than yours, place them on your ribcage, push them down down down, making goosebumps pebble along in his wake, until he’s using his thumbs to spread you apart. A little wet already, leaves a slick mark on his skin. He sighs at the sight of it. Your breath comes harder when he plays with your clit. You lean over, say– “Good morning, Wonwoo.” Press a delicate kiss to his top lip. “You’re gonna come inside me this time, okay?”

Wonwoo isn’t religious, but he feels like angels made you for him. Tells you so, and you gasp against his mouth. The way you kiss him this time is anything but angelic. Wet. Messy. Sharp teeth leaving imprints on his lips. It hurts. Nice in a way it shouldn’t be. A relief– the way the hurt makes his mind stop. You roll your hips against him and he makes a desperate sort of noise. Keeps his eyes focused on his fingers drawing circles on your clit. Your hands reach behind you to stroke his hardening cock and he arches into your touch. “Needy,” you chastise. Wonwoo nods. 

Doesn’t want it like this. Wants you under him, wants to fuck you slow. Tells you so, the words come anguished, almost– and you nod dumbly. You don’t drag out the build up. Lay on your back, open your legs for him, spread them wide and line his cock up with your wet heat so quick he doesn’t have time to overthink. He makes a strangled sound when he pushes inside. The slide is agonisingly slow. He’s being so careful, as if you’d crack like china - fragile beneath him. You clench around his cock, thick and scalding- God, it’s sweet torture. Wants more of it. 

You pull, desperate, at his waist, rolling your hips against him but he’s pulling out. This time he just slides the head in, hisses, teases, and back out. He does it again, and again, doesn’t know who this teasing is for. He’s licking into your mouth, pressing hungry kisses on your open lips, eating up all your noises, your whines, your soft moans. Things are still the same. He likes going so so deep into you, bottoming out and grinding his skin against your clit, likes when your moan comes muffled in his open wet mouth. It’s the same. Likes when your hands find purchase in the sheets, fist them in desperation, likes when you feel it’s not enough so you grab at his, intertwine your fingers and let him fuck you like this. Like you’re in love. It’s still the same.

“How do you feel, angel?” 

“Uh–” A pause to suck in a fractured breath.

“Tell me how you feel,” he says. Almost begging. Would be mortifying if he whispered that against anyone else’s cheek. Can feel the wetness there too. 

“Homesick,” you gasp. “I feel homesick.”

He fucks you harder then, driving into you so deep he could be part of you. Melt in, blend together, blur the lines, weave the fucking branches. You’re full of spells, he thinks. Made of magic. Doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud. Wet starshine eyes on his as you come apart, pussy pulsing around his cock, impossibly wet, telling him come with me baby, babbling nonsense about how you want it inside, how you need it so bad, how he makes you feel so good. 

Wonwoo really looks at you before he comes. Takes a moment to commit your face to memory. Any time could be the last and he needs this– needs you– to stay with him. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be the same. 

“Like that, Wonwoo” you’re saying, all breathy and high-pitched as he spills into you with a choked whine. “Like when you–” Cum slips out around his cock and he gathers it up on his fingers. Pushes them into your mouth to stop you talking. Can’t bear it. Can’t bear the way your pupils blow out and you lick the cum from his fingers. Can’t stand how his name sounds in your mouth, sweeter, more precious, because there’s something like love coating it. God, he wants to be yours. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo likes your apartment better. Likes the way your sheets start to smell like him too. You’ve always carved out space for him but this time it’s deeper. Likes showering with you here, not to fuck, just to wash away the mess you make of each other. Likes holding you in his arms under the stream, running the lather across your skin, loving kisses pressed against your forehead. Lately he stays here more often than he goes home.

You haven’t said the words yet, neither has he. Doesn’t want to push too much too soon. 

It’s just after nine on Sunday morning, and you’re out of– well, pretty much everything. He offers to go but you insist he stays in bed, hair messed up, sheets pooling in his bare lap, glasses slipping down his nose while he rereads Kafka on the Shore. “Stay just like that,” you say it like a demand, but you’re smiling, pulling a scarf around your neck to run down the street to the shop, maybe stop at the deli for breakfast. “Back in a bit, don’t move an inch.”

A few minutes go by when the shrill of the telephone in the living room punctuates the silence. Wonwoo doesn’t get up to answer, it’d be improper, what if it was your mother? So he lets it ring through to answerphone, and when it clicks on it takes him a moment to recognise the voice calling your name. 

“Are you there? Pick up, darling, pick up.” Wonwoo knows Hongseok has been trying to get back together with you. You’d mentioned it a few weeks ago, how he’d sent flowers. You don’t even like roses.

“I saw you by the river yesterday,” he says. Wonwoo looks up, stares at the wall. You’d insisted on getting out of the apartment, pulled your bodies from soft sheets and into soft sweaters, and Wonwoo only complained a little bit. In truth he loved walking with you. That he can hold your hand in public and no one bats an eye. Loves that you can be his here, that you claim him too. “You’re with him now? How long, darling? Does he fuck you like I do? ” 

Wonwoo scoffs. Hongseok is just jealous. Wonwoo gets it. He does. Even if he’d never dream of saying it.

Hongseok’s voice turns nasty now. “Do you think he’ll stay this time? Does he know you’ve been in love with him this whole time? Everyone else knows. He won’t love you properly, you know. He’s just using you like last time, is he still keeping you a secret? You don’t deserve that, darling. You don’t deserve to be hidden–”

 Is that what you thought? That he hid you? Bile swirls in Wonwoo’s stomach. Does he do that? Did he hurt you?

“–he’s just gonna fuck you up again and you’re gonna be miserable. But he won’t let you be happy with anyone, will he? Selfish fucking prick, he’s so cruel to you. You don’t see it, do you? It’s pathetic how fucking dumb you are for him–”

Wonwoo didn’t think he was cruel. There is spit pooling in his mouth, his stomach churns. Is he cruel to you?

The line clicks off as Hongseok spits out every name under the sun, but Wonwoo doesn’t hear the rest as he retches into your bathroom sink. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Forty minutes later, you’re calling out to Wonwoo that you’re home as you kick off your shoes. “I got us bagels, do you want the salmon cream cheese or the egg and ba- oh! You’re up.”

Wonwoo sits on your sofa in soft sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. His skin and hair are damp from the shower. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. “You okay?” you ask, tentatively. 

“Hmm,” he says. “Didn’t feel too good earlier.”

“Poor you,” you say. “Will breakfast make you feel better?”

“No, sorry,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically stiff. “I think I should head home. Don’t wanna give you a bug.”

You laugh softly, unpacking the groceries from the bags. “You spat in my mouth last night, if you’ve got something then I’ll have it in no time,” you say. “C’mon, stay. I’ll look after you. I’ll make soup.”

But Wonwoo is already standing, pulls a little money from his wallet and leaves it on the table. “What’s that for?”

“Breakfast,” he says. “Feel bad you bought all this and I need to go.”

You frown. “Stop being strange, I don’t care about the food, just get the next one.”

Wonwoo sighs. He’s annoyed, you realise. This is weird.

In the end you let him leave without drama, but not without a kiss to his cheek. He leans into it a little longer than usual. Closes his eyes as he hugs you goodbye. 

You eat breakfast alone. TV on, sound off, wondering what the fuck even happened before you notice the light of your answerphone flickering. 

New message, left 09:21: 

Hi Sweetheart! It’s your aunt’s birthday next week, just calling to remind you to send a card. Call me back, okay, love you, bye!

End of messages.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s routine. It’s good. It’s been this way since school. Every Tuesday is reserved for taking up each other's space. Tuesday– because who else makes plans on Tuesdays? Watching movie after movie in his apartment until it gets too late to go home, and you sleep here. Can’t get interrupted on a Tuesday. (The only time you press pause is when either of you are dating someone, the last was Siyeon several months ago. You liked her, but Wonwoo never really talked about why he ended it.) You have a half hearted fight over who takes the sofa, but you always win out in the end. Wonwoo brings you pillows and pyjamas that smell like his laundry powder. It’s fine. It’s nice. 

The problem is that lately your feelings have been running away with themselves again. You’re not sure how it started anew, or if they ever even fully went away, but the affection you have for him swirls, neglected and nameless, in your stomach. All Wonwoo has to do is smile in your direction and you melt. Made worse tenfold every time he holds your hand. It’s not often. Just when a particularly horrible scene comes on, and your spine goes rigid and you hold your breath, he’ll reach over, wrap his fingers around yours and use his thumb to work the tension out of your knuckles. He’s so good like this. You’ll take all the horror movies he wants for these soft moments, even though they make everything worse. He’s your best friend, and you’ve tried this two too many times. You never properly talked about the last time, the second time, four years ago.

(It’s like these feelings come in cycles.)

The end began with a sickness bug that stretched several days, and ended with a clipped voicemail, Wonwoo’s quiet contemplation obvious through the tinny sound of the recording, saying he wants to just be friends, saying he didn’t want to ruin what you have. That he cares about you so deeply that your friendship needs preserving over everything else. Yes, it hurt. God– it hurts. But you’d rather have him in your life in these half measures, than not at all. 

His hand is on his leg now. You could touch but you won’t. What’s happening on screen isn’t the right kind of scary for holding Wonwoo’s hand. Just Laurie telling Jo he loves her, and Jo telling him she doesn’t. Not in that way. You sink onto your side, hardly watching the screen through fuzzy eyes. Wonwoo chuckles softly as he looks over. 

“Are you crying?”

“No–” you say, voice thick.

“Oh you are,” he says, leaning over to stroke your hair. 

“Don’t touch me right now, Wonwoo,” you warn. “I’ll bite you.”

“Freak.” He laughs and pulls his hand back. “Shit–”

“What?”

It’s obvious what. Wonwoo has knocked over the mostly-full bottle that was tucked between you, and it’s soaking into the seat. 

You jump up to grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and when you come back Wonwoo is stripping the covers from the cushions. “Fuck, it’s soaked. I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” you ask, patting the excess liquid from the cushions. ‘It’s your sofa.”

“Yeah but it’s your bed.”

“Who says I was even gonna stay?” you joke.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call a taxi.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s one AM, you’re not going home now.” 

You laugh. “And where, pray tell, am I going to sleep?”

“My room,” he says, without any idea how the thought of that has been floating through your mind for weeks. You haven’t slept in there since– since– “Hansol’s on the night shift, I’ll take his.”

You chew on the fat of your cheek. “Okay, sure. That works.”

There’s a knock at the half open door an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. “I can’t sleep.”

“Does it smell again?”

“It’s like something died in there. And there’s crumbs in the bed.”

Okay. Okay. It’s fine.

Wonwoo slips into the bed next to you, pulls the sheets right up to his shoulders even though he must be boiling in those pyjamas. Maybe he’s feeling strange about this, too. You turn on your side to find him watching your face already, cautious eyes and words unsaid on his lips. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Is this too weird?”

“Not weird,” he says. A pause. “A little weird. It’s been a while.” He reaches for your hand and you let him take it. Dummy.

“Do you think Jo and Laurie should’ve ended up together?” Wonwoo asks, after a minute. 

“She didn’t love him.”

“Wouldn’t it have been a better story if she had?”

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been them then, right? Jo and Laurie in love would’ve been different people entirely.”

Here he is, fingers entwined with yours and much too close. Here you are, four years older and not at all wiser. You are Laurie, pathetic and yearning, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get that he’s Jo, and that sometimes his tenderness makes you ache. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” he says.

Some things shouldn’t change even when they do. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” you say. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol opens the bedroom door at just past six AM. He clocks the bed, the lump under the sheets, the just visible hair, face hidden by Wonwoo’s shoulder. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, who has been laid wide awake for the better part of an hour, trying not to move lest he wakes you too, and mouths Who’s that?

Wonwoo mouths back your name, and Hansol’s jaw hangs open. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and raises curious eyebrows. Wonwoo gives him the finger. 

A little later, while you’re attempting to rush out the door for a seminar, Hansol is shovelling cereal in his mouth, and Wonwoo is sitting at the table with a coffee. Hansol asks around a mouthful of Frosties– “so, are you two fucking again?”

“What? No.”

Hansol swallows loudly, frowning confused. “What’s the wet patch on the couch?”

“Ew– it’s beer, you weirdo.” You’re staring at Hansol in disbelief. “Even if we were hooking up I don’t fuck on shared furniture.”

Wonwoo suppresses a choke on his coffee. You throw him a pointed look, lips twisting with the effort of trying not to laugh.

(You and he did, once, on the aforementioned sofa.)

“Why did you sleep in his–” Hansol gestures with an accusing spoon at Wonwoo. “–bed, then?”

“Because it smells like a skunk shat in your room, Hansol, maybe you should wash your arsehole once in a while.”

“I’m squeaky clean, buddy.”

“I doubt that, pal.”

Hansol laughs. He’s loving this. “You need to get laid so badly, shall I help find someone big and strong to pull that gigantic stick out your a–”

“Oh my God, please shut up,” Wonwoo interrupts. “It’s so weird you two are related, who talks with their cousins like this?”

“Second cousins,” you and Hansol correct in unison.

“Just to clarify– you’re not together again?”

You roll your eyes so hard all Wonwoo can see is white. “We weren’t ever together,” you say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this before.”

Wonwoo rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You’re going to be late,” he says to you.

You look at your watch. “Shit– bye best friend, call me tomorrow. Smell you later, Hansol.”

You’re already halfway out the door, and Hansol is calling after you, “Gonna find you a boyfriend! That’s a warning!” 

When the door clicks closed, Hansol turns on Wonwoo. “You’re donezo, I guess?”

Wonwoo sips his coffee. “Never started-zo.”

That sounded less stupid in his head.

Grinning wide, Hansol says, “You won’t mind if I introduce her to Minghao, then?”

Wonwoo presses his forehead against the table and tries to consider how much Hansol’s parents would miss him if he were to flush their son down the toilet. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

February 2006

Wonwoo hovers his cursor over the Submit button. He hesitates. Could remove one of the options, the long shot, and replace it with something more achievable. He’s not going to get it, and if he did he’s under no obligation to take it. It’s more for his ego than anything else, he tells himself. But Professor Lee had insisted he throw his hat in the ring, so he does, and tries not to panic over having made a horrible error of judgement once he clicks submit, because now it’s too late– it’s in the ether. 

You turn over in your sleep, uncomfy in the ball you’d tucked yourself into before drifting off, and your leg unfurls over him, seeking warmth and closeness. Wonwoo sets his laptop on the nightstand, and shifts down carefully next to you. It’s nights like these that Wonwoo is convinced that his life isn’t really real. Because isn’t it some funny joke that you’re here next to him like this, and you’re both still worlds apart. Touches are considered and well-mannered, despite how they used to be. But here you are in your ridiculous Pompompurin pyjamas and he wonders if you ever think about the last time you wore these with him. Probably not. It wouldn’t be considered memorable to anyone else, he thinks. Just a late breakfast in bed, that turned into non-stop talking, that turned silly, peppered kisses into lazy, deepened ones, forgoing lunch in favour of laying together, just close, in ways not completely unlike you are now. In some parallel universe, in some other life, this could still be happening in the way it was meant to. 

Wonwoo considers how well he really knows you now, if it’s less than before, if your favourite colour is still the same as it was when you were children together. There are some questions you don’t think to ask your best friend of twenty years, because it’s expected you’ll already know. Unfortunately, Wonwoo knows nothing of the things inside your head, and someday you’ll find out. Tomorrow he’s going to ask what your favourite colour is, and hopefully that someday won’t be anytime soon. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo surprises you when he picks up the phone on a Friday evening. 

“Oh– hello. I was preparing to leave you a message. Aren’t you playing WoW?”

“Runescape,” he says. “Just getting snacks. What’s up?”

“Mum called, said I’ve got a letter there about our class reunion next month, the eighteenth.”

“Ah yeah, Jihoon mentioned that it was coming up.”

“You wanna go? I could rent a car.”

“Oh so you’re volunteering me as the driver?” You can hear Wonwoo’s smile through the phone. “When are you planning on getting your licence?”

You pout, even though he can’t see you. “Come onnn, won’t it be fun? I promise I’ll be good company.”

Wonwoo laughs. “How good?”

“I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Uh huh–”

“And I’ll burn three new CDs.”

“Four.”

“And I’ll burn four new CDs.”

“Okay, getting closer.”

“And, uh– honestly that's all I had.” You wrack your brain and come up with nothing of substance. “I’ll uh– I’ll hype you up in front of that girl you had a crush on. Whatsername? The cheerleader. God, it’s on the tip of my tongue–”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The girl– that girl you liked once. The one with the hair–”

“I genuinely have no idea who you mean.” He does sound confused, actually. 

“Damn,” you say. “That’s all my bargaining chips.”

“Damn,” he echoes, with a click of his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to take me to dinner if you can’t remember who my mystery girl is.”

“So you’ll drive us?”

“Rent the car.”

“Thanks dear, you’re a real friend,” you sing-song. “Love you, see y–”

“Wait,” he says. “Wanna come over and play Mario Kart?

“Right now?”

“Yeah, you can stay the weekend. If you want.”

There was a phrase Wonwoo’s dad always used to use for the pair of you. Birds of a feather flock together. You’re flocking so often you hardly have to think about it. Just comes naturally. Nothing else is going on, and a weekend playing games and eating out of Wonwoo’s fridge instead of your own is a decent offering. Maybe he’ll have rented that film he talked about last week. The Descent? You’ll tolerate it, if he’ll squeeze your hand through the awful parts. 

“Sure, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

March 2006

The last weeks of winter feel too long, but today there is a breath of warmth in the air and it feels good good good. March is always the best time of year for dreaming, you think. Feels especially good when you’re watching 28 Days Later, and Wonwoo holds your hand through the whole thing. It’s not even as scary as the others he’s had you sit through, but holding his hand feels nice. Every Tuesday since Little Women has ended in his bed. Feels like old times, without any of the touching and all of the one sided angst. 

When it’s your turn, Wonwoo groans at the sight of the Sense and Sensibility box, but it’s gently done.

“You cannot complain when we’ve been watching horror every week lately,” you admonish, pointing at him with one of your fries. He bites at it and you throw the remaining half at his face. “You know I hate them.” 

Wonwoo grins. “You should complain more, then.”

You hum your agreement. “Well it’s because I’m so selfless that I don’t, you see.”

“Sure, sure,” Wonwoo laughs. His laugh is so lovely. “That’s why you’re taking up my entire bed every Tuesday night.” 

You scoff. “I sleep very mindfully, actually. I even curl into a little ball so your giraffe legs have enough space.” 

“Is that so?” Wonwoo tugs at the material of your (his) pyjama bottoms. “Then explain why I’ve woken up with your legs draped over me every time?”

You blink. Can feel the heat on your ears. Thank God it’s dark. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”

A pause. 

“I don’t mind,” he says. Quiet. Suddenly too serious. You can’t look at him. “You’ve always slept like that.” 

“Movie’s starting,” you say. And that’s that. 

Later, Wonwoo squeezes in beside you in his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. He bumps his hip into your side, smiles at you in the mirror, and it feels so horribly domestic you might actually throw up. It doesn’t make sense what you’re doing. 

When you finish brushing your teeth you look down the hallway to the sofa, think briefly about taking it, but Wonwoo steps out behind you, tugs on your sleeve and asks if you’re coming to bed. There’s toothpaste on the corner of his lip. This time four years ago you would’ve wiped it away. Now you just tap at the corner of your own, say got something there and let Wonwoo sort himself out. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s a rare Tuesday that Hansol is home. He takes Wonwoo’s usual spot next to you, showing you pictures of some guy on his laptop while Wonwoo is fetching drinks and snacks from the kitchen, and when he comes back in the room he blinks, surprised that he’s been relegated to the armchair. He leans over the arm of the sofa to peer at the Myspace profile loaded on Hansol’s screen. 

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Hansol here is trying to get me a date.”

“Am not,” Hansol rebuts. “Though if I were, is he the sort of guy you’d be interested in?”

“Uh–”

Wonwoo’s sharp laugh sounds like a bark. “No, Soonyoung is not her type.”

You swat at him. “What would you know about my type? None of my exes have been remotely similar. He’s hot.”

“Sure, but he’s not for you,” Wonwoo insists. “He’s not serious about anything–”

Hansol sighs, dejected. “We’re never gonna get him laid–“

You stare at the screen. “And apparently he’s a virgin–”

“Don’t shame him,” Hansol says flatly.

“I’m not! It’s just surprising, that’s all!”

“Okay, fine, what about this guy–” He’s already closing off his profile and loading another. It’s all grunge and dark compared to the neon green garishness of the previous. He’s tall, long dark hair, painted nails. That’s all you get to see before Wonwoo is snapping the laptop closed. 

“I’m putting on the movie now, guests choice first.”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” asks Hansol.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just flops into the chair opposite, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the title screen on the TV.

Pride and Prejudice begins, and no less than five minutes in, Hansol sags against the back of the sofa. “Borrrrring. Can we watch Shrek instead?”

Wonwoo glances at you, and you shrug. Hansol takes that as a yes, and disappears off to his room to dig out the DVD from underneath the mess. 

“We can watch it another time,” Wonwoo offers. But you don’t care about that. You’re wondering if Wonwoo is keeping his secrets again. If Hansol knew much about your past, more than the hooking up, more to do with the depth of the feelings you once had for each other, would he be trying to set you up with his and Wonwoo’s friends, right in front of him?

Later, you lay in Wonwoo’s bed and ask why he isn’t dating anyone. He’s on the verge of sleep, can hear it with how low his voice is, how soft. 

“Don’t wanna,” he hums, eyes closed. “M’happy as I am.”

Ah.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Dating someone.”

“Well I’ve got terribly high standards, you see.”

Wonwoo laughs, grins lazy and sweet. “Not high enough. All your partners have been awful.”

“Not all of them,” you argue.

“Name one.” His big brown eyes open just enough for him to level you with them.

You could say anything. Anything. You could say what you really mean, and it could be okay. It could not, too. 

“Remember Park Sungkyu? He was pretty great.”

Wonwoo tickles your middle, and you yelp, swatting at him and suppressing a giggle. “Boys from when we were six don’t count.”

“He gave me a crown for my birthdayyy!” you sing-song. “He called me his Princess.” Wonwoo tickles you again and you jolt.

“Okay, okay, you’re right! I have terrible taste! Now stop torturing me, you freak.”

“Whatever Her Majesty desires.” 

You kick him in the shin in exaggerated outrage but all Wonwoo does is smile wide, grossly pleased with himself. He’s beautiful like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s the weekend and you’re watching Pride and Prejudice from Wonwoo’s bed. Hansol has taken over the living room with a group of friends, and their yelling is so loud it feels like they’re right outside the door. It’s the final game for something or other, you didn’t really listen. It’s unseasonably warm, and though the window is thrust open the air hangs still and heavy in this room. You’re laid shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sheets pushed down to your feet. Occasionally, his thigh brushes yours and it’s nice. His hand twists, palm up, and his thumb strokes your wrist. You like how it feels deliberate. 

It gets to the part where Elizabeth turns down Mr Darcy’s proposal and Wonwoo sniffs. You near snap your neck to look at him. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are. Your eyes are all watery.”

He gestures at the screen. “This is fucked up. They could just talk to each other.”

You shrug, turning back to the screen. Elizabeth finishes up her speech, Mr Darcy looks at her lips, they lean in and hold back. The desperation in his voice, his breathy please, has your chest knotted tight and uncomfortable. “Without a little miscommunication there wouldn’t be any story at all,” you say. 

“Love doesn’t need to be a story,” says Wonwoo, flat. “It could just be.”

“But then we wouldn’t have films, my dearest friend. And all this yearning makes me feel alive.”

Wonwoo knocks his foot against yours, and you nudge him back. More cheers from down the hall. 

“I hate yearning. Makes me feel sick.”

You laugh then, rolling onto your side and looking over at him. Your heart is thumping so loud he can surely hear it. Don’t say it. Don’t push. “What have you ever yearned for?” 

Fuck. What a stupid thing to say.

He doesn’t look at you. Rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and clams up. “Nothing. Nevermind.” And there it is. He’ll touch on his terms and won’t give the feeling a name. He pushes up from the bed. “Want ice cream?”

“No,” you grumble, slipping down flat on the bed and stretching out your arms, eyes fluttering shut to tuck up the feeling in them. “Wanna sleep. This weather makes me tired.”

“Let's sleep then,” he says. “We can finish the rest in the morning.” He shuts off his laptop and makes to take off his t-shirt, but stops, clearly thinking better of it. 

You poke his arm. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep without it. It’s boiling.” 

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.” 

His shoulders go all stiff for a second. Stupid.

“Aren’t you warm too?”

Yes. The sweat is starting to make your shirt stick to your skin. “No, I’m okay.”

Wonwoo shrugs off his clothes, tosses them to the chair (keeps his underwear on even though he usually wouldn’t, as some attempt at consideration for the blockades between you ever since– since before) and lays down. Your eyes meet in the half-dark for a moment, and there is something unwritten in his expression. The backs of your hands brush, and it’s still not the right kind of scary to make this touch okay. You can feel the warmth beaming out of him, and you almost tell him how lovely he looks with his skin all flushed and shiny like this. But then he turns his back on you, whispers goodnight, best friend to the wall, and you hold your breath for a moment, while you sink into the depths of your wanting. 

You can’t be the one to bring up the possibility of you, together, again. It’s too humiliating. You should let this go. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thanks to traffic the drive takes longer than expected. It doesn’t matter. Despite burning six CDs, and stealing four from Hansol’s collection, Wonwoo has you play From Under the Cork Tree twice in the first half of the drive. For the first two hours you talk non-stop, the next is taken up speculating on and placing bets on the lives of the classmates you haven’t already reconnected with on Facebook. You spend the fourth half-snoozing, while Wonwoo hums along to Snow Patrol. He’s gently singing the wrong lyrics to Set Fire to the Third Bar, when Jihoon calls your mobile. 

“Hi Jihoon,” you murmur, and then holding up the phone to Wonwoo’s ear– “Say hi.”

“Hi Jihoon,” says Wonwoo obediently. “We’re still two hours away– shitty traffic.” 

You take the phone back, and say, “Are we meeting you there tonight or do you guys wanna come pregame with us and Wonwoo’s parents?”

Jihoon laughs. “How much pregaming are we talking?”

“I need at least two drinks before I set foot in the same room as Choi Hwangyu.”

“Haven’t you let that whole mortal enemies thing go yet?”

“Never,” you assert, crossing your heart. Wonwoo laughs. “It’s a mutual hatred that will last for all eternity.”

“You know– ‘all eternity’ is a redundant phr–”

“Oh my Godddd.”

You settle on the plan for the evening quickly. You and Wonwoo will have dinner with his parents, change into something that smells less like rental car and chilli Doritos, and Jihoon and Iseul will meet you at the pub before heading to the venue near your old school. 

You flip the phone to end the call, and Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your knee. 

“You gonna be okay? Seeing him?”

It started off as just a bunch of guys being dickheads, nothing too worthy of note. Hwangyu took it further. Snapping your bra strap in the middle of class, spilling drinks over your shirt in front of the entire lunch hall, spreading baseless rumours about boys you’d supposedly hooked up with. Once he started telling people you blew him in the chemistry lab during lunch break, Wonwoo and Jihoon stopped taking notice of your asking them to not intervene and “had words” after school. Wonwoo didn’t walk you home that day– had his friend from the year below, Mingyu, walk you instead. Jihoon told you not to ask so you never did, but just like that Hwangyu stopped giving you grief. Even back then you hated the fact that it took other guys to get him to leave you alone. Patriarchy rules even at the turn of the twenty-first century. How gross.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I looked him up a few days ago. Guess what?”

“He’s divorced?”

“Divorced thrice.”

Wonwoo laughs. “We’re twenty-six, how does someone find the time to get married to and divorced from three different people?”

“We could’ve been married already had we not spent eight years fucking around at university.” You’re laughing until you notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, a weird lopsided smile on his face, and you realise what you just said. You cough. “Not we. You know what I mean. My question was more how did he find three separate people who want to fuck him?”

“Urgh, I’d rather not have that visual, thanks.”

Snow Patrol wraps up, and you dig out the CD case from under your feet. “Okay, what next? Arctic Monkeys or My Chemical Romance?”

“Can we have Fall Out Boy again?”

“Oh my G–”

“I really liked that fifth one.” 

You fiddle taking Snow Patrol out the player and popping Fall Out Boy back in, trying not to scratch their bottoms. 

“Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner? Yeah, it’s my second favourite.”

“What’s your first?” asks Wonwoo.

“XO, the last one.” You tip your head back against the headrest, close your eyes, listen to Wonwoo sing, and wonder if it’s him or the music that makes your heart beat faster. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s fun, really. Catching up with all these people you haven’t seen in eight years, and Jihoon and Iseul, who you last saw seven months ago, and Wonwoo, who you see all the time. After your first rounds, the four of you huddle at the table on the furthest edge of the room, Iseul tells you about how her job is having her relocate to your city, and could you show her around (you will—of course you will. The idea of your old friend being there in your home makes you giddy, and Wonwoo laughs when you clap your hands in excitement.), Jihoon tells you all about his latest projects, and you and Wonwoo catch them both up on your studies. Eventually the group breaks off, Wonwoo to the bathroom, Jihoon to the bar, and Iseul spots another friend across the room, and darts off with a promise to be right back. 

You take the moment of quiet to check your texts. Mingyu and Seokmin have heard you’re in town, they want to hang out tomorrow. Your mother wants to know if you’re staying the night with her or your father (neither, you’re staying with Wonwoo’s parents, who were far more glad to see you than your own parents would be), and Wonwoo, who has messaged from the bathroom.

Wonwoo: You’re taking me for dinner after this btw.

You: Wash your hands before texting me, you pig!

There’s a clearing of a throat behind you, and you turn, half expecting Wonwoo there saying something smart in reply, but it’s not. 

“Oh. Hello.”

Your voice is anything but friendly. It seems Hwangyu still has the same unwarranted self-assuredness that pissed you off back then, because once addressed, he settles himself into the chair just vacated by Iseul and leans into your space.

You lean back. “Can I help you?”

“Did you come with Jihoon?’

You blink stupidly. He must not recognise you.

“No.”

He smirks, lazy, out the side of his mouth. 

“Good,” he says, slow. “Can’t stand that guy.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve grown into your looks, haven’t you? Nice dress.”

There goes that hopeful theory of him not recognising you, but what in the God awful fuck is happening? Is he trying to pick you up? No apology, not even a pleasantry to speak of, just headfirst into some backhanded compliment and a sleazy smile. These men should only exist as fictional villains, not out in the real world. 

You’re trying to gather your words. The planned retorts in your head don’t work in a situation where this is the angle he’s taking. Shit. 

“I looked you up,” he says, not looking at you. Eyes darting, nervous almost, across the room. You spot his usual friend group, they’re all looking over like hyenas. “A few weeks ago.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Wanted to see if you were single. I always liked you, you know.”

The sound of your laugh takes you by surprise. Comes out more like a bark. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

He doesn’t have the good grace to look contrite. Instead he drums his chewed up fingers on his knee, and says, “Got your attention, though.”

There is stale air around him, hair already peppered at the sides. He looks older than his years, and affected. The hate isn’t eternal, because you just feel something like pity for him. Not so much that you’d forgive the way he treated you, but enough to let it go. Enough to be able to sit here and think that at least you remained kind, and three separate women divorced him before he got within touching distance of thirty. What a sad little life.

“Are you still Jeon Wonwoo’s girl?”

You roll your eyes. About to say no, the truth, because not wanting him has absolutely nothing to do with Wonwoo, and he should know that– but a hand on your shoulder stills you. “Yeah, she is,” says Jihoon, from behind you. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. I am,” you echo, because you’re not going to let Hwangyu call your friend a liar. 

Much too slowly, Hwangyu makes his exit. Exchanges stiff pleasantries with Jihoon, and tries with Iseul who doesn’t return them (she’s a wonderful friend), and slips away to his old friends across the hall. You watch– they clap him on the shoulder, jeer at him, make faces like a twelve year old would. Some friends.

Jihoon and Iseul sit back down in their respective seats. Exchange a look, and you heave a frustrated sigh, just before Wonwoo returns from the bathroom. His eyes flick between you, catching the smell of the tension, and sinks slowly into his seat next to yours.

“What did I miss?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu and Seokmin are playing pool, badly. You can hear their yelling from all the way over here. Someone has started playing Boyz II Men on the jukebox. Jihoon is drunk, sings along to the words. His voice has always been pretty. Iseul joins in, and hers is less so, but it’s so fun to watch them together. 

‘I know the colour of love

And it lives inside of you

I know the colour of truth

It's in the image of you’

They’re another set of friends who could have been, but didn’t. It’s a shame they could never figure it out. You and Wonwoo clink your bottles together, take a sip, and Wonwoo lets you lean against him. His arm rests on the bench behind your back, his hand on your shoulder. He’s a little drunk, as are you, and it’s nice to be home and in all your old haunts.

You rest the back of your head in the crook of his neck, and ask him what he thinks the colour of love is. 

Wonwoo hums in thought, runs his thumb along the length of your shoulder blade. “I don’t know, I’ll need to think about it. What do you think it is?”

“It’s pink.”

“Why?”

Blush pink, soft, and subtle, and sweet. The colour of his cheeks when he’s shy. The colour of the soft sweater he wore one time, while you were walking along the river and he was happy and goofy and lovely, swinging your clasped hands high in the sky. The colour of the flowers he buys for your birthday, the same kind (your favourite) every year without fail. His corsage on prom night. The fuzzy feeling you get in your stomach when he laughs is pink. Painted clouds at sunset, lovehearts, strawberries, the Milky Way, cherry blossoms. Pink is the colour of hopeless romantics, and the colour of the Wonwoo shaped hole in your heart. 

He taps you, gentle. “Get distracted?” he asks. You nod. “Drunk?” 

“Getting there.”

“Why pink?”

It’s too much to say. “Valentines Day. Duh.”

Britney Spears comes on the jukebox. Iseul squeals loud and drags you up to dance. Wonwoo watches you, his smile beaming, and you can hardly look at him. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, when Wonwoo lays in bed (the air mattress on the floor of his childhood bedroom), he’s still mulling over your question. Your arm is hanging over the edge of his old bed, fingers close enough to touch. He doesn’t. You’d fallen fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

Wonwoo thinks about when you were children. Digging in the grass, plucking leaves from trees (Biggest one wins! Wins what? I dunno, a promise?), the first shoots of the tulips you and he planted in your grandfather's garden. He’s had so many shared firsts with you. There was no obligation, no forced time spent, just two kids who chose the comfort of one another over everyone else. It’s really something that you’ve still stuck like glue, all these years, as you’ve grown and reincarnated into several different people. Every time, you’ve chosen each other, even when it didn’t work. 

The colour of love is green. It’s in all those moments he felt most free. Like anything could happen. Like everything is fresh and new and an adventure to be had. It’s in the wig you wore for Halloween one year, and you made him laugh so hard he cried. It’s in the way you ground him when his heart is racing, when you drag him outside to stand in the park, make him kick off his shoes and socks and stand on the grass to feel the earth beneath his body. He always feels silly until it works. It’s in the bauble you painted for his parents when you were eight, tucked away for safekeeping in the attic, brought out every December to hang on the tree. It’s the colour of the blanket his mother knitted you years ago, that you still keep, spread out on top of your bed. His colour is in the dress you wore the very first time, and in another one, more sensible and grown, that you wore last night. His colour is all his moments with you. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 2006

“If I have to move to Busan you’ll come visit me, right?”

You purse your lips and hum loud for dramatic effect. Wonwoo throws a cushion at your face, and you laugh, swatting at him and missing by a mile. 

You’re laying down with your bare feet in his lap, while Wonwoo balances his laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa to check on his applications. The news trickles slowly, only a few people have heard back, so far. You’re almost done with your program, and Wonwoo is just about to start. People have called him a late bloomer before, but he just takes a little while to come around. Needs it to be a sure thing before he gets his head out of the sand. He’s starting to realise that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters. 

“Say yes.”

“I’ll have to get my drivers licence,” you say, thinking possibilities out loud. “But sure, I’ll get the train in the meantime.”

You push up and lean over him to peer at his screen, place your hand on his bicep for balance. Wonwoo tries not to think too much about it.

“Where else did you apply?” you ask, scanning the page.

Wonwoo lists off. “SNU, KNUH, PNU–” 

“Cambridge?” Your voice is small, and he hates it. “I didn’t know you still wanted to go.”

Wonwoo shrugs. He does. Cambridge had been a fantasy for a while, all his adult life and then some, and the research fellow for the Keros Project couldn’t be a better opportunity. Six months in Greece, five in England. But also he doesn’t. Both because you’re his constant, and this is new ground. What if he leaves? Even if it’s just Busan– if he leaves this city, would you still be birds?

He won’t get in.

“I won’t get in.”

“But you applied?”

“Professor Lee insisted,” Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed and already sick of hearing himself talk about it. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t try. Seriously though, they only take a few applicants. It’s not going to be me. It’ll be Busan for me, most likely.”

You’re quiet for a moment, hand still on him like you’ve forgotten all about it. 

“Cambridge would be stupid if they didn’t take you,” you say, smiling tiny and false. “Not sure how often I could visit though.”

Wonwoo’s skin feels all hot. Would crawl out of it, if he could. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol’s friend, Minghao (the one from Myspace) is in the arts. It suits him. He talks at length about his various projects– painting, interpretive dance, a four man performance he’s directed that will soon be playing at some hole in the wall venue (that he asks if you’d like to see. You would.) and it’s nice to be around someone that shows their interest in you so clearly. He asks about your studies and seems genuinely interested when you talk about the impact candlelight vigils have on policy making. How the government consistently underestimates its people. It’s a rare occurrence that a date takes interest in your work. Wonwoo talks with you about it all the time, of co– but that’s not– he’s not– 

It’s just different when it’s a date. 

He’s perfectly polite. Buys your coffee and holds the door. Walks on the road side of the footpath, even. Minghao would be easy for you to like. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and takes notice. He’s bold. He’s a welcome distraction. 

But Wonwoo is still there. 

He’s pressed into every crevice of your mind. He’s your past and present and only God knows if he’s in your future. Later, you call, but of course you get the answerphone– he did say yesterday that he’d be in the library all weekend. 

“Hey, Wonwoo, it’s me. Listen– will you come over when you hear this? Doesn’t matter what time. Use your key. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s late when Wonwoo lets himself in. Heard your message just after two and walked straight out the door, rode his bike all the way here. 

The apartment looks like it always does. He’s hardly spent much time here in recent years, save for the occasional lingering in the living room before heading out somewhere neutral. Doesn’t feel right being in your space anymore, not after how it all ended last time, with water brash in his mouth. He still thinks about that. It’s why movie night is only ever at his place. So when you called and asked him to be here, to use his key, he knew something was awry. 

Seoyoung, your new-ish roommate, is in the living room, sitting on the ledge and blowing smoke out the window. She moved in about four months ago and you’ve quickly become good friends. She looks up at Wonwoo and waves, mouths she’s asleep and Wonwoo acknowledges with whispered “ah– thanks.”

Wonwoo knocks on your half open door, but you don’t stir, in too deep a sleep. You don’t notice the door clunk closed louder than Wonwoo intends. The mattress dips under his weight and still you don’t move. It’s only when he squeezes your hand that you blink the sleep from your eyes, puffy cheeks and always lovely. You stretch out like a cat, willing the fatigue away with a sigh that turns to a yawn, and Wonwoo feels immense guilt for having kept you waiting. More still for waking you up, but you wouldn’t have asked him to come if you didn’t want to talk right away. 

You pat the space next to you in silent invitation and Wonwoo hesitates. 

“I’m in my outdoor clothes.” 

“One of your t-shirts is in the bottom drawer,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard. 

Wonwoo changes in the bathroom. Washes his face and thinks about the last time he used your sink. The feelings haven’t changed, just bottled. Matured. He has a similar unease in every fibre of his body. Feels like static energy on his fingertips and he needs to rub it away. 

The silence stretches when he sinks down into the empty space of the bed. You draw patterns onto the sheets with a fingertip and stare down at the dimples you make. He wants to still your hand, to turn it over in his and ask why you called him over. Doesn’t, because you’re working up to it, can tell you’ve got tightness in your chest just by the sound of your breathing. You lean into him, sagging against his side and head tipped to rest on his shoulder. He has to stop himself pressing his lips to your crown. 

“I’m sorry I kept this,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Wear it to sleep, sometimes.”

He remembers it wasn’t in the bag of things you’d handed him, a couple of weeks after he left you that message on your answerphone. He figured it’d just been mislaid, didn’t occur to him that you’d tucked it away for yourself.  

“I don’t mind.” Always looked better on you anyway. 

You loop your arm around his. 

“I went on a date today.”

Oh.

“Minghao?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo nods. He could see that working. You’ve always wanted something romantic. Someone who could have nineteenth century novels written about them. Minghao seems like that type.

“He’s asked me out again.”

“Okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, feels like he knows where this is headed because you’ve both dated people since last time. It’s never had to be a conversation though. Movie nights become strictly group activities, any day of the week is fine. It’s okay. It’s out of respect, or whatever. 

“Should I go?”

“It’s your room,” Wonwoo deadpans.

“On the date, idiot.”

He swallows. “I don’t know. Do you like him?”

You shrug. “I could.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Wonwoo–” 

“We don’t talk about stuff like this.”

“We need to,” you insist. “What are we doing?”

There it is. The question he’s been dreading. The question he hoped you wouldn’t ask because he doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to take the feelings in his chest and wrap them neatly into words. All he wanted to do was just let it happen, if it were to happen at all, on your terms. Except now you’re asking him to give it a name, and his throat goes dry. He’s doing it again. Despite how he’s tried letting you go, despite keeping a respectable distance, he’s still managing to slip his way back in like this. Lately, Wonwoo has been wondering if he’s a narcissist, since he doesn’t even realise he’s manipulating the situation until it’s too late, and you’re saying what he can’t. You’re so much braver than he is. It wasn’t until week five (six?) of holding your hand that he realised he was choosing horror movies deliberately so he’d have a reason to touch you. It got to the point when the background music would feature its first minor key of many, and your palm would turn outwards, just waiting for him to clasp it in his and hold you through the scene. He’s given you a Pavlovian response. Isn’t that completely fucked?

“Wonwoo,” you plead. His heart jolts. “I won’t wait for you forever.”

He tips his head back against the headboard, eyes closed because he can’t bear to look at you while he admits it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “What I’ve been doing?”

“Nothing you do makes sense to me.”

The silence feels all thick and pliable.

Quietly, he confesses. “I don’t want you to date him. Anyone, really.”

Feels as though he’s sinking into syrup. Hard to move, hard to breathe. Hears your jagged inhale and steels himself for the ripping of the plaster. 

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” 

Wonwoo is a poorly knitted scarf. All slipped stitches and fast forming holes. One tug on a loose thread and he comes apart. 

“I want to be yours.”

He doesn’t expect your touch, let alone your kiss, gentle and loving on his shoulder. When he looks at you, your eyes are big and sad. 

“I don’t want to be your secret,” you whisper, in a tiny voice, against his t-shirt. 

This is his undoing. Wraps his fingers around your wrist and insists you’re not. You’ve never been that. It’s just– he wants to keep this private, not that he loves you, but how he shows it. Feels like it should be something sacred. You blink, startled, completely taken aback.

“You love me?”

“God. Yes,” he breathes. “Didn’t you know?”

“I thought you might– I didn’t know.” You’re crying. Silent tears spilling over, fingers plucking at a hangnail on your thumb and this is the worst. His heart aches. “You’re so quiet, how could I know anything for sure? How long?” 

“I–” He fucked up. Oh, he fucked up so badly. He rags his hands over his face, pushes his hair back while he searches for the right way to say it. “Too long.”

“After Siyeon?”

Wonwoo sighs. His thing with Siyeon wasn’t anything real. It started as a one time thing that stretched into semi-regular hook ups. She was in love with someone else, and he was pretending he wasn’t. The whole getting over someone by getting under someone else thing doesn’t work on a heartache as sour as his, and fuck anyone who said it would, actually. 

“Before?” 

“Before.”

You suck in a breath. “Oh.”

“Since we were kids, really,” he says. “Since before we ever–”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Wonwoo laughs ruefully. “Is it? I feel like I was plain as day. The guys at school used to tease me for it.”

“I hate this,” you say after a moment, voice thick and sad. You rub at your face. Push away the still falling tears. “It should feel nice, shouldn’t it? You saying you love me and I just feel sad about all the wasted years. And now it feels like I forced it out of you, before you were ready. I love you too, you know. Have all this time.”

Wonwoo feels too big for his body. Like he’s full of hot air and could float right out of the window high high higher until he burns up in the atmosphere. Even still, there is that small voice in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, telling him he’s self-centered for getting what he needs, that he’s cruel for making you feel like this, selfish for wanting you just for himself. Stupid, for having wasted time. The alarm goes off– he doesn’t deserve it, your kindness, your patience, your love. When it comes to you he is, and always has been, a coward. But you’re still here grounding him, head resting against him, arms still linked, and you’re making no moves to push him out the door. 

“How can I make it better?”

You sniff. “You can tell me again when I’ve stopped crying. You can stay.” 

“Can I hold you?” Like you’re his, he doesn’t say.

You chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

Wonwoo shifts down, turns on his side and lifts the duvet for you to move into the space in front of him. You take his glasses, fold them carefully and place them on your nightstand. You slot in next to him, back to his front, his body curls around yours and you press into him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and he starts to let himself hope it could be okay. 

“Have you stopped crying yet,” he asks softly, after a while. His hand is splayed across your cotton clad stomach, one finger toying with the hem. Yours is tracing figures of eight on his forearm. 

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For a long time, you’ve imagined it would feel like fanfare. A marching band size confession if there were to ever be one. But that’s not who he is, and it’s not what you really want. It’s better like this. Whispered sweet things. His breath warming your skin. His fingers on the soft skin of your stomach, lips on your neck. 

It feels honest. 

It feels real. 

Wonwoo turns you on your back, leans over to kiss the skin beneath your eyes. One– two– Wonwoo has always had so much love in him. It’s just quiet. You place your palm over his cheek and he leans into it. Turns to press a kiss to the centre, to your fingertips, one by one. Everything feels soft and pink and fragile. 

“Wonwoo?”

He makes a soft, curious noise. Lips still pressed to the tip of your ring finger.

“Kiss me?”

Every time holds meaning, but now it’s morphed, reincarnated into something new. Wonwoo loves you properly, and this time he’s said it out loud. The way he kisses makes everything go hazy and light and it feels like sunset. Slow and deliberate and feathered across your skin. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, kissing him open mouthed, and his body goes molten against you. The weight of him is exquisite. 

Wonwoo loves like moonlight. Comes in cycles, and yes, this time it’s clearer than others, but it turns out he’s always just there even when he’s not, even when it goes dark and things turn ugly, he’s still there holding your hand. There is moonlight in his eyes, now, shining and shimmering. With tenderness, Wonwoo runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, your bottom lip, the pulse point on your neck. You slip a hand beneath his t-shirt, touch the skin there and sigh over the way he presses against you. Your hand moves down and he stills you. 

“This is embarrassing,” he murmurs. “I didn’t bring any–”

“I don’t need one if you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill now.”

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Okay.”

“Don’t you want to?”

Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, you can feel his eyelashes tickling your skin. “I always want to.”

“Then touch me.” 

He does. Works deft fingers over your middle, watches the way the goosebumps raise as he takes your warm body from your clothes. Soothes his big hands over your skin to warm you. You don’t tell him you’re already burning. He mouths over the swell of your breast, pebbles the nipple between his fingers, asks if it’s okay, like this. It’s okay. Anything he wants is okay. You tell him that– that he can do anything he wants to you, that you’re his to do as he pleases with, and he groans, a small disbelieving sound. 

“Don’t say things like that.” 

You don’t ask why. Wonwoo has always been possessive, but it’s not something he likes about himself. Hates to share but doesn’t like to take either, feels some kind of shame about it. Wears the word selfish like a chain around his neck. And so he doesn’t take at all, tries to stay content with nothing. You tried to tell him once, it’s not selfish to want things. It’s not self-centred to have your needs met. You deserve good things, too, Wonwoo. And he looked at you, both forlorn and skeptical, said something about how caged birds can forget how to fly. He never seemed to get that he’d only ever imprisoned himself. Tonight you’ll give him your body, push his shame away with your hands and your mouth, and let him have this. 

You fist your hands in his hair, drag him up by it just to crush your lips against his to kiss him messy. He groans again, a little louder, and it’s this you’ve missed the most. The way he forgets himself when he’s touching you. The way he lets go. You wiggle underneath him, let his body shift so he’s caught between your legs and you can feel how he presses against your core. You nip at his lip, toy with the waistband of his underwear. “Off,” you say, and Wonwoo complies. The t-shirt follows straight after, and his body is back on you, looking at you like you hung the moon. 

He brings a hand between your bodies, taps you almost where you want him, asks if he can touch you. Please. A finger dips inside, an open mouthed kiss, his length, hard, pressed into your thigh. Wonwoo likes things wet, and sloppy. You like whatever he likes. He gathers up the wetness inside you, smears it over your clit, brings his fingers to his mouth, closes his eyes as he tastes you on his tongue. God, what the fuck. 

“Missed you,” you say, and he kisses you deep. Licks into your mouth, pushes two long fingers back inside your slick heat, and curls them over the sweetest spot. You pull off his lips to gasp. 

“Can we keep doing this?” Wonwoo whispers against the corner of your mouth. “Will you kiss me anytime you want? Baby, say yes.”

You nod, head hazy, swimming in the moment. Baby. The ache in your chest, once dulled but never gone, is pounding. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo holds you like you’re about to disappear, grips your waist tight with his free hand, fucks into you slow and messy with the other. You whimper as he plays with your clit, spread your legs wider so he can see, if he wants, but he’s watching your face, watching your mouth form a silent o. You’re so pretty, he tells you. So pretty always but prettiest like this, when it’s just the two of you. Watches your eyes go glassy, watches you come apart for him, feels your pussy clench around his fingers and commits the way your body shudders to memory. He doesn’t wait for it to pass before he kisses you again, takes your whines in his mouth and eats them. They taste saccharine sweet. 

He slots between your legs, rests his cock against your core, pressing languid kisses to anywhere he can reach without moving from this spot. Nips at your collarbone, laves his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck. Will leave a mark there, one day, when you’re his. A small part of him says that you’re his now, always have been, but it’s not really true, is it? Wonwoo needs the conversation, needs the lines drawn and the expectations laid out. Needs you to be sure that it’s him you want. Needs to know he’ll be able to give you what you need. He hasn’t, always, and that was part of the trouble. Wants it to be different, this time, because being with you is one of the few things that makes him feel whole in his own skin. 

Right now he wants to feel you like this, chasing friction and needing more. He’ll give it to you, would give you anything in this moment, just wants you needy first. It starts with you wrapping your arms around his back, running your fingertips down his spine, lighting little fires in their wake. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and tell him you need him inside. That you want him to fill you up. Fuck, if he could do this forever–

He wraps long fingers around your ankle, bends your knee to press your thigh to your chest, gives him better access like this, and it’s then he rolls against you, his cock dragging along your clit. He’s always loved the way you sound. Loves the way you get wet for him. Wonwoo loves you. So much. 

“Love you, too, Wonwoo.”

He groans as he slots a hand between your bodies, fists his cock and slides into your slick, tight heat. It’s agonising, he thinks, the way you tighten around him. Wants to go to sleep this way, wrapped up in each other like this. He knows if he asks you’ll let him, but he wants you to want it too. Maybe another time. This time there’s going to be more. He knows it.

“Need you to move,” you sigh. “Move for me.”

He does. Fucks into you slow, shit, baby, you feel so good. He gets in deep, feels the tension burning in his guts, gasps into your kiss when your cunt goes impossibly tight and wet around his cock, loves when your nails dig into his skin, when your moan comes out muffled and broken. 

He pulls out to look down at his cock slipping inside you, pushes in as deep as he can again and you arch your hips to meet him. He rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit. His body is alight, the perfect amount of heat and pressure and you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice rasps. Your lips are pink and swollen. He wants them back on him. “So wet for me.” 

The pressure of his hands on you– it wavers. Digs in hard in one moment and become the ghost of a touch the next. It’s like he loses himself and then remembers that you’re a flower, soft, and delicate. You won't break, because you’ve never been the least bit fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt. More so he doesn’t want to let himself claim you. Can’t let anyone know he knows you like he does. 

“Leave marks on me, Wonwoo,” you say, reading his mind. You run your fingers over the top of his, where they rest upon your middle. “I like it.”

He did once, at the end of the first time. Sucked a deep, purple bruise beneath your neck for everyone to see. And he loved it, loved knowing he put it there in the dark, and loved how it deepened into your skin a day later, knowing that every time you looked in the mirror you’d be reminded. Loved it– until the brakes were slammed on, and he had to watch it deepen still. Watched your friends tease, asking ‘who’s loverboy?’ just for you to say oh my god, no one, shut up. The next day you’d covered your mottled skin with make-up, so like you he pretended nothing happened. And all too soon it faded, much faster than all the rest of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all, had he known he was no one. 

But now you’re telling him to. Wanting clouds his judgement. It’s a dream, maybe, but dreams have never felt like this, you were always just out of reach. He’s all shallow thrusts and quickened breaths, and you take his hands to show him where you want his mouth. 

“Here,” you say, pressing his palm over your breast. Here is good, he thinks, as he mottles the flesh with his lips. Private, just something for the two of you. He’ll ask for a picture in a few days, jerk himself off over it, probably. You thread a hand through his hair, pull on it (his cock twitches inside you, embarrassing) to angle his head up your body. You look so happy, smiling soft, and watching him through your eyelashes. God, why didn’t he get his shit together before? 

“Here, too” you say, directing him to your collarbone. Wastes no time leaving a small mark. He likes it, looks a little like a love heart. There’s still a chill in the air this April, you could easily cover it if you need to, he wouldn’t mind this time. But then you say here, and this time you’re tipping up your jaw to give him access, pressing his fingers to the column of your lovely neck. He stills inside you, and you make a small noise of discontent, and angle your hips to draw him in deeper. 

“Please, Wonwoo,” you beg, eyes big and shining. You touch his bottom lip, wet with spit. “Need it on me. Wanna be yours too.” 

He uses teeth, this time. Sinks into your body and groans against your neck, you press kisses into his hair as he fucks you. Hard breaths, sloppy thrusts, the sound of wet skin and your broken noises. Wonwoo whimpers into your neck as you pulse around him, sucking the deepest bruise, fuck fuck fuck. “Gonna come,” you breathe. “Are you close?” He nods, laves a soothing tongue over the ache, makes it shine. 

“Harder,” you plead, pulling at his hips to drag him against you. “Make me sore.” And it’s fucked up that he wants to. Has this morbid, fascinating thought of you feeling him for days afterward as you go about your life, a heavy, aching reminder that he did this to your body– but maybe it’s okay, if you want it too? He feels the pressure on his skin, in his bones, of your need for him. He thrusts deep and fast without warning, even the breath he takes is sharp, and the noise– fuck, the noise is obscene. You come with a gasp, eyes fluttering like you want to keep them open but can’t, too lost in the feeling. He whispers sweet praise in your ear as he comes too, and you kiss, lazy and open mouthed, at his cheek. His sticky release seeps out of you around his cock, and he fucks it back in, head clouding and body taught with overstimulation.

After a moment, when he’s caught his breath and your body goes molten, he shifts his weight and starts to pull out, but you drag your listless limbs over him to hold him there. “Stay,” you ask quietly, all gentle and loving and shy. “Just for a little while.” 

Words are inefficient, here. Can’t tell you all the ways in which he loves you. Just places those feelings on his lips and presses them to your temple. Hopes you know what you mean to him and hopes he means the same to you. Wonwoo welcomes this arrow through his heart. 

When it’s quiet, and the air in the room is all still and heavy, you murmur against his sweat-sheened skin, “It’s never like this with anyone else.”

No. Nothing could ever be like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

May 2006

You’re home for the weekend, and today you're taking a day trip to Dadaepo beach, the south side of Busan. Wonwoo is driving and the windows are down and you’re listening to music and you’re in love. For real, this time. No second guessing, no wondering if he loves you back, because it’s out in the open and it’s tangible. He holds your hand all the time, and it’s so nice not to have adrenaline coursing through your veins before he knots his fingers with yours. He’s driving like this, hands clasped together in your lap. 

Iseul and Seoyoung got close so fast, and they’re singing old songs together in the backseat. Mingyu’s too long body is squished between them, looking utterly perplexed at how he ended up in this car with these strange, loud women. 

Later, you lay out the picnic you’d packed. The others are in the water, in the distance you can almost hear Iseul and Seoyoung shouting happily at Mingyu, and him yelling back. Wonwoo lays stretched out on the blanket like a cat, half dozing in the sun, face covered by the book he was reading earlier. He’s stroking your knee absentmindedly. 

“Talked to my dad earlier– he asked after your applications,” you say.

“Should find out the rest soon,” he replies. He’s already been accepted at KNUH, but that’s his back up. 

A couple of seabirds soar high overhead, can hear them calling to each other, flying so close their wings almost touch. They go like that together, far out above the ocean, and you watch them go until they’re just specks in the hazy blue.

“It’d be nice to live here,” you muse, looking at the way the sunlight dances on the water. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo smiles soft, half-hidden under the book. “Yeah it would.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Happy birthday,” Wonwoo whispers into your skin. He’s half-asleep still. Breath warming your neck and fingers slotted into the waistband of your pyjamas. Not to go further, just to touch. 

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, more alert, having been awake a little longer and waiting for him to stir. “Thank you,” you whisper back, smiling wide. “When do I get my flowers?”

“Patience is a virtue,” he mumbles. 

“One I don’t have,” you say into his cheek. 

“Liar.”

“Did you hide them in the bathroom?” You shift, ready to go get them yourself, but Wonwoo holds you tighter, dragging you back in. 

“You’re not getting your own flowers.” Wonwoo pushes up from the bed. Hair messy and face all scrunched up. God, he’s lovely in the mornings. “Stay there.”

You suppress a giggle, touching his bare thigh just to touch. 

“I like when you’re bossy.” 

He kisses your forehead. You put his glasses on for him, wonky because he just looks so cute like that. He grumbles.

He pulls on his grey sweatpants from the night before, doesn’t bother with a shirt, to fumble his way out of his room in the barely-there morning light. He comes back in about five minutes later, singing the birthday song, voice soft and slow with sleep, tray in hands, two coffees, a bowl of fruit to share, a funfetti cupcake with one pastel green candle, blush pink tulips pretty in a vase. 

He makes you blow out the candle, sets the tray on the nightstand on your side of his bed, and flops back in beside you. He curls into your side, arm over your middle and drawing you close, eyes already shutting. You smile, touching the petals and making birthday wishes that all of this carries on, even as you get old. 

“They’re pretty, thank you, Wonwoo.”

“Pretty flowers for my pretty girl,” he says simply, like it doesn’t make your heart sing. “Your real present is later.”

“You already got me my present,” you protest.

“S’different now,” he says through a yawn. 

You grin. Things are different. There still hasn’t been a conversation, nothing defined– you should do that, soon– but it feels like you belong to each other, more so than any other time before. The two of you are swimming into open sun-dappled waters, and it feels warm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

June 2006

Wonwoo sits on the edge of his bed, the envelope thick with papers lying forgotten on the floor. He drags his free hand over his mouth, reads the letter again in disbelief, because it can’t be real. It shouldn’t be. 

“I shouldn’t have applied.” His voice is strained. Hurts to hear. 

Of course he should have. 

“You couldn’t have known.” 

“I’m not going.” He meets your eyes, stricken, and you know he’d mean it if you even gave him an inch.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “You’ve got to. It was made for you.”

The letter is crumpling in Wonwoo’s fist. He’ll want to save it, probably. A memento of the start of his new chapter. He should save it. You take it from him, smooth out the creases, pull a heavy book from your shelf and press it over the paper. You won’t cry, not here in front of him, but your eyes feel too wet. He’d only feel some awful boundless guilt and it’d just make everything worse. You rub at them. 

Wonwoo moves close. Tugs at your belt loop to bring you between his legs, presses his forehead into your sternum, and you cradle his head in your arms. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, soothing a hand over his hair, reassuring yourself as well as him. “What was it your dad used to call us? Do you remember?”

He nods. You tug him by the chin to look up at you. “Tell me,” you say as you touch his neck, feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Birds of a feather,” he breathes.

Wonwoo pushes up your top, presses open wet kisses up your middle, bunches the material under your arms and drags the cup of your bra down rough. 

“That’s it,” you say, voice thick. “That’s it, Wonwoo. We’re birds.”

Takes your nipple in his mouth, makes it wet with his tongue, pulls off just to watch it pebble in the cold, slick with spit. 

“You need to go,” you say. Your throat is dry. Deep in your mind, the cruelest part of you, says it was purposeful, him applying for something that’ll take him away from you, right on the precipice of it all. Before lines can be drawn, while the boundaries are still blurred. He’s not like that, really. It’s just your projection, you remind yourself. Doesn’t stop it from hurting because two short months isn’t enough, but you’ll never be the one to hold him back. Not when he’s been working so hard, not when he holds himself back more than anyone. You fist your hands at the nape of his neck. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

He pulls at your hips, fingers digging so tight they hurt. It’s good. It’s awful. 

“I can’t do a distance like this,” you admit, carding your hands through his hair. “A year is too long. Might be more.” His clumsy, desperate hands fumble with the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs so you can kick them off. You slide into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth moves up your body, clawing and aching and needy, teeth nipping at your collarbone, sucking purple into your spit-sheened skin. Slips a hand between you and hums pleasantly at the wetness on your underwear. Circles his fingers over your cotton-covered clit. “How long have we got left?”

“Three weeks,” he says, between bites. His eyelashes are wet. 

You nod. Okay. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got three weeks, and then we’ll be friends again. We can do this.”

Wonwoo pulls your underwear to the side, slips a finger over your wet, wanting cunt. “Friends don’t do this,” he rasps, sinking his finger in, curling just enough to make you keen. He’s so hard, you can feel the denim-clad bulge against your body. “Friends don’t touch each other like this.”

“We can,” you sigh. “If we want.” He wrenches at your clothes and kicks them to the floor, leaves you bare and he’s still wearing too much. 

You push him back on the bed, drag his hands from your body to pin them at his sides. He looks at you, wounded and desperately turned on. You turn your back on him, spread your legs over his body to let him see you, wet and needy, pull on his belt and shove his jeans and underwear away just enough to free his hard cock. 

“You know I want more than that,” he admits, breath warm against your clit. He hisses as you take him in your mouth, whines desperately as you pull back and swipe your tongue over the head. Let the spit bubble between your lips and work it over him, because this is how he likes you, sloppy and messy and wet. He licks into you, all tongue and teeth and soft lips against your core, pressed deep, getting his face wet with you, drags your body down tight against his mouth, arms wrapped around your hips and fingers digging into your flesh. You moan, pornographic, around his cock. Wonwoo arches his hips, fucks rough into your mouth, chasing the heat. 

Wonwoo is greedy, sometimes. You love this part of him, when he lets it out. Wants your release fast, it seems. He moves between sharp bites at your thighs, marks pressed into the juncture of them, secret and lovely, heavy sucks over your clit, all while working you open with long, thick fingers. Makes you come unexpectedly fast, shuddering over him and pulling off his achingly hard cock with a broken moan. “You’re so wet, baby. Wanna be inside you.”

You nod, dumb and lovestruck and hazy. He grabs at your wrist and tugs, pulls you back over him and tight against his body, kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at his shirt, drag it awkwardly over his head and his glasses get pulled off with them, they clatter to the floor, but he’s pulling your breast to his mouth again and nothing matters but this, right now. 

Right now, you sink over him slow slow slow, let him feel all your tight, wet heat before he gets needy, before he fucks up into you hard, like he wants to become part of you. Like he wants to crawl inside and make a home there. You watch his chest rise and fall, touch his skin as best you can between the lack of space between your bodies, lay your palm over his heart and feel it beat for you. He calls you beautiful, and you say it back. Says he likes the way your eyes roll back, that he loves how wet you get when he kisses your neck, when he calls you his pretty girl. Baby, fuck– you take me so well. He reaches behind your body, fingers splayed over where you join, feels the way your cunt hugs him. Groans as you grip his length with your pussy, hisses when you dig your nails into his chest as you come– everywhere, everything tight tight tight. 

Wonwoo runs soothing hands down your back as you sag against him, tells you he loves you, asks delicate and concerned if you want to stop because you’re crying, and when you hold him closer, tell him no, you need this– he puts you on your back and fucks you hard enough to make you forget about it. Presses your body into the mattress and lays his entire weight on you. Wonwoo buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispers that you mean everything to him, and you nod, hold his body and let the fever set in. He comes with the deepest, most languid stroke, holds his cock tight inside and fills you up. Asks desperately if you can feel it. You can. Yeah, yeah I can feel you. Feels so good. 

Much later, you lay facing each other in the quiet, tears already shed and conversation put on pause. It’s too hard to talk about being friends, just now. He kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips, and you let him. Too sad to move, too in love. Friends don’t mean I love you the way you do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

August, 2006

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:13

Hello from Naxos, 

I got here from Athens a few days ago. I stupidly left my laptop in one of the lecture halls (I think) and no one has handed it in to the office, so I didn’t see your emails until now. Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been living in a daze since I left home. Can’t keep my head on straight.

I don’t know how to describe this place. It’s beautiful. It’s hot. My room doesn’t have air conditioning and the sweat makes the sheets stick to my skin even in the middle of the night. The air hangs still and it’s thick in my throat. I think you’d hate it. And even then I’m sure you’d want to be held to sleep while complaining about the heat. I’m in the internet cafe now, and it’s so nice and cool I might pay for an extra hour just to sit here and feel like a person again.

Tomorrow we’re visiting Keros for the first time, and I don’t know how to feel. Whenever I imagine stepping off the boat the roof of my mouth goes dry. Is that excitement? I don’t know. I do know that I’m not sure I fit in here with the others. They’re quite similar to you, in the coming from a well off family regard, but they’re completely unaware of how they sound. I don’t think they realise how they flaunt it. When I first got here they talked about taking ‘the boat’ down to Santorini and asked if I wanted to join them. I said I’d need to check how much the ferry costs, and they looked at me like I’d sprouted another head right in front of them. Turns out they took someone’s dads yacht for the weekend. I didn’t go. I think you’d know how to talk with them. You’d know how to relate to them in some way that wouldn’t come across awkward or fake. I mean that as a compliment.

You asked me what I’m thinking about and right now it’s that time you and I dug out those old coins in your grandparents garden. Do you think your Grandfather buried them there for us to find? I’ve often thought that that small thing brought me to where I am, to what I’m doing, and I wonder if it was real? I miss that garden a lot. I miss us in it.

Am I complaining too much? I am, aren’t I? I think it’s the heat. 

How is your summer at home?

What have you been doing?

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:18

Mum and dad say you’re welcome to visit them before you go back to the city next month.

I miss you.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 4th August 2006, 18:52

Hello to Naxos,

I’m sure you’ll be in Keros by now, so I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. It looks lovely in the photographs on Google but I hope you’re taking some of your own for me anyway. I want some photos just for me, please, Wonwoo. I hope you’re looking at the sea and thinking that I’d like the colour of it. 

I don’t know how much I’d enjoy the company of your colleagues though. They sound stuffy and out of touch. Is there anyone you actually like yet? Tell me about them. 

I’m in the garden right now. I’m quite positive Grandpa buried the coins for us because there was mud all over his knees, don’t you remember? Granny scolded him for washing his dirty hands in the kitchen sink but she said the smile on your face made her forget about it. Just because it was engineered doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, you know? That your joy wasn’t real. Don’t you feel joy now, being exactly where you’ve wanted to be for the longest time? 

It’s been almost two months since you left and you haven’t sent one single photo of a cat, and I know for a fact that Greece has many. Have you spent all your time off holed up inside? Go out for a drink. Make some friends. Stand on the grass with your feet bare. It’ll do you some good.

Summer at home is as it always is. I saw Mingyu and Seokmin at a bar a few days after you left, Mingyu said to say hi but I told him to do it himself and gave him your new email address, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Mother has been down, I think Dongho cheated on her again but she won’t say anything. I haven’t done much else besides sleeping and shopping and playing games. Don’t tell anyone I said so but it’s boring without you here. 

I don’t think I’ll stay for the whole summer, actually. Iseul and Seoyoung are saying they want to visit the States. I’ll probably go with them. Iseul’s parents have a little place in California. I’ll take my laptop though, email me every time you think of me.

Tell your parents I’ll visit in the next few days, I’ve been craving your mum’s kimchi jjigae. 

PS - I miss us in the garden too. 

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 7th August 2006, 19:36

Keros was definitely something. I worry I built it up in my head too much, you know? Thought I’d feel more moved than I did. One of the leads, Edward, from a village in Wales I can’t pronounce the name of, is walking us through the project for the next few weeks. If I could learn half as much as he knows for the time I’m here, I’m sure I’ll get by for the rest of my career. I stood in the ruins of what was a home built over 2300 years ago and wondered what the people who lived there must’ve felt about it. Were they happy? Did they think the island too small? Were they jealous their neighbour had a better view of the ocean? Did they start sleeping with their best friend (again) just before moving to a Mediterranean island hahaha?

Should we talk about us yet? I worry if we leave it any longer we’ll just start pretending it didn’t happen again.

I did take some pictures on the island. Shall I post them on Facebook? There’s this small cove you would’ve liked that had these tiny iridescent fish that swam up so close to my feet that I thought they’d bite them. There was one cat outside my window but it was dark and the one photo I got of it is so blurry it’s not worth showing. I’ll find more to take photos of. 

Thanks for giving Mingyu my details, he’s already emailed me. He said you were looking well. I’m sorry about your mother. 

I won’t go for that drink you suggest because all the would-be drinkers seem more interested in snorting lines off each other's chests, and I don’t have the spare cash for all that. I have met some people - Matteo and Emma. Matteo is from Naples and Emma is from London. Emma reads, and she said she’ll lend me her copy of The Little Prince when she’s done with it. I haven’t told her I’ve already read it.

California sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Knowing Iseul her parent’s “little place” has eight bedrooms, a tennis court, an olympic swimming pool, and a live-in chef haha. How long will you go for? 

PS - on second thought I don’t know how you would’ve felt about the fish and the feet. 

PPS - if I emailed you every time I thought of you then I’d hardly ever leave the cafe.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 8th August 2006, 17:52

Should I have brought it up?

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 9th August 2006, 06:28

Hello from LA,

Sorry for the slow reply, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

Wonwoo, I don’t know what there is to say about it all. Do you? 

I’m trying very hard not to be pathetic but the fact is that despite whatever state our on and off hook up thing is in, I still want us to be in each other’s lives. I don’t think you’re going to be in love with me forever, are you? You’re my safe space and I like hearing your thoughts and I feel like being your friend makes me a better person. We have good sex, great sex, but we’ve never managed anything solid. I mean, I know that you left because of the fellowship and because I encouraged you to take it, but things between us always seem to end just as soon as it gets real. 

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always going to be friends. You’re going to marry the girl next door type that doesn’t ask too many questions. She is sweet and knits you scarves for Christmas and prefers doggy style so you don’t see her face when she comes. She isn’t me– the selfish, obnoxious girl from three streets across, who beat you in the spelling bee when we were seven. You’re probably going to have three children, and definitely become very accomplished in whatever archeologists are accomplished in. And I am going to have at least four husbands, one child who’ll grow up rolling their eyes at me, and I’ll become infamous for whistleblowing the government for…. something gross and scandalous. Like listening in to everyone’s phone calls. We’ll holiday together and our children will grow up like cousins and when we get drunk and our spouses go to bed I’ll go “remember our last night before you left for Greece? Remember that night? You put your wet fingers in my mouth and told me ‘bite down when you come.’ I think about that all the time.” You’ll be so mortified your ears will go red. You’ll probably spill your drink.

I’m laughing my ass off just imagining it. Isn’t it funny that you’re only bold enough to say things like that when we’re in bed? It’s like you need to be cocooned up with someone in order to let your inside voice out. God, you’re so impolite when you fuck me. 

But don’t worry. You were my best friend long before you ever touched me like that. Every time we do this you tell me you just want to be friends, right? So let’s be friends. I can do platonic if that makes it easier for you.

Anyway. The update is I visited your parents (they probably already told you) and your mum made the BEST japchae for me. They love me sooooo much, I’ve got no idea why. I’m sure you’re very jealous and that sustains me. Now I’m in LA for the rest of the month. Iseul’s place is only six bedrooms, actually! No tennis court or live-in chef but the pool is admittedly gigantic. Please see attached photo. I look great, right? I’m sure you’re nodding. Maybe while I’m here I’ll find husband numero uno. If I'm going to have four I should start working on that ASAP. 

We’re okay, Wonwoo. 

PS - don’t you dare upload those photos to Facebook, send them to me and me alone. Also send me one of you because you’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten what you look like. 

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 10th August 2006, 20:39

Hello to California,

Is that really what you think? That I fall out of it so quickly? That we started sleeping together again, and you think I didn’t feel fucked up over leaving? I’m starting to wonder if it was worth leaving at all. I’m glad we’re friends but do friends kiss the way we do? Are friends allowed to do that with each other? Does it make me a bad friend if I looked at the photo you sent and thought how pretty you are and let my mind run away wondering how you’d look if you were in my room here. I almost thought about printing your photo off but is that perverted? You’re fully clothed but I feel like a pervert. You do look great. I love that colour on you. 

I can’t imagine this life you’re dreaming up. I can’t imagine marrying some faceless person. Can’t imagine anything for me beyond what’s happening today. I can see you with four husbands though. I don’t mean that in any type of way, just that you find it easy to find people who love you even if they don’t exactly fit.

If you’re going to uncover some government spy operation let’s get started on the theories right now. If they’ve been listening to phone calls then it stands to reason they’re probably reading emails and texts too. Do you think they’re reading ours? Do we have our very own spy?

What is your first husband going to be like? The antithesis of me? Or maybe someone so strangely similar that all of our friends whisper about how weird it is? Don’t you think it’s messed up that we’re talking about this?

Please see attached a couple of photos of the island, one of me in my room, for your eyes only. Don’t go showing them to Iseul and Seoyoung. They’re not as good as the ones on my film camera but you’ll have to wait until I’m home for those. 

PS - can you download Skype? Efraim, the guy who owns the cafe, is installing it on all the computers, he says we’ll be able to video call. I’m free on Sunday after 7PM, that’s 9AM for you. Are you free?

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 11th August 2006, 12:05

It was worth leaving because this is what you’ve been working for your whole life. And it doesn’t matter that we started again because as long as we’re both single it can pick up whenever we want. I know you care for me in your quiet way. I know you’d never hurt me with intent. It’s fun, and we’re young, and we know it’s easy with each other. It doesn’t have to be more than that. Maybe we shouldn’t have said the L word, though, don’t you think? I try not to think about it. It would have been more sensible not to. Hindsight blah blah blah. 

We can be whatever kind of friends you want. I don’t mind that you think about fucking me. You did, right? When you saw my photo? I’d quite like it if you did. I like thinking about your cheeks getting hot and having to adjust your jeans in the middle of the cafe. Did you feel the need to hide your screen?

You’re probably right about the spies reading our emails too, I’ll note that down somewhere offline. Have you considered that our spy may be Efraim? After all, he has easy access to the computers you use every evening. Maybe you should consider getting a laptop of your own. It must be costing you a small fortune going to the cafe to email little old me every day. Dad is getting a new one soon, shall I ask him to post you his old one? Don’t be weird about accepting it, it’s just a laptop.

My first husband is so so so handsome. Grossly rich because of generational wealth, he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of being self made. I need to start strong, you see. A little shorter than you, so you’re not entirely emasculated haha. He probably knows how to sail. I bet he drapes sweaters across his shoulders like those guys in Ralph Lauren ads. I bet he’s played Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar and doesn’t realise how cliche it is. He’s probably doing it right now. I hope he’s not conceited. That’d be unbearable. Though I suppose we’d need a good reason to divorce. 

How are Matteo and Emma? What are they like? Did you tell them anything about me?

Seoyoung says hello. Iseul said she thinks you need a haircut (sorry, she peeked over my shoulder when I read your email) but I don’t. I think you look hot with long hair. Send me more photos of you? Take a shower first and think about me. Leave your clothes off. Shut your eyes and imagine I’m with you. I’ll open them in private.

We’re going to a party in Malibu on Saturday. Iseul’s cousins (Joshua and Kevin– they’re cool, you’d like them) are family friends with some big shot Hollywood producer so maybe I’ll meet some celebrities! Maybe I’ll meet my husband! If you send me a photo before then just know I won’t look at it, I need my head in the game. I’ll call on Sunday morning and tell you all about it.

PS - don’t open the attached photos in front of Efraim. It’s okay if you print them.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 12th August 2006, 22:47

God. You’re right about getting another laptop while I’m here (I’m not taking your dad’s one, I’ll save up for one by myself) because I had to wait until Efraim went to the bathroom before printing your photos. I nearly broke a sweat wondering if he’d come back too quickly and see me holding them like some kind of sick freak. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your husbands won’t know what to do with themselves.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Do you think about it too? I’m guessing by your photos that you do. Did you think of me eating you out when you touched yourself? You probably won’t read this email for another twelve hours but just know that I failed miserably not getting hard in the back of the cafe. I had to spend ten minutes catching up on the news back home just to stop remembering being inside you, how wet you get when I kiss your neck. What am I, a teenager?

You should’ve come here for your summer trip, rather than LA. Why are you going out tonight looking for someone else when you could have been here. I’m jealous. I miss you. 

I’ll send you your demands before we call tomorrow. I want to see your face when you open it.

Matteo and Emma are great. They’re funny, and well read, and they know more mythology than I do, if you can believe it. Matteo is a good cook. He made lasagne for dinner the night I last emailed you and it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I wish you could try it. If he ever wanted to open a restaurant he absolutely could. If you wanted to take him as one of your husbands I wouldn’t be opposed. It’d give me more reason to have dinner at your house. Emma has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. 

They both know about you. We work together here a few nights a week, so they’ve seen me writing you. I told them we’re best friends, that you’re a little bit insane despite being one of the most level headed people I know. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. I told them that you’re smarter than I am, and that you’ll probably take down several governments one day. I told them that you miss me terribly. And that you understand me better than I understand myself, and that I can hardly understand you at all. 

Emma asked if we were ever together, and I didn’t know how to answer. I almost said not really, but I don’t know if that’s true. Is it true? Matteo changed the subject before I could answer anyway. He wanted to know who bowser80 was. On that note I’m begging you to choose a more sensible email address, if only so Efraim doesn’t think I’m sending vaguely horny emails to a Super Mario character. He probably has the wrong impression of you. 

I’m really looking forward to speaking to you properly. Your photos are- well they’re obscenely hot. But I want to see your smile. 

Talk soon. Don’t fuck your husband-to-be on the first night, he doesn’t deserve you.

PS - I’m not sure if Efraim is our spy, actually. I just watched him pick his nose and wipe it under the desk. I would hope someone trained in espionage would have better decorum. 

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 13th August 2006, 18:56

Don’t open these until we’re on the call. 

Can’t wait.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 14th August 2006, 09:08

I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been looking at your photos again since I woke up and I fear I’m never going to leave my bed. 

Wonwoo, I’m being very serious when I say you need to get a laptop again as soon as possible because Efraim absolutely cannot read or hear the things I want to say to you. God, Wonwoo, I need to suck your dick inside out. I need you inside me.

How long have you got left in Europe? Is it forever?

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 14th August 2006, 17:31

I can’t stop thinking about you either. I forgot the sound of your laugh for a while and now after hearing it I’m worried I’ll lose it again. Let's keep calling, so we stay real for each other. For the sake of my sanity please say less about sucking my dick. It’s only Monday and it’s a personal goal of mine to make it through the week without rocking a semi in this cafe.

On the topic of buying a laptop, I’m picking up a part time job. The stipend doesn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped. Efraim is hiring, and I asked if working here means I can read everyone's emails and he looked so confused I was almost convinced. Perhaps he’s a better spy than we thought. Of course working here means more opportunity for talking to you, which sweetens the deal somewhat. 

It does feel like it’ll be forever, doesn’t it? I won’t be able to come home to visit until March. I wouldn’t be opposed to you visiting me here during your winter break. Would you like to?

Say yes.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

December 2006

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 30th December 2006, 09:40

Hi baby,

My palms are sweating but I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just us, isn’t it? I haven’t been this nervous to see you since before school the day after we slept together. The first time, I mean. We were idiots, I know that much. 

I’m borrowing Matteo’s car to come pick you up, I’m nearly ready. Please excuse the mess in it, he lives like a pig but he’s so endearing Emma and I forgive him anything. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him tonight. Emma can’t make it until New Years, she sends her apologies- I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’ll say it to your face.

By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow morning and we’ll have already had one whole day together. You’ll ask to use my laptop to check your emails, and I’ll still be half asleep in the bed next to you. 

Have I kissed you yet? 

I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you as soon as you get through customs. I’ve been playing out how it’ll go. I’m going to set your bags down on the floor and take your face in my hands and kiss you right there in the middle of the arrivals lounge. Even as I’m typing all of this out, I know it won’t happen like that. I’m going to wave awkwardly when I see you coming through the doorway. I’m going to be hit with a rush of nostalgia when I catch the smell of your shampoo when we hug hello. I’m going to look at your lips and think about the taste of you, but then I’ll feel the eyes of other people on us, and they’ll be wondering if we’re together, and then I’ll start thinking too much and accidentally leave it too late, and you’ll be handing me your bags to carry. I’ll feel foolish and thoughtless for not taking them from you in the first place. 

I’ll kiss you without an audience. I hope you don’t mind. 

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 31st December 2006, 06:15

Hi Wonwoo, 

I like when you call me baby outside of the bedroom. Are you trying it on for size?

Don’t worry, you were a real gentleman at the airport yesterday. Took my bag and opened doors and everything. Five stars. It’s sweet knowing you were nervous. You didn’t look it at all. I thought how confident and self assured you seemed, like you knew all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m kind of in awe of you. The way we talk online has me forgetting what you’re like in person. How quiet you go, how the comfortable silences have me wondering what you’re thinking, how deliberate you are with your words. You say sometimes that I understand you better than anyone but I don’t think I do. You must think that your expressions give away your every emotion but they don’t, Wonwoo. You have this huge inner world I know nothing about and your emails give me a peek at what’s inside. You’re a mystery to me, the same way everyone is a mystery. 

Even now, you’re fast asleep (I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to ask to use your laptop, but you don’t mind, do you? I wanted you to rest.) and I have no idea what you’re dreaming about. Is it me? I hope it is. I like how you sleep next to me, did I ever tell you that? You’re like a koala. I like how you reach for my hand when I think you’re already sleeping and draw lazy figures of eight across my palm, with your chest against my back. I like the way your hair is even longer now. Messy and soft. Wonwoo, you’re so so so handsome. You look like an artist. You look like someone Jane Austen would write about.

I liked that you kissed me in private. I liked that you kissed me at all. I liked that you held my hand when you introduced me to your friends, even though you were quiet as ever. Were you feeling shy?

I’m looking in the mirror now and I like the marks you left on my neck. They’re so dark! I’m going to need a vat of concealer to cover these up if we leave your room today. I’m going to steal your scarf. I should complain about the mess you made of me, but I like that you’re secretly possessive. Don’t tell anyone I told you that haha. 

I like the way you touched me last night. The way you pressed my hips into the mattress and licked over my clit. The way you twined our hands together and rolled into me. If I close my eyes I can still feel it. Your teeth on my jaw. You, thick and hard, so deep inside me. Your skin felt good against mine. Were we always that good together? Is it better now because we haven’t seen each other for so long? I was so wet I’d be embarrassed if it were with anyone but you. Fuck, I want you again. 

You don’t know that I’m wearing your t-shirt right now. Would you be bothered? Would you like it? 

Wonwoo, would you mind if I woke you up? I want you to fuck me in your t-shirt. I want you to open your tired eyes and be glad I’m in something that smells like you. Reach under the hem and find me without underwear, already wet and wanting. I want you to fuck me harder than last night. I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want to feel the vibrations of your groan against my chest. I want it to hurt so much that I still feel you there when I leave. 

I’m going to send this email and wake you up. Sorry it’s so early, baby.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 31st December 2006, 07:53

Good morning,

You’re in the shower. I’m laying on my bed wondering how I’m going to survive this week. We’ve always been good together, I think. But I’ve never, ever seen you like that before. In a good way. The best way. 

Baby, you know I still love you, don’t you? I’m going to say that to your face any second now, so you will already know by the time you read this. Do you love me too?

Keep wearing my t-shirts. Take that one home with you so you can wear it when we Skype, and I can remember the morning you ruined my life. That one looks better on you anyway. God. We’ve got five days left and I’m already hating the thought of you going home. Is it insane to ask you to stay longer? Probably. You’ve got work. Tonight I'm going to kiss you at midnight and make a wish.

I love you. 

I hope you say it back.

PS - it won’t be too long before I’m home. Please wait for me. We can be birds again.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 1st January 2007, 08:29

I love you too.

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always birds.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider telling me what you liked via a reblog so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you have any questions, please ask!! it gives me life to talk about these babies. ily, goodnight!

prequel: joke me something awful.

taglist: @noona-neomu-yeppeo @starmy-143 @haaruki @channieschubbycake @minahaeyo

@mingiboye @kkaetnipjeon @lleercy @itsnotnaomi @ateez-atiny380

psa: reader and jeno grew up in the same foster home, and are not actual siblings.

Once upon a time, you thought there was no way in hell you would end up back here, let alone make the choice to run home to this godforsaken town. Yet, here you were, standing outside the house you were always so desperate to escape.

You lingered at the door for too long, exhaustion and regret weighing you down. You’d never known what it was like to be the wayward, prodigal child until now, dragging your weary and defeated self back home when all you’d ever done was resent it.

After enough time spent warring with yourself, you lifted your hand and tapped your knuckles on the old wooden door.

It swung open a few seconds later and of all four boys that lived there, naturally the one you dreaded seeing most answered. Jeno’s eyes flickered when he realized who was on his doorstep and he promptly leaned against the doorway, afforded you a look of utter arrogance, and said, “Well, well, well, look who it is.”

“Don’t start,” you huffed under your breath, pushing past him into the house with your heavy bag in tow.

Jeno shut the door behind you, pivoting around to stare shamelessly at your plump ass, and jeered, “She’s finally had enough of that limp dick Wall Street guy.”

“For your information, he had enough of me,” you said, bile rising in your throat as you stepped out of your shoes. “I caught him in my bed with his secretary.”

Jeno bobbed his head at the news, but you caught the swift signs of rage that crossed his face. He kept his voice level though, because god forbid you had any idea of how much he cared about you. “We warned you he was a slippery little asshole.”

You scoffed. “You never even met him.”

“Whose asshole are we talking about?” Jaemin asked, turning the corner. When he saw you his face lit up like Christmas had come early and he swept you into a bear hug. “The long lost sister has returned.”

“It’s only temporary,” you told him quickly, hugging him back. Jaemin was nearly cutting off your oxygen with how hard he squeezed you in his big arms.

“Sure it is,” came Haechan’s familiar voice, wrestling you out of Jaemin’s hold to steal you for himself. He also reached down and gave your butt a little pat, which was something only Haechan could get away with. “You can crash in my room and tell me about all the losers in the big city you’ve been boning.”

You pulled back with a groan and kissed his cheek. “I didn’t bone them, but I…” Your brows stitched. “Wait - what happened to my room?”

“We turned it into a mini-gaming cafe with all of our PCs,” Haechan replied with a sheepish grin, sticking out his tongue.

“You bastards.” You were about to complain further when Jeno added sharply, “It’s not like you were using it.”

You weren’t prepared for the vitriol coming out of Jeno, no matter how deserved it was, and you turned away, hiding your face from him. While everyone else was excited to see you, Jeno looked like he wanted to skin you alive. Not that you blamed him. You did break his heart, after all.

Mark appeared out of thin air and grinned. “Thank God she’s here. I prayed every day.” He crashed into your waiting arms and whined, “You can make us food. If I have to eat off Jaemin’s grill one more time, it will break me.”

Jaemin made a noise and set his jaw with a frown. “Learn to cook then,” he smarted, thoroughly insulted. “I am so unappreciated around here.”

Mark parted from you, but kept an arm around your waist, giving you enough space to reach out and squeeze Jaemin’s bicep. Meanwhile, Haechan tenderly brushed some of your hair behind your ear. Your eyes grew misty as you found yourself standing in the warmth of the living room, surrounded by your family. It made you realize just how cold and lonely the city had been.

Not that you would ever admit it.

“Of course I’ll make food for my favorite boys,” you said with obvious sarcasm, poking your finger in Haechan’s soft cheek. “But not tonight. I’m so tired from the drive I can’t see straight.”

“Let’s get you to bed then,” Haechan said, picking up your bag and throwing it over his shoulder before leading you with him up the stairs.

Jeno hovered, watching you go, the two of you having exchanged tense glances. There was something painfully irresistible between you and him, a force that you’d never been able to explain.

But all it ever did was get you into trouble.

You were curled up in Haechan’s bed, piled under his blankets, when Jeno came in. Even with your eyes closed, you knew it was him; you recognized the heavy fall of his footsteps. Matter of fact, you knew each of the boys by the sound of their gaits.

Jeno lowered to the edge of the bed and you willed yourself to look at him, eyes opening slowly. Seeing you awake, a tiny smile tugged at his lips, but he stifled it down. He reached over and brushed some of your hair from your face with gentle fingertips, and his voice was soft when he asked, “Are you okay? I know I give you a lot of shit, but I just want to be sure.”

“I’m fine,” you told him with a little nod. “I knew he was no good, but I didn’t want you guys to be right.”

Jeno snorted. “You know we don’t rate your boyfriends because we don’t want you to be happy. We’re just trying to look out for you.”

“I know, but…,” you trailed, sighing loudly. “Be honest, Jeno. Would any guy on this planet get your approval?”

“No,” he said without missing a beat.

You couldn’t help but laugh. At least he was honest.

Jeno took his eyes off you and wandered them around the room, like he needed a break from looking at the woman that had ripped his heart out. He seemed to remember he was in Haechan’s room and chuckled quietly to himself.

Haechan’s room was crammed with photos of his siblings. None of you were related by blood, but by everything else. Jeno reached to the wall the bed was pushed against and grabbed one of the many photos pinned to a board and smiled at it fondly.

“What’s that?” you asked curiously.

Jeno lingered his gaze on the photo before turning it around, and you wanted to crumble into a puddle of tears on the spot. You and Jeno were barely seventeen and he had you in his arms, spinning you around. The sunset splashed its colors on the horizon, painting a myriad of shades on the waves crashing on the shore behind you.

You took the photo and held it like it was made of glass. You looked so happy in the picture, you didn’t recognize yourself. Jeno’s stare burned into you as you handed it back to him and you watched him pin it back to the board.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your lips trembling.

Jeno frowned. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Jeno.”

“Stop.” Jeno hissed your name in warning that this was not a welcome conversation.

You bit your tongue and closed your eyes, feeling the tears forming. A long overdue apology had always hung in the air between you and your first - and only - love. You’d rehearsed it over and over, and yet, when the moment came you fumbled. He didn’t want to hear it and you couldn’t make him understand.

Jeno looked down at your hand, watching it drift over slowly until you could grab his fingers. He let you. Jeno knew you just needed to touch him and honestly, he needed you to anchor him too. He stared at your hand and how it fit so perfectly in his own.

“I don’t expect you to ever forgive me,” you told him gently. “But I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

Jeno was predictably curt. He needed to protect his damaged heart. “You’re sorry. I get it. Do you regret it?”

“Leaving? No. That I could never convince you to come with me? Yes.”

Jeno scoffed.

You studied him for a while. Sometimes he was a complete mystery to you, but for the most part, you knew Jeno intimately, more than you knew yourself. He wasn’t capable of surprising you, but fuck, he could wound you like nobody else in the world.

Jeno roamed his gaze over you and reached for you, slipping his hand across your waist and landing on your hip, jostling you slightly. As if to make sure you were actually there and he hadn’t dreamed you up. He searched your face - for what, he wasn’t entirely sure. When he looked at you, he saw everything that ever mattered to him.

His life began and ended with you. It sounded extreme and certainly not healthy, but Jeno knew it to be true. Which was why when you broke up with him and ran away to play house in the big city, his heart broke and he never recovered.

You shifted, wilting under his probing eyes. There was so much going on in his head, you knew that. It was the same feeling in your chest. Just looking at each other was so goddamn painful.

Jeno finally asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

You shook your head.

“Good girl,” Jeno whispered darkly, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

You couldn’t help but kiss him back. It was your body’s natural instinct. And things only deepened, because that’s how it always went with Jeno.

Jeno moved forward until you were beneath him, where you belonged, kissing you slow and hard until you started aching. Heat crept up your neck and you moaned when the weight of him settled between your legs.

But that also gave you a sharp slap across the face and you pushed at his firm chest, breaking the kiss and rasping, “I didn’t come here for this.”

“Of course you did,” Jeno retorted, crashing his mouth on yours again. Arguing was impossible with his tongue down your throat, and it infuriated you just how much of a good kisser he was.

It was even better after having gone months without it.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and kissed him with all you had, moving your body under his for friction. He so perfectly enveloped you, pressing you into the mattress beneath his weight, his arms coiled around you tightly. It was obvious he wouldn’t let you get away again.

Jeno gave a brief seeking thrust against your clothed core and you made a noise against his mouth, but you also hooked your legs on his hips, making him smirk. You were folding so easily and he wanted to mock you for acting like you didn’t regret leaving him behind. “You’re such a bad fucking liar,” Jeno sneered into your kisses, gripping you tighter till it was hard to breathe.

You had no argument, because it was true. The moment you landed in the big city, you knew you’d fucked up. There was no life for you without Jeno. You were half a soul walking around without your heart. You dated every boy that gave you attention, but the moment he tried to touch you, it was over. Your body rejected the hands of any other man.

For months you tied yourself into knots trying to be someone that wasn’t real. You were meant to be with Jeno, no matter how much you despised the things that came with him.

You pushed him again and whined, “You always do this to me.”

Jeno chuckled like the devil himself and latched his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping, and asked, “What do I do to you?”

You squirmed at the deep, husky timbre of his voice sending vibrations through you, the air whooshing out of your lungs. Your lashes fluttered as he sucked on your weak spot, his breath scalding hot on your neck. “Can’t you just reject me…,” you said, voice shaking, his kisses getting more intense as a familiar bulge rubbed against your sex. “So I can try to move on?”

Jeno’s voice left no room for doubt; it was firm and deep and absolutely terrifying. “Never. You’re mine.”

“Then…,” you staggered out another breath, wriggling under him to fit his hips more perfectly between your spread thighs. “Can you walk away from this life so we can be together?”

That made Jeno pause. He propped over you and met your eyes, making you wilt under his stare. “We’ve been over this a million times,” he said softly.

You appreciated he didn’t seem annoyed. This goddamn town had been the source of all your fights with him. Well, except for the ones where he’d dry humped your last fucking nerve. Jeno enjoyed riling you up for sport.

“Let’s go over it again,” you said demurely. “Give me an answer I like and I’ll let you fuck me.” You flexed your thighs on him and wiggled for effect, rubbing him over the tent in his pants. He was so hard it made you clench on nothing.

Jeno grinned with amusement, stealing a quick kiss. “Nice try, baby. You think I don’t know how wet you are right now?”

You flushed. “That may be, but still. Would it kill you to ease my mind just once?” You held his head in your hands and tugged him close roughly, brushing your lips over his. “Lie to me.”

If he would just put your heart to rest, you were more than ready to reward him with your body. It was infuriating how badly you wanted him already. You certainly didn’t plan on this happening when you’d made the long drive home.

Jeno cocked his head, mulling it over, but honestly, Jeno had totally disconnected from his brain when you kissed him. And feeling the warmth of your sex despite the layers of clothes between you and him was not helping. His lips turned up again when he whispered, “Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it.”

That made you bristle. Your eyes flashed with anger and you snapped at him, “Seriously? You can’t even make up a lie? Am I that dumb and easy and just not worth any effort to you at all?”

Jeno stilled, realizing he was currently caught between the legs of a minefield, and he was the one that had just activated the launch sequence to make them all explode. He said your name softly, apologetically, and started wracking his brain for some damage control.

Haechan had pristine timing. “I know you fools aren’t fucking in my bed,” he said lowly, marching into his bedroom and standing over you both. Just like your foster parents used to when they caught you making out with Jeno whenever you could.

You were already using this opportunity to extract yourself from underneath Jeno. “No, we’re definitely not.” Once on your feet, you grabbed your bag and told them, “I need a shower. I’ve been driving all day.”

Jeno and Haechan watched you go in silence, hearing the bathroom door slam closed a moment later. Haechan cut a glare at Jeno and scolded, “You really know how to make the love of your life feel like an easy lay.”

“Fuck off.”

Haechan sauntered out with a grin, having accomplished what he set out to do - make trouble.

Jeno braced his hands on the edge of the bed and wallowed in his thoughts. He felt bad, trying to seduce you when you were in an obviously vulnerable state, but he was trying to comfort you, make you feel just how bad he wanted you. God knew he dreamed about you every minute of every day. There was no one on earth that could convince Jeno you weren’t made for each other.

A knock at the open door snapped Jeno out of his head. “Yeah?”

Jaemin looked like he’d been woken up from a good nap and mumbled, “We got work to do. Corner of Fifth and Winter.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Jeno huffed, getting to his feet and following Jaemin out, but not before grabbing his gun and making sure it was fully loaded.

When you emerged from the bathroom after a long hot shower, drying your hair with a towel, you were ready for round two with Jeno, wanting him to soothe the ache in your heart as well as the one between your legs.

He’d caused both. Only he could fix them.

You immediately noticed how quiet the house had become. There was no usual cacophony of loud boys. Wandering into the kitchen, you found Haechan cleaning up. He smiled at you warmly, then said, “They got called out on a job.”

Your face fell and your heart stung like it had been run through with a blade. “Seriously?”

Haechan fixed you with a look.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, I can’t pass up a chance to spend time with you,” your brother sang, batting his lashes at you.

He was lying through his teeth. Haechan could fool the boys, but not you. You knew him too well. Narrowing your eyes at him, you said, “You stayed behind to protect me.”

The humor on Haechan’s face died and he stayed quiet. Which was answer enough.

You tipped your head back and let out a heavy, pained exhale. “I hate this shit.”

“You’re going to have to accept it someday,” Haechan said coolly, putting away the last of the dishes like nothing was amiss. It was just another Thursday.

You folded your arms. “Accept that the only family I have are a bunch of criminals?”

Haechan shrugged, as if discussing something as mundane as traffic patterns. “We didn’t choose this life, but we’ve made the best of it.” His expression changed when he goaded, “You dated a law-abiding citizen and what happened? He fucked someone in your house, in your own bed.”

“Too soon.” You winced, lowering into a chair at the table as he did the same across from you.

“Jeno is a criminal. We all are. And if the cops weren’t so easily bought we’d be under the jail by now. But Jeno would never cheat on you. That moron would twist himself into knots until he broke every bone in his body to make you happy.”

You pulled your legs into the chair and wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to make yourself as small as possible, because you felt absolutely helpless. The room was warm, but you were freezing inside your own skin.

This was the feeling you dreaded above all else: waiting. Wondering if he would make it home or you would get the call he’d been shot dead like a dog, his body still laying in the street as the snow fell.

You knew your brothers lived for it. They existed on the edge; anything less and they couldn’t function. It was the amalgamation of your upbringing, being orphans and having no one but each other. And having to scrape and fight for every meal.

Like your family, you were owned by the state until you turned eighteen. You learned very quickly that in the system, you were at the bottom of the food chain. So, you became your most basic self - a wild animal that knew only survival. Labeled incorrigible and borderline dangerous, you were passed around foster parents until you were sent to a house for the worst of the worst, where you met your equals.

Jeno and Haechan were already there when you came, having been the resident menaces for years. Jaemin and Mark joined over the next few months. The five of you were close in age and strangely enough, bonded over your similar flavors of crazy and traumatized.

But it was only with Jeno the bond turned into something more. First, you both fought it. Because life had taught you well that love was the cruelest thing on earth. Then, you both hid it, but not very well. Eventually, it came to be known by your brothers that you and Jeno were absolutely mad for each other, and the only person you could ever be physically intimate with was him.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to be. The one thing you wanted more than Jeno was to escape. To somehow find a calm, quiet place to rest, while Jeno was hellbent on becoming a worse monster than the ones he hated.

And that was torture, because your greatest fear was that one day he would leave and never come back. Just like everyone else in your life. So you left him first.

Haechan’s voice brought you back to the present. “What are you going to do?”

“You already know,” you said bitterly.

Haechan smiled. He knew your short life in the city had been a colossal failure and he couldn’t be happier. Your place was here, with your family in this little house that was far warmer than any fancy penthouse apartment.

The door opening in the front hall made you release the breath you’d been holding. The cadence of three sets of steps relaxed the tension in your chest and shoulders. Jeno, Mark, and Jaemin funneled inside, taking off their coats and shaking off the winter cold that followed them.

Haechan beamed at them as he always did. “All’s well I see.”

“They ran off when they saw us,” Jaemin replied, coming up next to you and leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your cheek in greeting, which made you smile.

Mark grumbled, “Total waste of time. And now my balls are frozen.”

Haechan giggled at that but his eyes were on Jeno, who propped himself against the doorway behind you. Mark tussled your hair as he walked by, heading for the living room, and you smiled even harder at the affection, but the dark cloud that was Jeno loomed at your back.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Jeno began, crossing his arms over his chest. “How pissed is she?”

“Ask her yourself, fuckwad,” Haechan said, getting up and leaving the two of you alone.

A long, quiet pause followed. It would have been uncomfortable if you weren’t so tired. Then, as you expected, Jeno approached you carefully and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry that asshole cheated on you,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin.

You shrugged, feeling yourself sinking back against him and into his arms no matter how hard you wanted to fight it. “He was a loser. I didn’t even like him,” you whispered, eyes burning. “I was just looking for someone that wasn’t in such a hurry to die.”

Jeno heaved a big sigh. He held onto you a moment longer before drawing away and grabbing one of the chairs, dragging it alongside you and straddling it backwards. He overlapped his arms on the top and said, “It would kill me if you died too.”

“Then, why do you do this to me?”

“Because I’m not going to die. I always have my brothers at my side. We are wolves in a pack.”

You hung your head, defeated at last. You would never get him to change his ways. He wasn’t capable. And so long as he had his brothers, he would never hesitate to run head first into danger.

Jeno reached over and tipped your head up with his fingers under your chin, making memories rush through you the moment your eyes met. “You’re part of the pack too,” he said gently. “It’s time you stopped trying to do this on your own.”

“Will you promise me one thing…,” you started, biting your lip unsurely. “That I can go first?”

Jeno’s eyes softened. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, touching his hand as it cupped your cheek. “I can’t know what it’s like to bury you. Please, don’t ever let me feel that.”

“I’ll live one day longer than you, baby,” Jeno vowed quietly, like he was at prayer.

A tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped at it to hide the evidence you cared so damn much. It was weak, unacceptable, and had no place in this world.

Jeno cradled your face with both hands and said, “Don’t hide from me. Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve cried myself to sleep missing you?”

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. You couldn’t believe it, much less that he would admit it to you. And you knew, then and there that you would never let him sleep alone again. “What?”

“You think I don’t know you’re my heart and soul walking around outside of my chest? You think it doesn’t kill me that you’d rather pretend I don’t exist than stay with me?”

You reached for him and cried, “I have never pretended you don’t exist, Jeno. I could never.”

“And you think every time you come home I can’t keep my hands off you because you’re easy?” Jeno frowned and shook his head. “I need you. I feel like I can’t breathe unless you’re with me. You’re the air. You are my life.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until it was too late, when he slipped his thumbs over your cheeks, spreading the dampness over your skin. “I love you,” was all you could say, but you knew it wasn’t enough after what he’d confessed.

Jeno smiled. For him, it was more than enough.

You knew he would lean in for a kiss next. As he did, you braced a hand on his shoulder and stood, taking a few steps away. “Do you still have her?” you asked quietly.

A flood of memories rushed through Jeno’s mind and mischief took over his face. He looked young and wild again, just like he had when you first fell in love with him. With a little smirk, he teased, “What do you think?”

You bit your lip and headed for the garage, not surprised when his footsteps echoed behind you. When you opened the door that creaked loudly, you couldn’t help but grin. The old Thunderbird convertible looked exactly the same, like an old friend waiting patiently for your return.

Jeno molded himself to your back and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his breath hot on your neck. “Wanna go for a spin?” he asked wickedly.

That sent a pulse of warmth through you and you brushed your hands over his arms, leaning back against him and swaying a little. You remembered the first time he brought the old car home and the worn, tattered shape it was in. You thought of all the times you kept him company while he restored the Thunderbird, bringing her back to her former glory. And of course, he added some alterations with you in mind.

Jeno’s lips traced up your neck before nibbling on your ear. His voice was sultry when he pressed, “You wanna fuck in it or on it?”

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart skipped a beat, or two. You held onto his arms for dear life as he kissed your neck a little harder. Rather than answer, you took a few steps toward the car until you could brace your hands on the hood and arched your back, shoving your ass squarely against his crotch.

“Make me come and then maybe I’ll let you fuck me,” you told him breathlessly.

Jeno would never admit it, but he would drop to his knees and do whatever you wanted him to do for the rest of his life. His hands roamed your body hungrily, never straying far from kneading your breasts for long, while he kissed and nipped your exposed skin. The two of you rocked against each other, moving in sync.

“You look so good bent over my car, baby,” Jeno purred in your ear. You smiled; he sounded weak already. You knew you could bend him until he broke if you really wanted to, but you’d save that for another day.

“I’ve missed her,” you said, biting your lip. You glanced forward at the front window, catching a faint glimpse of yours and Jeno’s reflections. He looked so much bigger than you, your smaller frame completely engulfed in his, and it only made you feel even more smug that you had such a big, strong man wrapped around your finger.

Jeno slipped one hand under your shirt to grab your breast and the other snaked into your unbuttoned pants, cupping your sex and running his fingers through your folds. A tiny moan staggered from your lips and you tucked yourself deeper into Jeno’s arms, your hands sliding over the glossy surface of the car’s front hood.

“Did you let anyone touch you here?” Jeno asked gruffly, pushing a finger inside you.

You shook your head. “No, baby. Never.”

Jeno kneaded your breast in his broad hand. “What about here?”

“No.” You were rewarded with his fingers rolling your clit and you arched into him, rubbing his clothed cock with your ass.

There was a pregnant pause. Jeno kept playing with you, his hips digging into your ass in an eager thrust, and finally asked, “Am I the last person you’ve been with?”

“Jeno,” you sighed. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been with.”

Jeno closed his eyes and breathed you in. The relief washed through him, like salve on his wounds. He’d agonized over it; the thought of someone else kissing you or knowing how you tasted, how you felt. Now, he understood - your ex probably brought another girl to fuck in your bed because you weren’t putting out.

You turned your head to look him in the eye and asked, “Surprised?”

“Relieved,” he answered without missing a beat and claimed your perfect lips in a kiss.

Your heart took off like it grew wings and flew. You kissed him back hotly, winding your hand behind you to grab some of his hair. Jeno never let up kissing you or teasing your sex with his fingers, but the second you started whining and bouncing your hips, the mood shifted.

Jeno fisted his hand in your hair and sharply pinned you to the hood, your cheek flat against its cold surface. You tried to find purchase, but it was too sleek, leaving you to grapple all while Jeno worked you to the edge. “Come, baby,” Jeno said, stroking you faster and harder. “I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

Your body seized up as you came, a vicious shudder tearing through you as Jeno kept fucking you with his fingers. You struggled and Jeno held you down with his weight, coaxing aftershocks out of you like he knew exactly what you needed to get every drop of ecstasy.

When you went limp, Jeno finally withdrew his hand from your pants and wrapped his arms around your waist again. He lifted you up and back against him, pressing little kisses under your ear, and whispered, “You’re not done.” He half-carried you to the side of the car, opening the door and ushering you inside with him. “We’re just getting started.”

You crawled across the backseat and leaned back, still catching your breath from the intensity of your orgasm. You watched Jeno shut the door behind him and grabbed his hand when he reached for you, bringing it to your lips to kiss across his knuckles.

The scent of the car overwhelmed your senses, the feel of the familiar leather. The memories came endlessly, like waves on a shore. Hell, yours and Jeno’s first time was in this beautiful car.

He called her Lily after your favorite flower. He painted her midnight to match the little black dress you wore just for him. He always kept a CD mixed with your favorite songs ready to play. And in the glove compartment was an assortment of granola bars for when you forgot to eat breakfast.

You tugged Jeno toward you and kissed him, darting out your tongue between his lips. Jeno smiled against your mouth, burning up with how badly you couldn’t keep your hands off him. He captured you in his thick arms and held you close, craving the heat of your body like he was freezing to death. He just needed to drown in you; you were the only place he was truly safe and whole.

Jeno lowered you to the seat and draped himself over you, but before he made himself comfortable between your thighs, he grabbed your pants and underwear and stripped them down your legs. Your shirt went next and your bra followed, and Jeno kissed you ravenously as his hands palmed over your naked body. When you pawed at him, he took off his shirt and you impatiently helped before going to work on his pants.

Once he was naked, you were hyper aware of how hot and wet you both were, already sweating and fogging up the windows despite the bitter cold just beyond the garage door. The Thunderbird was no stranger to action obviously, and rocked slightly with your movements.

“Jeno,” you purred, digging your fingers hungrily into his back. He was torturing you, touching you everywhere with a constantly changing gentle or rough hand, and stroked his cock between your slick folds but didn’t slide in. If he only knew how bad your body was aching for him.

Jeno buried his face in your neck, sucking a bruise in your skin, wanting you to see it when you looked in the mirror and remember exactly who you belonged to. He stopped sucking only to shush you, coating his length in your arousal and notching the head in your entrance.

“Jeno, please,” you whined again, pressing your fingertips into his shoulders even harder, needing an outlet for how badly you wanted him inside you. You were made for him. No one could ever make you feel the way he did.

Jeno coiled a hand around your throat and lowered his voice to say, “I got you, baby.” He pressed into your heat and groaned at your tight walls stretching to take him.

You tipped your head back and swore, hooking your legs in his, and choked out his name while he pumped himself inside your cunt until he bottomed out. “You’re so hard,” you hissed, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You do that to me,” Jeno crooned, kissing your neck, your jaw, your cheeks, and the corner of your mouth. He couldn’t stop. He never wanted to stop.

You held the nape of his neck and kissed his shoulder, biting his hot skin when it felt too much. Jeno rocked his hips against yours, then pulled back and thrust in. He was smooth, but rough, hitting the spot that made your toes curl.

Jeno sighed your name when he thrust in again, his lips brushing yours. “You feel so fucking good,” he said in a growl, driving in deeper and faster.

Your whole body tensed when he stroked into you viciously, your hands flying to his abs to slow him down, because you felt yourself on the edge already. Everything was too sensitive and tight, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. “J-Jeno…,” you stuttered, gasping at another hard thrust.

Jeno grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “Take it,” he said, knowing damn well he was pushing your limits. He liked dancing on the line of how much you could handle.

You stole a kiss from his parted lips and whispered, “Make me.”

Jeno smirked and kissed you back. While he kept rolling his hips into yours, he gathered both your hands in his own and pinned them at your sides. He trapped you under him and more importantly, to him.

The Thunderbird swayed faster. Your sounds of pleasure were barely muffled by the foggy windows. You didn’t hold back and neither did Jeno, who struggled not to let out a “fuck” every time he sank into you, your walls clenching on him tighter.

You squeezed Jeno’s hands for purchase as he drilled into you, your breath snatching out of your lungs. “I’m coming,” you barely had time to warn him before release swept through you, making your eyes roll back and a moan tear out of your throat. You could vaguely hear Jeno saying filthy things in your ear, telling you to keep coming on his cock and milk the cum out of him. How he loved hearing you scream and hoped the whole damn street heard it too.

Jeno released your hands to wrap his arms around you as you undulated beneath him, bouncing your hips as best you could to ride out your high. When you gripped his waist, he grunted, “Fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

One more tremor shot through your body and you went slack in his arms, chest heaving as you panted for breath. Your vision was blurry, your eyes full of tears from the overstimulation, and maybe a little emotion. You never felt safer, more loved than you did tangled with him in the old Thunderbird.

You shivered when Jeno began kissing and tonguing across your collarbones and to the base of your neck. You dragged your nails down his back, making him arch against you. “Come inside me, please,” you said quietly, all the thunder gone from your voice.

Jeno stilled, swearing under his breath. Then, he replied darkly, “Make me.”

You peered up at him in surprise. “You don’t want to?”

“I want you to make me.”

Fire lit its way through you; he knew exactly how to stoke the flames. You pushed at his chest and locked your legs tightly around his waist. Jeno grinned as he sat up with you in his arms and leaned back against the seat, smirking when you sank down on his cock.

You carded both hands in his hair, getting a solid grip to make sure he kept his gaze on you as you bounced on him, gloving his cock in your pussy. Jeno stared up at you in reverence, slack-jawed, his hands pressing deep into the flesh of your hips.

“Fuck. Shit,” Jeno groaned, his eyes rolling back.

A wet slap reverberated through the car every time you dropped back down on him, a little cry of pleasure tumbling off your swollen lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and you tipped your head back, riding him like you would never get the chance again.

“If you ever let another man have you, I’ll kill him,” Jeno said in a voice so dark and low, you knew he meant it. “I will wipe him off the face of the fucking earth, like he never existed.”

“I know,” you whimpered.

“This is mine. All of you is mine.”

“Then come in me,” you demanded, like you’d gone mad. You met his eyes, his pupils blown wide, and fisted his hair tight, telling him everything he needed to hear. You never questioned what came over you when you were intertwined with Jeno, but you were ravenous for him, needing him lost in you.

Jeno’s breaths came faster and faster, heating your skin. He fucked you back, rutting his hips to meet your pace, and his face twisted with pleasure as he came. His hips fell out of sync, more desperate and violent, and he crushed you in his arms to the point of bruising. A hard, shaky moan filled the car as he filled you, thrusting once more before stilling.

The two of you collapsed together, a tangle of limbs, covered in a sheen of sweat. Jeno rolled so you were underneath him again, keeping his load deep inside you. You held his head to your chest, pressing a warm kiss to his brow and smoothing down his hair that you’d ruffled.

“Come home,” Jeno rasped, his eyes hazy. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just come back to me.”

You stroked your fingers over his cheek affectionately. “Anything I want?”

He nodded, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Jeno was so fucked out that for the moment, you were all that existed in the world to him.

You let yourself smile. “Just you, Jeno. You’re all I want.”

Jeno blinked tiredly, as if the weight of the world had fallen off his shoulders at long last.

The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, the air no longer heavy with tension between you. You clambered into the front seat and settled into the passenger side, letting yourself bask in the warmth of your memories, both old and new.

You kept your eyes closed when Jeno took his place behind the wheel and asked, “Where to?”

“Nowhere,” you said without hesitation, turning to him and smiling. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

“Don’t play with my heart, baby. Do you mean it?”

You didn’t blame him for questioning you, but little did he know, you planned on spending the rest of your life making it up to him. “We’re wolves in a pack right?” You closed the distance between you and kissed him before saying, “I guard your throat. You guard my heart.”

Jeno pulled you flush against him and kissed you hungrily, the two of you fading into the night.

you’d laughed lightheartedly to spare him the embarrassment, telling him that everybody got a little sweaty every now and then, especially you. after all, cheerleading was more than skipping around and twirling. and at those words, you’d watched his eyes haze with the image of you damp with sweat, drenched head to toe.

hook, line, and sinker.

far too easy, exactly how you liked them. smart, easy, and utterly unable to resist you.

no one told you to expect something different from lee jeno. and why would you? he knew all the right answers, had some of the best marks, and practically lived in the library. he perfectly fit the bill of your standard victim.

which was why you had no qualms about approaching him in the library while he was typing away at his laptop, occasionally sipping from some kind of coffee.

as if he could sense he was in imminent danger and needed to evacuate immediately, jeno turned around before you could even make it completely to the table and saw you advancing on him with a pretty, practiced smile. “hi,” you greeted, waving at him. falling, your hands gripped the rear of the chair beside him. “is someone sitting here?”

jeno raised a brow at you, but shook his head. “no, no one’s sitting there.”

“perfect,” you replied, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. you turned so that you were facing him. “jeno, right?”

jeno nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. he got plenty girls, sure, but none ever approached him in the library. “that’s me,” he said, curious. “do i know you?”

“well, probably not,” you replied, giggling as if something was funny. “but, you know… i’m a cheerleader.”

jeno hummed. “are you now?”

you bobbed your head expectantly. “yeah, and i’ve heard about how smart you are. i’m impressed, to be honest. i mean, every time i’m in the library, i see you sitting here. i could never spend so much time here. you must have a lot of resolve to do something like that.”

“you think so?” jeno asked, pretending to be flattered just to see where you were leading him. 

“i do. like, really do,” you replied, brushing your fingers against his forearm. “i just have so many other,” better, “things to do, you know. with cheer, i’m either practicing or resting so that i’ll have energy for practice. it’s really hard on me, you know?”

jeno stifled a chuckle and glanced back at his laptop screen. “you poor thing.”

your brows stitched. he wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to you. it was almost like he was uninterested. “and that’s why i was wondering if you could help me. i mean, you’re such a genius. you could probably do it in half the time it would take me,” you continued, lowering your hand onto his denim-clad thigh, and becoming surprised by how sturdy it felt.

jeno spared a fleeting glance at your hand on his left thigh before his eyes flitted to your face, watching you wink at him and throw him a smile. “let me get this straight,” he started, slowly caressing the back of your hand with his thumb as it sat on his thigh. “you want me to… do your work for you?”

“hey, your hard work wouldn’t go unrewarded,” you insisted, ignoring the unexpected motions of his thumb. “you’d have my attention. i mean, like i said, i don’t have a lot of time to give away. but i’m willing to spend some of it on you.”

jeno snickered, unable to help himself anymore. “are you this patronizing to everyone you meet?” he asked.

your eyes flickered. “p-patronizing?”

jeno smiled, patting your hand before setting it on your own thigh. “sorry, was that a big word for you? you know, when you think you’re too good for something, but you don’t want to say it, so you play sweet and act like you’re helping me, when really, it’s the other way around.”

switching on a dime, you narrowed your eyes at him. for such a pretty boy, he had quite the attitude. “i know what patronizing means. and right now, i think you’re the one being patronizing.”

“am i?” jeno asked, feigning obliviousness. “how’s it taste, cheerleader? doesn’t feel good, does it?”

your face was set in a scowl. sometimes it hurt you to play nice with people, and now was one of those times. “are you gonna help me or not?” you snapped.

“there it is,” jeno sang, chuckling to himself. he put his hand on your thigh now, squeezing the flesh gently. for now. “there’s the real you.”

you swallowed, glaring over at him with a hint of defiance despite the disgusting, foreign feeling rotting in your chest. it had never gone like this before. every situation predating this one had been somewhat predictable, to the point where you’d come to expect certain reactions. this was not that.

“i’ll help you,” jeno said after a pause.

you forced a smile. “great, so…”

jeno interjected, “on one condition.”

smile faltering, you trailed off, processing his words. now he was making some kind of deal with you? who in the hell did this man think he was?

“on one condition?” you echoed, as if you’d somehow misheard him. your brows scrunched in suspicion. “what condition?”

jeno grinned, the look on his face sly as hell and a stark contrast from the disgruntled glower on yours. “give me something in return,” was all he said, the tightening hold on your thigh giving away more than his words had.

you gawked, as if you were offended, and quickly swat at his hand. “i’m not having sex with you, you pervert!”

“sure, you’re not,” jeno answered with a chuckle, eyes twinkling with amusement. everything about you was alluring to him for mostly all the reasons unintended. “but you said i’d have your attention. i guess you think it’s not often a poor, busy nerd like myself gets anyone’s attention, yeah? but nerds get tired too, don’t they? they need to de-stress…”

“that’s not my problem,” you spat. 

“you getting an F isn’t my problem, either,” jeno retorted, shrugging his shoulders. “so what it’s gonna be, cheerleader?”

something about this situation isn’t right to you. maybe it’s the lack of power you currently wielded over him, despite the fact that you had gotten used to having your way with academically competent boys like himself. if he weren’t taller than you and stronger than you, you’d resort to other, more familiar methods.

but jeno had changed the entire trajectory of this interaction for the worse, and now you had to determine whether or not it was beneath you to let him treat you as if you were some kind of object. you sulkily mulled it over, arms folded, trying to think of a way to maintain some semblance of power. “fine,” you finally replied, relenting. “but i’m not doing anything that requires me taking my clothes off.”

“you never seen a good porno, cheerleader?” jeno asked, a stupid, taunting smile blemishing his lips. “that cute little uniform of yours is the whole appeal to some people.”

“my name is…,” you huffed irritably, tired of being referred to by your title. 

“frankly, cheerleader, i don’t care what your name is,” jeno told you with brutal honesty. “you’re the one that introduced yourself as a cheerleader, like that’s your whole personality or something. thinking it would make me fold. you can’t be stupid and demanding.”

you gaped, affronted by the sheer audacity of him to even utter those words to you, like you were some dumb bimbo. “i’m not stupid! i’m just too busy.”

“right. too busy,” jeno echoed, obviously none too convinced. “sorry for assuming.”

with a roll of your eyes, you stood up from the table chair, feeling utterly disrespected. “yeah, you should be,” you said, despite knowing his apology was completely inauthentic. “where’s your phone?”

jeno arched a brow and glanced over to his phone, sitting face down against the table on the other side of him. before he could even respond, you reached over him to grab it and pointed it at his face, unlocking it as if you’d done it a million times before.

then, you started typing away, all the while jeno watched you with an amused expression on his face. he had to admit, you were surely something. and though he found you entertaining, he couldn’t shake the thought that you desperately needed someone to put you in your place.

“reach me here,” you said after a moment, handing him his phone back. the screen was on his messages, a fresh contact with you.  “pleasure doing business with you.”

with that, you walked away. 

jeno shook his head, scoffing. who the hell did you think you were?

over the next few days or so, you met with jeno to better construct exactly what your expectations were pertaining to your work. or at least, those were the words he’d used. most of those limited encounters had ended with his hands sealing around your breasts.

you let it slide, deciding that a little over-the-clothes stuff was relatively harmless. after all, this was the busiest you’d been all year long, and you were far too exhausted when you got home to be burdened with stupid assignments and pesky discussion posts. the next two months, if not the next two weeks, were going to kill you if you didn’t have someone to carry at least half the workload on your behalf.

it was okay. jeno’s inability to keep his hands to himself was fine. it wasn’t like anybody was going to know, or that this arrangement would last long enough for them to find out. you would get to keep your dignity and your grades, without saving one at the expense of the other.

short, sweet, and sticky, remember? maybe the latter was simply manifesting in the way jeno’s hands were stuck to you. not that anything about him was sweet.

more like sacrifice.

  ▸ gilded age

“guess who just made the list of this week’s top ten trending sluts,” jennie said as she walked up beside you and roseanne.

roseanne perked up that, though she couldn’t help but mischievously quip, “you?”

jennie narrowed her eyes. “hoe, as if,” she spat. “i know how to keep my legs closed.”

you snickered. “god, what happened now?”

“a sex tape got leaked. hyeri, and apparently johnny.”

your nose scrunched, as if disgusted. “always knew she was a slut. i mean, you should have been there to see the way she acted around the jocks in high school. her eyes were practically screaming, ‘pick me, choose me, fuck me,’” you mocked.

roseanne burst into giggles, downing the rest of what was left in her red cup. “i don’t think that’s how that goes,” she chimed. “but johnny? is she crazy? i hope they didn’t do it raw. i heard rumors that he’s got the clap.” 

“he sure clapped something, alright,” jennie retorted, much to your amusement. “it was definitely raw. hope it was worth the itch. you guys wanna see?”

“absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head vigorously. “i bet her parents would love to see it, though. on second thought, send me it.”

roseanne gawked. “are you serious?”

you bobbed your head, grinning deviously. “yeah. you guys have no idea what that bitch was like in high school. i tried teaching her a lesson, but she just never learned. it’s like the bitch is addicted to pain or something.”

jennie shook her head, pretending to disapprove, though she was intrigued to see how far you would your obvious loathing. “just sent it.”

your phone vibrated in your hand a few seconds later. you opened your instagram burner account, scrolling through your main’s following to find hyeri’s mother’s page, and dropped the video in her inbox. your sly giggle alerted your friends to your success and you dropped your phone in your pocket, satisfied.

“oh, you’re sick,” jennie insulted playfully, nudging your arm. “i wonder if she’ll say anything.”

you shrugged your shoulders, feigning nonchalance as if you weren’t excited to see how her mother would respond. “don’t know, but i’m more curious about if she’ll talk to hyeri about it. i’d love to be a fly on the myung’s wall when that happens.”

roseanne tapped your shoulder. “hey, don’t look now, but that jeno guy is staring you.”

your head whirled around, spotting jeno in his own corner of the party, indeed watching your every move as if he wanted to consume you and was waiting for the perfect moment to attack. which, if he was, would not be surprising. 

roseanne sighed in annoyance. “i literally just said don’t look now.”

you turned back to face them, shaking your head. “don’t worry about that creep,” you replied, brushing it off. “he’s just begging to get in my pants. didn’t even know he went to parties.”

for whatever reason, jennie laughed. something about what you said tickled her, apparently. “um, yeah. that’s jeno for you, alright. he’s either partying with his friends or grinding in the library, no in between. perfectly balanced lifestyle, i have to admit it.”

your brows furrowed. that was news to you. and probably an important piece of information that you’d conveniently missed when narrowing down your targets. maybe you should have asked around about him more. you just didn’t think that someone who studied as hard as he did could also be the life of the party.

what was he doing here, anyway? shouldn’t he have been off doing your homework? useless fucking nerdy-not.

“do you guys know each other or something?” roseanne pressed, noticing the strange tension in the air despite the fact that you and jeno were feet apart. which was honestly admirable. “do you think you could get him to put me on with jungwoo?”

jennie’s laughter rang out again, only this time, it was much louder, and much more mocking. “please. jungwoo isn’t gonna touch any of us after how she broke his heart. you’d have better luck with jaehyun,” she sneered.

roseanne glared, a snarl on her face. “fuck jaehyun.”

“yeah, i bet you want to. i bet you’re still dreaming of that big, thick, meaty dick you wouldn’t shut up about, like, two months ago.”

“a lot can change in two months.”

“oh, it sure can,” jennie replied, humming. “it sure can.”

  ▸ takes two to tango

jeno: come over

you: no

jeno: that wasn’t a request 

you: no where in our agreement does it say you get to boss me around

jeno: not even for an A?

you: that’s what your grabby hands are for

jeno: i don’t have to do this, you know. i can let you be a grown up and fiend for yourself like the rest of us

you: i’m otw, chill. jesus

the knock of your fist against jeno’s door was incessant, more than likely enough to exasperate his neighbors, given that it was particularly late at night and a good number of them had to have been sleeping.

jeno threw the door open with a scowl, obviously irritated. “you are so fucking annoying,” he hissed, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you. 

“ow!” you cried out, snatching your arm away. “stop that, i’m sore.”

jeno shook his head, his discontent frown disappearing in favor of an entertained, idiotic smile. “sore, huh? from doing what?”

you rolled your eyes. “if it isn’t obvious, i’m a cheerleader,” you reminded, gesturing down to your uniform. “meaning, i cheer.”

ignoring your snarky attitude, jeno glanced you up in down, taking in the sight of you in that tight, short cheer uniform that clung to you rather snugly. sweat still beaded at your damp legs and likely gathered between your breasts and down your back, as jeno was imagining. “yeah, you cheer. you won’t let me forget,” he said, amused.

“well, i’m busy,” you said, crossing your arms.

busy, my fucking ass, jeno thought to himself. “yeah, you won’t let me forget that, either. and yet, i saw you giggling with your friends at a party two weeks ago, looking completely fine. your poor, exhausted legs seemed to be working perfectly.”

“what, so i can’t have hobbies now?”

“sure, you can,” jeno replied, shrugging his shoulders. “i just have to ask, do you ever do anything productive with your time?”

“of course, i do,” you hissed, before quickly deflecting, “but we both know that’s not why you made me come all the way over here. so, what do you want?”

“your attention,” jeno said without missing a beat. his hands plopped against your bare shoulders and began wandering down your arms, rubbing them back and forth. “i’m in desperate need of a cheerleader’s sweet, precious attention.”

the disgruntled grimace on your face was the most effort you made to express your discomfort, not that he was looking there anyway. to him, at the moment, the sight of your body was much more appetizing. you watched with a repugnant burn simmering in your gaze as his eyes met your long, slender legs.

without warning, jeno grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you into the air, making you cry out in surprise. arms dangling around his neck, you held on for dear life, not an inch of your body feeling safe in his arms. you had been hauled further away from the ground by your cheermates, but this was different; no one wanted to fail, meaning no one would drop you. you had no reason to assume that jeno would handle you delicately.

but his burly arms, however, were not lost on you. though you hadn’t yet seen them in full power, your interactions mostly taking form of him forcing your back flush against the chiseled muscle of his chest as he kneaded yours, you could only imagine what the hands that groped you were capable of. 

in a matter of seconds, you landed on your back against his sheets, another shrill screech escaping your throat. “jeno, what the hell?” you exclaimed. 

“i’m not getting on my knees for you,” jeno said, the slyest of smiles tugging at his lips. “not unless it’s to fuck you. and you’re just too good to give it up, aren’t you?”

for him, definitely. and you would have said so, but your lips parted in a gasp, surprised and startled. something wet pushed along your sore legs, which were abruptly yanked to pillars far above your head so that they’d be more conveniently within reach of jeno’s tongue as he licked long, hot lines at them.

your eyes were rooted on him, fixed in a shape unlike their natural narrowed, black blaze and it would instead be more apt likening them to the fear and fret of a deer in crossed paths. wide, waiting, almost innocent. too used to circumstance to understand its fabric and too unfamiliar to chance to understand its fate.

unsatisfied, jeno bent your knee and pushed your leg further as he stood over the edge of his bed, and, in turn, over you, a grip on your ankles that you could feel in your bones. “jeno, that hurts,” you whined. 

jeno didn’t understand why you were bitching. “but you’re a cheerleader,” he echoed. “aren’t you flexible?”

you writhed uncomfortably as he continued shamelessly, tongue even daring to twist against the bone underneath the bend of your knee, a sensation that itched more than you expected. his lips sealed around your skin, sucking and nibbling.

needless to say, it was unlike anything you had experienced before. “stop, that’s weird!”

“stop complaining,” jeno groaned, pushing your leg even harder. “it’s like all you ever do is complain about how hard your life is.”

your eyes stung now not only with loathing, but the threat of hot tears. it was stupid; it sounded dramatic, but you felt it was warranted when he was the one actively making your life harder. “you’re a fucking weirdo,” you snapped. 

jeno heard it. the slight tremble in your voice despite the courage you’d been feigning. that was the sole reason he even bothered to look up at your face, the tears in them stealing his attention away in a heartbeat. he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed, or maybe even both. “god, now you’re crying,” he pointed out. “i haven’t even done anything to you. do you need me to give you a reason to cry?”

you shook your head. all you needed was to go home and recharge. you were beginning to doubt whether or not he was worth the trouble he carried with him in exchange for a grade that would keep your parents off your back, especially if he was going to make pulling stunts like this a regular habit. 

the last thing you expected jeno to do was tug the bottom of your top past the shadow of your breasts, slackening the taut grip on your ankles in favor of your wrists as if he knew you would dare resist him, and burying his face between your chest. you exhaled shakily, mortified by the hot, wet feel of his tongue licking a stripe between your breasts, gathering leftover sweat on its tip.

and you did thrash. but you were getting a taste of that power now; a power that wasn’t your own, a power that you couldn’t reap. a power that grabbed you with its calloused fist with a might so strong you couldn’t move. and it was for the first time that you felt utterly weak. there had to be a word for something as unfathomable as that, but it was so foreign to you that you couldn’t think of it.

to make matters worse, jeno was taking his time, sucking bruises onto the skin of your chest in between his licking, as if he wanted to ensure there was no spot left untouched, no drop of sweat left behind. your face strained with discomfort, wanting more than anything to get away from him and this awful feeling rotting inside of your heart.

maybe your cries for mercy were heard, because no sooner had you hoped for an end than it came. “you can go now,” jeno said, pulling away. he pulled your shirt back down and smoothed out any wrinkles, which was almost kind of him.

even though you were more than eager to be rid of him, you lay there, dumbfounded. it was one thing to be violated, and it was another to be dismissed, but to happen in rapid succession of each other quickly bred some ugly emotion that was only festering.

jeno had expected you to scurry out of his bed, and out of his apartment, so the fact that you were still there bemused him. “what, do you want more?” he teased. 

you shook your head, sitting up a little too quickly. your head started to feel lightheaded. you barked, “that isn’t what i agreed to!”

jeno had the audacity to laugh. like you had told a joke of some kind. “isn’t it? your clothes are still technically on. that was what you agreed to. remember?”

you dropped to your feet, pushing past him. “you’re disgusting,” was all you said, making a beeline for the door.

“takes two to tango, baby,” jeno called after you, simpering.

you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. there was an unpleasant stir in your gut - not as easily distinguishable as the loathing - unlike anything you had ever felt and you desperately wanted it to go away, to rid of yourself of anything that even remotely resembled lee jeno.

  ▸ chess, not checkers

deep, low grunts smacked against the walls and bounced back with almost the same amount of vigor of jeno’s quick, unrelenting hips, the sound nearly as hard and heavy as he was. the only thing rivaling the tightness of the hole he was using was the wince of his closed eyes and the grip of his strong hands.

jeno didn’t want to see. it would be too blatantly obvious that she wasn’t you, and that it wasn’t your blemished hips he was holding. though she sounded nothing like you. he knew that you would have been so much whinier, and despite finding them painfully obnoxious, he found himself longing to hear all your worthless, melodramatic complaints.

instead, he heard soft moans mingling with his own labored sounds as his hips moved with a mind of their own, imagining it was you underneath him where you truly belonged.

the image stained the back of his eyelids, burned behind them every time he closed his eyes; the shortness of your pleated skirt scrunched around your hips, weak legs on his broad shoulders with nicks and bruises scattered here and there, arms swinging aimlessly.

and if he got tired of hearing you, he could simply press his palm squarely against your mouth, muting the sound of your incessant fussing. if he really wanted to put you in your place, he could clasp his hands around your throat and clamp down onto your windpipe till all that escaped you was a pitiful, featherlight squeak.

jeno could tell no one had ever properly put you in your place before, no one had ever stood up to you and reminded you of your level. you were in desperate need of a humbling and didn’t even know it yourself. no one better than jeno for the role, he figured. a little cheerleader parading around in a uniform to feel different from everybody else she met didn’t scare him whatsoever.

the only thing saving you was essentially the fact that you were undeniably pretty and not necessarily to blame for the school’s superficial culture, which elevated girls like you in terms of status despite it having no real meaning or manifestations outside of campus, and put you on top when you were within the bubble.

but outside the bubble, away from the boys who thought of you as this beautiful, unattainable poison and the girls who enabled you with a faux sense of togetherness, you had no real identity, no real power, and no real worth.

and yet, maybe jeno was contributing to the problem. maybe he had inadvertently become one of the people elevating you. because choking in the heat of the moment, he uttered your name, forgetting who he was with and where he was.

hands shoved at him, hard. at least, hard enough for him to be jolted out of his reverie, finally gazing into the eyes that seethed because of him. “did you just call me that evil witch’s name?” seoa barked.

jeno winced. that was a fair reaction, all things considered. he wouldn’t have wanted to have been called your name out of everyone’s, either. he rubbed his nape. “well…”

“unbelievable,” seoa replied, scoffing. she got out of the bed and hurriedly began picking her clothes up from the floor, redressing herself.

jeno exhaled a breath, mostly annoyed that his orgasm had been ruined, but still feeling a hint of sympathy. “seoa, wait,” he said, touching her shoulder.

seoa recoiled, pulling away. jeno had never seen anyone be so ready to put on their pants after being with him, not even with a hell of a schedule after. “never touch me again,” she spat, walking out with her shoes in tow. “fuck you.”

jeno ran a hand through his hair, watching her leave, and murmured under his breath, “god dammit.”

a few days later, while they were attending a festival, jaemin marched over to jeno, draping an arm over his shoulder, and asked, “wanna tell me why seoa blocked all of us and she’s been glaring at me and mark since she got here?”

jeno snickered, shaking his head in slight disbelief. he was over it by now, he figured she would be too. “i let a certain cheerleader’s name slip while i was balls deep inside her,” he confessed. which he wasn’t necessarily proud of, considering the only reason he even knew your name was because you’d saved your own contact on his phone.

jaemin’s brows furrowed, glancing around as if he was trying to spot you in the crowd like a heat-seeking missle. “who?”

rolling his eyes, jeno grabbed the back of jaemin’s head with one hand and turned it in your general direction, hoping it would help. and jeno knew it had when jaemin’s confusion melted into disgust. 

“oh, that bitch?” he asked, nose wrinkled.

jeno chuckled, releasing his friend’s head. “she’s a bitch, but she’s pretty.”

jaemin couldn’t argue with that fact even if he’d wanted to. “yeah, i’ll give her that. cute in the face. she’s fake as hell, though. played jungwoo like a fiddle. he did six months worth of her homework because she promised they’d get together.”

that was news to jeno. he knew you were cruel, having had stories from jisung and the like, but he never knew of your history with jungwoo. if it could be called that. “did they fuck?” he couldn’t help but ask.

jaemin shook his head, taking a sip from the bottle in his hand before he answered, “he said she always turned him down. told him she was waiting for ‘the perfect moment.’”

now that was funny as hell. jeno had only known you for a few weeks and yet even he quickly pieced together that you weren’t the romantic type. “well, that’s fucked up,” he said, happily accepting yet another reason to dislike you. “but he’s dumb as fuck if he did her homework for six months without getting a crumb of pussy in return.”

jaemin made a face, nodding. “yeah,” he exhaled, giving the impression that he’d wanted to defend jungwoo. “but man, what possessed you to say her name while fucking the seoa? i need a good excuse. you just blew my shot with her.”

jeno shrugged. “don’t have one. she approached me maybe three weeks ago asking me to do her homework, and i agreed.”

jaemin gawked. that didn’t sound like jeno. like at all. “man, what? is she paying you?”

“oh, dividends,” jeno quipped.

“oh, and in what? pussy?”

“nope.”

jaemin looked horrified. he was so damn dramatic. “then, why the hell are you doing her bidding? that doesn’t sound like you.”

it didn’t, not immediately, but jeno had his reasons. “entertainment purposes,” he replied curtly.

jaemin shook his head, taking another swig of his drink. certainly, he was drinking, not smoking. “you’re becoming her pawn for entertainment purposes? unbelievable, bro.”

“chess, not checkers, jaem.” jeno smirked, putting a hand on jaemin’s shoulder. “you’ll see.”

▸ things good guys do 

“you’re lucky i was already out,” jeno told you when you let him into your apartment. “it’s the middle of the night for fuck’s sake. what do you want?”

“oh, please,” you spat, damn near rolling your eyes. your arms were folded. “you get to call me over at the ungodly hour, but when i do it, it’s a problem?”

jeno exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he bothered to come here when he had no obligation to do your bidding, as jaemin had put it. but something told him that he wouldn’t have any regrets. “yeah, it is. now, what do you want?”

you were silent for a few moments, somewhat ashamed of the request you would ultimately make. you sighed, surrendering. “i need help with calculus,” you finally said.

jeno’s shoulders drooped, eyes shrinking in a contemptuous disbelief. “seriously?”

“seriously,” you repeated, sitting down on your couch as your laptop screen glared back at you from the coffee table.

jeno groaned, “i seriously don’t know how you even got into this school. can’t you do anything by yourself?”

you gawked, affronted. he made you sound like some incompetent, immature dickhead. “contrary to a weirdly popular belief, i’m actually really smart,” you insisted, having the transcripts to prove it. “but my professor sucks and i need an eighty-nine on my final to keep my A. and it’s not like you can walk in and take it for me because it’s proctored.”

jeno shook his head and reminded, “you know this little agreement we have doesn’t include me tutoring you, right?”

“it didn’t include you assaulting me, either,” you retorted.

“you think that was assault?” jeno asked, scoffing. he dropped beside you on your couch, the proximity instinctively making you suck in a breath. “if i wasn’t a good guy, i’d show you assault.”

scooting over to ensure maximum distance between your bodies, you argued, “good guys don’t call themselves good guys.”

“good guys have self-control,” jeno replied matter-of-factly, resisting a chuckle. he didn’t make a move to touch you, but he noticed how tense you looked now that he was sitting beside you. “i’ll tutor you, but we’ll have to up the terms of our agreement.”

you swallowed sharply, throat bobbing. you had a feeling you weren’t going to enjoy these new terms. “what do you want?”

“a blowjob.”

“that’s disgusting,” you spat without a second thought, features contorting with repugnance.

jeno quipped, “and so is your inability to do your school work without using and depending on every intelligent boy you meet, but hey, i’m sure you can’t help that.”

you sighed, exasperated, and cradled your face in your hands. was this seriously what your life had come to? giving a boy a blowjob in exchange for a pretty transcript?

jeno grinned, appreciating the sight of you in distress. it was a sign, a good sign, and he intended to bring it out of you more and more, bleeding you absolutely dry. lowering a hand onto your thigh, he urged, “come on, bruise those little knees for me. don’t you bruise ‘em for cheer?”

“that’s not the same!” you whined. 

“of course, it’s not,” jeno said, squeezing your thigh as his shoulders trembled with laughter. “cheer isn’t helping you graduate with flying colors.”

you desperately wanted him to be wrong, you were begging for him to be wrong, but you both knew that if he was, he wouldn’t have been here with you at the moment. not now, not three weeks ago, not ever. so you sucked it up, slamming down your laptop lid, and grumbled, “fine.”

maybe he didn’t come here for nothing, after all. grateful he’d trusted his gut, jeno stood up and clutched your arm to pull you along with him. “come on, let’s go to your room. i like my blowjobs a little messy and i’m sure you don’t want to mess up your nice carpet.”

you snatched your arm away from him, hating his insistence on touching you for every little reason whenever he possibly could, even if it was insignificant. your mouth was taut as you begrudgingly headed for your bedroom.

it was obvious that you were sour. walking behind you, jeno couldn’t help but chime, “glad to see that you can at least walk by yourself!”

you bristled in annoyance, wishing you could just get rid of him, but you knew it wouldn’t be wise to discard him so quickly. at least for now, he still held some kind of value.

jeno walked in behind you, looking particularly radiant, and you hated that you knew why. hell, you hated the reason itself. “get on your knees,” he commanded.

normally, you would complain about him giving you orders as if you were his lap dog or something, but you just wanted to get this over with. you were already so over this entire week. you slowly dropped to your knees, trying to ignore how demeaning it felt. 

“good girl,” jeno praised at your compliance. “now, look up at me with those pretty eyes and ask me to help you with calc. ask me nicely.”

you met his eyes, noticing the expectant glimmer in his gaze that you so badly wanted to knock off. but you weren’t dumb enough to incite violence against a grown man that walked around with his bulging muscles on display for all the world to see, and you didn’t doubt that he would hit you back. “jeno, please help me with calculus,” you pleaded, choosing your battles.

jeno hummed, satisfied. “you sound so pretty and sweet when you ask nicely, instead of demanding things. didn’t know you were capable of that,” he told you, running his fingers through your hair. “take it out. get me hard.”

your hands moved to his sweatpants, tugging at them enough to bring them down just shy of his knees, and doing the same with his underwear. he wasn’t hard yet, but that would be an easy fix; witnessing your state of pure anguish, watching you speak and move as if you were totally dejected, always excited him.

not to mention that the sight of you on your knees for him, the more he took it in, was arousing him even more than he thought it would. he had pictured it in his mind before, you serving him, pleasuring him, existing solely for him, but nothing could compare to the sight he beheld now.

at least, nothing other than you actually doing something rather than sitting there like an idiot. he liked taking control, but he figured you would take matters into your own hands, literally, when he gave the order. “do you need me to tell you what to do or something?” he asked, huffing irritably. “put your tongue on it. tease the head.”

your face and ears burned in ways they rarely did, but you nodded wordlessly and did as told, bracing your hands on his thighs and reluctantly pressing your tongue onto his tip, looking anywhere but his eyes as the muscle swirled around.

that amused jeno to no end. at least for now, he would let it slide, not feeling the need to maintain eye contact with you at the moment. if he needed to, he would simply just grab a nice, thick fistful of your hair and yank it back to jolt your head up at him. he could still see your pretty, bare face, hair arranged messily at the top of your head with a few needless strands jutting out here and there.

he liked that. of course, he would have been more than enthusiastic to have you suck him off if you’d been all dolled up, making you ruin your makeup and undo at least an hour of careful, clean work, but he also just took pleasure in seeing this natural, undone part of you. he wanted to see you for what you really were.

it didn’t take long for him to get hard. with all his thoughts revolving around you and the feel of your tongue on the head of his dick, that was a no-brainer. “good, now put it in your mouth. take as much as you can and not an inch less,” jeno instructed.

widening your mouth, you accepted his stout, heavy cock into your mouth, lips forming a tight suction around the head and steadily advancing down his shaft. bit by bit, inch by nightmarishly thick inch. you had made it maybe halfway down his shaft when you quickly discovered your limit.

jeno was surprisingly content, despite the fact that you definitely still had a few more inches to go. “there you go,” he said, giving your head a soft pat of approval. “suck. go slow. and don’t you dare let me feel any teeth.” 

your heart was thumping out of something you could only understand as fear, even though jeno hadn’t done anything to warrant it yet. inhaling through your nose, you tried to level your breathing, taking your time to draw in his cock lest you made a mistake. the hint of warning in jeno’s voice, in spite of the calmness, was clear.

jeno, on the other hand, was reaching elysian heights. faint grunts of, “fuck,” escaped his pink lips, large hands at his sides reflexively tensing into tightly clenched fists in need of something to grab, hips just barely stuttering. your mouth was hot and wet, with the added benefit of your torturous tongue pressed against his size.

there was a pinch of desperacy in your actions that overcame the resistance; a desperacy not necessarily to please him, but to appease him. accidents were the last thing you could afford and eliciting his frustration was the last thing you wanted.

“lick,” jeno said, chest undulating. “up and down.”

with a hum, you started drawing long, wet lines back and forth on his veiny shaft, almost as if you were tracing the bold veins with your tongue. jeno’s reaction was instantaneous, deep groans the only thing you could hear other than the wet sound of your mouth on his cock, sucking and licking. 

jeno’s eyes fluttered closed. “fuck. yeah, like that.”

you pressed your tongue against the underside of his dick, lingering in each spot for a moment before you continued, mostly because he seemed to like it when you did. which was your north star in an empty, dead night, because you had not a clue what the hell you were doing and you were afraid of making it obvious somehow.

if jeno could tell, he didn’t make it known. he was in a world of his own, all too happily reaping the pleasure from your mouth as if it was a dream come true for him. “kiss my balls. lick it.”

you stifled the sigh you were half tempted to let loose, pulling off his cock with a wet sound and a string of saliva connecting from the sticky tip to your glossy lips. moving your head, you took a moment to steel yourself before peppering tiny, soft kisses along his balls, down to his scrotum.

it wasn’t the most dignifying thing you had ever done, it may have even been the least, but your aching, sore jaw appreciated the break from sucking. you dragged your tongue over his testicles, tasting nothing but rubbery flesh. you were too busy avoiding his eyes to notice, but his face was tensing with pleasure, lips parting in low murmurs.

compared to when you first started, jeno was drastically harder now, massive, monstrous cock nearly bursting at the veins with precum leaking out from the thick tip. had your goal been to take all of him entirely, the sheer size of him would have immediately overwhelmed you.

“switch to your hand and go back to sucking me off,” jeno said, firm yet quiet. it sounded like he was trying to restrain himself, barely holding it together.

at least you were a fast learner. teasing the head of his cock, you gave it a few slow, tentative licks before you began to take him into your mouth again, all the while gently fondling his balls with your fingers. jeno groaned, arching into your touch. he couldn’t help himself.

you could taste the vicious amount of precum staining your tongue and you didn’t know how to describe it, other than slightly tart. the flavor blended with that of your own saliva, lingering on the roof of your mouth and the warm flesh underneath the flap of your tongue, mild as could be.

at least it wasn’t downright awful. you had heard stories before, not that you’d ever known what to make of them, or even pictured yourself being inside of them. if a month ago, someone had told you that you’d be on your knees for a man - for anyone - you would have said they were delusional.

jeno’s patience had worn thin and when you least expected it, he hauled you into the air, making you cry out in surprise just as you had the first time he’d lifted you into his buff, meaty arms. he tossed you onto the bed, just shy of the headboard, and suddenly straddled your chest. you gasped out a breath.

“open up,” jeno said, cock positioned right in front of your mouth.

not that he gave you the time to obey him, because he pressed himself against your slightly parted lips and forced them wider, entering your mouth on his own. your face strained, perfectly threaded brows tugging down into a discontented arch.

when you tried to pull away, jeno grabbed the sides of your face and pushed you onto his shaft with trembling hands, making you take him and leaving no room for escape, not until he decided he was done with you. there was only one concern present in his mind and that was getting himself off.

tears stung your eyes, that same implacable feeling you had when he’d dragged his tongue over the expanse of your soft, shaved legs and bare, sweaty chest finding you again in the most of unwanted company. jeno scoffed, spitefully tugging at your hair. “you know what’s funny? you’re such a fucking crybaby. you can’t take even half of what you give to others.”

chin flush against his scrotum and your nose not even an inch away from his bush, you almost gagged. the slurping sounds were humiliating, loud, wet squelching with every other big gulp making you want to shrink. however, jeno loved it, obsessing over the idea of making a mess out of you. the sound went straight to his dick.

jeno held your face in that low position, deeper than you’d ever taken him so far. “i’m really not that bad of a guy, you know,” jeno said, sounding like he truly believed it. you could have scoffed, if not for obvious reasons. “you just bring it out of me. i’m really just treating you like how you treat everybody else.”

he made you sound like something straight out of hell and you couldn’t help but think it was an unfair justification for something that felt too close to punishment. he obviously thought he knew you better than he did and it made you aggravated. that, or he somehow thought he was better than you.

there was a fleeting second of relief when jeno unmounted your chest and let you breathe, only to be crushed again when he dragged you by your wrists to the edge of your mattress, leaving you in the deep end. your eyes struggled to grasp with the flipped image of him nearing you, cock back down your throat before you could even blink.

though his hips thankfully had been moving at a calmer, steady pace before, despite forcing himself deeper than you could handle, he began to thrust more urgently into your mouth with the new change, embedding himself even further into your throat than you knew was possible. 

you cried harder, hating every second of it. the salty, bitter tang of your tears mingled with the tainted taste of spit and sharp bite of precum that had come to stain your chin and cupid’s bow. the vigor of his movements was overwhelming, overpowering.

“that’s it, cheerleader. cry harder,” jeno taunted, tracing his thumb over your face to swipe at the trail of tears. all the while his hips were moving faster, harder.

it felt like such a mockery, him doing that. a feigned act of sympathy while perpetuating the torment that was reducing you to tears as a selfish means of achieving pleasure of his own. 

then, his hands wandered down to your breasts, slipping inside your night shirt and mauling your chest. running his hands in a circle, his thumb brushed the erect, colored nipples and he clasped his hands around your chest, squeezing your breasts. “fuck, i’m close,” he grunted, grip tightening, pace hastening, force increasing. 

with how close he was, your nose was squarely against his the flesh of his balls, effectively cutting off your exhale. your heart thudded, racing and pounding. tensing with panic, your hands frantically moved, striking at his navel and thighs. even your legs were in alarm, unstill towards the other end of the bed. 

jeno groaned, smacking your cheek. another slap followed the sizzle, straight against your chest. “calm the fuck down,” he hissed, raising his arm in preparation to hit you again. “i’ll let you breathe as soon as i come, so you better not get in the way, if you know what’s good for you.”

even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stay calm. your body physically couldn’t handle it, responding the only way it knew how, trying to protect you. somebody had to. you closed your eyes, face warm with tears and panic, and you tried to brace your hands on the sheets, anything to comfort and stabilize yourself.

it got to a point where jeno couldn’t hold back anymore and he climaxed with a prolonged, guttural groan, hips still brutally smacking into your mouth as he painted your tongue and the back of your throat with his cum. he went as far as to grab your head again, forcing himself onto you as deep as he could go, and demanding, “swallow it.”

like hell you would. you pushed him away, coughing and choking as soon as you did, drops of cum pooling from your mouth and some of it flying here and there in the midst of your coughing fit.

irritated, jeno pressed his tongue against the roof his mouth. “you’re so fucking useless,” he groaned, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and quickly turning on the camera. “look at you. sitting here choking on my cum. you want it again, don’t you?”

you sat up, nearly tumbling over the edge of your bed from the intense convulsing, and turned to face the other way as you hunched over, tightly clasping your sheets. “fuck off, you got what you wanted!” you rasped.

jeno laughed. you sounded so gravelly. “you’re right. i did,” he replied, putting back on his pants and pocketing his phone. “so, tutoring. i’ll see you tomorrow. nighty night, cheerleader.”

he gave you a pat on the head and turned, heading straight for the door.

▸ hard feelings

something about today was different than usual. 

when you woke up, you had felt a shift in the air, but you’d chalked it up to being nervous about the final you had in three hours.

but when you finally went to go take it, however, you quickly realized that the unsettling feeling you had was not simply pre-exam jitters. it was something much more sinister than that. with the status you held on campus, you were used to being watched and gawked at, but this was different.

it felt like everybody and their mother was looking at you.

you were confused. you had been the subject of this much attention before, but only once; it was a couple years back when someone had spread a dirty, foul rumor about you. there was a social media page for your school called top ten, mostly used to shame women for their sexual exploits, but some men made their way on it too. that was how you heard about johnny’s clap rumor.

long story short, a rumor about you had originated there and it had taken you weeks to clear your name. but by that time, there was already another slut of the week. you were lucky to have your situation not only be false and debunked, but word of mouth. only the most unlucky of people, like hyeri, got images or videos of themselves posted.

and you were a community favorite. you would understand if you were new, but you had built a reputation around here. why would anybody believe floating rumors about you now?

but the abundance of stares didn’t end there. even in the cafe, you had caught someone watching you a little too hard to be a casual leer of admiration. and you were determined to find out why.

fortunately, you were able to find jennie and roseanne walking and talking in the courtyard, and you called out their names to stop them.

jennie turned first, and you watched her smile drop in real time. she glanced around, frantic, as if she was worried about someone watching her too.

roseanne smiled thinly, halfheartedly lifting her hand to wave. “hey,” she greeted quietly, matching jennie’s nerves.

they knew something you didn’t and it was glaringly obvious. “what’s going on?” you asked. “everyone’s looking at me and i know i’m not going crazy yet.”

jennie and roseanne glanced between each other, as if they both had bad news but neither of them wanted to be the one to tell you. after a few seconds, jennie groaned and said, “you might want to check top ten.”

your brows furrowed. you, on top ten? again? god, people could be so infuriating. “ugh, what rumor did they spread about me this time?”

jennie winced, which only made you more anxious. “it’s not just a rumor,” she whispered. “…it’s a video.”

“video?” you echoed in disbelief. that didn’t make sense. you hadn’t been with anyone except…except jeno. you tensed with anger.

roseanne opened her phone to show you the video that had been posted. it was an anonymous submission that claimed to be a recording of you. unfortunately, it was you, bits of your chest exposed from jeno reaching into your shirt and drops of cum landing there as you fought for breath. your face wasn’t visible, but there were some other distinguishing signs, like your hair and skin and sheets.

your heart thudded and your shoulders went cold, but your eyes were scalding. you were well aware that jeno didn’t like you, you didn’t exactly love him either, but you never thought he would stoop low enough to hurt you like this.

“i’m sorry,” roseanne apologized, dropping her phone in her purse when you were done. the video was only a few seconds long, but the damage was forever. “but don’t worry. it’s not like it’s top three worthy. everyone will move on next week.”

jennie nodded in agreement and briefly patted your back. “yeah. we’ll hang out again when this all blows over, i promise.”

then, they walked away. leaving you reeling with ache and betrayal. your friends didn’t want to be seen with you anymore. you were an embarrassment.

you swallowed the bitter feeling scorching up your throat and tapped your pockets for your phone, knowing there was one person you needed to see. 

you: you and i need to talk. right now.

jeno: about what?

you: don’t play dumb, i know you sent that video in!

jeno: maybe u should have swallowed

you: you know what, i don’t need you. i never have. and i don’t want your help anymore. just leave me alone

jeno: [one attachment]

jeno: you sure about that? because i’m sure there’s plenty of people that would love to see the version with your face in it

you gawked, hiding your phone screen against your chest while glancing around to make sure no one could see.

adjusting your brightness, you unlocked your phone again and texted him back hurriedly.

you: why are you doing this?! i’ve never done anything to you

jeno: this is bigger than just you and me

jeno: now if you don’t want everyone to see that pretty face, come put those lips around me again and we can work something out

and that was how it started. though you hadn’t had the upper hand in weeks, this was the moment you completely lost it. what was once an arrangement for him to help you in exchange for your attention became a hole of misery that you couldn’t dig yourself out of.

one blowjob became two, and two became three until you started to immediately recognize what it meant when you saw his name appear on your screen, knowing what it was before he even asked. not that he ever technically asked. it was always a command, a claim to your body wherever and whenever he wanted.

if you tried to be strong, if you tried to break free of him, he always threatened to make sure that recordings of you on your knees for him went up for all the world to see and no one would ever think of you the same way again. he was more than willing to taint the pretty, perfect image of yourself that you presented to the world.

you felt stuck, trapped. isolated with nowhere to go, no way out. you tried to conjure up a way to escape this situation, but you couldn’t think of anything feasible. if you wanted to protect what was left of your social life and dignity, if you wanted to go outside without being ashamed, your only option was to be compliant.

no matter how many late nights and sore throats you had to go through.

you were in the middle of dozing off, your head leaning off to the side, when the sound of your phone ringing suddenly jolted you awake. you were tempted to ignore it until you saw the contact and begrudgingly pressed the phone to your ear. “hello?” you grumbled.

“i’ve been texting you,” jeno said, sounding miffed.

you sighed, glancing over at the clock on your nightstand. “it’s literally two in the morning,” you complained. “i just got home from cheer practice and i’m trying to study for my last final. i haven’t even showered yet.”

“aw, poor thing,” jeno crooned, pretending to care. “come over.”

you heartless, selfish bastard, you snapped in your head. of course, you were in no place to say that out loud, so you settled for a calm, “okay,” and hung up.

stifling a yawn, you grabbed your keys and lazily stepped into a nearby pair of shoes, stretching your arms above your head before willing yourself to get up from your desk chair. then, you accidentally scraped your leg against the bottom drawer of your desk, which you’d accidentally left open. 

“ow!” you cried out, bending down a little. “god, why does this world hate me? what did i do wrong?”

it was a wonder you managed to make it to jeno’s apartment without getting into a wreck, although at this point, you wouldn’t care if you had as long as it killed you. or put you into an indefinite coma.

on the other hand, jeno seemed strangely enthusiastic to see you and looked full of life and energy. “there you are, cheerleader,” he said, pulling you in to hug you from behind. he led you over to his couch, much like he always did. 

you covered your mouth with your elbow as you yawned. “can we get this over with? i’m sleepy.”

jeno chuckled. “i don’t want you to suck me off. not right now.”

your brows furrowed, wondering if you had heard him right. if not for that, then why were the hell were you here?

“i’m sad,” jeno said, not even attempting to keep the smug smile off his face. “i need you to cheer me up.”

you blinked at him like he was stupid. “cheer… you up?”

jeno nodded his head, glancing you over with a grin. you looked like hell. partly because you were so obviously exhausted, but he knew he’d been having an effect on you too. “yeah, cheer me up. you’re a cheerleader,” he reminded, sounding proud of himself. “i want you to do your routine for me.”

you gawked in disbelief and whined, “i’m not even in my uniform.”

“so?” jeno asked. “those bones might be tired, but they still work. matter of fact, take everything off.”

you were quick to exclaim, “what the hell? jeno, can i please just do it later? everything hurts.”

“take everything off,” jeno repeated, his voice more stern this time. “and move your ass.”

defeated, you reluctantly began to peel off your clothes, ignoring the way jeno shamelessly ogled you for the sake of your own comfort and tugging your shirt from above your head. you couldn’t even look at him as you abashedly stepped out of your shorts and panties.

what was even more mortifying was having to perform every stupid little routine for him with your entire body on display and your chest bouncing with every motion. putting on the sweet, forced smile and calling out the chants you’d memorized, all the while ignoring how your bones ached.

when you were done, he made you sit in his lap so he could touch you as he pleased, paying no mind to the way you squirmed uncomfortably.

you cried enough tears to occupy a sixth ocean the next day. you weren’t exactly sure why. you just remembered miraculously waking up in your bed, sitting up and staring into empty space, and the water crashing down after a few minutes. it took you even longer to notice you were sobbing.

after a couple of meaningless hours, you got the random urge to call your moan, yearning to hear her voice. “mommy?” you said when she picked up.

“she calls,” your mother chirped, pleasantly surprised. “hi, baby. i was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten about little ole’ me. you know, you never come see me anymore.”

you forced yourself to laugh, trying to strip your voice of the agony so that she wouldn’t notice. “i know. i’m sorry,” you apologized quietly. “i’ll come see you soon.”

“you better,” your mother snapped playfully, no real malice in her voice. “now, what’d you call me for? and don’t say just to check up on me, because that’s a damn lie.”

“i miss you,” you confessed. 

“a lie don’t care who tell it.”

“ma,” you groaned, knowing she was just messing around. “i swear i do.”

“mm-hm,” your mother hummed. you could already picture her in your head, eyeing you with suspicion, arms folded over her chest. “let me guess why you really called. you’re having boy trouble.”

your eyes flickered in surprise. how did she know? you doubted it was exactly what she was thinking, but she was close enough. “yeah, something like that.”

there was no doubt that your mother sounded excited. you had always seem thoroughly uninterested in boys and dating, and while she was thankful when you were a teenager, it was a little worrying now. “it’s about time,” she said, clasping her hands together. “tell me all about it.”

you sighed, wondering how you could tell her about jeno without making her fret. she had gotten all pumped, you didn’t want to tear her down and ruin everything. “well, there’s this guy i met almost two months ago. at first, i didn’t feel anything for him. he was just another boy, you know. someone i could keep around for a good time, not a long one.”

your mother hummed again. you could hear metal pans clacking against her counter and assumed she was cooking. she always did that. 

taking a deep breath, you continued, “but everything changed. he’s different from every other guy i’ve dealt with. he doesn’t just do what i say because i say so. and as the weeks passed, he’s started listening to me less and less than he already was.”

your mother chuckled. “and you didn’t like that, huh? got your mother’s stubborn heart and indomitable spirit.”

in truth, you didn’t think you had half of your mother’s strength, but you would never tell her that. as far as she knew, everything was going perfectly in the life you’d created here on campus. and it probably was the last time you’d spoken to her. “yeah,” you replied, wishing that were true. “i don’t like it. he makes me feel something i’ve never felt before.”

“he makes you feel powerless,” your mother told you. “he’s got you feeling weak because he’s the first man you’ve ever met willing to stand up to you. trust me, i was surprised the first time too. that’s how you got here.”

“ma,” you groaned with a wince.

she laughed. the sound made you happy, something you hadn’t been so certain you were capable of feeling anymore. “i’m just keeping it real.”

you thought about her words. she may have been way off in her perception of what this relationship between you and jeno really was, but she wasn’t wrong about how he made you feel. weak, powerless. suddenly, this consuming feeling you’d been having for weeks finally had a name, and yet that made it even harder to come to terms with.

because you didn’t want to be powerless. you wanted to be in charge, in control. you hated when things didn’t go your way, and more importantly, you hated when there was nothing you could do about it. it was supposed to be you wielding power over people’s head, not being crushed beneath the weight of tyranny.

and it was then you fully realized the scope of your feelings; you absolutely hated lee jeno.

▸ cheerleader? breed her! 

standing there in a skimpy dress, face done and your feet clamped in heels that made you four inches taller, you didn’t feel like yourself.

you thought that you would. in truth, you hadn’t feel like yourself in months. today marked a little over two months since you made the mistake of beginning that agreement with jeno and you regretted it more than anything. he had completely ruined you, your life, and everything that made you feel whole.

there were pieces of yourself that you would never get back, thanks to him. it was true that everyone had forgotten about the ordeal regarding the recording of you, but not without cost. it was a price you were still paying everyday; even when you weren’t on your knees or otherwise commiting demeaning acts for the sake of jeno’s entertainment, you were hurting and mourning yourself.

you were starting to wonder if it was worth it. obviously, you liked being respected amongst your fellow students, but you were no longer certain if their respect was worth the price of your sanity. it was hard for you to even have basic interactions without giving away how incredibly lonely and isolated you felt, how trapped and doomed you were. helpless and powerless.

jeno came up behind you, startling you. he was like a wolf and you were a little lamb masquerading as a wolf. “there you are, baby,” he said, snaking his hands around your waist. he seemed to love doing that. “did you know our anniversary was a few days ago?”

you scoffed. the two-month anniversary of the worst decision of your life to date. there was nothing you would’ve give to undo it. doing your homework yourself would have spared you so much unnecessary pain. “stop doing that,” you whined, scanning the party. “someone will see.”

jeno chuckled, clearly not giving a damn. “unlike someone, i don’t really care what people think about me.”

you wished you didn’t care. there would always be a part of you that cared, that was so afraid of what people could say about her that she would do anything to tailor her image perfectly. matter of fact, it was all you had cared about in high school, and every year after that was spent maintaining the brand.

jeno’s hand went from your waist to your ass, making you tense in his grasp. “you know, i think i deserve some kind of compensation for putting up with you for two months.”

you deserved that too. freedom. being unshackled from his cruel, unrelenting orders was the one thing you wanted most and the one thing he refused to give you. “don’t you have your compensation almost every day?” you asked irritably.

“that’s not nearly enough,” jeno insisted, squeezing your ass.

god, how greedy could someone be? it was like he wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.

“you know what i want?” jeno asked huskily, leaning into your ear. “i wanna fuck you.”

your eyes widened a little. you had hoped this day would never come, even though you weren’t oblivious to the fact that jeno had steadily gotten bolder in his interactions with you, the things he made you do for his satisfaction becoming entirely more erotic. 

grabbing your arm, jeno started to lead you away. “come on, let’s go.”

you rooted in place, nearly stumbling. you didn’t want to go anywhere with him, especially if it meant putting up with his insatiable urges. “jeno, i don’t want to,” you said, trying to push at him.

jeno scoffed, wondering when you would realize that he didn’t care what you wanted and you had no way of winning. “if you want to make a scene in front of all these lovely people, be my guest,” he hissed in your ear.

panicked, you glanced around the crowd in search of someone that could save you. it was like everybody was looking at you until you actually needed them to. 

then, you locked eyes with jungwoo. matter of fact, it seemed like he’d been looking at you much before you’d even glanced in his general direction. he saw you, saw the way jeno was holding you roughly, saw the obvious stiffness on your face, saw the pleading look in your eyes; but ultimately, jungwoo saw the image of you letting him down after bleeding him dry for half a year, and he turned away.

your shoulders slumped in defeat.

jeno started dragging you toward the stairs, pushing past a bunch of drunk people dancing on each other. your heart was thumping, and your whole body was rigid with nerves as you tried to think of a way out of this even though you knew there was no option without consequences.

just your luck, the bathroom jeno hauled you too was empty. he pushed you in and locked the door, pressing you against the counter. you gasped and glanced at your reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing yourself. “jeno, please,” you whispered, trying to plead with him. “please, don’t do this.”

jeno didn’t seem moved by your begging, but he did, however, appear amused. “why are you acting so sensitive about this after all we’ve done together? it’s like you’ve never gotten fucked or something.”

you swallowed, not saying a word. 

the silence was very loud, very telling. jeno arched a brow, a realization dawning on him. “you really have never been fucked,” he said, surprised. “damn, i should have figured that out when you were acting like you never sucked dick before.”

your face flushed with heat. it wasn’t like you were necessarily embarrassed about it, not until now. you had always taken it as something to pride yourself on, being fuckable but untouchable. “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, glancing down at the sink to avoid eye contact.

jeno chuckled. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he had been convinced that you were completely pretending to be a goody two-shoes. to know there was at least one percent of you that was still pure amazed him. he lifted the skirt of your dress with his hand and brought it between your legs, asking, “what, you just never find anyone worthy enough for your perfect, sacred pussy?”

you gasped out when he touched you there. his fingers circled your clothed cunt, thumb digging into your inner thigh. feeling scandalized, you grumbled, “maybe i’m just not interested.”

jeno shook his head, astonished by the amount of attitude you still had after all these months and determined to break it out of you. “and maybe i just don’t care if you’re interested or not.”

it went without saying that jeno always made you feel like some kind of object, but this was next level. “this is dehumanizing!” you exclaimed. 

hearing you, of all people, talk about dehumanizing made for an interesting conversation. big, calloused hand pressing harder into you, he asked tauntingly, “doesn’t feel good, does it?”

your glossy, painted lips were parted, unable to breathe through your nose. your eyes burned with the threat of tears and it was becoming second nature for them to shed whenever jeno was nearby. “i don’t understand,” you whimpered, trying to free yourself, but to no avail. “why are you doing this to me? what have i ever done to deserve this?”

jeno could feel you struggling, trying to push him off you, but all it did was move your hips against his rapidly hardening cock. he groaned, grabbing hold of your ass and pushing you further back against him. “fuck, just like that,” he growled. “haven’t i told you this already? this is bigger than you and me.”

it wasn’t lost on you that jeno obviously had heard stories about you from other people, stories of happenings you probably couldn’t deny, but it had nothing to do with him. “look, if you’re doing all this to get back at me because i hurt one of your friends or something, i’m sorry, i really am. but i can’t do this anymore, jeno. i want to stop, please. please let me go on with my life.”

“what a privileged response,” jeno hissed without concealing his vitriol. at the same time, he kept palming you over your panties, noticing them beginning to cling to your cunt, and tore your underwear to the side to insert a pair of fingers inside. “what about all those girls whose lives you ruined? i’m sure they wanted you to stop. and you didn’t until they were too humiliated to show their faces around here again and you had no choice.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. he knew about the girls? “jeno, i haven’t done that since freshman year,” you told him, desperately trying to reason with him.

two loud, harsh smacks echoed in the tiny, crowded space of the bathroom, followed by a gasp consequently. your pussy stung, your head jerking around to look at jeno. “do you really think that matters?” he asked, grabbing your hair to turn you back around just as quickly, as if you didn’t deserve to look at him. “you think that matters when the pain you’ve done to them is permanent? they don’t forget. and they damn sure don’t forgive you.”

you tensed, hating the way your walls were gripping and gushing around his fingers. “so what? you think you’re god or something? is this you punishing me for my sins? you’re not exactly what i would call a saint, either.”

“me and you, we’re not the same,” jeno remarked, a nip to his tone as if you needed the reminder of how much he disliked you. “you only pick on people that you think are below you somehow. people you think won’t fight back.”

“i know i’m not a good person,” you admitted in between gasps, thighs straining as his fingers pumped into your pussy harder, faster, reaching places you’d never touched on your own. “ i know i don’t deserve to be happy. maybe i don’t even deserve to be treated with respect, but please leave me this one thing. spare me just this once.”

jeno laughed cruelly, pulling his fingers out of your drenched hole and smearing your juices all over your folds and thighs. his finger unintentionally swiped over your sensitive clit, making your legs quiver and your stomach tighten, sucking in itself.

“damn, baby. you really know how to hurt my feelings,” jeno said, voice dripping with sarcasm. he withdrew his fingers, bringing them into his mouth for a taste. “you don’t want me to fuck you that bad?”

your heart was spiking with dread, thumping belligerently in your chest, your ears, and between your legs. no one had ever made you feel so vanquished.

“take my dick out,” jeno said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “hurry up.”

you sighed anguishedly, turning around to undo his pants and slip his aching dick out of its confinements. for months, jeno had been suppressing the urge to fuck you, wanting to wait for the moment where it would be most pivotal.

getting a hold of your throat, jeno roughly yanked you flush against him the second you whirled back around to face the tiny bathroom counter, making you stand tall against his chest. his voice was almost as rough as the hands that held you. “put it in.”

you gawked, shaking your head.

his fingers tightened dangerously around your windpipe, making your damp eyes widen and your jaw slack against his whitening knuckles, maybe half a wheeze making its way out your throat before he warned, “if i have to fucking tell you again, i’m gonna crush every bone in your goddamn neck.”

with no other option, you meekly reached behind you to grasp him in your quivering hand, aimlessly steering him to your hole and sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as the tip brushed past your dripping folds. jeno released a shaky breath, slapping your hand away and rutting his hips into you from behind, sheathing himself inside in one go.

he slackened his unforgiving grip on your throat, shoving you back against the counter none too gently, but you still felt like you couldn’t breathe when he entered you, a mangled whimper echoing out. your fingers desperately braced the edges of the counter for purchase as you tried to will yourself to inhale, but it was like you were choking.

jeno had a death grip on your thighs, forcibly pushing them apart a little more as he coated himself with the creamy, hot wetness of your unwanted arousal. “mm, hard to believe you don’t secretly want me when you’re sucking me in like this, baby,” he said, proud.

you shook your head in denial, face flushing with a heat that spread to your ears and neck. it didn’t help that there were beads of salty, hot tears pouring down your face and reducing your vision to one big, hazy blur. you didn’t want him, not even a little bit. but you couldn’t control the way your body was responding.

the lewd, wet smack of his cock thrusting deeply into your tight cunt rang out so loudly that you wanted nothing more than to hide into oblivion and never be seen again, mortified. it made things seem so much different than they were. his long, thick cock was stretching you beyond the cusp your limits and making you gape.

“i’m so nice to you,” jeno said, tipping his head back. you could see his chest rising and falling through his clothes, his body taut with pleasure and excitement. “i’ve been holding back for so long, trying not to fuck you. won’t keep me out this pussy now. i’m gonna fuck you till your legs give out. have you at practice limping.”

your knees, wobbly as they already were, began knocking into the cabinets at the bottom of the sink. you winced your eyes closed as your fingers curled around the edge of the counter roughly enough to change the color around your knuckles, hoping to think of something, anything, to take you out of the moment.

but it was too hard. you couldn’t ignore the throb of your gushing walls as they kneaded his cock, making him grunt in your ear as he leaned over your backside. you couldn’t ignore the faint sting of his nails stabbing your hips and his heavy palm slapping repeatedly against your ass. and you definitely couldn’t ignore the dirtiness staining you from head to toe.

sure, it felt good, his body rocking against yours steadily, but it didn’t feel right. many nights you had pictured what losing your virginity would be like, both the way that it was supposed to look and the way that you were more inclined to, but this was neither; it was heartless, it was punishing, and it was brutal.

jeno grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look into the mirror, yanking your head up. “there it is,” he spat, words sounding painfully familiar. “there’s the real you.”

your hair was messy from him tugging it every which way, treating you like a doll to mishandle. your makeup was ruined from your sobbing, the path of your tears harsh against everything else. your eyes were red and your right lash looked like it was barely holding on, the effect of rubbing at your face.

jeno watched you take in the destroyed sight of yourself, practically hearing the critical thoughts hopping in your mind. “this is what you really are. this is what you’re sucking my dick to keep hidden from the world. is it worth it, baby? or do you just like the way i taste on your tongue?”

no, it wasn’t worth it. you were beginning to understand that now. he was taking too much from you, too much of your peace and too much of your sanity. maybe it would be better to be judged and lonely but free than to be loved by people whose opinion of you could change on a dime anyway at the expense of your soul. 

your pride had been buried a long time ago, brutally murdered in her sleep. “jeno, please stop. i’m uncomfortable,” you complained, tearing your eyes away from your reflection in shame.

jeno smacked your ass again, making you cry out sharply. “you just love being the victim when it’s convenient for you, huh?”

“i’m sorry!” you whimpered. “i don’t know what you want me to do. what do you want? just tell me.”

jeno snickered, running his hands over your hips and waist to knead the flesh. then, he brushed your hair out of your face, nibbling at the skin behind your ear before growling, “you know what i want, cheerleader? i want to assassinate all there is that you love about yourself and leave everything else untouched, so that you understand not why everybody hates you, but why nobody loves you.”

those words hit you straight in the gut. for the first time, you had no retort, no comeback. 

hips beginning to move faster, jeno continued, “the boys don’t love you, they just want to fuck you. they would kill to be as deep inside you as i am. the girls sure as hell don’t love you. they either want to be you, or they resent you for beating their asses. and don’t get me started on those girls you call friends.”

“jeno, stop,” you whispered, an agony vicious enough to rip through flesh tearing you straight in half. 

but jeno didn’t listen. he wasn’t done, not until he made his point. “don’t think i didn’t notice how lonely you were for the whole week everybody was talking shit about you. they didn’t want to touch you with a six foot pole, did they? they don’t want to be seen with you unless it gives them a good rep.”

there was a pang in your chest. you didn’t want to admit it, but that cut deep. you had heard people say mean things about you before, it was to expected when you were an emblem of popularity on campus, but few things had reached you where it hurt.

jeno stroked your messy cheek, almost with affection. “but it’s okay. because you want to know something, baby? it was hard for me to admit it to myself, but you truly fascinate me. i can’t get you out of my head sometimes. you piss me off every time without fail, but i keep coming back to you. i like you, baby. if no one else does. you grew on me.”

you weren’t sure if that was supposed to make you feel better, but it didn’t. if anything, you only felt more heartbroken and wounded not only by his words, but by your inability to counter them. it truly dawned on you, right then, just how alone you were.

jeno threw his head back, grunting. his hips were moving with a mind of their own, eager to finish. “fuck, i’m gonna come.”

your eyes went wide in panic, remembering that he had gone in bareback. 

“jeno, don’t…”

before you could even finish your statement, jeno clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling your protests into his pale palm. “you know what guys at my school used to say about cheerleaders?” he asked, obviously not expecting a response. “‘see a cheerleader, breed a cheerleader.’ ‘cheerleader? breed her.’”

you thrashed, but it was pointless. those thick, burly biceps of jeno’s were one of the first things you noticed about him and they weren’t just for display. he held you in place as he quickened his pace again, his thrusts unrelenting.

with a couple more quick yet shockingly rhythmic thrusts, jeno emptied his load deep, deep inside you. he moaned, moving his hands from your mouth to your hips to keep himself steady as he reeled from the pleasure of a mind-numbing orgasm. “goddamn,” he cursed, panting for breath.

you stifled a small noise as you felt his warmth flooding into you, unsure how to feel at this point. 

to your surprise, jeno started fucking you again, never once daring to pull out as if he was determined to fuck every drop of his sticky cum as deep inside you as it could reach. his stringy, thick load gathered on his dick and inside your pussy, leaking down your thighs as he kept going.

you gasped out, moans involuntarily leaving you as you were stuffed full of him over and over. you didn’t mean to, but it was impossible to control.

then, jeno stuck a hand between your legs and rolled his thumb over your clit, which didn’t help. you cried out, tensing. “jeno, stop! it’s sensitive.”

“that’s the point, dummy,” jeno replied, stimulating your clit with his hand while simultaneously pumping himself into you from behind.

your core tightened, heat wafting over you as your chest heaved wildly. “what are you doing?” you stammered. 

jeno smiled, watching in the mirror how your face tensed with a blend of confusion and ecstasy that you couldn’t rein. “you really think i’m an asshole, huh? i’m trying to make you come. relax and let me.”

you shook your head. you didn’t want to come, not for him, and most definitely not on his cock for him to feel every unintentional shudder of your pussy as it gushed and pulsed with hot, sweet release; that would be embarrassing.

that made jeno chuckle. “no? you don’t wanna come for me, baby?” he asked, furrowing his brows playfully as he tilted your face back up to the mirror with a push of your jaw. “come on, let go. you keep saying i’m not a good guy, but you shoot me down when i try to be nice.”

you moaned again, against your own reason and better judgment. “please,” you rasped with half a breath.

“please, what?” jeno asked, rubbing you with just a pinch more force. “do you even know?”

god, you hated him; you absolutely despised him. but damn, if it didn’t feel good to have someone touch you after you’d spent so long avoiding sex like it was something to be ashamed of.

and this? this was definitely something you were ashamed of.

and yet the most shameful moment, perhaps, was when you finally couldn’t resist the pleasure of his big, long fingers twirling around your sensitive nub and his brutal hips smacking into you with a vengeance, clamping around him as you orgasmed with a loud cry and the heat shot through every corner of your body.

“shit,” jeno hissed, the feel of you finishing around him draining the cum from his balls for a second time.

your jaw slacked, overwhelmed by how you felt completely and utterly stuffed, ropes of his cum filling you to the hilt. jeno thrusted into you a little more, sending a flare through your back and shoulders, until he stilled for good. you could hear him panting behind you.

after a moment or two, jeno pulled out. hand between your thighs, he gathered some of his stringy release on his finger and brought it up to your lips. “open up. don’t make me say it again.”

you opened your mouth wide enough for him to insert two of his cum-coated fingers inside. then, you sucked at them and swallowed it down, knowing those would be the next words to leave his mouth. 

jeno raised a brow, pleasantly surprised. he took his time to withdraw his fingers, enjoying the sensation of you licking them clean. “see, i knew you loved eating my cum.”

your face burned, but you didn’t have the energy to deny it. not after that. it felt like there was a gaping hole in your chest, a void that would never be filled. 

“you’re learning,” jeno commented, humming in satisfaction. “good girl. you know, maybe one day we can get along. don’t you think?”

“yeah,” you murmured weakly. at this point, you would just go along with whatever he said. and maybe that was why he figured you could experience some peace together now.

keeping your dress bunched up, jeno grabbed some tissues from his left and started to wipe at you. “let’s get you cleaned up before we leave, cheerleader. don’t want the entire student body to see you like this, right?”

you whipped your head around, eyes widening in surprise. leaving to go where? certainly you weren’t going home with him after tonight.