mastyle

the entire lot goes dead silent, tools clattering to the floor as heads turn. they know yeosang's bike is basically sacred and off-limits, and they were waiting for the explosion.

you hear boots crunch on the gravel, and you don't need to look up to know it's yeosang.

he stops right in front of the bike, and you finally meet his eyes. he scans your body, the way your legs part over the seat, skirt riding up slightly.

yeosang steps closer, long fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grips on the handlebars, pressing your palms into the right spots as his thumbs brush over your knuckles.

"comfy?" he asks, voice low and deep, sending sparks straight between your legs. some prospects let out low whistles, as the two of you remain in your bubble.

your cheeks burn as you nod, biting your lip, "yeah.. it's really comfortable."

a faint smirk falls on his lips as he swings a leg over the bike behind you, his chest pressing to your back and his arms cage you in, gripping the handlebars outside your hands.

"good," he murmurs against your ear, breath warm, "you look good on my bike."

the engine roars to life beneath the two of you, making a gasp fall from your lips as yeosang revs it once. he pulls out of the lot, keeping you tucked tightly against him, the wind making your eyes water.

yeosang pulls around to the back roads, down a dirt path lined with trees, slowing at a small clearing. he kills the engine, hands resting over yours again, stroking your knuckles softly.

"did you think i'd get mad at you?" he asks, chuckling softly.

you turn your head slightly, observing his side profile, "i mean.. you get mad at everyone else.."

"they're not you," he whispers, brushing his lips against your jaw. one hand leaves the handlebars to slide down your side, gripping your hip to pull you back harder against him and you can already feel him hardening through his jeans. "nobody touches her.. but you can ride anything of mine you want."

you shift on the seat, pressing back into him, pulling a groan from his throat as he nips at your neck before he kisses the spot he bit, soothing it with his tongue. his free hand slips under the hem of your skirt, fingers tracing up your inner thigh until they brush the edge of your panties.

your breath hitches as he presses two fingers against your clothed slit, rubbing firm circles in the fabric, making a whimper fall from your lips.

yeosang lifts you effortlessly, turning you around so you're facing him, pulling your legs over his thighs on the stationary bike. his hands grip your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he pulls you against the bulge in his jeans. you grind against him instinctively, the rough denim dragging over your damp panties.

his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sliding in easily, causing you to moan into the kiss. your hands thread through his hair, tugging enough to pull a growl from his chest. he breaks away to trail bites down your throat, sucking marks into your skin so everyone knows you're his.

"been thinking about fucking you since i saw you on her," he admits, voice gravelly as one hand pushes your panties aside, fingers gliding through your slick folds, "so wet already. all from sitting on my bike with me?"

"yes," you breathe, rocking against his hand. yeosang slips two fingers inside you without warning, curling them to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

he pumps them slowly, thumb circling your clit in teasing little circles. yeosang's other hand works open his belt and jeans, freeing his cock, hard and leaking. you wrap your hand around him, stroking him from base to head, enough to make yeosang hiss and buck into your fist.

"on the bike," he commands, lifting you higher to line himself up with your entrance, the head of cock nudging against it, "ride me right here."

you sink down onto him inch by inch, stretching you open until your ass meets his thighs, groans falling from both your lips.

yeosang's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds against you, "fuck.. so tight.. made for me."

his hand guides you up and down on his cock, and he thrusts up to meet your rhythm. he yanks your top down, mouth latching onto one nipple and sucking hard while the other pinches the other. you arch into him, allowing his cock to slip deeper into you.

"yeosang- oh god, right there-" you whimper, grinding into him.

he switches sides, biting gently before soothing with his tongue. one hand slides back to your ass, spreading you wider as he fucks into you harder. the other slips between you, rubbing your clit in time with is thrusts.

"cum on my cock," he growls against your skin, "let me feel you."

you shatter with a cry, walls pulsing around him as you soak his lap and the leather seat of his bike. yeosang keeps thrusting through it, chasing his own release.

he flips you suddenly, bending you over the tank of the bike, your chest pressing against the metal as he slams into you from behind. one hand fists in your hair, the other reaching around to rub your clit again, pushing you toward a second orgasm.

you clench around him as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming with a guttural groan, filling you up in hot ropes. yeosang falls over you, chest pressing to your back as he presses soft kisses to your shoulder.

"easy, baby," he murmurs against your neck, one hand stroking up your thigh as the other smooths your skirt down, "you did so good for me."

you sigh as you melt into him, head tipping back onto his shoulder. yeosang reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small cloth, wiping between your legs where his cum is starting to leak out.

"still comfy?" he asks with a faint smile, adjusting you so you're nestled against him again, legs draped over his.

“really, your eye candy?” she emphasizes the word, wiggling her brows together. “can you simply shut up?” you shove her shoulder playfully, taking your bag and swinging it over your shoulder.

you glance at jisung’s desk for the last time, out of plain habit, when you see a diary on it. well, you’ve been called a cat-like human by your friends, and there is a saying that curiosity kills the cat . . .

so, you do as cats do, skipping over to his desk and looming over it as you examine the book before slowly picking it up. yizhou calls for you as she comes over to where you stand.

she tries to see what you’re looking at, but you turn your back to her as you hold the book. it has a chocolate brown leather cover, jisung’s initials pjs written on it with a white gel pen.

“it’s jisung’s personal diary, i suppose.” you finally turned back to face yizhou after she shook your shoulders. she gasped, “woah, what’s written in it?”

you sigh distastefully at her, in a joking manner, “let’s not breach his privacy, i’ll give it to him tomorrow.” you state as you walk down the stairs, holding the book to your chest.

“just say you want to talk to your crush.” yizhou scoffs, smirking at you. “no, i don’t want to just talk to him and no, he’s my eye candy. there’s a difference.” you retort.

“whatever makes you sleep at night, ms. eye candy connessouir.”

【──── ☾︎ ──────── ☀︎︎ ──────── ☽︎ ────】

THE DIARY FEELS LIKE A SACRED ARTIFACT. your fingers caress the leather of the cover, fingertips gliding across the shallow grooves and ridges of the surface.

you look at jisung’s diary intently, contemplating what to do with the book in your possession, thinking if you should read it or not as the imaginary angel and devil on both your shoulders voice their concers in your head.

it’s breaching his privacy!

it’s a book, books are to be read, duh.

it isn’t yours!!

just read it.

you turn the lamp that sits on your study desk on as you open the latch of the diary, because well, what’s the worse you could find in something like this? right?

the first few pages are normal, scribbles about how annoying mrs. lim and her mathematic assignments are, how his mom didn’t make his favorite dish that day, how chenle, his friend as you’ve came to know, was absent one day so he was bummed.

the usual you’d expect from a personal diary.

you let out a bored sigh, jisung is a rather simple, down-to-earth boy who doesn’t engage in drama, you know that but you still expected something that would amaze you about him.

although you did enjoy looking at his multiple alien doodles and spaceships. knowing he loves space, which is easy to say with how he has written whole essays about the topic, makes him even prettier in your mind.

handsome and smart? now, that is a package deal. i wonder what going on a date with him is like—

you stop your train of thought suddenly, what are you thinking? you really need to stay focused! no boy drama this year, you remind yourself, getting flashbacks of the great cheating boyfriend era. (your title for the period where you dated your cheating ex-boyfriend last year)

but after a few more pages, the inclusion of another pronoun other than the he/him/his and the they/them’s of his friends starts, she/her/hers.

she was ten minutes earlier than usual.

she didn’t have her favorite latte with her.

she really thinks i won’t notice her staring at me and not paying attention to mrs. lim; she’s oblivious and really cute.

now that sounds oddly familiar. . . you and jisung have mrs. lim for chemistry, but you leave it by thinking how would he notice, you’re discreet with your ways.

you’re not though, which you realise as you flip the next page and see your, yes, your entire name written with much more precision than everything else in the first line.

y/n’s driving me insane! i wish she’d actually come up to me and talk instead of staring at me like i’m her forbidden fruit, i’m not poisonous!!

you’re out of words to describe the emotions you feel, your heart is racing as you read the words out loud over and over again as if your mind was incapable of comprehensive his written words the first time.

one thing is for certain, you definitely like him, not because he has written multiple more pages about you, but because of the way your stomach flips as you think of how many glances of his went unnoticed by you, of how he would run his fingers through your hair as you read how he really wants to feel how your soft locks are like.

you realize yizhou was right, because your heart is beating at the pace of a mile a minute and you look like a bright cherry red tomato as you lean back to see your reflection in the mirror.

just reading what he thought is driving you crazy, what will happen when he says it to you out loud is what you’re thinking when you see the only sentence written on the next page of jisung’s diary:

i really like y/n, i’m sure of it now.

as you trace your finger over the curves of the letters written in ink, you’re unsure of how you go about this, as up until two seconds ago you refused to even think of liking him.

but seeing the words your mind can’t help but think of his laugh when his friend makes a joke so unfunny it’s funny, his smooth voice as he passes a comment about how jaemin is in no way straight, etc . . .

the more you think, the more the obvious paints itself in your mental canvas — you like park jisung. in the i really want him to look at me like i’m the best thing in his life way.

maybe yizhou really was onto something when she relentlessly kept shipping you with him. well, from what you know about him with the help of some more pages of his diary, you know he won’t do anything. so, reasonably, you’ll take matters into your own hands.

you can’t wait for tomorrow.

【──── ☾︎ ──────── ☀︎︎ ──────── ☽︎ ────】

THERE’S NO BACKING AWAY NOW. no one’s rushing or forcing you to do this per se, however you really need to pull your big girl pants up and talk to him.

you were already antsy when you walked into your class, but then the one and only park jisung came in his black t-shirt with an oversized pastel yellow shirt and similar raven jeans glory with his bag slung over his shoulder and you basically went crazy.

unbeknownst to you, he’s going insane on the inside, he hadn’t seen his diary after he used it to doodle so as to pass time yesterday. he came back when he realized, but to no avail his desk was bdevoid of any books.

alarm sirens are going off in his head, he wished the person who took it dropped it off at his desk, yet the wish wen’t unanswered. or so he thought.

you took a deep breath, thinking it’s showtime, baby. you stood up, speed walking in jisung’s direction with the hopes of accomplishing your mission before yizhou comes and does her fangirl-ing.

jisung is trying his best to maintain a proper conversation with chenle as one too many thoughts of what could’ve happened to his diary are clouding his mind.

you clear your throat catching their attention. he turns back and you can feel your heart race already. jisung’s hair falls perfectly on his forehead, reaching the tips of his eyelashes, his skin glowing under the morning sunlight coming through the glass windows.

“mrs. lim asked me to take you to her office.” you lied through your teeth, batting your lashes as if to make it more convincing and . . jisung is some-what of a fool.

a fool who’s in love with you.

so, thinking god is compensating for ruining his sleep as he couldn’t stop thinking about his diary by allowing him the opportunity to be in close quarters with you; jisung stands up, a bit too abruptly for chenle to not make fun of him for being down bad.

“yeah, sure — ofcourse, why not? let’s—let’s go.” he says, mentally dying inside everytime he makes a mistake as chenle just barely contains the laughter urging to tumble out of him.

woah, he’s even more shy that he seems in his diary.

you think as you nod and walk ahead as he follows you suit out of the classroom. you lead him to an empty classroom nearby with success due to the fact that jisung is too busy biting his lip and trying to stay calm at your figure that’s infront of him.

you open the door and lead him in before closing it behind you. jisung looks perplexed, like a cute hamster who isn’t aware of where it is. he’s so adorable, despite his super handsome face. that makes you like him even more.

he turns around when he hears the click of the door, to see his diary in your hands and the glint of a woman who’s ready to either ruin his life or make it ten times better in your eyes.

his eyes widen, alarms ringing in his head, what if you read it? you probably hate him now. his love life is now officially doomed. you will never like him. his academic career is so done for—

before he can think overthink more, you take a step towards him, your confidence making him gulp, “ji, do you think reading someone else’s journal is a violation of their privacy?”

i really should jump out of the window, right now.

his response comes delayed as he tries to stop the suicidal thoughts as he thinks of his impending doom, “i mean, yeah, i — i guess.” he doesn’t want you finding him even more disgusting so he agrees.

your brows raise in amusement, “well, i may have done something akin to that, yeah.” jisung ponders on what you’re insinuating, failing to do so when his thoughts get crowded by the fact that you’re walking closer to him.

his calves hit the teacher’s deck, putting his action of taking steps back as you move forward to a halt. you stiffle a giggle, he looks so cute like this, cheeks pink, ears and neck varying shades of cherry red of mixed embarrassment and shyness.

you’re so close to him, almost invading his personal space and his mind is going haywire by the second. “you look awfully half scared and half happy for someone who wishes i would talk to them, you know?” you tilt your head.

he’s feeling rather giddy, but then he looks at your lips and thinks, why hold back when you already know he likes you? “you’re pretty confident for someone who always looks at me but never dares to have a conversation with me.”

he also moves closer, face now centimeters away from yours. your eyes widen, taken aback from the sudden raise in courage. but, god, did that make him ten times hotter.

“you think i’m shy?” you bite your bottom lip, jisung’s gaze immediately dropping to the action. “yeah. got a way to prove me wrong?” he challenges you.

good thing you love challenges.

you never thought in a million years you’d kiss a man without asking him first. but you never thought you’d romantically pursue jisung either. so, safe to say people change.

your hand reaches to clasp the collar of his oversized shirt as you pull his tall figure and get on you tippy-toes to reach him. your fingers curl around the cotton as you connect your lips with his.

jisung’s eyes resemble saucers as he comprehends how you’re actually kissing him and his confidence fades faster than his smile when mrs. lim gives another assignment.

his eyes flutter shut as he responds to your touch. his hands gain control of your waist as your fingers move to the hair on his neck. he pulls you closer, the distance between you two close to nothing.

you two fit like a puzzle piece. it makes jisung blush, though he’s more red because of the fact that he is finally living his dreams. he pulls away after the need for oxygen becomes apparent.

“yeah, you’re the most confident person i’ve seen.” he says, panting. you giggle, a sound that’s pure, delightful music to him, “i’ve been told.”

“so, go on a date with me? today?” he asks, mainly because he wants to see you dolled up for him and today as he’s impatient. “want me that bad?” you ask teasingly.

he nods shamelessly now, his ears turning even redder. you laugh breathlessly as he pulls you in again, kissing you harder than the initial kiss. he loves the feeling of your lips on his and your scent clouding his senses.

your hands loop around his neck, his fingers firmly stay on your waist. the kiss makes you feel lovesick and dizzy in the best way you can think of.

as it turns out, reading someone’s personaly diary is an amazing decision to make! when that someone is your eye candy ofcourse.

𝓚𝑰𝑹𝑨'𝑺 𝙎𝒊𝙂𝓝𝘼𝙇 ( ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ) yes it's still February wdym lmaooo I'm totally not 5 months late what r yall onnnn BUT UGH ANYWAYS forgetting the time, these serieses I make are never to complete the fics in a certain time, yes they're a goal, but to me completing a series is more important, even if it's 5 months late; so I'll try to continue and end this series and the deadline is before the new year ✌️ let's hope we do this gng ++ this is based on my fantasies about MYYYYY ACTUAL eye-candy like TT yeah this is what happened between us in our head 🤩 && LIKE + REBLOG = MWAH :3

𓆩♡𓆪 taglist! @stewpidchezcat @seradollz ☆ OPEN !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ regulars! @woniefication @shyoko @yooniso ☆ SEND AN ASK TO BE ADDED !

Heeseung is the sun around which the entire campus orbits.

He’s the captain of the basketball team, the big star whose name echoes through the packed arena during every game. With his lean yet athletic build, dark hair that falls over his sweaty forehead after a match, and that lazy half-smile that screams trouble while charming every girl in sight, he moves like he’s always being watched — and he is. Every head turns when he walks by, the crowd in the hallways parting like the sea for him and his teammates. He loves the attention.

Everyone knows the stories about Heeseung. He doesn’t do relationships — he rotates. A new girl every week, sometimes every day if he’s in the mood. They’re often seen leaving his apartment late at night, or early in the morning if he feels like letting them stay over, hair messy and wearing his team jacket like a trophy.

He usually doesn't appear with them in public, but it doesn't take long for the chosen girl to start gossiping in the hallways about how she's being fucked by him. That doesn’t last long though, because once the thrill fades he ignores them completely, never answering their messages once the weekend is over. "Let’s just have fun," he says, and the girls always agree, secretly believing they’ll be the one to change him.

You’ve been watching him from afar for months, studying the way he laughs too loudly at parties with his arm around whatever girl he’s with at the moment, the way his hand rests on her lower back as he guides her through the crowd, and how his eyes scan the room like he’s already searching for the next target while the current one is still pressed against him. It should disgust you — the casual way he uses people, the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind without remorse. But it doesn’t disgust you. It feeds you.

Deep down, in that secret place where you allow yourself to be completely honest, you want to be one of them. Not just another weekly girl — you want to be the one who breaks the pattern, the one so unforgettable, so incredible in bed and out of it, that Heeseung, the campus player, finally chooses you for good.

The problem is you have no idea how to make that happen.

You’re a virgin, completely untouched. The closest you’ve ever gotten to intimacy was an awkward, too-long hug with your best friend Jake after a tough week of exams. Approaching Heeseung as you are now — inexperienced, nervous, and clumsy — would never work.

"He likes confident girls, experienced ones who know how to dominate and be dominated in equal measure, because he doesn’t waste time teaching the basics. He expects you to already know how to please him." That’s what you heard from one of his teammates.

So after watching him leave the court with yet another girl on his arm, you make a decision.

You’re going to practice.

You’re going to transform yourself into the perfect girl for him — experienced enough to impress him, confident enough to stand out, and irresistible enough that when he finally notices you, he won’t be able to let you go.

────────

You stand outside Jake’s dorm room long enough for your legs to start aching. Your best friend’s room has always been your safe haven — the perfect spot for late-night study sessions, movie marathons, and listening to him ramble excitedly about sci-fi. Jake is kind, a bit nerdy in the best way possible, like a golden retriever with brown hair, a sweet smile, and glasses.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door.

Jake opens it almost immediately and breaks into a wide smile the moment he sees you. "Hey, what took you so long? Come in— wait, are you okay? You look tense."

You step inside and sit on the edge of his bed, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. Jake drops into his desk chair and pulls it closer so he’s facing you directly, his knees almost brushing against yours. "Jake… I need to talk to you about something kind of crazy, embarrassing, and probably really stupid."

He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling behind his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?"

You tell him everything — how you’ve been watching Heeseung for months, how every time you see him with someone new, something deep in your chest twists, not exactly with jealousy, but with desire. You share the rumors you’ve heard about how he likes girls who know what they’re doing, girls who can match his intensity. Finally, you admit that you want to be the one he chooses — not just for a week, not for a fling, but for good.

"But I’m a virgin, Jake," you whisper, your cheeks burning. "I’ve never even… I don’t know what I’m doing. So if I tried to approach him like this, he’d probably laugh."

Jake’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt.

"So I’ve decided… I’m going to practice. I’m going to get experience so that when I finally have my chance with Heeseung, I’ll be good enough that he won’t want anyone else."

Silence stretches between you as Jake stares at you for a long moment. He pushes his glasses up, his expression soft — not mocking, not disgusted. Just… Jake. "Wow. That’s… a lot. Heeseung, huh? I mean, I get it, but you’re really willing to do all that for him?"

Biting your lip, you nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. And… I was hoping you’d help me with the first part."

Your voice drops until it’s almost inaudible. "I want you to be my first. I want to lose my virginity with you. You’re my best friend and I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle, you won’t laugh at me or tell anyone. Please, Jake?"

His cheeks flush pink and for a second it looks like he might say no. "You… you want me to what? Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say."

He lets out a nervous laugh, a mix of surprise and something he’s always kept hidden. "I’ve never thought about you like that before or… okay, maybe I have, a little. But you’re serious? This is all for Heeseung?"

"Yes, but right now it’s about learning with someone safe, someone who cares. And that someone is you."

Jake stays quiet for a moment while he thinks, then reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Okay… if we’re really going to do this, I want it to be right for you. Not just jumping in headfirst." His thumb keeps tracing slow, soft circles on the back of your hand. "You’ve never done any of this before, right? Not even… by yourself?"

You swallow hard, staring at your intertwined fingers, and admit softly, "No… I mean, I tried rubbing against my pillow once and it felt good, I think? But I got scared and stopped. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. That’s why I need you to help me learn."

Jake nods, adjusting his glasses — a nervous habit — with flushed cheeks, but his voice stays as gentle and patient as always. "That makes sense. But before anyone else touches you, you should get to know your own body first. What feels good, what you like. It’ll make everything easier later… for him and for you."

He hesitates for a second, then adds with a small reassuring smile, "Do you trust me enough to try this now? With me here?"

Your heart races with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Yes, I trust you. Just… tell me what to do, please."

Jake stands up slowly and sits beside you on the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. "Start by getting comfortable. Lie back, and maybe take off your sweater if you want to and feel okay with it."

You do as he says, pulling off your sweater and setting it aside so you’re left in just your tank top and jeans. "Good," he murmurs. "Now touch yourself under your clothes first, over your stomach, along your thighs… feel how your body reacts."

You slide your hand beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fingers graze the soft skin of your belly, then move higher, gently caressing one of your breasts. It feels strange doing this while he watches, but his gaze isn’t hungry or demanding — it’s warm and encouraging, like he’s looking at something precious. When your fingertips brush your nipple, a small sigh escapes you.

"Right there. That’s good. Circle slowly and squeeze just a little."

As he speaks, his own hand drifts down to the front of his sweatpants and then he starts touching himself gently over the fabric, not even trying to hide it. Knowing he’s getting hard just from watching you makes your breath hitch.

Following his instruction, you circle and lightly pinch your nipple, feeling a warm sensation build low in your belly. "Jake, it feels so good…"

"Tell me," he encourages, his hand moving in slow strokes that match the rhythm of your breathing. "Does it make you wet between your legs?"

"Yes," you sigh.

"Keep going, slide your other hand into your jeans and touch yourself over your panties if you’re not ready for more yet."

With your free hand you obey, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. The fabric of your panties is already damp when you press your fingers against yourself and rub lightly, drawing a soft whimper from your throat.

Both of your breathing grows heavier with every second. Jake pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly while he watches every movement of your fingers.

"Fuck, that’s beautiful," he breathes, the words slipping out like he can’t hold them back. "Rub your clit. Find the spot that feels best."

You circle your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, rolling your hips when you finally discover the perfect way to touch yourself. Jake’s eyes stay locked on your hand while his own speeds up, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every stroke.

"Inside your panties now," his voice still gentle but strained. "Feel how wet you are. Explore your body, learn what it likes so you can show someone exactly what you need."

You push your panties aside and slide a finger along your slick folds. "Slide a finger inside, babe," he says and when you do, a moan escapes your lips — it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Jake groans with the sight, his hand moving faster on himself.

"Add another finger and curl them a little. Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, babe." His praise makes you bolder, so you start pumping your fingers slowly, rubbing your clit with your thumb at the same time, while your free hand keeps playing with your breast, pinching harder as the pleasure rises.

"You’re getting close, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Let it happen. Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m inside you." His words push you over the edge.

Moaning Jake’s name, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation, your body tenses and your thighs tremble uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of heat pulse around your fingers, deeper and stronger than you ever imagined.

"Fuck, don’t do this to me." His hand strokes faster until he groans and comes too, spilling over his fingers with a shaky breath.

For a moment, the room falls quiet except for your shared breathing. Jake leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his glasses tilting slightly. "Hey… you still with me? How are you feeling after that? Overwhelmed?"

You shake your head and let out a small giggle. "I’m good. Really good, actually." Reaching up, you gently fix his glasses and whisper, "Thank you for being so patient with me, Jake. I know this is probably weird for you too."

He smiles, and it makes you smile back naturally. "It’s not weird. At least not with you. Honestly, seeing you like that… it was beautiful. You’re beautiful." He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, giving you time to calm down while his hand rests on your hip and his thumb draws slow circles on your skin. "If you want to keep going, I’m right here."

You bite your lip, the mix of nerves and curiosity warms your body all over again. This is supposed to be practice — each new sensation is another skill you’re learning — but right now, with him, it feels like something more.

"I want more," you admit, cheeks burning. "Can you… use your mouth on me? I’ve heard it feels really good, but I don’t know what to expect."

Jake’s eyes widen for half a second. "Yeah, I’d love to do that for you." He moves carefully on the bed, helping you adjust the pillows behind your head so you’re comfortable. "Just relax and tell me what feels good, okay? If anything is too much or not enough, say so. Promise?"

"Promise." You extend your pinky toward him and he does the same, linking them together to seal the promise.

He starts with soft kisses on the inside of your knee, then higher up your thigh. Every touch of his lips sends shivers across your skin. "Your legs are already shaking," he murmurs with a low chuckle against your thigh. "That’s so cute."

When his mouth finally reaches your center, it’s feather-light at first — just his lips brushing against your folds — but it’s enough to make you draw in a sharp breath and grip the sheets tightly.

Then his warm tongue drags upward in one long, torturous lick from your entrance all the way to your clit. The feeling is wet, hot, and incredibly intimate, the texture of his tongue adds a new layer of friction that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.

"My God, Jake…" The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Good?" he asks, pulling back just enough for you to see his glistening lips as he looks up at you.

"Yes… really good. Do that again, please."

With more confidence this time, he explores every inch of you — licking along your folds, circling your clit, then moving down to taste your entrance. The wet sounds of him pleasuring you only heighten the arousal building in your belly.

Jake hums in satisfaction as he finds the rhythm you like best, reading it from your moans. "You taste incredible… so hot and wet."

You reach down and thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Right there, when you suck on my clit, it feels so good."

He listens immediately, sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and applying gentle suction while his tongue flicks against it, making the pleasure intensify, stronger than before.

The smooth glide of his tongue, the occasional careful graze of his teeth, and the way he alternates between lavishing attention on your clit and licking down to dip inside you make heat spread through your core — it radiates outward until even your fingertips feel warm. You grow even wetter, and Jake groans in appreciation, licking up every drop like he can’t get enough.

"Jake, I think I’m getting close again," you gasp, your voice breaking into a loud moan as he sucks harder on your clit. Your hips move against his face instinctively, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he doubles down with his tongue. This orgasm builds differently — deeper, more overwhelming — and when it crashes over you, it hits with a full-body shudder.

You cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through your center. Jake keeps licking you through it all, drawing out every tremor until you’re panting and oversensitive.

He finally lifts his head, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine behind his glasses, and a proud little smile plays on his lips. "You okay? That looked like it felt really good."

You laugh breathlessly. "It was incredible… I didn’t know I could feel so sensitive down there."

Jake chuckles softly. "Good. That’s kind of the point of all this practice, right? Learning what you like." His hand slides over your body again, stopping just above your mound as his fingers trace lazy patterns across your skin. "Are you sure you want me to take your virginity? Your body’s already experienced so much tonight. Maybe you need a break."

You shake your head, caressing his face. "I don’t need a break. I just want to feel your cock inside me, please."

One of his hands drifts lower until his fingers reach your wet entrance, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax and breathe out for me."

You do as he says, and he slowly presses two fingers inside you.

His longer fingers create a different sensation. The stretch borders on discomfort at first, making your walls clench tightly around the intrusion. "Ah— it’s tight," you whisper, gripping his shoulder. "It burns a little."

Jake freezes immediately. "Want me to stop? We can wait."

"No! Keep going. I want to get used to it."

He nods and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well… so warm and snug around my fingers. What if I curl them just a little?" He demonstrates, stroking your inner walls gently until he brushes against a spongy spot that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "Right there… my God, that feels so good."

"I found your g-spot," he says, clearly proud of himself. He keeps the movements shallow and slow, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb draws gentle circles over your clit. The initial burning fades, turning into something hotter, slicker, and far more pleasurable.

"Add another one, Jake," you say after a few minutes, voice breathless. "I think I can take it."

Jake carefully slides a third finger in, the pressure increases and your walls flutter as they adjust to the stretch. Every curl of his fingers against that perfect spot sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, while his thumb on your clit keeps the arousal building higher.

"Talk to me, babe," he says, eyes fixed on your face. "How does it feel now? Too much?"

"It’s full… stretching me," you moan, your hips starting to move in time with his hand. "But it’s turning into something really good. Faster on my clit— yes, like that. God, Jake, your fingers are so deep."

He picks up the pace a little, thrusting more firmly and creating an overwhelming sensation in the best way possible. The pleasure keeps intensifying until your breathing comes in short gasps and your thighs tremble uncontrollably. "I’m getting close again. Please don’t stop."

Jake leans down to kiss your stomach, murmuring encouragement. "Come on, come on my fingers. Let go for me, babe."

You moan loudly, back arching as the orgasm hits you harder than the ones before. A deep wave crashes through you, making your inner walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. Jake keeps pumping slowly and carefully until the spasms ease, then gently pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. "Your taste is addictive."

Smiling you reach up to brush a messy strand of hair from his forehead. "Jake… I want to go all the way. I want to feel you inside me, please."

Jake’s breath catches, then he sits up properly and reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

"You actually have these," you say with a light teasing note in your voice.

He looks at you with a shy smile as he opens the packet and rolls the condom down his length. "Hey, Heeseung isn’t the only one on campus who has sex, you know? A guy can be prepared even if he’s not out at every party." Jake hovers over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. "You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, leaning closer and gazing at your lips.

"Can I?" When you nod, he captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss filled with desire. His lips move to your cheek, your jaw, and then trail softly down the side of your neck, leaving a wet path that makes you shiver. He takes his time, giving attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth and fingers. Only when both of you are breathing heavier does he settle between your legs and position himself.

"Breathe with me, okay? Slow and easy." You nod, inhaling as he begins to push inside.

The initial pressure is intense — a wide, stretching fullness that makes your breath hitch. Your walls stretch around his thickness in an overwhelming way and your body tenses as he sinks into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Oh my God…"

Jake stops immediately. "Hey, hey… look at me," he says, his voice full of concern. He kisses you softly on the lips, then your nose and forehead. "Is it too much? We can wait. I hate the idea of hurting you, even for a second."

You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ease the discomfort. "It’s a lot… really full and there’s some burning, but I want this."

To distract you from the stretch and help your body relax around him, he kisses you again. It works — the pain slowly turns into pressure, and then into something hotter and more intimate. "Okay, you can move a little more now."

Jake slides forward inch by inch until he’s fully inside you — every part of him is wrapped tightly in your heat, making you feel so connected, so completely filled, with a pleasant throbbing where your bodies meet.

"God… you feel incredible," he breathes, staying still for a moment while buried deep inside you. He covers you with more kisses. "So warm and tight around me. Tell me how you feel, babe."

"Full," you sigh. "So deep… it’s starting to feel really good."

Smiling against your skin, he begins rocking his hips in small, gentle movements. Each shallow thrust glides along your inner walls, brushing that sensitive spot and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. Jake keeps his eyes on yours, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "More kisses," you whisper softly, and he gives them freely — deep, passionate kisses that match the slow rhythm of his hips. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers beside your head as he sinks a little deeper and a little firmer. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm wave spreading from your center outward.

"You’re doing so well," he praises between kisses, his voice full of affection. "Look at you… my best friend, letting me do this. You feel perfect, so hot and slick around my cock." His free hand caresses your breast through your tank top, his thumb brushing your nipple in time with his movements, pulling more moans from you.

"Faster… just a little," you ask, voice breaking. "I want to feel more."

Jake obeys, finding a slow but steady rhythm that lets every thrust fill you completely, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot over and over again. "Does this feel good for you too?" you ask between moans, wanting to make sure he’s enjoying it.

"God, yes," he groans. "You’re squeezing me so tight, but right now it’s all about you. I want you to come like this if you can."

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm and experimenting with how it feels to clench around him. Jake’s glasses are completely fogged up and slipping down his nose, he pauses just long enough to take them off and set them aside, then kisses you deeply as he resumes his movements.

"I’m getting there," you moan against his mouth. "Please don’t stop, Jake."

"I’ve got you." He shifts slightly, sliding one hand between your bodies to rub gentle circles over your clit. The extra stimulation pushes you right over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench hard around his cock as the orgasm crashes through you. You moan loudly, nails digging into his back while your body pulses around him.

Jake keeps thrusting softly through your climax, murmuring praises. "That’s it… so good. You’re incredible." Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. His hips snap a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes with a low, shaky groan, filling the condom.

For a long moment afterward, he stays inside you while both of you catch your breath. Then he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and cleans you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and full of concern. "No pain? I tried to be as gentle as possible."

You snuggle into the sheets, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and a deep sense of satisfaction. "I’m perfect. A little sore, but in a good way. You made my first time really special, Jake. You’re the best friend I could ask for."

The next morning, you wake up in his bed. The ache between your legs reminds you of everything — the careful way he touched you, the gentle thrusts, the tender kisses. It had all been perfect for your first time.

But as you slip out of bed carefully so you don’t wake him, a realization settles in your mind. It wasn’t enough. Not for what you really want.

Heeseung isn’t gentle. From the rumors, girls get pinned against walls, left breathless and marked. He likes control, intensity, rough hands. Jake would never give you that, even if you begged. He’s your best friend who worries about every little sound you make. He would never push your limits the way you suspect Heeseung would.

You also need to practice that side — the rougher kind of sex that leaves you deliciously sore, the kind that teaches you how to take and give back. You can’t show up to Heeseung soft and inexperienced if you want to stand out, if you want him to crave you for more than one night.

So you leave Jake a note on his desk. "Thank you for last night. Let’s talk soon," and head back to your dorm with a new determination.

────────

That weekend, the hockey team is throwing a big party at their off-campus house — an event that always draws a different crowd from the basketball scene. There’s no explosive feud between the teams, just a quiet rivalry and enough tension that basketball players rarely show up at hockey parties and vice versa. It’s perfect. No chance of running into Heeseung or his circle, and you need that space to level up without any complications.

You take extra time getting ready because you want to be noticed. You choose a short black dress that hugs your curves, the hem riding high on your thighs. It’s simple but dangerous — low neckline, thin straps, the kind of outfit that makes you feel powerful when you look in the mirror. You add a bit more makeup than usual, nothing too dramatic, and slip into heels that make your legs look longer.

The hockey house is already packed when you arrive. Hockey players in their varsity jackets, girls in tight dresses, and red solo cups everywhere. You grab a drink and wander through the crowd, heart racing with anticipation.

That’s when you see him.

Sunghoon, the captain of the hockey team, is standing near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter like he owns the place — and he does. He has a cold, almost untouchable aura that makes people shiver when he walks by. His teammates laugh around him, but he only offers a slight, distant smile, like he’s above it all.

Your eyes meet across the room and he doesn’t look away. Instead, his gaze slowly travels down your body, taking in the dress you chose so carefully, before returning to your face. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips — not warm like Jake’s, but something sharper, more predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t look away either. After all, that’s exactly why you came.

He pushes off the counter and makes his way through the crowd toward you. The suffocating tension hits you the second he stops right in front of you, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. "You don’t usually come to our parties," he says, his voice low as he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving. "Or are you from the basketball crowd, doll?"

You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. "Maybe I was waiting for the right night… Plus, hockey parties have a certain reputation."

A faint smile tugs at his lips as he steps a little closer, invading your space enough to make your pulse race. "Reputation for what, exactly?" He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne — something fresh and expensive that makes your head spin.

You shrug, trying to look calm. "Good music, strong drinks… You’re Sunghoon, right? The captain of the team. I’ve heard a lot about you." The words come out bolder than you expected, but they hit something in him and his gaze darkens.

He raises a thick eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, making his impressively attractive biceps stand out. "I hope they’re good things."

You smile slightly. "Depends on who you ask. Some say you’re intense. Others say you’re… hard to keep up with."

Sunghoon studies you like he’s deciding something. The air between you grows heavier, and you can feel the pull — the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, before sliding back up. "And what do you think? Do you think you could keep up?"

The question makes your breath hitch. "I think it depends," you reply, taking a small step closer, letting the tension build until it feels almost unbearable. "Are you offering to find out?"

He leans in even closer, his lips hovering near your ear so only you can hear him, his warm breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "Careful. Talking like that might get you more than you bargained for."

You turn your head just enough that your cheeks nearly touch. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."

His hand settles on your lower back, firm and guiding, pulling you subtly closer. "Come upstairs with me," he says, his voice steady as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. "There’s a room up there. Quieter. We can… talk more."

This is it — the next step.

You nod, letting him guide you through the crowd toward the stairs with his hand still resting on your back as you climb the steps.

The door clicks softly shut behind you, and the room instantly feels much quieter than the chaos downstairs, lit only by the soft glow coming through the open window. Sunghoon leans back against the door without saying a word, simply watching you with a playful smile on his lips.

"So," he begins softly, pushing away from the door and walking toward you, "you showed up at a hockey party dressed like that, with your eyes on the captain. You’re either really brave or really curious. Which one is it?"

"Maybe both."

Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’ve been moving backward. "Bold. I like that, I don’t waste time with girls who don’t know what they want." He towers over you, his presence intense and dominant.

You swallow hard. "I know exactly what I want tonight. Someone who won’t hold back."

He leans in closer, one hand settling on your hip, fingers pressing firmly enough for you to feel his strength. "Careful what you wish for… You look like the type who melts easily, and I think I’d really enjoy finding out."

His gaze drops to your mouth, then returns to your eyes, dark and hungry. Without another word, his lips crash against yours in a deep, overwhelming kiss right from the first second. Sunghoon doesn’t take it slow like Jake — he claims your mouth completely, his tongue sliding against yours with raw intensity while his free hand moves up to caress the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly the way he wants.

You try to match the intensity of his kiss, but it’s overwhelming — he devours every sigh and gasp that escapes you. When he finally pulls back enough for you to breathe, his eyes are darker, his lips slightly swollen. "Not bad," he murmurs, voice rough. "But you can do better, doll."

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, pressing his body against yours so you can feel the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. Your stomach tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Come here." He takes your hand and guides you away from the wall toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulls you close until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your dress riding up as you settle against him.

He pulls you into another deep kiss while one hand slides up your body and the other grips your thigh. You rock lightly in his lap, feeling him grow even harder beneath you, and he lets out a low groan into your mouth. "You’re so fucking hot. I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do." His fingers trace your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Get on your knees for me. Show me what that mouth is capable of."

Your heart stutters because his words hit you hard — part excitement, part panic. On your knees. Sucking him. You’ve never given a blowjob before.

You slide slowly off Sunghoon’s lap and drop to your knees, your hands shaking as you reach for the button of his jeans and try to pull down the zipper. Reality crashes over you: you’re on your knees for the hockey team captain, about to give him head with zero experience.

His eyes narrow the moment he notices the tremor in your hands and the hesitation in your movements. A low, cruel, mocking laugh escapes him. "Wait." He reaches down, gripping your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"

Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No… I’ve never done it."

Sunghoon’s expression doesn’t soften with pity. Instead, it sharpens with something darker — satisfaction mixed with pure control. He releases your chin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking down at you like you’re a player who needs to learn the drill.

"Good, I like honesty. So you’re going to listen carefully. I’m not in the mood for guessing games tonight. You want to learn? I’ll teach you, and you follow my instructions. Got it, dol?"

You swallow hard and nod again.

"Words," he commands, cold and firm. "Use your words when I ask you something."

"Yes," you repeat, your voice steadier this time. "I understand."

He gives a small nod of approval. "Good girl. Now unzip me."

You obey, slowly pulling the zipper down. Sunghoon lifts his hips slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers low enough to free his cock. It springs out, hard and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum.

His hand rests on the back of your neck, not pushing, but guiding. "Look up at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t just stare at it like you’re lost. Wrap your hand around the base and feel the weight."

Your fingers are still trembling as you obey, curling them around his thick length. He feels incredibly warm and heavy in your palm, the skin smooth over steel. You give an experimental squeeze, watching his reaction.

"Yes, just like that," he praises coolly, like he’s directing a teammate on the ice. "Now stroke up and down. Keep a firm grip. That’s it— good. Don’t be shy."

You pump your hand firmly, finding a rhythm that makes Sunghoon’s breathing grow a little deeper, but he keeps complete control, his eyes locked on you the entire time. "Spit on it, get it nice and wet. Good girls make it sloppy."

You gather saliva and let it drip onto the head, using your hand to spread it all over his length. The wet sounds that follow make your face burn even hotter, but the way his cock twitches in your grip sends a shiver through you.

His fingers twist into your hair with enough force for you to feel it, then he pulls you closer to his throbbing length. "Now use your mouth. Start with the head, wrap your lips around it, no teeth. Suck gently while you swirl your tongue."

Your heart races as you wrap your lips around the tip, tasting a man’s cock for the first time — slightly salty, but surprisingly good. Your tongue moves in slow, hesitant circles, trying to find the rhythm you think will feel best for him.

"Eyes up," he orders sharply. "Look at me while you do it. That’s good, but take me deeper now. Relax your throat, don’t force it. Move your head slowly and keep stroking the part you can’t reach."

You open wider and take him deeper. It feels strange at first — the stretch of your jaw, the way he fills your mouth, the occasional gag when you go too far, causing tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.

"Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Faster with your tongue on the underside. Use your hand in sync with your mouth."

You follow every instruction carefully, the clear commands making it easier despite your inexperience. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds as your mouth works on him — licking, sucking, and your hand sliding smoothly along his cock. Sunghoon’s thighs tense under your free hand, and his voice grows a little rougher, though still tightly controlled. "Hollow your cheeks more when you pull back. Take me deeper whenever you can, I want to feel the back of your throat."

Pushing yourself, you take him deeper until your nose brushes his stomach, triggering a light gag. You try to hold it, but end up sliding back up, gasping for air. A thick string of saliva connects his cock to your mouth, and his grip tightens in your hair, the slight sting only heightening the moment.

"Not bad for your first time. Now focus on the head again. Suck harder while you move faster. Yeah— just like that. You’re gonna make me come if you keep going."

You throw yourself into it completely, determined to get better so you can do this perfectly for Heeseung one day. Your hand and mouth work together, faster and sloppier now, until Sunghoon’s breathing turns heavier and his abs tighten visibly.

"Fuck— keep your eyes on me," he growls, his voice dropping lower. "I’m close. When I come, you swallow. Every drop. Understand, doll?"

You murmur something unintelligible around him, the vibration drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. His hand guides you with a little more firmness now as his hips begin to rock, meeting your mouth with each movement. His dominance is intoxicating — no endless questions, no overthinking, just clear and commanding direction that pushes you exactly where he wants you.

With one last deep thrust into your mouth and a low groan, he comes. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat as you swallow desperately, trying not to gag while you take everything he gives you, your hand still gently stroking him through it.

Sunghoon holds you there for a few more seconds before finally releasing your hair and letting you pull back. You release his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and glistening. He looks down at you with that same cool satisfaction, his thumb brushing a stray string of saliva from your chin. "Clean every inch with your tongue."

You nod and obey, licking him carefully with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue until he’s completely clean.

"Good," he says, his voice satisfied. "Now come here."

He pulls you up from your knees and back onto his lap, guiding you into a deep kiss that’s slower and less aggressive than the one against the wall, yet still possessive. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting himself on you, letting out a soft groan against your lips.

"You did well for your first time," he praises quietly as he pulls back, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "A little messy, but eager. I like that. You look even better with that flushed face after sucking me off, doll."

The praise sends a warm flutter through your stomach, and before you can respond, Sunghoon moves, flipping you onto your back on the bed. He hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher. "You’ve never sucked a cock before… so I’m going to ask. Are you a virgin?"

You shake your head quickly. "No, I’m not."

A flash of relief crosses his face, quickly replaced by a darker, almost predatory smile. "Good. That’s actually perfect. It means I don’t have to be gentle with you." His hand glides along your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart. "I hate holding back."

Two of his long fingers press against your entrance, finding you already soaked from everything that’s happened. He pushes your panties aside and slides them inside you in one smooth motion. His fingers are noticeably longer than Jake’s, reaching places that instantly make your breath hitch.

"Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’re not a virgin, doll? Because you’re squeezing me like one." He starts moving right away, no slow buildup, no endless questions about how you feel, just his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm — faster and deeper — while his thumb rubs firm circles over your clit.

You gasp, arching your back off the bed as his long fingers reach so deep that they stroke that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. "Sunghoon—" you moan, clutching his shoulders.

"Eyes on me." His free hand pins your wrists above your head while the other moves faster, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further. He watches every reaction on your face, adjusting the intensity until you’re writhing beneath him. "You’re already soaking my hand, doll. Come on, let me feel you come around my fingers."

He adds a third finger, pushing deeper and curling harder against that spot while his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. The combination is overwhelming — fast, deep strokes that tighten the pleasure in your core until your thighs start trembling around his hand.

"I… oh God…" Your words dissolve into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, pulsing with every wave, but Sunghoon doesn’t slow down, he keeps going until you’re shaking and gasping, hypersensitive and completely spent.

Only then does he pull his fingers out, bringing them to his lips for a quick taste while he looks down at you with dark satisfaction. "You taste so good, doll."

Without wasting another second, he shoves the rest of his pants and boxers down and climbs fully on top of you. "Arms up." You lift them without hesitation and he pulls your dress off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room. Your bra follows immediately, exposing your breasts to the cool air. In the same motion, he squeezes one firmly, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens, then leans down to suck it, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

"These are perfect," he murmurs against your skin before moving to the other. His free hand yanks your panties down your legs in one swift pull, leaving you completely naked beneath him. Sunghoon sits back for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming over your bare body with cool appreciation. "Perfect. You’re perfect, doll."

He positions himself between your spread thighs, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides his cock to your entrance. Only then do you realize there’s no condom. This is going to be the first time you feel someone raw. "Wait, Sunghoon…"

"I’m clean," he says dryly, reading your hesitation perfectly. "We’re good." He doesn’t say anything else, simply pushing forward and sinking the thick head of his cock into you with one precise thrust.

With no latex barrier, you feel every inch of him — hot, hard, and completely bare. The stretch is more intense than it was with Jake, deeper and fuller in a way that makes your walls flutter and clench tightly around him. A low moan escapes you as he sinks even deeper, filling you completely until his hips press flush against yours.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Sunghoon groans, closing his eyes for a brief second before locking his gaze on your face again. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, starting to move with long, deep strokes that brush every sensitive spot inside you while he watches your every reaction, every gasp, fucking you with firm control.

You grab onto his arms, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. "Sunghoon… it’s so deep like this." Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs.

He kisses you hard again, swallowing your moans as his hips snap forward faster, growing more intense. The pleasure feels stronger than your first time because there’s nothing between you, but after a few minutes, Sunghoon suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and whimpering.

"On your knees. Face down, ass up," he orders. "I need to go deeper. I want to watch this ass bounce while I fuck you stupid."

You get on all fours, feeling incredibly exposed with your ass up and back arched. The vulnerability of this new position you’ve never tried before sends a fresh wave of nerves through you. Sunghoon kneels behind you, his hands spreading your cheeks slightly as he lines himself up again.

He thrusts into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The new angle lets him go incredibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed. You cry out, fingers clutching the sheets tightly. "Oh my God, it’s so much deeper like this."

Sunghoon groans in satisfaction. "That’s exactly what I wanted." His hands grip your hips firmly as he starts fucking you with more intensity. His thrusts are relentless, hips snapping forward with a force that makes your entire body shake.

One hand slides up your back and fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and arching you even more. "Fuck, look at you taking it so well like this."

His other hand comes down hard on your ass, a firm slap that makes the flesh jiggle and sting deliciously, drawing a loud moan from you. He spanks the other cheek, then again, alternating while he keeps pounding into you.

Without a condom, you feel every vein, every ridge, the way his cock stretches and fills you completely with every powerful thrust. "This ass looks even better when it’s moving for me," he says, landing another harder slap. Your arms tremble, barely able to hold you up as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter in your core. "You’re clenching so fucking hard. You like it rough like this, don’t you?"

"Yes," you moan, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Harder, please."

He obeys without hesitation, fucking you with punishing force that makes the bed creak beneath you and his balls slap against you with every deep stroke. "Touch yourself, rub your clit while I fuck you."

You slide a hand between your legs, circling your swollen clit. Another sharp slap lands on your ass, the sting spreading hot across your skin and making you clench hard around him. "Fuck, do that again, doll." He delivers one more firm spank, then squeezes the reddened flesh possessively. "You’re dripping all over my cock, soaking the sheets like a good girl."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm, the sharp tugs on your hair, the stinging slaps, and the overwhelming depth of this position, push you straight over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your walls pulsing and contracting tightly around his bare cock as waves of pleasure crash through you. You moan loudly into the mattress, your whole body shaking.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow down at all — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own. "I’m gonna come," he growls. After a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and groans as he fills you with hot pulses of cum, spilling deep inside you for the first time. The sensation is new and overwhelming — warm, wet, and so intimately raw that it makes your mind spin.

Sunghoon collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you against his chest, lazily stroking your back. "You should come to our parties more often. Those basketball idiots don’t deserve someone like you at their parties."

────────

Not everything is about the plan. After all, you are still in college — assignments pile up and deadlines approach without caring about your personal obsessions. When the professor pairs you with Jay for the next project, you don’t think much of it, you just need to finish the work as quickly as possible so you can get back to your plan.

The second-floor library was strangely quiet that night. Most students have already left, and the few who remain are buried in their books. You and Jay sit at a secluded table in a corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves that give you a sense of privacy.

Jay sits across from you, looking effortlessly attractive in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. You’ve been discussing the project for nearly an hour, but the conversation slowly drifts away from the assignment and becomes more personal.

"You always seem so put-together," you say with a small smile. "Even during finals week. How do you do it?"

Jay chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee. A lot of coffee… You’ve been glowing lately. There’s a new confidence in class. It looks good on you."

Your cheeks flush slightly. "Thank you. I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone lately."

"I noticed and it’s honestly really attractive." The compliment is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Jay’s voice drops lower as he continues. "You know, it’s easy to talk to you… and easy to look at, too."

You laugh, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. "You’re not bad yourself. Always so polite and charming... It’s kind of dangerous."

His smile widens, and then he reaches across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. The touch is gentle but sends a spark through you, making the library feel even quieter now, like the rest of the world has disappeared and only the two of you remain behind the shelves.

Before you can overthink it, Jay leans forward over the table. "Come here."

You meet him halfway, and the kiss starts soft and sweet at first — a gentle brush of lips that quickly deepens as he tilts his head. Jay kisses with care and skill, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other rests on the table for balance. It feels good, warm, and surprisingly right.

When he finally pulls back, breathing a little faster, he whispers. "No one’s around… Come sit with me."

He gently pulls you around the table and onto his lap. Your legs part over his thighs, the skirt riding up as he settles you against him and wraps one arm securely around your waist.

"Jay," a nervous laugh escapes you as you glance at the shelves surrounding you. "We’re in the library… Someone could walk by any second."

"It’s okay," his hand traces slow circles on your lower back while the other rests on your thigh. "Look around, it’s almost empty, and the shelves block most of the view." He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw. "We’ll be quiet. I just want to be close to you for a little while… if you’re okay with it."

Sitting on his lap like this in a public place feels incredibly bold, but Jay’s gentle confidence makes your hesitation melt away. "It’s okay," he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time. "Just relax. It’s just us right now."

You kiss him back, and it doesn’t take long for your hips to start moving almost on their own, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. The friction feels good even through your clothes — a slow, delicious rhythm that builds heat between your legs. Jay lets out a low hum of approval against your mouth, his hand squeezing your thigh encouragingly.

"That’s good… really good." His hips continue moving in deliberate circles, letting you feel him hardening beneath you — the thick outline pressing right against your core.

The kiss deepens as he traces your lower lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, and you open for him. "Yeah… keep doing that." One of his hands slides up to your cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, while the other guides your hips, helping you find a rhythm that feels even better. "You’re driving me crazy doing this… it feels so good."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his gaze is dark with desire but still incredibly gentle. "Do you want to do this here?" he asks, thumb caressing your hip. "We don’t have to… but if you’re comfortable, I need you right now."

You quickly glance around — there’s still no one nearby. "Yes." The certainty in your voice surprises even you. "I want to."

He pulls you into another kiss, deep and reassuring, before reaching between your bodies to push his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out — long and incredibly thick, the head flushed red and already glistening. It’s bigger than you expected, heavy, with prominent veins.

Your eyes widen in surprise and nervousness. "Jay… you’re really big. I don’t know if I can take all of that."

He cups your face with both hands, noticing your nerves. "Hey… look at me. We don’t have to rush anything, and if it’s too much, we stop, I promise." A soft, caring expression takes over as thumbs gently stroke your cheeks. "We’ll go really slow… I’ll make sure it feels good for you."

You nod, biting your lower lip. "Okay. I trust you."

One hand stays on your waist while the other guides his thick cock, rubbing the head against your soaked panties, teasing your entrance through the fabric. "Move your panties to the side for me."

With trembling hands, you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull it aside. The cool air hits your wet folds, making you shiver. Jay helps by tugging your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. Only then does he position himself at your entrance — the blunt head of his cock brushing against your slick pussy. "When you’re ready."

You take a deep breath and start sinking down, the stretch is immediate and intense — almost too much. His thickness slowly pushes your walls apart as you lower yourself, inch by inch. A soft moan escapes your lips from the burning sensation and the way he fills you so completely. It’s deeper than anything you’ve felt before, his huge size presses against every sensitive spot inside you.

Jay groans, tilting his head back for a moment. "Fuck… you’re so tight. Take it slow, angel. You’re doing so well."

You pause halfway, breathing deeply to ease the burning feeling. It’s almost uncomfortable, but the raw heat of him, bare and deep, sends sparks of pleasure through the stretch. Determined, you continue lowering yourself until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your walls fluttering as they try to adjust to his enormous length.

For a few seconds, you stay still, adjusting to the feeling of his cock pulsing deep inside you. Jay’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as his lips brush your temple. "You’re perfect, angel. Taking me so well... Tell me when you want to move."

You start experimenting, at first moving simply — rising and sinking as you’ve seen in porn videos. The motion drags him along your walls, creating delicious friction, but it feels a little awkward. It feels good for him, his groans make that clear, but it isn’t quite hitting the right spots for you.

"This is incredible," he says honestly. "But I want you to feel good too. You don’t have to just go up and down. Grind on me… roll your hips in circles, and when you bounce, use your whole body. Let me guide you, angel."

He gently guides you with his hands on your hips, and you follow, shifting from simple up and down movements to a smooth, rolling grind. The change is instant — his thick cock now rubs perfectly against your front wall, pressing hard into that sensitive spot with every circle of your hips, making a sharp moan escape you. "Yes, just like that. Feel how deep I am when you roll your hips? Now try bouncing while you do that."

You combine the movements — lifting and dropping while rolling your hips on the way down. Each bounce takes him incredibly deep, his cockhead dragging against places that make your toes curl. The stretch remains intense because he’s almost too big, creating a delicious burn.

Jay groans louder, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you again. "Yes… fuck, you’re riding me so well. Look at you, angel." His other hand stays on your hip, guiding you to bounce harder.

The praise makes you bolder. You brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and start bouncing faster, moving up and down while grinding. Jay is so big that you can feel his cock reaching deep into your stomach, creating a profound pressure that makes your head spin.

Your newfound confidence makes him throb inside you as Jay starts thrusting up to meet you, the added force sending waves of pleasure through your core. "Deeper… like this," you moan.

Jay’s hands roam all over your body — squeezing your ass, caressing your breasts over your shirt, pulling you down for more kisses. He doesn’t take full control, letting you lead while offering guidance and praise. "That’s it… move just like that. You’re getting so wet for me. You look so beautiful riding my cock."

The pleasure builds quickly, a deep, spreading heat that consumes your entire body. You lean forward, changing the angle, and cry out when you hit an even more sensitive spot. Jay groans, holding you tighter. "Right there? Good girl. Keep going, take what you need."

You moan loudly, burying your face in his neck as the orgasm crashes through you violently. Your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock, pulsing and milking him while you keep bouncing, pushing him over the edge right after. He groans, thrusting his hips up against you as he cums deep inside, filling you with hot, thick pulses of cum.

Once you both come down, Jay lifts your chin and kisses you again, his tongue moves lazily against yours, savoring the moment. You kiss him back, feeling his cock still twitching softly inside you.

"You were incredible, angel," he whispers between kisses, smiling against your lips. "So beautiful riding me like that."

Jay’s hands run gently down your back, his gaze dropping to your chest. "Can I see more of you?"

You nod, and he doesn’t waste a single second, pulls your blouse up just enough to free your breasts. The cool air of the library makes your nipples harden instantly. "Perfect,” you sigh softly as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

He sucks harder, then grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud with a careful bite that makes you moan and clench around his cock, which is still buried deep inside you. Switching to the other breast, he gives it the same attention — kissing, licking, sucking, and biting. You roll your hips slowly in his lap, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you every time he sucks harder.

"You’re so sensitive here," he murmurs against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. "I could spend hours doing this."

You let out a soft, needy sound, holding his head closer to your chest as he continues marking you with his mouth — sucking hard enough to leave hickeys that will remind you of this moment later. He’s getting hard again inside you, growing thicker and longer, pressing against your sensitive walls.

"Fuck, you’re making me hard again. The way you squeeze around me while I suck on these… you’re driving me crazy." Suddenly, Jay’s arms tighten around you and, in one swift movement, he stands up.

"Jay—!" you gasp, clutching his shoulders.

"I’ve got you," he says carefully, sitting you on the edge of the table with his cock still buried deep inside you. "I need to move for a bit. Okay, angel? Tell me if it’s too much."

Before you can respond, he starts fucking you at his own pace — deep, powerful thrusts that make your body shake on the table. The angle is perfect, making his thick cock drags along every inch of your walls with each stroke.

You try to stay quiet, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and moans far too loud for the silent library keep escaping. "Ah— Jay!"

He quickly covers your mouth with his hand while continuing to thrust firmly. "Shh, angel." His hips snap forward a little harder, testing your silence. "You have to stay quiet… someone might hear."

Even with his palm muffling your sounds, the deep thrusts still pull muffled but audible moans from you. Jay glances around nervously, unsure what to do because stopping isn’t an option, so he makes a quick decision. He pulls his cock out, reaches for your panties, which was pulled to the side this whole time, tugs the wet fabric free and then he pushes it between your lips.

"I’m sorry," he whispers immediately as he slides back inside you with a deep thrust. "I hate doing this… but I don’t want us to get caught, okay?"

You nod slightly, eyes watering from the intensity, but the gag works — your next moan comes out completely muffled. "You’re being so good for me, so wet and tight." Jay returns to your breasts, sucking on one nipple while he continues fucking you senseless.

His pace quickens, hips snapping harder against yours as he tries to keep control. The risk of getting caught and the feeling of you around him push him closer to the edge. "Cum for me. I’m close too… let go, angel."

You scream into the gag, your body shaking in his arms as you cum hard, and the sensation of your walls pulsing around him sends Jay over the edge right after. He buries himself as deep as possible and cums inside you with hot, intense pulses.

Still buried inside you, he strokes your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You were incredible… so responsive and beautiful."

A shy smile tugs at your lips. "You were incredible too."

He runs his thumb across your flushed cheek. "I’d love to do this again someday… if you want. Maybe somewhere more private next time, so I can take my time with you."

Biting your lower lip, you nod. "I’d like that. A lot, actually."

That night, back in your dorm, you realize something: during those hours with Jay, you didn’t think about Heeseung even once because you were completely lost in the moment — in his gentle touches, his warm voice, and the way he made you feel so good.

────────

The basketball team has just won a home game. The crowd is still roaring and the players are celebrating in the middle of the court. Sitting in the stands, you spot Ni-ki — Heeseung’s close friend and teammate. He’s younger than the others but carries himself with an easy, playful confidence.

When the court finally quiets down and the players start heading toward the locker rooms, you walk calmly through the internal hallways of the building, following the path that leads to the locker room area. To avoid being seen by Heeseung, you hide behind a pillar. From there, you have a perfect view of anyone leaving the locker room, while people passing through the hallway are unlikely to notice you.

A few minutes pass before the door opens. A group of players steps out, talking loudly, and Heeseung is right in the middle of them. You press yourself tighter against the pillar, holding your breath as he walks by, laughing at some joke.

More athletes leave after that until the hallway falls completely silent. Knowing most people have already gone and the risk of seeing Heeseung has passed, you finally step out of your hiding spot and walk to a brighter, more visible part of the corridor, right near the door.

When Ni-ki comes out, his eyes land on you almost immediately. He slows his steps, tilting his head with clear interest and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "No way. You actually waited? Most girls chase after the captain." He stops right in front of you, looking you up and down without even trying to hide it. "Damn, you look dangerous."

You feel a flutter in your stomach but smile back at him. "I thought the guy who kept stealing the ball and grinning like he owned the court deserved some attention tonight."

Ni-ki laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. "You’re bold, huh? I like that." He steps a little closer, his eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "So what’s your deal? Are you a basketball fan or did you just come here to make my day way more interesting?"

There’s a seductive tease in his voice — arrogant but fun. He clearly likes what he sees and isn’t shy about showing it. "Because if you’re here for me, you should probably tell me your name before I start calling you ‘mine’ in front of the whole team."

If you play this right, he might casually mention you to the team later, and Heeseung would hear your name and maybe get curious. But if you mess up and come across as too eager or awkward, Ni-ki could joke about it in the locker room and ruin everything before you even get close. Still, you trust yourself. "It’s y/n."

"y/n," he repeats, like he’s savoring the sound. "Nice. It suits you. So, y/n… do you always wait outside the locker rooms after games looking this good, or did I just get lucky today?"

"Only when the player on the court is showing off like he’s trying to impress someone."

Ni-ki moves even closer. "Ah, so you were really watching me? Careful, I might get too cocky." He tilts his head, his eyes tracing your face before dropping to your lips. "Or maybe that’s exactly what you want. To make me arrogant enough to do something about the pretty girl who showed up just for me."

His gaze continues sliding down from your lips, appreciating the way your top hugs your body. Suddenly, Ni-ki glances around, checking if anyone is nearby. The hallway is empty. Without warning, he grabs your hand with a grin. "Come with me for a second."

He pulls you into the locker room, but not near the entrance. He keeps guiding you deeper inside, past a small entryway and around the corner of the main area, where he presses your body against the wall. The tension that has been building finally snaps. Cupping your face with one hand, he kisses you with raw hunger — his lips moving against yours with confidence as his tongue teases yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined."

He presses you harder against the wall and slides one thigh between your legs, creating just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. "You’re so fucking addictive." His hands slip under your top, warm palms gliding over your skin and sending shivers through you.

Suddenly, Ni-ki drops to his knees in front of you, looking up with an even more mischievous smile. "I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you waiting outside." His hands move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties. He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, opening you up to him.

Ni-ki presses his mouth against your pussy like he’s starving for it — voracious and rough. His tongue licks long, wet stripes from your entrance up to your clit before swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Oh my God — Ni-ki…" you moan, one hand flying to his messy hair.

He moans against you, the vibration shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "You taste so good." His tongue dives inside you, licking and savoring every inch like he can’t get enough. Messy and eager, his lips suck on your folds before focusing back on your clit with small, hungry sucks and licks.

He eats you out like he wants to memorize every taste, every reaction — switching between long, slow licks that make your toes curl and faster movements that force you to bite your lip to stay quiet.

"Ni-ki… that feels so good." He looks up at you while his mouth works, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart for him.

Ni-ki murmurs in response and doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue moves fast. "Ni-ki… fuck, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair as your hips start grinding against his face.

He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue keeps working your clit, curling them instantly against that perfect spot.

Your breathing turns ragged, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head. "I… I’m gonna—" you try to warn him, voice breaking, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sucks harder on your clit and pumps his fingers faster.

Your whole body locks up for a second before a violent tremor runs through you. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers as your clit pulses wildly against his tongue.

Ni-ki groans proudly against you, licking you through every wave, addicted to the way you fall apart. He keeps going until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he finally pull back, lips glossy and swollen. "Shit, you come so beautifully."

He rises to his feet with a satisfied smirk and pulls you into another kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue, his hands grip your waist, pressing your body against his. "You’re so sweet. I could eat you every day, all day long."

You open your mouth to respond, but the metallic click of the main door handle cuts through the air.

You both freeze and footsteps echo on the tiled floor, accompanied by a familiar voice humming something.

It’s Jungwon — another teammate, the point guard.

"Shit." Ni-ki quickly grabs your hand and pulls you toward the shower area with its open stalls and curtains. Yanking one curtain aside, he guides you inside, and presses your back against the cold tiled wall.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. "Hey, is anyone still in here?" Jungwon’s voice sounds casual, like he heard something and decided to check.

Ni-ki presses a finger to your lips, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushes your ear. "Don’t make a sound," he whispers, almost inaudible.

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but Ni-ki doesn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, the risk seems to excite him even more. Jungwon’s footsteps get closer, and right at that exact moment, Ni-ki pushes two fingers inside you without any warning. Your eyes widen and a sharp gasp almost escapes before you bite down hard on your lip.

He curls his fingers instantly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with ease, a small mischievous smirk on his face as he watches your reaction. He pumps them slowly at first, then faster, while his thumb presses firmly against your swollen clit.

Trembling violently, you bury your face in his neck, desperately trying to muffle the moans threatening to spill out. "Shhh," Ni-ki whispers right against your ear, but his fingers don’t stop — deep, curling thrusts that make your knees buckle. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Does almost getting caught turn you on?"

You nod frantically and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt to stay quiet as Jungwon moves just a few meters away. Ni-ki’s thumb presses harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster, making your thighs shake and your walls flutter uncontrollably around him as you fight to stay silent. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.

Jungwon’s voice echoes again, closer this time. "I heard noises coming from here. Who the hell is in here?"

Noticing Jungwon getting closer, Ni-ki curls his fingers harder, rubbing your sweet spot relentlessly while his thumb works your clit in fast, precise circles. You dig your nails into his back, letting out a silent scream against his neck as pleasure peaks. Your pussy clenches violently around his fingers, dripping as waves of spasms run through you.

Finally, Jungwon’s footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again. The second it does, Ni-ki pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard, swallowing the broken moan that finally escapes you.

Without breaking the kiss, he tugs down his basketball shorts and boxers in one quick motion, freeing his hard, thick, flushed cock. It’s already leaking at the tip from how turned on he is after eating you out and fingering you.

You reach for him without thinking — and without really knowing what you’re doing — wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly at first. You feel the heat and the way he pulses hot against your palm as your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum. "You’re so hard… I can feel how much you want this."

"Yeah? Then let me have you." He quickly helps you pull your jeans and panties all the way down your legs, kicking them aside before pressing you against the cold tiled wall of the shower stall. One hand grips your thigh as he lines himself up and with one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, burying his cock deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch makes you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming fullness after everything that’s already happened.

He fucks you against the wall with firm, deep thrusts, his hips snapping forward while he holds you in place. "Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you harder, each movement pressing you against the tiles. "So wet and tight."

"Ni-ki… you’re so deep," your voice trembles with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Don’t stop… it feels so good."

He keeps going like that for a while, fucking you firmly against the wall with his hands gripping your ass. But soon the position isn’t enough for him, with a low grunt, he suddenly lifts you as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you let out a muffled cry as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting up with hungry movements that make your breasts bounce inside your top.

"Yes, like that… it feels so good," you moan while he fucks you in the air, your back pressed against the wall for leverage as he holds you like you’re weightless. The sensation is intense, every thrust hits so deep it makes your head spin and your toes curl.

"Open your mouth." He brings two fingers to your lips. "Suck them for me. I want to feel that pretty mouth while I fuck you."

You part your lips obediently and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them eagerly while he keeps thrusting into you. His cock twitches at the feeling of your warm mouth around his fingers, the taste of you still lingers on them from earlier, making you moan around them.

"That’s it," he says, eyes locked on your face as he watches you suck his fingers while bouncing you on his cock. "You look so fucking hot like this. Keep sucking just like that."

You do exactly that, swirling your tongue and sucking harder as he drives deep inside you, clearly losing himself in how good it feels.

You pull off his fingers with a wet pop and gasp, "Ni-ki… I’m so close again. I’m gonna come."

With a mischievous smirk, he pushes his fingers back into your mouth, moving them in time with his cock as he fucks you harder against the wall. "Then come for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock while you suck my fingers."

The dirty words combined with his relentless pace finally push you over the edge. You moan loudly around his fingers as your legs tighten around his waist. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you, making your entire body shake in his arms.

Ni-ki groans at the feeling of you coming and his thrusts turn erratic. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard inside you, pulsing with hot spurts while holding you firmly against the wall.

After a moment, he finally lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor again, but he doesn’t pull out immediately, he stays nestled inside your heat, kissing you slowly and almost lazily, like he isn’t ready to end the moment yet. "Fuck… that was incredible. And honestly? That was the best post-game sex I’ve ever had. No joke. I’m gonna be thinking about this pussy for days."

You let out a soft giggle, cheeks burning. "Really? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk properly after this."

Surprisingly gentle, he laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before finally pulling out slowly. Both of you hiss at the loss. "That’s actually great. Means you’ll be thinking about me too. When can we do this again? After the next game, or maybe after every practice?"

────────

​The basketball team had crushed their biggest rival that night, and the victory party at the massive off-campus house is going to be loud, chaotic, and packed with people. This is the moment you’ve been carefully preparing for with every practice session and every new experience. Tonight is the night.

You choose a bold black dress that clings to your body like a second skin, short enough to show off your legs and thighs, with a neckline that reveals just enough to be daring. Your hair is styled exactly the way you like it, and your makeup is flawless, enhancing your features in a way that makes you feel powerful. When you look in the mirror, you look like someone who belongs in Heeseung’s world.

When you arrive at the party, the music is already pulsing through the walls, bodies are moving everywhere, and the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Your eyes scan the room until they find him.

Heeseung is sitting on the large couch in the main room like he owns the place — which he basically does. Two girls are practically draped over him. One is half in his lap, her hand resting possessively on his chest, while he has one arm casually around the other girl, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he talks to his teammates.

Spotting Ni-ki nearby, chatting with some of the other players, you walk toward him with confident steps because you aren’t going straight to Heeseung. No — you’re going to make him come to you. Ni-ki’s eyes light up with immediate recognition and interest.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he says with a grin as he pulls you into a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary. "You look dangerous tonight. Come here, I want you to meet some of the guys."

You laugh softly and stay close to him, letting him introduce you to some of his teammates, including Jungwon. Your cheeks heat up as you remember that moment in the locker room, and when you glance to the side, Heeseung is watching — the girls are still around him, but his eyes are locked on you, following every move you make.

Ni-ki leans in and whispers in your ear, "You know, I still can’t stop thinking about that day in the locker room. Jungwon almost catching us… My fingers buried so deep inside you while you tried so hard not to moan. I’ve been replaying that shit all week."

Your face flushes instantly and the memory makes your thighs press together in a rush of heat. "Ni-ki…" you whisper back, half embarrassed and half turned on, "you can’t just say that here."

You’re too focused on Ni-ki to notice Heeseung pushing the girl off his lap, standing up, and walking over with his usual confidence. He stops right in front of you, his gaze shifting between you and Ni-ki, who is still grinning widely.

"What’s so funny over here?" Heeseung asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You two look like you’re sharing secrets."

You freeze for a second before answering quickly, a little too fast. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Come on. Nothing stays hidden from the captain, especially when my teammate is standing here grinning like an idiot and you’re looking all flustered." He steps closer, his full attention now on you. "Gonna tell me what got you so worked up, pretty?"

Ni-ki’s playful smile fades, replaced by something closer to jealousy as he watches the captain focus entirely on you. "We're just messing around. It's fun talking to y/n, that's all."

Heeseung looks you up and down slowly, taking in the way the dress hugs every curve of your body. "Want a drink? I can’t have you standing here empty-handed."

"Yeah… I’d like that."

Ni-ki’s jaw tightens as he glances between the two of you, clearly not happy about being sidelined, but he knows better than to push it with Heeseung. "Catch you later, y/n," he says, giving you one last look filled with a mix of jealousy and desire before disappearing into the crowd.

Now it’s just you and Heeseung.

He guides you toward the kitchen, his hand lightly brushing your lower back. “So… y/n,” he says, savoring your name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. "You show up at my party looking like sin, talking to my boy while wearing this little dress that makes everyone wonder what you’re hiding underneath." A mischievous smile curves his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth for a moment. "You gonna let me find out, or are you just here to tease?"

You feel yourself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at you — that hungry stare and confident tone making your panties stick to you. "Talking about what I’m hiding under this dress already? We just got to the kitchen… but yeah, I might let you discover it." Your voice comes out bold because you refuse to sound nervous now, after waiting so long for this moment.

Deep down, all you can think about is how badly you want him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless.

Heeseung’s smile deepens, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. "There’s an empty room upstairs. Third door on the left, go up in a few minutes. I’ll follow right after so no one notices."

He pulls back, sliding his hand slowly along your waist before disappearing into the crowd. You wait a few minutes, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves, but it barely helps — the ache between your legs only grows with every passing second. After exactly five minutes, you head up the stairs and find the third door already slightly ajar. You step inside with shaky, anticipatory breaths.

Moments later, Heeseung appears. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it.

The second the lock clicks, he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, intense kiss. He bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, then does it again harder just to hear you whimper.

His hands slide down to grip your ass firmly under the dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants.

"Fuck, this ass feels even better than it looks in that dress," he growls against your mouth, squeezing harder and spreading your cheeks. The kiss deepens, his tongue dominating yours while he continues kneading and groping your ass like he can’t get enough.

Heeseung’s mischievous smirk returns when he hears you moan into the kiss. He doesn’t break it as he walks you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pushes you down and climbs on top of you.

A string of saliva connects his lips to yours when he pulls back to strip your dress off in one quick motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in every inch of your body.

"Look at you… such a pretty little slut, all dressed up for who? For me?" His hands make quick work of unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before he drags your panties down your legs and throws them away too, leaving you completely naked and exposed for him.

With a firm hand, Heeseung spreads your legs wide, getting a perfect view of your glistening, dripping pussy. "Already so wet for me, but it’s not enough." Suddenly he leans down and spits directly on your pussy, the warm string of saliva hitting your clit and dripping down your folds. The sight makes his rock-hard cock twitch inside his pants so he does it again, spitting a second time, then spreads it with two fingers, rubbing the wetness all over. "Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me."

You moan loudly at the filthy feeling of his saliva sliding through your folds — hips jerk while your pussy clenches around nothing.

Heeseung drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke that makes you gasp. When you do, he laughs against you — the vibration sending shivers through your entire body.

"You taste so fucking good," he says before diving back in. He eats you out messily, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping down to push inside you, savoring every drop of your arousal mixed with his spit.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly as the overwhelming sensation hits you. "Heeseung, that feels incredible…"

He keeps going, licking deeper inside you while his nose brushes against your clit, but suddenly he pulls back, looking up at you with a devilish smirk. Without warning, he brings his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against your soaked pussy, the sting mixed with pleasure makes you cry out loudly. "Holy fuck, Heeseung."

"You like that too?" He slaps your pussy again, harder this time, hitting your folds and swollen clit. "Such a dirty girl, getting even wetter when I slap this pretty pussy."

"Yes— God, yes," you moan, thighs trembling. "It burns, but it feels so good at the same time."

That encourages him to give you another slap and right after, he buries his face between your legs again, sucking hard on your clit while two thick fingers push inside you. He fingers you mercilessly, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over as his tongue works your clit. "Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking my fingers like a good little slut for me."

He spits on your clit again, spreading the saliva with his tongue before adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously while pumping them faster and harder. All you can do is moan, your thighs shaking violently around his head. "Heeseung, I’m getting close… please don’t stop."

He obeys, alternating between long licks, hard sucks on your clit, deep thrusts of his fingers, and firm slaps that make your pussy burn and throb. "I’m gonna come," you moan, arching your back off the bed.

"Then come for me." Your entire body tenses, your walls clenching hard around his fingers as spasms rip through you. You come hard with a loud cry, thighs trembling violently around his head. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and fingering you through every pulse, drawing out your pleasure until you’re oversensitive and whimpering.

When he finally pulls back with glossy lips and chin, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "Get on your knees for me," he commands against your lips. "I want that pretty mouth around my cock."

It’s time to put into practice what Sunghoon taught you about sucking dick.

With a confident little smile, you gently push him so he lies on his back. Once he does, you position yourself between his legs and reach for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. He lifts his hips to help as you pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs up thick, hard, and leaking precum, making your mouth water at the sight.

You wrap one hand around the base of his cock, lean in, and press a soft kiss to the tip before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside, drawing a shaky breath from Heeseung. "That’s it… suck me like a good girl."

Feeling confident, you take him into your mouth and slowly suck on the head, swirling your tongue around it while savoring the precum there. Then you take him deeper, bobbing your head as your hand strokes what doesn’t fit, your movements growing smoother as you find the right rhythm. "Fuck… your mouth feels so good."

His praise encourages you to take him even deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. A wet choking sound escapes as your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stay there for a moment, breathing through your nose the way Sunghoon taught you, before sliding back up and sinking down again.

Heeseung grabs your hair and tightens his grip as a needy groan escapes his throat. "Shit, that’s… ahh—"

You keep going, moving your head faster and sucking harder while your hand twists around the base, making his thighs tense and another desperate moan slip out.

It’s hard to believe that Heeseung, the guy everyone on campus talks about, the one with a reputation for being experienced and dominant, is moaning and whimpering under your mouth. It’s unexpected, but not in a bad way, especially because your pussy clenches around nothing every time he makes those sounds.

You pull back a little, sucking on the head while stroking him faster with your hand, which draws another broken moan from him. "Yes— fuck, yes, baby."

Wanting to pull even more reactions from him, you take him deep into your mouth again, gagging softly around his length as your head moves faster. Saliva drips down his entire shaft and onto your hand, making everything slick and messy.

Heeseung’s moans grow louder, breathier, and more frequent. "Fuck, I… I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop… I’m so close, baby."

You moan around him and suck harder until his thighs start to tremble. "Fuck… fuck—!" His voice cracks as the orgasm finally hits him.

His cock pulses hot and hard on your tongue, releasing thick jets of cum into your mouth. You try to swallow as much as you can, continuing to suck him through every last spasm and moan.

When you finally pull off his cock with a wet pop, Heeseung moves fast. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you — the whimpering guy from moments ago is gone. Now his eyes are filled with raw hunger.

"I’m not done with you yet." With a firm hand, he spreads your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. "Now I’m going to fuck you properly."

You blink at him, confused and surprised by the sudden shift because seconds ago he was moaning and almost begging under your mouth, and now he’s trying to act like the dominant guy everyone talks about.

He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds, coating himself with your arousal. Without warning, he thrusts into you hard in one brutal stroke, stretching you around his thick length.

The sudden fullness makes you cry out loudly, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my God — Heeseung!" The stretch feels so good, especially while you’re still sensitive from coming earlier.

He fucks you hard and deep from the very first thrust, his hips slamming against yours with relentless strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, this pussy is so wet and greedy," he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss while one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He holds it for a few seconds before loosening his grip, letting you gasp for air. "Look at you, sucking my cock like a good little slut. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, your voice breaking under the pressure of his hand. "You’re so deep inside me. It feels so good, Heeseung."

He chokes you again, a little harder this time, and the mix of pleasure and lack of air makes your head spin deliciously.

Heeseung pushes your legs back toward your chest, folding you in half so he can fuck you even deeper. The new angle makes his cock hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, causing your eyes to roll back.

When he finally releases your throat, you gasp desperately for air, moaning loudly as he keeps hitting that sweet spot over and over. "Please… harder. I can take it."

Heeseung lets out a needy groan at your words, his hips stuttering for half a second before he gives you exactly what you asked for. He fucks you harder, rougher, driving his cock into you with punishing depth. The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder and wetter as he pounds into you, pressing your body into the mattress.

Just as your next orgasm starts to build, he suddenly slows down, keeping his cock buried deep inside you but barely moving. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so, slut."

You whine desperately, trying to lift your hips for more friction. "Please, Heeseung… I need to come. I’m so close already. Don’t stop— I’ve been so good."

He smirks wickedly, shaking his head as he starts thrusting with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. "Beg better than that, baby. I want to hear how badly you need it."

You’re a complete mess underneath him, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in your eyes. "Please… I’ll be so good for you. Just let me come on your cock, please. I need it so bad— I can’t take this teasing anymore."

Heeseung groans, but the sound turns into a needy moan as your walls clench around him. He starts fucking you harder again, his hand returning to your throat. But he isn’t done teasing you yet, so he edges you two more times — bringing you right to the brink with deep, brutal thrusts only to slow down and leave you whimpering and empty.

On the third time, you’re crying and babbling nonstop. "Heeseung… please, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts so good… I need to come. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me come on your cock."

"Fuck… you look so pretty when you beg," he groans, his voice rough with his own need to come. He thrusts into you with brutal force, tightening his hand around your throat again while his hips move relentlessly. "Come then. Come all over my cock like the desperate slut you are. Let me feel you."

Your entire body seizes underneath him. Your walls clamp down hard around his thick cock, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you, screaming his name.

Heeseung fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as your pussy milks him. "Fuck, that’s it. Good girl… you’re squeezing me so tight." A few more brutal, deep thrusts and he buries himself as deep as possible, coming hard inside you with thick, hot pulses.

Lying under him with your heart racing and breath coming in short, heavy bursts, his cock still buried deep inside you, your mind keeps returning to the sounds he made minutes ago — those desperate, broken moans and whimpers when you had him in your mouth.

Something about hearing him lose control like that makes heat pool low in your belly. After a few seconds of hesitation, you gather your courage, place a hand on his chest, and push him gently but firmly. "My turn to break you now. I want to hear you moaning under me." You say as you swing your leg over his waist, straddling him.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as his cock, already hardening again beneath you, shows just how much he likes the shift in power. "Baby… fuck," he gasps, his hands reaching for your hips.

"Don’t touch unless I say so." You slap his hands away, then wrap your fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slowly and teasingly while rubbing the head up and down your cum-soaked pussy. "Look at you. The captain of the basketball team. Everyone on campus thinks you’re this untouchable stud who ruins girls and never gets ruined."

You sink down onto him in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs — the stretch making both of you moan. You stay completely still, clenching around him just to watch him squirm, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Then you start moving your hips slowly, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. "Ahh— fuck… please don’t tease me."

You begin riding his cock properly, using everything you learned — deep movements, tight squeezes, and powerful bounces that make your ass slap against his thighs and your clit grind deliciously against his pelvis.

"Fuck, baby," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips, but you grab his wrists and push them away. You lean down so your breasts brush against his chest and his cock hits even deeper. "Don’t touch. Just take this pussy like a good boy. Got it, captain?"

Heeseung’s cock twitches hard inside you at your words, and a low, surprised moan escapes his throat. "Shit… yes," he groans, clearly turned on by the way you dominate him. "Use me, baby. Fuck me."

So this was the real Heeseung? A whimpering mess when someone takes control. All that arrogance on the court, all those girls throwing themselves at him, and here he is — moaning and shaking underneath you like he can’t handle how good your pussy feels around him.

You watch every reaction closely, mesmerized by the way his lips part, his breath coming in short, needy gasps every time you bounce and grind on him, and the broken moans slipping from his throat when you clench hard around his cock.

'God, he really is a whimperer,' you think, amazed by the sight as you bite your lip and ride him harder. "All that reputation and you’re crying because a girl is riding you. That’s kind of pathetic… but so fucking hot."

Heeseung lets out another broken moan, his hands desperately gripping the sheets since you won’t let him touch you. "Fuck— you’re killing me. Your pussy feels too good, I can’t… ah— slow down a little, please."

You laugh softly and keep riding him mercilessly, clenching around his cock rhythmically, rolling your hips in tight, dirty circles while bouncing faster and faster, making sure he feels every movement. "You’re going to take this like a good boy, captain."

Heeseung moans louder, letting his head fall back against the pillow as his body trembles beneath you. "Shit, you’re so mean. Please don’t stop. Your pussy is squeezing me so tight— fuck, I’m losing my mind."

You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs so he has the perfect view of his cock disappearing into your dripping pussy. "Look how deep you are," you moan, rolling your ass on him in small, obscene movements. "You like watching me use your cock like this, don’t you? Such a big, strong captain… and now you’re moaning under me."

The pleasure and the delicious sight of the untouchable Heeseung moaning and whimpering push you toward your own orgasm. "I’m gonna come," you gasp, leaning down to kiss him messily while still bouncing on his cock. "And you’re going to come with me, crybaby."

Heeseung moans loudly, the nickname making his cock twitch hard inside you. "Fuck… I’m coming!" His hips buck up to meet your bounces as thick jets of cum spill deep inside you once again.

You follow right behind him, your orgasm crashing over you as you keep riding him through both of your peaks, milking every last drop from his cock.

"Don’t tell anyone about this," he begs breathlessly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That I’m… like this. Please. This is our secret, okay? Just between us."

────────

Jake’s hands grip your hips tightly, you clench around his cock and roll your hips in those filthy, perfected movements. His broken moans fill the room as you bounce faster, grinding harder against him. Suddenly, your phone starts ringing on the nightstand, Ni-ki’s name lighting up the screen.

You slow your movements, reaching over to answer the call while still sitting on Jake’s cock. "Hey," you sigh, slightly breathless.

Jake groans, his hips twitching desperately. "Babe… please don’t stop," his voice is full of need. "I was so close… keep going, please."

You cover his mouth with your hand to silence him to continue the call. Ni-ki sounds frustrated on the other end. "You free right now? We lost tonight and I’m pissed. Come to my dorm… I need that pretty pussy to help me forget this shit game."

"I can come over soon," you say, trying to keep your voice steady while rolling your hips on Jake. "Give me a bit."

"Good. Don’t take too long. I really need to fuck you," Ni-ki says before hanging up.

You drop the phone and start riding Jake again. "Sorry about that. Now be a good boy and come for me.

Later that night, you’re on all fours in Ni-ki’s dorm as he fucks you hard from behind. His hips slam against your ass with deep, aggressive thrusts.

In the middle of a particularly rough stroke, he suddenly asks, "I saw you leaving the hockey rink the other day. What the hell were you doing there?"

You moan and push back to meet his thrusts. "None of your business."

Ni-ki’s hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack. The sharp sting makes you clench around his cock and moan louder. He slaps you again, even harder. "Wrong answer."

"Again," you moan, arching your back. "I like it."

Ni-ki laughs darkly and keeps spanking you repeatedly while fucking you harder, his palm leaving red marks on your ass as he pounds into you until both of you come hard.

The next afternoon, you’re on your knees in Jay’s dorm with his huge cock stretching your mouth as you suck him. Jay has one hand gently stroking your hair, looking down at you with proud eyes.

"You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep like this… you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, angel."

You relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can, sucking harder, using every technique you’ve learned. Jay groans, his fingers sliding gently through your hair.

"Fuck… you’re incredible. Such a good girl for me. Keep going, you’re making me feel so good."

He keeps praising you the whole time, soft and sincere, until he finally comes down your throat with a soft, shaky groan, lovingly stroking your cheek as you swallow everything.

When you leave Jay’s room, still a little flushed and disheveled, you run straight into Sunghoon in the hallway. He looks at you, then at Jay’s door behind you, and his expression darkens instantly.

"What the fuck were you doing in there?"

You don’t answer, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let you. Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pulls you into his own dorm, slamming the door behind you. He fucks you hard and jealous, bending you over the desk, taking you from behind with brutal, possessive thrusts.

"You’ve been fucking everyone lately, haven’t you?" he growls, driving deep and angry. "Greedy little slut."

You moan loudly, loving the jealous tone in his voice.

During the rough thrusts, your phone starts vibrating on the desk — it’s Heeseung sending message after message.

Heeseung:

I can’t stop thinking about that night with you.

Come over.

Baby, answer me.

I know you’re getting these.

Don’t play games with me.

Stop fucking ignoring me.

Sunghoon notices the constant buzzing, picks up the phone, uses your face to unlock it, and opens the chat. With a dark, possessive smile, he takes a photo of your flushed, teary-eyed, moaning face while he fucks you hard from behind and sends it to Heeseung with the caption: "She’s busy."

He tosses the phone aside and fucks you even harder after that.

────────

You finally understand why Heeseung never wants to be tied to just one person. Having options is liberating. Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung — each one offers something different: different rhythms, different kinds of pleasure, different versions of yourself. You don’t have to choose just one because you can have them all. Now you understand Heeseung’s lifestyle — it’s freeing.

And you realize you want that freedom too.

Thank you for reading! and a special thanks to everyone who asked to be tagged <3

The first time you see him, you’re holding a stack of files so high it obscures your vision, and you nearly walk into the glass door of the conference room. A hand shoots out, stopping the door before it hits your face. You peer around the teetering tower of paper.

“New girl,” a voice says, smooth and laced with amusement. Not a question.

You lower the files, and there he is. 

Lee Donghyuck. With a familiarity that borders on reverence, he imposes respect with his very eyes.

You’d heard the name whispered in the breakroom, seen his photo on the firm’s “Notable Cases” wall. He’s the golden boy, the prodigy, the son who could do no wrong. 

In person, he is more. The sharp, elegant cut of his suit, the dark, knowing eyes that sweep over you in a single, assessing glance, the slight but perpetual curl at the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand. 

He is beautiful in a way that feels unfair.

“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely a squeak.

He doesn’t move his hand, holding the door open, forcing you to pass under his arm. You feel the heat of him, catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne: sandalwood and something citrus, sharp and clean. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “The old geezers in there prefer their coffee scalding and their copies without smudges. You wouldn’t want to fail on your first month here, right pretty girl?”

Taken aback by the sudden nickname, the copies go back and forth on your hands as your eyes look for him, but he’s gone, striding down the hallway as if he owns the very air, leaving you standing there, your face burning. 

You don’t know if you’ve been helped or warned. You feel, intensely, the truth of his words. 

You are the newest, lowest employee at Jung & Lee, a firm so prestigious its name alone opens doors. 

Your job is a symphony of mundane tasks: making copies and fetching lattes with precise sugar levels, and, as Mr. Jung had bluntly put it in your interview, “providing a pleasant atmosphere.” 

You are meant to be a visual relief to the silver-haired partners, a pretty, quiet fixture. 

But you are clumsy. 

You spilled coffee on a contract the first week. You misfiled a crucial deposition just yesterday. 

The partners’ eyes slide over you with vague disappointment. You are supposed to be pretty and enjoyable to look at, even if you are a little inept, but you are failing at even this.

Haechan, however, does not fail. He is a force of nature. At twenty-six, he has been at the firm since he was nineteen, his path greased by the legacy of his parents, both titans in the legal world. He wins cases with a dazzling, ruthless charm. He is the favorite, the heir apparent. 

Therefore, the office rules are clear: Haechan wants, Haechan gets. 

No one ever says no to him. 

The engagement to Kim Jiwon, daughter of a rival firm’s senior partner, has been the talk of the industry for a while now: a merger more than a marriage, set for a lavish winter January wedding. Everyone knows. 

Everyone also knows about the other, quieter stories. 

The whispers about interns who cried in the bathroom, about girls who begged the HR staff to fire them, about assistants who transferred departments abruptly. 

It’s an open secret, discussed in hushed, almost admiring tones. 

He gets bored, they say. He likes the chase. Who can blame him? The power he holds is absolute, a silent currency everyone accepts. Everything is too easy not to try it. 

And you, you like him. 

It’s a pathetic, immediate thing, blooming in the pit of your stomach that first day you saw him, watered by every subsequent glance. 

Convincing yourself that he decided to look at you, to help you, to call you a name. That must mean something. 

It gets easily to your head because you’ve never been approached by men, not really. 

Your relationships are a short, sad list of hesitant texts that faded into silence. Like the Wonbin boy you met at college, who ghosted you after hooking up at a party. Or that tinder date who left the restaurant after meeting you.

You’ve come to believe there is something inherently unlovable about you, something missing or broken that needs to be fixed, to be seen by someone, to be validated into existence. 

Haechan sees you, and now you´re afraid no one else would look at you as him, ever. 

He sees you, not in the way you crave, but he does see you. 

His eyes linger on your figure in the communal kitchen as you fumble with the espresso machine. He watches you from behind the crystal door of his office as you rush past with paper cups filled with watered down black coffee. 

They are not warm glances; they are cold, analytical, like a collector examining a potential acquisition. Debating himself if you are worth his time. 

They make your skin prickle and your heart pound a frantic, hopeful rhythm against your ribs. Your face flushed every time you pass next to his office.

The gossip intimidates you, non stop stories of his cruelty wrapped in the velvet of his charm. But a desperate, hungry and pathetic part of you reasons that all those other girls simply weren’t enough. 

Probably they deserved being treated like that, probably they didn’t realize how lucky they were that a man like Donghyuck was sticking around with them. But you…you are sure, you must be enough for him.

Maybe you could be. 

Maybe your pleasantness, your submission, your sheer willingness to please could be what he needs. Someone who never says no, who never makes him angry, who is what he wants her to be. 

So you decide to begin your own, pitiful campaign. 

You wake up earlier to iron your tube skirt with special care, do your makeup like Minjeong’s, the receptionist who Donghyuck always smiles at.

You smile at him in the hallway, a little too brightly, batting your lashes and scrunching your nose a little. 

You volunteer to bring files to his office, lingering to ask a pointless question about the case numbering system. 

You go back and forth from his office to your pathetic cubicle to ask him if he needs a coffee refill.

You laugh a little too loudly at a joke he makes in the breakroom. 

You are throwing yourself at him, a silent, obvious offering. A cheap doormat inviting him to step in.

After weeks of insufferable uncertainty, he accepts the invitation, but on his own terms.

There is no romantic confession, no real declaration. 

It starts in the stark, concrete silence of the gray underground parking lot, weeks before Christmas. 

Your car wouldn't start. The cold air from December gets to your bones and you’re near tears, fumbling with your keys on your trembling hands, when his sleek black sedan glides to a stop beside you. The window rolls down.

“Need a ride?” he asks. Not a greeting, not an acknowledgement of who you are.

Anyway, you nod, wordless.

He doesn't get out of his car, doesn’t open the door for you, neither helps you with your bag, but waits, watching you as you hurry around to the passenger side and slide in, still trembling. 

The interior of the car smells like him: expensive leather and his clean, cologne.

He never asks you where you live, doesn’t give a damn about where were you going to.

The ride is silent. He drives with a lazy, confident grace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from it. 

You take a good look at him, not trying to be discreet; you’d never realize the small scattered moles on his cheeks, nor the prominent veins on his hands, rings wrapped in most of his fingers except the ring one, jet black hair framing his face beautifully.

You sit rigidly, hands clasped in your lap, now hyper-aware of the hem of your skirt, the way your blouse stretches across your chest, worried of how chapped your lips must be due to the freezing cold night. Mortified that he can look at you so up close.

He doesn’t drive you home. He drives to a part of the city you don’t know, to a bar with a flickering neon sign that looks like it’d have sticky floors and disgusting restrooms. It’s ugly and old, a place where no one from the firm would ever go. 

“D-Donghyuck?” you ask, your voice small.

“I need a drink,” he says, not looking at you. “And I don't want to drink alone.” It’s not a request, not even an invitation. He’s carelessly informing you what is going to happen.

He walks into the run-down place as if he owned it with you behind him. Not giving you a glare. 

He sits in a booth, far away from the other. He buys you a drink you don’t want. In the dim, smoky light, he tells you he’s tired. Tired of his fiancé, tired of the expectations.

“She’s so demanding…a spoiled rotten child who can never shut her damn mouth. Always talking back to me, always complaining. ” he sighs, swirling his whiskey on his ringed fingers and you may want to laugh at the description, because by what you’d heard, he’s not any better. 

“So goddam empty. She doesn’t care about me. We don’t love each other. Not anymore, if we ever did. I’m so tired of giving my life to the firm and my parents' wishes…” His voice is a low, intimate hum that vibrates in your bones. Sadness comes innate from every complaint he lets out.

In any other context you would think it’s idiotic to feel sympathy for a rich kid having an episode of chronic affluenza. But not now.

He chose to give you a ride, doesn’t matter if he’s making you drink with him. He chose to open his heart with you from all people. It must mean something. 

Your eyes linger nervously from your watered down drink on the table to him, on the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, on the hair falling and framing his face beautifully, on his moles. Allowing yourself to memorize every detail because you never know if this fallen-from-heaven opportunity will ever happen again.

He looks at you then, and his gaze is different: softer, focused and intense. It feels like being chosen.

“I’m sorry about that…sounds so, so sad…but then why…?” you dare to whisper.

He reaches across the table, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. A shiver runs through you. And you wonder if he feels the same tingles as you, that same electricity that makes you feel like you’re in love. 

“It’s complicated, she is. But you are real…you’re not judging me, or saying that my problems are rich kid bullshit. What a nice, comprehensive girl you are…such a good listener…”

You flush at the compliment, the pathetic, desperate hope inside you swelling to painful proportions. He called you nice! And you feel like that’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear. 

He drops a few bills on the table and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, your small, cold hand disappearing into his large, warm one.

Back in the car, the silence is different. It’s charged with a new, heavy intimacy.

This time, he opened the door for you, he waited until you were inside to follow you into the backseat of his luxurious car. Face to face, your bare knees touching his and you still can feel the electricity running through your body. Could he feel it too?

You don't get to ask him, his warm hand coming to caress your cheek, fingers toying with the fat there. The way you lean into his touch like a stray cat begging to be adopted tells him everything he needs to know.

He doesn’t kiss you right away.

His hand is already there: warm, steady against your cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip like he’s testing something. Waiting. Watching.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled.

But you don’t even know what he wants you to say. And maybe that’s the point.

His fingers tighten just slightly as he tilts your chin up, just enough to take the decision out of your hands.

The kiss hits hard.

Not soft, not hesitant, rather decisive.

His mouth presses into yours like he’s already made up his mind for both of you, like this was always going to happen. Your breath catches instantly, your hands hovering for half a second before they settle against him, unsure but unwilling to pull away.

He doesn’t rush. That’s what makes it worse.

Everything about it is slow and deliberate, like he knows you’re not going anywhere. Like he’s certain you’ll let him do whatever he wants.

His grip shifts, at your jaw, then firmly at your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as the kiss deepens.

And you let him.

Even when your head starts to spin, even when something quiet and distant in you whispers that you shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be this close, you lean in instead.

Because he kisses like you mean something. And you don’t stop him.

When he pulls away, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that your lips still brush when you breathe.

He’s watching you. Really watching you. That same assessing look from the hallway, but now it’s hotter and way heavier. It’s not looking at your outfit or your posture anymore, it’s looking right through you, like he’s peeled you open and found the one part of you that was hoping for this all along.

“I knew it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse point, wanting to squeeze. “I knew you’d be like this.”

Your stomach flips. “L-like… what?” you breathe. 

Is he going to say pretty? cute? nice?

He leans in, lips brushing your ear this time, warm and teasing and possessive. “So easy.”

You don't get to feel sad when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, hungrier, one of his hands sliding down your back to press you flush against him. He can feel your breasts pushing into his chest as well as the way your thighs are rubbing together.

Your fingers twist into the fabric of his coat, trying to anchor yourself as he takes and takes and takes, and you give in.

And it feels like a victory. It feels like finally being seen.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving. His hands roam all over your clothed body until they reach your hips, bringing you to his lap with ease.

Crotch pressed right against your center, skirt bunched up all the way to your hipbone. He hisses at the contact, aroused by how easily you gave up your morals just to please him. A smirk on his face that says you were made for him.

Thrusts to your covered pussy invite you to move, your hips grind on his back and forth and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his expensive formal pants. The friction of his size against your flushed parts combined to the accumulated heat on his car make your face go red and Hyuck's nose slowly gets covered in sweat that you wish you could lick off him.

“Fucking hell…” he says, low and breathless against your neck as he sucks the skin there, marking with a mix of purple and red, making you moan. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

Your mind feels like static, but you manage a weak nod. “Y-yes…”

He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound that makes your toes curl. “Good girl.” His hands slide under your blouse lifting it lazily, just enough to have a nice view. He is warm against the skin of your back. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you? Not like her.”

You shake your head, because no, you would never be difficult. You would never say no.

His fingers find your bra, and it’s like your whole life has been leading up to this moment. To be in the backseat of a car, letting a man who’s barely spoken to you undress you in a dark, empty parking lot.

He lowers the cups until your breasts are peaking out, palms slide around to cup them, and you gasp, arching into him. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching your face, gauging your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his eyes.

“You like that, huh?”

"Yes! Yes, please!" Your movements intensify and the friction combined to the tortuous touch on your hard nipples becomes almost too much.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking responsive. You were just waiting for someone to touch you, weren’t you?”

You were.

The shame should be overwhelming, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears, the frantic beat of your own heart. 

He’s touching you. Hyuck's touching you. It doesn’t matter that it’s in the back of a car, that he’s engaged, that you’re nothing more than a convenient distraction. All that matters is that he chose you out of all people.

His hands are everywhere now, sliding your skirt up higher, tracing the line of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “Soaked,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “All this for me?”

You just nod, unable to form words, lost in a haze of sensation. His fingers press against your clit through the thin cotton, and you cry out, a sharp, desperate sound that seems to spur him on.

His hands land on your hips one last time for the night, guiding your movements to accommodate his own pleasure. Faster, harder, even making you bounce on him as if you were riding him. Mesmerized by the way your tits follow the movement.

Your eyes fill up with tears, out of shame, stress or simply pleasure that has become too much. He feels it too, you know it by the way his nose scrunches and lets out a few gasps that sound like a dream you could only pray to have. Your panties are soaking wet, high pitched cries come out of your mouth...you feel like you are about to explode until...

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Move!"

You are pushed away, back hitting the drivers seat as he undones his belt and hurries to free his length out of his black Calvin Klein briefs. Cock wet with precum that glistens against the dim light that leaks through the windows, is pumped by his fist one, two and three times until he is cumming on your wet panties. Rope after rope of his warm thick load lands on your covered pussy, pulsating around nothing. 

The sight is obscene, so much you might as well have come from just watching. Your mind is racing with thoughts, he is so big, so pretty, you wonder how he would have tasted inside your mouth, or how much it would hurt being filled up by him.

"Pathetic," he says once he's done, panting and watching the mess he made on you. Fingers clean up his cum from your panties, only to smear it against your tits and clean the remnants on your blouse. "So fucking pathetic. Look at you."

He’s looking at you like you’re something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

You don't say anything as he pushes you to the side, fixing himself up, hand brushing his black hair back. He still looks like the most handsome man in the world.

He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound that has nothing to do with the warm chuckles from earlier. He zips himself up with a sharp, decisive movement, the metallic click echoing in the sudden, cold silence of the car.

Doesn't ask you where you live, he just lets you type your address into the gps app. Takes you home in silence, his eyes darting to you across the rear-view mirror from time to time.

He won't admit it, but the sadness painted on your face...that is going to be his favorite sight for a long time.

❤︎₊ ⊹

It becomes a pattern. Ugly bars, his car, once a cheap hourly motel that smells of bleach and despair. Every time, he goes about the same narrative of his misery with Jiwon. 

“She’s mean,” he’ll mutter against your neck. “She doesn’t understand me like you do.” 

He paints her as a gilded cage, and you, you are the wild, sweet, secret freedom. 

But when you tentatively ask, “Will you tell her? Will it ever end?” he doesn’t answer with action. He answers with his mouth on yours, his teeth on your shoulder, his promises breathed into your skin.

“Soon,” he whispers, his hand fisted in your hair. “It’s not easy, you know? How could you know, though? No one’s ever taken you seriously.”

The words sting, but they are wrapped in the heat of his touch, and you accept them. 

You accept everything. 

He is mean from the beginning, in ways that feel like truths. In the motel room, watching you dress, he’d say, “You know you’re nothing at the firm, right? If you quit tomorrow, no one would notice. Or maybe…” He’ll chuckle and point at you just like a highschooler would do when bullying the slowest person in the class. “Maybe they’d be relieved that no one’s gonna burn their fucking coffee” He says it casually, as if commenting on the weather. 

And you nod, because it feels true. Your existence is irrelevant. 

But in his arms, under his weight, you are something. 

You are his secret. 

That has to mean more than being nothing.

❤︎₊ ⊹

And that’s how you find yourself here: New Year’s Eve.

The office party is on the top floor of a sleek skyscraper, a panoramic view of the city glittering like spilled jewels. You’re wearing a simple, dark red dress you bought on sale, spent half of your savings of the month to go get your makeup and hair done. That makes you feel almost, but not quite, like you belong.

He’s here, of course.

He’s the star, a handsome prince in an immaculate suit. Clear glasses and perfectly combed black hair framed his handsome face and she was with him. Kim Jiwon.

She is as beautiful as the rumors promised: all sharp angles just like him, icy elegance backed up by her white-ish blonde hair, body perfectly suited by a couture that you are sure was way more expensive than yours, followed by a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

She hangs on his arm, a glittering amethyst on her ring finger that could probably pay your rent for a decade.

She’s perfect, and you hate her for that. You hate that every glance you give at her reminds you of everything that you are not. Especially Hyuck's.

You hate that his arm envelops her and she looks untroubled. That she looks like she doesn't even want to be there, spending time with the man you would give anything to have by your side.

You mingle around the noisy room, filled with laughter and hypocrisy, all by yourself, choosing to stand by the window, nursing a glass of cheap champagne, watching them.

He leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, a brittle, lovely sound. She looks so complete, so sure of her place beside him. The sight is a physical pain that sickens you.

For the first time, a sick, ugly thought slithers into your mind: maybe he wasn’t lying about her being demanding. 

Maybe you truly are the one who understands him.

Eyes going back to the window as the sight of his precious hand keeps lowering on her back until he reaches the curve of her ass and you feel like you want to die.

The night becomes even worse with every second that passes through, champagne combined with wine making you feel like you are just a little freer, braver...

"Miss y/n?" A guy dressed in black and white, just another peasant serving for the night, touching your shoulder and leaning in to whisper something. "Mr. Lee asked me to inform you that he'd be waiting for you at the men's bathroom. A confidential matter." He bows, before walking away, your whole world shaking at the realization that he is thinking about you even when he is right next to her.

That has to mean something.

You wait a couple of minutes to make it not so suspicious, trying so hard not to laugh at the self-proclaimed win. The cheap alcohol stills running through your veins making you feel like you might want to tell everyone that Lee Donghyuck is waiting for you, and only you in the bathroom.

But you don’t. You can’t.

You walk away trying so hard not to look suspicious, a smirk on your face to hold the excitement, isolating yourself to the very back of the floor. Music blends far away, your heartbeat can be listened to in your ears as you push the heavy door open.

You find him alone, leaning against the marble counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't look at you when you enter, locking the door behind you.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice flat, bored. “Thought you could dress up all nice and pretend you’re one of them.”

Your confidence shatters. “I just… I wanted to look nice.”

“Trying to compete with her? Comparing yourself to a respectable woman?” He finally turns, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you in three long strides. He backs you against the heavy door, the wood hard and unforgiving against your spine. “Did you have fun watching us? Is that what gets you off? Being a little voyeur, watching me with my fiancée?”

"I-I'm sorry...it's not that way, I—"

He scoffs, an ugly sound filled with mockery. "Then what way is it? Are you fucking stupid? Staring like you hate her...I just started with you and you're already getting on my nerves." His hand, engagement ring and all, on your cheeks, squeezing so hard until you pout for him.

"I'm really sorry, Donghyuck..." Words stuck between his index and thumb, not like he really wants to listen to anything you have to say. Your eyes are now shiny and glazed under the soft yellow light.

"You know what you need? To learn your damn place." He says, his anger turning into a dark amusement that thrills you more than it should. His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back. "So pathetic, you're about to cry, aren't you? I like that about you. That you're fucking pathetic. I could tell you to kill yourself and you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"

You nod repeatedly, head knocking on the door as he has you by the jaw still. Any ounce of self respect is thrown out the window the moment he puts his hands on you.

His knee presses between your legs, a hard, undeniable pressure against your core. You can’t help but grind against it, a desperate, shameless movement. He laughs, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your entire body, staying at your core.

“See? Desperate little thing. All dressed up with nowhere to go, but right here. On your knees for me.” His words are venom, but you lap them up like honey.

He yanks down the top of your dress, exposing the flimsy black lace bra you wore just for him. The one you bought thinking maybe he would take you to a nice dinner, maybe he would take you to a hotel for the night, where you would have a bed for two and maybe even breakfast the morning after.

His thumb hooks into the cup and pulls it down, the cold air hitting you, making you shiver instantly. However, this time is different, he lowers, under you so as to have a good taste of your sensible buds. Tongue lapping the nipple while staring at your face. Toying with the other between his fingers.

Still too embarrassed about your simple existence, eyes shut close as you moan relentlessly. Not giving a shit about who may hear you.

"Getting hard? Look at you...what a fucking slut." He whispers against your tit, making sure to be heard.

He bites down, not gently. A sharp, stinging pain makes you cry out, but he doesn't let go, sucking hard, leaving a dark, possessive mark.

A brand. Proof. He moves to the other breast, to your chest, your collarbones. Giving it the same treatment, until your upper body is a constellation of purple and red blotches. Hurting, saliva drying on your skin and making you tremble due to the cold or because you just want him so much.

He pulls back, admiring his work. “There,” he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Now everyone will know you’re used goods. That you belong to someone.”

Your heart soars. 

Belong.

He spins you around, your hands flattening against the cold marble of the counter. You see yourself in the mirror: the hairstyle you paid for now all messy, lipstick smudged, breasts exposed and bruised.

You look wrecked. You look wanted.

And you think you feel better than ever.

His eyes find yours for a moment and the only thing you come across is hunger. Desire, desperation, all of it in a single glance.

He hikes your long dress up over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Look at how much you want this.” His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your knees. The cool air brushes against your dripping heat. "You want this, don't you?" He smirks as his hands undo his expensive belt with a clink that makes your hair stand on end.

Hard length on his fist, pumping a few times, smearing the precum all over. He doesn't even bother to pretend to find a condom.

You try to have a look at him, pulsating just at the thought of him raw inside you, neck turning to try to have a peek of him, only to be taken by the hair and forced to look front. He aligned himself, wet and flushed head against your dripping folds, not pushing, just letting you feel him there.

His hand grips harder on your hair, hissing at the feeling of your warm pussy lips kissing his cock as he slowly pushes himself in.

You cry out as if being hurt. The primal feeling of being filled without any barrier between the two along with the way his cock throbs inside you once he's settled to the hilt is too overwhelming.

"You take it so well, pretty girl. Like you were made for this...for me."

Your heart throbs on your bruised chest. 

Made for him!!

It needs to be true.

Hot breath against your cheek, his lips on the side of your face. Panting, licking and biting on the side of your cheek as his thrust starts slow and calculated. Perfectly angulated, up and down in a way that you feel so full and wanting to pee. He's hitting your sweet spot with no effort. Making your legs shake and your mind blank as your eyes go from the white ceiling, to his frame on the mirror, to yourself, not able to keep yourself in orbit.

His other hand goes from your hair to your neck, griping just enough to keep your head up. "Eyes on yourself, don't you dare look away. I want you to see what you are." His pace picks up, the slap of skin against skin and the obscene squelch of your wetness wrapping his throbbing cock the only sounds aside from your whimpers and his pretty moans, sometimes grunts.

"Is this how you wanted it? Getting fucked in the bathroom during the stupid company dinner?" He mocks, thrusts becoming sloppier and faster each second. "She's probably looking for me right now...wondering where I am. She doesn't have a fucking clue that I'm stuffing this tight pussy."

His words are poison, but they go straight to your core, making you clench even more around him. He groans in response, the grip on your neck tightening. "You like that, huh? Being my little secret. My dirty little whore."

He lets go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms and pin them behind your back, using them as leverage to thrust deeper. The angle shifts, and you see stars. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and you love it. Moans become cries of help, telling him to please stop, that it's too much and he doesn't care, of course.

He stares at the printed reflection on the mirror, bruised tits bouncing deliciously with every thrust, and your pathetic face that's barely holding the tears...he loves every part of it. Loves that he can take whatever he wants and that you won't complain.

Not letting go of your arms, he fucks into you, hard, fast, making you scream out until you cum all over him, legs trembling as you fight to stay upright. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around his cock as your slick drips down your thighs, you see him squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath as he buries himself deep inside you with one last thrust. His desperate gasps fill the empty room and you feel the warmth of him coating your inner walls, thick ropes of cum marking you from the inside out, makes you feel complete.

He collapses onto your back, his weight pressing you into the counter, both of you panting heavily. For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled mess of limbs and spent passion. You can feel his heart beating against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that makes you feel safe.

But the feeling doesn't last.

He pulls out, and you feel empty, both physically and emotionally. The sudden loss of him is a cold, sharp ache.

He's already fixing himself up, tucking his shirt back into his pants, adjusting the knot on his tie, washing his hands like nothing happened.

He catches your eye in the mirror, and for a second, you see something other than coldness in them. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar, detached amusement.

He turns to you, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures towards the small bin on the corner, the one used to throw paper towels.

"Clean yourself up," he says, his tone dismissive. " I don't want you dripping my cum all over the floor like a bitch in heat." A disgusted look on his face.

You hurry to comply, your hands shaking as you pull the strips of your dress and bra over your shoulders again and you clean yourself up with the rough paper towels. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened. You ball up the soiled paper towels and your panties, and throw them into the bin as instructed.

He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest. When you're done, he walks over to you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form.

"You look a mess," he says, his voice flat.

He reaches out and smooths down your dress, his fingers lingering for a second on your hip. Then he turns you around, his hands gently adjusting the top of your dress, it doesn't hide the bruises he just made at all. And he doesn't care.

"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look like you've been properly fucked." He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

"Go back to the party," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Act like nothing happened. And don't you dare to look at me."

He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. At least he's still a gentleman, you think.

You hesitate for a second, your heart aching with a desperate need for something more. A kiss, a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to hold on to.

But you get nothing.

You walk out of the bathroom, your head held high, your heart a shattered mess in your chest. Your body's still warm and your pussy drying along with the ambient.

The party is in full swing, the music louder, the laughter more forced. You grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long sip, the bubbles doing little to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Trying so hard not to notice the way in which he stares at your bruised chest.

You stay in a faraway corner just to scan the room, and your eyes immediately land on him.

He's back with her, his arm around her waist, a charming smile on his face as he laughs at something she says. He looks perfect, like he hasn't just been fucking a nobody in the bathroom.

And you, you're just a nobody.

You watch them for a while, a silent, invisible and full of resentment observer.

❤︎₊ ⊹

The following Monday morning at the office, the gossip, once a distant hum, becomes a sharp, clear voice. All directed to you. Partners, waiters, staff, everyone saw the state in which you came back from an unknown place. And everyone could easily assume who did that to you.

Just when you were up to take Hyuck’s coffee to his office, two of the junior associates, Minju and Yunah, corner you by the printer.

“Hiii! Y/n, right? Sorry to bother you sweetheart, we can see that you’re on the run…it’s just that…” You nod, willing to do anything they’d asked you to do.

Go buy snacks, bring them lunch tomorrow, anything, you’d do it, but the pity on the tallest made your mouth go dry.

“You know he’s engaged, right?” Minju says, straight to the point abruptly but not unkindly. “To Kim Jiwon. The wedding’s set for this January and you know…they’ve been together for years. She even was at the Christmas dinner…"

As if you didn't fucking knew, or saw her at the dinner. You’re sick because your blood ran hot on your body, wanting to curse at both of them for being so nosy. As if you weren’t going to change that for good.

Nonetheless, the unspoken part hangs in the air: He’s using you.

“I know,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s…complicated.”

Yunah scoffs, a bitter, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. It’s the oldest story in this building. He gets bored, he finds a distraction. He breaks them. Then he goes back to her. You are not the first, and you won't be the last.”

"You should stop this, for your own good..." Minju says, as her perfectly manicured hands placed a streak of hair behind your ear with softness in her eyes.

Both girls leave you there, the printer whirring softly, a hollow ache in your chest. You knew they were right. Every word was a shard of glass lodging itself in your heart.

But the desperate, pathetic part of you clings to the memory of his hands on your skin, his whispered words. “You were made for me” “You belong to someone”

You want it to be true more than you want to breathe.

But the truth is undeniable. Everyone can see it, that you were a momentary diversion, a snack to tide him over. 

For a moment, in the darkness with him, you had believed it was only him and you. 

The fact that he had chosen you, all the "beautiful" moments spent with him…now you see the vast, crowded reality: him, Jiwon, their families, the firm, the entire world. And you...you mean nothing. 

❤︎₊ ⊹

The realization comes after not being called by him all day.

After some weeks, you left work at five, you went to the market to buy groceries and once at home you took a shower.

He hasn't called you yet and you start to think that you'd done something wrong.

No hookups in his car, no groping in his office, not even a glance when you entered his office.

Anguish filling your chest with every passing minute, eyes holding tears because nothing had happened yet and it'd be pathetic to cry over nothing.

What if Yunah and Minju said something to him? Had the rumours reached his office?

Every imaginable thought coming to your head, emptied by three dry knocks on the door.

His text.

Open the door. Now.

You almost trip on your own feet as you rush, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Opening the door you find him, disheveled, angry, and more handsome than ever in his simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Hyuck doesn’t even look at you, he just pushes past you and walks inside, leaving the door ajar as he sits on your tiny couch.

He looks so out of place there, the small, worn couch swallowing him up, the cheap lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face.

“Donghyuck… what… what’s wrong?” you stammer, your hands trembling. Getting closer, you sit next to him, only to be pushed out of your own couch, to sit on your knees. His ringed fingers tangled across your neck, harder with every word he spat.

"Everyone is fucking bothering me with questions about you. It's driving me insane. What the fuck did you do, huh? Do you know what can happen if this goes further? Can your stupid brain understand that you're fucking with my future?"

"B-but you lied to me! You are going to marry her! Everyone knows, as they know you fucked me at the party, because you wanted!" The boldness of your words is new. Maybe the weeks of being close to him gave you some kind of confidence.

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's a cold, sharp sound that makes you flinch.

"What did I lie about? Did I ever say I loved you? Did I ever promise you anything?" He leans forward, his face close to yours, his breath hot and angry. “I said I was tired of her and believe me, I am. I never said I was leaving her. You heard what you wanted to hear.” His grip on your neck thightens, your mouth open gasping for air, eyes itching with hot tears threatening to fall violently. “Did you really think,” he continues, his voice a soft, venomous caress, “that I would cancel a wedding, a merger that’s been planned for years, for a desperate, easy girl like you?

His words are like physical blows, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. You want to argue, to scream at him, but you can't.

Because deep down, you know he's right.

You were convenient. Easy.

He stands up, pacing the small space of your living room like a caged animal, your eyes following every movement of his.

"You think you're special? You think you're different? You're not. You're just the latest in a long line of girls who were stupid enough to fall for my bullshit."

He stops in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of disgust and pity. "You're pathetic. You know that? You're a pathetic little girl who's so desperate for a little bit of attention that you'll let anyone treat you like dirt."

He's right. You know it by the way you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way he's looking at you from above. As he always had.

You look up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you see not a lover, not a savior, but a predator.

Take off your clothes," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All of them."

Your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely manage the buttons on your shirt. He watches, sitting on the couch, tighs spread and a cruel smirk playing on his lips, as you strip for him, your clothes falling into a heap on the floor.

When you're completely naked, shivering from a combination of cold and fear, he finally moves.

He leans to you, elbows to his knees, eying your figure, your head that rests low avoiding the wicked way his eyes devour you. Irises going from your hardening nipples to your clenching tights.

He doesn't kiss you, doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, at the glistening wetness between your legs, the way your body twitches with anticipation that betrays your fear with a sickening arousal.

He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes you want to curl up and disappear. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy, toying with the results of your arousal, smearing it everywhere. "You're so fucking wet... You love this, don't you? You love it when I remind you that you're nothing."

You can only moan in response, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, left hand traveling to your neck, squeezing just enough.

He's right. You do love it. You hate yourself for it, but you do.

"You're a sick little slut, aren't you?" he says, a low growl rumbling in your ears. "Getting off on being treated like trash."

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, pretty. I'll give you what you need."

And with that, the hand that kept cupping your heat snapped shut against your plump cheek.

Neck incorporating again as he held your head and fixed your hair, wiping your hot tears away. Getting you prepared for another one. Again and again and again.

He loved the way you wouldn't even scream, willing to take anything he gave you. The grip on around your air flow getting stronger with each slap and the delicious sting on your cheek had your blood sizzling; thighs clenching together giving away how much you needed him. "What are you? Answer me." He's slapping your face again. "You're a fucking bitch, right?"

"I'm a- I'm a fucking bitch! Please, Hyuck..." you beg, your mind clouded with need and your body aching for more of him. He could ask you to bark and you would do it if that meant he'll finally fuck you.

The need to be filled, to be used, to be needed.

You'd let him do anything.

He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through you. But it's a shame that feels like pleasure, a twisted delight in your own degradation.

"Please, what?" he coos, his voice laced with false sweetness. "Please hit you again? Please call you a whore? Please remind you that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck?" His thumb brushes against your already puffy cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if it wasn't for the mocking look in his eyes.

His gaze is heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the spot. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning in your gut, but you can't look away.

His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that's both terrifying and intoxicating. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, a thing to be consumed, and a part of you, a sick, twisted part of you, revels in it.

Both hands gripping strands of your hair, forcing you to look up at him with watery eyes and flushed red cheeks. "Answer me," he demands, his tone sharp, impatient.

"Please..." you beg, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Please fuck me, please Hyuck.."

A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "That's what I thought. Get this shit off," The grip on your hair pushing your face to his clothed crotch. You can feel the heat of him, the hard line of his erection through the rough denim, and a desperate moan escapes your lips, not fighting the urge to lick a wet strand across the material, earning a soft moan that you'll keep on your mind forever.

Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, your fingers clumsy and trembling. He watches you, a dark amusement in his eyes, as you struggle to free him. When you finally manage to pull down the zipper and push his black briefs down, his cock springs free, hard and flushed and angry-looking.

The sight of him makes your mouth water. He's so big, so perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.

You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tastes salty, a little bit bitter, and it's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.

You wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can until your nose tickles with the grown hair of his pelvis, tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, a low, guttural sound of pleasure that makes your pussy clench.

You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips stretched tight around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, the slight gag reflex a dull ache that only adds to the pleasure.

"Shit... look at you," he breathes, his voice a low, husky whisper, locking your hair against his pelvis, the way your throat grips him makes him hiss. The small build-up confidence that you're making him feel good is enough to look him in the eye, spit and precum spilling from the corner of your mouth warning because of how full is your mouth as he thrusts up, shamelessly using your mouth.

Right before your gag reflex betrays you, he pulls back, a thick strand of saliva connecting both. The urge of satisfying him urges you to lick at his balls, full of cum that you wished was just for you. His bony fingers grip along his wet shaft, up and down, enjoying a little too much the squelch of it all.

"You're such a dirty slut aren't you? You were crying just now, where did that shit go, uh?" A smirk playing on his lips as he continues to pump himself. "Now you're acting like you want to be treated like a dog."

You nod, your eyes glazed with lust and tears, too ashamed to speak.

"Open wide," he commands, and you obey, your mouth falling open as he guides himself back to your lips. He doesn't enter you, though, instead, he strokes himself, his movements fast and furious, until with a harsh groan, he cums, thick, white ropes of his release painting your face, your lips, your tongue. Right before you could swallow, he keeps your mouth open and kneels down, letting out a globe of spit to rest on your tongue along with his cum. Admiring his piece of art.

You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him marking you, claiming you. It’s degrading, humiliating, and you love it.

Once his fingers leave your mouth, you willingly swallow and finally feel complete. He's in you, he has possessed your mind and your body.

You don't get time to say anything stupid before he's lifting you by the neck, sitting on the couch with you on top of him. The head of his cock's sinfully pinching you above your pelvis. Still half hard, he slides you back and forth, your wet folds coating his cock, your slickness making the friction delicious, a promise of what's to come.

"You're so fucking wet," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Is this what you wanted? To be used like a cheap whore?"

You can only moan in response, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his shoulders as you grind against him. Your clit is throbbing, a desperate, aching need for more, for him to be inside you, to fill you up and claim you completely.

"Please," you beg, your voice a broken, breathless whimper. "Please, Hyuck...please, need you...please"

He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Doesn't even try to ask what you want, he knows it for sure.

He finally pushes inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that steals your breath. He fills you completely, the feeling of him so intense it borders on pain. But it's a pain you crave, a pain that feels like pleasure.

He lets you adjust for a moment, his hands holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. Filled to the brim, your lungs run out of air because of the way you feel him twitching raw inside you. Desperate, primal.

Then he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your bodies move together, a perfect, messy harmony of flesh and sweat and desperate need. You lean down, your lips finding his, a hungry, desperate kiss that's all teeth and tongue, and the best of it all is that he doesn't deny it to you. He can taste himself on you, the faint, lingering taste of his cum, and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced.

His hands are everywhere, roaming your body, mapping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.

Left hand finding your hair, gripping so hard that your head is pulled back by force, his right hand groping your ass before meanly spanking you a few times that go straight to your core, tightening and clenching against him.

"Shitt, fuck!" He merely screams, thrusts fastening, your clit being tickled by his pubic hair with each movement. "You're milking the fuck out of me, huh? You want me to fill your cheap hole?"

You babble nonsense, something that sounds like a desperate plea, not like he would expect something different from you.

Your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your body writhing against him, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He doesn't care, he's not seeking for your orgasm but for his. This is about him and you know it, and you still don't care.

"Such a pathetic, disgusting piece of shit," he whispers against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

Hands aggressively spreading your ass to find the hole he hasn't touched ever since he met you.

Index slightly massaging around the rim of your tight hole. The unexpected sensation makes you shudder, a loud, guttural moan escaping your lips.

"W-what...?" you manage to gasp, your body tensing at the new intrusion. No one has ever touched you there. The thought is both terrifying, but mostly electrifying.

He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound that vibrates through you. "Don't act so surprised, pretty. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you? This hole is fucking mine too, isn't it?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes harder, the tip of his index breaching the tight ring of muscle. The burn is sharp, intense, a shocking counterpoint to the pleasure building in your core. You cry out, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body torn between pulling away and pushing for more.

"Look at you, taking it so well," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You're so full of surprises."

Index is fully inside you now, moving in tandem with his cock, a dual invasion that has your head spinning and babbling things between yesses and pleads to stop. The pleasure is almost too much, a white-hot inferno that threatens to consume you whole. Your moans are constant now, a string of desperate, incoherent pleas for more.

"Yes, that's it..." You can tell he's getting close to the edge by the way he hisses, eyes lost on the way your tits bounce and your body convulses, loving the way you're on top of him and you're still defenseless. All consumed on his clenching teeth and the aired moans he lets slip of his pretty lips. "Milk this cock, milk my finger, take everything I'm giving you, be a good girl...come over my cock, dirty slut—"

The final command sends you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that leaves you boneless and breathless. Your vision whites out, your body arching against him, a scream that hurts tearing from your throat and warm tears that make your eyes burn spill down your flushed face. You cry out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you shaking and breathless. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around him and your warm slick dripping down both of you, all the way to your old furniture.

He follows you moments later, with a harsh, guttural groan tearing from his lips as he spills inside, burying himself deep inside you, your warm walls milking him as he spills his hot, thick release inside you, coating your inner walls, a warm, sticky flood that makes you feel complete. His hips jerk erratically, his body shuddering against yours as he rides out the waves of his pleasure.

For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled, panting mess of sweat and satisfaction and limbs that shudder with the overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as your pussy convulses around him.

He's still inside you, a comforting, possessive weight that makes you feel safe, cherished. Loved...

But the feeling is fleeting, a fragile bubble that bursts with the sudden coldness in his eyes.

He pulls out of you, the loss of him a sudden, sharp ache. He pushes you off him, not gently, but with a rough, impatient shove that sends you sprawling onto the floor.

You land in a heap, your legs on one side, your body aching in a dozen different places.

Afterward, as he pulls his briefs and jeans up, finding his belt with detached efficiency, you find yourself on your knees. Literally on your knees, clutching the fabric of his pants.

“Please,” you beg, the word a raw scrape in your throat. “Please, don’t go. Please...please don’t leave me.”

He looks down at you, still bare, on your knees, with tears from the fear that he might abandon you mixed with the tears from pleasure; his expression is one of faint disgust, as if looking at a persistent stain.

He pries your fingers loose, one by one. “Grow up.”

He stands over you, a magnificent, cruel god, and you are nothing but a discarded offering.

“Don’t call me,” he says, the words a final, deathly blow as he grips your cheeks with extra strength, forcing a pout that he'd never admit to love. “Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking look at me when we pass in the hallway. I'll call you when I want to, and you'll be there, every-fucking-time. You got it?” He says, pointing a threatening finger at you. “We’re done. For now.”

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of your apartment.

The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. It presses in on you, amplifying the frantic, panicked beating of your own heart. You’re alone.

Utterly, completely alone.

You lie there for a long time, a tangled, weeping mess on the floor, the slickness of him drying on your thighs, the phantom sting of his slaps still on your cheeks. The apartment feels cold, empty, haunted by the echo of his cruel words.

You try to piece together the shattered fragments of your dignity, but there’s nothing left to hold on to. Just the burning shame and the aching, desperate need for a man who sees you as less than nothing.

You drag yourself to the bathroom, your body aching with every movement. The tap of the water being open, on a desperate try to get his scent, his touches that still tingle off your body. The water in the shower is scalding, but you barely feel it.

You scrub your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, the taste of him in your mouth, the feeling of him inside you. But it’s no use.

He’s etched into you, a permanent, indelible stain on your soul.

You look at your reflection in the mirror, and you barely recognize the person staring back at you. A stranger with puffy red cheeks. A broken, pathetic girl with a haunted look in her eyes.

You hate her. You hate her more than you’ve ever hated anyone.

You sink to the floor, the water still streaming down around you, and you finally let go. You scream, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure, unadulterated agony, until your throat is raw and your body is wracked with sobs.

This is your rock bottom. A cheap, lonely apartment, the ghost of a man who despises you, and the crushing weight of your own pathetic desperation.

❤︎₊ ⊹

He gets married the following week. The office's chat room is abuzz with pictures: Jiwon in a stunning custom gown, Haechan handsome and smiling in his tuxedo, a picture-perfect union of power and prestige.

And then, life returns to a terrible, hollow normal. You see him at the office. He doesn’t glance at you. Not in meetings, not in the hallways. You are air again. The ghost he said you were.

But the texts still come. Late at night.

The usual bar. 11 PM.

Or, more brazenly,

Parking level B2. Now.

You go. Every single time. Because when he summons you, the world narrows to a single, blinding point of possibility: this time, maybe, he will see you. This time, he will stay.

The encounters become rougher, more impersonal. He’s often angry, taking out frustrations about a case, about Jiwon, about his life on your body. He calls you the most degrading names, pushes you to your knees in dirty alleyways behind bars, fucks you in the back of his car without a kiss, a touch or word of affection afterwards.

And you let him. You welcome it. The pain is a perverse form of attention. The bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you existed to him, if only for a few minutes.

You become an expert at hiding the marks. Makeup on your neck, long sleeves in the summer, a carefully practiced smile to mask the hollowness in your eyes that no one believes, but they don't care enough to ask for.

In the end, the reflection doesn’t come in a dramatic moment. It comes on a Tuesday evening, as you’re waiting for the kettle to boil in your silent apartment. You are waiting for a text that hasn’t come, and you realize with a dull thud of finality that you are hoping for it. You are hoping to be used.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the humiliation, beneath the loneliness, beneath everything he has taken from you, there is still that same pathetic hope.

Maybe tonight... Maybe this time...

Maybe he will finally love you.

The screen lights up.

And before you've even read the message, you're already reaching for your keys.

❤︎₊ ⊹

haaaaiiii, i finally finished thisss, i've been writing it for like 3 months and i just couldn't finish it because of uni and bc i was so blocked tfff :,c but i made it!!1 just in time for my pookie's bday!! i luv u haechi dongyuki, kisses from mx to wherever u are (as if he was reading this plek)

ANYWAYS, i really want to highlight that i do NAWT condone any of these actions (from cheating to disrespect ourselves like this) but!!! i'm so sick on my head that i find soooo hot this type of attitude specially on haechan idk why he's so mhmgmmgpdmhg. anyways, i wanted to write some naaasty smut with lots of angst, everytime i write sth i'm like "hell yea, i outdid myself" but this time i think i actually did, hopefully heheh

hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you did!! thxs for readiiiing :3

available on ao3 as well!!! :3

hihihiiii i am back !!!! i'm hoping to drop a fic or two in the next month or so but i figured this was as good of a way as any to make my grand return after.... almost a full year.... i missed u all so much please forgive me

year one.

elementary school is where all the social groups are formed. the popular kids, the weirdos, the losers no one likes. where you start forming your special cliques and learning what’s okay to say and not okay to say out loud ( you learn that part the hard way ). you start implementing social norms, and wondering why the boys in your class are so gross.

you learn what crushes are, no matter how silly they were. there were only a select few that felt appropriate to crush on—and the most popular of the few in your class was jaemin. he was neat(er); organized. he didn’t spend his time scribbling his papers with gross drawings, and that, for the girls, was enough to fall in love.

everyone stuck to their own small groups, whispered nothings and giggles coming from one side as the other didn’t even bother to hush down.

boys will be boys is often a phrase you found stupid, because why is that an excuse for letting them ‘tease’ on how ugly you are? the kind of ugly that had them groaning drawn out ‘ew’s, every laugh in your ear and finger pointed in your face. where it felt like everyone was looking at you, noticing and scrutinizing for your deepest insecurities.

jaemin hadn’t stood up to them necessarily, but the power of words had always been bullets to the head. “they’re not ugly.” three simple words, spoken without a glance up, but it got the boys to hesitate.

those words repeated got them to back off, and a small glare had them giving up, heading off to the other side of the classroom. you looked up to meet his eyes. brown, hardened by the act of threat, before softening when reaching yours. inviting, friendly. the picture of kindness.

“hi.” 

a bright smile that reached his eyes. dark brown hair that barely covered the top of his eyes.

and for the rest of elementary, you were met with sharp glares, words muttered under breaths, because of the person standing next to you. na jaemin, always at your side. he never left after that. promised he never would. with that stupid grin that made you believe anything he said, that distracted you from reality. 

na jaemin. hiding behind that smile.

year two.

the entire concept of putting tweens and teenagers all in the same building is beyond you. while elementary school was playing around with friends you just made, middle school jumped up another level. 

different classes, puberty, growing up in the midst of getting good grades and keeping up your social status because at this point you’re insecure and affected by what people think of you.

jaemin was still as popular as ever, having collected a few more people to join you two in your shenanigans. you still got a few dirty looks here and there, and you shrunk in on yourself whenever you noticed them; only for a comforting hand to find yours. he had the same smile.

the few individuals jaemin had collected included people called: jeno, mark, haechan, and an upperclassman by the name of yuta that he had mentioned to you once. you didn’t meet yuta until a few years later.

jeno was quiet. regarded as cold and distant, but when you learned to read him, he just wasn’t one to talk often. concentrated. face stuck in a neutral expression until it broke when he smiled. you’re not quite sure how jaemin managed to snatch him.

mark and haechan came in a package deal ( more like that haechan clung onto mark ). you just knew them from the bickering, mark’s loud laugh, and haechan’s tendency to have chaos follow him.

all of them were pretty faces. popular — now that popular was an important word — desired. girls tripping over themselves and even guys trying their move. they mostly got ignored. not necessarily in a rude way, but in the awkward wish as to not be speaking another refusal. when asked, they all fumbled with a quick excuse.

and for some reason, no one pushed. consumed by the feeling of disappointment to be bothered.

haechan had been complaining about the fifth girl that came up to him in math, talking about how everyone gave the same spiel; consisting of how long they’d liked him, how pretty they think he is ( which did nothing to help his evergrowing ego ), and then the age old question: would you go out with me?

this was a typical conversation between the boys, comparing different ways they’ve been asked out. from stupid to thoughtful to unexpected. but it all ended the same. rejection. spurning. 

when in doubt, avoidance is the way to go.

mark was teasing him about it, jeno was barely paying attention after making a small comment that got spoken over. you and jaemin were studying together under the shade of a tree, leaves rustling over a small zephyr, small flowers scattered and blooming with the grace of spring.

he was listing questions, having you answer them.

it was almost a perfect day out. the grass was the green shown in movies, the sky blue. white, fluffy clouds floating along, the sun out but not sweltering. that perfect four pm air.

a stronger breeze circled through, ruffling leaves and flowers. you tugged your coat tighter around your shoulders, continuing the small back and forth with jaemin, until he looked up, noticed something, and a small laugh fell from his lips.

he made eye contact with you, reaching up and plucking a small petal from your hair before making you lean forward so he could brush out the rest of the ones that had fallen from the tree. “reminds me of your eyes,” jaemin hummed, holding up the white petal, earning a small tilt of the head from you. “pure; pretty.” 

your cheeks tinted red. and he flicked the petal back into your hair. that stupid grin.

year three.

bright lights and the squeaking of sneakers against gym floors were all you’ve ever wanted to hear. to say you weren’t a sports person wasn’t particularly right. you enjoyed sports. just at times, especially when the team is currently losing and they aren’t going to win, it wasn’t your favorite thing.

you were sat halfway up the bleachers, watching haechan freak out on the bench whenever the ref made a bad call — or any call actually ( you’re mostly sure he just played because mark dragged him to ).

jaemin was at your side, mumbling under his breath about stupid plays, which always amused you, how invested he’d get sometimes. granted, it wasn’t often. 

you were here for jeno, mark, and haechan. all who weren’t currently playing right now, which confused you, because previous games had shown you that they were the only ones on the team who knew how to play — except one of the lower classmen: chenle. who was the self proclaimed mvp of every game.

he played in every quarter, and mark had mentioned it before, chenle was going to take over as captain once mark left. and watching chenle, he deserved it. he was good.

a loud whistle pierced your thoughts, and you raised your head up slightly to look at what happened. people in the bleachers were yelling and booing at the referee, and jaemin was muttering under his breath as well, glaring. 

and when the referees made the call to give two free throws, a loud outburst was called from the students. you can say for sure you had no idea what was going on.

jaemin stood up abruptly, reached down to grab your forearm, before pulling you up as well with him. “let’s go,” he spoke, his voice a small grumble.

“go where?” you stumbled after jaemin, and catching up with his steps got him to release your arm.

“we’re losing anyway, no reason to hang out.” he shoved his hands into his pockets, earning a small giggle from you when you noted how invested he was. you poked his bicep, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

climbing down from the bleachers, you offered a wave to a confused mark who had noticed the two of you, before following jaemin out of the exit of the gym.

“you know we’re not allowed to roam the school,” you spoke up when jaemin started heading down the hallway ( not that you were going to argue any further ).

“technically.” he shot you a smile, knowing you’d follow anyway.

the school was quiet. it was odd to hear, after knowing it full of loud and annoying students. it was almost peaceful — a place you’d enjoy being if it was like this every time.

you trailed after jaemin, watching the halls like you hadn’t memorized them years before. you couldn’t believe you were leaving next year. everyone told you that it went too fast — that as soon as you’re in high school, those four years would pass in a blink of an eye.

it made your skin itch. you weren’t ready for it to go. to leave.

“hey, where are you?” jaemin’s words cut through your thoughts. “looks like you’re off on an adventure,” he grinned, reaching out to poke your forehead. and you swatted his hand away.

“just thinking.”

“about?” he prompted.

you paused in your step, fingers fidgeting with each other. jaemin paused with you, and you took in the sight of him. one hand resting lazily in his pocket, the other at his side. turned slightly to face you, curiosity creasing his brow slightly. jaemin was so pretty.

“what we’re going to do. in the future,” you finally answered, earning a face from jaemin.

“we have years to figure that out, no point in worrying about it now,” he spoke immediately, voice underlined with soft laughter, stepping over to you. “years,” he reiterated, “we’re gonna be fine.”

your shoulders lifted in a shrug. and jaemin’s hands raised to hold your face. “you overthink too much, petal,” he hummed, and the way you had to tilt your head up slightly had him fighting back a small smile.

there was a time when you were taller than him.

“relax,” jaemin said, leaning forward and pressing a short kiss to your forehead. you relished in the feeling, the comfort. “we have time,” he promised again, thumb brushing under your eye. 

everything jaemin said, you couldn’t help but believe him. he said it with such conviction. the kind of tone that comes from the steady beating of a heart. confident, because you believe it won’t stop. reliance, because it shouldn’t stop.

“i know.” your agreement was like letting out a breath you’d been holding for years. he was right, anyway. you had time. you had so much time.

year four.

high school, freshman year is when you met yuta. by this point, you’d heard his name scattered around. whispered in every rumor — he was in that group of boys. the poisoned youth, the kids your parents warned you about when you were younger. the type you’d get caught dead hanging around.

they were known for dyeing their hair every month, coming to school whenever they wanted. walking into class twenty minutes late just because they felt like it. sauntering around as if they owned the place — and with the way they acted with the staff, you might just think they do.

you saw jaemin chatting with them once. twice when waiting for him after class. and when he noticed you, he’d bid them goodbye as if nothing happened. but it bothered you. itched at the back of your neck when you saw it, wondering what they could be talking about.

“it’s nothing, petal,” jaemin answered smoothly when you asked. and you had no reason to doubt him.

“you’re just talking?” you responded, biting the inside of your cheek. “they’re not good people, jaem.”

his gaze flicked up to meet yours. brown. that glint in his eyes, fire, warmth, softened at the sight of you. “we were just talking,” he repeated, voice small in confirmation. and the silence stretched as you both looked at each other. he pressed his lips into a thin line.

but it was jaemin. he had no reason to lie. “okay.” and that was it. eyes bright, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. and you blinked, snapping yourself out of it. this was jaemin.

you hated that you had to remind yourself.

“jeno’s tagging along for lunch —” jaemin started, changing the conversation after a moment, only for the voice of haechan to rip through his words.

“take me with youuuu!” echoed as the older rushed over, mark trailing calmly after him. “i want food,” haechan groaned, mumbling something about how he hadn't eaten all day as he clung to jaemin’s arm, earning a laugh from the group as mark shook his head.

“you ate half my lunch,” mark gave him a small look, and haechan sent the look right back. 

“you offered.”

“not half of it.”

jaemin and you looked at each other, rolling your eyes at your friends. 

but the feeling lingered. and yuta nakamoto was a person you started looking out for. 

it wasn’t long until he noticed — oddly perceiving for what he seemed to be. you figured you weren’t hiding it well, however. lasting gazes, sharp eyes, and half glares weren’t that difficult to miss. and he started watching you back. 

you learned new names. lee taeyong. johnny suh. huang renjun. all giving you the same eerie feeling, especially when their gaze met yours, as if they’d already been watching. as if they were observing you. studying you. you felt like a bug in a jar. parts of you regretted showing your animosity towards them.

especially when you bumped into the infamous yuta after school one day. his hair dyed with patterns of brown and blond. hazardous grin decorating his features, a glint in his eye. as soon as you met his gaze, you knew he knew. knew that you were apprehensive about him. knew that you noticed him talking to jaemin.

“sorry,” he smoothly started off the conversation. “am i in your way?” yuta hummed, unbothered and obviously had no intentions to move. you nodded despite. he decided to just get to the point. “i’m not doing anything with jaemin.”

“then why talk to him?” you immediately shot back, somehow finding it in you to speak up. 

yuta almost seemed stunned at your words — or the fact that you talked back — staring at you for a moment. “am i not allowed to interact?”

“you wouldn’t without a motive,” you said, resisting the urge to bite your tongue in sudden frustration.

“you don’t know me.”

“i don’t,” you admitted shortly, devoid of any hesitance. still edgy, still nervous, but always wanting to protect jaemin, “but i know enough.”

yuta raised his eyebrows slightly, before exhaling out a laugh. not quite mocking, not quite teasing. a mix of surprise and judgement. “you can’t believe everything you hear,” he hummed smoothly, a smirk tainting his features.

he would’ve been attractive if it weren’t for the cigarettes often hanging from his mouth, the group of people he surrounded himself with. the dangerous sparkle in his gaze. and your eyes narrowed. “leave jaemin alone,” words firm, stance grounded.

“i will,” he agreed too easily to make you feel any better. “i can’t help it if he comes to me, however,” the older evoked, looking you up and down once before heading off.

a chill ran down your spine, and you shifted uncomfortably. yuta gave you every unsettling feeling you could ever name. his last words seemed almost like a threat.

now that you’ve pissed him off, you’re worried what he’ll send.

but yuta didn’t send anything, not for a while. he barely looked at you anymore ( neither did the rest of his posse ), and he kept his promise of not talking to jaemin anymore.

relief was your first instinct, but confusion was your second. it felt off — yuta keeping his word. you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. anxious tapping on your thigh when that group passed you in the hall, cursory glances around corners as if he’d jump out from somewhere. yuta was dangerous — at least that’s what people told you, but it wasn’t hard to swallow.

of course jaemin noticed your antsiness. he always paid too much attention.

his hand brushed the small of your back when you tensed up slightly at the sight of yuta. “something wrong?” he questioned, worry creasing his features.

you shook your head too fast. he didn’t say anything about it. “no — i‘m fine,” you mumbled, gaze flicking from where you last saw yuta, before forcing yourself to focus on jaemin as he paused in the hall. “just . . . nervous. test.” you added merely so he wouldn’t be concerned.

he hummed, sliding his hands into his pockets as he looked at you. a moment too long to be unsuspecting. “okay, petal.” smile. trust.

there was too much lying tainting this friendship. it felt wrong to lie to jaemin, but you followed him to class anyway; keeping quiet, words souring your tongue.

“c’mere,” he hummed, reaching over and tugging you closer by your shoulders, his touch warm and comforting. to curtail your worry that he knew you weren’t telling him about. he turned his head to look at you, squeezed your bicep slightly. 

you let out a breath.

year five.

it was your first high school party that you managed to get into. it was loud, bright. strobe lights centered in the living room, stereos blasting with a mix of music too diverse to name a genre. drinks in the kitchen, snacks thrown messily on the floor by the second hour, and bedrooms filled up with horny teens.

you moved your way through the house — practically being shoved by the crowd and you finally found a free space, eyes darting around desperately for jaemin. parties really were efficacious in making newcomers never want to come back. a hand skimmed your arm and you jumped, looking up to find jeno.

“where’s jaem?” he questioned immediately, one hand in his pocket, the other one dropped to his side as he glanced up over the heads of people. jeno had shot up in height this year. not extremely noticeable, but he walked into school one day and suddenly stuck out more.

“where’s mark?” you responded, answering with your question.

jeno raised his hand again to point out the older, looking helpless, surrounded by a number of girls. “escaped,” jeno mumbled, shrugging.

you nodded in understanding. and scanned the crowd. your eyes met jaemin’s. 

and always, always comforting. warm. like the peace of a sunset. the knowledge that the day is over and you can rest. a reassurance only jaemin could offer, easement that made your entire being lighten. 

“hi petal,” he breathed, reaching you after awkwardly pushing through the stream of people. 

“hi jaem,” you responded, tightness fading.

“drinks are in the kitchen,” he hummed with a small smile, and you finally registered the slight glaze covering his gaze. not enough to shadow them, but there. you peeked around him to notice yuta looking your way. expectant as he exited the kitchen.

you couldn’t say you expected to get out of this party alcohol free but yuta always made your skin itch. and you couldn’t help but think that he had something to do with this.

you looked away once jaemin’s hand landed on your forearm. “everything okay?” he questioned. you instinctively nodded, staring at yuta a moment longer before someone blocked your line of vision. you swallowed thickly.

and someone ran into your side. haechan, who almost spilled the drinks he had on you. he managed to hold them upright, before shoving one into your hands, and the other to jeno.

“should i ask?” jeno questioned, holding up the red cup to his face, examining it cautiously. you could never trust anything with haechan. he went around telling everyone he had his first drink of alcohol at ten ( which in all honesty wasn’t hard to believe — true or not ).

“take it back,” you mumbled, half groaning after catching a whiff of it, holding it out to haechan. he grinned, pushing your hand back to your chest.

“trust me,” shaking his head, he mimed tilting your head back and taking a sip.

“you’re insane,” you deadpanned, but the drink left your hands when jaemin took it from you and immediately tried it despite your worried protests.

jaemin let out a quick breath as he lowered the drink, took a moment to think about it, before nodding in satisfaction. haechan smirked smugly. “i know my stuff,” he raised his chin upwards slightly, relishing in all the praise he wasn’t getting. he was probably complimenting himself in his head as usual.

“just a sip, petal,” jaemin hummed, urging the cup to you, and when you shook your head, he thankfully let it go and took another drink with a small shrug. he quickly got whisked away by haechan — assumably for more drink concoctions — and you turned your head to look at jeno who was still swirling around the liquid in the cup.

“something’s up with jaem,” you mumbled, crossing your arms loosely, watching the two boys go and try to save mark on their way to the kitchen.

“yeah,” jeno agreed hesitantly, tracing your gaze.

you bit the inside of your cheek, before reaching out and taking the drink in jeno’s hands, bringing it up to your lips and taking a sip — albeit tentatively — before you could talk yourself out of it. 

the male beside you made some sort of strained sound that sounded like: ‘wait’, but the liquid was already making its way through your system, and soothing the churning in your stomach ( at the cost of fog in your mind ).

you exhaled slowly through your nose, before confidently going out into the crowd. you weren’t sure what haechan had put into the drink, but you definitely were sure that it worked quickly, because in the next hour your worries had dissipated and your concerns had hidden.

your arms were up, carelessly feeling the music, mixed in the crowd of sweaty bodies and shitfaced teenagers. and then an arm snuck around your waist, pulling you against a chest. jaemin’s voice whispered in your ear. “hey petal.” he smelled of alcohol, but you’re sure you did too.

his breath hit your neck. goosebumps ran over your arms. you stiffened slightly. 

and then a kiss behind your ear. “you look like you’re having fun.” his voice was lower than usual. deepened with something you couldn’t name. intoxication, maybe.

“do i?” you responded, voice shakier than you had intended it to be, and your drink sloshed over the sides of the cup when jaemin shifted and pressed a soft kiss the crook of your neck.

he reached out and took it from your hand before you spilled it over yourself as he turned to put it on the nearest surface. “careful,” he hummed and spun you slightly so you were now facing him. tilting his head to admire you better, his focus flicked over your features. his eyes were still foggy. 

“you’re like a flower, petal. you keep getting prettier and prettier,” jaemin murmured, hooking a finger under your chin. he leaned closer, and your breath caught as his lips brushed yours before he pulled back abruptly, almost snapping back to reality. his lips parted, about to speak —

“cops!”

immediately the music and alcohol screeched to a stop, your thoughts caught up with your heartbeat, and everyone scattered. people running out the back door, escaping through windows, and you stood frozen in shock, seeing the familiar red and blue lights flashing from outside.

oh holy fuck you’re going to get arrested and have your permanent record stained. you’re going to become the shame of the family, and you didn’t even have your diploma yet. oh god you’re so permanently screwed.

and then you were being tugged outside, the cold air hitting your face as familiar laughter surrounded you. “keep up!” haechan spoke, interlocking his arm with yours and pulling you along into a run. air rushed around you as your feet hit the ground in an attempt to not stumble and fall. 

haechan finally slowed into a walk after what felt like forever, letting go of your arm. it took you a moment to register, but the whole group was there. laughing, exhilarated by the thrill of almost getting caught.

you found amusement filling you too, hysteric laughter overcoming, and moments later the five were on the ground, staring up at the stars, calming down.

somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if the cops would go out searching, but for now it couldn’t bother you to care.

“we need to promise —” haechan’s voice sounded, “— promise to stay together.”

a quiet sound of agreement rippled through. “love you guys,” haechan added, sitting up, and causing a chain reaction. you turned your head, eyes meeting jaemin’s. maybe it was the alcohol that hadn’t been shocked out of your system, but something in his eyes made you pause.

once again, however, red and blue lights ripped through the moment. and the group scrambled up, running again, stiffled laughter following.

jaemin’s hand found yours. making sure you kept up, making sure you were still by his side.

year six.

“hot—!” haechan yelped when he tried to reach out and touch the pot, currently on the stove.

that caused a round of laughter from the group. “it’s on the stove, hyuck, of course it would be,” mark chided. it was now summer weather. and for the past week, you swear the boys haven’t left your house; claiming you had the best air conditioning.

right now they were trying and currently failing in making a fine dining ramen, jeno peacefully chopping up vegetables as mark and haechan tried cooking the noodles without losing their hands.

you were sat on the counter, watching them for your own entertainment. they had begged jaemin for help ( the only sensible one they could trust with a gas stove ) but jaemin just shook his head, an amused smile twitching at his lips. 

he had escaped somewhere halfway through the process, and hadn’t come back since, but everyone was too focused on not making this a complete disaster.

“i think it’s going well?” mark spoke, peeking at the boiling noodles.

“is it?” jeno mused, not bothering to look up from the cutting board.

“yeah mark, is it?” haechan reiterated, hand resting on the counter as he looked at mark, eyebrow raised, as if accusing him of something.

“is it?” mark completed the cycle, asking himself the question as he met haechan’s gaze, letting out a laugh.

“careful,” jaemin spoke when he came back, making sure jeno didn’t cut too close to his finger. the older nodded slightly, and jaemin stepped closer to you, leaning against the counter, watching mark and haechan as they added the flavoring packets into the noodles.

somehow no one got burned, and the three — who worked hard on the food — claimed to need a break, and they hopped off to the living room to steal your tv for the next few hours.

their voices could be heard from the living room, jeno’s full bodied laugh that you’ve only heard a handful of times, and mark’s endless giggling. probably at haechan’s expense. you couldn’t help but laugh too, even if you didn’t know what they were laughing about.

“they’re idiots,” jaemin commented, glancing at the contents of the pot, letting out a satisfied hum of approval. 

“they got the jaemin acceptance?” you smiled.

“it looks edible enough,” he responded. his voice was an easy, lazy drawl. as if he’d spent the day working and couldn’t wait to just rest.

and maybe he was tired, with the way he stepped back over to you, taking the spot in between your legs, his arms wrapping around your torso as he leaned in, resting his head in the junction of your shoulder and neck.

the action barely surprised you, and your arms came to wrap around him as well, shifting to make him more comfortable. his breath panned over your neck, slow, steady.

“good?” you spoke up.

jaemin didn’t answer for a moment. but then he nodded. “good.” his lips brushing your skin with the syllable. and then another pause of nothing, until he pressed a small kiss to your neck.

“i love you, petal,” he murmured. the words so familiar, yet so different. there was a certain undertone to them, something quiet, unspoken, something you knew wouldn’t ever be said outloud purely because it didn’t need to be.

just as you were about to respond, he lifted his head, face far too close to yours. 

something in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat. “hi,” you whispered, taking satisfaction in the way a smile spread over his lips.

that stupid grin.

“hi,” he responded in a similar soft tone, shifting his hands so they rested at your waist, fingers tracing shapes onto your skin through your shirt.

you took this time. took this time to accept the butterflies in your stomach, the lump in your throat, to take in jaemin.

one of your hands traced up to his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eye, and his shoulders relaxed. you didn’t know when you had started inching closer. you didn’t know when your gaze flicked to his lips.

but you do know that he ducked his head at the last moment, letting out a soft hum. jaemin exhaled out something that resembled a laugh, before lifting his head again, meeting your gaze.

“we’re such idiots,” he huffed out, hands leaving your waist to hold your face in his hands. “i love you,” he reiterated, and his lips met yours.

it was soft, a feather brush of the lips. but there. intentional. and he pulled away just as quickly.

“i love you too jaem.” the words left your mouth before you could even think about them.

you swear he moved to lean in again. you swear something was behind his gaze before he shoved it away. something happy, excited. but the sudden disruption of mark echoed. 

“food is good, you guys have some yet?” mark questioned, walking into the kitchen before noticing the situation, and immediately covered his eyes, backing up. “didn’t see anything, didn’t ruin anything!” he yelped, only to bump into haechan, who therefore bumped into jeno, all three landing in an awkward pile. 

“what was happening??” haechan shoved mark off of him ( earning another yelp from the older ), sitting up to look into the kitchen, where jaemin had moved to stand beside you. 

both of you stifled a laugh when haechan let out a groan of disappointment.

“nothing was happening,” you spoke, leaning back on your hands, earning an unimpressed look from all three of the boys on the floor. “right jaem?” you glanced at the male at your side.

he stared at you for a moment too long. that excited spark fading slightly. “nothing,” he agreed with a small shrug.

“oh you have to be lying. i can smell the tension,” haechan spoke, pushing himself to his feet.

“ramen,” jeno spoke from his spot on the floor.

“what?”

“it’s the ramen. you didn’t turn off the stove.”

“what?”

year seven.

your worries lessened throughout the summer. jaemin hadn’t talked to yuta since that party — as far as you’re aware, and you really hoped you were right. 

junior year is where all the stress is; at least that’s what you’ve been told. figuring out where you want to go and balancing school with work. the two years earlier felt more stressful than this one, despite everyone complaining about the workload.

times had changed. haechan had spent most of last summer working, saving up for a car. he had gotten one, and despite the rusty look, he loved it.

the mornings had changed, from taking the bus to being picked up by haechan, squished in the backseat between jeno and jaemin. you had given up complaining about being in the middle.

mark had found a job at the local library, jeno was somehow surviving in the antique slash thrift store across the street from said library, and you and jaemin were still hunting for work.

hangouts at home changed to hangouts trailing after mark or jeno as they worked, rare moments between classes, and lunch. the world seemed destined to pull you all apart. and you were desperate to not let that happen. 

even so, it was peaceful; nice. no drama that you were involved in. no whispered rumors or mumbled gossip that could bother you. the library was quiet, the thrift store was comforting. jaemin was still jaemin as ever, haechan was still causing chaos whenever he could.

it was as if freshmen and sophomore year hadn’t happened. as if the weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you could finally breathe.

“get in quicker — mark ran late!” haechan exclaimed as you slid into the backseat, bumping into jeno on your way to the middle.

“it was you!” mark spoke, offended from the passenger seat. haechan didn’t respond, and sped off the moment your seatbelt clicked into place. you and jeno shared a small look, before you sat back, watching out the windshield as haechan drove to jaemin’s house.

jaemin was already out front, backpack slung over his shoulder and phone in hand as he sat on the porch steps. he quickly stood up when haechan yelled at him to get in, climbing in and swiftly buckling.

you glanced over at him, greeting on your tongue before it caught in your throat. “when did you do that?” jeno asked for the group, and jaemin grinned, threading a hand through his now silver dyed hair.

“yesterday,” he hummed innocently.

you felt something sick in your stomach. of course he could dye his hair, but he’d never mentioned it before. and not only did the color give yuta feels, he never did anything without consulting the groupchat first.

the group went quiet, before mark spoke up. “looks good, dude.”

that broke the tension. light chatter sparked as usual throughout the four boys, but you sunk down in your seat slightly, worry coursing through your body. 

arriving at school took another five minutes, but that had all of you rushing out of the car. the final bell rang in three. you glanced behind you to see jaemin meandering towards the doors, and you blinked, only to get pulled into the building by haechan before you could call to him.

there was something painstakingly off about him. something that had changed in that interval of a few hours where you don’t see him. but the moment you entered class, made eye contact with yuta in the back, you knew.

it was his senior year. his last chance to corrupt jaemin before he left. making your way to your seat after getting yelled at for pausing in the doorway, you couldn’t take your eyes off the older boy. he didn’t look away either. your eyes were narrowed, challenging, hiding the fact that you were scared.

scared for yourself. scared for jaemin.

scared of what he could do to jaemin.

your gaze snapped to the front when the lesson started. but you couldn’t get the thought out of your mind.

when lunch rolled around, you found the group at the normal table, and you took your normal seat next to jaemin. the one he always saved for you. normal. you wouldn’t deny that you dissociated for half the time, snapping out of it when jaemin nudged your shoulder with his, gifting you that stupid smile.

you reminded yourself to breathe. he hadn’t changed yet.

“why silver?” you questioned before the conversation could die off, reaching up to fix the strands of hair on his forehead. haechan spoke a small ‘get a room’ through a loud cough.

jaemin went quiet for a minute. too long. you were the one who told him to stay away from yuta in the first place. you knew he wouldn’t tell you. but at the same time he wouldn’t lie.

“a friend suggested it,” he finally said. too deliberate. too suspicious. and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“right.” was all you responded with. the space between you went taut as you pulled your hand away, and a guilty look he gave you when he thought you weren’t looking told you all you needed to know.

his hair stayed silver for weeks on end, and he even dragged you along to get it retouched every once in a while.

until he didn’t. 

the texts till midnight faded off to small ‘good nights’ at nine pm. his frantic notice of messaging you ‘EMERGENCY’ to get your attention changed to ‘petalllll’, patiently waiting for your response instead of spamming you. some might call it maturing, you called it concerning.

jaemin had always been bothersome in the most endearing way. and he never seemed to be at the risk of changing. which wasn’t particularly a bad thing, but it was too abrupt. too sudden for you to let it go easily. 

school was odd. he started pulling away then too. sitting across from you at lunch instead of being connected at the hip. his smile didn’t reach his eyes and the glint in his eyes looked too familiar. 

you found yourself at the library more often than not, craving for some nostalgia, hoping mark would be able to give that to you. granted, you just worriedly rambled, trailing along as he shelved books, but it was helping.

“somethings going on with him. the dyed hair, he takes hours to text back —” you sucked in a small breath. “i’m worried, mark,”

“i know you are,” mark responded, glancing at you. “but he’s probably just going through something. like that time jeno didn’t respond to us for weeks because his cat ran away.” the older shrugged.

you pressed your lips together. “but —”

“i know. it’s going to be fine,” mark interrupted you, offering you a pity smile.

and you swallowed, took a deep breath, nodded. trying to convince yourself using mark’s words. it’s going to be fine.

a hand came up to your shoulder, and you looked behind you to see jaemin. “hi petal,” he breathed, and immediately you knew something was wrong. you tensed, mark paused.

because the smell of cigarette smoke was infiltrating your senses.

“hi jaemin,” you spoke, voice weaker than you intended it to be. you cleared your throat.

the other let out a small hum of satisfaction as mark offered a greeting as well. jaemin tugged you closer, arm wrapped around your shoulders as usual. but it wasn’t the same, because you were tense. the one time jaemin’s presence hadn’t left you relaxed.

you weren’t calm, not even close to it. the cigarette smoke lingering on his clothes. that innocent grin. only smiling because he was high. he didn’t care if you knew or not, not now. and you’re scared that he won’t care even when it wears off. that he’ll stop caring, stop being jaemin.

apparently mark registered the look behind your eyes, because he reached out and tugged you over to him by your arm. jaemin’s face fell slightly, confusion crossing his gaze.

 “petal?” 

you looked up. jaemin’s eyebrows were furrowed, the start of a frown tainting his expression. mark squeezed your forearm. you drew strength from that. “yeah jaem,” you breathed.

he didn’t respond, watching you. the moment cracked when haechan came up from behind jaemin, practically jumping on him, the two almost falling over. all the apprehensiveness was suddenly gone from jaemin’s expression as he turned to haechan with a grin.

the smell of smoke was suddenly stronger. you could feel mark gripping your arm tighter.

it was almost suffocating, you felt your lungs constricting, and you wanted to pick up your feet and run as far away as you could. because not only was it jaemin, it was haechan too. forget being scared, you were terrified. like the world was crumbling underneath your feet. 

maybe it was dramatic, but you couldn’t feel any other way. not now. not when you could practically see them changing right before your eyes.

you couldn’t help but imagine a future where jaemin and haechan led jeno — mark as well — to follow them, leaving you completely, utterly, alone.

“i have to get home,” you spoke suddenly, and all the heads turned to you. “sorry,” you added, but the apology was mostly for mark, leaving him alone with them. you tugged your arm away before turning and practically running off.

year eight.

“petal!” echoed in the halls. you didn’t want to stop, but your feet seemed to pause anyway. jaemin always had that effect. 

“hey, it feels like you’re running away from me,” jaemin spoke after catching up, half out of breath from chasing after you. “i haven’t seen you in days.” he hummed.

“you saw me yesterday,” you reminded him, offering a small look his direction, trying to loosen the tension in your shoulders. at least the smoke smell wasn’t as distinct this time.

jaemin pursed his lips into a pouty frown. “i know, but we haven’t hung out.”

you didn’t respond, because you didn’t feel like lying and saying you had hung out recently. to be completely frank, you had been avoiding jaemin. purposefully reading his texts a few hours late, taking the wrong halls just to not bump into him. every time you saw him, that familiar sinking feeling settled into your stomach. suffocating.

“been busy then?” jaemin answered for you, peeking around to look at your face.

“job hunting,” you agreed shortly. it wasn’t a lie. you’d been job hunting for months. it seemed that no stores needed help anymore.

jaemin nodded. “the library?”

“tried already,” you shook your head.

“dream cafe.”

“apparently they hired five people last week,” you mumbled.

“really? but they’ve had that ‘hiring’ sign up for years,” jaemin reached up to fix his hair. still silver. “crazy timing,” he let out a small laugh, the kind that was forced, trying to ease the tension.

“yeah,” you agreed. jaemin’s eyebrows furrowed at your response, and he peeked at your face again.

“are you okay?” he asked, gaze flicking over your features. “you’re . . . acting off.”

“am i?” you mused; sarcastically if you looked close enough. 

jaemin hesitated. “yeah, petal.” he spoke quietly, almost weakly, as if he had finally gathered why you were so off. “i’ll see you later?” he offered after a silent moment, already backing up and giving you a wave.

you hated how stiff the conversation was. taut. awkward. stepping carefully as if to not set off a minefield. 

you supposed it was your fault.

jeno said the same thing after school. “granted, it’s also jaemin’s. he knows you don’t like what he’s doing,” the older added — probably just to make you feel better.

“you can’t be okay with this either, jeno,” you defended yourself, pressing your lips together.

he glanced at you, leaning against the counter slightly. it was a slow day, but you were sure jeno was fond of that. he never did like working the register. “i never said i was,” he finally said. too slowly for your taste.

tilting your head earned a small sigh from jeno. “i’m not okay with it.” words reverted, corrected, and you nodded in satisfaction. jeno rolled his eyes. “maybe you should focus on something else,” he mumbled. “maybe your grades? you only have one year left, you know,” he raised an eyebrow in your direction.

you made a face at him. “my grades are fine, thank you.”

jeno let out another sigh. “he’s going to be fine, okay? it’s jaem. he’s smart,” he tried again.

“mark said the same thing.” your gaze flicked to the side, uncertain. you couldn’t tell if it was genuine reassurance, or they just wanted you to get off their back.

jaemin never tended to follow the crowd — always one to diverge from the path, to push through foliage and leaves until he found the shortcut. so when he did end up in that crowd, it wasn’t hard to believe that he’d get lost. influenced by the wrong people, unaware of it happening.

which is what you wished was happening. you wished he was too naive, too gullible. but he wasn’t. jaemin knew exactly what he was doing.

that’s the worst part. he knows. and yet he still does it.

you knew he knew.

he knew you knew.

jeno’s customer service voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you glanced up from the counter, then down again, before doing a double take. hair dyed red, long, and somehow styled perfectly. sharp gaze, decorative chains and rings and necklaces.

yuta. 

you hadn’t seen him for a while. passing each other in school, maybe, but even then, you didn’t see him as much.

it was his last year. that was what you kept repeating to yourself. surely his effect wouldn’t last while he was gone. surely jaemin would go back to normal.

jeno offered you a side glance as he pressed a few buttons on the register, neatly folding the jacket that the older had picked out. you didn’t catch it, still unable to look away from yuta. and jeno offered a bag, turning away to grab it when he got a nod in response.

and finally, yuta met your gaze. eyes sharp, telling. if only you knew what story they were trying to thread. “thanks.” his voice was a slow drawl, hand coming up to collect the bag jeno offered. he didn’t look away from you.

“thank you for coming,” jeno spoke, in return, leaning on the counter, palms flat against the top. the smile yuta offered in return had you fighting back a shudder.

apparently yuta knew too.

knew that he won. that he got jaemin on his side.

if there were even sides to this. instead of just pathways. the walk of life. and yuta had pushed jaemin to the left fork in the road. you were still trying to drag jaemin back.

although . . . speak of the devil and he shall come. because there was the shimmer of silver hair — the one that almost sparkled in the sunlight. you knew because jaemin had shown you once, too adorably excited about it. especially when you offered the random glitter you had in your room at the time ( you were still finding glitter in your room ).

jaemin stepped up to yuta’s side, his expression falling immediately at the sight of you and jeno. like he hadn’t expected you to be there, like he hadn’t wanted you to be there.

you’re sure your expression fell too.

you couldn’t bother to pay attention to your features, instead stepping out and immediately grabbing jaemin’s wrist, pulling him away from the other two.

you’re also sure jeno shot a helpless look at the back of your head.

“jaem, i thought i told you he was bad for you.” you immediately hushed your voice down, despite the fact you had tugged jaemin away and yuta probably wasn’t bothering to listen.

it was a stark contrast to how indifferent you had acted before. you regretted it. you should’ve had this conversation earlier. 

the sad thing is, you did. you swear you’ve had this conversion with jaemin hundreds of times ( most of which were probably in your head ), and yet he was still here. still doing it.

“he’s not, petal. i swear.” jaemin always had this tick when lying. he’d press his lips together into a thin line. 

and you hated how you knew that, because why wouldn’t you? why wouldn’t you know jaemin’s every give away, his every microexpression? you were his best friend.

the utter thought of that pained you. you were his best friend. you thought you were his best friend but — 

well, you didn’t know if he thought that anymore.

“jaemin,” you almost pleaded. you weren’t sure if you were pleading for him to stop, for him to come back to you, or both.

he swallowed. glanced back at yuta, and then to you. “i’m sorry,” jaemin mumbled, hand coming up to scratch his cheek nervously.

“jaemin.” you probably sounded too desperate.

he glanced at yuta once more, pausing before his eyes flicked to meet yours. “what, petal?” he finally spoke after a suffocating silence. “i’m sorry.” something in his gaze had changed. something hardened, something that had your stomach settling uneasily. “people grow apart, they stop talking — what excuse do you want? move on,” and your name slipped past his lips.

jaemin had this talent of stealing your breath away. but he was the one that always reminded you to breathe afterwards, albeit this time he didn’t seem to want to give it back.

you had described suffocating before, but this was drowning. and the sea was winning.

it was jaemin collecting every soft kiss on the cheek, every three am text thread, every smile and tease ever interchanged, and using them as the kindling of the fire desperately trying to keep him warm.

but then a spark.

maybe you were just grasping at threads. non-existent threads.

but his lips pressed together. one, thin line.

year nine.

jaemin had been the only thing on your mind recently. granted, he was always there, but he was never so distinct. it was like he had consumed you. cracked every part of you inch by inch until you were painfully, excruciatingly —

“calm down,” a loud voice spoke, too close to your ear. and you jumped slightly, leaning away from the sound. “you think too much,” chenle mumbled.

“i have a headache,” you groaned.

summer was spent connecting. for some reason, somehow. it wasn’t even your plan ( your summer plans consisted of hiding from the sun and crying in your room ), but you got roped into it. and you needed company. mark was busy, haechan was who knows where ( granted you’ve been slightly avoiding him too ), jeno tried his best but he’d been on vacation all summer. and jaemin —

“you poor thing,” renjun hummed, patting your back, albeit the action felt condescending.

renjun actually wasn’t really one of yuta’s posse members, not like you had originally thought. he just tagged along once, got roped up into their antics, and then left as soon as it went too far.

the sun was out, the clouds were fluffy, the sky a shade of blue that felt too pretty for human eyes. and school started tomorrow. you’d barely seen jaemin all summer. texting him was a rarity — him responding was even rarer. now you’d have to face him tomorrow. because for all you knew, haechan was the easiest way to get to school.

renjun doesn’t have a car, chenle hasn’t bothered to learn how to drive yet. you’d just have to hope and pray that they hadn’t forgotten about you.

“when’s jisung getting hereee, it’s hottt,” chenle complained, dragging out the syllables for added effect, shifting on his spot on the picnic table as he pulled out his phone, checking the group chat for any updates.

“it’s been five minutes, le,” you mumbled, also pulling out your phone to check. 

“five minutes too late,” the younger responded, pursing his lips into a pout as he started typing out a message to assumably yell at jisung.

renjun shared a look with you, one of pure exasperation, and you smiled. jisung and chenle were underclassmen. you had bumped into the group randomly on one of your pity walks — the ones where you haul yourself outside so you can say you hadn’t rotted in bed all summer — and for some reason they sparked a conversation. 

chenle had recognized you, jisung didn’t know who you were. renjun offered an awkward start.

so here you were now, at the end of summer after hanging out with the friends you didn’t know your entire life. and you missed mark. you knew he’d laugh too loudly at chenle’s jokes, haechan would love messing with renjun, jeno would be jeno, and jaemin . . . he’d fit in too well and it hurt. 

it hurt because you missed him. painfully so. everything hurt. 

“i just got here. stop being so melancholy,” jisung mumbled as he sank into the seat next to you, nudging your arm with his to snap you out of your thoughts again. “this jaemin is a jerk, i don’t know why you’re sad about him.” he shook his head slightly.

you knew their opinions of jaemin. the topic had slipped out one time when they asked where your other friends were. it was a messy evening of disgusted and offended expressions, chenle’s loud dolphin screech when defending you, and jisung’s small mumbles of how you shouldn’t feel bad. renjun already knew most of it anyway.

“because —”

“you were friends for your entire life,” chenle interrupted, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “we know. but friends grow apart, just how life works.”

you went quiet, fidgeting with your hands, and the silence followed you, until it was broken by a small yelp of pain from chenle who sent renjun a sharp glare.

“i mean—sorry?” chenle turned back to you with a shrug. 

a hand found yours, and you glanced to the side to see jisung offering you a small smile. he squeezed your hand. you couldn’t help but offer a smile in return. 

jisung was a comfort you had found in the passing days. 

sure, chenle and renjun were good friends, but jisung was soft. quiet, and peaceful in the way that it settled your antsyness. he was like jaemin — what jaemin was to you before.

you tried desperately not to think of jisung as a replacement.

“come on guys, we’re already late,” jisung spoke up, distracting chenle effectively, and the male stood up from the picnic bench, pushing himself up, palms flat against the wood.

“jisung’s right, let’s go,” he hummed, shifting and happily hopping off, not looking back to see if you three were following.

you huffed out a small laugh, before moving and pulling jisung along with you, glancing to make sure renjun got up too.

the world seemed to want to match your mood that morning. the blue from yesterday had faded to a gloom, a grey cloud cover holding the sun back from shining. you were sat on your porch, staring at your text thread with haechan. ‘hey can you still pick me up?’ from you, highlighted by that familiar blue, and the words ‘read, 6:54 am’ right under them. 

no response, not even one of those thumbs up reactions. though you knew avoiding haechan all summer wouldn’t help with that.

it was seven thirty. routine was him showing up at seven ten. you clicked off your phone, letting out a small sigh, standing up. the school wasn’t that far. just enough walking distance to be annoying, but not painful.

your name was called, and you immediately looked up, finding the familiar action of haechan gesturing for you to get in, his car in front of the sidewalk, mark in the passenger seat as usual. 

you stepped over, climbing into the backseat, letting out a quiet, relieved breath to yourself. “where’s jeno?” you questioned, buckling as haechan started driving.

“he got a car apparently,” haechan answered, giving you an eye roll through the rearview mirror, “his parents and grandparents helped pay for it.”

“we get it, you worked hard for yours,” mark spoke, exasperated like he had heard this story before — he probably had — but a grin was on his face.

“why does he get his for free??” haechan whined.

“anyway, he’s picking up jaem, so you have the backseat to yourself,” mark ignored haechan’s pitchy complaints as he turned slightly to look at you.

“oh,” you said, a mix of relief that you wouldn’t have to be squished in between them anymore, but then came the dread. you had prepared yourself all morning to face jaemin, and now you had to wait an extra ten minutes. “thank god,” you added after a silent moment to avoid getting a pity look from mark.

the older stared at you for a moment, before turning back to sit right in his seat. and you slouched slightly, half listening to haechan’s continued envious complaints about jeno’s car.

you watched mark and haechan interact, feeling a slight relief that haechan didn’t question your sudden disappearance from his life. mark had told you a few months ago that haechan had immediately quit smoking after that moment anyway.

you turned to look out the window, attempting to prepare yourself.

when the familiar sight of the school building faded into view, you forced out a breath. haechan practically dragged you out of his car after he parked, and you listened in as he told you about his eventful summer.

part of you wanted to go find jaemin. the other wanted to run to your first period and start planning out all your routes of avoiding him while also not being a complete loner. you’d have to text chenle for his schedule. he probably knew renjun’s and jisung’s already too.

the second part of you won out, and you waved mark and haechan a goodbye, slipping out of the latter’s grip to head to your first period.

you wished it could’ve been a normal first day like usual. where you and jaemin somehow immediately find each other — where you practically always have the same schedule, and walked to class together. always.

a third part of you wished that your schedules were the same.

and a fourth wished they were different.

taking a seat near the middle of the classroom, you glanced at the board, before sliding down in your seat slightly, letting out the nth deep-sigh-of-resignation breath today.

the bell rang five minutes later. no jaemin. you didn’t know whether you wanted to let out a cheer or a disappointed cry. when the teacher walked in, the joyful first day activities began. you were trying to listen as they rambled about grade percentages, icebreakers, and themselves, but all your attention was stolen when the door opened. 

jaemin walked into the room like a ghost from your past. but he didn’t look the same. the jaemin you remembered had fire in his gaze. warmth, comfort. this one had ice. cold, dark indifference.

his hair was dyed a dark blue. dark enough that it could pass as black. his natural hair color. you wondered if that was on purpose, but you knew that nothing in his life was about you anymore.

you looked up to meet his eyes as he surveyed the room. brown, hardened by the act of threat, but they didn’t soften this time. he barely even looked at you, flicking away to look over your head for an empty seat. and he maneuvered through, brushing past you.

ignoring the way your heart sunk to your stomach was a task. but you don’t know what you were hoping for.

the summer of silence had said enough.

though the whispers that followed him were new. 

not that jaemin hadn’t gotten a multitude of rumors with his name before, but these were tense. words of how he’d stolen from convenience stores, how he had just picked something up and walked out with it.

there were mentions of drugs, alcohol, sex.

the third part of you knew they weren’t true, at least not all of them. though rumors came from a sprinkle of truth. 

“na jaemin,” the teacher spoke the moment jaemin sat down. apparently he’d made enough of a name of himself for the teachers to already know him. “please refrain from being late and interrupting class, won’t you?”

jaemin didn’t answer, slouching in his seat slightly, turning his head to look out the window. and the whispers started up again.

the moment the bell rung, you stood up to go find chenle, hating the way you almost fell over to keep from bumping into jaemin. he spared you something that barely resembled a glance, but you didn’t stick around.

blood was pounding in your ears and you felt so stupid for being on the brink of tears.

“hey —” a familiar voice caught up with you, and you were so painfully thankful to hear it.

“hi jeno,” you responded, but at that point you were already pulling him into a hug, hiding your face in his chest. your voice was barely audible, muffled against his clothing.

“hey,” jeno replied, with the same word, though softer this time, like he already knew what was going on inside your head. and his arms wrapped around your middle.

you stayed like that, in the middle of the hall, surely being the biggest annoyance to other people, until jeno let go and pulled you over to the side, ducking his head down slightly to meet your eyes. “you okay?” he questioned, worry creasing his features.

“she’s fine.” chenle’s voice came from out of nowhere, and you looked to your side to see the male staring jeno down like he had personally offended him.

you blinked, forcing your tears away as you let out a small laugh. “it’s fine lele,” you mumbled, removing yourself from jeno’s arms when you felt the pressure of jisung’s stare after he had come up from behind chenle. “this is jeno.”

chenle’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape, and his hardened expression immediately cracked. “wasn’t sure — better safe than sorry!” he chirped, offering a smile to jeno, who merely blinked in return.

“you already saw him?” jisung spoke, keeping his voice quiet like someone would be listening in. his hand came up to yours, interlacing your fingers.

you nodded, swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over again. you didn’t think it would’ve been that hard.

jisung squeezed your hand. and you forced your eyes up from where they had fallen to the floor, noting the way jeno’s eyes seemed to be trained on your hands. 

“so where’s your next class?” chenle interjected, moving to distract you, shoulder bumping against yours as he led you on to start walking again. you didn’t let go of jisung’s hand, ultimately leading him along as well.

jeno took the spot next to chenle.

your mind flashed to a vague remembrance of your schedule. you shrugged, earning an eye roll from chenle as he proceeded to drag you to his next class instead.

year ten.

you’re not sure you could get any lower. 

you’re pretty sure your heart shatters over again every time you see jaemin. you wonder if you could sue the school for giving you and jaemin the same schedule — but last year you would’ve been cheering, jumping up and down with jaemin.

he’s changed his hair at least three times throughout the school year. from dark blue to blond, to light brown, and currently settled at a light pink.

his favorite color; if it was still his favorite color. or maybe he had changed that too.

‘come by the library?’ was the first notification you got after school, mark’s contact name popping up on your screen, and you shoved your phone back into your pocket, turning on your heel to head in the direction of the library.

you pushed the door open once you got there, relishing in the peaceful quiet of the place. you wondered why you didn’t go to the library as often — it was a nice break from everything. 

a quiet call of your name snapped you back to reality, and you turned to see mark gesturing you over, a cart of books at his side. 

“hey,” he hummed, and his tone of voice had you pausing slightly.

“hey,” you reiterated his greeting, although yours was slower, more cautious.

“jaemin texted me,” mark spoke, reiterating your tone this time, meeting your gaze, hand pausing halfway up to the shelf before he shoved it where it was supposed to go.

you bit your tongue. “oh.” you tried your best to keep your tone neutral, flat, even. it’d been too long for it to still have an effect on you ( that’s what you told yourself ).

mark continued. “he asked about you.”

“oh.”

that earned you a stare from mark, to which you responded with a stare back, and mark unlocked his phone to hand it to you.

you tapped to messages, jaemin’s contact, then scrolled up a bit until you saw ‘petal’. and you paused, starting your downwards scroll, scanning the messages.

‘petal hates me right’ was the first thing that really caught your eye, and your movement stalled, swallowing slightly.

you didn’t. you really didn’t hate him, no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how much chenle, jisung and renjun thought you should.

the way your heart stuttered every time you saw him was traitorous. in nerves, embarrassment, anything else — you couldn’t answer.

“you okay?” mark questioned, noting the look in your eyes. he reached out and took the phone from you, keeping you from seeing anything else. the way his finger twitched let you know that he regretted showing you.

“fine,” you mumbled.

mark let out a small breath, slow, knowing. 

“i’m going to head home.” the words left your mouth shortly. 

“stay safe,” mark spoke softly.

something bad was going to happen. you knew it the moment jaemin’s contact popped up on your notifications. the dread had started since you had read the text. and the uneasiness had settled in your stomach when you had typed back without thinking.

min  11:42 pm     can we talk?

you  11:49 pm     yeah

min  11:49 pm     okay

min  11:50 pm     i’m coming over

coming over. 

face to face. 

to talk.

you didn’t even know why you had agreed. your fingers had moved before you had even thought of a response. maybe it was years of practice. jaemin whining at you when you took too long to respond, that you had fell into this habit of responding in at least the next minute.

if that was even a thing.

you spent the ten minutes it took to get from his house to yours sitting on the couch, practically rocking back and forth, wondering why it took fifteen minutes instead.

until jeno’s car pulled into the driveway, and you were at the door even before jaemin knocked.

he did. the sound echoing through the room like some sort of impending doom. your hand grasped the doorknob, turned it, pulled. 

and there he was. jaemin — your jaemin. the one who had that everlasting sparkle in his eyes, the one who giggled at everything cute and snatched up everything even remotely pink.

“your hair’s pink,” you blurted out, despite already knowing this information.

jaemin’s gaze flicked up, as if seeing the color for the first time. he shrugged. “yeah.”

you swallowed before stepping aside, letting him in. the silence was long, painfully so. neither of you spoke. the only echo being the click when you closed the door.

your eyes traced his features like you hadn’t seen him in years. and it felt like it. that you haven’t seen your jaemin since yuta entered the picture. his eyes were soft, not the cold exterior you saw in school, but almost back to that soft brown. warm. guilt ridden.

“i’m sorry petal,” he finally broke the silence, saying the words you’d been thinking of for the past year. “i’m so fuck — i’m so sorry,” he whispered. not the strain where he was forcing them out, but the strain where the words had been wearing at his vocal cords for months, where the pressure of them had been pushing on his thoughts, where it caused an endless headache if he didn’t get them out, if he didn’t mean them.

you didn’t respond. couldn’t; not when relief flooded your eyes, not when it felt like your throat was closing up. you didn’t think you’d get him back, not your jaemin.

but now here he was, standing in front of you, shoulders shrinking into himself the longer you stayed quiet.

“jaem.” his name was an exhale, one that urged him to look up.

your eyes met. staring, unwilling to look away. and something clicked.

you weren’t sure what — maybe your friendship, maybe a silent agreement, maybe, maybe, both of you looking at each other, and finally realizing everything. the small, tiny details. the ones neither of you had talked about in months.

you found yourself crashing into jaemin’s arms, which wrapped around you. securely; the reassurance only he could offer, relaxation that made your entire being lighten.

a small laugh fell from his lips — though someone could say it sounded more like the start of a sob.

you don’t think you’ve ever felt so relieved in your life, not because jaemin was crying, but because now you knew you weren’t losing him, you hadn’t lost him.

“i love you, petal — i can’t — i can’t just apologize for doing — leaving you —” jaemin stumbled over his words, slightly muffled by the way he spoke them into your shoulder. his grip tightened, obviously straining.

“i love you too jaem,” you whispered back, and the words weren’t romantic, they didn’t need to be. because you both did love each other — too much for it to be expressed in a three word sentence, far too much for it to be ruined by vacuous stares.

he pulled away slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, a wisp of space between you two. you could see the slight glimmer in his eyes. the threat of tears. 

something in you stitched itself back together again. your hands traced up to cup his face, thumbing under his cheek as if catching the tears that hadn’t fallen yet. 

he started leaning in before you did. and the moment your lips met his felt like you’d gone home. it was years, years, of shared looks, sinking hearts, and smiles that were only there for each other.

jaemin’s hands came up to rest on your wrists, holding your hands in place, keeping you steady, centered, grounded. when he pulled away his eyes met yours again. his lips parted to speak, only for a small ding to interrupt the conversation.

the two of you let out a small laugh, and your hands dropped from his face. “you should check that,” you whispered, not wanting to risk breaking the moment by being too loud. “it’s late, might be your mom.”

jaemin nodded, heart sinking at the loss of your touch, before he pulled out his phone, earning the sight of a notification from jeno that read: ‘dude where did you even go’

another one popped up: ‘can you ask before stealing my car at midnight’

then a third one: ‘come back before my mom notices 💔’

jaemin huffed out another soft laugh, “i have to go,” he hummed, texting jeno back before sliding his phone away. “i’ll see you tomorrow? and we can talk? fully?” hope lingered in his eyes.

your smile was something jaemin couldn’t help but lean in to kiss again. a small noise of surprise slipped from your throat, eliciting another peck from him ( cuteness aggression ).

“jaem — jaem —” you giggled, reaching to hold his face in your hands again, keeping him from leaning in a third time. “you have to go,” you reminded him.

“right,” he whispered, not moving.

you let out a small hum, and another notification from his phone got him to straighten up slightly.

“okay,” jaemin mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “tomorrow,” he promised. and you nodded, watching him step back and bump into the door before opening it and slipping out with a small wave.

you glanced at the window, watching jeno’s car pull out of the driveway. and you let out a soft breath, relief surging through you for the nth time. god you loved him.

the multitude of jokes should’ve prepared jaemin for this — his life flashing before his eyes. and of course, the first thing was you.

when he was eight years old he had made the best decision of his life. speaking up and saving you from the jerks who thought you were anything but pretty. you had caught his eye on the first day of school, and he’d went home that day asking his mom about love.

when he was thirteen he knew it was you. maybe not romantically, but he knew you were his soulmate. the moment pink stained your cheeks and the nickname petal first slipped from his lips. it fit you painfully well. pretty, pure, soft.

and when he was fourteen he now realized he made you a promise he couldn’t keep. because you didn’t have any more time — not with him anymore. he wished you did.

jaemin knew you were lying. fifteen years old, seven years of friendship and he knew you like the back of his hand. how couldn’t he, with the way his eyes barely fell from you. but he had brushed it off, pushed it aside without talking about it. he should’ve asked.

sophomore year and he regretted everything — especially pulling away. especially not just leaning in and finally . . something could’ve started so much earlier, instead of the years of pinning, of knowing glances yet nothing happening.

seventeen left him dazed and confused, heavy with rejection. he couldn’t tell you how long he stayed up after that, how long he felt your lips lingering against his, your confession echoing in his head and yet he still didn’t address it. neither did you.

the silver hair he adorned for junior year, and mark joked that it had seeped into his head. maybe it had — maybe he could blame everything he’d done on hair dye poison. maybe he could rewind time and promise you it wasn’t your fault.

and maybe he should’ve told you that he had lied. that every single word of his in that fight wasn’t true, that he hadn’t changed, that he hadn’t grown apart.

yet all he left you with was a lingering kiss and a promise that he’d be back.

but he wouldn’t be coming back. 

not with the screeching tires in his ears, the loud honking, and the headlights of a car at his side.

god, he loved you. of course you would be the last thought on his mind.

you woke up to your phone buzzing on your night stand. groggy, tired, and half expecting it to be jaemin, you picked up without glancing at the caller id — jeno’s voice filling your ear.

“hey —” choked, tearful.

“jen?” you responded, panic surging through your voice. “hey, what’s —?”

“jaem. it’s jaem.” whispered. “fuck, y/n —”

“jeno, what’s happening,” you whispered back, heart racing, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

James has you pressed against the wall before you can breathe, his body hot and solid against yours like he’s been dying to get his hands on you.

He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion. Muscles flexing, stomach tightening and the second he catches the way your eyes linger, his mouth curls into a dirty, knowing smirk.

“Yeah?”

His voice drops, low and cocky.

“You like that don’t you?”

Your thighs clench without permission. You nod, helpless. He slides a hand down your waist, fingers dipping under your waistband, brushing heat, barely there, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he laughs softly, lips dragging along your jaw. “Look at you—so pretty.”

His thumb presses against your clothed pussy, firm enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You gasp, a quiet, desperate sound, and he eats it from your mouth as he kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he owns the right. Your back hits the wall again.

His hips grind into you, slow and deliberate, the thick shape of his cock rubbing exactly against the spot that makes your knees buckle.

“Thought you’d break for me this easy,” he mutters against your mouth. His fingers slip lower “Let me hear it.”

“J-James.. I-“

You jolt so hard the pen flies out of your hand.

You’re instantly pulled back from your fantasy—heat to ice water in a heartbeat.

“Y/n?” your dad calls, voice muffled through your bedroom door. “Dinner will be ready in ten. Your sister will set the table today.”

You slap your palm over the letter like you’re hiding a crime scene. “I—I’ll be down in a sec!”

Your voice cracks. Horribly. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Yeah! Just—uh—finishing something!”

Footsteps retreat down the hallway. Silence drops. Then the fright hits you. You stare down at the paper. At the graphic, thirsty disaster you apparently wrote while possessed by a sex demon.

“Oh my fucking god.” You grab the paper in both hands, crumpling it so fast it practically crunches like aluminum foil.

“What is wrong with you, Y/n?” You fling the balled-up letter toward the overflowing trash can. It bounces off the rim and lands on the floor like it’s mocking you. Of course it misses. Even your garbage has better aim than your life. A waste of paper and your time. You bury your face in your hands and groan into your palms.

“He doesn’t even know you exist,” you mutter, pacing once, twice, like that might shake the embarrassment off. “How stupid do you have to be writing porn about James!”

James, the school’s most popular student who also happens to be in the soccer team. James who probably doesn’t know you exist and has a girlfriend. Or situationship. Or whatever the hell Amy counts as.

You drop back into your desk chair, heart still racing from the stupid fantasy. A mixture between wetness and heat still clings to your skin in places you wish it didn’t.

“This is insane,” you whisper to the ceiling. “Actually insane.”

You grab another sheet of paper, intending to write something normal. Something sane. Something not involving walls and grinding and his stupid smirk.

The page stays blank. Your hand trembles slightly. You shove it away and stand up.

“Dinner,” you tell yourself. “Food. Air. Brain reset. No… horny… writing.”

You take one step toward the door. Then stop. Then glance at the trash pile, the paper mountain you swore you’d never let anyone see.

One of them shifts from the movement of your fan. A small, sinking feeling hits your stomach. You really need to get a better trash can. Or maybe a shredder—no! Therapy. But first: dinner.

You yank open your bedroom door before you can psych yourself out again. And somewhere in the back of your head—the part you hate the most—James’s voice from your imagination lingers like smoke: Yeah? You like that?

You swallow hard.

“Shut UP,” you whisper to absolutely no one. You go downstairs anyway.

You drift down the stairs the minute the kitchen smells like something worth living for again. Your sister Annie is figuring out how her new phone works that she got for her thirteenth birthday recently. Your dad has his elbows on the counter, the kind of casual that says he’s trying to be chill but actually means business.

“You okay?” he asks between ladles of sauce. He always asks when you look a little too quiet. 

You shrug and grab a roll. “Yeah. Fine. Hungry.”

He’s stirring the pot and watching you like someone trying to read the news in a window reflection. “You’re eighteen, Y/n. That means you should try opening up to people a little. Join a club, meet someone new. Don’t close yourself off to the same circle forever.”

You give him the eyebrow. “You mean Bella?”

“Bella’s great,” he says, tone is deliberately even. “But reliable isn’t everything. You have this… tendency to tuck yourself away. Try something that rattles you.”

“Bella is the most reliable person one could ever know,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. Suddenly, the words slide into the hollow place where your thoughts live and rattles something loose. Open up. Rattle. Shake. It’s stupid, obvious, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, it feels like the exact sentence you needed to hear.Before your dad can say anything else, you quickly get up from your seat.

“Honey- where’re you going?!” Your dad asks, your sister’s gaze following his. You don’t answer him. There’s no time for that. Sitting at your desk with your lamp low, you carefully grab another slip of paper.. You’ve always been the type to catalogue everything. Feelings, small humiliations, the way your chest tightens when you see James in the hallway, into the soft, safe pages of your diary. But you ran out of pages two days ago. You didn’t throw the journal away; you just taped the spine and pretended that was a solution. Now the spine is a Band-Aid and your life is still leaking.

So you do something slightly insane. You write a letter. A letter to James that you’re obviously not going to send. But you’re not going to send it—fuck no. You might be crazy but not to that extent. Instead, this letter will just fulfill your delusions, knowing you’re too much of a pussy to actually go talk to him. 

Plus, James as Amy. A girl that’s ten times prettier than you. Even if the letter was sent, it wouldn’t do anything but humiliate her. You sit down and you write like the instruction are pressed into your ribs. 

Dear James,

I don’t know what kind of courage is even required to put this into paper and not just into the soft pulp of my diary where it will sit forever and never hurt anyone but me. I’m out of pages. I like to pretend that’s why this is happening, but really it’s because your face keeps crowding the edges of the life I think I should lead and I am tired of pretending nothing has changed.

I’m writing this because my dad said something tonight about opening up, and for once his advice didn’t annoy me. It lit the part of my chest that likes to tell the truth. Usually, I tell myself the truth in tiny, private scribbles. I tuck things away in notebooks and call it safety. But safe is starting to feel smaller than the way my thoughts about you try to grow.

So here it is: I like you. Not the kind of like that’s polite and fits into a yearbook quote. The kind of like that rearranges the soundtrack in my head and makes dumb songs sound like they were written for mornings when you’re still asleep beside me. I like the way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the field. I like the way your that little pout you make when you miss your shot during your soccer practice. I like the scar on your thumb. I notice the ways you look at nothing and I wonder if you’re keeping a private joke with yourself.

I don’t expect anything. I’m not asking you to change your life, and I’m not asking you to break anything open to fit me inside. I’m just telling you the shape of my heart as honestly as I can. If you look back and you don’t feel anything close, that’s okay. I’ll make more pages. I’ll close my hands around the feeling and let it be pretty and lonely and mine.

If by some impossibility you feel even a fraction of this, if you ever want to talk in the quiet and not for show, I’d like that. If you want to laugh and make terrible jokes and steal fries off my plate, I’d like that too. If you want to touch me and find out how the rest of me holds together like how you do with Amy—well. I want that too, but more than anything I want you to be honest with me the way I’m trying to be honest with you now.

— Y/n

You read it back and feel twelve whole things at once — proud, mortified, relieved, as well as questioning your life decisions. You fold it carefully like it it’s an explosive and slide it into an envelope. You address it with your own hand: Zhao Yufan, his legal name. Under his name, you scribble the address you only learned after realizing he lives six houses down. You seal the flap, press it flat like a bandage, and set the envelope on your nightstand.

You think about putting it in the diary, or a secret drawer, or burning it in the tiny metal box you use to store old receipts, but something about the whole open up thing makes you stubborn. This one you want to feel like it could be sent. So you tuck it under a small stack of textbooks on the nightstand, slide a pen across it like you’re filing it into safety, and tell yourself you’ll shower, you’ll calm down, you’ll decide tomorrow whether you actually post it or not.

You strip and step into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin in a rhythm that slows the part of you that wants to panic. Steam climbs the glass and you lean your forehead against the wall and breathe. You imagine the envelope still on the nightstand where you left it, protected by the textbooks like a little fort.

You shampoo and rinse and think of nothing and everything and finally step out, towel-wrapped and lightheaded. You cross your room, expecting the envelope to be exactly where you left it. But you don’t see it.

You assume you put it somewhere else—under a different stack, in a drawer you forgot about, safe. That makes you breathe easier. You make a mental note to check after you put your hair up. Only thing is you don’t get the chance. As soon as you lay down on your bed, you’re fast asleep.

—

Morning punches you in the face the moment your alarm shrieks. You bolt upright with that weird post-shower fog still clinging to your brain, and then the memory hits you like a shovel: The letter.

“Shit—” You stumble out of bed, hair a disaster, sleep shirt twisted around your waist as you lunge toward the nightstand.

Textbooks: check. Pen you left on top: check. Envelope? Not check. You flip the books. Nothing. Just kill me.

You yank open the drawer. Receipts, scrunchies, a rogue stick of gum. Oh—there’s your favourite lip gloss you lost in eighth grade. No envelope.

You drop to your knees and check under the bed like the letter might be hiding out of spite. Nada. 

“Okay, no. No no no—” Your voice rises, scrapes, breaks. You tear through your desk. Under the lamp. Behind your laptop. In your laundry basket like you’re truly losing it.

It’s gone.

You freeze so hard your breath forgets what it’s supposed to be doing. For a full five seconds you just stand there, staring at the nightstand like it personally betrayed you.

“Y/N! You’re gonna make Annie late!” your dad yells from downstairs.

Jesus Christ. Of course the universe picks today to make you a missing-letter fugitive.

You slap on makeup with the precision of a maniac, yank on loose jeans, absolutely forget deodorant, and sprint out the door with Annie trailing behind you.

She’s eating a Pop-Tart like nothing is wrong in the world. “Can you walk faster?” you hiss.

“You woke me up late,” she mumbles around strawberry filling. “This is your fault.”

She’s not wrong, and it only makes you want to scream into a pillow. “Actually, you could have set an alarm on your phone,” you say defend yourself. “What’s the point of having a phone if you can’t put it to use?” Annie rolls her eyes. The whole walk to her school, your brain is doing a full Olympic-level panic routine.

You drop Annie off—barely hearing her bye—and then you’re speed-walking toward your school like your life depends on it. Which, honestly? It kind of does.

Inside the hallway, it’s the usual teenage circus. Lockers slamming. People laughing too loud. Someone aggressively spraying Axe body spray like they’re trying to fumigate the building.

And then, you see him. James. He’s leaning against his locker, talking to Jihoon and some really tall guy, hair falling over his forehead in that stupidly soft way that makes your chest squeeze. He wipes his bangs aside with his knuckles and you swear your soul leaves your body like you’re some Victorian child witnessing the beauty of art for the first time. 

Your feet keep walking but your eyes stay glued to him as you’re now walking backwards somehow—hey, is it just you or did he bleach his hair blondish orange?

“Ouch! Watch where you’re going.”

Your shoulder ricochets off a wall of person, and a sharp, irritated gasp snaps you back to reality. “Hi Amy.”

Believe it or not, you and Amy were best of friends back in middle school until popularity took over her. Her brown wavy hair is perfectly glossy. Her skin is so flawless it looks like someone airbrushed her in real time. She’s applying a swipe of lip gloss with one hand and glaring at you like you just stepped on her dog with the other.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she snaps, pursing her lips as she caps the gloss. “Some of us actually care about how we look in the morning.”

Heat floods your cheeks, crawling up your neck. You mutter, “Sorry,” but it comes out thin and squeaky—humiliating.

Her eyes flick over you, slow and critical, before she glances past your shoulder toward James—her whole expression softening instantly, like flipping a switch.

You try your hardest not to look. It would be very embarrassing to do so. But you do.

James is watching. Not glaring. Not smirking. Just watching with that unreadable, calm expression he always gets when he’s trying to figure something out. His friends are waving their hands in front of his face to catch his attention. 

Your stomach drops to your toes. Because for one terrible, dizzy moment, you wonder if that letter got somewhere it shouldn’t. You swallow tightly.

This day is already hell. And it’s only 8:07 AM. 

You don’t even get three steps down the hall before Bella materializes beside you like she teleported straight out of loyalty. Her ponytail bounces while her iced latte sloshes, eyebrows already raised. “I saw that, by the way,” she says.

You groan into your hands. “Please. Please, Bella. Don’t.” Bella wiggles her brows. “You full-on stared at him like he was Michelangelo’s David, and then you—what was that? Moonwalked into Amy?”

“Let’s. Not. Talk about it.” You want to crawl inside your hoodie and never come out. Bella laughs so hard she snorts. “Okay, fine. But holy crap, you’re lucky she didn’t claw your face off.”

You don’t tell her about the letter. God, no. Bella is your ride-or-die, but even she doesn’t deserve to carry that radioactive emotional grenade.

The day crawls by at the pace of a wounded snail. Class, class, pretend to take notes, class. After school, you follow your usual routine: cut through the side field, slip past the bleachers, and make your quiet little trail toward the soccer field.

It’s stupid. SO stupid. But watching the practices has always been… calming? Or maybe masochistic. Hard to tell. They’re already running drills. Cleats thudding. Shouts carrying. 

And there he is, James, wearing the neon-pinnied version of perfection. He’s quick. Controlled. Focused. The way his legs move is ridiculous. He spins the ball like it’s attached to him by secret magnets.

Usually Amy’s on the bleachers, cheering him on with her friends. But today there were no signs of her being no where near this field. Strange. You wonder where she is. That should make you feel relieved. It doesn’t.

For once, James isn’t playing like you’re invisible. Because suddenly, he sees you. Actually sees you. His brows knit. His chest rises, pauses. And before you can process what’s happening, he jogs off the field. Then he’s running. Running toward you.

Panic detonates in your ribcage.

No. No no no no—

He stops way too close. Close enough that you smell him—clean, sharp, expensive. Something like cedar and citrus and everything you absolutely should not like.

“Hey,” he says, breath still catching from the run. “Y/n? Is that your name?” You freeze. He rubs the back of his neck. Looks down for a second. Then back at you.

“I see you watching the games sometimes and I, uh… got your note.”

Your heart stops. Literally stops. If a doctor checked you right now, you’d be declared clinically dead. “I just—” he swallows hard. He’s awkward. He’s never awkward. “I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring it.”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Not even a squeak. He shifts his weight, eyes flicking toward the field like he wishes someone would rescue him.

“Listen… I just got out of a breakup. Like. Recently.” He laughs once, dry and not very funny. “And… I don’t even know you. So I can’t—it wouldn’t be fair. Or right. You know?”

“Then get to know me.” That’s what you want to say. Instead you nod slowly. Or maybe you physically malfunction. Hard to tell. He gives you this tiny, apologetic half-smile that somehow hurts worse than being stabbed.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. And then he jogs back onto the field like he didn’t just smash your chest open with his bare hands. You stand there frozen long enough that a stray soccer ball rolls by your foot and you don’t even flinch.

James looks even better up close. And yeah he smells like something expensive. Something that makes your stomach twist. You were never supposed to know that. You swallow, throat tight. It’s the start of the new school year and this day was- well... You’re not sure there’s even a word for it.

The next few days are awkward as hell.

You avoid his locker like it’s a landmine. You walk a little faster in the halls. How the hell did he get his hands on your letter in the first place? If your brain had a mute switch, you would’ve used it. Bella notices and gives you the exact look that says tell me everythingwithout actually making you talk.

You don’t tell her anything. Not about the letter, and about how your stomach clenches when he passes.

One afternoon you cut across the field and freeze halfway, because there they are, the once infamous couple arguing in that tense whisper that looks loud from a distance. Amy’s hands are animated, her face flushed in that way people get when they think they’re right and are also angry. James is calm but tight; his jaw works like he’s chewing on something heavy. You don’t hear words. You only see the body language: Amy stepping closer, James stepping back. The rest of the team keeps practicing around them like it’s normal to be emotionally shredded in the middle of drills. Maybe this happens a lot? Expect this time, they’re arguing as exes, not as a couple.

Three days later, you’re sitting with Bella like every other lunch school-day—salad in front of you, two conversations happening at once. “Hey,” Bella starts, “you think that I could fit three French fries up one nostril?”

You barely get two fries into your mouth before a shadow falls over your lunch table. Bella freezes mid-sip of her iced latte. Her eyes go huge. “Um… incoming.” You turn slowly, like your neck is rusted, praying it isn’t who you think it is. 

James. Hands in pockets. Hair slightly damp from gym. Looking like a walking problem. You could recognize his cologne from miles away.

“Y/n,” he says, voice low. “Can we talk?” Bella nearly breaks her own neck nodding. You shoot her a warning look, but she just winks. Or tries to. It looks more like a seizure. You follow James out to the side courtyard, heart punching your ribs like it’s trying to escape. Did he see you eves dropping on him and Amy’s argument? Or even worse—he somehow got a hold of that piece of paper you wrote a whole entire smut scene of you and him on. No. There’s no way that’s possible. But the letter- shut up y/n.

Finally, he stops by a bench and shifts his body awkwardly. You brace yourself for whatever’s coming.

“Okay, so… about what I said a few days ago.” Deep breath. “I changed my mind,.”

You blink. Not once. Not twice. About twelve times. “I’m sorry—what?” He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. “Amy found out I talked to you the other day.” His eyes flicker to you. “And she’s… not handling it well.” You say nothing. Your brain is buffering like bad Wi-Fi. “So,” he continues, “she’s convinced I’m into you. And she’s trying to make me jealous by flirting with every guy in our grade. Which is…” He grimaces. “Annoying.”You’re staring at him, blank-faced, because what else are you supposed to do? “So if she thinks you and I are together,” he finally says, “she’ll calm down. And maybe she’ll want to get back together. It’s just… easier this way.”

Ah. There it is.

It’s not because he suddenly sees you. It’s not because your face lives rent-free in his mind the way his does in yours. It’s because you’re convenient and somehow read the stupid love letter you were going to keep to yourself and through away after a few days. 

You swallow, throat scraping. “So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend… so your get back together?” He nods, relieved you understand. “Yeah. Exactly.”

You take your time thinking—way longer than necessary, honestly. But you’re not stupid. Fake dating James? James, whose face makes your brain glitch? James, who already thinks you confessed some weird crush? Why the hell wouldn’t you?

“Fine,” you say eventually. “I’ll do it.” His whole body loosens like he’s been holding tension since August. “Thank you. Seriously. Okay, uh… we should follow each other on Instagram.”

Shit. 

He pulls his phone out. You do the same—hesitantly. “It’s @y_notn?” He repeats, typing the username into Instagram, then clicking onto your page. You see his lips form a smirk. “You’re already following me I see.” You cheeks match the color of his shoes.

He types fast. “I’ll tag you in my bio. You can tag me in yours too.” Your pulse jumps but you nod in agreement anyways.

He pockets his phone again. “Meet me after practice today. Same field as always.” He gives you a small smile that’s entirely too soft to be legal. “I assume you know what time that is.” Like you haven’t literally watched every practice he’s had since school started.

You nod, trying not to implode. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cool.” He steps back, gives you a once-over that feels like a warm hand on your spine. “See you then, Y/n.” When he walks away, you realize you’re not breathing. You’re not sure you’ll ever breathe normally again.

Bella ambushes you before you even sit down. She’s practically vibrating with questions, textbooks forgotten in her hand.

“So spill. What did you two even talk about? Why is he talking to you when he has a—what is she—Amy? What the freak is going on?” Her eyes are all sharp curiosity and that ridiculous, fierce-protective thing only best friends get. You do the only mature thing you can think of: play it cool. “It’s nothing,” you say, which is still a lie and also technically not. You haven’t explained anything to anyone, not even to yourself.

Bella doesn’t buy it for one second. “Nothing? Y/n. You’ve been crushing on that guy ever since I’ve known you. Do you know how dramatic that was? Spill.”

You fold your fork over your lips. “He said some stuff. Nothing huge.” You focus on making your voice flat, unimpressed, as though your heart didn’t vault into your throat and refuse to come down two hours ago. She leans in until her face invades your space. “Did he… break up with Amy?”

You stare at her. The question feels like a live wire. “Yeah,” you say before you can stop it. “They—he said they broke up.”

Bella’s jaw drops so hard you’d think she swallowed a stone. “And you didn’t tell me? Am I not your best friend anymore or what?” She half-pleads, half-accuses. You laugh because panic tastes weird and small. “I didn’t know until this week, B. Chill. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be the person who screams and jumps on him or whatever you do when you’re extremely dramatic.”

She pouts, not actually mad. “Wait—so was he talking to you because he likes you or something and wants to move from Amy?”

It takes you a moment to respond. “It’s… complicated,” you say, and she deflates into a theatrical sigh. “I’ll keep you updated for sure.”

Later, after classes pretend to move slower than molasses. You go to the side courtyard like you promised. He’s there early, hands in pockets, looking like he walked out of a billboard and then stole your ability to breathe. He waves you over like he’s practiced casualness in a mirror.

“So,” he says, hands folded like he’s bracing for feedback as you two settle down on a nearby bench. “About us.”

You swallow. “About us.” Something you thought you’d never hear come out of his mouth, This is ridiculous. Then you remind yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He exhales. “I should make—uh—parameters. Boundaries. Whatever you want to call them..” He looks earnest. Which is both disarming and scalding.

“Okay,” you say. “No kissing. No… anything farther.” You say it like you’re filing a restraining order against your hormones. Your cheeks heat up right after you say it, like you’ve exposed your soul in public.

He gives you a genuinely confused look. “What’s so wrong with kissing?” You look at him and feel stupid and stubborn and painfully sincere. “I want my first kiss to mean something. I don’t want my first kiss to be a prop in someone’s plan. I want it to be because of… feelings. Real ones.”

He studies your face. For a second you think he’s scoffing. Instead he looks surprised, like he expected something else out of you entirely. “So you’re saying you’ve never kissed anyone? You don’t seem like a first-kiss kind of person,” he says, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.

You don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment. “I’m not,” you say. “I just… want one that matters.”

He nods slowly, and shockingly, he takes it in. “Okay. No kissing,” he repeats. “No making out. No—anything. Got it. I was looking forward to that part though.” That last sentence makes you look up immediately. He lets out a “oh look at you, you feel for it,” laugh. Of course he didn’t mean it.

“And pet names? Like, are we team ‘babe’ or are we staying sane?”

You sigh. “Pet names are allowed but No PDA that crosses boundaries. Hand-holding okay. Quick pecks on the cheek—fine, but only if it’s not humiliatingly dramatic in front of Amy.”

He snorts at that, and for a moment the tension loosens. “Dates?” he asks. James going on a date with you? You want to poke yourself to make sure this isn’t all just a dream.

“Sure.”

You actually grin, and it feels like a defect in your usual composure. This is insane. You’re literally negotiating love like it’s a group project. He hesitates, then asks, “Can I—uh—pick you up to school? Like, to drive you? Make things look… convincing.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I walk my younger sister to school,” you say. “So no.” He brightens, thinking on his feet. “I can drive her too. Drop them both off. Make it seem legit.”

You gape. “You’d drive my twelve-year-old sister to school?” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah. Less awkward than you explaining a fake boyfriend every morning.”

“Wow,” you say, simultaneously mortified and oddly touched. “That’s… actually kind. Okay, maybe.”

“And—if you want—I can drive you home now,” he adds. “Make it easier. Practical.” You almost laugh because this feels exactly like a dream for someone else and not like your actual life. But then you see his eyes dart—just for half a beat—toward the tree line at the edge of the parking lot. Amy. 

He looks back at you and, without missing a beat, pulls you closer. His hand rests on the small of your back, which feels equal parts possessive and protective. His other hand ghosts over your arm, fingers light, claiming. “Smile,” he whispers into your ear, breath hot and soft and ridiculous.

His hands wander like they’re memorizing the geography of you—over your shoulder, along your ribs—nothing obscene, just bordering on intimate enough to make your teeth ache.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.” He makes sure to emphasize on the baby part so it’s loud enough for Amy to hear. The pet name lands heavy in your chest.

He slides his fingers into yours and leads you toward the parking lot. Your sneakers scuff the concrete. Maybe the letter getting sent out wasn’t as bad after all. But then you remember this is all an act. James doesn’t actually like you. And once he’s back with Amy? You don’t even want to think about it.

You find the car before you recognize it. Low, polished, the kind of car that hums quietly like it was born rich. Leather seats. Chrome that catches sunlight like it’s showing off. You knew he was from money, but you’d never actually seen it up close like this.

He opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical little bow that somehow feels oddly considerate. “Hop in,” he says, and for a second the world narrows to leather and the faint plastic smell of air freshener and the rapid, stupid beating of your heart.

You climb in, and as the engine starts, you wonder which part of your life is a fever dream and which part, if any, is real.

James pulls up in front of your house like he’s done this a hundred times, like this is just routine for him now. The car quiets, he taps the steering wheel once, and turns toward you.

“Thanks for driving me,” you say, suddenly shy for no reason except he’s looking at you like that. You try to keep your smile contained, but it still slips out, tiny and embarrassing.

He catches it immediately. “Cute,” he says under his breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He clears his throat, hoping you didn’t hear him slip. 

“So this is where y/n lives? Didn’t know you lived a couple houses down from me.” You smile and reach for the door handle, trying to act like a normal functioning human being, when he stops you with a soft, “Y/n—wait.”

You blink at him. “Yes?” He holds up his phone. “Can I take a picture of us holding hands? For my Insta so Amy can see.” You swear you felt something real between you two until he snapped you back to reality. “Like… right now?”

“Yeah.” He extends his hand, palm up, waiting. “C’mon.”

You place your hand in his because what else are you supposed to do? Say no? Die? Teleport? His fingers lace through yours, warm and soft, and your whole bloodstream turns into electricity. You feel your body heat up. This is your first ever physical contact with him.

He lifts his phone with the other hand and pulls your joined hands closer to the console where the lighting is better. Of course he knows his angles; he’s literally James.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You do. He snaps the picture the moment you meet his eyes, like he wants you in the frame even if you’re only visible in the reflection of the screen. 

After the photo is taken, he stares at it for a quick second. Call yourself delusional but you swear you saw him holding back his smile. After tagging you, he uploads it instantly. Your heart legitimately forgets how to beat.

“Great,” he says, dropping your hand slowly, almost reluctantly. “Text me when you’re inside.”

“S-sure,” you mutter, stumbling over your own voice like a clown. You climb out of the car. He waits until you’re at the porch before he pulls away, tires rolling smooth and silent like he didn’t just flip your entire life upside down.

You walk in, still clutching the warmth of his hand like an idiot who’s never known happiness before. Your dad glances up from the kitchen, eyes narrowing with that suspicious dad-squint. “Someone’s smiling.” You almost choke. “I’m not—I’m literally—I wasn’t—”

He laughs. “Alright, alright. I’m not interrogating you. How’d you get home so fast?”

Panic rushes through your veins. “Uh. Bella’s brother drove us. We were going the same way.”

Lie. Instant lie. Horrible lie. Bella doesn’t even have a brother. You want to fistfight yourself.

“Huh,” your dad says, not looking convinced but not digging either. “Alright, well—oh! Before I forget.” He stands, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and smiles like he’s about to tell you something wholesome. Instead he says the single worst sentence you’ve heard in your entire life. “I forgot to tell you this but I saw that letter on your desk last week and helped mail it for you, honey.” Your stomach hits the floor. You swear your vision goes white around the edges.

“What—what letter?” You hear your own voice crack like a broken flute.

“The envelope under those textbooks on your desk thst was addressed to one of our neighbours? I figured it’d save you and I less time because I was stopping by the post office anyways,” He beams, proud of himself.

You cannot breathe. So that’s how James got your note. The letter that was literally your unhinged, handwritten, half-fantasy confession about James. The one you should have burned. “Thanks,” you whisper, voice tiny and hoarse. 

You bolt up the stairs the second you’re free, close your bedroom door with the gentlest click ever because of course tonight is the night you suddenly care about door volume, and just… collapse. Face-first into your bed. You don’t even bother turning the lights on.

Your body is still buzzing, like James’s handprint is burned into your skin. Your heart keeps replaying the whole car scene at 8K resolution, IMAX, Dolby Atmos, every upgrade possible.

James and Amy? Over. James talking to you? Actually real. James fake dating you? Also real. You? Completely malfunctioning.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling like it personally betrayed you. Because the thing is, it’s fake. He asked for to take the picture for Amy, not because he wanted it for himself. He’s James. He dates girls who look like they stepped out of a perfume commercial. You literally tripped over air in homeroom last week.

Still… your chest squeezes around this tiny, dangerous wish. You wish it wasn’t fake, how he meant the way he looked at you in the car, and the warmth in his hand wasn’t just acting. But whatever. That’s not your life. Guys like him don’t like girls like you. You know that. You’ve always known that.

Next morning starts off painfully normal, which is honestly rude given the way last night cracked your brain open. You drag yourself out of bed, brush your teeth while half-asleep, pull on a hoodie that still smells vaguely like laundry detergent and despair, and braid Annie’s hair while she wiggles like a caffeinated squirrel.

“Hold still,” you mutter, trying to tame the last strand. “I am holding still,” she says, not holding still. You finally get her ready, grab your bag, and step out of the building with her hand in yours. It’s quiet outside, cool enough to wake you up a little. The walk to her school is familiar, easy, predictable.

Your brain needs predictable right now. You’re three blocks down before a car honk breaks the morning calm—one sharp, deliberate beep.

You and Annie both turn at the same time.

James’s car is parked at the curb. Leaning slightly toward the window, one hand on the wheel, raising his eyebrows in a “Really? You forgot?” kind of way.

“Oh shit,” you whisper. Annie gasps dramatically and sprints toward the car like she’s starring in her own movie. “Did you just say a bad word?” she calls out over her shoulder. “Also who’s that?”

“My… uh…” You have nothing. No explanation. Just panic. “Just—wait—Annie!” But she’s already yanking open the passenger door. “Did you forget about stranger danger?!”

“Hiiiiii!” she beams at him. James grins back, all sunshine and dimples. “Good morning.” He looks cute when he smiles.  You stumble up behind her, cheeks burning. “Sorry—she just—uh—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “She’s cute.”

Annie giggles like he handed her a scholarship. “My sister thinks cute! Her face literally turned red when she—” You quickly slap your palm on top of her mouth, nearly choke on your own tongue. “Annie! You can’t just—say things—!”

James laughs. “I can see that.” Fuck you. He nods toward the backseat. “You riding or walking?” Right. The whole fake dating thing. You climb in, mumbling, “I totally forgot you were picking us up.”

He shoots you a look in the rearview. Teasing. “Kind of figured.” Annie, meanwhile, is already telling him her entire life story. “So my sister woke me up late again, and Y/N didn’t let me have candy in the morning, so can you convince her t—“

“Annie,” you hiss, “personal space!” James glances at you, amused. “Your sister’s very bubbly.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Runs in the family.” He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Haven’t noticed much of that in you.” You look out the window so he can’t see your face fall and combust at the same time. “Well… it takes me a while to open up.”

There’s a beat of silence—soft, not awkward. Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t mind that. Your breath trips.  Annie thankfully interrupts you before your brain melts. “Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” You and James say entirely different things at the exact same time.

You: “NO—no no no—he’s not—don’t—” James: “Something like that.”

You whip your head toward him so fast your neck protests. “What?!” He smirks. “Relax. Just keeping the story consistent.” “That’s not consistent, that’s— that’s—”

“Convincing,” he finishes, winking. You swear your pulse jumps like it’s trying to break out of your body. By the time he pulls into the school parking lot, your nerves are shredded.

“Wait.” His voice stops you again. You freeze halfway out. He gets out too. Walks around the car. And then extends his hand. Palm up, a silver ring on his index finger. 

“Come on,” he says. “They’re already staring.” Your stomach drops to your knees. You place your hand in his, because apparently you’ve lost all brain function. His fingers lace through yours. Firm. Warm. Familiar already in a terrifying way. You wonder what if he uses hand cream—and if so, what kind?

You walk side by side, hands joined, through the courtyard. Every. Single. Person. Looks. Someone literally whispers, “Are you kidding me?” as you pass. Another girl stares like you committed a war crime. You try to keep your face blank, but your heart is doing parkour. Even his friends look at him weird. James leans toward you just slightly. “You good?”

“I’m—fine,” you lie. He squeezes your hand. A tiny squeeze. You nearly short-circuit. Then you turn down the hall. And there she is. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect everything. Leaning against her locker with her friends, scrolling through her phone—Amy.

Until she sees you and James. Her entire expression freezes—then sharpens. Expression goes from neutral to knives-out in half a second.

It hits you so hard your stomach does a full gymnastics routine. You instantly look away, like you’re gonna be burned alive if you make eye contact for more than a microsecond. James actually glances. Quick, sharp, assessing—like he’s checking if she saw. And apparently she did, because he gives the smallest nod to himself and keeps walking.

Your palm is sweating in his, which is honestly humiliating, but he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t squeeze or slow down or look at you twice. He’s just walking. Playing the part. Cool. Unbothered. Like this is all just logistics. People are still staring, whispering, straight-up gawking as you pass.  You keep your face forward. Try not to shrink… or die. All three are failing.

When you reach his locker, he drops your hand casually like he’s turning off a light switch. He spins his combo, grabs a book, and says, completely normal, “I saw her staring.”

Your heart is still in your throat. “It’s progress, I guess.” He nods once, satisfied. “Think it’s working.”

James doesn’t look at you again—just shuts his locker with a quick clack and tosses his bag over his shoulder like he didn’t just nuke your nervous system in the hallway.

“See you later,” he says, already turning away. And you’re left standing there, trying not to look like you’re about to dissolve into mist.

The rest of the week doesn’t calm down — it just mutates into this weird fever dream where James keeps doing things that make your brain short-circuit.

Like Wednesday morning, when you’re trying to open your locker and the stupid thing jams for the eighth day in a row. You mutter under your breath, “I hate this place,” and kick the bottom corner. Out of nowhere, James appears behind you, lean and warm and annoyingly tall.

“Move,” he says, voice low like he’s about to break into a safe.

“I’ve tried that,” you snap, not even looking up. “It doesn’t—” He slams his palm against the top left edge with one clean, confident hit. The locker pops open like it’s scared of him. Hot. “Are you—what? How—?!”

He shrugs, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes way too dramatically, but you’re pretty sure your soul floats out the back of your head when he taps the top of your hair and says, “I’ll be here if you need help with anything else.”

You stare after him like a malfunctioning Roomba as he walks off.

Then there’s Thursday, when you’re walking through the courtyard with James and trip over absolutely nothing. Like, genuinely nothing. A single leaf. A shadow. Air. You go stumbling forward like a newborn deer. Before you can fall, James catches the back of your hoodie and pulls you upright by the hood like you’re a cat being relocated.

“I swear to God,” you wheeze, face on absolute fire, “the ground attacked me.”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, “the ground looked really hostile.”

You shove his shoulder because you can’t come up with a good comeback and also because you’re mortified. He lets out a quiet chuckle and it unlocks something sweet and dangerous in your chest.

Next it’s Friday morning. You and Annie are waiting for him outside, and your sister is bouncing around talking about how she wants to get a hamster named Bean. James comes out of the car, leans over the passenger seat, and gives Annie an exaggerated thumbs-up.

“Bean’s a great name,” he says, like he’s taking her dead seriously. “Very strong. Very intimidating.”

Annie giggles like she’s met a celebrity. You can tell that your sister likes him a lot. Too bad it might all end soon. You’re standing there blinking because why is he being sweet when no one is watching? There’s no audience at 7:53 AM on a suburban sidewalk. No reason to impress anybody. He looks at you for a beat too long. “What?” you say, defensive because your nervous system is fried.

“Nothing,” he says, that tiny smile tugging at one corner. 

Later that same day, you’re at his soccer practice again, this time on mandatory fake-girlfriend attendance, apparently, but this time you don’t sit on the bleachers. You’re late, so you stand awkwardly by the fence, hugging your bag. 

James sees you. Mid-scrimmage. He’s literally making it past two guys and still looks over like you’re a lens flare he enjoys catching. Amy’s on the far side of the field glaring daggers, and that’s probably why he does it, why he pushes a bit harder. For some reason, she started showing up again. 

But then he smirks. And it’s not aimed at Amy. He jogs up after scoring, out of breath, flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. The kind of sweaty that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Before you know it, his practice ends, the sun’s low, and the field looks like it’s glowing. You’re standing by the fence scrolling your phone, pretending you’re not waiting for him even though obviously you are.

They scrimmage one more play. James gets the ball. The field actually erupts. He slips past two defenders, cuts left, shoots—Goal. The boys yell and explode like he just cured cancer. And then he does something so stupidly cinematic you almost faint: He runs straight toward you. Like you’re his checkpoint.

He stops right by the fence, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jersey sticking to him — black and green, drenched in sweat, clinging to every muscle that should not legally exist on an 20-year-old.

“Did you see that?” he breathes out, grinning like he’s half-drunk on adrenaline.

“I—I mean—yeah,” you say, but it comes out more like a squeak because you are absolutely staring. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his neck glistening, jaw sharp enough to slice your willpower in half. He smirks when he notices.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he teases, voice low. You immediately snap your eyes away. “I wasn’t—looking. I was—blinking.”

“I didn’t know blinking took that long,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to the fence. You nearly dissolve into the grass.

By the time he drops you off, your brain is a puddle. He taps the steering wheel, looks at you with that same unreadable-soft expression you’re starting to recognize. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Before you could answer, your dad comes out on the porch at the worst possible moment, holding a mug and squinting into the driveway. “Is that the handsome guy Annie keeps talking about?”

Why oh why. “Wha—dad—I—no—?” James, traitor that he is, just smiles and waves like this is a barbecue and not the crumbling of your sanity. “Yes I am!”

Your dad lights up. “Well! Why don’t you stay for dinner?” You see James glance at you like he’s asking for permission—like you’re the deciding vote before he says, “Sure. If that’s okay.” Okay?? You’re already having an out-of-body experience. Inside, Annie is THRIVING. She pats the couch between her and James like she’s the host of a reality show. You sit, fully preparing to be normal. You fail immediately.

Halfway through the movie, James shifts closer—casual, smooth, evil—and drapes an arm behind you on the couch, feeling himself at your home. Not even touching you yet, just… there. Warm. Heavy. Loud in your peripheral vision. Your heart is trying to escape your ribcage with a crowbar.

Then, out of nowhere, he reaches over and slides the scrunchie out of your ponytail. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s unwrapping a present. Your hair falls down your shoulders and you swear the air temperature spikes 40 degrees.

“Looks better like this,” he murmurs, barely audible over the TV.

You’re going to combust. Annie is too invested in the movie to notice you dying.

He loops it around his wrist, then pulling out his phone to check something. You assume he’s going to post something on his Instagram for Amy to see, but he checks the time instead. Strange

Your dad comes in once to ask if you all want snacks. James answers politely. You stare at the wall like you’re seeing God. He grabs a piece and feeds it to you. Even morestrange.

Eventually it gets late, and he stands, gives Annie a little salute, thanks your dad for the evening, and looks at you with this unreadable softness that makes your stomach flip.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

—

The night air is cold enough to bite, but he doesn’t feel it. His whole skin is still warm from your house, your couch, your hair brushing his shoulder. 

As he hopped into the car, shouldn’t be thinking about that. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that. Getting out, he walks up his front steps, keys halfway out of his pocket, when he freezes.

Amy is sitting on his porch. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Wearing that perfume he likes.

“James,” she says, chin tilted, voice honeyed she knows works on most people.

He exhales, slow. “Amy. What are you doing here?”

She stands up, taking a step closer. “I wanted to talk. We haven’t really—y’know—processed everything. And I…” She lets the sentence trail off, fingers brushing his arm like muscle memory. “I miss you. We were good together.”

He should want this. He knows that. This was the whole point, wasn’t it? Proving he could move on, making her jealous, getting her to come back.

“We were,” he says quietly. It comes out flat. Even he hears it.

Amy leans in, confidence flickering back. “I mean… moving on to someone like her?” She smirks. “Convincing. I’ll give you that.”

He doesn’t say anything. She slides her hand down his arm like she’s done it a thousand times — because she has. Her voice drops. “You could’ve just talked to me, James. You didn’t have to pretend.”

Her eyes glint. She steps closer again, enough that her breath hits his collarbone. “What do you say? Are you up for a redo?” Amy reaches for his wrist, then stops at a certain spot.

“Oh.” Her voice shifts — sweet turning sour. “What’s this?” Her fingers brush the scrunchie. Your scrunchie. Still warm from your hair. She looks up at him, eyebrows lifted like she’s caught him with a crime weapon.

“Is that Y/n’s?” she asks, sickly sweet. His voice is small, quieter than he expects. “It is.”

Amy lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Wow. You’re really committing to the bit.” He doesn’t correct her.

She slips it off his wrist and ties her hair with it, steps back, arms folding. “Well,” she says, lips curling, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, James.”

She walks away without waiting for an answer. Her perfume lingers. But his wrist feels heavier than everything she tried to imply. He stands there a long time after she’s gone. And the scrunchie stays exactly where it is.

—

James picks you up like nothing happened, acting like he didn’t stand on his porch last night looking existential with your scrunchie on his wrist while his ex tried to crawl back into his life.

“Morning,” he says, voice warm, as you hop into the car. 

“Good Morning.”

He glances over, tapping the steering wheel. “Tired?” You scratch your neck, letting out a soft groan. “Not at all.”

He actually laughs under his breath. “Liar.” Ugh. Of course he knows.

He drives for a bit, a comfortable quiet settling between you — or, well… almost comfortable. Then he says it. Soft. Almost shy. “I really like spending time with you.”

You freeze. Brain: 404 error. “Why?” you say before your filter can save you. He looks over. “Why not?”

“No, like—” you wave a hand, “you don’t have to do the whole… nice boyfriend act right now. No one’s looking.” 

His brows pull together, confused, just a tiny bit hurt. “I know.” It’s nothing. It’s everything. You don’t know what to do with it, so you shove it into the mental junk drawer and slam it shut.

—

After your second class, Bella picks you up and you two walk to your lockers, minding your own business, when Amy appears like a horror movie jump scare, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes on you like target practice.

“You know James doesn’t actually like you?” She says sweetly.

It’s not like you didn’t know that. The thing going on between James and you is all for show. Bella stiffens beside you. You close your locker and keep walking. 

Amy clicks her tongue. “Y/n—you forgot something.”

You turn just in time to see her toss your scrunchie. It hits the floor at your feet like a punchline. Bella’s eyes go HUGE. “Um. What—?”

“I’ll explain later,” you mutter, scooping it up with fingers that are absolutely trembling.

You don’t go to his practice after that. Screw that. Screw all of it. You go home, burrow under your blanket, and try to convince yourself you don’t care even though you obviously care so much it feels like a bruise.

Around six, there’s a knock downstairs. Please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.

You hear your dad open the door.

“Oh! Hi James!”

“Is Y/n home?” he asks, and his voice is nervous. Nervous? Since when does James get nervous? “Yes, she’s upstairs in her room, doing whatever you teenagers do.”

“Can I— uh— can I talk to her?”

“…Sure, come in.”

You want to sink into the floorboards. Your dad calls up the stairs, “Y/n! James is here!”

Yeah, you heard.

A moment later, there’s a soft knock on your door. “Can I come in?” You don’t answer, and quickly pull the cover over you. He opens just enough to peek inside. “Hey.” You sit up, knees tucked to your chest. “Hi”

He steps inside, closes the door behind him, runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to hit CTRL+ALT+DEL on his own life. “Why didn’t you show up to my game? You always show up.” 

You look at him for a long second, then ask the question that’s been chewing through your ribs all day.

“Did you… meet up with Amy last night? And then give her my favourite scrunchie?” 

His head snaps up fast. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean—yes and no. It’s not what you think.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what happened?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. “She just spawned in front of my house as I was driving home. I never asked her to come” Your chest tightens, but you keep your voice steady. “Right. And when she took my scrunchie… you just let her take it?” He flinches a little — just barely, but you see it.

“Yeah, that’s my bad,” he says quietly. “But hey, at least you got it back.”

You stay quiet, jaw set as you look down at the scrunchie on your wrist.

“And it’s not a big deal,” he adds quickly. “It’s just a scrunchie y/n.” He stops himself. “Well — not just a scrunchie. Yours.” Your lungs betray you with a small inhale. He moves a little closer, hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Really. And… I wanna make it up to you.”

You tilt your head “How?” And because he’s him — chaotic, dramatic, inexplicably confident — he smiles.

“You heard of ‘Ski Slopes Nation?” The ski trip party my friend hosts every year. It’s, uh, kinda big. And really fun. I want you to come with me.”

You look down at yojr hands, unsure what to say. Strange, wouldn’t he have asked Amy? “James, I don’t even know anyone there.”

“Okay,” he says, shrugging, taking one small step closer. “So what? You’ll know me.”

“That’s not enough. You’ll be distracted by you know who.”

He sighs, walking towards your bed as he puts his finger under your chin, turning your head to face him. He tilts his head, smirk creeping back. “You’re the only distraction I need.”

Your stomach flips so hard you have to look away again. How can he say this when he doesn’t even like you?

“Think about it,” he murmurs. He reaches for the doorknob, pauses, glances back at you with that soft half-smile. “And for the record, I’ll buy you snacks for the whole time we’re there.”

Then he leaves you alone with your heartbeat trying to set a new world record.

“Wait… it was fake?!” Bella’s voice is a cartoon of betrayal—half screech, half wounded martyr. You’re sitting across from her at your usual greasy-spoon table, regretting your life decisions, and she’s dramatically clutching her phone like you’ve personally stolen her childhood.

“I thought he actually liked you,” she adds, scandalized. “I mean, everything! His stories, the way he looked at you—God, I practically had a panic attack of joy.”

You shrug, because what else do you do when your life is embarrassing and baffling at the same time. “It was the plan. To make Amy jealous. To get her to get back with James.”

Bella pokes your forehead with the end of a fry. “So you were a pawn? That is actually a geniu—horrible!”

You let out a sigh and then tell her about the ski thing—James’s invitation that felt suspiciously like a peace offering. Bella immediately goes into PR mode.

“Why aren’t you going?” she asks, all business now. “This could be huge. Honestly, go. I’ll totally come with you if that’ll change your mind.”

You almost say no. You almost say yes. You do say, finally, “Okay, but you cannot leave my side for once.”

She claps and picks up your phone from the table. “Text him now.” She demands while handing you her phone. Slowly, you unlock your phone and type in: “Ok, Ski Slopes Nation it is.” Sent.

Weekend flies. Saturday morning, you stand by the curb, heels tapping like a metronome, expecting Bella’s overzealous face any second. Typical you overpacked for a three night trip. James pulls up right on time, engine purring luxury. You get in. You do a full inventory of your nerves.

Ten minutes later you notice Bella’s text: one-line replies. 

Bella: Sorry guys, mom lowkey got mad because I fumbled my test 🙁. Maybe next time?

You stare at the message like it physically hurt. She didn’t tell you before. This was her plan all along for you to go to the Ski Slopes Event alone with James. She was never going to come.

You turn to James, ready to explode with “where is she?” but the words scramble and bail right out of you. Your hand goes for the door handle. You’re doing the awkward petty-exit thing when he reaches over, still driving, and grabs your wrist gently.

“Wait,” he says. His voice is small, not demanding, just…earnest. “Please. Don’t go.”

You stare at his hand on yours. Your knee-jerk plan is to get out and walk, to reclaim dignity off the side of the highway, but the highway is suddenly very far away and his palm is somehow steadying.

“Why?” you ask, because why not make him explain himself.

He pulls into the next parking spot, kills the engine, and turns fully to you like it’s the thing he’s meant to do all day. The car becomes its own little island of breath.

“I wanted you to come,” he says, simple and flat, like it’s obvious and he’s been dying to say it. “Not because of Amy. Not to make her jealous. I… I actually like doing this with you. I like spending time with you.”

Your brain files that under “unreliable information” and simultaneously under “this actually matters.” You blink. “But—wasn’t this whole thing supposed to get Amy back?”

He hesitates, then answers honestly, the way people answer when the truth is awkward but necessary. “Yes that was the plan. At first. But I don’t know if I want to go back to that. I don’t know if I ever did. And the more time I spend with you—not pretending—it’s not the same. You’ve made me felt something no one else has ever made me feel. But what I know is that I like you. A lot.”

You roll your eyes because dramatic vulnerability is embarrassing even when it’s kind of endearing. And your body heats up. Your cheeks are probably tomato colored, but you try staying nonchalant. “So what, you just switched teams mid-game?”

He gives you one of those looks that’s half apology, half dare. “Sort of. Do you… do you wanna keep doing this? Not for Amy. For us. Keep this—whatever this is—going?”

You inhale, exhale, try to be sensible. “You know how this looks,” you say. “Welp, the love letter sure worked out—just now how I expected.”

He smiles, small and stubborn. “It sure did.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes—part incredulous, part hopeful. You tuck your hand back into yours under the dash. “Fine,” you say, because why be brave when you can be cautiously stupid instead. “But I’m watching you. One misstep and I will glare you into ashes.”

“Deal,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips that’s half triumphant, half relieved. “Also, I’m getting your scrunchie back. Properly next time.”

You look out at the highway ahead, and despite the chaos, despite the lying and the staging and the way your life currently reads like a badly edited montage, there’s a tiny part of you that answers before your brain can veto it.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s keep doing this—carefully.”

He squeezes your hand. The car pulls back onto the road, and the rest of the world sounds like muffled static for a second, just you and the hum of the engine and the very complicated possibility of something messy and real.

“Are you sure you have snow tires on?” You double check as more snow comes down while you guys drive up the mountain. The atmosphere in the car was not quiet, but soft. Not awkward anymore, not tense, just this gentle humming between you two—like the car has its own heartbeat now and it somehow synced to yours. James lets out a low chuckle, reaching for your hand, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“I’m sure y/n.” The way he spoke your name was so attractive yet reassuring. Snow lines the trees like powdered sugar and the sky is a blue so obnoxiously pretty it looks edited. James keeps flicking quick glances at you like he’s checking if you’re still real. You’re still trying to get over the fact that you’re seated in Jame’s car that actually has feelings for you.

When he parks outside the lodge, you hop out and the cold instantly punches your lungs. He grabs the bags before you can even protest because he’s a show-off with biceps, apparently. Inside, the place is gorgeous—warm lights, crackling fireplaces, couples everywhere wearing matching sweaters like they’re in a Pinterest board.

James leads you down a hallway lined with wooden doors and stops at one. Unlocks it, then opens the door. You follow him in. And freeze.

There are multiple reasons why you freeze. First and most obvious reason, the scenery. You knew James and his friends were filthy rich, but this is on a next level. The place was small, but it felt so cozy and expensive at the same time. Second reason, the bed. Notice how it’s bed and not beds plural? 

“…Hold on,” you say, voice thin. “Where’s—uh—the other bed?” There is one bed. One. Big, yes. Fluffy, absolutely. But still ONE BED.

James glances at it like it’s the weather. “Oh. Yeah. They ran out of doubles.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “Is that okay? It is pretty spacious so we can sleep on either ends.” 

Is that OK??

Your soul: NOPE. SOUND THE ALARMS. EVACUATE THE PREMISES.

Your mouth: “Yeah it’s fine.”

Typical y/n. Always lying out of your ass crack.

He tosses his duffel on the floor and starts unpacking, casual as ever, while your brain is mapping out emergency escape routes and calculating the surface area of the bed to figure out how far you can sleep from him without dying.

“We’ve got, like, four hours until the big event,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “It’s basically a party with drinks and games. Then we go skiing. People kinda go all out.”

Skiing? You? “Is it bad that I don’t know how to Ski?”

He snorts—soft, fond. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you if you’re down. I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.

He finishes unpacking and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “You can talk, y’know,” he says, teasing. “You’re doing that quiet-stressing face again.”

“I’m not”—

“You are.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop being readable.”

You grab your water bottle just to have something to do. He watches you, amused. The silence stretches—not awkward, but charged. Like static in the air before lightning strikes. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, rambling about something—how cold it is, how Bella tricked you, how the hallway smells weirdly like cinnamon. You don’t stop talking because if you stop, you’ll think, and if you think, you’ll panic.

Halfway through your rant about overpriced ski equipment, you notice he’s not responding. He’s just… staring. Not in a bored way. Or in a polite-listening way.

In a hungry way. In a memorizing-your-mouth-movements way. In a way no fake boyfriend should ever stare. No one has ever looked at you like that.

You clear your throat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

James’s voice is low, a little rough. “I don’t know.”

You short-circuit. “I—what—you—you don’t know—?”

“Yeah.” He shifts closer—just enough for your knees to touch. 

You swallow. Loudly. “Cute.”

“Mm.” His eyes drop to your lips like gravity dragged them there. “And distracting.”

Your heart is doing backflips. Your hands start sweating. You are ninety percent sure you’re about to ascend straight off the bed.

“James…” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation. He moves closer, slow enough to give you time to pull back. You don’t. You couldn’t even if you tried. His forehead almost touches yours, breath warming your skin. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he murmurs.

You don’t answer. You lean in. Never once in life were you expecting James to be your first kiss. Obviously in those little fantasies of yours, but never in real life.

His lips brush yours—barely, like a question he’s too scared to ask out loud—and your breath catches so hard your ribs ache. He tilts his head, closes the space, kisses you properly this time, soft but hungry, like he’s been holding this in for weeks.

He pulls back, breathless, eyes flashing with something you can’t quite name. Then suddenly he’s dragging you into his lap, steady hands guiding you, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you in for another kiss. This one is hungrier—messy, frantic, almost starving.

A small moan slips out of you the second his tongue pushes into your mouth. He’s good—too good. And you were the complete opposite. Heat blooms low in your stomach, and you can feel him hardening beneath you, the realization sending a shiver through your whole body.

He chuckles against your lips, the vibration buzzing straight through you as his tongue keeps exploring your mouth.

“You like that?” he murmurs, fingers trailing up your thigh. You nod instantly, needy, like your body answered before your brain could catch up.

He leans in, breath brushing your ear. “Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs. You part your lips, but nothing comes out—you’re too wound up, too turned on from everything he’s already done.

“Tell me, baby.” The pet name makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“I—I don’t know,” you finally manage to whisper.

“You don’t know?” he repeats, eyebrow lifting in a teasing way. Embarrassment floods your cheeks as you shake your head and bring your hands up to hide your face.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling your hands away. Your eyes meet, and he him unintentionally bitting his lower lips, his eyes now roaming all over your body.

Before you can even react, he’s kissing you again—deep, consuming, pulling you straight back into the heat of him.

“Do you know how to grind on me?” he asks when he pulls away again. You shake your head no.

“Here, let me guide you.”

His hands settle on your ass, gentle but sure, guiding your hips back and forth over his clothed cock as he pulls you back into the kiss. You both let out soft moans, the sound tangled between your mouths. It’s overwhelming, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to pull another sound out of him.

“God, baby… you look so hot on top of me,” he whispers, his hands roaming over your ass again.

Before you know it, James’s hands slide down to the zipper of your jeans. He wants more—you can feel it in the way his breath catches, the way his fingers hesitate there like he’s waiting for permission. You stop him, catching his hands before he can go any further.

He looks up at you immediately, eyes searching your face.

“Something wrong?” he asks softly, tilting his head just a little.

“I—I don’t want to go further than that,” you say, your voice small but steady. “Not right now.”

James searches your face like he’s trying to read every micro-expression you’ve ever had in your whole life.

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” he asks quietly. You shake your head fast. “No, it’s not that. I just… don’t wanna do that right now.”

His shoulders loosen immediately. “Oh. Okay.” And the way he says it—soft, not offended, not disappointed—makes something warm twist in your chest.

He presses one last kiss to your forehead before sliding you gently off his lap. “I’m gonna go shower,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, “then we’ll get ready for the party.”

When he disappears into the bathroom and the door clicks shut, the room feels too big. Too quiet. Too… loud inside your head. You flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling again, because apparently that’s your hobby now. And, of course, your brain immediately starts being a menace.

Yeah, he used to do this with Amy. Plus, breakup wasn’t even that long ago. Maybe you’re just some transitional little detour while he untangles whatever is still left inside him.

You groan into a pillow. “Get it together,” you mumble at yourself. Your overthinking is doing parkour.

Then the bathroom door swings open—and your soul exits your body.

James steps out with a towel sitting dangerously low on his hips, droplets rolling down his chest like they were directed by a film crew. His torso? Toned. Defined. Absolutely from-the-cover-of-a-ski-lodge-soccer-player-romance-novel level sculpted.

His dyed dirty blonde hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders, making him look unfairly good. You snap your gaze to the window like it personally offended you.

He grabs his bag and looks over at you. “You gonna get ready?” he asks casually, like he isn’t currently the hottest man alive standing half-naked five feet away.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, I was just… thinking.” (About your sanity evaporating.)

You peel yourself off the bed and rummage through your bag, already annoyed at yourself because you did not pack for a fancy winter party. You pull out something normal, plain, safe—because of course you brought nothing special. James glances over with a soft smile. “Going casual?” You shrug. “I didn’t really bring, like… party clothes.”

His eyes drag over your outfit, then your face.

“You’ll look amazing,” he says simply.

The Ski Slopes Nation’s “big event” is already at full volume by the time you and James walk in. It’s loud. Like… loud-loud. Bass thumping through the floorboards, laughter coming from every corner, people yelling over each other like they’re competing for the Olympic gold medal in being obnoxious. James doesn’t even flinch. He’s been to a million of these. You on the other hand—feel like you just walked into a live-action TikTok POV.

James keeps a warm hand at the small of your back as he leads you through the crowd. “C’mon,” he says, leaning down so you can hear him, breath brushing your ear. “Gotta introduce you.”

His friends spot him immediately.

“AYYYY ZHAO YUFAN BOY!” A giant wasian guy—Martin—throws his arms up like James just scored a goal. He’s tall. Like… tree-level tall. The kind of tall that makes you physically tilt your head back to make eye contact. Next to him is Keonho—smaller, ridiculously handsome, annoyingly charming. Both of them stare at you for a beat, confused as hell.

James just grins. “Guys, this is Y/N.” Martin nods like he’s analyzing an alien species. “Ohhh… she’s the one.” Keonho elbows him. “Bro, don’t be weird.”

You want to evaporate. James squeezes your hand like he can tell. People around the room keep glancing. Whispering. Doing double-takes. James showing up with another girl this soon after Amy? Yeah. You can practically feel the gossip starting to ferment.

You clear your throat. “I’m, uh, gonna grab something to drink.” James nods, gentle. “I’ll be right here.” The second you leave, Martin leans in with that tall-guy nosiness. “Dude. She’s so different from Amy.”

James rolls his eyes. “Okay?”

“No, like… in a good way,” Martin says. “She’s calm. Doesn’t have that whole… I’m-influencing-the-room energy.”

Keonho smirks. “And you like her. It’s obvious.” James gives them a look but doesn’t deny it. Across the room, Amy is staring—hard. Snow-white expensive looking sweater that somehow makes her look like a judgmental snow angel. She watches James talk to his friends, then looks you up and down like you’re the clearance rack version of her.

You return with a drink—your first real drink ever—and try to pretend the room isn’t spinning from nerves. You take a sip. And another. And another. Warmth blooms in your chest, buzzing under your skin. James finds you instantly. “Hey.”

His brows pinch. “You good? You seem… off.”

You look at him. And your brain decides now is the perfect time to unhinge.

“You… used to have sex with Amy a lot, right?”

James chokes. Like, full cough-wheeze combo. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “It—doesn’t really matter. I mean… I know you’re with me right now, so that’s all that counts.”

James steps closer, hand cupping your jaw gently. “Y/N. She’s my past. You’re the one I’m choosing now. And every second with you feels… different. Better.”

Your chest squeezes so tight you forget how to swallow.

You look down at your shoes. “It’s just… I guess my first time with you would be your… I don’t know… however-many-th time with her.”

A breath leaves him—soft, understanding. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I’m not comparing you to her. I’m not thinking about her when I’m with you. I’m here, with you. And I like us. A lot.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right.” And just like that, the tension melts a little.

The night blurs in the best way—laughter, games, James’s friends warming up to you, your drink going down way too easily. You’re not drunk, but definitely… pleasantly wobbly. James stays close the whole time, his arm brushing yours, hand grazing your lower back, fingers brushing your knuckles. Subtle, tiny things that keep your brain fried the entire night. 

At one point Martin challenges James to some stupid game that involves taking shots and hitting a mini soccer ball into a trash can, and you swear the cabin shakes when everyone screams after he makes it. You’re laughing. Actually laughing. And your cheeks hurt in the happiest way.

Eventually, when you’re both a little tipsy and the cold outside feels way too sharp, James wraps an arm around your waist and walks you back to the room.

Inside, you both stand awkwardly over the giant bed again.

“Uh… I’ll sleep on that side,” you say, pointing to the edge like it’s a danger zone.

James nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

You settle under the covers, facing away, trying to breathe normally. James climbs in on the opposite end, careful, respectful, leaving a canyon of space between you. As you close your eyes, the coldness of your body was stopping you from falling asleep. After laying there for a few minutes, you finally resort to your last option.

“James?”

He replies immediately. “Yeah?”

“I’m cold.”

There’s a beat. A quiet little inhale. You could practically hear him breathing from the other side of the bed. Then the mattress dips as he moves closer, sliding an arm around your waist and gently pulling you back into him. Warm. Solid. Safe. You exhale without meaning to, your body relaxing instantly into his.

His breath brushes your neck. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

And just like that, wrapped in him, heartbeat syncing with his, you fall asleep.

The next night creeps in faster than you expect. The final night of the trip—the big skiing day. The sky’s already going dark-blue, that weird shade where you can’t tell if it’s late afternoon or 11 p.m., and the cold is sharp enough to pinch your nose.

James helps you zip up your jacket, his fingers brushing your neck, sending chills that have nothing to do with the weather.

“You ready?” he asks, all smug confidence.

“No,” you answer instantly.

He laughs. “You’ll be fine. I’ll teach you.”

Outside, the slopes glow under tall floodlights, making the snow sparkle like someone dumped glitter everywhere. Kids and pros and show-offs are zooming down the hill like Olympic qualifiers. You’re already planning your funeral.

James clips your boots in for you because he doesn’t trust you with anything involving gravity.

“Okay,” he says, stepping behind you, hands gripping your arms gently. “Lean forward a tiny bit. Just enough to not fall backwards.”

“Okay,” you say, immediately leaning like a malfunctioning tower.

He steadies you. “Not that much—unless you wanna eat snow.”

“I’m gonna eat snow regardless.”

“That’s fair.”

He teaches you slowly, patiently—how to stop, how to turn, how not to accidentally kill yourself. And you… kinda get the hang of it? Ish? You manage to go five whole meters without face-planting.

Every time you wobble, he’s right there catching you by the waist. Every time you mess up, he laughs—not mean, but soft, fond, like he likes seeing you try. Eventually, you’re actually skiing—well, sliding down at the speed of an elderly turtle, but still.

James skis backwards in front of you, because of course he can. His eyes are warm, cheeks flushed red from the cold.

“You’re doing good!” he calls out.

“You’re lying to be nice!”

“I am,” he admits.

You finally stop at the bottom and nearly fall, but he lunges forward, catching you. Your helmet bumps into his chest.

“Hey,” he breathes, smiling down at you. “See? You didn’t die.”

“Yet,” you mutter.

After a while, you both sit in the snow, helmets off, catching your breath. Snow somehow gets down the back of your jacket and into your gloves and probably your soul.

You shriek. “OH MY GOD IT’S IN MY SHIRT—” James bursts out laughing. “You good?”

You do the most logical thing: grab a handful of snow and yeet it at his face.

He freezes. Then smirks. “Oh, it’s on.”

Next thing you know, you’re in a full snowball war—screaming, laughing, slipping everywhere, James chasing you around trees with perfect aim while you miss every single throw like you’re allergic to accuracy.

By the time you both stumble back toward the lodge, you’re breathless and soaked and ridiculously happy. Right outside the hallway to your room, James bumps your shoulder lightly. “Hey, uh… go ahead to the room. I need to tell Martin something real quick.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He kisses your cheek—quick, warm—before turning away.

You head inside. You shower, change, check your phone, sit on the bed, go through photos, scroll TikTok, stare at the ceiling, contemplate the meaning of life…

Forty-five minutes pass.

The door finally opens. James steps in, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s tired. “Sorry. Martin was being annoying.”

You smile. “It’s okay. I had fun these two days. Thank you for convincing me to come.”

His eyes soften. “I’m glad you did.”

—

The next morning is chaotic—bags everywhere, people rushing, doors slamming, winter air biting at your face. James looks exhausted, barely awake, stuffing clothes into his duffel like a zombie.

His other friend is waiting for him outside, yelling for him to hurry.

You zip your jacket and head into the hallway. Martin’s there, tying his boots.

“Hey, Martin?”

He looks up. “Hm?”

“What did you and James talk about last night?”

He blinks. “Last night? …We didn’t talk.”

Your stomach drops. “He didn’t see you?”

“No? I didn’t see him at all.”

Oh. Oh great. Fanfuckingtastic. A cold wave rolls through your chest harder than the mountain wind.

When you climb into the passenger seat of James’s car, he’s quiet—clearly tired. He yawns as he turns the engine on. The drive is silent for a long time. Like… too long.

Finally, he speaks. “Are you going to the match today?”

“No.”

He glances at you, confused. “Why not?”

You keep your eyes on the window. “Because I know you didn’t go see Martin.”

The air tightens.

“So who was it?” you ask. James doesn’t answer. Your heart beats loud enough to hurt. The coach starts calling him the second you guys pull into the parking lot.

“James! Let’s go! You’re 14 minutes late. Warm-ups!”

He’s still staring at the steering wheel.

“Tell me,” you whisper. “Did you go see Amy?”

“Look—” he starts, voice low, strained, “I can explain.”

The coach yells again. “FIVE MINUTES, JAMES!”

Your throat burns. “Am I just your second best?”

He winces—like the words physically hit him.

The coach yells again, sharper this time: “Last warning!”

James steps out of the car, but turns back, gripping the door.

“Please,” he says, eyes desperate. “Just come to the game. I promise I’ll explain everything after. Please.”

And then he’s gone, jogging off toward the field, leaving you sitting in the quiet car, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out.

—

The school library is quiet in that specific after-school way — soft humming lights, the vague smell of old pages, one kid coughing somewhere like he’s auditioning for a Victorian death scene. You’re still not sure about meeting up with James after his games. It has been a hell of a week,

You’ve been curled up in a corner armchair for about an hour or two with some random book you grabbed just to distract your brain from… everything. It’s working, sorta. 

Until you flip the page and land on a quote that hits you like a truck:

“If someone chooses silence when they owe you honesty, let them go.

But if your heart aches louder than your pride…

you’ll find your way back anyway.”

You stare at it like it personally slapped you across the face. Why does everywhere you go have to remind you of James. And then you glance at the clock.

You are one hour late to the end James’s game. 

Like — not fifteen minutes, not “oops my bad,”

but a FULL sixty minutes late.

“Shit.”

You jump up so fast the librarian gives you a death glare that could shatter glass.

You shove the book back on the shelf sideways (crime) and practically sprint out. It’s pouring outside — full dramatic movie thunderstorm pouring. The kind that soaks your socks instantly.

You take out your sad little umbrella and start the walk home, hugging your jacket to your chest like that’ll protect you from your own thoughts. But when you reach the edge of the outdoor courts—the ones the team cuts across after games—you pause,

Because there’s someone standing there. Alone. Soaked. Head down. Kicking at the gravel like he’s fighting ghosts. James.

He’s drenched top to bottom, rainwater mixed with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, jersey clinging to him. And he’s… waiting. Still. Just standing there like he refuses to leave until something changes. Your chest does something stupid and painful, a mixture of guilt and anger.

You walk up quietly, stepping behind him, lifting the umbrella up on your toes so it covers the both of you. One tiny circle of dryness in a whole world of rain.

He tenses first—then turns slowly. The moment he sees you, his expression crumples in this soft, relieved way that knocks the breath right out of you.

“…You came,” he says, voice low, almost disbelieving.

You swallow. “Yeah. I— I was late. And then it started raining, so I was just walking home but…”

Your eyes flick to him.

“But you’re still here.”

You lower the umbrella slightly so you can see his face better. Drops of rain slide down his cheek, and he looks exhausted — not physically, but in that “I’ve been stressing about losing you for hours” kind of way.

“What made you come?” he asks quietly. You shrug, breath fogging the air. “I… read something. And it made me realize I wasn’t done. With us.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks away for a second like he’s overwhelmed.

You take a small step closer. “Who were you with, James?”

He lets out a breath that’s practically a sigh of defeat. “Amy.”

Your stomach sinks — until he lifts his head, eyes sharp, honest.

“But not for what you think.”

You don’t say anything. You just hold the umbrella and wait.

“I went to tell her to stop,” he says. “To stop showing up everywhere. To stop spreading shit about you. About us. To stop acting like I owe her something.”

His voice strengthens, anger threading through it.

“I told her if she messed with you one more time, I’d—” He stops, shaking his head. “—I’d actually lose it. I didn’t want things to blow up in front of you, so I waited until later. That’s it. That’s all it was.”

Your eyes sting. And your voice comes out smaller than you want.

“…Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He steps closer, rain dripping off his jaw. “Because when you asked, you already looked like I’d punched a hole in your chest. And then the coach was yelling at me, and I panicked.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

The rain softens around you, or maybe you just stop noticing it.

You whisper, “I thought you were… choosing her again.”

His face twists — hurt, like the idea physically wounds him.

“Y/N.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist gently, like he’s asking permission.

“You were never my second best.” Your throat closes up.

“And I waited,” he adds. “For an hour. In the rain. Just in case there was even a 1% chance you’d show up.” You let out a tiny, shaky laugh. “That’s really dumb of you.”

He smiles, soft and crooked. “Yeah. But I’m yours, so… it tracks.”

You look at him—really look—soaked, shivering, but eyes warm like he never doubted you’d return.

You step forward and tuck yourself against him, arms looping around his waist. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole day and pulls you in, umbrella tilting awkwardly over both your heads.

His chest is warm even though his clothes are freezing. His chin rests on your hair. His heartbeat is steady and loud.

“Hey,” he murmurs into your ear.

“What?”

“Thanks for coming back.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me chase you through a storm again,” you mumble.

He chuckles, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Then don’t leave me behind.”

You shrug playfully. “No promises.”

He leans down, forehead touching yours, breaths mixing in the cold air.

Warm and close and full of everything you’ve been too scared to say.

“Let me walk you home,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Let’s go home.”

He takes the umbrella from you, threads his fingers through yours, and the two of you walk out of the storm together — matching steps, matching heartbeats — leaving every misunderstanding behind on the wet pavement.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You don’t feel like you’re someone’s temporary choice. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. With him.

But curiosity did get the better of you. An hour into this silent, hot moment of shameless foreplay and intimate exploration, you finally touched the bulge on Haechan's pants.

It was sort of an accident, but not really. You had actively been avoiding the area even when your arm lay by your side and your fingers were so near you could sense the bulge and cock. Your thoughts were elsewhere – on the sensation of Haechan's fingers near your clit, and on the allure of his naked upper body – when your hand brushed against the erection in his pants which made Haechan really excited.

He pushed his groin against your hand. The movement was slow and controlled. He began to softly grind against you, and his fingers quickly slipped over your stomach and to your boob where they froze.

He held his breath. Your brain became alert and aware of the ‘accident’ your own hand had caused. But you didn't pull your fingers back, only extended them further.

You felt the outline of the boner. The tip of the head which poked at the fabric. You squeezed Haechan's dick over his pants, and his grinding motions became longer, harder and slightly faster.

That's when a shift happened, after more than an hour since this all started. Haechan suddenly retracted his arm and rolled on his back, and you turned slightly toward him when he slowly unbuckled his belt.

You put a hand on his bare, soft chest and closed your eyes. You imagined his actions but were afraid to look. And you buried your face in a pillow when you felt him raise his knees and feet, and heard him slide the pants off.

You knew exactly what he was doing when he stripped down to his underwear. And you didn't mind it, didn't stop him.

When he returned you lay on your back again and let him grind against your body and touch it. Chenle was turned away from you and didn't move a single muscle.

The man with whom you had dreamed of having sex for some time was all over you once again. His lips and hands became more eager and abrupt now that he was practically naked. And to guide you, encourage you and check your limits, he pushed on the top around your neck with an obvious desire to take it off.

At first you didn't do anything in return, just lay there with your eyes shut and mouth slightly open, so horny you could burst and so alert and aware of every little detail it scared you.

But then you raised your neck. The top was released from under you and Haechan helped pull it over your head. He removed it, dropped it on the floor, and a new level of the night was reached which was a thrilling relief to you both.

His fingers slid south and found your wet pussy again. You squirmed slowly and spread your thighs so wide your knee bumped into Chenle's ass which made you quickly pull it back in. The man didn't seem to have noticed, thank god.

With each passing minute, eager to feel more of your naked body, Haechan felt heavier against you. He wasn't on top of you, not yet, but he desperately wanted to be and you could tell.

To show his intentions he fixed the seams of your panties between his thumb and index finger and pushed down. Your ass on the mattress kept the fabric in place, but then you instinctively raised that part of your body too.

The man wanted you naked. You wanted to get naked with him, and feel more of his soft skin. And you temporarily closed your legs so he could slide the panties off, over your thighs, knees and feet where you kicked them aside.

The duvet under which you had been laying when all of this started was still down there, but it no longer covered you up. The relative darkness made you feel safe, but Chenle's presence was constantly on your mind because it was impossible not to brush against him.

Perhaps Haechan worried about that too, because he suddenly reached down for the cover, and pulled it over you both before he aligned his body with yours.

That's when your fingers touched his erection. And this time, it didn't feel so dangerous and scary despite the fact you could clearly feel more of it without the jeans in the way.

You grabbed the shaft and stroke it over his underwear. To touch a dick for the first time in your life was really exciting. And the scary feeling was gradually fading, or at least you were able to ignore it.

You continued to make out. Haechan kept grinding against you and let out a grunt, when he repeatedly pushed his boner in between your fingers.

Then he pulled his head back slightly and looked at you. “Condom?” he whispered, one hand on your chest and the other stroking your cheek and hair.

You could barely make out his eyes and expression right in front of you. “What about Chenle?” you whispered, and held the man around his shoulder.

The question made Haechan incredibly happy. It meant you really did want to go all the way.

“He's sleeping,” he pointed out and shrugged, as if it was no big deal. Then he pulled the duvet higher, an attempt to make you feel safer and more willing.

It worked. You thought for another few seconds, but dammit if Chenle was going to ruin this for you. Maybe his presence was a sign though. It wasn't him being there that scared you, after all.

“Hmm, maybe not,” you whispered, and Haechan was audibly disappointed.

He didn't show it, not really. But you could hear it in his voice. “Oh, okay,” he said and faked a smile, then kissed your lips as if to tell you it really was okay, that he respected your decision and feelings.

He slowly rolled away from you and exhaled. He stopped touching you, and lay flat on his back with a hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling, likely trying to make his erection go away.

You stayed beside him for a minute, your fingers playing between you. Then you raised your hand under the cover, and put it on his crotch where the erection still throbbed. You slowly began to stroke and massage it again, so curious to feel it.

Haechan let you touch him. He enjoyed every pleasurable second of it. But his hand didn't return to your clit, and he didn't make any further attempts to get to fuck you. If you didn't want to – if he wasn't going to get the release he so desperately needed – all he could do was try to cool down.

Not that it mattered. You were friends and he knew the same things you did about the potential dangers of what you were doing. Maybe it was for the best that you stopped, for everyone's sake. It wasn't too late and wouldn't hurt your friendship.

The room became totally quiet, for the first time since foreplay began. Chenle still didn't move a muscle, but you became very aware of how heavy his breathing was. Yeah, there was no doubt about it, even if he might have been awake before he was definitely asleep right now.

You moved the hand to Haechan's stomach, then pushed it south underneath the seams of his briefs. That's when you felt a cock in the flesh for the first time, your fingers brushing against the head before you grabbed the length of the shaft.

It was heart-pounding experience. The moment was fun and thrilling. It put your mind on high alert, and Haechan didn't move or react at first, but then he raised his ass and slid the underwear down, raised his knees again and took them all the way off while you stroke the erection continuously.

Clearly you both really wanted this. And that's when you knew and decided. What was the point of dancing around the subject like this?

Fuck it, you thought. What harm can it do? You wanted to feel that cock inside you so bad, and Chenle wasn't a problem.

“Okay,” you said and turned your head.

Haechan raised his and stared at you. “What?” he whispered.

“Maybe… a condom?”

The man's heart jolted. He was visibly thrilled by your change of heart, as evident by the way his body quickly moved.

He worked hard not to show it too much but failed. Eagerly he rolled away from you, but with a certain slowness as not to scare you off or wake the sleeping man which could ruin everything.

He came prepared and returned with something. You let go of his boner and let your hands rest on your stomach. You couldn't see but knew what Haechan was doing, when he put the condom on under the cover before his lips came back to yours.

You rolled to meet him when his hands returned to your body. He half way sat up, leaning over you while you made out. And when you pushed your arm in under him to hold him, he raised his hips and climbed on top.

You spread your legs wide for him, and multiple times your knee bumped into Chenle who still didn't react. You sank down into the mattress while Haechan's lips were all over your mouth, smacking quietly as you stroke his naked back and waist.

You wondered where the cock was. For a moment you couldn't feel it, and wondered how it would get in. Were you expected to do something, or how did it work?

Haechan saved you. While leaning on an elbow he reached in, and you felt both his hand and the head against your lower stomach.

Then the sensation disappeared, only to return closer to your clit. And when the head and hand touched your wet folds you held your breath, your brain all but shutting down from the scary and arousing stir.

“Are you sure?” Haechan asked and paused.

“Yeah,” you said and smiled up at him.

Then he sank down, slowly, and the head made your folds part and spread your hole open.

It felt strange, not at all how you had imagined. Not bad, but not amazing either.

Haechan pulled his hand out and held you around your sides. He exhaled in a long, controlled breath before he kissed you.

The erection slowly slid in. It hurt, when the head went deeper and your wet pussy licked the length of the shaft. Then he pulled back slightly, and the pain only intensified.

Haechan's lips froze on yours. He moved his ass slowly, carefully up and down a couple of times. Then he opened his eyes and asked, as if he could read your mind: “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You didn't want him to worry. You definitely didn't want him to stop. “No,” you lied, an answer which made Haechan feel relieved.

His movements increased slightly in speed and intensity. He knew what he was doing and was gentle, but also fucking horny and eager for more. It was a balance between giving in to his desires and making sure you were enjoying it too.

When you didn't complain, however, nor ask him to stop, his mind drifted away from the worry of how it felt for you, and whether his friend would wake up and ruin the moment, and became fully focused on your body and the strong sensation of it gliding against his cock.

The pussy he had already been exploring and fingering for so long felt great to him. And to you, as the pain faded, and your body and mind loosened up.

Your hands came alive on Haechan's back, moving up and down in gentle but steady strokes. It felt pretty good once you got into a rhythm.

Haechan was a wonderful man, one of your best friends, and though it still didn't feel at all how you had imagined it, sex really was very nice.

The experience went on in this position, at the same pace and with you doing nothing but moving your hands and receiving the occasional kiss, for five minutes or so.

Your thoughts jumped between the warm and soft body in your arms, to the hard cock inside you and what it felt like, and to Chenle's lingering presence.

At one point a tingling sensation jolted between your legs, a wonderful glimpse into what great sex could feel like. It was fleeting, but it made you excited and helped you further give in to your curiosity.

Your hands moved higher and lower as a result. You opened your mouth wider and allowed yourself to breathe more audibly. And the bed let out a squeak, when Haechan thrust a little deeper inside you.

The noise made you both stiffen slightly. But it felt too good, and by now you were too into it, to stop.

Your hand reached down to the man's ass, a part of him your curiosity was eager to learn more about. You stroke his bare cheek which made your heart flutter and scared you, to the point that the hand quickly retracted.

He's naked! you thought, as if you hadn't been entirely sure before.

The brief touch made Haechan excited too, and he began to heave lowly near your ear.

The bed squeaked again. This time, he didn't slow down because he really didn't want to. And Chenle's tiny body beside you began to rock gently to the rhythm.

Your knee bumped into him several times at this point. The first time your heart and brain reacted to it. The second time you tried harder to keep it away from him, but Haechan's body pushing down on the inside of your thigh made you fail. The third time you gave up and let it happen, because you had come so far by now that Chenle was easy to ignore.

He wasn't reacting anyway. And dammit if he was going to ruin this for you. Even if he did wake up, it wasn't going to stop you.

*****

Chenle lay on his side with his back toward his friends. He knew what you were doing back there, touching and making out. And it hurt in his heart, so bad. But he didn't want to stop you either.

He was surprisingly turned on. So fucking horny. It was thrilling to him, to know his hot friend was being touched. Too bad it was by one of his fellow members.

That Haechan would have sex in the same bed as him had never even occurred to him before. Now, when he heard and felt what was going on in the dark, he simultaneously hated and loved it. But if he focused his thoughts only on you, and imagined your body and pretended no one else was present, it secretly really thrilled him.

When he felt a knee bump into his ass he opened his eyes wide and stared at the wall in front of him. His erection was throbbing but he didn't touch it. His head was resting on his hands.

At one point he actually drifted off. Foreplay lasted for so long. His mind was elsewhere and his cock had softened. It was easier to just pretend like nothing was happening.

But then he woke up. For a moment he thought that you and Haechan had stopped, perhaps fallen asleep yourselves. He imagined it would be in each other's arms, all horny and maybe naked. He could always hope and dream.

That's when the smacking sounds resumed, and the mattress jolted slightly which made him alert. The erection between his legs quickly returned.

“Condom?” he heard Haechan whisper. It made him listen intently.

“What about Chenle?”

“He's sleeping.”

It made the man freeze up and hold his breath. A part of him really wanted this to happen, for you to have sex while he was right there. Just the idea turned him on.

But another part of him was hurting. Aching. And when you didn't immediately respond to Haechan he nearly started to cry.

Because the truth is, Chenle had a major crush on you. He had for quite some time. And being a virgin himself, the idea of what you were doing – of what you might agree to any second now – was painful as hell.

“Hmm, maybe not,” you whispered, in your mind super quietly but to Chenle's perceptive ears it was really loud.

You decision gave him mixed emotions. He was relieved, very much so. But with a hand on his crotch slowly massaging his shaft so you wouldn't notice, also utterly disappointed.

The time that followed made Chenle feel hollow. He tried real hard to go back to sleep but couldn't. He didn't want to miss anything, but he also didn't want to hear any more. He suddenly wished he wasn't there, or that you weren't.

If you didn't want to have sex with his friend, that was a decision Chenle would be happy with. If you did, he had no reasonable reason to object. Of course, he did – you were all in the same bed after all – but doing so would risk revealing his true feelings for you and that was the most dangerous and scary thing of all.

He hoped this was the end of it. But a repetitive sound and tiny but repetitive shaking soon filled the room, one which Chenle could only imagine the cause of. It was the sound of your hand moving up and down under the covers, slowly jerking Haechan off.

And then came the words that pierced his heart in the worst possible way, and made his cock throb so hard it gave him an intense pleasure like never before.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Maybe… a condom?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Chenle closed his eyes hard, squeezed his cock tight, and really struggled not to move a muscle.

What happened next was super vivid in his mind. He felt and heard your two bodies behind him shifting around, but he never knew when the condom came on or exactly when his friend climbed on top of you.

He did know when the sex had started though. And he heard Haechan's questions: “Are you sure?”, “Are you okay?” and “Does it hurt?”

The soft jumping of the mattress, and the knee bumping into his back several times, made everything super obvious.

The mental images in his head were wild, and it was the most horny and simultaneously painful moment of Chenle's life.

It broke his heart when you said “Yes” to the first question and “No” to the last.

He wanted to cry again when his little body rocked gently to the rhythm of the sex happening right behind him.

And his cock throbbed so hard, his hand unable to stop stroking it, he definitely didn't want to speak up.

It was a strange, overwhelming concoction of mixed emotions. One which Chenle knew only one way to deal with: if you, his crush, was going to lose your virginity to his friend while Chenle himself had to endure the sounds and sensations of it in the same bed, he had to reach his own climax in order to even begin to get over it.

*****

Haechan's breaths were shallow and abrupt near your ear. His lips had stopped touching your skin, and his hand remained dormant while they occasionally squeezed you.

You stared at the ceiling, then closed your eyes and let the moment consume you. It felt pretty good, each time the body on top of you pushed in.

No, it felt great! So thrillingly good. Haechan was such a sweet lover, and you knew in that moment that you would think back on your first time as an amazing experience.

You didn't move much at all, but you let the man fuck you. It had been clear all night that he wanted to, and your heart felt as happy as his now that he did.

The cock sliding in and out, stretching your pussy wide open, gave you an exciting thrill. And the same words could be used to describe the fact that you weren't alone in the bed, though the thrill and excitement stemming from that was something else.

By now the bed was jumping and squeaks were frequent and repetitive. Haechan didn't seem to mind so neither did you. You just let it all happen, let him continue to fuck you, going with the flow and enjoying every second of it.

His skin was soft and wonderful to touch. His breaths in your ear turned you on. And the back and ass made your heart and groin tingle, a sensation you also had never anticipated.

Do I love him? you wondered. You did, though perhaps not in the intense and romantic way you imagined while his cock was inside you.

“Huuh, ohh!” Haechan suddenly grunted, so loudly it made you open your eyes wide.

Chenle was a deep sleeper, you knew that, but even if you naively thought he didn't know what was happening, you knew there was no way he didn't hear that. At least if he was awake.

It surprised you how little it bothered you. So what if Chenle heard? It was only sex. Your first time, yes, but just sex nonetheless. You would probably laugh about it, or pretend like it never happened. In either case it was not a big deal that Chenle was there.

What was a big deal, however, was the change in the relationship between you and Haechan. You had dreamed of him for so long, hoping that something like this would happen. Now you couldn't stop thinking about the consequences, even when he had been in you for some time.

What did it mean? Would you be dating now? Was this just a one time thing for him? Did he have feelings for you too, or was he just horny?

As the man lay naked on top of you, stroking your exposed body under the covers and fucking your still wet pussy with his hard cock, you didn't have any answers.

But you were excited about what they might be, about the possibilities and doors that were opening as a result of your actions on this night.

“Huuh, uuhhh,” Haechan heaved again. His ass began to jump a little faster, and Chenle's body was practically shaking beside you. “Mmm, mmm, m-m-m-mmm!”

It was clear even to you that he was trying to hold back, but also that he failed to be silent. At first you didn't know what was happening, when his cock throbbed inside you and released. But then he slowed down, felt heavier, and you knew that something had changed.

Is it over? you wondered, but you didn't ask. It sounded like the man was enjoying himself, but you had no idea if he thought you were any good. Should you have done something, other than just lay there and touch and hold him?

“Haaah, oh my god!” the man wheezed in your ear, words that made you feel surprisingly good. Then he kissed your cheek, and you turned your head to meet his soft lips.

His strained look made you smile. The cock was emptied in the condom, and though you didn't know what that meant or what it looked like or even that he had indeed orgasmed, it felt good.

Haechan managed to smile too when he opened his eyes. He pushed gently on your face to bring it closer, and buried his head in your neck.

His breath was hot on your skin. His other hand gently stroke your hip, while yours ventured down his back one last time. You felt and squeezed his ass, because you suddenly worried it might be the last chance in your life to do so, to feel him naked.

You caressed him, touched him, loved him. If it was really over, you suddenly really worried about what came next, and the many questions became more immediate.

And Chenle returned to your mind. He was still there, with his back toward you. Deep down you knew there was no chance in hell he was sleeping, but he pretended to, and that was really nice of him.

*****

Chenle lay wide awake and on high alert, listening to the obvious noises of sex right behind him.

His hand was inside his pants and underwear. His t-shirt had slid up to his chest, and a part of his back was exposed.

He barely needed to move his fingers. Gravity and the jumping mattress did it for him. And he was so hard, so fucking turned on, his aching heart had no space to influence his emotions.

Masturbating to the noises and mental images of his friends was a coping mechanism, but also an exciting adventure. And with time, as he felt and imagined the girl Chenle himself had hoped and dreamed of losing his virginity to one day, he actually enjoyed it.

His eyes were wide open, to just stay alert and make sure his friends couldn't see what he was doing.

His hand and fingers moved in tiny but ever more rapid motions, as he lay on his side and jerked off.

The sounds, the increasingly large and careless movements of their bodies, made him feel safe in knowing that they didn't care about him.

“Huuh, ohh!” Haechan grunted which made Chenle's heart skip a beat and his hand move faster still. He became convinced that his friend just camel, though how could he know?

He immediately had mixed feelings about that too. He listened for any sounds coming from the girl. It was you he was crushing on, and your naked body that was vivid in his mind. He heard nothing, but aided by Haechan's noises his imagination did a pretty good job at filling in the gaps.

He saw your boobs in front of him, though he had never seen a pair in real life.

He knew you absolutely loved having sex with him, from the expression on your face the way he imagined it.

And he believed he was an amazing lover, because in his mind it wasn't Haechan who was fucking you, but Chenle himself whose cock made you react with such intense pleasure.

The jumping of the mattress quickly slowed which made Chenle worried. He suddenly felt the pressure of time, and moved his fingers even faster.

He had a clear goal, an intent. Jerking off was no longer about continuous pleasure and dealing with the pain of what was going on, but about reaching a release before it was too late.

He knew that if he didn't come now he would never be able to without you noticing. Falling asleep, knowing that you and Haechan were naked right behind him, would be impossible if he was still hard.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide to silence his rapid breaths.

He shook his arm fast, in tiny motions to keep the shaking down but simultaneously with increasingly little worry if you did notice what he was secretly doing.

He stretched out the seams of his sweat pants and underwear, to give his fingers and hand more space. Then he grimaced hard and let go of the seams, and came in his underwear so hard it made his mind go blank.

It was the strongest, most incredible orgasm of his life. For a split second, it felt as though he lost his virginity along side you.

He quickly pulled his hand out before it got soiled. It was a little too late and he wiped it on his shirt, suddenly fearing that otherwise either one of his friends might brush against it in the night.

Then he relaxed, exhaled deeply but slowly to stay as silent as possible, and stopped moving just as Haechan did the same.

He felt it when his friend climbed off the girl they both desired.

He listened and imagined what was going on when you turned on your side and put an arm around Haechan's chest.

And finally, when the pain in his heart began to return and take up more space inside him again, he decided that he just had to fall asleep now, or else the night would be long and excruciating.

*****

Haechan's lips were so soft and enticing, and the spent man looked adorable.

The duvet was down to your hips and your upper halves were exposed, when you lay in each other's arms, happily stroking each other and beaming of after glow.

Then you couldn't ignore the fact that you needed a bathroom break, and slowly whispered: “Where are my clothes?”

Haechan sat up and tried to help you. You reached out and stroke his back, and watched the shape of his ass in the dark when he got up.

He walked around and picked items off the floor and off the bed. You smiled when you saw his soft cock, and when he picked the condom up from a table by the side of the bed and put it in the trash.

The he returned to you, gave you whatever clothes he had been able to find, and you put your panties on under the covers while he stood next to the bed and pulled his underwear up.

He returned to bed in a t-shirt but with no pants. Meanwhile you got up, in your top but no bra underneath, scooting down slowly as not to disturb the sleeping friend over there.

You quietly left the room. Haechan lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, a hand behind his head and a faint smile on his face.

He was as far away from Chenle as possible. Your spot was in the middle and it was best to keep it that way.

Chenle could only agree, but he also hoped in the moment that you would never return. He wasn't sure if his heart could take it if you did.

“Haechan?” he whispered and turned his head.

Haechan's heart jolted. “Yeah?” he whispered calmly.

“You're fucking loud.”

The man who just fucked you chuckled. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but he didn't sound very regretful.

When you returned, you stopped in the door and saw the two men in bed, both wide awake, two of your best friends. You quickly returned to the spot in the middle, and glanced at Chenle who was on his back.

He smiled at you. You smiled back and covered your body. He got out of bed, and you turned to Haechan to cuddle.

“He heard?” you asked.

“Yup,” Haechan said. Then you both giggled and embraced.

When Chenle returned you were all but asleep. You had drifted so far you barely noticed him crawling in. And then you passed out, with Haechan's chest pressed against your face, and a feeling of joy and content in your heart.

Chenle did manage to fall asleep too, eventually. Tomorrow, none of you would acknowledge what happened. But the relationship between you and Haechan had changed, and it wasn't the last time you slept together.

Next time, Chenle wouldn't be there. You spent increasingly much time alone with just the one of them. You always knew that maybe Chenle had feelings about that, but you didn't think too much about it because there was nothing you could do.

Your heart was Haechan's. And the fact that you gave him your virginity meant something. It was a natural part of growing up, and your friendship was still intact.

Chenle had no choice but to accept it, and the memory of that night was etched onto his brain. It became his go-to mental porn when he was alone and horny.

You felt really good about the future, and your first time really was great.

Happiest of all, however, was perhaps Haechan himself. He was ecstatic about what had happened, because he was never just horny at all.

He had a huge crush on you, always did. It was thanks to this night that you finally learned that.

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