#I'm feeling burned out and college just started back up again
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the-camp-half-blood-library · 2 days ago
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Hi hi!
I'm looking for a solangelo enemies to lovers fic, slow burn but no too slow burn y'know?
Hi! We've got a few of those to share with you, just mind the tags...
forever winter by panemsolympus
Will didn't expect to spill his coffee on a random stranger some random Monday morning, much like Nico didn't expect to get stuck talking about the worst topic ever for his English Senior Thesis-- love. Maybe, though, this stranger spilling coffee and ruining his copy of Pride and Prejudice is a good thing, and maybe he'll even come out of it with a different perspective on love. Nico di Angelo was nothing if stubborn, and some random blond with azure blue eyes couldn't possibly sway his perception of love that easily. Right?
Not necessarily enemies, but mutual dislike to lovers slow burn with parallels and references to Pride and Prejudice, as well as based on Forever Winter by Taylor Swift. Ratings may change in the future depending on what I deem necessary, and tags will be updated with each chapter. Enjoy <3
my lover's the sunlight by @jackwolfes
It’s his Olympic debut. In a few short hours, he’ll be the only man skating on the ice sitting before him. He’ll be skating in the Men’s Singles Short Programme and representing all of the United States. He’s in a city he hasn’t seen in years, skating a brand new set of routines, and he wants so desperately to win.  -- Figure Skater Nico di Angelo has a run in with Ice Hockey Player Will Solace. It doesn't go too smoothly, but then again - when does it ever?
You're a Sunburst by @venusthemirror
"The vocalist was so full of energy that it was impossible to look away. At least, that's the thought that went through the head of the blond boy wiping down tables at the back of the venue." Will Solace and Nico di Angelo are in rival bands, and they're set to compete against each other in three weeks. Nico tries to hate Will, but after the two of them are paired together to work on an English project, Will manages to break through his shell. As they start to develop feelings for each other, they have to navigate through high school drama, parties, coming out, fights, near-death experiences, and blackmail from a mysterious user on the school gossip website. AKA, the fic you'd get if Lemonade Mouth and Love, Simon had a baby.
can i handle the seasons of my life? by @buoyantsaturn
“I think that most people your age finished high school, and whether they knew what they wanted to do with the rest of their life or not, they went to college. That was their version of ditching everything they knew in order to find themselves. Maybe it’s time for you to stop taking advice from other kids who grew up the same way you did, and take it from someone who used to be normal.” 
Let Us Be Glad (No One Mourns The Wicked) by @ellemeditdance
“Let’s get this over with,” Nico looked into the blue eyes of the boy in front of him, meeting them with the unblinking stare that usually kept people from approaching him more than once. “No, I’m not blind. No, I don’t have a concussion. Yes, I was born like this. And no, I can’t see the future or the past or anything besides what’s right in front of me. Which, at the moment, is less than pleasant.” The grin the boy had been aiming at Nico since tapping him on the shoulder slowly dropped, but he didn’t otherwise react to the prepared spiel. Nico was impressed. Most people would have turned tail and run by now, if they even stuck around long enough to hear the monologue after seeing Nico’s eyes — which were a dark, reflective black from corner to corner, no whites, pupils or irises to be seen. “Um, I was just going to ask if this seat is taken.” —— Or, a Solangelo Wicked AU, based on the Wicked musical because I haven't read the book
Again, mind the tags. Leave kudos, leave a comment, and happy reading!
-Mod 2
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spacebubblehomebase · 10 months ago
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hi, just letting you know that ahmed 90s-ghost doesn't verify fundraisers anymore! he quit after it got too overwhelming, so you shouldn't @ him asking him to. you can probably find the post about it by searching his blog.
Thanks for letting me know, Anon...
I get it... I REALLY do.
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I understand. Y'know I used to be so excited to get Asks. It means someone wants to talk about art and silly cartoon characters with me. But now all I feel is dread. Not because I don't want to help, but because the help I give is never enough. I used to privately mesage back to those Asks, but one became 6 became 10 to... Well. I can't donate. Euros and dollars are valued a lot higher here, thus the opposite is also true. The value of our money is but a paltry bread's worth and even if I split it in crumbs, with the amount of people who approach me for help, it'll soon run dry, but I'm just a student who still rely on my parents financially. So I thought I'd share instead, but that quickly got out of hand. I post one thing and get multiple asks by the HOUR. I already had to apologize for struggling to meet demands before and I only had 3 or 6 rare to come-by short Asks about art. Now I have a hundred and counting I have to check personally. I didn't want to admit it, but I've also long been overwhelmed. I just didn't feel like I had the right to say so. I still don't. But the truth is, anyone can say they're verified too, which is terrible because not only will I be partially responsible for my followers who got scammed by bots or scumbags who take advantage of those at war with fake fundraisers, but even worse is that the help and money may not even reach those who actually need it. I thought I would be fine the first time. I don't really like posting too much about our depressing reality or watching news in general because my account was supposed to be a "safe SPACE" and a "nice little BUBBLE" for us to be happy and escape for awhile, so I didn't think much about reblogging it at first. I only wanted to help. But it just kept going and I got swept away. There's so many of them, but there's only one of me and I've been spiraling lately. So for now, I will no longer take any Asks about this subject (which I always avoid mentioning directly because the algorithm has it out for putting you guys down and I wanted you all to make it so I didn't tag those reblogs as such). I'll still take Asks provided they're related to my actual content and of course I'll still support raising awareness for Pal est ine, yet I also get it if this may appear selfish to some of you. I tried. I really did. But if you'd rather ignore, unfollow, or block me for this decision, I understand. I'm just sorry it had to come to this and that I wasn't strong enough to help more. -Bubs.
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shouyuus · 6 months ago
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─── â…„ CHAPTER SIX: SIX
violet; 4,984 words, fluff and SMUT!!!, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, college parties, hurt/comfort (kinda), wlw, SESBIAN LEX!!!, thigh riding (both), fingering, oral (r!receiving), gays being bad at feelings, mel is Mother, jayce is the bestest wingbro ever, no "y/n"
summary: in which vi, actually, does not fuck this up.
a/n: and.... here it is!!! the grande finale :) thank you guys so much for reading and for showing this lil miniseries so much support <3 i hope the payoff was good, and #trust that this won't be the last you see of hockey!vi and figure skater!reader ! they're so dear to me and i'm already thinking of cute lil drabbles i could write in this universe but anyway -- i'm getting ahead of myself. enjoy the last chapter!!!!
< table of contents
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─── â…„ THIS IS, VI REFLECTS as she steps into the booming base-threaded room of the sorority house, probably not the best idea. But it’s the only one she’s got, so she might as well lean in, right? Right.
Jayce cranes up to look over the sea of people before jerking his head towards the punch table with a shrug. Vi follows him, running a hand through her freshly washed hair. She thanks whatever gods are up there that she’d remembered to bring a change of clothes to the game.
“Here,” Jayce says, pressing a red solo cup into her hands.
Vi stares at it for a second before gulping it back, grimacing around the clash of liquors and half-blended mixer as it burns its way down her throat. Almost immediately, a warmth starts to buzz behind her ears and she remembers, somewhat belatedly, that she’s had nothing to eat since having two bananas and an ancient granola bar before the game.
She shakes her limbs loose and reaches out to refill her cup, but Jayce catches her hand.
She’s about to argue when he points towards a sofa halfway across the room and Vi’s eyes follow it only to find you, sitting there with a cup of your own, laughing at something someone’s saying, and it takes Vi another second to realize that the person next to you is Margot, her bleached blond hair fading into acid green tips, her snakebite piercings glinting in the dim neon lights.
Vi’s pushing through the throng of people towards you before she can stop herself, careless of the hands that thump her on the back, the congratulatory sentences, cut off by the way she pulls way, till she’s standing feet from you, and your eyes twist up to meet hers.
The smile on your lips only falters slightly, but she doesn’t miss the way your gaze flicks down the length of her body, ticking back up to her lips, where it lingers for a beat too long before she finds your eyes with her own again.
There’s a dull, pleasant ache somewhere behind her navel as she notices how much darker your eyes are the second time around.
“Hey six,” Margot drawls, shifting back and stretching out her legs, “we were wondering when you were gonna get here. But don’t worry — I was keeping your little ice minx here company for you.”
Vi purses her lips, tries not to think too hard on the fact that your knee is so close to Margot’s leg it’s almost touching.
“Uh thanks but — can I — can I get a minute?” Vi asks, jerking her head towards the kitchen, praying to the heavens that it’s empty.
You bite down on your bottom lip, but you nod and push yourself up from the couch, glancing back at Margot with tiny smile.
“Thanks for the advice,” you say.
She smirks, “Anytime, dollface.” She wiggles her fingers and winks as she catches Vi’s eyes, and Vi makes a mental note to send her a thank you text later.
Vi leads you through the party with her hand around your wrist, but by the time you reach the door leading into the kitchen, her grip’s loosened just enough for you to slip your fingers between hers. But when she tries to open the door, she finds it locked.
“What the —”
She wiggles the door knob, wondering who on earth would want to lock the door to a sorority house kitchen, and then, a melodious voice says from the other side —
“What’s the magic word?”
You sigh, rolling your eyes.
“Mel, it’s us.”
A beat of silence later, the doorknob twists and the door slips open just a silver. Mel’s bright hazel eyes appear in the crack, her lashes limned in gold as she looks at you and then at Vi, then back at you again.
“Those aren’t the magic words,” she says, though she does open the door a few inches wider, her expression smug.
You groan, crinkling your nose before you lick your lips.
“Fine, please.”
Mel’s smile widens as the door opens and Vi steps through, pulling you along after her.
Mel’s eyebrows hitch up as she catches your free arm in her delicate hand.
You give her a soft squeeze and mouth thank you. She gives the pair of you a satisfied nod before letting you go and pressing a small key into Vi’s chest.
“Do not —”
Vi nods, “Fuck this up. Yeah
 I know.”
Mel gives you both a final look before slipping from the kitchen and bringing the door closed behind her. Vi stares at it for a beat, digging her thumb into the jagged teeth of the tiny key before reaching over to lock the door behind her.
You let out a soft breath, folding your arms across your chest, your shoulder shrugging up as you suddenly remember that you’re still wearing Vi’s varsity jacket.
Vi turns around and you both speak at the same time —
“Look, I’m sorry about the —”
“I shouldn’t have walked out —”
Vi purses her lips around a burgeoning smile even as you let out a tiny laugh, shaking your head.
She waves an awkward hand as you lean back against the kitchen island. Distantly, Vi remembers the way you’d sunk down on the other side just about a month ago, how later that same night she’d hoisted you up onto the countertop and kissed you till there was no more breath in her lungs left to give.
“I
 I’m sorry I freaked out like that in the locker rooms
” you say, twisting your arms tighter around yourself as Vi nods, leaning back against the closed door.
“I just saw that text come in and I thought
” you swallow.
“I know, princess
 it was my fault for —” she heaves a sigh, motioning haphazardly at the air, “not cutting her off sooner.”
You let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. Mel told me that she reminded Jayce to —”
“— tell me to block her. Yeah. And he did
 I just
” Vi shrugs, sheepish, “
 forgot.”
Your lashes flutter as your gaze cuts away from her face.
“Wow —” you say a second later, your voice threaded through with mirth, and when Vi looks back at you, it’s to find you smiling, “we’re really kinda shit at this, aren’t we?”
Vi puffs out a laugh, letting her head knock back against the door.
“Yeah
 you can say that again.”
“So
” you say, fingers worrying at the hem of your little black dress.
Vi cocks her head, her eyes caught on the movement, and suddenly, heat plumes up the back of her neck at the memory of you, with your thighs slotted on either side of hers, the feel of your soft skin beneath her palms as she’d slowly worked up the hem of that very same dress.
She takes a deep, steadying breath.
“So?” she echoes.
You’re watching her with pink lips and damson cheeks.
“So
 what now?”
Vi pulls an exaggerated sort of thinking-face before pushing off the door, taking the few steps forward to put herself in your personal space. She relishes in the way you gasp, lashes fluttering as your palms come up to rest against her chest, but you don’t make to push her away.
“Well, I’m not one for a lot of foreplanning but right now
 I think I’d just like a do-over from the last time we were in this position.”
“Y-yeah?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as she settles her hands on your hips and digs her fingers into the plush of of your ass.
“Mhm
 what’dyou think, pretty girl? That a good place to start for us?”
Your answering yes is cut short by the squeak you make as Vi hoists you up to place you on the kitchen island, her nose digging into the soft spot just beneath your jaw, breathing you in till her head spins, her thumb trailing up the soft of your thigh till you’re trembling.
“V-Vi?”
Vi pulls back just far enough to catch your eyes, and from up this close, she can see the thin trails of glitter running down your cheeks, the slight redness to your lashes that tells her you’d been crying. Guilt twists like a stitch in her side, and she bites back a sigh.
“What is it?” she asks. She watches you watching her, your eyes searching hers as if you were looking for something — a question, or an answer, or perhaps just the answering truth to the lies that both of you have been trying so desperately to tell yourselves.
You swallow, tracing a thumb across the small tattoo on her cheek; and then, you smile a smile that might just rhyme with forgiveness.
“Kiss me.”
So Vi does, the kiss itself shredding the air between you until there’s nothing left but the gut-clenching friction of her lips on yours. You gasp open for her, so beautifully that Vi almost stumbles back, but instead, she tips herself forward and pours herself into your pliant mouth. You taste like honeyed bourbon and stolen midnights, like the first breath of air on a winter’s morning or maybe just the next few decades of her entire life.
She pulls away breathless, moaning thick into the skin of your neck, hissing at the sting of your fingers curled into her hair, at the sound of your hitching gasps as she inches a hand between your thighs and swears when her fingers find you slick and wanting.
“F-fuck — Vi —”
“Holy shit —” Vi presses her face into your neck, letting her fingers slip through the folds of your wet heat, desire sparking through her veins like lightning in a gathering storm. She drops to her knees, nudging yours apart with her palm, yanking you till you’re nearly slipping off the edge of the counter, but you tug at her hair with a soft whine.
“W-wait, Vi —”
“Mm, don’t wanna wait anymore, princess — wanna taste you so bad — fuck —”
“No — Vi, please —”
She pauses then, looking up to find your eyes blown dark, your lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings as you watch her with your bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.
“It’s just — I don’t want our first time to be —” you motion weakly at the sorority house kitchen, your cheeks going blotchy, “and the counter’s
 kinda cold and
” you drop your hand to grip the edge of the counter “
 uncomfy,” you finish, rather lamely, your voice trailing off as Vi puffs out a laugh against your inner thigh, pushing herself back up with a crooked smile.
“Mm
 you really are a princess, aren’t you?” Vi teases, even as she helps you off the counter and tugs down your dress for you. You pout up at her, but she rolls her eyes, grinning.
“Right, c’mon then —” she links your fingers and unlocks the kitchen door, tugging you once more into the disorienting throng of the party.
Halfway to the door though, your limbs go cold as the pair of you run smack into Caitlyn, this time sans her new ginger girlfriend.
“Vi — good, I was hoping to run into you —” she says, her eyes flickering over you for a second before it settles back on Vi.
You swallow, wondering if you should pull away, but Vi tugs you into her side and slips a possessive arm around your waist.
“Sorry, Cait — can’t really talk right now. I’ve gotta go fuck the brains outta my girlfriend — nice seeing you though — enjoy the party, go Enforcers!” she says, grinning wide as she pulls you through the rest of the way to the door, leaving Caitlyn slack-jawed and speechless behind you.
You let out an incredulous laugh as both of you stumble out of the door and onto the front porch. Vi chuckles as the door slams shut behind her, a little self-conscious even as you turn to stare at her.
“Wow
 that was
” you purse your lips as Vi shrugs, tugging you back into her chest for a soft kiss.
“Impressed?”
You giggle, nodding, moaning soft against her lips as the pair of you fumble towards Vi’s car.
“I was gonna say impulsive,” you say, slipping into the passenger’s seat. Vi starts the engine and rips out of the parking space and down the street before you even have the time to properly buckle in your seatbelt.
“Yeah. Wonder who I learned that from.”
She shoots you a cheeky grin, reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your thigh, squeezing just hard enough to make you groan.
The car’s not even properly parked before the pair of you are stumbling into her apartment building, her pressing you up against the elevator wall, lips caught on the junction of your neck, her teeth sinking into your delicate skin. She takes a savage satisfaction in the knowledge that you’ll be sporting that mark for the next five to seven business days, at least.
You’re barely through her door before she’s walking the pair of you towards her room, kicking open the door and almost toppling through. You giggle as she trips over something on her floor and fumbles for the light switch, flicking it on as light spills into her messy bedroom, the walls papered in posters — everything from bands to hockey stars to what looks like an outdated bikini-model calendar.
Your eyebrows kick up as you take in the scene, an amused grin playing at your lips
“Oh wow
” and there’s a lilt in your voice that makes Vi’s face go hot. She regrets not at least cleaning up the laundry on her bed as she shoves it off onto the floor with an arm.
“What? Not up to your standards, princess?”
You purse your lips, delicately picking your way across the room to plop down on her unmade bed.
“Y’know, I think that first frat house room might’ve been cleaner.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Your grin goes slanted as you toe off your heels and inch back onto the bed, your legs spreading just a bit wider. Vi’s breath goes still in her chest as you lean back slightly on your arms, your head cocking slowly to one side.
“Is that a promise, six?”
Vi groans, yanking her shirt from her back with a single hand, tossing it somewhere behind her, her fingers fumbling with her belt, kicking off her pants as she crawls onto the bed towards you.
“Jesus fuckin’ christ, princess —”
Your lashes flicker as she pushes up the hem of your dress, letting out a low breath as she finally sets eyes on you, a curse puffing out of her as she reaches down to slick two fingers between the puffy lips of your sodden pussy.
You let out a soft whimper, your head lolling back, but when she lifts her head to look at you, it’s to find you watching her with dark, lidded eyes.
“I-I’ve always wondered
 how’d you pick your number? Is it like
 a ranking system o-or — ah — like — on a ten-point scale o-or — mmngh —”
Vi hums, watching your lashes feather across your cheek as she flicks her thumb around your throbbing clit, her blood a spring-water rush behind her ears as she feels you jerk beneath her.
“We really gotta do something about that mouth of yours, princess
” she murmurs before tugging her hand from between your legs and pressing her slick fingers to your lips. You mouth falls open just as easily as she remembers, and she has to swallow down another thick groan as you suck her fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them to collect the taste of your own juices from her skin.
Your eyes flash open to meet hers, and the contact jolts right through her to her own aching cunt.
“Sweet fuck, pretty girl — I — I thought you said you’d never done this shit before?”
A tiny frown flickers across your forehead before you roll your eyes, giving her fingers a good hard suck before pulling back to lick your lips, sitting up slightly to tug her forward.
“I said I’d never really been on a date before — not that I’ve never had sex before.”
A startled breath stitches from Vi’s chest as you flip the pair of you till you’re straddling one of her muscular thighs, your own thigh pressing up between her legs to rub deliciously against her aching pussy.
She hisses out a breath as you roll your hips down over her leg, moaning low in your chest, your head falling back, the dress you’re wearing still rucked up at your waist.
“Those post-Gala parties can get
 a little wild
” you say distractedly, picking up a slow rhythm, grinding down against her, your wetness slicking along her skin, making the most toe-curling noises every time you rock your hips forward and back.
Vi groans, reaching up to help you pull the dress off, her mind going fuzzy at the sight of your perfect tits, bouncing out of the tight black dress, your nipples hard and pebbling in the cool air of her room.
“F-fu-fuck that’s hot —” she says, leaning up to suck a nipple into her mouth, teasing her teeth over the sensitive flesh, grinning at the way it makes your hips stutter. She can’t help the quick little jerks of her own hips against your thigh as well, slotted along her clothed cunt, her boxers now well and soaked through.
“Vi — Vi —” you whine, the sound going straight to her clit as you rock down against her, your fingers reaching down to tug her closer.
“Y-yeah? Tell me, princess — wh-what do you want?”
She groans as you shift and your thigh presses harder against her, your own cunt squelching messily over her leg.
“Want — wanna ride your fingers —”
“Oh shit, yeah?” she swallows, adjusting back as you lift your hips up, “want my fingers inside you? How many d’you think you can take, princess? Hm?”
She pauses when she feels you scrabbling at the waistband of her boxers, a tiny laugh puffing from her at the pout on your face.
“Off,” you say, almost petulantly, as Vi shifts her own hips to jerk them off her legs, tossing the to one side.
“There, happy?”
You grin, sinking back over her thigh, looping your arms around her shoulders as she shifts her right hand beneath your sopping cunt and teases two fingers around your entrance.
“You never answered my question, sweet girl — how many fingers, hm?” she asks, even as you whine.
“Don’t — dunno — just — just wanna feel you inside me — please —”
Vi hums, watching your face as pleasure twists across your features.
“Then count for me — yeah? Can you do that?”
You nod, eager and desperate, and Vi chuckles, because she’s not sure if you even know what you’re agreeing to anymore. She pushes a finger passed your soaked folds and immediately feels you clench around her, the pressure making her own cunt squeeze. She hisses out a breath, rocking you down over her, shifting her hips to rut up against your leg.
“O-one —” you gasp, lifting your hips up to drop them back down again, your fingers digging into her skin of her back.
“More?” she asks, as you bounce a couple more times, and you nod, just as fervent as the first time, if not more so. She chuckles, “alright then —”
“T-two — oh — oh.”
She sinks another finger into you and revels in the way you keen, loud and high in the back of your throat, your head tossing back as you start to ride her fingers proper, your hair tumbling down around your shoulders. She reaches up with her free hand to fist a handful into her palm, yanking back slightly to bare your throat to her, groaning when she leans forward to suck another hard bruise into the skin of your collarbone.
“M-more — more Vi — want — want you to stretch me out — fuck — mm —”
“Fuck — shit — yeah? Want me to fuck you loose? That it?”
Vi’s head spins and she feels nearly delirious with want as she pushes a third finger into you, watching as your mouth falls open around a silent moan, your whole body shuddering around her. You’re so wet, so tight, and the growing ache between her own legs is starting to reach a fever pitch as she shamelessly rucks against your thigh, still slotted between her own.
“Yes, yes — fuck — Vi wanna — want you to stuff me full — fuck, fuck, fuck —”
“Shit, princess — so fuckin’ nasty — so needy —”
You nod, bouncing yourself so hard and fast that Vi has to take a second to marvel at how strong your legs are. She thanks the heavens for the innate athleticism required for figure skating before her thoughts smear into a crackling mess of pleasure as you inch your hand into the space between her cunt and your legs — your fingers pressing messily between her folds.
“Vi, Violet — can I — wanna feel you — want y-you to feel good too —”
Vi nearly loses it then, nodding, spreading her own legs wider to give you more access as you work three fingers into her sloppy cunt with no warning.
“F-fuck!”
You curl your fingers and Vi swears she starts to see stars.
“Y-yeah? Feel good?”
Vi nearly whimpers as she feels you pump your fingers up into the tender bundle of nerves inside her, her own fingers squelching noisily as you fuck yourself down on them. It’s all too much, and before she knows it, the tension in her stomach is snapping like a thread, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as her orgasm shakes through her, white pops of pleasure sparking behind her eyes.
“Mm — holy shit — oh my god
 fuck —” she gulps down air, blinking her eyes as the shape of you comes back into focus above her, the buzzing inside her head still ringing with the aftermath of her high. She notes, vaguely, that you’re smiling down at her, a second before you lean down to press your lips to hers in a sweet kiss.
Vi hums into the kiss, her breath hitching slightly as she feels you pull your fingers from her. And when you pull back to pop them into your mouth, she feels another shudder work through her. Somewhere in the back of her head, there’s a small voice chanting holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck how did I get so lucky? over and over again till it becomes the baseline thrum that drives her to lean up, pushing you down onto your back with a hazy, indulgent smile.
“C’mere, princess — as much as I love watching you ride me —” she inches her way down your body, trailing a few kisses down your chest, pausing to circle her tongue around your nipples just to make you arch up into her. She drops a few lingering kisses down the line of your abs, before puffing a hot breath over your throbbing clit, her fingers spreading your dripping cunt lips open.
She swallows, groaning to herself.
“I’ve been dreaming about tasting you for weeks.”
You let out a soft whine above her, and she feels your fingers sinking into her hair. She glances up and marvels at the sight of your body, laid bare like this above her mess of sheets, writhing for her as she finally drops her mouth to you, licking a long strip along your slit, her eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of you soaking her tongue.
“A-ah! Vi!”
It doesn’t take long after that, a few good, hard sucks on your clit, and her pushing three fingers back into you, and you’re coming apart for her, your thighs shaking as you whine and jerk and gasp your way through your orgasm, Vi fucking you through it slow, leaning up to press a kiss to your shoulder as your breaths start to even out and your lashes flicker open again.
“Hey there, princess,” she grins.
You’re still a little breathless, but you pull her down for another long kiss, tracing her jaw with your thumb.
“Hey,” you answer, pulling away.
Vi chuckles, slumping down on to the bed next to you to stare at the pebbled ceiling. The warmth of her old Christmas lights casting everything in a soft, diffused glow. She feels you shift and tuns to find you looking at her, your cheek pillowed on your arm.
She shifts to mirror your position, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.
You catch her hand with a smile, wrapping your fingers around hers as you say —
“Six. I get it now.”
Vi frowns. “What?”
You splay your palm over hers, touching the tip of her pointer finger with yours as you start to count.
“One, two, three —” you say, a mischievous grin twisting your lips as you point to her middle and ring finger, before pointing to your own hand, “four, five, six,” you finish, wiggling the three fingers that had so recently been shoved into her throbbing cunt.
Vi stares at you for a solid few seconds before she shoves her face into her pillow and screams.
“Oh my god — get the fuck outta here!” but she surfaces laughing, and you’re laughing too, and the sound is so intoxicating, so mind-numbingly lovely that she thinks if she could, she’d grind your laughter into powder and get high on the lines of your smile.
She inches forward to pull you closer, tucking you into her chest.
“You’re insane, you know that?” she asks, pressing her lips to your forehead as you giggle. You wiggle your arms around her middle till your bodies are pressed curve for curve, skin to skin. And you settle against her as if you were always made to be there to begin with.
“Mm, been told a few times
” you murmur, your voice soft.
A tiny clink jars both of you from your post-orgasmic stupor, and you both pull back, only to find your necklaces linked — the pendants stuck together with a pair of tiny magnets set at the point of each teardrop, so small that Vi hadn’t noticed when you’d first given it to her.
“Oh, I didn’t get to show you this back in the locker rooms but
” you reach up to tug the two pendants apart before letting them snap back together.
“The necklaces come as a pair and they link together like this —” you show her the two pendants, the shape something like an hourglass or the two rabbit ears of a perfectly tied bow.
“That’s cute, but
 what’s it supposed to be? A time-turner thing?” Vi pushes herself up on an elbow to try and get a better look.
You shake your head, pouting slightly.
“Nope! Well, I mean, it’s sold as an infinity symbol cause —” you roll your eyes, “forever and all that crap —”
Vi smirks, “Oh yeah. That crap.”
You shoot her a look before continuing, your cheeks burning, “But
 it reminded me of a figure eight. You do those in hockey too, right?”
Vi nods, “Yeah, they’re drills that we run. Pretty basic.”
You nod, “And in figure skating, we used to have these mandatory figures we’d have to skate to demonstrate our edge control — hence the name figure skating. Amara still makes us do them, because she’s old fashioned as all hell, but I just thought
 it was kinda nice
 for the two of us
” your voice trails off as you drop your hand and the two pendants hang, suspended between the pair of you with nothing but their own magnetism.
Vi licks her lips, “Yeah
 it is nice.”
She leans in, tilts your head up for a kiss, but you tug back just an inch.
“Vi
?”
“Hm? What is it?”
You blink up at her, a flash of uncertainty flickering behind your eyes as you glance down at her lips.
“We’re
 we’re dating now
 right?”
Vi stares. And stares. And then, she pulls back with a dramatic groan.
“Oh my god, you did not just seriously hit me with the what are we after we’ve just fucked each other into another dimension, after I’ve been wearing the necklace that you gave me, the one that matches your necklace —”
You scramble forward to push Vi down, yelping.
“Okay! Okay — I’m sorry! It’s just —”
Vi raises her eyebrows, pinning you with a look even though you’re perched above her, your hands clamped over her wrists.
“Neither of us ever properly asked the other one out, and — and I know you said girlfriend in front of Caitlyn back at the party but —”
“Hey princess?”
You break off, blinking as she pushes up and settles you over her lap.
Vi smiles, tugging your chin towards her.
“Will you go out with me?”
The smile that breaks across your lips is so pretty, so tooth-achingly sweet that Vi thinks she just has to lean forward and taste it.
So, she does.
You nod, breathless even as she chases your lips, breaking the kiss with a gasp.
“Yes — yes
 I will.”
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avengxrz · 6 days ago
Text
the fool outranks the golden boy ; jake "hangman" seresin x reader [part one]
pairings: jake seresin x reader
word count: 18.2k (i'm sorry, i got carried away)
summary: you had it bad, like really bad for jake seresin. back in college, you did his homework, brought him coffee, smiled through humiliation like it meant something, fooled yourself into thinking he’d glance your way and actually see you. but he never did. not really. now, years later, you're standing in front of him again, not as the girl who worshipped the ground he walked on—but as the woman who outranks him. how the hell did the fool end up outranking the golden boy?
warnings: emotional manipulation, unresolved tension, slow burn, power imbalance (then reversal), humiliation, angst, college flashbacks, mild academic bullying, reader is hopelessly naive at first, jake is an asshole, later guilt, crying, confrontation, slap scene, reader character growth arc, mentions of absent family, found power, military setting, hangar tension, dagger squad chaos, and one (1) dangerously attractive commander with a grudge.
notes: ugh tumblr's word count limit is so unserious for a fic like this, like let me be dramatic in peace?? anyway this will be a three-part story because there's too much tension, pain, and ego to contain in just one post. if i disappear it's because i’m fighting the character limit and tumblr’s formatting demons. pray for me.
part two , part three , part four , part five , epilogue
masterlist
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your callsign is rogue.
You had it bad.
The kind of bad that made your heart pick up speed just from the sound of his voice echoing down the hallway. The kind of bad that made you memorize his coffee order before he ever asked, the way he liked his breakfast tacos, the exact moment in the semester when he’d start asking for your notes in Social Studies—again. He was all sun and swagger, a boy carved from the sky with that easy smile and reckless charm, and you were twenty and stupid and floating somewhere just beneath his orbit, close enough to feel warm. Never close enough to matter.
Jake Seresin wasn’t just a crush. He was a curriculum.
And God, you studied. You showed up. You took mental notes on his laugh patterns and the way he tapped his pen when he was bored in class. You offered to “help” with his required literature essays, even though helping usually turned into you writing the entire thing while he sat back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with that annoying little half-smirk like he knew. He always knew.
“You’re a lifesaver, sunshine,” he’d say, tossing you a grin like a bone. Sometimes he'd ruffle your hair, which made your stomach flip like it was some grand act of affection instead of thoughtless habit. Sometimes he’d sit a little too close when you were going over the assignment, smelling like cologne and peppermint gum, leaning over your shoulder as if he actually cared about the difference between metaphor and metonymy. He didn’t. But you still pointed it out, even circled it in a red pen for him.
And when he got a B+, he winked at you and said, “Told you I didn’t need that Shakespeare crap to fly jets.” You laughed. You always laughed. Like a fool.
You didn’t mind doing his work. You didn’t mind when he forgot your birthday but showed up to your dorm two weeks later with a Red Bull and a “my bad.” You didn’t even mind when he flirted with other girls right in front of you—because it didn’t mean anything. Not really. Not to him. But maybe, if you were patient, it could mean something someday.
You told yourself he was just bad at feelings. You told yourself he was focused on his career, that you were helping, supporting, part of his story. You told yourself that being near him was enough.
You lied a lot, back then. Especially to yourself.
You remembered the first time he called you kid. You had just pulled an all-nighter to finish his paper—some half-assed assignment about American foreign policy and its effect on colonial literature that he should’ve started a week ago. You handed it to him in the quad, tired but glowing, waiting for a thank you or maybe, just maybe, a hug. He barely looked up from his phone.
“Man, what would I do without you, kid?” he said, clapping a hand on your shoulder like you were one of the guys. One of the boys. Not a girl who wore her prettiest sweater that day just in case he noticed. Not a girl who memorized his class schedule and purposely bumped into him outside his seminar. Just kid. You smiled anyway, too dizzy with hope to notice how sharp the word was, how much it stung under the surface.
And he never said your name. Not really. Not the way you said his when you whispered it into your pillow at night, soft like a secret. He called you sunshine when he needed a favor, professor when he didn’t feel like studying, kid when he was feeling lazy. It wasn’t cruel. Not technically. But it always made you feel a little smaller, a little sillier, a little more like a side character in your own goddamn story. And still, you held onto it like it meant something.
You remembered how he’d brag about you in front of his friends—“She’s basically a genius,” he’d say, draping an arm over your chair as you hunched over your laptop, typing his paper. “I swear, I just let her talk and I sound smarter by association.” They’d laugh. He’d laugh. And you? You’d blush so hard you thought your ears would catch fire. You told yourself he was proud of you.
You told yourself he noticed.
Once, at a party, someone asked if you two were dating. He choked on his beer and laughed like it was the funniest joke he’d heard all night. “Nah,” he said, loud enough for everyone around the keg to hear. “She’s way too sweet. Like, book club sweet. I'm not trying to get lectured during pillow talk.”
You laughed too, even though something cracked inside your chest.
Later, when you were alone with him in the kitchen, trying not to let your hands shake while you poured soda over melting ice, you asked, “Do you really think I’m sweet?” And he’d leaned in, lazy and amused, eyes glinting with something sharp.
“You’re the sweetest thing I know,” he said. “That’s your problem.”
You thought that was romantic.
You thought he meant it like a compliment.
You started wearing makeup. Nothing major—just a little mascara, some tinted balm, a hint of blush you hoped made you look older, cooler, prettier. You weren’t the kind of girl Jake usually flirted with, the ones who wore crop tops to lecture and knew how to flip their hair without thinking. You studied in quiet corners, read poetry on your lunch breaks, always carried extra pens. But maybe, if you tried a little harder—if you looked a little more like them—he’d finally see you.
He noticed, too. Sort of.
“You do something different with your face?” he asked once, squinting at you while you handed over his notes. “Looks good. Less tired.”
Then he grabbed the papers and walked off, calling back, “Thanks, sunshine!” like he hadn’t just complimented you and insulted you in the same breath. You beamed. You held onto less tired like it meant beautiful. You told your roommate about it like it was proof—like it was progress.
You were always chasing crumbs. Always stretching moments into meaning. Like the time he offered you a ride home from the library when it started raining—windows down, music up, his hand drumming on the steering wheel.
You sat there soaking wet, trying not to stare at the way his jaw flexed when he laughed, trying not to fall deeper into whatever hole your heart had already dug.
At the stoplight, he glanced over and smirked. “Bet you never skip class, huh?”
You shrugged. “Not really. I like learning.”
He raised a brow. “Yeah, I can tell. You always look like you’re about to marry your textbooks.”
You laughed. Of course you laughed. “Better than marrying beer pong.”
He chuckled, and for a second, you thought—maybe this is flirting. Maybe he likes me back.
But then he said, “You’re cute when you try to be sassy.”
You turned your face toward the window so he wouldn’t see the way you smiled. Like a fool. Like someone who didn’t realize being cute to a boy like Jake Seresin meant safe. Non-threatening. Easy to dismiss.
You were the girl he called at midnight for notes and “quick favors.” The girl he brought to parties but never introduced. The girl who did his work and called it love. And still, you waited for something more. Still, you held your breath every time he looked at you a little too long, hoping he might finally see you the way you saw him.
But he never did. Not really.
It happened in the middle of a group study session—well, his group, not yours. You’d only shown up because he texted you last-minute, some vague “Hey, you around? Could use your genius brain again lol” and you’d said yes before even thinking. You always did.
The library table was cluttered with Red Bulls and half-finished equations. Jake was leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out, baseball cap tilted low.
He was arguing with one of his aviation buddies about flight dynamics or engine weight or some other thing you had no business understanding—but you listened anyway, like you always did. You’d learned the lingo just to keep up, tucked terms into your memory like you were training to speak his language.
At some point, his friend nodded toward you and asked, “Hey, who’s this again?”
Jake turned, eyes flicking lazily in your direction. His brows furrowed. Just for a second. Then—he laughed. “Uh—wait. Crap. Don’t tell me.”
Your heart dropped before you could stop it. Just a beat. Just long enough to hurt.
“You don’t know my name?” you asked, light and teasing. You even laughed a little, because that was the role you’d learned to play. Unbothered. Chill. The cool girl who didn’t take anything seriously. Not even her own heartbreak.
Jake scratched the back of his neck, sheepish but grinning. “I mean, you’re like my PoliSci girl, right? You’re always around with, like
 books and that political stuff.”
You blinked. “Political science,” you corrected softly, still smiling, though it felt like something fragile was cracking beneath your ribs. “I’m majoring in political science. Pre-law track.”
He snapped his fingers, pointing. “Knew it. Knew you were smart.”
You already knew his major, of course—Aeronautical Engineering with a minor in Applied Physics. You knew his dream was to fly fighter jets for the Navy. You knew he hated public speaking but loved Top Gun. You knew he bit the inside of his cheek when he was stressed and that his middle name was Andrew. You even knew his sister’s birthday.
But he didn’t know your name.
Not really.
Still, when he leaned in and said, “You’re kind of my lifesaver, y’know?”—you smiled. You swallowed down the sting and tucked the compliment somewhere deep, let it sit heavy and warm in your chest like it meant more than it did.
You told yourself he was just bad with names. That he was tired. Distracted.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
And when he tossed you a Red Bull at the end of the night and said, “Thanks again, sunshine,” like a pat on the head, you caught it and held it like a gift.
Because it came from him.
You were always the nerdiest person in the room—and you didn’t mind. Not really. You liked it, actually. You liked being the one with too many pens, with color-coded tabs stuck out of every book, with highlighters in four different shades for four different types of arguments.
Your notebooks were immaculate. Your laptop desktop was a perfectly organized grid of folders labeled by subject, date, and citation style. You even had a separate folder for Jake’s assignments—though you’d never admit that out loud.
You quoted obscure political theorists in casual conversation, carried pocket-sized constitutions in your backpack like other people carried gum. You read op-eds for fun. You had a crush on Ruth Bader Ginsburg for three years. You were the kind of girl who got excited about office supplies. The kind of girl who said “actually” a lot and meant it.
Jake didn’t get it. Not really.
But he smiled when you went on tangents about legislation and voting trends and historical revolutions. That day in the library, you tried to explain your thesis about the ethics of surveillance in modern democracies, and he just blinked at you, lips pulled into that signature grin—handsome, golden, practiced. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“That’s
 intense,” he said, dragging the word out like it was both a compliment and a warning. “You actually like that stuff?”
You nodded, beaming. “I love it. I think it’s important—how we understand power and systems and history. You can’t just—separate law from people.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “God, you’re such a nerd.”
Your smile faltered for half a second. Just a flicker. You covered it quickly with a laugh, pretending it didn’t sting, pretending he meant it in that teasing, affectionate way. He was smiling, after all. He called you his nerd once. That had to mean something, right?
“You’re lucky I’m a nerd,” you said lightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Otherwise you’d be failing social theory and citing Buzzfeed as a source.”
That made him laugh, real and sharp. For a moment, he looked at you like he almost saw something. Then it faded.
“Buzzfeed’s valid,” he said, winking. “They’ve got quizzes and everything.”
You laughed again. You always laughed. Even when it wasn’t funny. Even when the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, either.
Because maybe—just maybe—if you kept being useful, being sweet, being there, he’d learn to look closer. Maybe someday, he’d want to know your name before needing your notes. Maybe someday, that smile wouldn’t be so forced.
You didn’t usually celebrate your birthday. It felt silly, most years—too much attention, too many questions you didn’t want to answer. But this time felt different. You were turning twenty-one, and for once, you wanted to do something that made you happy. Not trendy. Not loud. Just
 you.
So you invited Jake.
You kept it casual, like it was no big deal. You mentioned it after class one day while handing over another perfectly formatted draft of his group project—the one he was supposed to help with but hadn’t touched since the outline phase. “I’m doing something lowkey tonight,” you said, trying not to sound too hopeful. “If you’re not busy, you should come.”
He looked up from his phone, eyes still half-scanning whatever was on the screen. “Lowkey like what? Drinks? House party?”
You hesitated. “Kind of. You’ll see.”
He agreed. Mostly because you were finishing his semester-long presentation. Thirty percent of his grade. Not because he actually cared about the celebration part.
But that didn’t stop you from spending the entire afternoon setting everything up—balloons, cupcakes, a paper crown you wore mostly as a joke. You even put on a new sweater, the soft blue one that brought out your eyes. You checked your phone every few minutes until finally, finally, he texted: Here.
You met him outside, bouncing on your heels from nerves. He was wearing jeans and a fitted Henley, looking like he’d just walked off a recruitment poster. His eyes scanned the building behind you—a wide, beige facility with a ramp leading up to automatic glass doors.
“What is this?” he asked, already frowning.
You smiled, a little too wide. “The community center. It doubles as a retirement home. I volunteer here every weekend. We’re doing trivia and cupcakes with the residents tonight. I thought it’d be fun.”
He blinked. “Wait—you invited me to your birthday at an old folks’ home?”
You laughed, nervously. “They’re sweet. And they love meeting new people. Plus, trivia night gets competitive. It’s fun, I promise.”
Jake’s smile didn’t quite land. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around like he was trying to find a way to back out. “Damn. I thought this was gonna be, like
 a party.”
“It is a party,” you said, voice softer than before. “Just not that kind.”
He hesitated. For one awful second, you were sure he’d leave. But then he sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Lead the way, sunshine.”
You lit up, relief washing through you. You missed the way his shoulders slouched, the way his expression shifted once your back was turned. You didn’t see how bored he looked walking through the doors, how forced his laugh sounded when you introduced him to the residents. You were too busy beaming, too busy bringing out the cupcakes you made from scratch, too busy believing—just for one night—that he was here because he wanted to be.
You never realized he was only smiling because the project wasn’t finished yet.
He offered to walk you home.
Maybe out of guilt. Maybe because it was late and the air had turned crisp, and he still had a project with his name on it sitting in your backpack. Or maybe he was trying to be a gentleman, like he’d been raised right and remembered it sometimes. Either way, you didn’t argue. You just smiled, told him thanks, and fell into step beside him under the glow of sleepy streetlights.
The walk wasn’t long, but it felt longer than usual. You talked in small, tired bursts—about the trivia questions, about Ms. Evelyn’s obsession with Cary Grant, about how hard the cupcakes were to ice without making them look sad. Jake chuckled once or twice, but mostly he was quiet, thumbs tapping absentmindedly against his phone until he slid it back into his pocket.
When you reached your front porch, he paused.
The house was dark. Not lifeless, just
 dim. Still. The kind of quiet that felt deeper than it should have. Like it had settled over the walls and stayed there.
“You sure someone’s home?” he asked, eyeing the unlit windows.
You nodded quickly, unlocking the door with shaking hands. “Yeah. They’re probably just in the back. Or asleep. My mom works nights sometimes—she’s a nurse. And my dad’s a lawyer, so he’s always in the study. I—I’m sure they’re inside.”
Jake didn’t say anything, but he looked at you a little too long.
“You can come in for a second,” you offered, trying to sound casual. “If you want.”
You barely had time to nudge the door open before it swung all the way with a burst of warm light—and your mom stood there in her scrubs, hair pulled back, eyes wide with worry.
“There you are!” she breathed, relief pouring out of her like a tide. “We’ve been waiting, sweetheart. You didn’t answer your phone.”
Behind her, your dad appeared, sleeves rolled up, reading glasses pushed into his hairline. “You’re late, bug,” he said gently, his voice firm but warm. “You said you'd be back before ten.”
“I—” You faltered. “I’m sorry, I just
 I lost track of time.”
Your mom’s eyes shifted past you, landing on Jake. She blinked, smiled. “Oh! And who’s this?”
“This is
 Jake,” you said, stepping aside awkwardly. “He’s a friend from school.”
Jake straightened. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Sir.”
Your parents exchanged one of those quiet, married glances. The kind that said more than words ever could.
“Well, come in, Jake,” your mom said brightly. “We’ve still got cake. And Oreo ice cream in the freezer.”
“And Bingo’s been howling for you,” your dad added, stepping back to let you both in.
Right on cue, tiny paws scrambled across the hardwood, and a golden-furred puppy bounded into view, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive. He skidded to a stop at your feet, yipping excitedly.
Jake blinked. “You have a dog?”
You scooped Bingo into your arms, pressing your cheek to his fur. “Yeah. He’s loud and a little bit dramatic, but
 he’s mine.”
The house was warm. Bright. Alive. And for a second, Jake stood there like he didn’t know where to put his hands. Like he didn’t expect this from you—this quiet, glowing little life. No red Solo cups, no loud music, no drama. Just parents who cared. A puppy that missed you. And a birthday party that waited all night.
Jake stepped inside. Just barely. Like the warmth might spook him.
And you—still holding Bingo, still wearing your little paper crown—pretended not to notice that he looked like he didn’t belong.
Jake stepped further inside, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. Your mom disappeared into the kitchen with a cheerful hum—“Sit down, make yourselves at home, I’ll get the plates!”—and your dad wandered back toward the hallway, calling something about candles and the lighter drawer. It left you and Jake standing alone in the entryway, where the soft light spilled over hardwood floors and Bingo settled at your feet with a huff.
He glanced around, eyes catching on the walls.
It was impossible not to notice, really. The house wasn’t big, but it was full—every inch lined with framed moments of your life. Photos of you as a toddler with cake on your cheeks. You in a ballet costume, crooked tiara and scraped knees. School portraits from every year, perfectly lined up in a growing timeline of messy hair, braces, and bright smiles. A bulletin board near the staircase held your ribbons, certificates, a newspaper clipping from the high school debate team championship. Everything worn in but cared for—like none of it was ever forgotten.
“You’ve got
 a lot of photos,” Jake murmured, blinking at one where you were holding a spelling bee trophy almost as big as your head.
You smiled sheepishly. “My mom’s kind of sentimental. She never takes anything down. Says the walls should feel like home.”
Jake nodded slowly. Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.
He moved further in, scanning the frames more closely. That’s when he noticed. Nestled between all the snapshots of you were other faces. Boys, mostly—some in college caps, others in football jerseys, one in what looked like a Marine uniform.
“Wait,” Jake said, frowning slightly. “You have siblings?”
You looked up from where you were peeling the plastic off a stack of paper plates. “Yeah. Three older brothers.”
Jake blinked again, like that didn’t quite compute. “Seriously? I figured you were an only child.”
You laughed. “Everyone does.”
His eyes lingered on a photo of you all together—probably one of the last ones before the goodbyes started. You were sandwiched between them, grinning up at the camera like you’d won the lottery. Your brothers were tall, broad-shouldered, each with the same warm brown eyes as your dad.
“That’s Ezra,” you said, pointing to the one in the navy blue hoodie. “He’s studying abroad right now. Germany, for architecture.”
Jake nodded, still staring.
“And that’s Micah and Levi. They both got scholarships out of state. One's in Oregon, the other's in New York. Music and robotics.”
Jake let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s some family.”
You shrugged, setting the plates down on the coffee table as Bingo pawed at your ankle. “Yeah. We’re all kind of doing our own thing now. But they always call. My mom makes sure of it.”
He looked around again, slower this time. And something in his expression softened—not quite guilt, not quite wonder, but something close. Like he was realizing just how much he didn’t know. Like he was starting to see that you weren’t just the quiet girl with good notes and a crush. You were a whole world. You always have been.
He’d just never asked to see it.
Dinner wasn’t fancy, but it didn’t need to be. Your mom set out spaghetti and meatballs, still warm in their glass dish, with garlic bread that made the kitchen smell like heaven. Your dad poured iced tea into mismatched mugs. The lights were cozy. The puppy circled under the table like he was part of the conversation, brushing up against Jake’s boots with little happy hops.
At first, Jake tried to excuse himself.
“I don’t want to intrude,” he said, already inching toward the door. “You’ve got family stuff, and I—”
But your dad clapped him on the shoulder before he could finish. “You’re already here, son. Might as well eat.”
Your mom chimed in without missing a beat. “Besides, it’s her birthday. You’re staying for cake.”
So he sat. And you sat beside him, still wearing your paper crown, cheeks flushed and puppy in your lap. You fed Bingo tiny bites of meatball under the table while your parents asked Jake polite questions—what he was studying, where he was from, if he liked flying. He answered all of them with that easy smile, but you could tell he was just a little stiff. A little too polite. Like he was waiting for the part where it got hard. Or loud. Or ugly.
It never came.
After dinner, your dad disappeared for a minute and came back with a cake—chocolate, thick with icing, “Happy Birthday Bug” scrawled in lopsided pink letters. A single candle stood in the center, already flickering.
“Make a wish,” your mom said, camera in hand.
You closed your eyes. Blew it out.
The room erupted in soft cheers and clapping, and Bingo barked once like he was part of the moment. You laughed, cheeks glowing. And then—click. Your mom snapped the photo.
“Wait, wait, let’s do one together,” she said. “C’mon, squeeze in.”
Jake shook his head, holding up his hands. “Oh, I’m good. Really.”
But your dad was already standing behind him, gently steering him back toward you. “You’re not getting out of this that easy. You're part of tonight, kid. Sit down.”
And before Jake could argue again, he was seated on the couch, sandwiched between you and your dad. Your mom was hovering over the phone camera, grinning wide. You were still holding Bingo, his paws tucked against your arm. The paper party hat tilted slightly on your head.
“Smile!” your mom called.
Jake did.
Sort of.
The camera clicked. Flash.
In that moment, something tightened in his chest—not panic, exactly. Just
 something strange. Foreign. Like he’d been dropped into someone else’s memory. And now his face would live on your living room wall forever, next to spelling bees and ballet slippers and newspaper clippings.
He looked at you—arms full of puppy, crown still perched on your head, face soft with joy—and for the first time all night, he didn’t know what to say.
You told yourself it was fine.
That he was just
 being a guy. Boys were like that with their friends—loud, teasing, a little reckless. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He was just trying to keep face in front of them. It wasn’t about you. Not really.
You told yourself that the nickname still meant something. Sunshine. He didn’t call anyone else that. He could’ve called you nerd, or PoliSci girl, or just you. But he didn’t. He smiled—kind of—and said Sunshine, like it was a secret. Like it was something only the two of you shared.
That had to count for something.
You told yourself that if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t talk about you at all. That the fact he mentioned you meant you were on his mind. Even if it was just a joke, even if they laughed—he’d still said your name. Your story. Your cupcakes.
You told yourself that maybe he didn’t realize how it came off. Maybe he’d say something later. Apologize, or explain, or laugh it off and say, "You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?" Maybe he was just awkward. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he was afraid to like you out loud.
You repeated those maybes like they were prayers.
Because if you stopped for even one second—if you let yourself admit how small you’d felt standing in that circle, how cold your hands had gone, how fake your laugh sounded in your own ears—you’d have to face it.
You’d have to admit that he never really saw you. That you’d written a whole love story in your head and cast him as the lead without checking if he even wanted the part.
But you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.
So you walked back across campus with your charger clutched to your chest and your phone buzzing in your pocket and your face still stretched in that practiced smile.
He likes me, you thought.
He just doesn’t know how to show it.
That night, you stared at your phone longer than you should have.
No text. No message. Not even a meme.
You weren’t expecting a love letter or anything. Just
 something. A thank you. A hey, good to see you. Even a dumb joke about cupcakes or trivia or your little paper crown. Anything that said he remembered yesterday—that you weren’t just a background blur in his perfect little highlight reel.
But it stayed quiet. And that quiet felt louder than anything.
Still, you didn’t let it get to you. Not completely.
You told yourself he was busy. Labs and simulations and early flight rotations. He was tired. He probably passed out the moment he got home. You even convinced yourself he might be dreaming about you. That deep down, maybe, some part of him felt it too.
Because how could he not?
He’d let you into his orbit. He didn’t have to say yes to your birthday. Didn’t have to show up, or eat your mom’s spaghetti, or sit through trivia with Ms. Evelyn correcting his answers. He could’ve laughed it off. Ghosted. But he didn’t.
That had to mean something.
Didn’t it?
And sure—he’d made jokes. In front of his friends. Stupid, careless, sharp-edged jokes that made your chest twist and your smile freeze.
But that was just
 fear. Right?
Boys were dumb when they liked someone. He didn’t want to look soft. That had to be it. He was protecting himself. You’d read about it, seen it in movies. The guy always jokes too much until he realizes he’s in too deep. Until he finally looks at the girl and sees her.
So maybe he just hadn’t looked hard enough yet.
You could wait a little longer.
You’d already waited this long.
And if it hurts a little more each day
 well. That was just part of falling, wasn’t it?
The days passed slower after that.
You still saw him, of course. He was hard to miss—loud laugh echoing in the hallway, flight jacket slung over one shoulder, girls looking at him like he was some walking dream. And maybe he was. Just not yours.
But you told yourself that was okay.
Because when he passed you in the quad and tossed you a half-smile, your heart still jumped. And when he sat two rows behind you in general ed and tapped his pen against the desk like he had no idea you were listening to the rhythm, you still wrote poems about it in the margins of your notebook.
You’d learned how to survive on crumbs.
When he nodded at you in passing, it became a paragraph in your head. When he said your name—even just once—you replayed it like a song. You filled in the silences with dreams. Decorated the nothing with meaning. Let him live inside your chest without paying rent.
And it wasn’t like he was cruel. Not really. He still laughed when you said something funny. Still accepted your notes when he forgot his. Still leaned just close enough for you to imagine what it would be like if he did it on purpose.
You didn’t mind that he never texted first. You didn’t mind that you always reached out. You didn’t mind that he still didn’t know your favorite color, or your middle name, or what you wanted to be after graduation.
You told yourself he’d ask. Eventually.
He just needed time.
And in the meantime, you’d keep being there. Keep smiling. Keep hoping. Because the version of him that lived in your mind was warm. Sweet. Quietly in love with you in ways he just didn’t know how to show.
You weren’t delusional.
You were just patient.
It started as a normal afternoon.
You were leaving the library, arms full of books for your midterm paper, when you saw them. Jake and a few of his friends, lounging by the steps near the student center, all wearing matching flight jackets and cocky grins. They looked like they belonged in a movie—golden, loud, untouchable.
You hesitated, heart kicking up. Part of you wanted to turn around, walk the long way back. But then Jake saw you.
He waved. Waved.
So you smiled—of course you did—and made your way over, hugging your books tighter to your chest.
“Hey,” you said softly.
One of the guys leaned in, smirking. “Hey, it’s sunshine. Jake’s academic lifeline.”
You laughed, unsure if it was a compliment. “Just trying to keep him from failing.”
Another one chimed in. “Man, if I had someone do my essays and bake me cookies, I’d put a ring on it.”
You flushed. “I—I don’t bake that often. Just that one time.”
“Oh right,” the first one said, snickering. “That birthday thing. With the old people.”
Jake laughed.
You looked at him—expecting maybe a smirk, maybe a hey, knock it off. But he just shook his head and chuckled like it was all harmless fun.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “She even made me wear a party hat. Took a picture and everything.”
“She’s like a golden retriever,” someone muttered. “Loyal as hell. Always shows up.”
Another voice added, “Bet she’d help you move apartments and knit you a thank-you sweater.”
They all laughed.
You laughed, too.
But it caught in your throat.
You tried to tell yourself it was just teasing. That this was what friends did. Banter. Jokes. He wasn’t mocking you. Not really. He wasn’t trying to hurt you.
But then Jake said, “She’s a sweetheart. Can’t get rid of her, even if I tried.”
And that—that—was the line.
It felt like someone poured ice water down your spine.
You smiled. You always smiled. But your grip tightened on your books, knuckles white. And you stepped back, just slightly. Enough that none of them noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.
You weren’t the joke.
You couldn’t be.
You were the girl who helped. Who stayed. Who waited for the moment he’d finally wake up and see you.
You had to be.
Because if you weren’t
then what were you?
You left before they could say anything else.
Not quickly. Not dramatically. You just laughed, said something about needing to get back to your paper, and walked away while their laughter still echoed behind you. Your smile stayed on your face until you turned the corner, until they couldn’t see you anymore.
Then it dropped.
You sat on the bench outside the language building, books stacked beside you, and stared down at your hands like they didn’t belong to you. Like if you just sat still enough, long enough, none of it would be real.
He didn’t mean it. He was just being funny. You were sweet. That wasn’t a bad thing. Right?
You tried to remember the look on his face. Had it been cruel? Mocking? Or just
 blank? Neutral?
No. No, he smiled. He laughed. That meant something. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. He wouldn’t.
You remembered the party hat. The picture. The way his shoulder had touched yours when your dad pulled him into that family photo. The way your puppy had licked his wrist and made him laugh, really laugh, for the first time that night.
That version of him—the one who said thank you, who ate your mom’s cooking, who let himself exist in your quiet little world—he was real, too.
Wasn’t he?
You pulled your phone out of your bag and stared at your messages.
Still nothing.
No sorry about earlier. No they were just messing around. No I didn’t mean it like that.
Just silence.
You wondered how long you’d be willing to wait for the version of Jake in your head to speak up.
And more than that
you wondered if he ever would.
You didn’t cry.
Not right away.
Instead, you took the long way home. Past the engineering wing, past the old bookstore with the chipped awning, past the bench you used to sit at when you waited for Jake to finish class. You walked until the streetlamps turned on and the sky burned soft orange at the edges, and still—you didn’t cry.
Because crying meant something was real. And if you didn’t cry, maybe none of it was.
When you got home, your mom was in the kitchen, humming off-key and stirring something in a pot that smelled like tomato and thyme. She glanced over her shoulder when you walked in, eyes bright. “Hey, birthday girl.”
You smiled. Automatically. Like muscle memory. “Hey.”
She didn’t ask where you’d been. She never did. She trusted you too much to question things like that. Or maybe she just knew when not to press. There was something about mothers—they could feel sadness like a shift in the air, but they knew when to let you keep it close.
You dropped your bag by the door and went straight to your room. Bingo padded after you, tail wagging gently, like even he could sense that something inside you had gone quiet.
You sat on the edge of your bed, stared at the framed photo on your desk—the one from your party. You in your paper crown, Jake beside you, both of your parents smiling like the sun was trapped inside that little living room.
He looked stiff in the picture. Just slightly. Like he hadn’t quite figured out how to belong in the moment. But he was there. That had to count for something.
Didn’t it?
You whispered the same excuses into the silence you’d been chanting all week. He’s just scared. He’s not used to people like me. It’s easier to laugh than to feel.
But the words felt heavier now. Like stones on your tongue.
You looked at your phone again. Still nothing.
No missed calls. No messages. Not even a heart on the post your mom made with the picture.
You curled up beneath your blanket, arms around Bingo, his soft breath steady against your ribs.
And still—you didn’t cry.
But you wanted to. God, you wanted to.
Because something inside you was beginning to whisper the thing you didn’t want to hear. The thing you’d been fighting from the very start.
Maybe he never saw you at all.
You woke up before your alarm the next morning.
Not because of anything urgent. Just because your chest felt too full to sleep, like your body was quietly trying to tell you something your heart didn’t want to hear.
The sun was barely up, casting pale streaks across your ceiling. You stared at them for a while, tracing patterns with your eyes like they might spell out something worth holding onto.
Bingo was curled against your legs, warm and snoring gently. You didn’t move.
You thought about yesterday. About Jake’s voice, sharp with laughter. About the way his friends had looked at you like you were something between a novelty and a punchline. About the smile he wore when he called you loyal.
Like that was funny.
Like that was a flaw.
You told yourself again that he didn’t mean it. That he wasn’t cruel.
But the words weren’t sitting right anymore. They didn’t settle like they used to. They turned in your stomach, prickled at the corners of your thoughts.
Because deep down, you were starting to wonder if it wasn’t about him not knowing how to show it—if it was simply that he didn’t feel it in the first place.
He liked your help. He liked your notes. He liked the way you showed up, quietly, every time he needed something and never asked for anything in return.
But you? The you who stood outside that circle and laughed too late? The you who baked and wrote and stayed up fixing his grammar and believed—so foolishly believed—that one day he might just turn around and see you?
Maybe he didn’t like her at all.
And maybe he never would.
You pressed your face into the pillow and closed your eyes, breathing slow.
No tears. Not yet.
But you felt something shift—just the smallest crack in the glass.
The first fracture of goodbye.
It was a Thursday.
You’d spent the entire night helping Jake prep for his presentation. You’d practically rewritten half his slides, fixed his transitions, even printed out a stack of flashcards he never touched. You told yourself you didn’t mind. That this was what people did for each other. That he’d do the same for you, if things were reversed.
The event was packed. The auditorium buzzing with bodies—students, instructors, even a few recruiters from the nearby base. Everyone was dressed up, polished and bright. You found a seat near the back, clutching your notebook in your lap, stomach fluttering with nerves that weren’t even yours.
Jake looked good up there—confident, composed, all charm. He owned the stage with that easy smile of his, that flyboy arrogance that always made people lean in. He ran through his slides like he’d been born to do it. Sleek, effortless, golden.
Then someone asked a question.
A tricky one—about the ethical implications of drone use in modern airspace. Jake froze for just a beat. You knew the answer. You’d written a whole section on it for him. He just had to remember the notes. The phrasing.
Instead, he laughed.
“Well,” he said into the mic, smirking toward the crowd, “I’d have a real answer for you if my PoliSci tutor hadn’t been too busy planning bake sales this week.”
Laughter erupted.
Laughter.
You blinked.
It didn’t register at first. The way his voice curled around the word tutor. The way he didn’t look at you, but the whole room knew. Someone even turned around. Looked right at you. You could feel the eyes.
You sat there frozen. Still. Not breathing.
Because he could’ve said anything else. Could’ve deflected. Could’ve joked about the weather, or made something up. But instead, he chose you. To make the crowd laugh. To win back control.
He humiliated you. Publicly. On purpose.
You felt the heat rise in your chest—not warmth, not embarrassment. Something sharper. Something almost like anger, but drowned under the weight of disbelief.
Jake just kept going. Smooth. Unbothered. He didn’t even flinch.
And maybe that was the worst part.
Because you had stayed up until two in the morning making sure he didn’t fall on his face.
Because you had believed—still believed—that somewhere underneath all of that confidence was someone worth waiting for.
And now, sitting there in the back row, cheeks burning, heart sinking fast, you realized something you couldn’t un-feel.
He was never yours.
Not even close.
And you had never been his sunshine. Just his shadow.
You didn’t stay for the rest of the presentation.
You waited just long enough for the polite applause—just long enough to watch him smile and wave and bask in praise like he hadn’t just carved you open in front of fifty people.
Then you left.
You walked fast, out of the auditorium, down the hallway, out into the air that suddenly felt too sharp, too loud, too real. You didn’t know where you were going. You just had to go.
The sky was starting to turn gold, dipping into orange at the edges. Your feet carried you toward the quad without thinking, past people laughing, past someone skateboarding down the path with music blasting from a phone speaker. You moved like a ghost. Like someone only half-real.
Your stomach was hollow. Your hands were shaking.
You wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or throw something. Or maybe all of it at once.
Instead, you sat on a bench. Stared down at your lap. And tried to understand.
Because it wasn’t like this was new. He’d teased you before. Let his friends say things. Laughed when they made jokes that left you blinking too hard, your throat closing around the truth.
But this? This was different.
This was cruel.
And the worst part was—you knew he knew it. He’d looked right at you when he said it, even if his eyes didn’t meet yours. He knew you were there. He chose you. You’d handed him everything—your time, your effort, your loyalty—and he used it as a punchline.
You pulled out your phone.
No messages.
No apologies.
Just silence.
And maybe—for the first time—you let yourself believe it.
He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t trying to protect himself.
He just didn’t care.
He never did.
And you? You were the fool who mistook scraps for affection. Who mistook his silence for softness. Who thought that loving someone hard enough would make them see you.
You sat there until the sun dipped behind the buildings, the light fading into shadow. Bingo wasn’t with you. Your parents weren’t calling. No one was coming to find you.
And Jake?
Jake was probably still smiling.
You didn’t go to class the next day.
You told yourself you were just tired. Just needed a break. But when you passed your mirror on the way to the bathroom, you couldn’t quite meet your own eyes.
You looked small. Not in size—just in spirit. Dimmed somehow. Like someone had taken a sponge to your outline and blurred the edges.
The texts from your group chats went unanswered. A message from your professor popped up—Hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need an extension. You almost replied. You almost told the truth.
But then what would you say?
The boy I loved made me into a joke. And I let him. And now I don’t know what to do with myself.
No one prepares you for this part. Not the movies, not the books, not the Pinterest quotes about unrequited love. They don’t tell you how it feels to watch someone you cherished turn you into something disposable. Something laughable.
They don’t tell you that the worst heartbreak is the one you talked yourself into.
Because you’d defended him. Again and again. You’d brushed off every red flag, excused every offhand comment, convinced yourself that he was just scared or immature or confused. That eventually, he’d realize what you were worth.
But now?
Now you couldn’t pretend anymore.
Not after the way he laughed. Not after the way they all laughed with him. Not after he took your loyalty—your love—and used it like a stage prop, like the punchline in a joke he didn’t even bother to make clever.
It wasn’t just the humiliation.
It was the choice.
He chose to hurt you. For a laugh. For a second of charm. For nothing.
And maybe that hurt more than anything.
You sat on the edge of your bed, wrapped in a sweater you hadn’t realized was his—something he'd left in your bag weeks ago, after a group project. You stared at it for a long time, fingers curling around the fabric like it could still carry meaning.
Then, slowly, quietly, you folded it. Set it on your desk. You walked away.
You didn’t cry.
Not yet.
But something inside you—a belief, a dream, a soft little spark—finally went out.
You didn’t tell anyone what happened.
Not your roommates. Not your parents. Not even your favorite professor, the one who always stayed after lectures to ask how you were holding up. You just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Like muscle memory. Like sleepwalking.
But your world had shifted.
Suddenly, everything reminded you of him.
The vending machine near the library—the one where you used to catch him between classes, grinning with two granola bars and zero clue what day of the week it was. The quad bench, where you once sat side by side, your notebook in his lap and your heart in your throat. Even the smell of cologne on someone else’s jacket made your stomach twist before your brain caught up.
It was everywhere.
And nowhere.
Because for all the space he took up in your head, in your life, in your heart—he had left you with nothing. Not even a “hey, sorry.” Not even a text to explain. Like what he did didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.
You wanted to hate him.
God, you wanted to.
But hate would’ve meant he still had power over you. That he still got to sit in the center of your emotions. And that felt too generous.
So instead
 you began the slow work of forgetting.
You stopped opening his messages—when they came at all. You stopped checking to see if he’d be in class before you showed up. You stopped rehearsing conversations in your head where he apologized and you forgave him, tears and all, like some shitty campus romance novel.
You stopped wearing yellow. You deleted the photo from your birthday. You unfollowed his roommate. Then his sister. Then him.
It was like shedding a skin.
Painful. Awkward. Slow.
But necessary.
Because you couldn’t keep carrying him around. Not after he turned you into a caricature. Not after he fed you to a room full of strangers and laughed while you choked on your own silence.
You weren’t his sunshine.
You were a mirror. And when he looked at you, he didn’t see beauty or love or worth—he just saw his own reflection. And when it didn’t flatter him, he shattered it.
So you picked up what pieces you could.
And this time, you didn’t hand them back.
It happened on a rainy Sunday.
The kind of rain that didn’t pour—just fell soft and steady, like the sky was grieving with you. You sat in the kitchen with your mom and dad, their mugs steaming, your hands shaking as you clutched your own like a lifeline.
You didn’t know how to start. Not really.
So you just said, “I want to transfer.”
They both blinked. Looked at each other. Then back at you.
Your mom’s brows furrowed gently. “Sweetheart
 is everything okay?”
You nodded. Then shook your head. Then tried again. “I just—I need to leave. This school. This place. I can’t stay here anymore.”
Your voice cracked on the last word.
Your dad leaned forward, his expression steady but kind. “Did something happen?”
You swallowed. “Not
 not exactly. I just—it doesn’t feel right anymore. The program, the people, everything. I thought I was happy. I thought I knew what I wanted, but—”
You stopped, breathed, kept going.
“Can we look into transferring? Maybe
 out of state?”
Your mom reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours. “Of course. If this isn’t working, we’ll figure something else out.”
You didn’t cry. Not this time.
You just squeezed her hand and nodded, grateful and guilty all at once. You knew it was sudden. Knew you were asking a lot. But you also knew you couldn’t stay—not in a campus where everything reminded you of him. Of who you used to be.
You wanted space. A reset. A chance to become someone else.
Or maybe not someone else—just someone more.
Your dad cleared his throat gently. “Have you thought about what you’d switch into? Or are you just looking for a new campus?”
You hesitated.
Your fingers tapped against the side of your mug, absently. A rhythm you didn’t recognize until much later.
“I’ve been thinking about something else,” you said, voice softer now. “A different path. Something more
 structured. More focused.”
They didn’t press. Didn’t question. Your parents weren’t perfect, but they knew when to hold things gently. They didn’t need you to explain why you were asking. They just understood that you were.
And maybe that was enough.
Later that night, you sat by your bedroom window, listening to the rain and watching Bingo chase shadows in his sleep.
You didn’t know what came next.
But for the first time in weeks, your heart felt just a little quieter.
And beneath all the hurt, all the anger, all the shame—something else had begun to flicker.
Not hope. Not yet.
But maybe
purpose.
- Jake -
She wasn’t at the library.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not that he’d been looking for her—he wasn’t. He was just cutting through the stacks, half a granola bar in his mouth, phone lighting up with a string of dumb texts from Coop about the weekend party. But she wasn’t there.
She was always there.
Tucked between the second and third aisles, back hunched over some worn-out political theory book, highlighter cap stuck between her teeth. Sometimes she'd wave. Sometimes she’d pretend not to see him. But she was there.
Today, the spot was empty.
He shrugged it off.
Maybe she had class. Maybe she’d finally decided to study somewhere else, like the normal students who didn’t have a desk reserved in the library by sheer force of will.
But then he didn’t see her in the quad either.
Or outside the café.
Or by the vending machine near the engineering wing where she always ended up somehow—wrong building, wrong class, always just there, arms full of papers and talking too fast about midterm deadlines like anyone else cared.
Weird.
And it got weirder when he sat down in class and the seat in the third row, second from the right, stayed empty.
That seat was never empty. Not even on days with surprise rain or fire alarms or whatever other dumb excuse half the class used to skip. She was always early. Always had a pen in her hand. Always offered him gum if he looked like he hadn’t slept.
He tapped his pencil against the desk. Checked the time.
Still nothing.
No backpack. No flash of yellow. No tired smile like she’d been up all night fixing someone else’s citations again.
He didn’t get it.
Sure, she was a little clingy. A little too available. Always orbiting a little too close. But she meant well. She always showed up. She always—
The professor started talking.
Jake blinked. Swore under his breath. His notes—he didn’t have them. She usually gave him a cheat sheet the day before. Color-coded, too. Where the hell was she?
After class, he stood outside for a beat longer than he needed to, scanning the crowd like maybe she’d just been running late. But she wasn’t there. Not in the hallway. Not by the stairs. Not on the bench where she sometimes sat reading those giant political memoirs like they were bedtime stories.
Nowhere.
It was weird.
And yeah, okay—he might be screwed if she didn’t show up by next week. He hadn’t started that ethics paper, and he sure as hell didn’t remember the case study they were supposed to cite. She usually reminded him.
But that wasn’t it. Not really.
It was the quiet.
The lack of her.
He didn’t miss her. Not exactly. But the campus felt off without her in it. Like something small had shifted and he didn’t know what yet.
She’d always been around. Like background music you didn’t really notice until it stopped.
And now?
Now it was silent.
Jake didn’t know why he went.
It was almost midnight. The campus was dead quiet, the air humid and thick, streetlights glowing in broken halos as he drove without thinking—just letting muscle memory steer the wheel. He didn’t text. Didn’t call. He figured she’d be there. She always was.
Her house sat at the edge of that quiet little neighborhood near the hospital—white fence, trimmed lawn, porch light glowing like always. He parked sloppily at the curb, engine still ticking as he climbed out, jaw clenched, heart beating a little too loud.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.
He just knew he was tired of the weirdness. Tired of walking into class and seeing her seat empty. Tired of not getting his damn notes. Tired of whatever this was.
He rang the bell once.
No answer.
Then he knocked—harder this time, sharper, the way he did when Coop was ignoring him on purpose.
The door opened after a moment.
And there she was.
Hair tied up messily, hoodie way too big, eyes red like maybe she’d been crying. Or maybe she hadn’t slept. The living room behind her was dark except for one dim lamp. A half-empty cup of tea sat forgotten on the coffee table.
The puppy—Bingo, or whatever stupid name it had—perked up on the couch, then settled again.
She blinked at him like she couldn’t quite believe he was real. Like he was something she thought she’d finally let go of.
Jake shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, shifted his weight. “You weren’t in class.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Or the library. Or anywhere, actually,” he added, voice sharp. “Kinda hard to finish my paper when my PoliSci encyclopedia disappears off the map.”
That made her flinch—just barely—but he caught it.
Good.
She opened the door a little wider but didn’t move aside. “Why are you here, Jake?”
The way she said his name—flat, quiet, tired—itched under his skin.
“I just told you. You ghosted. No heads-up, no nothing. You think I don’t notice?”
She let out a breath. “You don’t notice anything.”
And something about that—something in her tone, in the way she looked at him like he was a stranger—lit a fuse in his chest.
“Excuse me?”
She stepped back finally, letting him in. But her body language was rigid, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.
Jake walked in, took one look around—the neatness, the warmth, the family photos—and felt like he was choking on something invisible. Something sweet. Something that didn’t belong to him.
“You’re seriously gonna act like I did something wrong?” he snapped, turning to her. “I didn’t ask you to worship the ground I walked on. I didn’t beg you to fix my papers or follow me around like a goddamn puppy.”
Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t,” he cut her off. “Don’t stand there and pretend you weren’t obsessed. You made yourself useful, and now you’re mad I didn’t bow down in return?”
She stared at him, mouth parted, trembling. “I cared about you.”
“Yeah?” he said, and the laugh that escaped his throat was ugly. Bitter. “Well, newsflash—I don’t owe you anything for that.”
Silence.
Thick. Ugly. Shattering.
Then—crack.
The slap hit harder than he expected.
His head jerked slightly to the side, the sting blooming hot across his cheek. He blinked, stunned—not because of the pain, but because she did it.
Her hand dropped, shaking. Her breath came out in broken gasps. Her eyes flooded instantly, fat tears slipping down her cheeks, and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t owe me anything. But I gave it anyway. Because I thought—God, I thought if I loved you quietly enough, maybe one day you’d look at me like I was real.”
Jake opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
She took a shaky step back. “You don’t even know me. Not really. You don’t know what I study, what I like, what I want. You don’t know anything except how to take. And I let you.”
She wiped her face now, not to hide the tears but just to breathe.
“I let you turn me into a background character in my own life.”
He stared at her.
He didn’t know what to say.
Didn’t know why his chest was tight or why the sight of her crying in the middle of her perfectly lived-in home made his hands curl into fists at his sides.
“You should go,” she said, voice flat now. Steady.
Jake took a breath, but it felt jagged.
He nodded once.
No apology.
No goodbye.
Just the echo of the door closing behind him and the knowledge that for the first time since she’d walked into his orbit—
she was done.
Jake didn’t sleep.
Not really.
He kept replaying the slap. Her voice, cracked and shaking. The way she looked at him—like he’d gutted something soft and sacred inside her, like she didn’t even recognize him anymore. And maybe she didn’t. Maybe he didn’t either.
He told himself he hadn’t meant it. Not like that. Not so sharp. Not so cruel.
But what the hell else was there to mean?
He didn’t know what he wanted when he got in his truck. He just
 needed to see her. Say something. Fix it, maybe. Or at least explain.
The street was quiet when he pulled up. Morning sun creeping through the trees. Her porch looked the same—flowerpots, wind chimes, the little ceramic puppy bowl still tucked by the door. Familiar. Safe.
He stepped up and rang the bell, palms sweating.
After a moment, the door creaked open.
Her mom stood there, still in her robe, her hair pulled back, a mug of coffee in hand. She blinked, surprised. “Jake?”
He straightened. “Hi, Mrs. [Last Name]. Uh—I was wondering if
 if she’s home.”
Something flickered across her face. A pause. A softness. And maybe—just maybe—a hint of regret.
“Oh, sweetheart
” she said gently, like she was about to tell him someone died. “I thought she told you.”
His heart slowed. “Told me what?”
“She transferred,” her mom said with a small, sad smile. “Packed everything and left last night. Got accepted into a program out of state. It was sudden, but
 she seemed sure.”
The words landed like a punch to the ribs.
Gone?
Just like that?
“No warning?” he asked, the question barely making it out.
She frowned faintly, looking confused. “I assumed you knew. I thought you two were close. She didn’t say much. Just that it was time. She seemed
 tired. But she’s happy. I guess that’s the word.”
Jake couldn’t breathe. Not properly. He looked past her, into the house. Same furniture. Same hallway. But empty.
No yellow hoodie draped on the back of the chair. 
No stack of textbooks on the coffee table. 
No Bingo barking like a maniac at the door.
Gone.
She was really gone.
Her mom sighed and stepped aside a little, like she wasn’t sure what else to do. “I’m sorry, Jake. I wish I could tell you more. I don’t know what happened between you two, but
 I hope you’re okay.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
A lie. So flat it felt like it burned.
She nodded. “Well. If you ever need anything, we’re still here. Take care, alright?”
The door closed gently. Not slamming. Not shutting him out.
But final.
Jake stood there for a full minute, staring at the place where she used to be.
She’d loved him—quietly, stupidly, endlessly.
And when he finally turned around to look?
She was already gone.
“Earth to Hangman!”
Rooster’s voice sliced through the noise, his fingers snapping twice in front of Jake’s face.
Jake blinked.
The bar snapped back into focus—glasses clinking, pool cues cracking, Penny’s voice somewhere near the jukebox calling out an order. The low thrum of a Fleetwood Mac song spun lazily through the air, mixing with the laughter of pilots who’d made it through another mission, another day.
He shifted in his seat, realizing he’d been staring at his beer for who-knew-how-long.
“Jesus, man,” Payback muttered, leaning on the bar beside him. “You looked like you were having an out-of-body experience.”
“Did you forget where you parked your ego?” Fanboy added, grinning into his drink.
Jake exhaled slowly through his nose and smirked, letting the default arrogance snap back into place like muscle memory. “Nah. Just tuning out your voice. Didn’t realize I’d need earplugs on my night off.”
“Real original,” Rooster muttered, but he was still grinning.
Phoenix rolled her eyes from across the table. “What’s the matter, Hangman? Someone finally beat you at darts? Or are you just sulking ‘cause the bartender gave your usual to someone hotter?”
“Maybe he’s thinking about someone special,” Bob said softly, then immediately flushed when everyone turned to him.
“Aww,” Fanboy teased. “You’re blushing, Bobby. You projecting or something?”
Jake laughed along with them—sharp, smooth, a little too loud.
But inside? He was still standing on that front porch, staring at a house that no longer held her.
He didn’t even remember what someone had said that triggered it. Maybe Phoenix had mentioned something about transfer paperwork. Maybe Rooster had told a story about an old friend who disappeared after college. Maybe it was nothing at all—just the sound of a voice, a chord in a song, a flash of yellow from someone’s hoodie at the bar.
Whatever it was, it hit like a sucker punch.
He hadn’t thought about her in a while. Not seriously. Not like that. He’d shoved it down—buried her between flight briefings and adrenaline highs and the praise of being the best in the sky.
But some ghosts didn’t stay buried.
Jake shook his head and raised his glass, voice smooth again. “Y’all are acting like I’ve got some dark secret. Hate to break it to you, but I’m just tired of carrying this whole squad on my back.”
The group groaned in collective protest, tossing fries at him, flipping him off, throwing more jabs his way.
He leaned back, grin practiced. Easy. Untouchable.
But he didn’t laugh this time.
Not really.
Because the truth sat there, right beneath his ribs, quiet and unshakable.
She’d been gone for years.
And he still hadn’t forgiven himself for noticing too late.
“You guys hear what Mav said earlier?” Coyote asked, nudging his beer bottle in a slow spin across the table. “About someone joining us tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Phoenix said, sitting forward. “Apparently it’s someone high up. Real decorated.”
Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Higher rank than us, huh? What’d he say? Lieutenant Commander? Captain?”
“Didn’t say,” Payback replied. “Just said they’re experienced, important, and we better have our shit together.”
“Sounds like someone’s trying to scare us,” Fanboy joked. “What’s next? We get a briefing from a Rear Admiral with a death glare and a coffee addiction?”
Phoenix snorted. “Wouldn’t be the worst we’ve had.”
“Could be Navy Intel,” Bob added quietly. “Or maybe a specialist. Someone brought in for mission design.”
Rooster leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or maybe it’s a Top Gun legend. Someone who makes Maverick look like a rookie.”
“Unlikely,” Hangman muttered.
But his voice was distant. Hollow.
The banter buzzed around him—jokes flying, theories stacking—but Jake had barely moved. He was still nursing the same beer, head tilted slightly, gaze locked on nothing in particular.
Because something about the way Maverick said it earlier that morning had itched at the back of Jake’s mind.
“This person’s not just smart. They’re sharp. Respected. You’ll recognize the name.”
He hadn’t thought much of it then—just another big-shot to brief them, maybe fly one or two training rounds and disappear.
But now?
Now his gut twisted.
There was something wrong about this kind of silence. The way Mav didn’t give them a name. Didn’t give them a face. And usually, when Maverick kept details under wraps like that—it meant the surprise was personal.
Very personal.
“What do you think, Hangman?” Rooster asked, kicking his boot lightly under the table. “Think we’re about to be out-ranked by some crusty war hero with a cane and a vendetta?”
Jake forced a grin. “Nah. Probably just someone with twice your IQ and a cleaner flight record.”
They all groaned and swatted at him again, but Jake barely felt the energy.
His skin prickled. A chill slithered across the back of his neck, even as the sun dipped lower outside, streaking the windows gold.
Someone important.
Someone they’d recognize.
Jake swallowed hard.
He had a bad feeling he already did.
The door creaked open with that familiar Hard Deck jingle, followed by the low rumble of boots hitting wood.
“Speak of the devil,” Rooster muttered, turning his head as four familiar faces walked in.
Harvard. Yale. Halo. Fritz.
More Top Gun grads. Tight-knit. Dangerous in the air. Trouble on the ground.
“Great,” Phoenix deadpanned. “Just when I was having fun.”
“They let you guys back in here?” Fanboy called out.
“Relax,” Halo said, lifting two fingers in mock peace as they made their way over. “We’re off-duty. For now.”
Fritz was already heading for their table, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he tossed his flight jacket over the back of a chair.
“You guys hear the rumor?” he asked, voice low, grin way too smug for comfort.
Jake raised a brow. “What rumor?”
Fritz leaned in like he was about to tell them state secrets. “About who’s coming tomorrow.”
The Dagger Squad went quiet. Not frozen—but that slow shift into alertness. Rooster set his drink down. Bob sat up straighter. Even Phoenix stopped twirling the straw in her soda.
“You know who it is?” Coyote asked.
“No name yet,” Harvard jumped in. “But they’re saying it’s someone big. Like, Navy-shifting big.”
“They said we’ll recognize the name,” Yale added, clearly enjoying the tension building in the room. “And that this person’s been operating under special orders. Off-grid. For years.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. That itch in his spine was back. Crawling now.
Fritz dropped the bomb like it was casual gossip.
“Word is—Mav might be getting replaced.”
Dead silence.
Not even the jukebox seemed to be playing anymore.
Jake blinked. “What?”
Fritz shrugged, sipping his beer. “I’m just telling you what I heard. Apparently this new arrival’s got the credentials, the combat record, and the connections. Might be coming in to evaluate Mav’s leadership. Maybe even take command.”
“No one replaces Mav,” Phoenix said flatly, but there was a beat of hesitation. “Right?”
“Unless command thinks he’s getting too soft,” Halo offered, clearly enjoying the drama.
“He’s not soft,” Rooster snapped.
“No, but,” Harvard said slowly, “he’s Maverick. Which means he pisses off every third admiral just by breathing.”
The weight of it sank in.
Someone important. Someone respected. Someone they’d recognize.
And now
 maybe someone powerful enough to take Mav’s spot?
Jake’s stomach coiled.
Because suddenly this wasn’t just a name or a face.
It was someone coming to shake the cage.
Someone who’d left a scar deep enough to still ache under his skin.
Someone who disappeared before he could ever make it right.
Jake didn’t say a word.
He just stared at the melting ice in his glass.
And for the first time in a long time, Hangman didn’t feel like the guy with all the answers.
“You’re all acting like we’re getting replaced by God,” Jake said, tipping back in his chair, boots hooked on the table leg. “Relax. Whoever it is probably files paperwork better than they fly.”
“Ohh, big words from the golden boy,” Rooster muttered, raising his brows. “What if they’re better than you?”
Jake grinned, sharp and smug. “No such thing.”
“Right,” Phoenix drawled. “Because your ego wouldn’t allow it.”
“Exactly,” he said, without missing a beat.
Coyote snorted. “Okay, but think about it. What if it’s someone insane? Like ex-NSA, flew in Black Ops, has a call sign that got classified?”
Fanboy leaned forward, all dramatic. “What if it’s someone with like
 seventeen confirmed kills and a face that makes grown men cry?”
“Sounds like a Disney villain,” Bob said quietly.
“I’m just saying,” Fritz added, slapping his beer down. “If they’re coming in hot enough to maybe replace Maverick, they’re not gonna be your average Top Gun grad. That’s like—nuclear level.”
“Maybe it’s Cyclone’s secret kid,” Halo said, eyes wide. “Raised on steel and shame. Sent to destroy Maverick for breaking too many rules.”
“Jesus,” Phoenix laughed. “Are we writing a soap opera now?”
Jake just smirked, but he was leaning in now—interested, if not worried.
“Whoever they are, I give it two days before they choke trying to keep up,” he said, spinning his beer bottle between two fingers. “No one flies like we do. Mav picked us for a reason.”
Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Cocky much?”
Jake pointed. “Confident. There’s a difference.”
Harvard looked around the table. “Seriously though, y’all aren’t even a little nervous?”
There was a beat of silence.
Rooster shrugged. “I mean, it’s weird. They didn’t give us any info.”
“Exactly,” Yale said. “And Maverick’s been acting cagey.”
Jake stretched, draping his arm over the back of his chair like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. “Maybe they just want to keep us on our toes. Keep the best sharp.”
“You think they’re doing this for you, don’t you?” Phoenix asked, deadpan.
Jake shrugged. “Can’t blame ‘em. I’d want to rattle me too.”
“Man thinks he’s the main character,” Fanboy muttered.
Bob smiled into his drink. “Hangman probably hopes it’s someone he can beat in a dogfight.”
Jake leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Hope? No, Bob. I’m counting on it.”
“Imagine,” Coyote said with a laugh, “it’s some tiny person who just walks in and makes you look like a rookie.”
Jake chuckled. “The day someone walks into that hangar and out-flies me is the day I kiss Rooster’s mustache and call it destiny.”
Everyone groaned at once.
“No one asked for that mental image,” Phoenix said, covering her face.
Rooster made a gagging sound. “Try it and I’ll throw you into the ocean, Hangman.”
Jake was halfway into another cocky retort when Payback—who’d been silent for most of the conversation, nursing his drink with the patience of a man watching children self-destruct—finally spoke up.
“Y’all are doing a lot of barking for people who don’t even know who’s walking through that door tomorrow.”
The table paused.
Payback didn’t look up, just swirled the ice in his glass, like he wasn’t dropping a quiet nuke.
Phoenix blinked. “Damn, man. That was ominous as hell.”
He raised a brow. “I’m just saying. You can laugh all you want, but whoever’s coming in? Mav respects them. Enough to not tell us anything. That doesn’t sound like just a transfer to me.”
Coyote leaned back slowly. “What if they’re here to evaluate us, not just Mav?”
Bob looked mildly alarmed. “Like
 as a unit?”
Fritz whistled. “What if they’re our new squad lead?”
Jake scoffed. “Mav wouldn’t do that. He’d say something.”
“Would he though?” Halo asked, sipping her beer. “If he thought it would make you fly sharper?”
“You all sound scared,” Jake said, pushing his chair back on two legs again. “Like someone’s gonna come in and kick you out of the sky.”
Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “And you’re not?”
Jake just smirked. “Whoever it is, they’ll either learn or crash trying to keep up. I’ll give ‘em a soft landing.”
“Arrogant son of a bitch,” Rooster muttered, shaking his head with a grin.
“Always,” Jake fired back, flashing that signature grin.
But Payback wasn’t done.
He finally looked up. Met Jake’s eyes—steady, unreadable.
“Sometimes the ones you don’t see coming hit the hardest.”
And just like that, the noise at the table dulled.
Jake held his gaze for a second too long before he scoffed and looked away.
“Whatever. Let ‘em come.”
But the chill down his spine didn’t leave.
Because he was Hangman. Untouchable. Unbothered. Right?

Right?
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
The morning sun hadn’t even cleared the hangar roof when the squad assembled—flight suits zipped, dog tags tucked, postures stiff with expectation.
The detachment hangar echoed with the click of boots and murmured voices. Rooster cracked his neck. Phoenix sipped burnt coffee. Bob kept checking his clipboard even though nothing had changed. Hangman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t already calculating who was gonna blink first when the so-called legends arrived.
And then—Warlock stepped in.
The room straightened like one body.
He moved like a man who didn’t waste steps. Every inch of his uniform was razor-cut perfection, ribbons gleaming in the gray light. His eyes swept over the group, sharp and unreadable.
“Good morning, aviators,” he said, voice calm but commanding. “At ease.”
A collective breath released.
Warlock stood at the front like he owned the silence. His hands clasped behind his back. His tone steady—but heavy.
“You’ve all been called back for one reason,” he began. “Because you’re the best. Because you were trained by the best. And because the Navy needs you—again.”
He paused just long enough to let the weight of it settle. No one moved. No one spoke.
Jake resisted the urge to yawn, but even he couldn’t fake indifference. Not with the way Warlock’s voice carried now—like something big was shifting.
“Today, we’re joined by a unit the Navy considers indispensable. Specialists. Graduates of Top Gun, yes—but far more than that.”
Heads tilted. Eyes flicked sideways.
Warlock didn’t budge.
“They’ve served internationally. Led black ops we’ll never read about. Advised on global defense protocols. Trained squadrons on three continents. And most recently—hand-selected by Pentagon leadership to support strategic restructure initiatives across branches.”
Jake blinked. That wasn’t just credentials. That was
 another league.
“They’re not here to replace you,” Warlock continued. “But they are here with purpose. Consider them embedded observers. Tactical partners. And yes—commanding officers.”
A visible shift rippled through the squad.
Bob stiffened.
Coyote muttered something under his breath.
Phoenix’s jaw tightened.
Jake? He furrowed his brow just slightly, arms still crossed. Higher rank. Embedded. Top Gun grads. Tactical partners?
Before he could piece it together, Warlock turned slightly—and in stepped three figures.
They walked in with the kind of silence that screamed power. Perfect posture. Eyes forward. No smiles. No introductions.
Two men. One woman.
Flight suits. Command patches. No unnecessary flair—but something about their presence made even Rooster straighten taller.
They took their seats without a word.
Warlock nodded once, then turned back to the squad.
“You’ll work with them. You’ll learn from them. And you’ll fly like your life depends on it—because soon, it just might.”
He stepped aside.
Silence.
Chairs scraped as the Dagger Squad slowly sat down, still side-eyeing the new arrivals like they were bombs waiting to detonate.
Jake leaned back in his seat, jaw tight.
Who the hell were they?
And why did something in his chest feel like it was getting ready to collapse?
He didn’t know yet.
But he was about to.
The steel doors groaned open again.
And then he appeared—Cyclone, in full dress blues, cap under one arm, face carved from stone.
The air changed the second he entered. Warlock shifted subtly to the side. Hondo straightened where he stood near the back, arms folded. And Maverick—late as always—stepped in behind them, as if he'd known exactly when to arrive without being told.
Jake saw Rooster tense beside him. Phoenix didn’t even blink. Everyone knew what it meant when Cyclone entered with that face.
The storm was already rolling.
Cyclone stepped forward, taking his place beside Warlock and in full view of the squad. His gaze swept over them once, sharp and slow.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” he said, voice like gravel and steel. “The individuals you see seated beside you hold higher rank, more hours logged, and more confirmed kills than most of you combined.”
He paused. No one breathed.
“They have led squadrons into classified airspace. They have written protocols you use. And they have the authority to overrule damn near every one of you—including your training officer.”
His eyes flicked sideways, right at Maverick.
Jake swore he saw Mav smirk. The man had no sense of self-preservation.
Cyclone turned back to the room. “So, if any of you feel the need to crack jokes, roll your eyes, or question why these officers are here, I suggest you stow it. You will address them with respect. You will fly when they say fly. And if you embarrass this detachment—God help you.”
His words landed like blades.
Jake leaned back slightly, finally pulling his arms off his chest. There was no charm slick enough to wriggle past that tone. Not from Cyclone.
Still, he caught movement in the corner of his eye.
Maverick stepped forward, casual as ever, his hands clasped behind his back. He was in his flight suit already—dog tags glinting, expression calm.
“Appreciate the warning, sir,” Mav said with that cool, confident lilt. “But I think you’ll find this group learns faster when they’re not being barked at.”
Cyclone sighed. “Maverick.”
“Hondo,” Mav said, ignoring him, nodding toward the man standing nearby.
“Captain,” Hondo greeted, trying not to smile.
Maverick turned to face the squad now, taking center stage like it was second nature.
Jake watched him closely—because if there was anyone who could casually deliver a speech while standing in a pressure cooker, it was Maverick.
“I know you’ve all been wondering who’s joining us,” he started, voice steady. “I won’t lie—when I heard the Navy was embedding them, I had questions too.”
He glanced toward the three seated officers, not in challenge—but in something closer to... respect. Maybe even wariness.
“These aren’t rookies. They’re not here to play nice or hand out gold stars. They're here because the Navy wants results.”
Another pause.
“They’re also not here to replace me,” he added lightly, though the smile that tugged at his mouth was short-lived. “But don’t let that stop you from trying to outfly them.”
A few of the pilots chuckled under their breath.
Maverick took another step forward. “You’ll be flying tighter. Harder. And faster than you’ve flown in months. You’ll be critiqued. Corrected. Maybe outmatched.”
He looked straight at Hangman now.
Jake’s spine locked, jaw tightening instinctively.
“And if that bruises your ego,” Mav finished, “then I suggest you start building some calluses.”
He nodded once, then stepped back in line beside Warlock and Hondo.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was coiled.
Every pilot in that hangar knew something had just shifted.
Three strangers. Higher rank. Total silence.
And tomorrow? The games began.
Jake didn’t know who they were. Didn’t know why they were here. Didn’t know what they were capable of.
But damn if he wasn’t ready to prove he was still the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Whoever they were—he’d make them blink first.
Cyclone took a step forward, squaring his shoulders like the weight of the Navy rested neatly across his spine—and maybe it did.
“You’ve all been through Top Gun,” he said, voice precise, unwavering. “You’ve flown against the best. You’ve survived the impossible. And most of you carry that like it’s enough.”
The room held still. Not a fidget. Not a breath out of place.
Jake’s smirk had vanished. His hands now rested on his knees, back ramrod straight, eyes forward. He knew this tone. This was the serious Cyclone. No theatrics. No margin for error.
“But surviving once doesn’t make you infallible,” the admiral continued, eyes sweeping across the squad. “Flying one mission doesn’t make you elite forever. The world doesn’t stop because you made it home.”
His voice dropped slightly, the edge hardening.
“Which is why the Navy doesn’t just want warriors in the air. We want tacticians. Innovators. People who don’t wait for orders—they anticipate them.”
Cyclone’s gaze locked briefly with Phoenix, then Fanboy, then Jake. A slow assessment. A subtle challenge.
“These individuals—our guests—represent a standard that goes beyond what you’ve known. Their mission history is sealed. Their ranks earned in blood and black ink. They’ve served in joint task forces across the globe. And above all—”
The heavy hangar doors creaked open behind them.
Loud. Slow. A deliberate sound that echoed off the walls like a warning bell.
Jake heard it.
They all did.
But no one turned around.
Not even Rooster—who turned at everything.
Because Cyclone was still talking. And when an admiral is speaking, you don’t break rank to look behind you. Not unless you’re ready to kiss your wings goodbye.
Jake’s heart picked up speed anyway. That itch again, low in his ribs. The kind that said something wasn’t normal.
Cyclone barely paused at the interruption. Not a glance back. Not even a tick in his tone.
He just kept going—like he knew who was behind them.
“They hold the trust of Joint Command. They’ve written policy most of you don’t even realize you’re following. And tomorrow—they’ll fly with you.”
Another pause.
Jake felt it. That burn at the back of his neck. That presence behind him. Footsteps soft, intentional. Three shadows crossing the threshold like ghosts.
Still—he didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t breathe.
Cyclone’s voice, still steady, cut through the moment like a scalpel.
“Until they introduce themselves—they don’t owe you anything. Not a name. Not a smile. Not even a nod.”
The squad sat frozen.
And somewhere behind them, three chairs were pulled out.
Three seats filled.
Jake’s jaw twitched.
He still didn’t know what was coming.
But whatever it was?
It just walked into the room.
Cyclone’s gaze swept the hangar once more, the kind of gaze that made even seasoned pilots sit straighter. His voice carried clean across the open space, no microphone needed.
“You’ve all heard rumors,” he said, every syllable sharpened like a blade. “Today, those rumors meet reality.”
No one moved. Even the restless ones—Harvard, Fritz, Coyote—were locked in, eyes forward, spines tight. Maverick stood at the side now, arms folded, silent but watchful. Jake could feel the tension spiderwebbing through the room, subtle but unmistakable, pulling at his nerves like a thread.
“These three officers are not here to be your mentors, nor your friends,” Cyclone continued. “They’ve been assigned joint operational authority, and they’ve seen more combat, managed more pilots, and rewritten more doctrine than most of you will in your entire careers.”
Jake didn’t blink. He wanted to scoff—wanted to—but something about the admiral’s tone made even his usual sarcasm stick like stone in his throat.
Cyclone took a breath. “First—Lieutenant Commander Kade Mercer. Call sign: Jinx.”
One of the seated officers stood, his movements smooth and economical. Jinx had the air of a man who didn’t need to try hard to be the smartest in the room—he just was. His dark hair was trimmed regulation-short, his jaw shadowed with a day’s worth of stubble, and his stare—sharp, cool, unreadable—swept across the squad like a surgical light.
“Mercer’s logged thousands of hours in foreign airspace. Tactical infiltration, stealth coordination, and psychological pattern disruption. He’s the pilot we send in when the map doesn’t work anymore,” Cyclone said. “He’s also ranked top-five in split-second tactical reversals—don’t bother trying to beat him in a turn.”
Jinx gave a single, small nod, then stepped aside and stood off to the left. The air around him felt colder somehow, like he carried a different pressure system with him.
Cyclone didn’t wait for the tension to ease.
“Second,” he said, with a slight nod toward the remaining seated officer, “Commander Theo Hale. Call sign: Ruin.”
Ruin stood slowly. Where Jinx was precision, Hale was presence. Broader, older, his eyes were shadowed but watchful, like someone who had lived through too many things and survived them all. His steps were deliberate as he moved to stand beside Jinx, shoulders squared and arms loosely folded.
“Ruin has led recovery and retaliation ops across three continents. He has extracted downed pilots under live fire, and when protocol fails, he writes new ones in the field,” Cyclone said, his tone unwavering. “If the mission falls apart, this is the man they call to put the pieces back together—or destroy what’s left.”
No response. No smirk. Just a subtle nod of acknowledgment from Ruin, his gaze sweeping the squad like he was already calculating who wouldn’t make it through.
Jake exhaled through his nose, slowly. These weren’t just good pilots. These were ghosts. Legends in uniform. Men the Navy brought in when everything else had already gone to hell.
And then—Cyclone’s posture shifted just slightly.
“And finally,” he said, a new edge entering his tone, “Commander (Your Name) (Last Name). Call sign: Rogue.”
She stood.
Jake’s stomach dropped before he understood why.
The sound of her boots hitting the floor was sharp and clean, cutting through the quiet like a blade. She didn’t move like someone trying to impress a room. She moved like someone who already owned it. Her chin was high, her flight suit immaculate, and her eyes—god, her eyes—didn’t flicker once as she stepped into the center light.
It was her.
The girl he used to forget. The one he barely noticed.
The one who used to bring him coffee and flashcards and nervous laughter—and now looked like she could order a missile strike with one raised eyebrow.
Jake’s lungs stalled. She didn’t even glance at him.
Cyclone kept going. “Rogue is the Navy’s youngest strategic operations commander. Her combat and advisory records are protected under restricted access codes. She’s been stationed on black-zone carriers, coordinated global strike exercises, and earned her Distinguished Service Medal at twenty-eight.”
No one in the room moved. Jake didn’t even realize his jaw was tight until his teeth ached.
“She will be your senior embedded officer,” Cyclone finished. “Any decisions she makes regarding your performance, readiness, or flight status are final. You will address her as Commander or Rogue—and you will not underestimate her.”
She stood between Ruin and Jinx like she belonged there. Like she’d never been anyone else.
And Jake?
Jake sat still, watching her like a ghost had just climbed out of his past and took command of his entire world.
She didn’t even blink.
Jake didn’t hear the rest of Cyclone’s words. Didn’t register the murmurs rolling through the squad, didn’t flinch at the subtle creak of Maverick crossing his arms beside Warlock. The buzz of conversation had faded to a low hum in the back of his skull.
He was staring at her.
Eyes locked like a target he didn’t mean to track. Muscles tight. Breath slow. Something in his chest had gone still, caught between memory and disbelief.
She stood there—Commander Rogue—like she belonged in the middle of war stories and classified briefings. Like she’d never once blushed under library lighting or stumbled through a birthday invite with homemade cookies wrapped in tissue paper. The girl he remembered had notebooks stained with highlighter and coffee rings, a shy smile, and the kind of laugh that didn’t know how to hide its hope.
This woman? She had fire in her spine and stars on her collar. And not once—not for a single second—did she look at him.
Jake’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move.
She hadn’t even blinked in his direction. Hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t done a double take. And that, somehow, was the worst part.
Because Jake Seresin—cocky, charming, always two steps ahead—was suddenly just a face in the crowd.
He tried to tell himself it was shock. That it didn’t mean anything. That he didn’t care.
But the truth settled low in his gut like a weight he hadn’t noticed until now. She didn’t look nervous. Or awkward. Or out of place. She didn’t look like the girl who used to wait for him outside lecture halls with hopeful eyes.
She looked like she’d forgotten him.
And maybe that was the part that stung the most. Not that she was different, not that she outranked him now. But that she didn’t even need to look twice.
Commander Rogue.
The girl who once waited for him.
Now the woman who walked right past.
She hadn’t changed. And yet—she had.
Jake couldn’t stop staring, his gaze tracing over every sharp line, every familiar curve turned foreign under the weight of time. Her jaw was more defined now, no longer soft with youth but set with quiet strength. Her shoulders, squared with practiced discipline, didn’t carry the same hesitant curve they once had when she’d shrink beneath his sideways glances. No oversized hoodie. No spiral-bound notebook pressed to her chest. Just a flight suit, clean and creased, and a calmness that didn’t bend.
Her hair was pinned back, neat and strict beneath her regulation cap, but he could still remember the way it used to fall in front of her face when she leaned over his laptop to edit his papers for him. She had that same tilt to her head, that same posture of control—but now it wasn’t shy, it was sharp. Deliberate.
She didn’t look fragile anymore. She looked unshakable.
Jake’s eyes narrowed just slightly, disbelief curling in his gut like a slow burn. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t her. Maybe it was just the name. People shared names all the time—right? He’d probably met three Ashleys last week alone. Could be coincidence. Could be nothing.
But then—
Then there was the way she stood.
That little pause in her step before Cyclone said her name, the same way she used to freeze when her name was called in class, like her brain had to double-check that someone was actually saying it. That subtle bite of her bottom lip—she still did that. A nervous tell. The same one she had when she handed him a flash drive with his project already formatted because “you always forget the citations, Jake.”
God.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, slowly, like it might smother the memory.
It had to be her.
But how? How the hell had she gone from PoliSci major with trembling hands and wide eyes to Commander Rogue?
And why did his chest feel so damn tight?
Jake sat there, stunned, every excuse he reached for slipping like oil through his fingers. Maybe she wasn’t the same girl. Maybe she was just someone who looked like her. Maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. His mind was good at rewriting stories when they made him look bad. But this?
This wasn’t a story.
She was real.
She was right in front of him.
And she hadn’t even looked at him.
Jake was still staring.
Still trying to force logic into something that had none. His brain looped through possibilities like they were checklists: Same name, maybe. Long-lost cousin, maybe. Government clone, hell, maybe. Anything to explain the impossible without confronting what was staring him in the face.
Then—right beside him—Rooster leaned slightly in his seat and muttered under his breath with a low, impressed whistle.
“God,” he said, barely above a whisper, “she’s hot.”
Jake snapped his head toward him so fast his neck popped.
“What did you just say?”
The words came out sharper than he meant. Or maybe he did mean them that sharp.
Rooster blinked, caught off guard, eyes narrowing like Jake had just challenged him over the last wing at the Hard Deck. “What, man? I said she’s hot. It’s not a crime.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and for a moment, he almost replied with something stupid. Something defensive. Something that would've given everything away.
But before he could speak, a voice cut through the hangar like a whipcrack.
“Lieutenants.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Commander Ruin’s voice had that same weight a teacher used when they’d caught a student mid-eye roll during a lecture. Cold. Controlled. Designed to humiliate you just enough.
Jake turned his head slowly, along with Rooster and half the squad, all trying to act like they hadn’t just been called out in front of literal legends.
Ruin hadn’t moved from his place at the front, arms folded neatly across his chest, expression unreadable.
“If the conversation is more engaging than the briefing,” Ruin said, cool and clipped, “you’re welcome to step outside and discuss your thoughts where you’re not wasting our time.”
Jake felt the flush crawl up his neck immediately.
Phoenix gave a low whistle under her breath beside them, not even trying to hide her grin. Payback muttered something that sounded like “oof,” and Coyote leaned away like he didn’t want to be associated with any of them.
Jake didn’t say a word.
Neither did Rooster.
But the heat in Jake’s ears had nothing to do with the air-conditioning.
And when his eyes flicked back to Rogue—Commander Rogue—she still wasn’t looking at him.
Didn’t even smirk.
Didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she heard any of it.
That, somehow, burned the worst of all.
Then, Commander Hale stepped forward with the unhurried, unshakable calm of someone who’d walked through real fire and didn’t flinch at smoke anymore. His boots echoed across the hangar floor—solid, heavy—until he came to a stop dead center in front of the squad. Arms still folded. Back impossibly straight. Eyes locked forward.
The kind of posture that said I don’t need your respect. I already earned it years ago.
Jake studied him carefully now, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t not. There was something about the man—something still, like a mountain before an avalanche. He wasn’t big in a showy way. He didn’t posture. Didn’t sneer. But you felt him in the room, in the same way you felt an approaching storm behind glass.
“My name is Commander Theo Hale,” he said, voice low but clear. “Call sign Ruin.”
He let that settle.
Not a flicker of emotion in his face. Not a blink.
“You’ve already been told what I’ve done, where I’ve flown, and what it means to work with me,” he continued. “None of that matters here unless you give me a reason to believe you belong in the air with us.”
A few seats shifted. No one dared speak.
Jake didn’t move. He felt the words sink beneath his skin like hooks. Belong in the air with us. As if they were a tier above—and maybe they were.
Ruin paced forward a step, slow and methodical, eyes scanning the rows like he was weighing each soul inside them.
“I’m not here to babysit. I’m not here to lecture. I don’t care about your reputations, your bar fights, or your daddy issues. I care about results. I care about the people who will come home because of how tight your formation flies.”
He stopped. His gaze caught Jake’s for half a second—and it didn’t falter.
“If that doesn’t interest you?” Ruin said, voice suddenly sharper, “Let us know now. We’ll make room for someone who still gives a damn.”
Silence.
He nodded once, curt and clean, then stepped back beside Rogue and Jinx, hands behind his back.
Jake let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
One down.
Two to go.
Commander Mercer stepped forward with a slower ease than Ruin, but no less authority. Where Ruin moved like a warpath waiting to happen, Jinx moved like he was already three steps ahead of the rest of the room and didn’t feel the need to brag about it.
He stood tall, hands clasped loosely behind his back, jaw relaxed, eyes half-lidded in that quiet, analytical way that made Jake immediately wary. There was no bark to him—just that deadly stillness some pilots had when they didn’t need noise to command a storm.
“Lieutenant Commander Kade Mercer,” he said, voice smooth, deliberate, and unshaken. “Call sign Jinx.”
He didn’t follow it up with credentials. Didn’t rattle off medals or deployments. He let his name and tone carry the weight—and it did.
“I’ve flown combat missions in seven countries and trained with five different air forces. If you’re in the air with me, you won’t need to guess what I’m thinking.”
His gaze slid over the squad like he was scanning data points instead of people. Not judgmental. Not cruel. Just thorough.
“If I give you a command, it’s not a suggestion. If I give you silence, it’s on purpose. I expect you to listen. I expect you to think.”
There was no heat behind it, no raised volume. Just certainty. Control so quiet it left no room to argue.
“I’m not here to be your enemy,” he said. “But I won’t waste time convincing you of something you should already know.”
He paused. Let that hang in the air like static.
“I trust skill. I trust clarity. I trust decisions made in less than three seconds. If you can’t handle that, step back before you waste my time—or worse, get someone else killed.”
Jake’s throat tightened slightly. He wasn’t scared of this guy. But he respected him, instantly and absolutely.
Jinx gave one final, silent nod, then stepped back into place beside Ruin.
Two down.
Jake felt it coming.
The last voice.
The one he wasn’t ready to hear.
She stepped forward.
Not a twitch of hesitation in her spine, not a flicker of uncertainty across her face. Commander (Last Name)—no, Rogue—moved like someone who’d learned long ago that power wasn’t about volume. It was about presence. And she carried it in spades.
Jake’s eyes followed her like they were wired to. Like he couldn’t look away even if he tried. His hands flexed against his thighs. Her boots clicked once against the concrete and then silence fell again, heavy as a stormfront.
She stood at the center, posture perfect, chin level, her hands at ease behind her back. There was a stillness about her that made the air feel heavier. And when she spoke, her voice didn’t crack or rise—it settled, clean and even, like a scalpel being drawn.
“I’m Commander (Your Name) (Last Name), call sign Rogue.”
She let it breathe. Let the name hang in the air for a moment. The confidence in her tone wasn’t rehearsed. It was worn-in. Lived-in. Like it had been forged in pressure and held together with purpose.
“I don’t care where you came from or how many hours you’ve logged. That’s not what earns you a place here.”
She glanced across the squad as she spoke. Not pausing. Not blinking. Not lingering long enough to give anyone more weight than the next. Not even him.
“You’ll earn your spot in the air. In the comms. In the debrief. You’ll earn it when you show me that you’re not just flying to prove something, but flying to protect something. If your pride’s more important than your team, don’t get in my formation.”
Her eyes flicked for a second—brief, surgical—toward the row where Jake sat.
Then away again.
And he was hit with that same damn ache, sharp and hot in his ribs, the kind that didn’t leave bruises but ought to.
“Some of you might remember my name,” she said, with the faintest curve of something that could’ve been a smirk—but wasn’t. “Some of you won’t. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you hear it now, and you understand one thing.”
Her shoulders drew back, her gaze hardening just slightly.
“I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to make sure you survive.”
And that was it.
She stepped back beside Jinx and Ruin without fanfare, without waiting for a reaction. Like she hadn’t just split open the sky and walked out of the thunder.
Jake stared at her like he’d been punched.
Because for the first time in a long damn time, he had no idea what to say.
Warlock stepped forward, the calm after the thunder. His voice didn’t boom—it didn’t need to. It rolled across the hangar like it belonged there, measured and precise, carrying the weight of authority without ever sounding forced. “That concludes introductions,” he said, his tone level, eyes sweeping over the squad like he was checking for cracked composure.
“These officers will be part of your detachment for the foreseeable future. You will respect their rank, follow their lead when instructed, and if you’re smart, you’ll learn something from them while you can.” No one nodded. No one dared breathe too loudly. Jake barely blinked. He kept his jaw tight, hands resting on his thighs, eyes locked forward—mostly. Not quite on her, not anymore. But close.
Warlock gave a final nod to Maverick, then turned. Cyclone followed a beat after, posture as stiff and unreadable as ever. And then they were leaving—Warlock, Cyclone, Ruin, Jinx... and Rogue. She didn’t look back. Not once. She didn’t glance at Jake, didn’t even skim the row of stunned pilots like she needed their approval. She walked out the same way she entered: like the room had already been warned.
Jake watched her until the doors eased shut behind them. The second they did, he let out a slow breath through his nose—but even that felt like weakness. He was still trying to find his footing when Maverick stepped forward.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Maverick said, hands on his hips, aviators glinting in the overhead light. “You’re not dismissed yet.”
Groans rippled lightly across the group. Fritz let his head roll back. Coyote muttered something about needing a damn minute. And Rooster—Rooster leaned sideways with that half-stupid, half-lovesick grin curling on his face.
“Rogue,” he said under his breath, low enough that he thought no one heard him. “She’s something else.”
Jake’s head turned, just enough to catch it. Just enough for his stomach to twist, tight and fast.
“Dial it back,” he muttered, voice flat but sharp enough to slice. “You’re drooling.”
Rooster blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “What? I said she’s impressive. Don’t have to act like I proposed.”
But Jake didn’t respond. He just looked forward again, jaw tight. Something bitter sat under his tongue, and for once, he didn’t have a clever line to spit it out. Rogue was gone. Out the door, out of reach, and yet somehow—still everywhere.
And she hadn’t even looked at him.
The silence that lingered after the doors shut behind the three commanders was thick enough to choke on. It wasn’t the stunned, respectful kind. It was the kind of silence where no one wanted to be the first idiot to speak and break whatever spell had just been cast.
Of course, Rooster broke it anyway.
“Rogue,” he said again, like the name had settled in his mouth too sweet to spit out. “That’s a damn call sign. She’s got presence. You see the way she walked? I didn’t even know I liked getting yelled at by women until—”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Phoenix muttered, rubbing her hands down her face.
“I’m just saying,” Rooster went on, undeterred, “she commands a room. Not just anyone gets that kind of intro. And did you see the way she looked at—”
Jake cut in, sharper than intended. “She didn’t look at anyone.”
That earned him a glance from half the squad. Rooster raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at the edge in Jake’s voice, but he didn’t push it.
Before anyone else could jump in, Maverick stepped up to the front, arms crossed, clearly amused by the nervous buzz hanging in the air. “Alright,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention back, “while you all recover from your collective ego bruising, we’re still on schedule. Sim runs this afternoon. Live maneuvers tomorrow. That hasn’t changed.”
Coyote groaned. “You’re telling us we’ve gotta fly after that?”
Maverick shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You think command cares if your pride’s hurt?”
“Mine’s not hurt,” Jake blurted, voice rising slightly. “I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling hotter than he wanted. “I mean, what the hell, Mav. Who are they? Especially her—you don’t just drop someone like that in here without warning.”
Maverick looked at him, unreadable behind those damn aviators. “You’ll find out in time, Lieutenant.”
Jake’s jaw ticked. “That’s not a real answer.”
Hondo, who’d been standing silently at Maverick’s side, finally spoke, his tone light but knowing. “Neither’s that attitude, son.”
The rest of the squad chuckled, the tension breaking just slightly, but Jake didn’t join them. He crossed his arms, leaned back in his seat, and stared at the spot Rogue had been standing just minutes ago. She hadn’t looked at him once. Not when she walked in. Not when she spoke. Not even when Rooster practically drooled on the floor beside him.
And now she is gone again.
But this time, she’d left a crater.
Jake wasn’t listening to a damn thing anymore.
Maverick had started outlining the rest of the day's schedule—some nonsense about sim rotations, recalibration drills, airspace protocols. Jake heard the words, sure, but none of them stuck. Not when Rooster, two seats down, was still mumbling like a man freshly baptized.
“She was just—” Rooster exhaled hard, running a hand down his face like he was trying to cool himself off. “That voice? That stare? I think I blacked out a little. I didn’t know it was possible to feel both terrified and turned on at the same time.”
Jake rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Rooster didn’t even flinch. “Worth it.”
Phoenix groaned. “You’re gonna get court-martialed for simping.”
“Gladly,” Rooster shot back. “I’ll hand over my wings if she tells me to kneel.”
“That’s enough,” Jake snapped, louder than intended.
The squad quieted for a beat, all heads turning toward him. Maverick arched an eyebrow, clearly clocking the sudden shift, and Hondo gave him a slow side-eye like damn, someone struck a nerve.
Jake forced a smirk onto his face, even though it felt brittle. “I mean, come on. You’re all acting like this is the first time you’ve seen someone with rank and a decent jawline.”
Payback snorted. “That wasn’t just rank, bro. That was presence.”
“She didn’t even blink,” Yale added. “Straight-up cold steel.”
Jake clenched his jaw.
Because they were right.
She hadn’t blinked. She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t spared him a glance.
And Jake Seresin, Lieutenant and golden boy of the skies, was sitting there feeling like a ghost in his own story.
Rooster let out another dreamy sigh, tipping his head back. “God, I hope she yells at me.”
Jake didn’t say a word. He just stared straight ahead, arms crossed, pulse ticking in his throat like a warning. Because he knew what was coming.
Tomorrow, they'll be flying with her.
And tomorrow, for the first time in a long damn time, he might be the one falling behind.
626 notes · View notes
gyeomsweetgyeom · 11 months ago
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when the fratboy falls
fratboy!Jaehyun x tutor!reader
summary: Jaehyun is a fratboy with a notorious reputation for being a playboy, you have never heard of him. surely, he can use tutoring as an excuse to get close to you, right?
word count: 8.9k
warnings: swearing, fuckboy behavior, mentions of alcohol and weed, characters consuming alcohol, based on ages in this fic- underage drinking, mentions of sexual acts, a very brief scenario where a non-nct-fratboy verbally harasses/drunkenly flirts, confusing ages/age changes between members (just don't think about it :)), Americanized college described (I'm American), pet names (sweetie, sweets, sweeteart) in order to avoid using y/n, uhhh I think that's it, lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: oh my god this feels like it's been a long time coming, I hope you all enjoy the origins of Jaehyun and Sweetheart and grow to love them even more! Feedback is appreciated! 
This fic is a part of my fratboy!jaehyun universe but can be read as a stand alone fic! (it’s the origin story)
dividers from plutism <3
taglist! @luv4jeno @vvx3 @mmjhh1998 @bluedbliss @soheendo
@lovesuhng @i4kt @johnjaesblog @sunghoonsgfreal @leemoonna
@cbgisland @yowmaman @cryingforjae @nanaissour @kongjjen
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You should be in a club right now, you and all your friends should be getting drinks bought for you in the flashing neon lights of a crowded room. You should be dancing like the girls in all the college movies with your hands up, tangled in your own hair, and dancing to the beat of the music pulsing through the room. 
But you weren’t there! You were stuck in the godforsaken library being proactive by studying for your staggered midterms starting in two weeks. You hated your professors for giving horribly detailed study guides that actually required you to work on them this early on. It was as if they had all conspired to make them as detailed and long as possible and to make them span two weeks.
Your eyes were burning from staring at the screen in front of you, the books laid out around you had barely been touched since you found the information you needed, and your pencil was lost somewhere in the pages of your notebook where you had been taking notes. Right now, your fingers were itching to grab your phone and scroll through some sort of entertainment, but you knew you couldn’t. 
You’d been doing so well studying for a good- wow, almost 3 hours, until the rowdiest group of guys came in and started making this experience even worse for you. They’d come in about half an hour ago and had been the worst examples of library goers since they took their seats two tables away from you. 
“Those guys are such a pain in the ass,” your roommate, Ari, mumbled under her breath.
Your friend, Kira, shot a look in their direction and immediately rolled her eyes, “Frat guys, Nu Chi. I’m not surprised.”
You peeked over at the group of guys catching the Greek letters on various pieces of clothing worn within the group. The ‘ΝΧ΀’ was was patched onto some hats, hoodies, and t-shirts- the bright green of the letters made it easier to see. You trailed your eyes over the guys in the group. Some look like they’d just woken up, one was asleep, another two were actually studying, and one was looking right at you. 
Your eyes widened in surprise, you hadn’t meant to get caught staring. His handsome face fell into a smirk as you saw his eyes trail you up and down. Your face got hot and you snapped your head back to the half undone study guide on your screen. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How embarrassing!
Jaehyun smirked at your embarrassed state, biting his lip as he stared at your panicked return to your studying. Thank you Taeyong for getting this table. You were cute, messy hair, comfy looking sweater, and tired eyes. He liked cute. 
You tried as hard as you could to focus on the study guide in front of you but the heat of this guy’s gaze was distracting you. You peeked up again, catching his eye and feeling your face get warm once again when his right eye dropped in a wink.
You looked away quickly, facing your friends and covering your mouth from his view, “don’t be obvious, but one of those frat guys has been staring at me for the past 10 minutes.”
Both their heads turned at the same time, catching sight of the guy. Ari’s eyes widened as her head snapped back to you, “that’s Jung Jaehyun, bitch!”
You stared at her like she’d grown another head, “does he play sports or something? Am I supposed to know who he is?”
“He’s just one of the hottest guys at this university. My roommate knows like four girls who have slept with him and not a single one of them complained. Apparently, he’s pretty good in bed. You should get on it,” Kira explains in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Don’t be gross, I don't want to be another notch in his bedpost or name on his roster. I’m not like that,” you sigh as you begin closing up the books spread around you on the table. 
“I know, I’m just saying it could be fun for you. Don’t let him use you, you use him,” Kira offers with a smug smile.
You chuckle, gathering your things, “whatever, I’m going back to the dorm. If I read another word my brain will melt into mush. I’ll see you guys later.”
You stood from the table, your arms full of the books you’d borrowed so you could take them back to the front desk. You heard a chair scrape against the floor as you left your area and passed by tables of scattered peers also studying or at least attempting to study.
“Here, let me help you with those,” a deep voice came from behind you.
You stopped, turning your head to see that it was Jaehyun, the guy from the table. “Oh, it’s alright. Thank you though,” you smiled politely while continuing your journey to the librarian’s desk.
“Hey, child development books. Now that I think about it your pretty face did look familiar. Do you you take it with Professor G on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 2? I’m Jung Jaehyun,” He explained as he walked with you. Clearly, he wasn't at all put off by you dismissing him.
“That class has like 200 people, how would you recognize me?” You asked Jaehyun, sending the librarian a kind smile in thanks before telling him your own name as you walked toward the doors of the library.
Jaehyun walked with you, holding the door open for you, “I never forget a pretty face. But hey, listen, I gotta say I’ve been struggling quite a bit with all the materials we need to know for the midterm. You always answer questions and Professor G compliments your work, would you be down to help me study? Like a tutor?”
You came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs outside the library. You bit the inside of your lip, contemplating whether or not you should help him. On one hand, you really understood the material and you would be more than capable enough to help him, and you had some time. On the other hand, did he really need help studying or was this one of his methods for getting you alone so he could work his charm to get you in his bed? “You don’t even know me, I’m sure there’s someone you know in the class that can help you.”
Jaehyun’s mouth opens quickly, “But I know you know the materials. Come on, please.”
You shook your head, he was cute, you had the time to help him, but your pride was getting in your way. 
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Any other girl would have jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him, time alone with him. You were different, making him work for it. And he knew you wanted him. He saw the way you’d been checking him out. He looked at the trees, his eyes brightening as an idea hit him, “how about this. If you help tutor me, I’ll let you and your friends in to every Nu Chi party for free for the rest of the semester.”
You hummed, that was a pretty good offer, “but I’ve never even been to any of your parties. We’re not usually the party type.”
Geez you were making this almost impossible for him, “fine. You and your friends can still get into the rest of the parties for free and I’ll connect you with some of my older frat brothers who can help you with any other class you need help with.”
You hummed, that was a pretty good offer, “Do you have a math guy? I really need help in stats.”
Jaehyun, let out a quiet breath of relief, “Yeah, Doyoung is a computer science major or something. Even if he’s not, he’s a genius and there’s about 4 other guys who could help you. We’re not all idiots, you know?”
“Just you?” You smile at him teasingly. 
He chuckles deeply, “yeah, just me. So yes? You’ll help me.”
“Fine,” you drag out playfully, “I can find you on instagram to set up the meeting?”
He nods handing his phone to you so you can follow yourself. You hand his phone back to him, “I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”
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The next time you see Jaehyun is at 9:48 on the following Saturday. You’ve been sitting in a study room nervously adjusting and readjusting the position of your laptop, then your notebook, then your pencil. Your coffee sits untouched beside your phone, face up to see if, and really when, Jaehyun will decide to message you and cancel. The session was supposed to start at 9:30, but there had been very few people walking through the door. None of which were Jaehyun.
You’d decided you would give him 10 more minutes and then you’d leave. You had better ways to be spending a Saturday than waiting in a study room alone like a mega loser for some guy you barely knew. A guy that was just trying to get in your pants no doubt.
With 2 minutes left you began to pack up your things. You knew it was too good to be true. Why had you even begun to think he was actually interested in studying? With the way he’d been undressing you with his eyes, there was no way he wanted to actually study with you. You were such an idiot! He was probably fast asleep, hung over, in his bed with a poor girl he’d managed to trick into sleeping with him. If you could even calling it tricking her- he was actually a good looking guy, charming, likable, and persuasive. Ugh! Why were you thinking about him like that?! 
You closed your laptop and slid your chair out, reaching for your bag when finally the door to the study room opened.
There stood Jung Jaehyun, red cheeked, tired looking, and out of breath, “I slept through my alarm. I’m hungover as a motherfucker right now, but I’m here. Did you just get here?”
You were frozen, “I’ve been waiting for almost 20 minutes. I was packing up to leave.”
“How are you not hungover? Last night was a major rager.”
“I didn’t go to the party,” You told him quietly, almost shyly. You pulled your laptop out again and pulled up the necessary tabs for the material for today.
Jaehyun stared at you confused, a slight hint of wonder, and another hint of admiration. “But I gave you free entry for the rest of the semester. You and your friends. I can think of something else to make this more worth your while.”
You deadpanned, “I’m not sleeping with you Jung Jaehyun, have some respect. I’m doing you a favor.”
Jaehyun flushed, his mouth falling open silently. He shook his head quickly, almost in worry, “that’s not what I meant. God, I’m sorry. I just meant that since you are doing me a favor and you haven’t exactly used any of what I offered to your advantage, maybe you’d want something else more your style. You can still have access to my smart bros, but maybe you want some food instead of the parties? A couple of the ladies in the dining hall love me and they give me food for free. I can pass that along if you want.”
You bit your lip, contemplating your answer, “It’s fine, the parties seem cool. I mean- I’ve never been to one, but I didn’t want to leave the wrong impression showing up hungover.”
Jaehyun flushed, suddenly very interested in the screen in front of him, he was embarrassed. Of course he made a bad second impression. He was the idiot that showed up hungover! “Should we get started?” he asked. It was clear you cared about school or at least doing well and wanted to make a good impression even when he was obviously thinking with his dick. Now, he felt like a total dick.
You nodded and began explaining what you had planned for this session. You had planned for the two of you would complete part 1 of the study guide, only a handful of questions and you’d review the slides used by the professor to help Jaehyun with anything he had trouble with. 
Jaehyun began to zone out after the third level of the hierarchy of needs. His eyes were zeroed in on the plastic cup on the opposite side of the table. The writing was mess but he could make out the order, a chai latte, oatmilk, a double shot of espresso, and 3 pumps of caramel syrup over ice. He’d never had a chai latte but it sounded really good. He wondered if the ice had melted own and ruined the coffee from making you wait so long. He did feel bad about that. He really didn’t mean to oversleep. He was proactive, he’d set an alarm for 9 o’clock, just enough time to shower, throw up, and walk to campus to meet you in the library. But at some point in the party last night someone had offered him a shot and as Social Chair, he couldn’t refuse. Well, he could, but he wasn’t known to unless it was his weekend to be sober and it wasn’t. Nu Chi Tau had a reputation to uphold, a reputation he upheld with pride. 
“So in the final level of the pyramid we have self-actualization, what this means is
” he heard you say, then he got distracted again. This time by you. The way your mouth moved to form the words, your lips looked soft, he wondered what kind of lip balm you used, what flavor it was, did they taste like that chai latte- WHAT?! Who was this voice invading his head?! What was this about unity and understanding you were saying?
He tuned into what you were saying, again, hoping his brain would allow him to stay focused, “since this is the highest level, not a whole lot of people ever get here. On the study guide make sure you add a note about only 2% of people ever reaching this level. I wouldn’t put it past Professor G to ask a question like that on the midterm.”
Jaehyun’s pencil scratched against a loose sheet of paper you’d let him have. “This is probably a really bad time to tell you I also forgot my laptop. Do you mind if I use yours, next time I’ll bring it. I promise.”
You sighed deeply, sending him a light-hearted glare, “Here. Let me know if you need help answering any of the questions. Let’s try to have part 1 done before we meet next time, some time during the week, if that works for you?”
“Yeah, maybe we can do Thursday before class and then we’ll see each other on Friday at the party?” Jaehyun asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could.
You bit your lip, mulling over his offer. His stare was intense, he was mentally crossing his fingers that you’d say yes. And god, why did you look so cute biting your lip?!
“Hey, I’ll be your personal host for the night. You obviously won’t have to drink if you don’t want to, I know all the areas that have more free space if you get overwhelmed, and I will see to it that you get back to your room safely. I promise you’ll have a safe and good night. That’s a Nu Chi Social Chair guarantee,” he pledged, complete with a hand over his heart.
You rolled your eyes, he was such a dork. “Fine, but don’t show up late to the next study session or else I'm dropping you. You can fail for all I care.”
Jaehyun feels his heart skip a beat, not only would he fail the class without your help, he’d also fail you and for some reason that sounded worse. He was definitely going to show up on time.
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True to his word he’d even gone as far as showing up early on Thursday. He had completed part 1 of the study guide, and even flagged some areas he needed help with. You had been thoroughly impressed, even a little surprised. So to keep your part of the bargain you were standing outside the Nu Chi frat house with Ari and Kira. The party was already in full swing. The music was so loud that you felt the bass beneath your feet on the road across the street. 
“Finally! I’ve been waiting for this since our first semester to come to one of these parties!” Ari clapped excitedly.
You turned to stare at her with a look of pure confusion, “you did. Literally the first weekend here at school. You came to the dorm that night and told me you had no interest in men after a man gave you the ‘amateur DJ special,’ but you kissed a girl after and claimed to have fallen in love.”
“So I came out to you twice? Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked in shock.
Kira groaned, “both of you shut up. Let’s go.” She grabbed your arm and led you and Ari into the chaos.
Upon entering, a wave of musky funk hit your nostrils. A nasty concoction of weed, alcohol, sweat, beer, and BO. There were people cheering in the center of the hallway playing beer pong, a crowd of people grinding in the living room to r&b music, the sliding door to the back yard was open and showed people doing keg stands before flipping into the pool. This was just above and beyond. Every other frat party in town had crowded living rooms with beer being sloshed around in plastic cups, but this was a full on experience. It was as if they had seen every college movie with parties and brought them to life. You might never admit it, but you were even a little impressed.
You all moved through the bodies to the kitchen to get yourself some drinks and you looked around to observe those around you. The kitchen was strangely more empty than you thought it would be, but the party had been going on for almost 2 hours so maybe people were already too drunk to care about getting more alcohol. There was a couple making out in one corner, a group of girls sipping on seltzers all gathered around a phone, and a few drunk people snacking on some chips.
You sipped on your drink, not even noticing that someone new had taken stance beside you, “hey, I’ve never seen you around here before. You a freshman?”
Your face turned into one of poorly-concealed judgement while you studied him. He looked like a freshman himself, probably fresh out of the womb. He had cute chubby cheeks, wide eyes, and a shaggy hairstyle that made him look younger than he likely was. You laughed as you thought about his tacky line and turned to him with raised brows, “I’m in the middle of my fourth semester here. Are you a freshman? You look like you just left 8th grade, little guy.”
He scoffed, huffed, and rolled his eyes, “I’m in my second semester, I’m not some first semester loser. I’m not some kid. I’m actually almost 19. In 3 weeks.”
“Congrats,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your drink, “what’s your name?”
He flips his hair back with some weird swagger taking over him, “I’m Haechan, I hold the Nu Chi record for longest bender. Six whole days.”
Your eyes widen in shock and you almost choke on your drink, “that can’t have been healthy.”
Another guy stands beside Haechan with a can of beer in his hand, “it wasn’t. He also spent ‘six whole days’ in the hospital right after. You can’t keep bragging about it without providing more context. Normal people get concerned, not impressed, bro.”
“God! Mark! You kill the vibe every time I try to make my move!” Haechan yells before turning to you and speaking softly, “you should come to my birthday party.” 
The two continue bickering and you make your way back to your friends to refill your cup. An unfamiliar arm slings around your and Ari’s shoulders. You had expected it to be Haechan, a harmless kid, or Jaehyun who you knew and had promised to be your guide, but instead it was another guy completely. He smelled awful, a sick mix of weed, sweat, and Axe body spray. 
His words were slurred and he was clearly using you and Ari to stay upright, “Ladies, what brings you beauties to this shitty party? You know, Alpha Sig throws better parties, we got one goin’ on tomorrow night. You ladies should come by. You’ll get front of the line access, especially you.” He tugs Ari closer to him.
Ari cringes and tries to pull away from his hold, “you have no idea how much that turned me off. Go away, you smell like a preteen boy.”
“I can be your boy,” he slurs, his hot breath hitting her face. She wretches and dry heaves with the scent of his breath.
“Tyler, what the fuck are you doing here? You know you’re fucking banned. Get your ass out of here, and take any of your brothers that snuck in with you,” you hear Jaehyun’s voice. It’s surprisingly loud and stern. He speaks with confidence and command and you hate that it makes you question how you see him. He was just hot before but now he’s even more attractive, protective, and strong. Shit, what was in this drink?
You feel a sense of relief at the sound of the familiar voice. Tyler turns and begins arguing, his words barely comprehensible before a taller guy in a Nu Chi Theta shirt drags him out of the house. 
Once he’s out of sight Jaehyun turns to your small group with a much more relaxed voice, “I’ve been looking for you girls all night. Come out back, it’s way more chill. I had a pledge in charge of keeping an eye out for you, sorry he sucks.”
You all follow him out of the crowded house to the backyard and past the keg stands and to a small circle of benches where it is way calmer. These must be the older members of the frat hang out. Jaehyun smiles and introduces his brothers and they all apologize for Tyler’s behavior. 
Taeyong the frat president and Jaehyun’s Big, Johnny the Vice President, Doyoung the secretary, and Yuta the treasurer, which he was quickly explained he was forced to take up the role.
“I swear, the pledges get more and more useless every semester. The last good set was Mark and Haechan,” the one who had been introduced as Taeyong sighed.
Jaehyun goes to argue after rolling his eyes, but your snort interrupts him. Jaehyun turns to you as if to ask what was up. You shake your head, “Haechan tried to hit on me in the kitchen. Then Mark came in and they started arguing,” you explain.
Jaehyun laughs with a nod, taking a sip from his drink, “sounds like them.”
You all make conversation for a couple hours, laughing and getting to know each other. They share crazy party stories, embarrass each other with the occasional scolding to party-goers who are getting too rowdy out back or inside. They complain about their classes and upcoming finals, and in turn you and your friends complain about your own. You’re even able to make some connections for help with stats like you needed or the opportunity to look at some other member’s notes from similar classes. 
Yuta turns to you with a look of realization on his face, “hey, were you in the library about a week ago?” You nod and he continues with a smug smile, “you know, you’re like a living legend around here. You really knocked Jaehyun down a peg, first girl to ever not fall for his charm. Now, he’s actually studying. It’s amazing!”
You don’t see it because Ari suddenly falls from the bench, but Jaehyun punches Yuta’s shoulder with bright red cheeks. You and Kira help Ari up and begin saying your goodbyes, promising Yuta that you want to continue the conversation.
Jaehyun follows you guys out. He opens up the side gate and takes the brunt of Ari’s weight while you all walk back to your dorm building, which thankfully isn’t far. 
Ari nearly stumbles into a bush outside your building and plays it off with a, “I was getting you your favorite flowers, sweetie!” She pushes a crumpled pink azalea flower into you palm and you thank her while getting her upright and steady.
You and Jaehyun walk her into the lobby and from there Kira leads Ari into the elevator and she sends you a tipsy wink which is impossible to ignore. 
You flush with embarrassment, shes’s so obvious. “Thanks for walking us home, but you didn’t have to do that. You have a party to return to, Mister Social Chair. There’s probably some girl you had your eye on tonight, you could have missed your chance.”
“It was my sober weekend anyway and I promised to be your guide. No one else but you held my attention tonight,” he shrugs, “I just hope Tyler didn’t discourage you from coming to any future parties. Or even Yuta.”
“I got a personal invite to Haechan’s nasty 19. Plus, I think the brothers of Nu Chi would love to have a living legend in attendance, I’ll be there,” you smile while tucking the crumpled up flower behind your ear to distract yourself from his offhand admission of you holding his attention
Jaehyun feels his heart beat a little faster. It had to be the single beer he had earlier, or were crumpled up flowers always this pretty on girls who teased him? Was it the flower or could it be your teasing? He blinked a few times, forcing his brain to work for one of its intended purposes- speaking. “That one will be smaller. I’m not sure about calmer, but smaller for sure. Before that though, we have a couple more study sessions right?” He asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah, we need to finish off parts 2 and 3 of the study guide. The midterm is two Thursdays away, so let’s try to meet this Tuesday after class.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have notes and everything.” He salutes you like a dork. 
You snort out a laugh, which he automatically files stores as a sound he likes hearing and wants to hear again. “I’ll see you in class.” 
He leaves with a wave and his hands shoved in his pockets. He walked back with a nice pep in his step. The stars looked brighter, he felt a giddiness he hadn’t felt in years. It was weird, but he liked it. He wanted to feel it more often. When he got to the party, he went right back to his room, alone, ready to bask in his new, light feeling. He liked this feeling, he wanted to feel it all the time.
You enter your room to find Ari passed out on the floor under a blanket from your bed and Kira happily cuddled up in her bed. You send Kira a raised brow, “your room isn’t even that far away.”
“Hey, I worked hard to get her here. I deserve this,” she huffs, setting her phone aside before she sends you a mischievous grin, “you and Jaehyun, huh?”
“Kira, I’m tutoring him. That’s all,” you sass back while changing into your pajamas.
She huffs out a humorless laugh, “sure, because Jung Jaehyun walks girls back to their dorms all the time.”
“He’s a frat boy but he’s not an asshole. We don’t even know he’s never done that before. You’re starting shit, Drunk Kira.”
“All I’m saying is, everyone else has gotten an Uber home or a pledge to walk them home. He didn’t even sleep with you and you got a personal escort while a party was still going on.”
You pull the sheets over your head, hating how you’re already over thinking an action that should be the bare minimum. She laughs drunkenly and you’re glad she can’t see the blush she’s put on your cheeks.
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On Tuesday, you get to class before Jaehyun, like usual. You won’t admit you’re now keeping an eye out for him
 but you are. You place your phone on the desk and pull your notebook out of you backpack and open to where your notes left off. 
Someone takes the seat right beside you as your brows furrow, watching a dried azalea flutter out onto the floor from your notebook. 
“Wow, another one. Ari wasn’t kidding when she said there were your favorites,” you head Jaehyun’s voice as he places the flower back on your desk.
Your face still shows confusion, reading the pink glittery note from Ari in your notebook. ‘Sorry for making you drag my drunk ass back home :( forgive me sweetie’. You chuckle, “Ari’s version of an apology. Sorry, hi. Do you always sit in this row?”
“Hell no, I usually slip in about 30 minutes late and find a spot in the back. Today, I’m hoping that your smartness radiates off you and I absorb it. In other words, whenever you copy notes, I’m going to copy notes,” he ultimately simplifies.
“Geez, no wonder you need tutoring for this class. Do you have a paper? Pencil? Laptop? Something to take notes?”
“I’m not dumb,” he states, pulling out a singular sheet of paper and a pen with no cap. God, he probably has nothing but those 2 things and a protein bar with his laptop in his backpack right now. He’s like a kindergartner. All you can do is sigh before Professor G starts going through the slides of the day and lecturing. You can see him from the corner of your eye writing when you writing and fiddling with his pen, twirling it through his fingers. You try to suppress a smile, you’re a little proud of him right now. Just a little bit.
After class finishes you both make your way to the library and you force yourself to ignore the looks being thrown your way. In reality no one is really looking at you, more like looking at the infamous campus celebrity following you to the elevators. 
Getting to the study room is easy enough with nearly every girl’s eyes on your study buddy making you feel anxious and self-conscious. Jaehyun doesn't seem to notice though, and goes about getting out his laptop as normal. For the first few minutes of your session you both input new material into the study guides. Then you get into his confusion on the questions.
You begin to explain some ecological something he had flagged and all Jaehyun can think is, “why does child development have so many shapes?”
Your eyes widen in shock, your mouth opening to respond before you burst into a fit of laughter, using your hands to muffle the sound. Jaehyun smiles at the sound, something about you is growing on him, making him feel things he hasn’t felt since his high school girlfriend. Fuck.
You smile, simplifying this theory for him before you calm down. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods, “of course.” He finishes up typing his notes, writing them in the way you explained because you made it so much easier for him to understand. 
“Why are you taking a child development class? This doesn’t really seem like your thing.”
“It fulfills one of my general requirements. My first and second choice were filled up, and Taeyong is an education major. He convinced me to take it, so here I am.”
“So you do have someone else to help you study
” you trail off, “why ask me? Taeyong is probably more knowledgeable about this than I am.”
He clears his throat, looking away from you, “he’s really busy. Making lesson plans and making us act like students.” He doesn’t want to tell you that it was because you were cuter and prettier. That when he first met you he wanted to sleep with you, but now you make him feel feelings he’d buried deep, deep down. Plus, Taeyong was actually very strict when he tutored Jaehyun. He didn’t let Jaehyun get distracted, snapped in his face, corrected all his work too closely. He scared Jaehyun when he was in teacher mode.
“Okay, one more question. So you told us on Friday that you had a pledge keep an eye out for me, Ari, and Kira. How would a pledge know what I looked like?”
Jaehyun blushes, his cheeks feel hot, he starts mumbling, “gave him a general description of you or whatever.”
You lean in, poking his cheek, it’s soft, “you’re lying. Did you make him stalk me or something? Did he stand outside one of my classes? This has been haunting me.”
He laughs at your exaggeration, “haunting you? No, he didn’t stalk you or follow you. I uh, I sent him a screenshot of one of your Instagram posts.”
You tried and failed to suppress a smile, your own face getting hot now, “so you have a picture of me saved on your phone? Which picture did you pick? I have some pictures of me at the beach-”
Jaehyun perks up, “really? I haven’t seen those yet. Are they recent?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram. 
You snatch his phone from his hand, “don’t make it weird, pervert. I was just starting to like you. Seriously though, which picture was it?”
He shakes his head with a smile, “it was a picture of you with Ari and Kira, so he knew what all of you looked like. Is that a good enough answer? Give me my phone back.” He’s choosing to save you the embarrassment by ignoring the fact that you had just admitted you liked him.
You slide the phone back with your eyes narrowed, assessing him. “Fine. Let’s finish part two, we only have a few questions left.”
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When you see him next, it’s one week before the midterm. You’re sitting in your usual seat in the auditorium with your notebook out waiting for Professor G to come in. Ari is texting you about some cute guy she saw. Kira is sending you memes about dogs. Your phone has all your attention.
Jaehyun comes in, five minutes early, making his way down the aisle to the empty seat beside you. He smiles awkwardly and apologetically as people move their backpacks out of the way and send him enamored smiles.
He plops into the seat beside you unceremoniously and loudly. You send him a look that shows him you are far beyond unimpressed by his lack of decorum. Then he sets something on your desk. 
“What is this for?” You ask with your brows raised. 
He shrugs, keeping himself busy by pulling out whatever he needs to take notes. “It’s a flower, sweetheart. Isn’t it obvious?”
“I know what it is, asshole. Why is it on my desk?” You ask bluntly. From anyone else ‘sweetheart’ would be condescending, but you like hearing his voice say it. Ew.
“I was walking to class and it flew in front of my face. I stomped all over it, danced on it, spit on it, and then I thought it would be nice to give to you.” He answers with a casual shrug of his shoulders, his eyes locked on the huge projector screen while everyone waits for the professor to set up the slides.
You push his shoulder playfully, preparing to reply but class starts. He lied again. The flowers don’t fly off anything because the bushes they grow on are too low to the ground. He didn’t stomp on it because it was perfectly in tact. It was round and the color was vibrant with no wilted petals. He had picked it just for you. 
You study him in your peripheral, a soft look on your face which you’re glad he can’t see since he’s busy taking notes. You force yourself to pay attention, tucking the flower behind your ear before catching up on the slides you’d missed.
Jaehyun catches a blur of pink, out of the corner of his eye he can see you tucking the flower behind your ear. He feels himself blush, and suddenly isn’t so mad that he took the long way to class just to find you that flower. They might be his favorite flower now too.
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It’s the Tuesday before your child development midterm and Jaehyun is waiting for you in the study room he’s booked. Class was cancelled today, it was the least Professor G could do after giving you all so much material to cover. It was 10:16 and Jaehyun was feeling weird. You were always early or at the very least on time, and you weren’t here yet. He scrolled through your DMs to be sure you had both agreed to meet at ten, and there it was, ‘See you at 10 :)’ 
He was busy typing out a message to you when you came into the room. You were panting, hair a mess, and an oversized, comfy looking sweater, and tired eyes. You looked just like you did the first time Jaehyun saw you and felt his breath hitch in his throat. 
“I’m so sorry I’m late. My 9 o’clock class ran over, because there was a surprise essay addition to the midterm. I didn’t think I was going to take all the time the professor gave us because I studied all night for this midterm and I knew what I was doing, but the essay threw me for a loop. I’m an anxious test take as is so the essay ruined all the calmness I had built up and-” your ramble is cut short. 
Jaehyun places his hands on your shoulders. He squeezes them lightly, “Breathe, sweetheart.” He makes a show of breathing in and out until you nod, showing him you’re fine. 
“Sorry, I feel bad for running late. Are you good? Have you been waiting long?” You ask in a much more relaxed voice.
Jaehyun waves you off with a nonchalant wave of his hand, “I’m good. I only have a few questions for part three so this won’t take up much of your time and you can get back to your place and relax. But now I’m wondering if I should give you this
” He holds up a familiar plastic cup, the contents looking like the perfect shade of brown you hadn’t consumed this morning. Your mouth waters and you reach for the cup, but Jaehyun pulls it out of your reach. “Promise me, the caffeine isn’t going to make you more anxious. I don’t want to be held responsible if you have a panic attack later.”
“Please, Jaehyun,” you whine, “I need coffee.”
He smirks, handing you the cup and watching as you take a drink from the straw eagerly. Your brows furrow in confusion. You expected some vanilla latte, or a caramel coffee of some kind. Instead, you taste your usual order. You taste your iced chai latte with oatmilk, double shot of espresso, and 3 pumps of caramel syrup.
“Did Ari tell you my order?” You ask with pure curiosity.
“I remember your order from our first study session. It’s actually really good.” He tells you casually, taking a long drink from his own straw.
“You remember my order from our first study session almost two weeks ago?” You can feel your heartbeat getting faster, and it’s not the caffeine. 
“I was tired and hungover, and you were talking about the pyramid thing and my brain couldn’t focus. So I focused on your cup instead. Are we studying or what?”
“Alright, yeah. Thank you, for waiting and for the coffee,” you reply.
He smiles at you, a soft smile that some part of your brain interprets as an affectionate smile for some reason, “no problem.”
You both get through the study guide, flipping through notes and making it easier to understand. 
Before you know it, the study session is over and the midterm comes even faster. 
Jaehyun sends you a wink, holding his knuckles out for a fist bump. His voice is a quiet whisper as the rest of the class gets the test and gets started, “you got this, sweetheart.”
You feel your heart soar, you want to get up and do a happy dance. There’s just too much giddiness in our body right now. Instead you settle for, “you too.”
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This was supposed to be a smaller party? The music is louder, you can hear people shouting, cheering, and the sound of people jumping in the pool. Now the card you brought feels dumb. You barely know Haechan anyway. Why did you come?
“I can hear your thoughts, sweets. We’re already here, we’re going to have a good time. Let’s go,” Ari tells you. She knows you too well. 
You don’t argue and let her and Kira guide you into the house. It is smaller, it’s less crowded than the first Nu Chi party you came to, but still full. There’s more room to move around the party, it smells less like BO and thankfully, no sign of anyone from Alpha Sig. 
Ari leads you all back to the kitchen, a familiar routine of starting your night with some alcohol. Jungle juice probably. Some kind of mix of alcohol and juices that will give you an awful hangover if you drink enough of it. 
“You came!” A voice screeches before someone embraces you. “I knew, Mark hadn’t ruined my chances. God he’s an idiot, but you came, for me.”
“Get off her, you little weirdo,” you hear Jaehyun before Haechan is pulled off you. Jaehyun holds him by the back of his shirt and Haechan tries to fight it. 
You laugh, reaching in to hug Haechan, he’s a cutie. “You invited us, I also,” you grab the card you’d set on the counter and hand it to him, “got you this.”
“For me?!” His eyes light up.
“It’s just a gift card. I wasn’t sure what you liked but I don’t like to show up on people’s birthdays empty handed. So uh, happy birthday,” you smile awkwardly, leaning in to give him another quick hug.
Jaehyun grunts, pulling Haechan back when he snakes his arms around you for too long. Haechan begins to whine and argue but quiets down when Jaehyun sends him a look of warning. Jaehyun loops an arm around your shoulders, “Ari and Kira are already out back, come on.” 
You let Jaehyun guide you out of the house again, let his arm fall from your shoulders to your waist. You like him being so close, wrapped around you like this. You like him being protective, a little possessive, and shit- you think you might like him. 
The same guys greet you in the same spot as last time. This time, Yuta and Johnny are drunker than the last party. “It’s Sweets!” Johnny cheers and you shoot your friends a blank look. That was a nickname from them, so he’d obviously gotten it from them. A nickname you felt neutral about in your small group since it was kind of cute. You were unsure of its origins but you were almost certain it came from a late night snack run you all made during your first hang out. Everyone got their own snacks that night, but you were the only one to leave with an armload of sweet snacks. 
“It’s nice to see you again. With Jaehyun,” Yuta smiles mischievously. 
Jaehyun’s arm drops from your waist and you miss the warmth it provided, the feeling of security, safety. You take a drink of the cup in your hand, hoping that the alcohol will help distract from the weird empty feeling you suddenly have. You sit beside Kira and join the conversation, letting the stress of midterms leave you while you vent and listen to everyone else rant about the tests, projects, and professors. 
You eventually come to the bottom of your cup and get up, offering to get anyone else a drink too. Taeyong joins you on your way back to the kitchen. You reach for the ladle in the giant bowl of jungle juice, already feeling a slight buzz from your first cup. Taeyong stops and chats with some people on the far side of the kitchen. A group of girls come into the kitchen and begin talking while grabbing beers. 
“I don’t know, it’s kind of weird to be here and not be hit on by him you know? It’s been pretty consistent at every party. Tonight I was going to finally give in,” one girl sighs.
“Girl, I think that ship has sailed. He’s been seen with the same girl for a few weeks now. I tried to hit on him at the last party and he shut me down completely,” her friends responds.
“You’re lying, bitch. Jung Jaehyun tied down? There’s no way!” A third girl exclaims after choking on her drink.
Suddenly you want to choke too. Your throat tightens up and fuck- you’d been so stupid to think that you could be anything special to him. Why would a guy like Jung Jaehyun go after you when he could have anyone else? It’s not like you had ever shown him you were going to give into his flirting, of course he would be done with you now. He asked you to tutor him, you had tutored him and he got what he wanted. It makes sense that he got what he wanted, not the sex, and had someone else that matched him better than you. Why would he have wanted anything deeper than tutoring and maybe friendship with you?
Your hands start to shake and tears fill your eyes making everything hard to see. You leave your cup on the counter and turn to walk out of the kitchen, out of the house, away from him. You want to go home and forget you ever fell for Jaehyun and forget that you were ever stupid enough to think he could actually like you back. Fuck!
You make your way through the living room and out the front door, feeling only a sliver of relief when the fresh air hits your face again. You feel someone grab your wrist and go to pull away, but it’s Taeyong. He looks concerned as he studies your tear filled eyes. “You’re not going home alone like this, just- wait here, I’m gonna go tell the guys that I’m taking you home,” he instructs. You nod, glad he didn’t ask any questions because your throat feels tight. If he were to ask you anything else you knew you would burst out into tears.
There’s no one out front as you wipe your tears. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you exhale. You were fine. It was all going to be fine. You were fine before you even knew who he was, and you were going to continue being fine now, after him. 
You can hear the side gate of the house open and shut, it must be Taeyong. You walk down the front steps and make it halfway to the gate before stopping, it’s not Taeyong. It’s Jaehyun and he looks worried. 
“What’s wrong? What happened?” He asks, looking the slightest bit distressed.
You roll your eyes and turn on your heels, not even gracing him with a response. You can make it home alone. Ari and Kira have your location, you’ll text them when you get home. It’s not even that far. It’s fine. 
“Hey, sweetheart. Just- talk to me. What’s wrong?” Jaehyun asks, his hand wrapping around your forearm and turning you to face him.
You wanted to make this a clean break. You just wanted to leave and forget you ever met him. Leave and forget you ever fell for him, but since he’s asking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Huh?”
Jaehyun’s brows pinch together trying to figure out what you’re talking about, had one of the guys told you that he liked you. Those fuckers, fine, he could confess now, “Look, I’m sorry they told you. I was trying to gather the courage and make sure my feelings were genuine before I told you. They are, of course, but I don’t know- it’s been a while since I’ve felt this way for anyone and I was nervous.”
You can feel the tears coming back, “And she knows how you treat other girls? She knows that you walk them home, get the flowers, memorize their coffee orders, and introduce them to your friends. You could have at least been honest with me! I told you from the beginning! I told you from the very beginning I wasn’t going to sleep with you. All I asked for was your respect, but I won’t be the girl you cheat on your girlfriend with. I deserve more than that. I don’t even know the poor girl, but she deserves more too.” You hadn’t even realized you’d gotten so close to him. Your finger was touching his chest and you breathed heavily, a few tears escaping your eyes.
His hand came up to hold yours, pulling your hand away from his chest while keeping your hand in his own, “At the risk of sounding like a dick, who is she?”
You pull your hand out of his hold, before throwing them up in frustration, “your girlfriend! Jaehyun, you have a girlfriend you didn’t tell me about! I developed real feelings for you and you have a girlfriend!”
“You like me back?”
“You’re not listening! That doesn’t matter! You’re a major fucking asshole and your girlfriend deserves better than you. Fuck you!”
He steps forward, cupping your cheeks which makes you freeze. It was the last thing you expected him to do. You try to move way, wriggle out of his hold, but he keeps his hold, “I don’t have a girlfriend. I like you. sweetheart, I like you.”
Your breathing falters, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit, “but there were girls in the kitchen. They said you were tied down and seen with the same girl all over campus and you turned one of them down when she hit on you.”
“Well, it wouldn’t very well make me look good to the girl I liked if I was sleeping around with random girls, would it? sweetheart, you were the one I was seen with. Didn’t we study together a few times? I sat by you in class, I walked you home, I was with you at parties. Any of this ringing a bell or should we get you to the emergency room?” He asks with a playful smile.
“You like me?” 
He laughs, it’s loud, unabashed, and happy, “yes, I like you! I have a crush on you. You make me feel things I haven’t felt since I was in high school with my first, and only, girlfriend. I like hearing your snort, I like seeing your smile, your laugh. I like how kind you are. I like when you wear your comfy sweaters. I really like when you put flowers behind your ears. I like that you make me feel giddy and warm and liked and flirty and playful and I can be myself around you. I want to be smarter for you. I want to be around you more. I think you’re beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. I just- I like you, a lot.”
“I like you too, if that wasn’t obvious. You’re cute and funny-“
“We get it! Kiss!” You hear Ari and Kira yell. You look over Jaehyun’s shoulder and catch them watching you along with the frat officers from the side of the house.
Jaehyun sends you a look as if to ask, if it was ok. You nod minutely and tilt your head up. Your eyes fall shut when his lips meet yours. His lips are soft as he kisses you tenderly. You can feel all the pent up affection you’ve both felt for each other through the kiss. His hands cup your cheeks and yours rest on the back of his neck, holding him close. You lose yourself in the feeling of his lips against your own, fighting back the urge to smile. 
He pulls away and your eyes flutter open, staring into his eyes that match your adoration and excitement in the moment. He presses his forehead against your own, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “so, want to make the rumors true?”
Your face furrows into one of confusion, the rumors? He laughs, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips which makes you melt. “Wanna tie me down, sweetheart?”
“Kinky,” you wink, which makes him laugh out loud. A deep happy laugh, which makes you embrace him closely, “of course I do. As if my temper tantrum over you having an imaginary girlfriend didn’t make it obvious.”
“Good,” he smiles. And it is good, great even.
“Simp!” Johnny and Yuta yell, before one of them drunkenly belches.
Jaehyun laughs, hooking his arm over your shoulder to lead you back to the party. So what if he was a simp? Who wouldn’t be for you?
2K notes · View notes
thedensworld · 1 month ago
Text
Red Sign | Y.Jh
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Pairing: Jeonghan x reader
Genre: Conglomerate au! Heirs au! Marriage Contract au!
Type: fluff, humour, slow-burn, smut (mdni!)
Word Count: 18k
Summary: Ignoring all the red signs, what started as a friendship blossomed into something Jeonghan never expected. He'll marry you? No way! Right?
It was Saturday night. Jeonghan had just wrapped up drinks with his friends and stumbled through the door close to 1 a.m. With the grace of a man on autopilot, he showered, slipped into his pajamas, and flopped onto his bed, already picturing a peaceful descent into sleep.
That peace lasted all of three minutes. As he casually checked his email—just to pretend he was a responsible adult—his phone lit up with a familiar name. Your name.
He blinked. Once. Twice. What now? he thought, already sobering up just from the possibilities. He swiped up with a sigh and answered the call.
"Hmm, what's up?"
“I'm sorry to call this late, Mr. Yoon, but Doctor Ji is very, very drunk right now—and none of us know where she lives.” The voice on the other end was one of the residents, clearly panicked, with the chaotic background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and someone yelling about karaoke.
Jeonghan stared at his ceiling, jaw slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, then muttered to himself, “What kind of doctor gets drunk before the residents do?”
He could already feel a headache forming—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Nevertheless, he dragged himself upright and asked, “Where is she? Text me the address. I’ll pick her up.”
As soon as the call ended, he stood up from his bed with the dramatic flair of a man who’d just been betrayed by the universe. Again. He trudged into his closet like a soldier going to war.
“It hasn’t even been an hour since I got home,” he grumbled while throwing on a hoodie. “And now I have to babysit this disaster of a genius.” He paused, briefly considering calling for backup, he can’t be alone.
“Why don’t you go there alone?” Seungcheol grumbled, slouched in the passenger seat like a sack of regret, his eyes barely open, hair pointing in every direction.
Jeonghan didn’t even glance at him as he started the engine. “Because you’re the only one who can carry her without dislocating something. She went full spaghetti mode, apparently.”
Seungcheol let out a long, tortured groan, dragging his palm down his face like he was trying to erase himself. “I was asleep, Jeonghan. Deep, peaceful sleep. Like dead-to-the-world sleep. You dragged me.”
“You were snoring like a truck,” Jeonghan said flatly. “You needed the break.”
“I was asleep for forty minutes!”
“Exactly. Power nap. You’re welcome.”
Seungcheol shot him a side glare, but it was hard to be intimidating when he still had pillow creases on his cheek and was clutching a bottle of water like a lifeline. Jeonghan smirked as he turned the corner. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Like a surprise field trip, but worse.”
“God,” Seungcheol muttered, leaning his head against the window, eyes still half-closed. “This better be the last time your friend gets wasted on a Saturday night.”
“She’s your friend too,” Jeonghan shot back, eyes fixed on the road. Seungcheol nodded solemnly, resting his temple on the cool glass. “And every time this kind of thing happens, I regret that fact deeply.”
It had always been the three of you—Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and you—since junior high. The kind of trio fate stitched together because your parents were business acquaintances who ended up liking each other enough to start arranging awkward family dinners. None of you particularly cared what the grown-ups did, but somehow, you stuck together anyway.
Jeonghan’s family owned a sprawling property empire—buildings, department stores, hotels—you name it. He was groomed from birth to take the reins, and it showed. By college, he was already studying business with laser focus, juggling classes and internships at his grandfather’s company. The strange part? He actually enjoyed it.
Seungcheol, on the other hand, came from a construction family. He’d been on-site since his teens, wearing hard hats and acting like he knew what rebar was. Unlike Jeonghan, he wasn’t the eldest son, so the pressure wasn’t as intense. His older brother was the heir to the business empire. Seungcheol? He was more like the wildcard—half working man, half professional napper.
And then there was you. The doctor of the group. Your family ran hospitals, dabbled in healthcare business and insurance, and made sure everyone had a checkup whether they liked it or not. You were the brainiac—dedicated, overachieving, caffeine-fueled and sleepless. Safe to say, you were the smartest, most disciplined, and most respected member of the trio.
Until alcohol entered the chat.
“Let’s go to the unicorn world! I’m flying, I’m flying!” you had squealed, arms spread out like wings, as you practically pirouetted across the party. Jeonghan could’ve melted into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment. He bowed to every stunned resident in the room, murmuring apologies on your behalf like a PR intern during a scandal. You had originally told him about the gathering. Said you wouldn’t come. That you didn’t want to intrude on the younger residents’ night off. That you needed rest. Clearly, that plan had gone off the rails somewhere between the tequila shots and the glittery karaoke mic.
Seungcheol looked like a man betrayed by both fate and gravity as he crouched down and hoisted your limp, giggling self onto his back. “Why does she keep saying lollipops?” he grunted, adjusting your deadweight on his back like a dad carrying a sleep-paralysis demon.
Jeonghan tried not to laugh. “Maybe it’s a metaphor.”
“I want rainbow lollipops for my unicorn friends!” you declared joyfully, as if this were a medical order. Seungcheol’s face looked like he aged ten years. “She’s a whole doctor,” he mumbled. “With a license. Who let this happen?”
He maneuvered you into the backseat with the delicacy of someone defusing a bomb, while you hummed a melody only you understood. Jeonghan got behind the wheel with a sigh that carried the weight of several lifetimes. “We’re getting too old for this.”
“And too sober,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing his temple.
Jeonghan glanced at you through the rearview mirror. You were smiling at the ceiling, whispering something about glitter. Somehow, this was still better than paperwork.
*
You woke up to a splitting headache and the unpleasant dryness in your mouth that only came from a long night of drinking. The ceiling above you wasn’t familiar—it was too neat, too modern, too... Jeonghan. You blinked slowly, trying to piece together how you had ended up here.
Turning your head, you noticed the soft navy sheets and the glass of water placed neatly on the bedside table. Beside it was a strip of painkillers and a small folded note. You reached for it with heavy limbs and unfolded it.
“You owe me. Water and meds provided. – YJ”
A sigh escaped your lips as you sat up, every movement making your head throb. The memories returned in fragments—bright lights, the sound of laughter, someone shouting something about unicorns—which you were that someone. Then Jeonghan’s voice, steady and annoyed, telling someone to get the door. Seungcheol’s back. Your shoes. You winced. Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way slowly into the hallway, guided by the faint smell of toasted bread. The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft gray light of the overcast morning. You passed by the minimalist decor—clean lines, neutral tones, everything in its place. Jeonghan’s taste had always been meticulous.
In the kitchen, Jeonghan stood by the counter, coffee mug in hand, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at the sound of your steps. “You’re up,” he said, voice calm, though his eyes lingered on you like he was assessing whether you could still walk straight. “There’s toast. Sit.”
You nodded silently and lowered yourself into the chair, still trying to sort out where the nausea ended and the shame began. He slid a plate toward you and turned back to pour more coffee. The kettle clicked in the background, the only sound filling the space between you. You picked at the toast, avoiding his eyes, though you could feel his presence—calm, composed, and, somehow, not entirely annoyed despite everything.
“Thanks,” you finally murmured.
Jeonghan took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t mention it. Just remind me to never trust you when you say you’re ‘just going to rest tonight.’”
You gave a quiet hum in response, unsure of what else to say. Your head still pounded, and your stomach twisted at the thought of facing the residents again. But for now, in the quiet of Jeonghan’s kitchen, you allowed yourself to breathe.
“Seungcheol’s going to kill you the next time you make him visit a site without sleep,” Jeonghan said casually, taking another sip of his coffee.
You groaned, just imagining the wrath that would follow. “Why’d you bring him anyway?”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you. “Because you’re heavy.”
You shot him a flat look. “That’s insulting.”
He shrugged, completely unfazed. “It’s just the truth. I wasn’t about to throw out my back for your drunken acrobatics.”
You pressed your palm against your forehead, partly because of the headache, mostly to hide your embarrassment. “I can’t believe I drank so much
”
Jeonghan leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, looking far too composed for someone who had hauled your half-conscious self home just hours ago. “You know I had to bow to your residents, right?” he said, voice dry with lingering disbelief.
You blinked up at him, wincing. “Like
 say sorry?”
“No. Bow,” he emphasized, straightening his back before dramatically mimicking a deep, ninety-degree angle. “Full. Respectful. Formal. Like I’d committed a crime on behalf of my drunk accomplice.”
You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan. “God, no
”
“Oh yes,” he nodded solemnly. “You stood on a chair at one point and yelled, ‘Let’s go to the unicorn world!’ before asking a confused intern if he believed in candy rain.”
You let your forehead fall to the table.
“I had no choice,” he went on. “I bowed so deeply, I think I pulled something in my spine. Your future underlings now think I’m your guardian, therapist, or some combination of the two.”
You peeked up at him through your fingers. “Are you done humiliating me yet?”
He smiled, a little too satisfied. “Just making sure you know the price of your glitter-filled delusions.”
You groaned again and reached for your coffee. “I’m never drinking again.”
“Good,” he said, already walking away. “I’ll print that on a shirt for the next time you forget.”
*
The last time Jeonghan and Seungcheol had seen you cry was years ago—on a bleak afternoon neither of them ever forgot. It was ten minutes before the next class. Seungcheol had been looking for you, clutching a half-finished math worksheet in one hand, fully intending to beg for your help. He spotted you slipping into the restroom and figured you’d be out in a minute or two. But time stretched. One minute became five. Five became ten. You still hadn’t come out. Jeonghan showed up just then, sweaty from football practice, jersey clinging to him, his forehead glistening. He slowed when he noticed Seungcheol standing awkwardly near the entrance to the girls’ restroom.
“Why are you here?” Jeonghan asked, eyeing Seungcheol suspiciously, brows drawn together. “You better not be turning into some creep.”
Seungcheol scoffed, waving the math sheet. “Y/n’s in there. I need her help before class, but she’s been inside too long.”
Jeonghan was about to make a smart remark when the door swung open.
And that’s when they saw it.
You stumbled out of the restroom, pushed by a group of girls who scattered the moment the hallway came into view. You hit the floor hard, your knees scraping the tile. Egg yolk ran down your hair, staining the collar of your uniform. The shell fragments clung to your shoulders. You didn’t even look up. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of your skirt, your shoulders shaking as silent sobs began to rise.
For a second, the hallway froze.
Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief—then fury. His voice roared through the corridor, echoing off the walls like a thunderclap. “HEY!” The rage in his tone sent students scattering, teachers peeking from classrooms. You could almost feel the walls tremble from the force of it. Jeonghan, quicker on his feet, rushed toward you. Without saying a word, he crouched down and gently reached for your arm, helping you up with a firm but careful grip.
Teachers began rushing over, alerted by the commotion and Seungcheol’s outburst. A crowd formed, but the two boys stayed focused only on you. While the staff tried to piece together what had happened, Jeonghan and Seungcheol quietly helped you clean yourself up. Jeonghan gently patted the egg out of your hair with tissues someone had handed him, his jaw tight, eyes lowered in uncharacteristic silence. Seungcheol stood close, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping in agitation as he watched the teachers murmur among themselves.
“Tell us,” Seungcheol said finally, his voice low but heavy with restrained anger. “What did they do to you
 all this time?”
You hesitated, still trembling, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.
“That’s okay,” Jeonghan added, softer this time. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you. “You can tell us. We’re here.”
You looked between the two of them—their faces, so familiar, so fiercely protective—and something cracked inside your chest. The tears spilled faster now, your voice shaking as you whispered:
“They said I didn’t deserve to be friends with you two.”
The words hung in the air like something sharp and cold.
“They said
 girls like me don’t belong around guys like you.”
Jeonghan’s hands froze. Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief and rage, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists.
“So they did all this to you
 because of us?” Jeonghan muttered, his tone laced with guilt and disbelief.
You nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks, and Jeonghan swallowed hard, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry.”
Seungcheol took a step back, pacing now, muttering curses under his breath before spinning to face the teachers. “You heard her, right? Are you going to do something or do we handle this ourselves?”
The teachers quickly moved to disperse the crowd and collect statements, while Jeonghan stayed beside you, gently guiding you toward the nurse’s office again.
From that day on, it wasn’t just protection they offered.
It was loyalty. And a silent promise: no one would ever hurt you again—not while they were around.
And they hadn’t seen you cry ever since.
It was a quiet testament to your strength. Through the sleepless nights of medical school, grueling exams, endless shifts, and the burden of responsibility that came with being a doctor—you carried it all with a calm, composed grace. Even when things got hard, you wore your tired smile like armor.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol, as tough as they liked to act, had both cried in front of you more than once—Jeonghan when he lost his dog, Seungcheol after his first failed business pitch. You were the one who listened, the one who stayed solid while they fell apart. But you never let them see you break.
Not until the day Jeonghan received the call: your mother had passed away.
He’d just stepped out of a late meeting when his phone buzzed with the news. For a moment, the world stood still. He didn’t even think—he just grabbed his keys and drove, breaking every speed limit until the hospital’s tall white building came into view.
Your family hospital.
He rushed in through the emergency entrance, eyes scanning frantically. That was when he saw Seungcheol—already there, crouched in front of a figure slumped on the bench outside the ICU.
You.
Still in your hospital coat, hands limp in your lap, eyes staring into nothing. The lights above cast a pale glow on your face, and even from a distance, Jeonghan could see how hollow your expression was. You looked like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.
Seungcheol gently held your wrist, whispering something, his brows drawn in pain.
Jeonghan approached slowly, like something sacred had cracked in the room and he didn’t want to shatter it further. His throat tightened at the sight. You, the strongest one among them, looked so small.
And for the first time since high school, he saw your tears again. Silent, slow, like they had been waiting years to fall.
*
The funeral had gone by quietly, solemn and dignified—just the way your mother would have wanted. You hadn’t spoken much, but Jeonghan and Seungcheol stayed by your side the entire time, like silent shadows that grounded you when everything else felt like air. Afterward, the three of you got into Jeonghan’s car and drove in silence toward your family home. The atmosphere was heavy, as if the car itself understood the weight of where you were headed. A meeting had been scheduled with your mother’s lawyer—an urgent, important matter concerning her will.
Your mother hadn’t just been the heart of your family; she was also the true pillar behind the hospital’s legacy. While your father held the position of director, it was your mother who built it from the ground up—brick by brick, department by department. Her name was the one that opened doors, earned respect, and kept the hospital’s vision alive.
And now, she is gone.
Two days later, Seungcheol stopped by Jeonghan’s office early in the morning, still in his work clothes after a visit to the construction site. His shoulders looked unusually stiff, his expression unreadable as he sank into the couch with a quiet sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there like a man lost in thought.
Jeonghan, watching from behind his desk, narrowed his eyes. “Say it,” he urged, standing and making his way to the seat across from Seungcheol.
Seungcheol finally looked up, brow furrowed like he was still trying to wrap his head around it. “Y/n called me this morning.”
Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, already sensing this wasn’t just a casual update.
“It was about her mother’s inheritance,” Seungcheol said slowly. “She’s not getting any money. No property. Nothing.”
Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What? But she’s the only one following in her mother’s footsteps. She works in healthcare. She’s the most qualified out of everyone.”
Seungcheol nodded, eyes still distant. “Exactly. But the lawyer said she’ll inherit the hospital—not the money, not the land—only the hospital.”
Jeonghan leaned back, frowning. “That’s not bad, though.”
Seungcheol lifted a hand. “There’s a catch.”
Jeonghan stared at him, already bracing for it.
“She can only inherit the hospital if she gets married.”
Jeonghan blinked. “Excuse me?”
“And
” Seungcheol hesitated for a second longer. “She asked me to marry her.”
That snapped Jeonghan upright. “What?”
His voice was louder than he expected, heart thudding as the words echoed in the room. Seungcheol just stared back at him, not saying a word. He let out a long breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, palms rubbing together as if the friction might help him make sense of it all.
“I want to help her, of course I do,” he said quietly. “She’s my best friend. You know that. She’s like the sister I never had.”
Jeonghan stayed still, eyes narrowing slightly.
Seungcheol went on, voice heavy with sincerity. “If it was just about signing papers or pretending in front of the board, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But this isn’t just some temporary fix. It’s marriage. And I’m not ready for that—not emotionally, not mentally. I’d end up hurting her, and she doesn’t deserve that.”
His fingers curled into fists for a moment before he looked up again, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze.
“That’s why I suggested your name.”
Silence settled in the room like a weight. Jeonghan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—shock, maybe, or something more complicated.
“You,” Seungcheol said slowly, “understand her better than anyone. You’ve seen her at her lowest, at her best. And I know—no matter how you act—you care about her deeply.”
Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. He stared at Seungcheol like he had just been pushed off a cliff and was still waiting to hit the ground.
Jeonghan blinked slowly, then scoffed—loudly. He leaned back against the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at Seungcheol like he’d just confessed to selling his soul for bubblegum.
“You’re stupid,” he finally said, his tone half in disbelief, half in frustration. “That’s your solution? Throwing your other friend under the bus?”
Seungcheol frowned. “I’m not throwing you—”
“Yes, you are!” Jeonghan snapped, pointing at him. “You get hit with a hard question and suddenly, ‘Oh! Let’s sacrifice Jeonghan! He can take it!’ What am I? The neighborhood rescue dog?”
“You make it sound worse than it is,” Seungcheol muttered.
“It is worse than it is!” Jeonghan stood up and paced a few steps, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you think this is a joke? Marriage? With Y/n? She’s not just anyone. This is her life. Her grief. Her mother’s legacy.”
Seungcheol looked down at his hands, quiet for a beat. “That’s exactly why I thought of you.”
Jeonghan turned to him, still fuming.
“You're the only one who won't hurt her. Even when you're pissed, you take care of her. You’re the only one who can handle her breakdowns, her sarcasm, her late-night hospital shifts. You’ve already been doing it for years. This wouldn’t even be a stretch.”
Jeonghan paused. The silence that followed wasn’t light—it hung in the air like the stillness before a storm. “You’re not wrong,” he finally said, his voice low. “But don’t ever decide for me again.”
Seungcheol met his eyes, apologetic.
“So,” Jeonghan said, almost like a challenge, “did she say anything else?”
“She asked if it was a dumb idea,” Seungcheol answered, faintly smiling. “I told her it was—but that if anyone could turn a dumb idea into something real, it’d be you.”
Jeonghan let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. “You’re so lucky I don’t punch you for sport.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Jeonghan stood by the window of his office, arms folded, his eyes locked on the city skyline, though his thoughts were far from the view.
“I’m not going to marry her,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of hesitation.
Seungcheol blinked, stunned. “What?”
“I said I’m not going to marry Y/n.” Jeonghan turned around, walking back to his desk with deliberate steps. “I’ve never seen her that way. Not once. She’s my friend. She’s like
 like a teammate I’ve been stuck in the same chaotic group project with since we were twelve.”
Seungcheol frowned. “Jeonghan—”
“I don’t see her as a woman,” Jeonghan said, firmer now. “Not in that sense. She’s Y/n. She’s the one who used to eat her lunch with gloves on because she didn’t want to smudge her notes. She’s the one who screamed at me for skipping class but once stole hospital scrubs just to sneak me in when I twisted my ankle.”
He let out a breath, quieter. “She’s family, Cheol. And I don’t marry family.”
Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But family is the reason she’s doing this. You know her—she won’t marry for love, not now. She just wants to protect the hospital.”
“And I get that,” Jeonghan nodded, gaze hard. “But she deserves someone who will at least try to see her differently. Someone who won’t just treat it like a task. If she marries me, she’ll never get that.”
There was a brief silence. A mature one. Heavy.
“
So what are you going to do?” Seungcheol asked.
Jeonghan exhaled. “I’ll talk to her. But I’m not going to lie and pretend I can be that person.”
*
Jeonghan woke with a pounding headache, the weight of last night's whiskey still pressing against his skull. The faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioner and the filtered morning light slipping through the curtains made him squint. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a low groan, slowly sitting up. His head throbbed harder when he took in the room—still the executive suite at his family’s hotel, where he’d had a meeting yesterday. The same place where he’d waited for you after your hospital shift, sipping on whiskey in the private lounge while the hours bled together in blurred conversation and laughter.
Bottles—empty, half-empty, forgotten—lined the table and nightstand like silent witnesses. Jackets were slung across a chair, shoes scattered in odd places. He recognized his own watch on the floor, next to a trail of clothes that didn’t belong solely to him. And then, instinctively, his eyes drifted to the side—his breath caught.
You were there. Curled up under the duvet, sleeping deeply, hair a mess, bare shoulders exposed. His eyes dropped lower and quickly darted away. The pounding in his head was now joined by a growing pit in his stomach. He glanced down at himself—also bare under the sheets.
Jeonghan froze, every nerve in his body suddenly alert despite the hangover. His brain scrambled, trying to piece together the end of last night. The drinks. The conversation. Your tired laugh. Your hands brushing his when you reached for the bottle. A kiss. God—there was a kiss. Then—
“Shit.”
He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t remember the details, but he remembered enough.
This was supposed to be a conversation about the hospital. About you, asking him if there was any way to make things work.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
“Y/n,” he muttered quietly, as if saying your name would make you stir, so he could ask what the hell happened—or maybe apologize before either of you remembered it all too clearly.
But you didn’t move. You were still peacefully asleep, unaware of the chaos swirling in his mind. And Jeonghan could already feel the fallout coming like a wave.
You stirred with a faint groan, blinking at the ceiling. Your head felt heavy, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn't quite remember where you were. The bedding was softer than your own, and the faint scent of Jeonghan’s cologne lingered in the room.
Then you turned your head.
Your gaze met his. Eyes wide. His were already on you—equally frozen.
You blinked again. Slowly sat up. Felt the cold air on your bare shoulders. Glanced down. Sheets. Your breath caught in your throat.
“Wait—” you started, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as panic registered in your eyes. “No. No, no, no—”
Jeonghan shifted upright too, the sheets crumpling over his lap as he sat against the headboard, just as stunned.
“I—I don’t—” You struggled to speak, grabbing your phone off the nightstand like it could explain what had happened, but it only showed missed messages and your alarm.
You looked back at him, mortified. “Did we
? We didn’t
?”
Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched slightly, eyes flickering to the bottles on the nightstand, then to your flushed and confused face. “I think we did.”
You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest. “Oh my God.” Your voice cracked as the memory fragments came rushing in—your shift ending late, Jeonghan waiting for you with drinks, your frustration spilling out in emotional rambling, the comfort, the nearness
 the way you let your guard down.
And then—nothing. Just heat, blurred kisses, and now this.
“I don’t remember,” you whispered.
“Me neither,” Jeonghan admitted, rubbing his temple with one hand, eyes falling shut in disbelief.
Silence stretched between you, loud and suffocating.
Then you exhaled shakily and muttered, “We’re screwed.”
Jeonghan didn’t disagree.
The tension in the room crackled as you both scrambled to collect your clothes, the sheets tangling and slipping with every sudden movement. Jeonghan cursed under his breath as he checked the time on his phone. “Shit. I’m late.”
You were already half-dressed, pulling your blouse over your head with trembling fingers. “I need to go home before anyone notices I’m not back.”
Jeonghan hopped awkwardly on one foot as he tried to tug his pants on, his shirt still unbuttoned, hair a mess. “This didn’t happen. Okay?”
You glanced at him, eyes wide. “It happened.”
“Yeah, but—” He buttoned his shirt wrong and huffed. “We don’t remember it.”
“Exactly,” you nodded, slipping your shoes on. “We don’t remember. So technically, it’s like it didn’t happen.”
“Just one night,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and grabbing his keys.
“One mistake,” you replied without thinking, then paused. “I mean—just a slip. We were drunk.”
“Super drunk,” Jeonghan agreed quickly.
You met his eyes for a second too long. And then both of you looked away, awkwardly clearing your throats.
“Let’s never talk about it,” you said as you reached for the door.
“Never,” Jeonghan echoed, already stuffing papers into his bag like a man fleeing a crime scene.
You stepped out first, your heart still racing. Jeonghan followed a few seconds later, closing the hotel room door behind him with a click. Neither of you looked back.
*
“So how did the talk go?” Seungcheol’s voice rang casually through the phone as you stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.
Your eyes caught your reflection in the mirror by the entryway—tired eyes, tousled hair, and—
Oh God.
Your hand instinctively flew to your collarbone, fingers brushing over the unmistakable marks scattered along your skin, trailing up to your neck. Hickeys. Bold, undeniable evidence of something you had no memory of.
“It went... well,” you replied, voice a little too high, a little too unsure.
“Yeah?” Seungcheol sounded genuinely hopeful. “So
 did he agree?”
Your heart thudded. Did Jeonghan agree to marry me? You remembered he had said no—clear, direct. But after that? Your memory was a blur of golden lights, his glass of whiskey in your hand, his laugh, your boldness, the heat—
You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “We were just talking, you know
” you said slowly, choosing each word like it was a landmine. “The conversation didn’t really get to a yes or no. We got distracted. Talked about other things.”
Technically not a lie. Just
 not the whole truth.
“Still,” Seungcheol continued on the other end of the line, completely unaware of the storm in your chest, “I think Jeonghan would understand you. He’s always treated you well. I mean, out of the two of us, he’s the one who always had more patience with your chaos.”
You let out a nervous laugh, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Yeah
 he did.”
“Just be honest with him,” Seungcheol added, almost gently. “Jeonghan might act like a brat sometimes, but when it comes to you, he’s different. He cares. You know that.”
Your hand tightened around your blouse
And that’s when it happened.
A flash—so quick you almost thought you imagined it.
His hand on your cheek. His lips on yours. The taste of whiskey between you. The slow burn of a kiss that felt nothing like friendship.
You blinked, your fingers going still.
“Y/n? You still there?”
You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
But part of you wasn’t. Part of you was still stuck in that hotel room, with the soft memory of Jeonghan's mouth on yours, and the way your heart had almost stopped.
“
he’s always been there for you, Y/n. I just think if there’s anyone who could help you through this, it’s Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, his voice calm through the receiver.
But his words became a blur as your mind started to slip—like a dam cracking open with every syllable he spoke. You could still feel it. The heat of Jeonghan’s breath against your neck. The way his hands gripped your waist—hesitant at first, then desperate. The sting of your back hitting the cool sheets as he hovered over you, his brows furrowed, pupils blown wide, whispering your name like it meant something new.
Like it was no longer just “Y/n,” his friend.
You bit your lip hard, hoping the physical pain would erase the memory. It didn’t.
“Y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice snapped you back. “You okay?”
“Yeah—yeah, sorry.” You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “I just
 didn’t get much sleep.” Which wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Not after the warmth, the weight, and the realization of what you had done with Jeonghan.
And now, you weren’t sure what scared you more—
The fact that it happened or the fact that a part of you
 didn’t regret it.
The next time you and Jeonghan crossed paths was on Seungcheol’s birthday.
Unlike the lavish celebrations expected of a conglomerate’s son, Seungcheol never cared for extravagance. Neither did you or Jeonghan. Since high school, birthdays had always been about the same three things: the three of you, some good food, late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, and a morning-after spent groggy on the couch with empty plates scattered around.
You had just finished a long night shift at the hospital, and thankfully, the rest of the day—and tomorrow—was free. You arrived first at Seungcheol’s place, arms full with takeout and a small cake box. The hallway was quiet, the lights dimmed. You punched in the passcode on the door panel—his birthday, reversed, a code that hadn’t changed in years—and stepped into the familiar apartment.
It smelled like wood and faint cologne, the kind Seungcheol always wore when he had meetings. You set the food on the kitchen counter, the soft thump of containers echoing in the stillness. No lights, no music, no sign of the birthday boy yet. You glanced at the time—he and Jeonghan were running late.
You sank into the couch, stretching out your legs and letting the silence settle around you.
It had been two weeks since that night with Jeonghan.
Two weeks since the hotel room, the drinks, the foggy heat of something you still couldn’t fully piece together.
Two weeks of zero contact.
And now, you were here. Waiting.
The digital clock ticked louder than usual, each second dragging a bit more tension with it. You tried not to overthink, tried to focus on anything else—your phone screen, the soft hum of the refrigerator—but your mind kept drifting back to the last time you saw Jeonghan
 and the things you didn’t say.
The sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts. A soft beep, followed by the mechanical click of the passcode panel disengaging. You sat up instinctively, smoothing your hair as footsteps approached.
The door swung open, and there he was—Jeonghan. He paused in the doorway when he saw you, the chill of the hallway air still clinging to his coat. His brows rose slightly, surprise flickering across his face. His hair was pushed back messily, like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times on the way here.
“
You’re early,” he said slowly, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here first.”
You stood, wiping your palms down your pants out of habit. “I had a night shift. Got off earlier than planned. Figured I’d bring food before you two showed up.”
Jeonghan shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. “Seungcheol texted. Said he’s caught up in some family business and running late.”
You nodded, the air between you tightening slightly. The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was thick—weighted by everything unspoken, everything half-remembered.
Jeonghan walked into the living room, glanced at the table. “You brought japchae?” His voice tried for casual.
“Yeah. And chicken. And that weird yogurt drink Seungcheol likes for no reason.”
Jeonghan smiled faintly and let out a soft, amused breath, the tension momentarily diffused. “You still remember his obsession with that stuff?”
“I wish I didn’t. It haunts me.”
You both let out a low chuckle, but it didn’t last. Jeonghan’s eyes eventually met yours again—this time, slower, more hesitant. Neither of you mentioned the last time you’d seen each other. Not the hotel. Not the drinks. Not the hazy memories.
Not the fact that you hadn’t talked since.
But it lingered anyway.
Just beneath the surface.
Before either of you could say anything else, the familiar beep of the door's passcode rang through the apartment again, followed by the sound of Seungcheol’s voice calling out, “I brought the good stuff!”
You and Jeonghan turned toward the entrance as Seungcheol walked in with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of whiskey proudly held in the other. His coat was half off his shoulders, hair slightly tousled from rushing over.
He spotted you both and grinned. “Oh good, both of you made it. Now it feels like my birthday.”
You offered a small smile, grateful for the interruption. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I had to. It’s tradition,” Seungcheol said, setting the bottle down on the table with an exaggerated flourish. “Besides, this one’s aged fifteen years. Older than most of our decisions lately.”
Jeonghan gave a dry chuckle and raised a brow. “Including yours?”
“Especially mine,” Seungcheol smirked before plopping down onto the couch and glancing between the two of you. “So. Are we gonna pretend everything’s normal or do I need to spike your drinks first?”
You sat down beside him while Jeonghan stayed standing, his hands resting in his pockets. The tension hadn’t disappeared. It just moved aside to make room for Seungcheol’s usual way of diffusing it—with humor and whiskey.
*
Seungcheol had long retreated to his room, knocked out cold from the whiskey he insisted on drinking more of than anyone else. The walls of his apartment were thick, thank god—but not thick enough to silence the storm brewing next door.
The atmosphere had shifted the moment his bedroom door closed. You and Jeonghan were left alone in the living room, both pretending to focus on an old movie playing on the screen, but neither of you actually watching. The silence wasn’t comfortable—it was charged, thick with memories neither of you had fully come to terms with.
Your breath hitched when Jeonghan shifted closer, his knee brushing yours on the couch. You turned your head slightly, only to find him already watching you—eyes unreadable, voice low.
“Do you remember anything from that night?” he asked.
You swallowed hard. “Pieces.”
“Same,” he muttered, before pausing. “But I remember how it felt.”
The two of you breathed heavily, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Once. Twice. Then, with a swift motion, he pulled you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His large hands tenderly cradled your cheeks, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine, before his lips descended onto yours with a fervent intensity.
"Shit... I've been thinking about your lips lately," he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent tingles through your body.
His other hand found its way to your waist, firm yet gentle, guiding you effortlessly to settle on his lap. The kiss remained unbroken, a seamless blend of passion and longing, as time seemed to stand still around you.
"Seungcheol is in his room," you murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss that had left you both gasping for air.
"Forget him," Jeonghan replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He's too drunk to notice anything." Without waiting for further protest, he drew you back into a fervent kiss, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine.
In one swift motion, Jeonghan stood up, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. He carried you down the dimly lit hallway to Seungcheol's guest room, nudging the door open with ease. The soft creak of the hinges was barely audible over the sound of your quickened breaths. Gently, he laid you down onto the bed, the sheets cool against your skin. His hands began to explore the contours of your body with a deliberate tenderness, slowly unbuttoning and removing your blouse.
Your own hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his pants with an urgency that mirrored his own. Your fingers fumbled slightly as they worked to unbutton his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest as you maintained the passionate kiss.
"Seungcheol is going to kill us," Jeonghan murmured, a hint of playful defiance in his voice, as his hands deftly moved to your pants, sliding them down to reveal your bare skin.
"Fucking in his guest room," he chuckled softly, "He's going to kill us."
Yet, the thrill of the moment was too intoxicating to resist.
You woke up just past noon, your head pounding like a bass drum. The sunlight bleeding through the edges of the curtain felt far too aggressive for your condition. Groaning, you sat up and realized you were no longer in your own clothes. Instead, you were dressed in one of Seungcheol’s oversized T-shirts—soft, worn-in cotton that practically swallowed your frame. Jeonghan must’ve grabbed it from your friend’s closet sometime during the night.q
You shuffled out of the guest bedroom, rubbing your temple, and found Jeonghan and Seungcheol slouched over the dining table. Both looked equally wrecked, hair messy and eyes puffy, nursing bowls of takeout soup in complete silence.
“Go eat this,” Jeonghan said as he pulled out the chair beside him without looking up. His voice was low and hoarse, like it hadn't fully woken up yet.
Seungcheol finally looked over—and froze. His eyes widened at the sight of his favorite T-shirt hanging loosely on you.
“Yah!” he exclaimed, pointing a dramatic finger. “Why are you wearing that one?! That’s my favorite!”
You squinted at him, then turned slowly to glare at Jeonghan, who was now struggling to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. That motherfucker definitely knew what he was doing when he dressed you in it.
You huffed, muttering, “I’m sorry
 I was too drunk to realize.” Then, without missing a beat, you shot Jeonghan a sharp look. “Apparently, someone wasn’t.”
“I got you another one,” Jeonghan said innocently—like he’d planned this whole thing.
Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”
You sat down across from the two men, your eyes flickering between Jeonghan and Seungcheol as you tried to piece yourself together. The hot soup in front of you sent a wave of steam into your face, grounding you for a moment. But not enough to forget the way Jeonghan’s lips had moved against yours last night. Not enough to forget his fingers fumbling with your buttons, the urgency in his breath, the way he whispered your name like a secret meant only for the dark.
You stirred the soup absently, heart pounding all over again.
Seungcheol groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Seriously though, how much did we drink? My head’s splitting in half.”
“More than we should’ve,” Jeonghan muttered, voice calm—almost too calm. His fingers tapped against the ceramic bowl rhythmically, but he hadn’t taken a single bite. You knew that look—he was pretending everything was fine. Like last night didn’t happen.
You hadn’t even had the nerve to look him in the eye.
“Why do I feel like I missed something?” Seungcheol mumbled, squinting between the two of you.
You flinched slightly, and Jeonghan cleared his throat.
“You missed your chance to stop me from letting her steal your favorite shirt,” he said, with a casual smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
You forced a laugh, weak and quick, and focused again on your soup.
But the silence between you and Jeonghan stretched thin, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the memory of skin against skin—while Seungcheol had been passed out in the next room, completely unaware that his two closest friends were crossing a line that neither of you had dared touch before.
And now here you were—sitting in your best friend’s kitchen, wearing his favorite shirt, next to the man who'd kissed you breathless hours before—and neither of you knew what to do next.
“So,” Seungcheol said, dragging the word out as he slumped deeper into his chair. He set his empty bowl aside and gave you a long, expectant look. “Have you thought more about the hospital situation?”
Your spoon hovered mid-air, steam curling around your face as you blinked. A quiet clink echoed when the utensil touched the edge of the bowl. Across the table, Jeonghan stiffened—just slightly, but you noticed.
“I’m
 still thinking about it,” you murmured, eyes focused on the soup like it held all the answers.
Seungcheol frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You said that two weeks ago.”
You didn’t reply. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say without glancing at Jeonghan. And you couldn’t afford to glance at Jeonghan right now.
He barreled on. “Look. I know it’s insane. ‘Get married or lose the hospital’ sounds like something out of a bad K-drama. But your mom built that place. She poured her whole damn life into it. It’s not just a building—it’s your inheritance. Your future.”
You drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Seungcheol had always known how to strike right at the center of things. You hated him for it sometimes.
“And when you asked me
” He leaned in now, elbows on the table, voice gentler. “I really did consider it. I mean, you’re my best friend. You’ve been with me through every breakup, every hangover, every stupid decision I ever made. Of course I thought about saying yes.”
You lifted your eyes to meet his. There was sincerity there. Regret, even.
“But I knew I’d screw it up eventually,” he added, chuckling dryly. “We’d end up resenting each other. I’d probably forget your anniversary and show up late to your divorce hearing.”
Despite yourself, you laughed softly.
Seungcheol smiled. “I’m chaos. You need someone steady. Someone who knows how to make you breathe instead of panic. Someone who
 already knows you inside out.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“That’s why I told you to ask him.”
There was no need to look. You felt the shift in Jeonghan’s posture before Seungcheol even gestured toward him.
You didn’t turn your head. You couldn’t. The air felt too thick now. Even blinking felt like a risk.
“But this guy,” Seungcheol said, waving his spoon at Jeonghan with mock betrayal, “just flat out refused. No hesitation. No drama. Just a cold-ass no.”
There was a sharp pause. Jeonghan set down his bowl with more force than necessary.
“I didn’t refuse,” he said, his voice quiet, clipped. “I said I didn’t think marriage was the solution.”
Seungcheol scoffed. “Same difference.”
Jeonghan’s jaw flexed. “It’s not.”
You finally looked at him then. His face was unreadable, but his fingers were curled too tightly around the edge of the table. Tension lived in every part of him.
Seungcheol leaned back, sighing like a man fed up with the world. “You two already bicker like you’ve been married five years. The chemistry’s right there. Even my mom thinks you’re dating.”
You flushed, dropping your gaze. Jeonghan didn’t say a word.
“She’s not someone I see that way.”
His words landed with the dull thud of a stone in water. No ripple. Just sinking.
Your stomach twisted. You could still feel the weight of his hands from the night before. The way his breath had hitched when your lips met. The way he’d held you like he was afraid you’d vanish. And now—this.
“Oh, okay,” Seungcheol said, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Cool.”
You forced a breath through your nose and tried not to react. You weren’t going to ask. You weren’t going to break.
“I’ll figure something else out,” you said quickly, your voice a little too tight, a little too rehearsed. “I always do.”
Seungcheol looked at you, brows drawing together in concern, but didn’t push further.
You felt Jeonghan’s eyes on you, though. Like a weight you couldn’t shrug off. You didn’t dare meet his gaze.
But under the table, your knees brushed. A fleeting contact—barely noticeable. And he didn’t move.
Neither did you.
And maybe that was the problem.
*
The clatter of silverware and the low murmur of polite conversation filled the dining room, where Jeonghan sat awkwardly between his mother and a cousin he barely recognized. His parents had insisted on a full family dinner—“We haven’t all been together in months, Jeonghan-ah!”—and now he was regretting not faking a fever.
He was halfway through picking at a slice of galbi when his father leaned in a little too casually and said, “Did you hear about Y/n’s father?”
Jeonghan blinked. He hadn’t heard her name all evening—had tried not to think about her, if he was honest.
“What about him?” he asked, trying to sound neutral, but his voice already had a tension to it.
“He’s getting remarried,” his father said, mouth full of japchae. “Some woman from Busan. Younger. Pretty well-off, I heard.”
Jeonghan stilled. His chopsticks hovered mid-air.
Jeonghan couldn’t sit still after dinner.
Three months.
Three damn months after your mother passed, and your father was already signing marriage papers with a woman who had no history with your family, no ties to the hospital, no respect for what your mother built. The news echoed in his mind like a warning bell—and the worst part? You hadn’t even told him. Or Seungcheol.
By the time Jeonghan slammed the car door shut and stalked into Seungcheol’s apartment, his jaw was already locked tight. His parents had dropped the bomb at the tail end of dinner like it was gossip over dessert.
“Did you hear? Her father’s remarrying already. Three months. Can you believe it?”
Three months since her mother’s funeral. Jeonghan remembered how you barely made it through the eulogy without shaking. How you’d curled up in the backseat of his car afterward, still in your funeral hanbok, silent except for the occasional sound of your breathing—too calm, too quiet, like you were holding your whole grief together by the thread of not saying anything out loud.
And now this.
“She doesn’t know,” Seungcheol said lazily from the couch without looking up from his phone, glancing over Jeonghan’s stormy entrance like it was just another Tuesday. “Or at least
 she didn’t tell me either.”
Jeonghan stopped mid-pace, scoffing. “She knows.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. “She always knows. She just—doesn’t want to talk about it.”
The room quieted. Even Seungcheol lowered his phone now.
“Ya,” Jeonghan said, his voice low. “She just lost her mom. And now her dad’s acting like she was never part of that life. Like she’s replaceable.”
“I know,” Seungcheol murmured. “I didn’t think it would actually come to this, but
.”
Jeonghan turned, alert.
Seungcheol hesitated, brows furrowed, voice heavy with guilt. “Y/n’s dad is planning to take back the hospital. Legally. If she’s not married by the time the board votes on succession, he’ll have the right to reclaim everything.”
Jeonghan froze.
“
What are you talking about?”
“There’s a clause. In her mom’s will. You remember how traditional her family is, right? Her mom added a provision that said Y/n could inherit the hospital—if she was married, as a show of stability.”
“That’s insane,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head. “That’s not—She’s been running that place half her life.”
“I know,” Seungcheol said again, quieter this time. “But with her mom gone, and no spouse to secure her position, her father—who technically still holds a dormant stake—can challenge the board’s vote. And they’ll side with whoever seems more ‘qualified’ to run a multi-billion-won legacy hospital.”
Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat. “So if she’s not married
 she loses everything?”
“Exactly.”
The word dropped like a lead weight.
The hospital. Your mother’s legacy. Your life.
All of it—hinging on one outdated clause and a man who was more concerned with reclaiming power than preserving what mattered to his daughter.
Jeonghan’s hands slowly curled into fists at his sides.
He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was sour in his mouth: He could’ve helped. He’d been asked—hell, handpicked. And he said no.
But those nights
 those kisses
 the way you trembled in his arms, the way you didn’t pull away—
Maybe it wasn’t just your future that was unraveling.
Maybe it was his, too.
*
Jeonghan heard it first from Seungcheol, in a conversation that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“You helped her send a marriage proposal to the Hong family?” he asked, trying to sound neutral—but the words hitched somewhere between surprise and something less noble.
Seungcheol nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. She’s being practical. The Hongs are powerful, respected, and Jisoo’s around our age. It’s a smart match.”
Jeonghan’s mind flicked back to university days. He remembered Hong Jisoo—gentle voice, crisp suits even back then, the kind of guy professors liked and girls swooned over. Polite, well-mannered, probably the kind of man who’d pull your chair out at dinner and remember your dog’s birthday.
He hated how reasonable it sounded.
Still, he needed to know.
“Is Jisoo even single?” Jeonghan asked, almost too quickly.
Jun, his ever-efficient secretary, looked up from his tablet. “Actually
 no, sir. He’s dating someone.”
Jeonghan blinked. “How do you know that?”
Jun cleared his throat, a bit sheepishly. “I saw them at two or three events. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Not long after, right on cue, news came that your proposal had been rejected. Politely, but firmly.
Jeonghan didn’t know what stung more—that someone else had the chance to say no to you, or that you’d gone through the process without even telling him.
At your next lunch with him and Seungcheol, you stirred your iced tea with a distracted expression before saying, “I’m moving on to the Jeon family next. Remember Wonwoo?”
Jeonghan’s brows lifted. “Jeon Wonwoo?”
Seungcheol let out a soft whistle. “Now that’s a solid bet. The board practically drools over that guy. Youngest regional director in five years. Clean record, sharp thinker. He could probably get you the hospital single-handedly.”
Jeonghan forced himself to nod, even as something in his stomach tightened.
Wonwoo was perfect.
Too perfect.
A week later, the news broke: Wonwoo was already engaged—privately, quietly, to someone outside the industry. A secret fiancĂ©e. One no one had expected, and no one dared question.
Jeonghan said nothing when he heard. Just closed the tab on his screen and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.
How many more names would you have to cross off?
It was Seungcheol who brought it up over dinner one evening.
“There’s another option,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of steak. “The Kim family. They reached out.”
You blinked. “Kim? As in
?”
“Kim Jongin,” he confirmed, glancing up. “Their eldest son. The family’s powerful, old money, and still holds shares in three major medical networks. If you marry them, the board will bow down without a fight.”
Jeonghan’s fork paused mid-air.
“Kim Jongin?” he repeated slowly, like the name tasted wrong in his mouth. “As in that Kim Jongin? The one who once got kicked out of a charity gala for flirting with a diplomat’s wife?”
Seungcheol smirked. “That was years ago. He’s cleaned up, mostly. Spends more time in boardrooms than clubs now.”
You raised an eyebrow. “He still flirts with everyone. He sent me flowers once and signed the card as ‘Your Future Headache.’”
Seungcheol, chuckling, muttered under his breath, “At least he’s honest.”
Jeonghan didn’t laugh.
Instead, he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious. Jongin has more scandals than business articles to his name. You’d be a headline before the wedding cake even sets.”
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but your voice was quieter. “I’m running out of names, Jeonghan. I don’t need a saint—I need a shield. The board only cares about a surname that scares them.”
Seungcheol nodded grimly. “And the Kim name does that.”
Jeonghan looked at you then—really looked. There was exhaustion behind your smile, a quiet kind of defeat.
How many times have you been rejected, redirected, shut out? How many times had you kept it together just to protect the hospital your mother left behind?
He couldn’t stop you from trying again.
But he hated that you even had to.
That night, Jeonghan poured himself a drink in his living room, alone.
“Kim Jongin,” he muttered bitterly. “Over my dead body.”
*
“Jeonghan just called me. Is that true?”
Seungcheol’s voice crackled through the phone speaker, a strange mix of urgency and disbelief. You barely registered his tone, your mind still half-occupied with the scribbled patient notes in front of you.
You shifted in your seat at the nurse station, eyes still on the clipboard. “What’s true? Did he win the lottery or something?” You let out a soft, tired chuckle. “I mean, honestly, would anyone be shocked if Jeonghan secretly played the odds? He’s... Jeonghan.”
On the other end, Seungcheol sighed. The kind of sigh that wasn’t amused or tired—it was preparing you for something.
“No, Y/n.” His voice lowered. “He told me to turn down the Kim family’s proposal.”
Your pen slipped, leaving a smudge on the paper.
You blinked.
“What?”
The pen rolled out of your fingers and onto the desk with a soft clatter. Your body leaned forward, suddenly too alert. “Why would he—?”
“He said
” Seungcheol hesitated, as though trying to choose the least explosive version of the truth. “Because he’s going to marry you.”
The words didn’t land so much as settle, like the moment before a storm hits—silent, still, choking on meaning.
Your gaze fixed on the wall across the room. White. Blank. Too bright under hospital lights. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped steadily, unaware that your pulse had just doubled.
You didn’t answer. Couldn't. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your hands, resting on the desk, had gone cold.
And still, Seungcheol didn’t say another word.
He didn’t need to.
“He didn’t say anything to you, did he?” Seungcheol asked quietly.
You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through your hair. “No,” you mumbled, eyes narrowing as you stood from the nurse station chair. “Not a word.”
You could hear Seungcheol curse under his breath on the other end, but you were already pacing down the hallway toward your office, phone still pressed to your ear.
“Is he crazy or something?” you muttered, your voice low and laced with disbelief.
Seungcheol tried to lighten the mood. “Should I bring him to the hospital? Get his head checked?”
You scoffed, pushing open your office door with a bit more force than necessary. “No, you should’ve kicked him in the head instead.”
Dropping your white coat onto the couch, you finally sank into your chair, hand covering your eyes for a second before dropping it with a frustrated sigh.
“He said no, Seungcheol. No. So what the hell is this now?”
Silence hummed between you for a moment. Then, quietly, Seungcheol said, “Maybe he changed his mind.”
You leaned back in your chair, the ceiling suddenly very interesting. “If he did, he sure has a weird way of showing it.”
*
Jeonghan didn’t expect to find you there—not tonight, not like this.
He had barely stepped out of the elevator, keys jingling in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, when his footsteps slowed. His gaze caught on your figure leaning against the wall by his apartment door. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. A stillness about you that unnerved him more than any outburst could.
He swallowed hard. The hallway light flickered above him as if mimicking the beat of his pulse.
“Y/n?” he said, cautious, testing the sound of your name like it might trigger something.
You didn’t answer immediately. You just looked at him like he was something unfamiliar—like you were trying to remember why you'd ever trusted him in the first place.
He approached slowly, key poised at the lock. “Did
 Seungcheol tell you?”
Your voice cut through the quiet. “So it’s true?”
Jeonghan winced at the edge in your tone. He gave a small, reluctant nod.
You followed him inside without waiting for an invitation. The slam of the door behind you echoed through the room like thunder—loud, final, impossible to ignore.
You whirled on him. “After all the dramatic no’s, after everything—you just decided yes?”
He set the bag on the kitchen counter with trembling fingers. “I changed my mind.”
You scoffed. “Oh, now that’s convenient.”
He turned to face you, heart crawling up his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Didn’t mean to? You told me you didn’t see me that way, Jeonghan. Your exact words. And now, what—suddenly you do? Right after I get another proposal?”
Jeonghan flinched. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to face you after
”
“After those nights?” Your voice cracked on the words, and it gutted him.
He stepped forward, cautious like you might bolt if he got too close. “I know I messed up. I should’ve said something the night it happened. I should’ve said something before you started sending out proposals like you were auctioning off your future.”
“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t pretend this is about you protecting me.”
“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s all about business. You’re trying to protect your mother’s legacy, right? A marriage of convenience should do exactly that—secure power, eliminate risk. Jongin is a risk.”
You stared at him like you could see straight through the wall he was building with every word. “So you offered yourself instead? What kind of convenient marriage involves someone who told me—explicitly—that he didn’t see me that way?”
The question sliced through the air.
He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles whitening.
“I’m stable,” he said flatly. “I know the hospital. The board respects me. I have no scandals, no secret fiancĂ©e, no bad press. We wouldn't have to pretend much, and we’d get the media on our side. You’d be safe. The hospital would be safe. It’s a rational solution.”
But even as he said it, his voice faltered at the end.
You stepped closer now, slow, deliberate. “So this is about logic?”
“Yes,” he lied.
You waited.
He didn’t look up. Couldn’t.
Because the truth had nearly spilled out earlier—I can’t stand the thought of you marrying someone else.
But he buried it. Deep.
Because feelings were messy. And you deserved clarity, not confusion.
So he said nothing more. Just stood there in his perfectly structured silence, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way his heart was hammering under his shirt.
On the next day, Jeonghan sat quietly in the sleek, dim living room of the Yoon estate, the tick of the vintage clock on the wall growing louder with every second of silence.
The dining table remained untouched—no one had the appetite to eat after his announcement.
“I’m going to marry her,” he repeated, tone clipped, businesslike. “It’s not romantic. It’s a business marriage. The hospital stays under her control, and in turn, the Yoon family’s reputation gains an institutional ally.”
His father leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “You do realize what you're signing up for, don't you?”
Jeonghan kept his chin up. “I do.”
His mother placed her glass down a little too loudly. “That family—her father has scandals trailing him like a shadow. You’ve seen the tabloids, Jeonghan.”
“I’m not marrying her family,” Jeonghan said evenly. “I’m marrying her.”
His younger sister scoffed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
The tension hit like a sharp wind. Jeonghan could feel the weight of their warnings pressing into his spine.
“She’s
 someone I trust. She’s capable. She doesn’t deserve to lose the hospital over a power play. This is the cleanest solution.”
His father shook his head slowly. “You don’t protect people like this, son. Not with your last name. Not with a ring.”
But Jeonghan’s voice didn’t waver. “This isn’t about protection. It’s about business.”
No one believed that—not fully. Especially not him.
Still, they didn’t stop him.
They just let him go.
The very next week, he arrived at the law office early. He had barely slept, but he looked sharp. Tailored blazer, no tie, and his fingers twitching slightly as he waited.
You walked in —expression composed, but Jeonghan knew how to read past that. The subtle tightness in your jaw. The way your eyes darted quickly toward the folder in your hand rather than meeting his.
He stood as you sat. You didn't greet him, just nodded.
Professional.
Just like he’d asked for.
His lawyer spread the documents across the table. “The key terms have been adjusted: one and a half years of legal marriage, public announcement optional, privacy clauses intact. Divorce may be filed on mutual grounds with assets protected under current holdings.”
You read through the text quietly, flipping each page like you’d done this before. Jeonghan watched you instead.
This wasn’t what you’d wanted. Not really. You’d looked for alternatives. You’d begged for options. And when those doors kept closing, you chose the least damaging one. Him.
“I added a clause,” you said, sliding the paper forward. “I’ll retain decision-making rights over hospital board matters. I don’t want you getting dragged into internal politics.”
He blinked. “That’s not necessary.”
“It is,” you said quietly. “You’re already doing enough.”
That silenced him.
Jeonghan leaned back in his chair. This was supposed to be a simple deal, numbers and clauses and black ink—but the air felt heavier than contracts should allow.
You cleared your throat. “You don’t have to—if there’s even a 1% chance you’ll regret this—”
“I’ve already regretted worse,” he cut you off gently. “At least this time, I’m choosing.”
That struck harder than expected.
The lawyer pushed forward two pens. One for you. One for him. When your fingers brushed as you reached out, you didn’t pull away. Neither did he. And for the briefest moment, something unspoken passed between you. Not affection. Not relief. Something quieter. Lonelier. Like two people agreeing to build a house with no intention of living in it.
He watched you sign.
Then he signed, too.
Later that evening, Jeonghan stood by his window, overlooking the city as the skyline blinked softly into the night. A message from Seungcheol sat unread on his phone.
“Are you really going to go through with this?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he whispered to himself, almost bitterly, “It’s just business.” But his reflection in the window—the tightness around his eyes, the tremble in his hand—betrayed him. He hadn’t lied to you. He wouldn’t hurt you. But what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was this: That part of him didn’t want to protect the hospital.
He wanted to protect you. And now, he was bound to you by paper and law—and silence. Because feelings had no place in business.
Right?
*
The courthouse was stark—walls painted a dull beige, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of disinfectant and stale coffee lingering in the air. The atmosphere was anything but celebratory. There were no flowers, no music, no friends or family smiling and whispering behind gloved hands.
You sat rigid in the cold metal chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Your outfit was businesslike—dark gray trousers and a tailored blazer, practical shoes. Not a stitch of white, no trace of sentimentality. You were here to do one thing: make this marriage legal.
Jeonghan arrived minutes early, his usual composure in place but with an edge of fatigue in his eyes. His black suit hung perfectly on his lean frame, but the absence of a tie made him look less like a groom and more like a reluctant businessman caught in an inconvenient meeting. His jaw was clean-shaven but tight, lips pressed into a thin line.
The clerk barely glanced up as she recited the required lines, voice flat and rehearsed: “Do you, Jeonghan Yoon, take Y/n to be your lawful spouse
” She handed him the pen first, and he signed without hesitation. Then it was your turn. Your hand trembled slightly as you picked up the pen, the sterile atmosphere pressing down like a weight on your chest.
“Congratulations,” the clerk said, but it felt hollow, like an echo in a room already emptied of meaning.
You both nodded curtly, standing side by side as if you’d just closed a deal on a corporate merger rather than pledged to share a life.
Outside, the sky was heavy with thick gray clouds. A cold wind tugged at your coat as you stepped into the parking lot, clutching the envelope of signed documents like a lifeline. Jeonghan was beside you, expression unreadable.
Then, from the corner of the lot, a figure emerged.
Your father.
His suit was tailored but brighter than appropriate, the kind of showy fabric meant to command attention. His smile was thin, practiced—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes scanned both of you like a chess master sizing up pawns.
“Congratulations,” he said smoothly, voice low but laced with something sharper. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally made the practical choice.”
Your shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, your breath catching for just a moment. Jeonghan’s gaze locked onto your father, cold and measuring.
“I see you’ve gone for political utility over sentiment,” your father continued, glancing at Jeonghan as if daring him to respond. “Smart move. The board will be swayed by this union, no doubt.”
“Don’t,” you said quietly, the word clipped but filled with warning.
Your father ignored you, stepping closer, his tone patronizing. “Now that the marriage is secured, the revised foundation charter is ready. You’ll find the documents waiting in your office.”
You paled, your fingers tightening around the envelope as your lips parted slightly—words trapped somewhere between anger and resignation.
Jeonghan stepped forward, voice steady but sharp. “Is this what this has been about all along? Using your daughter’s marriage as leverage for control?”
Your father’s smile remained unshaken. “Legacy isn’t sentimental, Mr. Yoon. It’s power. And power is survival.”
You didn’t move or meet either man’s eyes, instead staring down at the cracked concrete beneath your feet as if it might swallow you whole.
In that moment, Jeonghan’s posture shifted—his usual calm replaced by a simmering realization. This was no business arrangement for you. This was a battlefield, and you’d been fighting it alone.
He said nothing further, merely opening the car door with an automatic gesture of protection.
You slid inside silently, the door clicking shut behind you.
Jeonghan lingered a heartbeat longer, then followed, closing the door. The car’s interior was dim and silent, the weight of unspoken truths thick between you.
You held the envelope tightly, the crinkling paper sounding unnaturally loud.
Marriage, Jeonghan thought bitterly, should be a choice—not a chain.
He glanced at you, rigid and pale, and knew he had underestimated just how much this ‘business’ was costing you.
Jeonghan found himself in the sleek, glass-walled conference room of his family’s business headquarters a week later. The boardroom was large, with polished oak tables and leather chairs, the kind of place where decisions that shaped industries were made. Around the table sat key members of the hospital board—men and women whose loyalties were divided, some still unsure whether your father’s legal challenge could unsettle the current balance.
Jeonghan sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed but authoritative. His sharp eyes scanned the faces before him, reading hesitation, doubt, and the flicker of ambition. With a quiet nod to his personal lawyer beside him, he opened the discussion.
“Thank you for coming on short notice,” he began, voice steady and deliberate. “I understand there has been some concern about the hospital’s future leadership and the potential legal complications following Mrs. Y/n’s recent loss.”
A few board members exchanged cautious glances.
“My wife’s inheritance is tied directly to the hospital’s legacy. It’s a responsibility she takes seriously—not just because of family, but because she believes in the institution’s mission.” He let the words hang for a moment, deliberately invoking a sense of duty and stability.
“But,” he continued, “there’s also the question of the will’s conditions—specifically, the marriage clause. Some have suggested it could be challenged, that your loyalties might shift.”
He reached forward and slid a thick legal dossier across the table, its cover embossed with the family seal. “Our legal team has reviewed every clause meticulously. The marriage between Mrs. Y/n and myself satisfies all stipulated conditions. Any attempt to invalidate this union on legal grounds would be both unfounded and harmful to the hospital’s reputation and stability.”
His tone sharpened slightly, no longer just informative but subtly warning. “We cannot afford the disruption that a public dispute would bring. Investor confidence, donor relations, patient trust—all of these depend on a unified leadership.”
The room was silent for a beat. Then, one elder board member spoke, voice low but firm. “Mr. Jeonghan, your family’s influence is undeniable. We want what’s best for the hospital, but we must ensure governance remains transparent and effective.”
Jeonghan nodded respectfully. “Agreed. Transparency and stability are non-negotiable. That is why my family is prepared to provide the necessary financial and strategic support to secure the hospital’s future.”
He could see the subtle nods around the table. The message was clear: resistance would be costly and futile.
*
Seungcheol stepped into Jeonghan’s apartment, letting the door close behind him with a quiet thud. His eyes scanned the space, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of you curled up on the couch or busy in the kitchen. But the place was quiet—too quiet for a newly married couple.
“She’s got a shift,” Jeonghan said simply, already walking toward the open kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up, and he looked like he hadn’t slept much.
Seungcheol nodded, settling into one of the stools by the counter. “Of course she does.” He watched Jeonghan pour himself a glass of water, the silence thick with unspoken questions. Then he asked, more lightly than he felt, “So
 how’s married life?”
Jeonghan paused for a moment, leaning his weight against the counter as he stared at the glass in his hand.
“Strategic,” he said finally, his tone dry.
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow.
Jeonghan sighed. “It’s complicated. The hospital isn’t just some legacy—it’s a battlefield. Her father’s been trying to claw his way back into control using every legal loophole he can find. The marriage? It was the only option left to secure her position before the board meeting.”
Seungcheol let out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”
Jeonghan nodded. “Worse than I thought. The clause her mom put in the will was meant to protect Y/n, but it became a weapon the moment her father figured out how to twist it. I had to act fast. If we hadn’t gotten married when we did, she would’ve lost everything.”
Seungcheol leaned back, arms crossed. “And now you’re both stuck in a business deal wearing rings.”
Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion showing in the lines under his eyes.
“She’s doing everything she can to keep it together. Between the hospital, her shifts, and pretending all of this is fine
”
Seungcheol shook his head, a small frown forming. “Poor wifey.”
Jeonghan smirked faintly at the nickname, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. She didn’t deserve any of this.”
“How about a honeymoon?”
Jeonghan scoffed at the mere mention of the word.
“Honeymoon?” he repeated, half-laughing, half-exhausted. “Yeah, we celebrated with a three-hour strategy meeting and a rushed signature on a marriage certificate. Very romantic.”
Seungcheol chuckled as he opened a can of soda from Jeonghan’s fridge, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jeonghan slumped into the chair across from him, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “You’re the one who brought it up.”
“I mean, come on,” Seungcheol said, leaning on the counter. “You sign a deal that big—hospital, marriage, family reputation—and you don’t even take my best friend somewhere nice? Italy? Maldives? Hell, even Jeju?”
“She’s working,” Jeonghan muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “There’s no time for beaches. We’re still cleaning up the legal mess her father left behind.”
Seungcheol’s smile faded. He set down the can and looked at his friend seriously. “Speaking of legal mess—I assigned you an expensive shark of a lawyer. Jung Haejin. She’s the best in estate protection and corporate inheritance. If anyone can outmaneuver her father’s moves, it’s her.”
Jeonghan glanced up, surprised. “You really did that?”
“You’re my best friend,” Seungcheol said, shrugging like it was nothing. “Even if this whole thing started out cold, I know you’re not going to let her fall.”
A silence settled between them—soft, but loaded.
Jeonghan gave a faint nod, running a hand through his hair again. “Thanks, Cheol. I mean it.”
“That’s why,” Seungcheol insisted, leaning forward, eyes gleaming, “plan a honeymoon already! You know how Y/n loves beaches, right?”
Jeonghan raised a brow, caught off guard. “How do you even know that?”
“Please,” Seungcheol scoffed, grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl on the table. “She used to beg me to take time off and go to Busan during uni breaks. Even dragged me to a travel fair once, just to collect brochures of islands she couldn’t afford to visit yet.”
Jeonghan blinked, his lips tugging into something unreadable. “She never told me that.”
“Of course she didn’t. She probably thinks you’d laugh or roll your eyes.” Seungcheol pointed at him. “But I’m telling you—she’s a beach girl through and through. You want her to breathe? To stop thinking about the hospital for a second? Take her somewhere with sand and waves.”
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, mind already racing with a dozen tabs he’d need to open later—locations, flights, resorts.
“Think of it as strategy,” Seungcheol added, slyly. “A well-rested co-CEO is more effective in a boardroom.”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk forming. “You’re really pushing this.”
“You’re really resisting it,” Seungcheol shot back. “Let her live, Jeonghan. This isn’t just your name or your family legacy on the line anymore. It’s hers too.”
Jeonghan grew quiet, the weight of those words sinking into him. This wasn’t just business—at least not anymore. Not when her hands shook in secret after meetings with lawyers. Not when her shoulders tensed at every call from her father’s associates. Not when she didn’t complain, but her eyes told another story.
Maybe it was time he gave her something she didn’t have to fight for. Even if just for a weekend.
“Alright,” he finally said, grabbing his phone. “Let’s find her a beach.”
*
Jeonghan hadn’t exactly imagined his first honeymoon would come with a third wheel—especially not in the shape of Choi Seungcheol, who was now sprinting barefoot toward the water like a golden retriever let off the leash.
It was supposed to be two days of peace, just the two of you, tucked away in one of his family’s private villas in Busan. A short escape Jeonghan had been desperately looking forward to—a breath of air after months suffocating beneath hospital politics, endless meetings, and legal negotiations. After tirelessly working with the lawyer Seungcheol had assigned, attending back-to-back board meetings, and overseeing the investigation regarding the hospital owner’s misconduct, the decision had finally been made: the board would postpone any changes in ownership for at least two more years. During that time, they would conduct a thorough audit of your father while he served as vice director—buying Jeonghan and you some time, but also keeping everyone under scrutiny.
Still, as he trailed behind you, watching your face light up at the sight of the ocean, your smile wide and childlike as the waves crashed onto the shore, his irritation softened. Almost.
“This is supposed to be a honeymoon, you know,” he muttered, arms crossed, a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance twisting his lips.
You didn’t even look back. “As if that ever stops you from fucking me when he’s around,” you tossed the line over your shoulder so casually it knocked the wind out of him.
Jeonghan stumbled mid-step, coughing on his own breath. “Yah—!”
Too late. You had already taken off, splashing into the shallows with Seungcheol while laughter filled the air.
He sighed, staring out at the two of you like a man who’d just realized he was going to have to fight his way through his own honeymoon. And despite himself, he grinned.
You were going to drive him insane.
And he couldn’t wait.
The three of you lounged in the cozy villa living room, sunk deep into plush cushions after wandering the village in search of a good local restaurant. The salty air still lingered on your skin, and laughter from dinner hadn’t quite faded. But Seungcheol, sitting cross-legged on the rug with a can of beer in hand, was giving you and Jeonghan a look—as if you'd both sprouted unicorn horns right in front of him.
It wasn’t unfounded. Anyone paying close attention would’ve noticed the shift. The way Jeonghan’s arm had draped a little too comfortably around your shoulders on the walk back. The way you leaned into his touch like it was second nature. The subtle glances. The softness in your voice when you said his name. Seungcheol had known the two of you for years—but something was definitely different.
He narrowed his eyes, took a sip of his beer, and asked bluntly, “Are you two secretly dating or something?”
You rolled your eyes and tossed a cushion at him. “We’re married, you idiot.”
Jeonghan chuckled, his fingers brushing yours as if to prove the point.
Seungcheol blinked. “No, I mean like... actually married. Emotionally. This is giving... romance vibes.”
Jeonghan only raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. You stayed quiet this time, eyes locked with your best friend's—because neither of you were ready to admit out loud that Seungcheol might be onto something.
Seungcheol groaned, dragging both hands down his face in exasperation. “God, I knew it! I freaking knew it.”
You blinked at him, amused. “Knew what?”
“That you two—” he gestured between you and Jeonghan like he was pointing out an obvious crime scene, “—have always had something. Even before all this marriage contract nonsense. The way you argued, the way you defended each other, the way you acted like you weren’t each other’s person when everyone could see you were.”
“I hoped I was wrong,” Seungcheol said dramatically. “Because if I’m right, that means I’ve been stuck in the middle of one long, slow-burn, emotionally constipated love story without getting any closure.”
Seungcheol had always known. Jeonghan never said it out loud, but it didn’t take a genius to see it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way his tone softened when your name was mentioned in a conversation, the way he’d show up unasked, unnoticed, always around when you needed him most. He didn’t flaunt it. He didn’t make grand gestures. But he had this quiet, steady way of being there, of making it clear he wasn’t just looking out for a friend—he was holding space in his heart for something more.
But you? You had your head buried in textbooks, deadlines, and responsibilities, chasing excellence like it was the only thing that mattered. Love was a luxury, not a priority. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
Until Seungcheol realized you were drifting onto the same ship Jeonghan had been sailing all along.
He called you that night, voice low and serious.
“I know you didn’t want to hurt him
 or yourself,” Seungcheol said gently.
On the other end of the line, you hesitated. “I just
”
“I know, Y/n. Trust me. I always knew.”
Silence stretched between you like a string pulled too tight. Seungcheol could almost hear the thoughts racing in your head, the weight of things you’d buried deep finally making their way to the surface.
He sighed softly, his voice filled with something between sympathy and relief. “It finally hits you, right? That you like him. Not just as a friend.”
Still, you didn’t answer.
Then finally, in a voice so quiet it almost broke, you spoke.
“I
 I don’t remember when it started, Cheol. But it just
 happened.”
And Seungcheol smiled faintly, not because it was funny, but because after all this time, after all the dodged feelings and almost everything, you’d finally said what he always suspected.
“Yeah,” he said. “Love usually does.”
Jeonghan sighed beside you, slouched on the floor across from Seungcheol. He rubbed his face a little too roughly, the frustration clear in the way his fingers dragged down his cheeks.
“What do you want to hear, bro?” he muttered, voice low and exhausted—less from the conversation, more from everything that had been left unsaid for too long.
Seungcheol just shrugged, casual as ever, but his eyes were sharper than his tone. He gestured lazily between you and Jeonghan.
“You figured it out. You guys are adults anyway,” he said, pushing himself off the floor with a grunt. “Took you long enough.”
You glanced at Jeonghan, who stared at the floor with a small shake of his head, as if Seungcheol’s approval or commentary was the least of his concerns—but the pink tint rising to his ears said otherwise.
Seungcheol stretched his back and yawned dramatically. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed early. Got a long drive tomorrow and I really don’t want to get in the way of your honeymoon,” he said, the last word dripping with smug mischief.
He was halfway to his room before he turned back, poking his head around the doorframe with the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen on his face.
“Oh—” he added, “just make sure to use a condom this time. You didn't last time at my place.”
Jeonghan froze. You stared. The silence in the room was deafening.
“Cheol!” you hissed, a pillow flying in his direction as he cackled and slammed the door shut behind him.
Jeonghan groaned, burying his face into the cushion beside him. “I’m going to kill him. Slowly.”
“Why is he so stupid?” you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You both got vasectomies at my hospital. Together.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to wave away the sheer absurdity of the situation—not just the fact that Seungcheol blurted it out like it was nothing, but also that he knew you and Jeonghan had slept together and still had the audacity to tease you about it.
Jeonghan leaned his head back against the couch, sighing like the weight of his entire friendship with Seungcheol was too much to carry.
“That’s why I’m killing him,” he deadpanned, eyes closed as if he were mentally planning the most efficient method to end his best friend.
The laughter eventually faded, replaced by a quiet stillness between you and Jeonghan. The ocean outside whispered against the shore, and somewhere in the villa, Seungcheol had finally shut his door.
Jeonghan sat upright, arms resting on his knees, staring ahead without really seeing anything. You watched his profile, the way his jaw clenched slightly, the weight behind his silence.
Then he spoke, voice quieter than usual. “You know
 I never really understood what line I wasn’t supposed to cross.”
You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”
Jeonghan exhaled slowly. “With you. Us. I was your friend, right? That’s how it started. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start feeling something more, years ago. I just
 I didn’t know if it was worth risking the friendship.”
Your heart thudded once, uneven and loud.
“I kept telling myself it was better to just be near you—helping you study, listening to you rant about your professors, showing up to your part-time jobs with coffee.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “It was enough. Or I convinced myself it was.”
You remained still, letting him talk.
“But every time someone came close to you, like seriously close, I’d get... weird.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Petty. Distant. Sometimes too obvious. And I hated it. I hated that part of me. Because I thought friends weren’t supposed to act like that.”
You lowered your eyes, your own emotions swirling quietly.
“When Seungcheol told me you’re about to get involved with the Kim family, something in me just snapped. I couldn’t sit back and watch someone else take you—not for business, not for love, not for anything. So I did something stupid. I played the same game.”
“The marriage,” you said softly.
He nodded. “Yeah. I made it sound like business. And in some ways, maybe it still is. But I wasn’t honest—not with you, not with myself.”
There was another beat of silence before Jeonghan turned to look at you.
“I don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in it. “And I’m not saying this to pressure you into anything. But I needed you to know that this isn’t just about protecting you or your family’s name. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Jeonghan offered you a small, tired smile.
“I know it’s a lot. We’re already in something messy and complicated. I just... I’d rather you hear the truth from me now than keep pretending I’m okay with being just your business partner.”
The waves outside kept rolling. The tension sat between you, thick and alive. But there was also something else now—something raw, maybe even freeing. Truth always had a way of stirring still waters.
A few seconds passed in silence after Jeonghan’s quiet confession. You could feel the sincerity lingering in the air, like smoke after a fire—thick, lingering, and oddly comforting. The vulnerability in his voice had peeled back a layer you never knew he kept hidden so carefully.
You took a deep breath, eyes still on him, and then—“That’s hot.”
Jeonghan blinked. “What?”
You grinned. “You being honest. It’s kinda hot.”
A slow, incredulous smile spread on his face as his brows lifted. “Wow. I bare my soul and you turn it into thirst content?”
You shrugged, the tension breaking into playful air. “I mean, what do you expect? You were emotionally constipated for years. Seeing you finally say what you feel? Sexy.”
Jeonghan groaned, leaning back against the couch like your words physically wounded him. “This is why I can never have serious moments with you.”
“And yet you married me,” you teased, scooting closer and nudging his knee with yours.
He glanced at you, something softer behind the usual amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”
You held his gaze a moment longer, before reaching for a throw pillow and gently thwacking him with it. “For a business deal, that is.”
He caught the pillow mid-air and raised a brow. “Sure. Business.”
You leaned in and whispered with mock-seriousness, “Very professional of you, Mr. Yoon.”
Jeonghan narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t tempt me to write that into the contract.”
You burst out laughing, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel complicated. It felt like the two of you again—just tangled in a bigger, messier story now. But at the center of it, still you and Jeonghan.
Jeonghan’s smile lingered as he nudged your arm, softer this time. “Thanks for not running away.”
You looked at him, warmth blooming behind your ribcage. “Thanks for finally saying it.”
And outside, the waves rolled on under the Busan moonlight. Inside, the silence between you no longer felt heavy—but full of something new, something promising.
*
You approached your mother, who had come all the way to attend your graduation ceremony, her eyes soft with pride. Behind you, Jeonghan and Seungcheol followed respectfully, both dressed sharply for the occasion. As they reached her, the two of them bowed politely.
“There’s Jeonghan and Seungcheol too,” your mother noted with a warm smile, acknowledging them with a slight nod. “Thank you both for supporting Y/n all this time.”
She then turned to you and handed you a bouquet of fresh white lilies and pale pink roses, wrapped in delicate paper. You took them with a small laugh, grateful but slightly embarrassed.
After a few minutes filled with cheerful conversation, light teasing, and a dozen photos with your friends—who had helped you prep tirelessly for this big day—you hugged them goodbye, waving as they left in different directions.
Your mother and you eventually got into the car waiting by the curb. She slid in beside you in the backseat while the driver started the engine. As the campus slowly disappeared behind the tinted windows, she looked over at you, pride still glimmering in her eyes.
“They’re wonderful friends, aren’t they?” she mused aloud. “They’ve been with you since junior high, right?”
You smiled at the thought. “Yeah. Unlike our parents, we weren’t friends for business.” There was a playful sarcasm in your voice, but the humor was clear.
Your mother chuckled, then gave you a sideways glance. “Never caught feelings for one of them?”
Her question made you pause. The teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable, and she raised a knowing brow when you didn’t respond right away.
“Gotcha!” she said, triumphant.
You groaned. “Not that again! You say this every time you see them. They’re just my friends. There’s a reason we’re still friends after all these years.”
“Alright, alright,” she conceded, holding up her hands with a smirk. “So, I guess Seungcheol’s not your type
”
You wrinkled your nose dramatically. “Ugh, no way!”
She nodded slowly, her grin widening. “So it’s Jeonghan, then.”
“Mom!”
“I see you’re not denying it.”
“Moooom!”
She laughed out loud this time, satisfied with her small victory, while you buried your heated face in the bouquet, wishing you could disappear into the flowers.
*
Seungcheol sat quietly on the couch, the floral scent of rosella tea wafting up with the steam. He sipped it slowly, savoring both the warmth and the familiarity—it was always rosella at your house. Your mother insisted it was the healthiest tea, even if its tartness took getting used to.
“Thanks for taking care of Y/n, Seungcheol,” your mother said as she settled into the armchair across from him. Her voice was calm, laced with something deeper—something quieter than gratitude. “She’s such a handful sometimes.”
Seungcheol chuckled, setting his cup down gently on the saucer. “She’s like a sister to me,” he replied, smiling. “Loud, brilliant, too stubborn for her own good.”
Your mother’s laugh was soft, almost distant. “She gets that from me.”
There was a pause. Not heavy, but deliberate. She leaned back, fingers gently tracing the rim of her own teacup. Her eyes drifted to the window, watching the curtain sway in the light breeze before she spoke again.
“Seungcheol
 I haven’t told her yet,” she said quietly. “And I don’t plan to until it’s time.”
He looked up slowly, his expression tightening just a little.
“I’ve been sick,” she said, her eyes finally meeting his. “The kind that doesn’t really go away.”
He didn’t know what to say. His throat caught on something—shock, sorrow, helplessness. The words hovered but didn’t land.
She offered him a small smile, like a mother comforting someone else's child. “Don’t look so heartbroken. I’ve had a good life, Cheol. And she’s strong. Smarter than I ever was.”
“But she needs you,” he whispered, unable to mask the weight in his voice.
“She’ll have you. And Jeonghan. And everything I didn’t know how to give her before.”
He swallowed hard, then nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”
Her smile deepened—not joyful, but full of trust. “I know you will.”
Your mother took a long sip of her tea, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain as if bracing herself for the truth she was about to voice.
“I knew about my husband's affair,” she said, quietly but firmly. “For years. It was a doctor from the Busan branch. He thought I’d never find out.”
Seungcheol looked at her, surprised but respectful, his silence giving her the space to speak.
“I let it go. Not for him, but for Y/n. I stayed to protect what was mine—what should be hers. But now that I’m sick
 I’m afraid the board might push the hospital into his hands once I’m gone.”
She set her cup down gently and folded her hands over her lap. “I want the hospital for Y/n. But she’s definitely not eligible to claim it on her own. Not now.”
Seungcheol leaned forward, slowly understanding where the conversation was going. “She needs an affiliate,” he said.
Your mother nodded solemnly. “She needs to be married. Someone with influence. With a name that can counterbalance her father’s power. And I don’t have anyone in mind other than you or Jeonghan.”
Seungcheol’s jaw twitched slightly, processing her words. “You might see how much I care for her,” he said carefully, “but I promise you—I’ve never seen her in that way. She’s family to me.”
“I know, son,” she said, giving him a soft, grateful look. “And that’s exactly why I trust you. But she’ll need more than love. She’ll need power.”
He stared into his half-empty cup, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Then
 the Yoon family is the answer,” he said at last.
Your mother exhaled, as if she had been waiting for him to say it himself.
“Y/n likes Jeonghan,” she blurted, almost too casually.
Seungcheol’s brows lifted, but not with real surprise. He leaned back slightly and let out a quiet scoff, remembering the moment it all became clear. “She told you?” he asked.
Your mother gave a knowing smile.
He smirked faintly, but there was no humor in his eyes—only memory. It was during junior year. You dragged him to the beach after midnight. Said you were celebrating exam week being over. But you had a bottle of cheap soju in your hand, and all you did was cry about how happy Jeonghan seemed with his new girlfriend. Then you said it felt stupid, but every time you saw Jeonghan smiled at someone else, it burned.
He paused, looking down at the tea again.
“She loved him then. Maybe earlier. But she buried it.”
Your mother’s voice softened. “That’s what she does. She tucks things away so deep even she forgets they’re there.”
And in the quiet that followed, with the scent of rosella still lingering and the sun just beginning to sink behind the window, Seungcheol made another silent vow—one that felt heavier than the first.
Years later, Seungcheol smiled from his seat in the front row of the auditorium, dressed in a navy suit that hadn’t changed much from his usual styles—still a little snug at the shoulders. But his eyes? They were glassier now, a mixture of pride and nostalgia pooling in them as he watched you take the podium.
It was the ceremony announcing your appointment as the hospital’s new director. Your mother’s legacy, polished by your perseverance and finally, officially, placed in your hands. You stood tall in a crisp white blazer, your hair swept neatly to the side, your presence commanding. Yet there was a softness to your smile as you glanced at the crowd—at your people. At your family. Your voice rang with the clarity of someone who had long prepared for this day. There wasn’t a stammer, not even when you thanked those who believed in you “when I hadn’t even believed in myself yet.” You looked at Seungcheol, and he simply nodded once, as if to say I told you so.
Beside him, Jeonghan shifted slightly, cradling your firstborn daughter, Sera, against his chest. Her tiny head of dark curls peeked out beneath a miniature headband, her chubby arms reaching forward to grasp the first thing within reach—Seungcheol’s pinky finger. And once she had it, she refused to let go.
“She’s got your grip,” Seungcheol murmured to Jeonghan with a teasing grin, but didn’t try to pull away.
“She’s stubborn,” Jeonghan replied with a proud chuckle, rocking Sera gently in his arms. “Just like her mom.”
Sera gurgled at that, kicking slightly as if she agreed.
The room erupted into applause as you finished your speech, bowing graciously before stepping down. Your eyes scanned the audience once more—first finding Seungcheol, who gave you the softest, proudest smile, then falling on Jeonghan and the little girl in his arms.
You made your way to them slowly, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, until finally you reached them. Sera squealed when she saw you, arms flailing until Jeonghan helped her lean toward you.
“She didn’t let go of my finger the whole time,” Seungcheol said as he gently passed her into your embrace.
You kissed her round cheek and whispered, “She knows her people.”
Jeonghan smiled at you, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So does her mom.”
"Do you have a plan after this, Uncle Seungcheol?" you asked, your voice high and teasing as you leaned slightly toward him, still bouncing Sera gently in your arms.
Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
You cleared your throat, scrunched your nose a little, then wiggled Sera’s tiny hand like a puppet and baby-talked, "Wanna babysit me~?"
Jeonghan nearly choked on his laughter beside him, covering his mouth as he leaned forward.
Seungcheol stared at the two of you—the smugness on your face and the completely unaware baby now drooling on your shoulder—and groaned dramatically. “Oh no. Not this again.”
“You said you were free,” you chimed sweetly.
“I said I was free for lunch, not free for life,” Seungcheol shot back, though he was already holding out his arms.
Sera squealed the moment he reached for her, latching onto his shirt like a koala. You smirked, triumphant.
Jeonghan patted Seungcheol’s back with mock sympathy. “Congrats on your promotion to part-time nanny.”
“I’m going to file for emotional compensation,” Seungcheol muttered, but he was already swaying gently with Sera in his arms, smiling despite himself.
And just like that, with the hospital behind you and your family by your side, the next chapter didn’t feel so daunting after all.
*
Later that afternoon, with the ceremony wrapped up and congratulations exchanged, you finally found a moment to breathe. Seungcheol had taken Sera to the garden with his girlfriend, Hana, who had instinctively stepped into a rhythm with Sera as if she'd known your daughter forever. You caught a glimpse of the three of them through the large glass windows—Seungcheol holding Sera up high while Hana clapped from the side. Your baby’s laughter echoed faintly through the hallway, and it melted your heart.
“Should we feel guilty?” you asked, sipping from a paper cup of iced coffee as you leaned against the railing of the hospital rooftop.
Jeonghan looked over at you, hair tousled a little by the wind, one hand in his pocket and the other holding your half-eaten sandwich. “For what? Letting Uncle Cheol discover his true purpose in life?”
You snorted, nudging his elbow. “I meant for sneaking off like this.”
He smiled, soft and knowing. “We don’t get many days like this, Y/n. You deserve a moment.”
You let the silence stretch, comfortable and easy. The city buzzed beneath you, the familiar hum of Busan wrapping around the rooftop like a lullaby. You felt his fingers brush against yours, subtle and warm, before he laced them gently together.
“I still remember when we couldn’t even hold hands without making it weird,” you murmured.
Jeonghan tilted his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “You mean when you pretended that sitting on my lap during beach bonfires was totally platonic?”
You laughed, cheeks warming. “That was for warmth! The wind was freezing!”
He pulled you a little closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sure. Just like how marrying me was only for business.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder, your smile lingering. “Well, if this is business, I guess I signed the best contract of my life.”
Down below, Seungcheol was now lying dramatically on the grass while Sera bounced on his chest, and Hana took a photo with an amused grin. You and Jeonghan watched them in fond silence.
“Do you think we’ll get to do this forever?” you asked softly.
Jeonghan looked at you with eyes that held all the answers. “With you? I hope we never stop.”
Jeonghan picked you up from your office the next day right on time, leaning against the side of his car with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, looking like he stepped out of a magazine but still very much your husband. The sun was dipping low, casting gold along the pavement as you walked toward him, your steps finally relaxing after a long day.
“Where’s Sera?” you asked as you slid into the passenger seat, slipping off your heels with a sigh of relief.
“With my mom. She’s already winning them over with her toddler charm,” he replied with a smile as he started the engine. “So tonight, we get a few hours of just us.”
You glanced at him, curious. “What’s the plan?”
Jeonghan shot you a boyish grin as he turned the wheel. “I planned a dinner. Three-star Michelin. Like your favorite.”
You blinked, eyebrows rising. “Wait, seriously? You got us a reservation there?”
He chuckled. “I pulled a few strings. Remind me to thank Seungkwan later for calling in a favor.”
Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness, and you reached over to gently rest your hand on his arm. “You didn’t have to go all out. A street cart and you beside me would’ve been enough.”
“I know,” he said, glancing over at you with that soft, slow smile that still made your stomach flip. “But you’ve had a hell of a year. You deserve more than enough.”
Your throat tightened a little at that. Sometimes, Jeonghan’s words slipped past your defenses so easily.
“You’re really good at this, you know?” you murmured.
“At what?”
“At making me fall for you all over again.”
Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh as he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. “Good. Because I plan to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.”
As the car glided through the streets lit by soft city lights, Jeonghan kept your hand in his, occasionally stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught him once, lips tugging into a smug little smile.
“You’re staring,” you teased, turning slightly in your seat to face him.
He didn’t even flinch. “Of course I am. My wife’s glowing after bossing an entire hospital today.”
You laughed, leaning your head on the headrest. “You’re ridiculous.”
He squeezed your hand. “Ridiculously in love.”
You groaned at the cheesiness, but your cheeks warmed. “You sound like Seungcheol’s girlfriend when she drinks too much wine.”
“Then I’m in good company,” he said, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss.
The restaurant was everything he promised—romantic, elegant, but still private enough that you felt like it was just the two of you in the world. He helped you with your chair, ordered your favorite dish before you even had to say it, and poured your wine with a flourish like he was auditioning for a drama.
“You’ve really upgraded your husband skills,” you commented, swirling your glass.
Jeonghan winked. “Sera’s been giving me performance reviews. Apparently, I’m doing well.”
You leaned closer over the table, whispering like it was a secret, “You know
 if you keep this up, I might just fall harder.”
He mirrored your lean, eyes warm and playful. “That’s the plan. Every day, a little more.”
The rest of the night passed with soft laughs, clinking glasses, shared dessert bites, and the kind of conversation that felt like soul food—filled with dreams, memories, and plans you both had yet to chase.
Later, as you stood by the elevator in your apartment building, he quietly laced his fingers with yours again.
“Want to dance with me?” he asked suddenly.
“Right now?” you blinked.
“Yeah. No music. Just us.”
You laughed, but you let him pull you into his arms anyway. There, under dim hallway lights, Jeonghan swayed with you—no rhythm, no reason, just warmth and love. You let your head fall to his shoulder, giggling as he twirled you softly like you were in a ballroom instead of outside your apartment door.
“I think I’m the luckiest,” you mumbled.
He kissed your temple and whispered back, “No. I am.”
And in that quiet, almost ordinary moment, you knew—this was the kind of love that would last lifetimes.
*
Such nights were a rarity, a treasure tucked away in the chaos of everyday life, when exhaustion didn't weigh you both down, and the demands of parenting didn't siphon the last drops of your energy. Jeonghan was poised above you, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast against the cool sheets. He drew back from a lingering kiss, his breaths mingling with yours in the dimly lit room. As he entered you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a moan slipped past your lips, a symphony to his ears that matched the gentle hum of the ceiling fan above. His hips moved with a precision that spoke of intimate knowledge, hitting that perfect cadence that sent shivers spiraling through your body and left your eyes fluttering in bliss. God, how he adored that expression on your face.
“You like it, huh?” he murmured softly, his voice a low, tantalizing whisper as he thrust a little more forcefully, igniting a spark of raw pleasure that danced between you both. His primal instincts stirred, driven wild by the sound of you crying out his name and the intoxicating sensation of your body responding to his. It was a heady mix of addiction and ecstasy, a dangerous concoction that he craved.
“Jeonghan...” you gasped, a desperate plea as he found that elusive sweet spot within you, the one that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.
“Hm... What is it, baby? You want me there?” he teased, his voice laced with playful mischief, as he deliberately shifted his angle, leaving you yearning, aching for that precise touch once more.
“Please... Jeonghan...” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper, drenched in longing and desire.
He grinned, the kind of devilish, all-too-pretty smile that should have been illegal on such a cherubic face, and pushed your knees wider with his hands. “God, I love you,” he whispered, almost reverent, then buried himself in the rhythm, driving you both toward that singular, shattering point of bliss.
You lost all sense of time or consequence, the room collapsing around the epicenter of your bodies, the tangled sheets and half-open blinds dimly visible through haze. Your fingers clung to his shoulders, blunt nails leaving marks you’d find the next morning. He was unhurried but relentless, the slow, deep surges building in intensity until you could barely remember your own name, let alone worry about the prospect of Seungcheol’s inevitable wrath.
At the moment you broke, shuddering and stifling a cry against the pale slope of his neck, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around you so tightly you were sure you would shatter, right there, under the weight of him and the enormity of what you felt. The world righted itself only after, in the lull where your ragged breaths mingled, and you realized you were delicately cradled, as if he could keep you together with gentle hands alone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, content to let limbs remain tangled, hearts thundering in asynchronous duet.
Jeonghan was the first to move. He propped himself on one elbow, brushing the hair from your damp forehead, his eyes still swimming in the afterglow. “Are you alive?” he asked, and the laugh that escaped you was small, shaky, but sincere.
“I think so,” you managed, voice thick. “I might need CPR.”
“Please. You always say that,” he teased, rolling onto his side and pressing kisses to your collarbone, the line of your jaw, the tip of your nose.
It was somewhere between a breathless laugh and a whispered “I love you” when the soft cry of your daughter filtered through the baby monitor on the nightstand.
You both froze.
Jeonghan groaned dramatically, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Why is our daughter’s timing so impeccable?”
You giggled, brushing the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “She’s your daughter. Born to be dramatic.”
He sighed, rolling off you gently and grabbing a shirt from the edge of the bed. “I’ll go. You rest.”
You watched him pull the shirt over his head, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow over the stretch of his back. He still moved like a sleepy prince—even when interrupted mid-magic.
“Tell her she owes us twenty more minutes when she’s a teenager.”
He chuckled, already halfway out the door. “I’ll invoice her.”
You lay back on the pillows, heart still thudding from both the intimacy and the sudden interruption. Through the monitor, you heard the door to Sera’s room creak open, followed by Jeonghan’s soft, sleepy voice.
“Hey, princess... what’s wrong, huh?”
Her tiny sobs grew quieter, replaced by hiccups and his quiet hums—probably the lullaby he made up that never made sense but always calmed her down.
You smiled to yourself, listening to their voices mingle. It wasn’t the ending you had planned for the night, but somehow, it felt even better. Because this was your life now—love, laughter, messy timing, and a little girl who stole both your hearts.
A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked again. Jeonghan tiptoed in, climbing back under the covers.
“She just wanted a cuddle,” he whispered, slipping his arms around you. “Guess she’s like her mom.”
You chuckled against his chest. “Did you just call me clingy?”
“I said cuddle-loving.” He kissed the top of your head. “But yes.”
You swatted his chest lightly. “I was about to give you the best night of your life.”
He grinned, already pulling you closer. “We’ve got a lifetime of nights. But for now... I’ll take cuddling both my girls.”
And just like that, tangled together in the quiet, you drifted into sleep—interrupted, imperfect, but full of love.
The end.
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coolwyous · 4 months ago
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┈─★ đ˜Ș'𝘼 đ˜Żđ˜°đ˜” 𝘹𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘱 𝘣𝘩 đ˜”đ˜©đ˜Š 𝘰𝘯𝘩 đ˜”đ˜° đ˜šđ˜Šđ˜” 𝙝đ™Șđ™§đ™© .
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   âŠč àŁȘ ˖ everyone has warned you about the less than shining reputation of women's hockey team captain daniela avanzini. arrogant, hot-headed, so, so bad for you, and extremely off-limits. so why is it that you can't get the blonde out of your head?
         ˎˊ˗  ❄  âŠč àŁȘ Ë–â€ƒâ€ƒïżœïżœà­­Ëš. â€ƒâ €â€ƒá”Žá”Žâ€ƒâ €â€ƒđŸ—ïž
   ➮ pairing: hockey captain! daniela avanzini x coach's daughter! f!reader
   ➮ genre + wc: 23k, college au, forbidden/off-limits romance, friends w benefits to lovers?, sneaking around, slow burn, angst, bad communication, they start off toxic sorry not sorry, fuckboy/fratboy jock dani, reader's "i can fix him" energy is much too strong, however "you fall first she falls harder."
   ➮ you might want to tune in...: hurt (250 remix) - newjeans
┈─★ a/n: and we are all now officially full circle in the ditto verse to welcome home our fav fuckboy daddy dani <3 let me know what you think. i know it was a ton but i had so much fun exploring this dynamic i just couldn't stop adding to it. i'm gonna miss u hockeyverse!wigline but they were genuinely so much fun to write. hit me up with any ideas for anyone, i'd love to write a few shorter things/imagines and get more creative! thank you again for your time and all the love everyone has given this series! <3
cw:// mentions of recreational drug use, suggestive themes, mild violence but it's a hockey fic so that was to be expected i think....
[*set one year following the events of ditto/hlbwfil!]
“and another thing, your location stays on at all times.” your dad’s rambling to making sure you know exactly how little freedom you have. “you go to class, you come to practice, you go to the library maybe, and you go home.”
you cross your arms. “dining hall?”
“fine, dining hall.” he huffs. “i want permission before you step foot off this campus.”
“not happening,” you tell him simply. the vein in his forehead looks like it’s about to burst. 
“oh, are you paying for your own lawyer? after all the shit you pulled, you’re lucky you were even able to transfer.” he glares you down, his brow twitching. “i’m trying to keep you from ruining your life, y/n.”
“y/n,” your mom adds sternly, as a warning. “you have no idea how lucky you are that you get to start fresh after this.”
“yeah, no cheer, no friends, basically under house arrest, finishing college in the stupid boring city i grew up in instead of literally anywhere else. i feel like a real winner,” you roll your eyes, disappearing upstairs to go find your laptop before they can keep lecturing you.
you can talk back all you want, but they’ve never listened anyways. 
the last thing you want for your junior year of college is to have to start over, but here you are, trying to memorize the layout of this confusing campus before classes start tomorrow. you slip your earphones in and close your eyes, trying to get some rest. you have a feeling this semester is going to be a hard one.
-
you’ve always hated growing up in this city. he drives you to campus together and you hate the fact that you’re a year away from graduating and getting a ride from your dad still. you find your way around your first few classes and end sitting next to a gorgeous bobbed girl in your world literature class. 
“do you care about this stuff?” you ask, figuring you might as well make friends if you’re going to have to start over.
“i do,” she nods.
“would you be down to study with someone who doesn’t?”
she laughs and gives you a quick once-over. “you give trustworthy vibes.”
your dad was extremely clear. classes, practice, then straight home. you make your way to the stadium to get to their practice, under your dad’s direction after you get lost twice. you hate feeling the eyes on you as you walk into the training area, clearly a new face amongst people who’ve been training together since the summer time.
“new prospect?” someone asks. 
your dad clears his throat and motions to you. “this is y/n, my daughter, she’ll be shadowing for the season.”
“i didn’t know you had a girl, coach,” a blue-haired girl says curiously, waving up at you as you set your stuff down on a bench.
you’re not surprised. he usually only talks about the boys, your two older brothers, and how one is currently a commentator for the nhl and the other runs a hockey training camp on the east coast. 
“she’ll be stats manager,” he tells them, and it catches you by surprise— it’s the first you’re hearing of it. 
“isn’t that the assistant coach’s job?” you question.
“always good to have an extra pair of eyes,” he says, glaring over at you, almost threateningly, and the double meaning isn’t lost on you.
“welcome to the team,” a tall brunette says to you as she gets on the ice, and you smile appreciatively at everyone who acknowledges you, even if it’s just kissing your ass to get better with your dad. 
you hate starting new. you watch a red-haired girl, a ginger, and a blonde coming down the rafters, gear in hand, the blonde laughing as the red-haired girl tries grabbing her by the shoulder. they’re approaching you quickly, and maybe you should move out of the way of the player box, but by the time the thought occurs, they’re in front of you. 
“off limits,” you hear the red-haired girl say quickly.
“what is?” you ask, but you’re cut off by a rush of someone in your bubble. 
“hi,” the blonde girl, now just inches out of your face, greets breathlessly, a giant smile on her face. “you are absolutely gorgeous.”
oh god. it’s a strong first impression, but the way her dimple creases in the corner of her cheek makes your heart thud. you feel your cheeks turning red and already abandoning you.
“thank you,” you manage, before the taller ginger yanks her back.
“are you sure you’re related to our coach?” the red-haired one laughs. “the big bald dude who looks like he’ll shit himself at minor inconveniences?”
“dna test says i’m his,” you joke weakly. 
you can hear them mumbling amongst themselves as they get on the ice and skate away.
“god damn,” the blonde shakes her head. 
“off limits,” another girl echoes, shoving into her shoulder. 
your dad hands you a clipboard, and the assistant coaches comes up to you to break down your new job. you look up and spot the blonde on the ice. the assistant coach’s words get lost in your ear. maybe you’ll let yourself enjoy the view.
practice is long and tedious. you’ve never been a hockey girl, much to your dad’s frustration, so watching this is like torture for the past two hours. 
you hear a sharp whistle, the one that someone blows from between their teeth. your eyes snap up to meet those sharp mischievous ones, staring you down from the ice. 
“dani, don’t fucking start–” you hear the goalie warn, but the blonde is already blasting past her, building up a dangerous amount of speed. 
realizing her pleas are on deaf ears, the goalie cheers instead, hollering at the top of her lungs. you laugh. what a girl– if you can’t stop her, might as well cheer her on.
without a single ounce of hesitation, this “dani” girl pivots to skate backwards, braces down, and leaps up to land a recklessly tossed backflip. you almost wish she’d crash, just to wipe that shit-eating grin off her face– but no, she wobbles but sticks the landing, and you get the hint that this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.
“avanzini, we said no more with the fucking backflips! stop showing off,” the assistant coach grunts. “ten laps since you want to be such a smart ass.”
she looks over at you one last time and flashes a grin at the assistant coach. “i’ll do eleven as an apology.”
she’s still doing laps when your dad gives a quick reminder about tomorrow’s practice and waves the girls off. they trickle off the ice and towards their gear one by one. you’re waiting for your dad before you hear a tap on the plexiglass, turning to spot the blonde waving at you from the other side.
“hey, don’t forget about me when you leave here today, alright?” she grins.
“already forgot your name,” you tell her, and you won’t mention having picked up on it from the goalie.
“it’s dani.” she breathes up against the plexiglass and traces the letters in. she grins charmingly, pointing to the word written in the fog of her breath against the glass. “d-a-n-i. now you won’t forget it, promise?”
you shake your head laughing as she skates past you. your dad is on another lecture as the two of you drive home, him rambling something about who knows what. you’re not listening, anyways.
you don’t want to give her the satisfaction, but her stupid antics worked. you can’t get the blonde out of your head. 
-
chaewon, the girl from your literature class, adopts you and somehow you’re always 2 degrees of separation from that stupid team. chaewon is dating one of the defenders, the blue-haired girl named yunjin, but luckily chae’s other friends don’t care for hockey quite as much. 
going to practice is still a pain, but the girls are never mean to you. you start to pick up on the names, the dynamics of the girls, and how your dad sees them. he mentioned last names to you before, but the names never stuck. you’re way better with faces anyways. 
there’s a clear star on that ice, an insanely fast ginger who pushes so hard, she’s dripping sweat within minutes of each practice starting. 
your dad never critiques one of the goalies, simply nodding at everything she does the way he used to approve of your brothers. you pick up on her likelihood of being your dad’s favorite and make a mental note of it. she’ll be the one you hunt down when you need to get out from under his radar. 
and that damn blonde. you see the way his head gets progressively redder and redder each time he screams at her. but what you like about her is she bites right back— for every call your dad makes that someone else swallows and takes on the chin, daniela is pausing practice entirely and challenging him on it. 
“i’m not arguing with you again, avanzini,” he growls at practice during week 2 of school. his face reddens as he blows the whistle. as much as you expect for the whistle to resume play, daniela holds her hand up to the rest of the team. they stay frozen on the ice. 
listening to this girl, instead of the head coach? when you did cheer, your coach’s word was like god. to see just how much influence the blonde has on the group is terrifying. 
“give me one good reason why kazuha should sweep left if she’s right dominant instead of passing,” dani questions.
“throws off incoming offense,” your dad responds.
“no, it throws off our outgoing offense,” daniela pushes back, nearly a growl. “if zuha passes backwards to yunjin, megan’s fast enough to catch whatever she sends up and i can block off anyone incoming.”
“megan’s fast but not—“
“i can be faster,” megan chirps up, nervous eyes on your dad as she hides behind the shorter blonde. “dani always knows where to put the puck. if we fake it and send it back to yunjin, dani can make a hole, and i can be there.”
“do you hear how insane you guys sound, intentionally losing ground?” your dad balks.
“kazuha’s strongest doing what she does best: covering right. yunjin’s powerful enough to get the pass up, and megan is fast enough to receive it.” daniela skates right up to your dad, where he stands in the player box, and gives a confident smirk. “and i’m damn smart enough to see who’s gonna try to intercept it.”
you can tell this is the girl that has cost him many sleepless nights. “the shit-head” as he used to refer to her when he’d rant about work. 
-
the team has a friendly scrimmage against a neighboring team later that week before the season starts, you see the team’s synergy on full display. your dad runs them like a well oiled machine, working like a pack of lions to take down a kill with your dad orchestrating all of it.
and daniela, with that damn smirk as she blasts past everyone on the ice with expert precision.
“she’s not exactly the biggest, but she’s smart on that ice,” your dad tells you in the car after their scrimmage win, shaking his head. “smart as all hell. kills me that our team captain is such a shit-head, but damn can she can perform.”
“and left wing, that position with that ego?” he keeps rambling. “when i met her before her freshman year, when she had first signed with the university, i was shitting myself thinking she’d be a puck hog, but she’s such a team fucking player. her and kazuha set megan up like clockwork. that little megan is shaky off the ice but such a force when she’s got the right set up.”
“and daniela is the right setup?” you question curiously.
“daniela and kazuha. they work together.” your dad explains, gesturing with two fingers side by side. “the defensemen keep to the back to support the goalie, and the wings work together up front to support the center.”
“okay,” you breathe, but your mind is still on that damn captain for reasons you can’t explain. maybe hockey has some redeeming qualities.
“you know, kiddo, it’s nice to see you so interested,” he smiles as you guys pull into the driveway.
you choke back the laugh. maybe you’ll spare your poor dad from your inner thoughts.
-
the hockey girls are nice to you, but almost too nice. you can tell they’re tip-toeing as they assess how delicate you are. it sucks, because you’d love to make friends with them if you have to spend every day seeing them, but at least you have chaewon, and she’s exactly who you seek out when you decide to do a little digging.
“what do you know about daniela avanzini?” you ask her one day out of the blue, as you’re in line together for coffee. 
“oh, she plays hockey with my girlfriend,” chaewon says, but you can tell there’s more she’s not telling you just by how she stiffened at the name.
“and?” you press.
“she’s the captain of their team.”
“and?”
“y/n, what are you trying to find out?”
“i’m just curious,” you shrug. “my dad can’t stop talking shit about her but she’s nothing but nice to me.”
“i’m sure she’s nice to you, just like all the girls are, so your dad doesn’t kill them,” chaewon laughs. she pauses, then shakes her head, letting out a sigh. “yunjin has her thoughts. dani’s
 somethin’. i’m not a fan, personally.”
“you’re the first person that’s been honest with me,” you thank her. you hold onto her words for the rest of the day, even at the end of the night when you’re curled up in bed scrolling through your powerpoints for the next day.
chaewon doesn’t forget, and sends you a link. you open it and it sends you to a tik tok. 
“who on the team would you not let your kid date?” the girl behind the camera asks, before cutting to several other girls on the team.
“dani.”
“oh, definitely daniela.”
“daniela avanzini.”
the final scene of the tik tok is the blonde herself, a big toothy grin, clearly not in on the joke.
“my name is daniela and i’m a left wing.”
you stare at the comments. 
oh i get it
HI DANIELA (louder than the rest)
raw, in reverse, on my knees, whenever she wants it, til the bed breaks, til the neighbors call the cops-
you feel your curiosity multiply at the next related video, one of her giving a few press statements following last year’s championship win. 
“we played smart and worked together. the only thing you can ask for is unity, and this year proves what a good unit can do.” she seems so serious in the clip, yet equally playful as you’ve seen her. an interesting balance for the face of their team.
“you were able to focus on all his despite losing player of the year?” the interviewer asks.
“i’m player of the year in many people’s hearts, and that’s good enough for me. gotta keep a good head game up if i want to rep that C,” she responds.
you roll your eyes at the way she smirks at the camera. the comments all go crazy over her suggestive double meaning, but it’s the most viewed video on the account, so you kinda get it. dani is infuriatingly charming, and that makes for a great face for the team. 
you feel your pulse race. god, what is it with you and the intrigue of this girl who everyone is telling you to run far, far away from?
-
“hey!” lara greets you the next day after the girls all finish up with physical therapy. she’s always been particularly passionate about making sure you feel included, and recently, you’ve let yourself believe it’s a sincere attempt at forging a friendship.
“what’s up?”
“a few of us are going back to my place to watch tapes on the tv, prepping for the game.” she hands you her phone, opened to the dial pad. “you’re welcome to join us.”
“you sure i won’t be intruding?” you ask before giving her your contact info.
“not at all. we’ll be up late. it’ll be like a fun hockey sleepover.” lara smiles, before motioning over to the ginger. “don’t let the puppy dog scare you off, we fed her once and now we can’t seem to get rid of her.”
“if i knew being your housemate meant you’d keep making that stupid stray dog joke, i would have just stayed living in the dorms,” megan glares at the older girl. 
you laugh and nod in appreciation. “i’d love that. i think chaewon is getting tired of me interrupting her study time. i’ll be there.”
your dad is actually quite pleased to hear you’ll be reviewing tapes, and drops you off at lara and megan’s place just a few minutes off campus. you figured lara’s name would be the key to getting out of house arrest, and you were right. 
the house is huge and slightly messy, littered with clothes and meal prep boxes, the clear home to some very serious student athletes. 
you’re getting comfortable on the couch as megan runs to get you a water bottle, when a bedroom door opens and you’re staring directly into the dark mischievous eyes that have been stuck in your head for the past two weeks.
“what are you doing here?” she asks quickly, narrowing her eyes in confusion. 
“reviewing tapes.” you blink as you realize whatever room she came out of, she came out in only some shorts and a sports bra. you try not to objectify her, but damn is she making it hard. “same as you?”
“i live here,” daniela responds quickly, and you come to the realization that lara didn’t specify megan as her only roommate.
“put some clothes on,” lara rolls her eyes, throwing a hoodie in dani’s direction. “we have company, you animal.”
“sorry you’re jealous of my insanely hot bod. if you looked like this you’d be half naked everywhere too,” the blonde pushes back, and you try to ignore the way you feel your heartbeat in every vein as she hops over the back of the couch and gets comfy next to you on the couch as lara turns on the first video.
you begrudgingly share with lara that your dad is extremely protective, and she’s the only one he trusts you to hang out with. she beams proudly and promises to not get you into any trouble with curfews or whatever.
lara’s girlfriend joins you guys just a few minutes later, as do a few other girls from the team. being alone with them away from your dad helps them loosen up a little, and it’s actually really fun to see their actual dynamic instead of the fake niceties you see as they try to be on their best behavior at practice. 
11pm rolls around, and your dad shoots you a text letting you know he expects you back before midnight. you want to scream at how little freedom you have even at your grown age, but the girls are all extremely understanding and offer their own solutions to helping you get home without having to rely on your dad to come pick you up.
“i can uber,” you wave them off, not wanting to inconvenience anyone.
“no, dani’ll drive you home,” lara states firmly, pulling out her phone. “i’ll vouch to your dad for you since i’m your designated guardian angel.”
you don’t want to be a burden, but the thought of getting to finally talk 1 on 1 with the girl stuck in your head sends your pulse racing.
“is that okay with you?” you ask, turning towards the captain in question.
“yeah,” she nods, getting off the couch and slipping on her sneakers. “lar, give me the keys.”
“no stops, no detours, no nothing,” lara warns, tossing her the keychain. “it takes 15 minutes to get there so i’m gonna watch your location. if i don’t see you driving back home in 16, i’m calling the police on you.”
“fine,” the blonde responds curtly, motioning for you to follow her outside. 
“daniela, i’m so serious,” lara threatens. “be decent.”
dani rolls her eyes and waves her off as you two make your way to the car. 
“thanks for being willing to take me,” you tell her, trying to be loud enough over the heater blasting. you don’t know how she’s able to just be out in the fall-time weather in a hoodie, shorts, and some socks.
“no worries.” she shakes her head, eyes locked on the road. “coach doesn’t want you out of his sight or what?”
“he thinks being on high alert keeps me out of trouble,” you roll your eyes.
“what kind of trouble did you get into?” she asks curiously.
you freeze. ugh. and this was supposed to be your fresh start. 
“i just really, really like doing things i’m not supposed to,” you answer after a moment, hoping it’s enough.
“ah,” she says simply, her jaw hardening, but there’s a smirk threatening to come out. “that’s my bad habit too.”
you admire the way the red lights illuminate her skin, the roundness of her features, the contrast against the sharpness of those mischievous eyes. 
“kind of embarrassing that you know my dad like that,” you wrinkle your nose.
“he’s not that bad, as far as coaches go, obviously can’t speak about him as a dad.” she snorts. “i’d kill to have a dad that passionate about hockey.”
“have your parents ever seen you play?” you ask, hoping to get to know more about this girl.
she looks at you in surprise. you wonder if she’s ever been asked this question or what.
 “when i was a kid, they were at every game. not so much for collegiate.”
“live too far or what?” you ask curiously.
she smiles, but it’s a smile of hesitation. you try to read what she’s debating within herself.
“they cut me off when i was 18.” 
“why?”
“tried to bring a girl home for my birthday.” she clicks her tongue. “big mistake.”
“you’re serious?” you ask, half-shocked at the answer.
“they cut me off, and the girl dumped me. double whammy. luckily, lara’s family took me in for the summer.”
“how far back do you guys go?” you ask, curious about their dynamic. of course they’re also close with megan, but lara has always seemed particularly protective of dani, weird considering dani is technically in a position of power over her friend.
“we met at a hockey camp in the 5th grade,” daniela smiles. “every time her parents see us play, they cheer for me too.”
she’s so sweet, sharing this piece of herself with you, you figure she deserves a piece of your puzzle too. 
“i got kicked out of school because they caught me with drugs.” you confess, and you don’t know what it is about daniela’s sincerity that makes you feel like you can trust her. “they weren’t mine. they were my friend’s, and she needs to be there, getting a cheer scholarship, going to school.”
“you took the fall?” she asks, and her voice is full of surprise without being full of judgement.
“i have a family, a house,” you explain, “she had literally nothing.”
she arches a brow and smiles at you through the corner of her eye, still looking at the road.
“i just thought you had a bad attitude,” she teases.
you laugh. “i have that too.”
“as someone who could have easily been in your friend’s shoes, she’s lucky to have someone like you,” daniela tells you, and the sincerity in her voice makes your whole body go warm. you can’t help but dive into a deeper question, something that’s been clawing at you.
“dani,” you start, your voice dropping quietly. “can i ask you something?”
“as long as you’re prepared to not like my answer,” she laughs, and you catch yourself in the shimmer of her tooth gem. 
you breathe out softly, trying to connect the dots. 
“how come everyone is telling me not to be friends with you?”
daniela’s smile falls ever so slightly, her hands tightening around the steering wheel.
“are they?” she wrinkles her nose. 
“kazuha said i’m off limits, lara’s whole ‘be decent,’ thing,” you remind her, trying to think back to other times the team has been weird about dani being around you. “have you bullied people off the team before or what?”
“something like that,” she shakes her head, staring off at the street. 
“you’re the only person who doesn’t treat me weird because of my dad,” you tell her, “you’re not delicate or super nice to me like i’m going to snitch on you.”
“i’m an asshole to everyone,” she laughs.
“but you’re not an asshole,” you push. “you’re actually very, very decent.”
“is that a compliment? i’ll take it as a compliment.” she beams. “i thrive off attention, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“you’re hard to not notice,” you poke back.
you both laugh together as the car pulls into park. you half think about asking her to kiss you, those insanely beautiful lips achingly close, but your eyes dart to the time and you realize it’s 30 seconds until lara threatened to call. you hate this stupid house arrest shit. 
“hope you don’t get your ass beat,” she says simply, and you laugh again. 
“thank you for driving me.”
“don’t get used to it,” she reaches over your lap to unlock your car door, and the proximity of her body sends your brain into overdrive. she swing the door open and pulls back into her own seat. “you won’t get the princess treatment here.”
“wouldn’t want it anyways.” you give her a quick once-over before leaving the car, taking the moment in one last time. she waves as she watches you disappear back inside.
maybe the team thinks they know her, but the version you saw tonight of the blonde makes you feel like you’re going crazy. daniela checks off all the boxes. authentic, unfiltered, and infuriatingly hot. you fall back onto your bed once you get upstairs and let your mind roam into fantasy world, and you finally admit to yourself what it seems your body has known for much, much longer.
you have a crush on daniela avanzini. 
-
the first game throws you straight into the deep end of college hockey. you didn’t realize how serious women’s hockey was to the university until you see the jam-packed crowd, nearly every single seat in the arena filled with screaming fans for the team’s season-opener game. 
“good luck,” you tell the girls, nerves fluttering in your chest as you take to the coach’s bench next to your dad and the assistant coaches.
you spot megan press a quick kiss to her girlfriend’s lips and raise a thumbs up at you. a few other girls nod at your well-wishes, but that blonde is pushing past them all without an ounce of fear. 
“don’t need it,” dani tells you simply, grinning before hitting the ice. 
the game is insanely fast paced, and you never realized just how fun keeping up with hockey can be when you’re actually invested. the scrimmage was interesting but the actual game is addicting, violent and coordinated all at once, making it impossible to tear your eyes away. the girls dominate the first period, keeping an early lead on the other team. the second period is a strong play for defense to keep their lead up. it’s in the third and final period where they get a little shaky, the rookies starting to stand out from the veterans as a missed play accidentally gives up a shot to the other team, tying them back up 1-1.
your dad, infuriated by this misstep, calls a timeout and the girls all come zooming to the player box, dripping in sweat and drinking hurriedly from their water bottles. 
“who cost us that fucking shot?” your dad roars angrily from the time out. 
you know the only reason the other team got the puck was because of that new little freshman eunchae, who was losing steam in this last period and ended up too far back in her zone to catch the pass back from yunjin, giving it up by accident to allow the other team to score. 
“me,” daniela immediately speaks up, and you feel your face twist in confusion. “it was me. i wasn’t open for eunchae to make it to me.”
before you can call her out for the lie, she shoots you a glare, and you realize what she’s trying to tell you. 
“you’ll feel it in practice,” your dad threatens.
“i’ll get us up by two,” daniela bites back immediately.
“big talk for someone who just let us get tied in the bottom of final period.”
daniela leaps over the wall and takes back to the ice before the timeout is even called over. she’s skating hard enough to look like she’ll smash through the ice with each stride.
you analyze it. lara and yunjin sharing a look, eunchae looking both panicked and relieved as she sits on the bench and lets the other defenseman swap her in, megan skating up to dani and trying to say something to her. but daniela waves her off, pointing to a few spots on the ice, before the timeout ends, kazuha regains her position, and the faceoff starts once more.
you hate to admit it, lest it feed your crush any more, but holy shit, is daniela good. 
the debate with your dad ramps her up into 6th gear. she was good before, but she’s insane now, her movements sharper, her skating harder. every time the puck ends up in her control, if she’s not taking a shot, then she’s making sure megan can. she’s absolutely relentless in her pursuit of catching up.
“she’s freaking their goalie out,” the assistant coach says, realizing what daniela’s intention is. the blitz at every opportunity has clearly exhausted the goalie on the other team, meanwhile lara in the goalie box has barely gotten a chance to see the puck due to dani’s aggressive offense. kazuha passes to dani, who makes a shot to bring them up a lead 2-1, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for daniela.
true to her word, the buzzer hits with dani sending a pass to a waiting megan, who scores them a final point.
ending score: 3-1.
“i better see you a half hour early tomorrow for that extra point you cost us,” your dad huffs at dani as the girls are barely coming off the ice. 
“bring me a donut, big guy,” she bites back dryly, her chest heaving. you’re amazed she can manage to get the words out after how tired she seems.
you wait in the car as your dad does the post-game debrief, but when he gets in the driver’s seat, you have some pressing questions based off what you saw.
“she got the team up to the win. why are you so hard on her?” you ask as your dad drives you guys home. 
“avanzini? that’s what a captain is for,” he responds in confusion.
“to be a punching bag?”
“to be responsible,” he corrects. “it was her call to start eunchae instead of letting her watch from the bench. i’m not blind, i know it was hong’s fault she lost that pass.”
“so then why did you let dani take the fall if it wasn’t her fault?”
“because it was her call.”
“but this is eunchae’s first game. i’m sure it gave her tons of confidence to see playtime and know her mistakes won’t cost her.”
“then hopefully avanzini finds it worth it.”
you won’t pretend to understand. you finally decide to commit and follow each of the team members on instagram. they all follow you back within the hour– all except for daniela.
-
your crush only grows, and yet, you feel like since that night in the car, something shifted for her. she’s less attentive to you, less eager for your attention, almost intentionally cold. she avoids your eyes during group meetings, stops sitting next to you during tape reviews, and she still hasn’t fucking followed you back on instagram. you don’t know what her deal is, but your intuition tells you to push deeper.
that’s why, when you spot the blonde curls peeking out from under a beanie at the coffee shop near your house your dad gave you permission to walk to, you tug her by the sleeve and smile as she turns around, pulling her headphones off her head. 
“hi, did you drive here?” you ask curiously, noting that she’s breathing heavily and covered in sweat.
“i always stop here when i finish my runs,” she answers, but the way she’s eyeing the door makes you wonder what exactly she’s so eager to escape.
“perfect,” you sing song, reaching out to her with your hand outstretched.  “walk me home?”
“bad idea,” she says quickly. 
“good idea,” you push back. “plus, i owe lara her textbook back.”
it’s true, lara’s girlfriend had let you borrow a book for your class, and it’s sitting on the corner of your nightstand. maybe you just need an excuse to talk to her again, to figure out why she’s playing this game of hot and cold with you, and you figure she’ll respond best to directness.
“you’re avoiding me,” you tell her, less of a question than an observation. 
“not true.” she shakes her head, taking a sip from her drink.  “just been busy.”
“yeah, busy avoiding me,” you push.
“maybe you’re just annoying as shit,” she bites back, but there’s a slight grin at the corners of her lips that make it feel more teasing than hurtful.
“you wouldn’t know if i’m annoying or not, ‘cause you’re avoiding me, remember?” you answer.
“fine,” she gives in, wrapping her headphones around her neck and reaching for your arm. “ i’ll walk you home, just to prove my point.”
you can’t deny the satisfaction of knowing she’s giving in, and the way she guides you out of the door of the coffee shop by your arm makes you relish in the closeness. you’ve only had one real conversation with her, but it was enough to crave another one, and walking side by side up the sidewalk gives you a warm sense of victory in your chest.
“i know you covered for eunchae,” you start, feeling the breeze nip at your nose.  
“don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smiles playfully, eyes focused on the concrete. “you know me, i just like making coach mad.”
“if you want a dad to yell at you ‘cause yours doesn’t, feel free to keep him.”
“you make me sound super fucked up when you put it that way,” she shakes her head. “like it’s a daddy issues thing.”
“the way you try to push his buttons on purpose makes it seem like a daddy issues thing,” you laugh.
“i just like getting under people’s skin,” she shrugs, and you feel your heart thud at that stupid damn dimple.
“you’re good at that,” you admit, and you almost forget what exactly you two are talking about.  “too good.”
before you know it, you’re in front of the house, a cozy two story with a giant tree in front of your window that you and your brothers had planted when you were just kids. 
“this is where coach lives?” daniela asks, looking up and down in surprise.
“i grew up here. i’d rather live alone in a dorm than with my parents, but that’s consequences or whatever,” you roll your eyes. “let me give you lara’s book. it’s upstairs.”
you push past the front door and realize dani is still lingering on the porch, staring hesitantly at the entrance.
“you can come in,” you reassure her, before noting, “nobody’s home.”
you see her eyes flicker up to you, assessing the lack of cars in the driveway, before she kicks off her shoes and follows you in. 
daniela avanzini is in your room. you try not to make a huge deal out of it, but your mind is absolutely racing. 
“don’t mind the boxes, i still haven’t unpacked all the stuff i brought back from school,” you warn. motioning to the piles in your otherwise tidy room. 
“cute,” she smiles, pointing to the framed picture of you with your former cheer team. “do you miss them?”
“all the time,” you admit. “but we talk a ton, so it’s easier.”
“this one’s hot,” she says, pointing to the picture. 
“don’t piss me off,” you warn, laughing. 
you see something return to those mischievous dark eyes of hers as they flicker up to meet yours, her tongue pressing against her teeth.
“what if i like pissing you off?”
“you’d be admitting to liking me,” you answer quickly, and she grins back at you.
“you’ve got a smart fuckin’ mouth on you,” she says, wagging a finger in your face. 
“yeah?” you challenge, feeling your pulse race as you push her finger away. “you’re pretty cocky yourself.”
“i like the attention,” she reiterates.
“but not from me?” you question playfully, taking a step closer into her bubble. “why were you avoiding me?”
“i was avoiding you,” she finally admits, reaching up to rub her jaw as she avoids your eyes. “i know you’ve done your research.”
“i want to get to know you, and you’re not letting me get to know you,” you push back, reaching out softly to link your fingers. the touch sends sparks through every nerve in your limb. 
“i need to stay away from you,” dani groans, but the way her eyes come to fixate on you abandons what her words try to convey. you realize what’s happening– she’s cracking.
“says who?” you ask, reaching down so your fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. your fingertips brush lightly against the dip of her abs and you feel your mind go numb.
“says literally everyone,” she laughs lowly.
“everyone also says you have a mind of your own,” you push back, tilting your head to look at her.
“that i do,” she breathes, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her gaze flickers across your features. you feel drunk under the dizziness her gaze alone has.
“so are you going to think for yourself?” you challenge.
“i’m not a decision to take lightly,” she mumbles, bringing her fingers to trace up your arm and across your collarbone. “i think you’ll hate me if you get to know me.”
“i want to make that decision for myself,” you experiment with your fingers running along the elastic of her shorts. your hands are both starting to seek more and more skin along the other’s body.
“they made it crystal clear how off limits you are,” she groans. “you set me up to fail, and i fucking hate losing.”
“i think you should kiss me, like, now,” you breathe anxiously. you feel your pulse in your ears as she watches as she leans closer and closer.
but before she can close the gap between you two, you hear the loud shut of the front door, and the click of your mom’s heels against the floor. dani’s eyes flash to the open door, and she cooly moves away from you to sit easily on your bed, pushing you away ever so gently.
“y/n? d’you get back from your walk yet?”
“hi mom,” you call out. “ran into dad’s captain and she walked me home.”
“hi, mrs. y/ln,” dani grits through her teeth, eyes still locked on you, as your mom comes upstairs and greets you both. you hope the flush of your skin isn’t enough to sell you out.
“daniela, nice to see you again. thanks for keeping an eye on y/n for us.” your mom smiles sincerely, and you figure you’re in the clear. “i didn’t know you and y/n were friends, you’re welcome to come around more often.”
“i think coach y/ln would flip if he saw me here,” dani smiles knowingly, flashing you a quick look. “but i’ll be around.”
dani excuses herself, and your mom starts going on about the lawyers calling and how your case is going to get argued down to something that’ll easily come off your record. it’s a relief, but she’s still clearly irritated with the whole situation, and you ask to go to bed early to end the conversation there.
you look down at your phone as you make it back into your bed. dani has finally followed you back, and you see a private story posted.
a picture of the top of her head, simply captioned “tryna get up to something.”
you feel a pit in the bottom of your stomach and decide to just go to sleep. at the very least, you know you didn’t make it up.
-
“coach, can y/n come out with a few of us tonight?” lara asks at the next practice. you look up at her in surprise. they had just gotten back from an away game and lara had mentioned something about a greek life party she was eager to hit up. you knew there was no chance, but lara gave you a confident shake of her head and insisted she’d figure something out to get you there. you didn’t think this meant being so confident as to ask your dad directly.
“something small?” he raises an eyebrow at her. 
“i’ll share my location if it makes you feel better,” she smiles.
“i trust you. stay with lara,” he waves you off, and you stare at the red-haired girl in disbelief. you won’t test your luck. she gives you a time to be ready to get picked up, and you thank god that your dad has favorites.
your history with college parties has been iffy at best. your cheer coach was notoriously strict. you’re jealous that the hockey girls have a different standard, but you try to push that thought away and focus on the positive: at least now, you can party without fear of punishment. 
there’s another thought you want to push away: the thought of daniela in your room. lara, megan, and their respective partners are all in the car when they stop by to pick you up, but dani is nowhere to be seen. you make up your mind that tonight, you’re going to get over this stupid fucking crush, and you’re going to do so at all costs.
you’re only a few minutes in to the less-than-tiny house party and lara has already disappeared somewhere to go be alone with her girlfriend. megan is outside in the backyard laughing insanely loudly on the swingset with her own girlfriend. you start to regret not inviting chaewon or someone else outside of the hockey team, leaving you there alone on your own.
but then blue haired yunjin is popping up in your peripheral, offering you a shot, and you take it, deciding you have nothing to lose. 
“no girlfriend tonight?” you ask.
“chae’s studying for her comps,” she wrinkles her nose. “i’d give anything to be making out with her right now.”
you laugh. “i’ll kiss a few strangers in honor of chae.”
“she’d hate that,” yunjin cackles, before serving you another drink. “but i love your intentions, so let’s pick your victim.”
“no, i get too picky,” you shake your head. “give me a criteria and that’ll be my victim.
“oh fuck yeah,” yunjin laughs, and you love how down she is. “hmm. next person to offer you a drink?
“you better put that fucking bottle down then or your girlfriend will kill you.”
yunjin shrieks with laughter and sprints off to leave the bottle back at the bar. she finds you once more and you two dive into the mosh pit of bodies all dancing together. she dances stupidly alongside you, and for a split second, you’re grateful that despite all you’ve been through this year, you can still find decent people you enjoy being around. 
a pair of hands snake around your waist, and you see a bottle of tequila get presented to you from behind you. you feel the sweat and the faint musk of a familiar clean cologne from the stranger behind you. you nod at the bottle, looking up at yunjin as you realize your victim has been selected. 
but yunjin simply stares back at you with wide eyes, shaking her head as if to warn you, before you turn and realize just what has her in such a panic. 
or rather, who. 
the stranger grabs your waist and pulls you closer, and you turn to come face to face with that mess of blonde curls. dani’s skin is flushed from what you assume is both adrenaline and drinks in her system. the two of you lock eyes and you feel the room slow down.
“hi,” you greet, wrapping your arms around her neck. 
“hi,” she breathes back. those damn eyes scan over you, searching for something. 
“we should find somewhere quiet,” you tell her simply. she eyes you, something dangerous in that dark gaze, but within moments she’s leading you upstairs, grasp tight around your wrist. you can see the shimmer of someone else’s lip gloss smeared on her mouth already, and part of it infuriates you. 
but you’re finally alone, the back of your legs hitting the bed and leading you to sit down. she’s quickly invading your space, stepping in and planting an arm on either side of you to lock you in beneath her. 
“i don’t make good decisions,” she warns you, and you let your hands untuck the front of the jersey she’s wearing, exploring the skin of her torso experimentally. she doesn’t stop you, and it makes your whole body tense.
“that’s fine,” you breathe quickly, the proximity dizzying you.  “the bad choices are always more fun.”
you see her jaw clench as your fingers trace along her back, your nails pressing into her strong shoulders as an experimental test. 
“last warning,” she breathes into your ear, her head falling to press her temple against yours. your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest with how her guard falls. 
“you’re finally going to let us be friends?” you grin, watching as she pulls away to go lock the door.
she glares back at you, something dangerous in those eyes, and reaches back to pull her shirt off in one smooth motion before a devilish grin takes to her lips. 
“we’re not going to be friends,” she says simply, before leaping forward to finally claim you.
-
“you look like you’re in a good mood,” chaewon chirps as you race into the seat next to her in the early morning literature lecture.
you mention nothing of the fact that you’re on 2 hours of sleep, waking up late, ready to fall asleep at the table. 
“did i miss anything?” you huff, trying to get a grip.
“colonization, racial undertones, empiricism, the usual good stuff,” she smiles, before eyeing you in concern. “i’m serious, everything okay?”
it’s one thing to hook up at the party, but when lara called you to let you know it’s time to go, it’s another thing to be pushing daniela off you so she doesn’t make you sound suspicious over the phone. 
the ride back was spent in complete silence, lara not at all suspicious as to where you both disappeared for the few hours, but by the time you get back to their place, dani is covering your mouth with her hand to slip you into her room instead of letting you sleep on the couch where lara had initially offered.
you shudder as you fight off the flashbacks and try to focus on the lecture. “i’m totally good.”
“yunjin said she had fun hanging out with you last night,” chaewon goes on, showing you a picture the two of you had taken together that yunjin had sent her. “you guys went to that party together?”
“we ran into each other there,” you smile, loving how yunjin was so immersed in the party and still found a way to include her girlfriend. “we missed you. we both would have killed to have you there with us.”
“next time, maybe i’ll join,” chaewon smiles, and you drop your head into your hand. 
class ends, and you’re almost disappointed to not see anything from daniela. no texts checking in on how you got home (an uber to your house before your dad woke up) or dm’s letting you know she’s even alive. you’ve never been clingy before, and you don’t intend to start now, but just being acknowledged would be nice.
your head is pounding as you walk to practice. as soon as you get home, you’re going to sleep as long as physically possible, and try not to think about how incredible daniela’s hands are at–
you push the thought away, but you spot the flash of blonde curls approaching the stadium at the same time. you swear she spots you out of the corner of her eye, but she keeps walking, bag slung over her shoulder.
you’re no stranger to one night stands, but at the very least an acknowledgement would be nice? you have to work together for the rest of the season. the least she can do is not be a giant fucking jerk.
you speed up to catch her and shove into her to get her attention.
“hi, i’m alive or what the fuck ever, if that matters to you,” you push into her shoulder.
“i warned you, and you found me.” she gives you a disinterested glare, and you almost can’t believe this is the same girl you had played such a fun cat and mouse game with. she keeps walking, and you speed up to keep up with her as you guys head to the locker room. “if you’re pissed that i didn’t call you, just call me first.”
“you are really fucking full of yourself,” you spit angrily. 
“you can’t say you weren’t warned,” she shrugs, entering the empty locker room to put her bag into a locker. she takes off her jacket and hangs it up, reaching for her helmet out of her bag. “i’m not stupid. i know every single person on this team warned you about me. if you didn’t listen, that’s on you.”
“are you proud of that reputation?” you ask in disbelief. 
“i know your type,” she smirks smugly. “you play hard to get and then you’re pissed when you give in ‘cause there’s no more mystery.” 
“you don’t know shit about me,” you growl back, and something about having shared so much with her stings. you’re not mad about the hookup, you’re mad about buying all her vulnerable bullshit and thinking she wasn’t going to be every bit as shitty as everyone warned you she’d be.
“i know what you sound like screaming my name and you can’t take that shit back,” she laughs, and you want to absolutely fucking murder her. 
“i don’t know why the fuck you’re being such an asshole, but you’re a piece of shit, and i hope you choke on that ice today,” you blurt, storming off towards the player box.
“you good?” yunjin asks, noting your expression as you two cross into each other.
“i’m fine,” you wave her off, and you have to bite back a scream as daniela hops on the ice, laughing her head off with megan and lara as if your interaction had never happened.
you try to hide your disappointment. a crush you had believed in so wholeheartedly, only to see that everyone else was right to warn you.
- 
you’re relieved that your dad makes you stay home for the away games, and a break from having to see dani’s stupid face is exactly what you needed. the team leaves that weekend for a game and your mom takes over the hawk-eyed supervision, but it gives you a chance to introduce her to some of your new friends. chaewon comes over to do homework with you and brings along a friend from her english class named sophia, and you find out sophia is friends with megan’s girlfriend. 
you desperately need someone to open up to about your entire experience with daniela, but knowing chaewon is less than her biggest fan, and sophia does her best to avoid hockey drama, you realize you’re probably shit out of luck. plus, you were fairly warned by literally everyone, and you still were stupid enough to get yourself involved with her, so really, it’s a fitting punishment that you deal with the consequences.
halfway through the study session, megan (sweet, angelic megan,) reaches out to you that night to ask you to run her stats from the game. the assistant coach took from the game, and you start running the numbers while sophia and chae bicker about where the best study spot on campus is. you feel your heart sink as you realize you’ll have to do this all over again for the rest of the semester: run the numbers from every game and inform the players, and you let out a loud groan.
“i fucking hate hockey,” you tell them, interrupting their debate.
“oh, do you know how beat up my girlfriend is when she comes home to me?” chaewon shrieks. “she’s like a zombie half the time. i can’t wait for her to be done with this stupid sport.”
“all the players are massive-ego’d idiots,” sophia echoes. “well, maybe not yunjinnie–”
“no, i’m not offended, yunjin can be so loud,” chaewon butts in, wrinkling her nose. “but that megan is really sweet.”
the three of you laugh. the ginger may be single handedly balancing the reputation of the team on her shoulders. 
“well, they have an idiot for a leader,” you say, and they both chirp in agreement.
“i just have to hear about them, but you’re up close and personal,” chaewon gapes, shaking her head. “you’re a saint for dealing with all of them.”
you feel your ears get red. your closeness with daniela would probably be categorized as anything but holy, but that’s something you’ll end up taking to the grave, it turns out. 
you guys end the night with a quick goofy round of youtube karaoke, sophia and chaewon trying to out-do each other so loudly your mom drops by in concern, and you can’t help but feel a little better at the idea of facing the team tomorrow. 
“it’s like what, three more months left in their season, and then you’re free?” sophia reminds you as her and chaewon get into the car. “so easy.”
you’d like to believe her, but unfortunately, daniela wants to make it anything but easy for you.
you go player by player before practice starts, pulling them aside to show them their graphs. lara smiles at her current save rate, megan nods as you show her how fast she’s improving on her shot ratio, kazuha mumbles something to herself about more strength training when you give her the statistics on her pushbacks.
you suck in a deep breath and approach the blonde last, out of all the girls, to try and get it over with the fastest. 
“your numbers are dropping.” you tell daniela simply, dropping the clipboard in her lap as she laces up her skates.
she shoots you a glare, biting the tip of her glove to pull it off her hand and flip through your pages, and you have to physically remind yourself to stop thinking about what those teeth felt like on your skin

“what?” she questions, brows furrowing. you’re almost surprised by how shocked she sounds. clearly, you’re telling her something she isn’t expecting.
“your average. compared to this time last season, you had this many assists under your belt.” you point to the comparison curves on the graphs. “this season, you’re hitting numbers almost a third lower. harder time keeping up?”
“check your math, there’s no way,” she huffs, standing up and tossing the clipboard off her lap. you feel your blood boil at her attitude, but there’s something giving you a power trip about seeing how angry she’s getting.
ugh. you don’t want to admit the high it gives you to get under her skin.
“ouch, that struck a nerve.” you observe, fighting the grin that wants to take over your features. “you’re underperforming, avanzini.”
“i’m competitive,” she says curtly, eyes darkening, and skates off without another look in your direction. you hear her mutter something with a curse word in spanish, and somehow, it feels like a win in your book. 
it’s not that you want to give daniela a hard time, especially if you’re going to have to be stuck together for the rest of the season, but by the time practice starts, she’s looking over at you every time she makes another pass or takes another shot. you won’t admit how much you like the attention she’s giving you, even if it’s just to prove that she’s every bit as good as her ego claims, but you hold onto the feeling of irritating her and how satisfied it makes you feel. 
lara invites you out to dinner with them again, but dani stays back on the ice after everyone else leaves, and you consider yourself the winner that day. 
dani calms down the rest of the week at practice, and is right back to ignoring you as you do your best to ignore her. you know there’s a chance you two can coexist peacefully– your friendship with lara and megan is actually quite enjoyable, even if dani makes a big deal of disappearing every time you come over or join the red-haired girl and her ginger sidekick. you kind of like the ability to not have to worry about daniela being around, but something in your stomach lurches every time you realize you’re still on her close friends story and she’s posting another shirtless photo surrounded by gorgeous random strangers. 
you know she’s probably not even thinking about you, but she’s so fucking aggravating, you need to get back at her somehow to regain your sense of control. 
so at the next evening practice, you decide to test another theory.
usually it’s just your dad who gives feedback to the girls, but he’s busy chatting with the assistant coaches and the trainee physical therapist, so you decide to put your clipboard down and lean against the half-wall to call out to the girls as they continue through their drills.
“nice shot, kazuha.”
as if they’re surprised to hear your voice, nearly half the team looks up at you, kazuha herself looking confused before breaking into a giant grin. 
“oh, ah, thank you, y/n,” she beams, and the pure joy in her face makes you wonder what the fuck your dad puts these poor girls through if the slightest affirmation is enough to excite them this much.
“me next, me next!” lara calls out to you, and the two of you laugh as you wave her off. these poor, compliment-deprived jocks.
“you gotta do something worth cheering on, first,” you yell back to her, and all the girls scramble on the ice to push further. your original plan was to compliment every single player and leave out the captain, but as you look up, dani is glaring daggers at kazuha, who is still smiling from your call out.
maybe this will be a little easier than you thought. if dani is the attention seeking type, what easier way to piss her off than showing her how easily she can be ignored? and if you can find someone specific to make it feel personal, even better.
you try remembering the dynamics you observed among the team. your dad mentioned kazuha and daniela being partners on the ice, you know she’s protective of megan so that probably won’t make a difference, lara is too goofy to take the compliment anyways–
it clicks. you remember the way chaewon doesn’t like daniela. yunjin and dani might have some kind of rivalry between them.
you pray yunjin won’t make things weird. but as if perfectly on cue, yunjin practices a spinning check on daniela and sends the captain flying backwards, slamming into the plexiglass as easily as pushing a child.
“good shit, huh,” you call out loudly as the defender skates off. yunjin’s head snaps up from the ice, and she shoots you a bright grin and a thumbs up. a few of the girls even go so far as to laugh, and you send her a matching thumbs up to emphasize your point.
you look over at the blonde, and you see dani’s jaw twitch. something about yunjin specifically strikes a nerve. bingo.
your dad takes over practice again, and daniela skates like she’s trying to smash through the ice with each stride. she’s ignoring you fully this time, taking all her passes and shots as if she’s trying to break her stick each time she hits the puck, and you’re absolutely relishing in the fact that you got the upper hand. you write down a few notes in your binder and lose yourself in thought, before a whistle from your dad catches your attention.
“huh was wide open, avanzini,” your dad glares.
“i had a clear shot,” dani shrugs. you look over at yunjin, who is shrugging confusedly at lara and rolling her eyes.
“it was your idea to pass back to her,” he reminds her.
“an idea,” dani bites back, before skating off. “not a promise.”
your dad gives some quick recap speech about the upcoming home game, and the girls break. a majority of them head straight to the showers, and you’re there waiting for your dad to finish touching base with the assistant coaches, but you notice a small handful stay on the ice. all the starters, actually. you figure it’s what gets them their starting position– extra effort, extra talent.
kazuha is the first to leave after an extra 15 minutes on the ice. then lara follows, and yunjin. your dad is back out 45 minutes later, hand on your shoulder.  you wave him off as he asks about taking you home. 
“i’ll get a ride with lara or stay at her place. is that okay?”
“you want to watch these two? i knew there was a hockey girl inside there all along,” he smiles proudly.
“i want to finish my notes,” you tell him, pointing down to your clipboard.
“go home,” the assistant coach tells the girls still on the ice. it’s just dani and megan left taking shots, passing between the two of them, now almost an hour after practice has ended. you have no idea how the two have the energy to make it through practice, much less show up early and stay behind this late, and not be collapsing the next day. finally, an hour after practice, megan leaves to go to her girlfriend’s, and that leaves you alone with daniela. 
she glares over at you, cold stare as she heads into the locker room. you follow, like a moth to a flame, not even sure what you’re planning on getting out of this conversation besides hopefully irritating her even further.
“i thought you weren’t a puck hog?” you taunt her, in reference to the reprimand from your dad for dani not passing to yunjin.
she shrugs, avoiding your gaze, as she pulls her helmet off her head and drops her gloves into her bag. “what can i say? i like the eyes on me.” 
“hm, i can tell.” you say back. 
“did you have fun watching huh today?” she asks, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she peels her jersey off her back. the black compression shirt she wears underneath is clinging to her, drenched in sweat, and it takes everything in you to peel your eyes away.
“yunjin is my friend, and i’m allowed to fucking cheer her on,” you remind her. “i thought you guys were friends?”
“we are friends.” before reminding you, “you and i aren’t.”
“you seem really weirdly jealous of someone you call a friend,” 
“i don’t want to talk about yunjin,” she nearly growls, and you can’t wait to keep exploiting this soft spot of hers.
“why not? she’s improving, like a lot, and it didn’t sound like she had a lot to work on–”
in seconds, she’s grabbing you and pressing you against the locker, her hand against the bottom of your jaw.
“y/n,” she seethes, “if you want my attention that bad, you fucking have it.”
“tell me you’ve been thinking about me,” you press, and it feels almost obsessive. her full weight is pressing against you into the lockers and it makes your pulse race att the memory of her touch. “there’s no way you’re that fucking good at pretending.”
“of course i haven’t stopped fucking thinking about you,” she breathes, and it feels like a confession. “i’ve been trying to ignore you but you’re annoying as shit. are you pissed, or do you want me? you’re sending mixed signals.”
“i thought you could think for yourself?” you challenge back.
“i can,” her eyes are trailing off to scan up your body, her grip still firm against your jaw. “if it were up to me, i know exactly what i’d want from you. but coach’s daughter is extremely off-limits, in case you didn’t remember.”
“i know what i’m getting into,” you push back.
“i warned you the first time too,” she reminds you.
 “just don’t play games with me,” you growl. “do what you want, and i will too.”
“it sounds like you want me,” she grins, leaning in so that your foreheads are almost touching.
“you think everyone wants you,” you roll your eyes, but your hands are already pulling at her waistband to pull her close. something about the fresh layer of sweat slicking her baby hairs to her neck and forehead is infuriatingly attractive to you.
“that’s ‘cause they do,” she hums back easily.
“you look at every reflective surface you walk past.” you shake your head. “you’re obsessed with yourself.”
“you’ve seen what i can do, i think you get it.” she leans down, experimentally letting her lips brush against your neck. “i’m pretty easy to be obsessed with.”
you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of a single word more, but the proximity between you two and the craving inside your bones takes over. she’s sweeping you up in one easy motion, your lips colliding with bruising force, and you lose sight of whatever it was you two were fighting about. when dani’s hands take over, everything you hated her for disappears from your mind, and all you focus on is losing your fingers in those curls as she pulls you into the showers with her.
-
you told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with anything dangerous at this new university– no bad influences, no friends that did illegal things, no risky behavior that can make things worse for you when you’re trying to start over. but when you made this list, you never considered that you’d get addicted to hooking up with the very hot, very irritating, very bad-for-you hockey team captain that already makes your dad’s life a living hell. 
and it’s confusing, to say the least. she ignores and avoids you through the day, and then stays fixated watching you throughout an entire practice. she can go hours without texting you back but as soon as you post that you’re out with yunjin and chaewon, she’s climbing up the stupid tree in your yard to tap on your window and sneak in as if she hadn’t been radio silent the whole day. 
you know it’s just a hookup, and nothing more, but something about how she overdoes it with ignoring you makes it even weirder when you two are rushing to see each other, desperately making up for the time spent apart. you won’t complain: between school, practice, friends, and now daniela keeping you busy, you don’t even have a chance to think about getting into anything else.
“i know what you’re doing,” she warns you one night after sneaking into your room again. she pushes you off her lap when you’ve spent a little too much time with your lips on one spot on her neck.
“feeling possessive,” you hum, running your fingers through her curls, admiring your work against her soft skin.
“you’re fucking crazy,” dani groans, but you catch the way she grins looking at herself in her phone. “it’s getting late, i should go.”
some would even call it romantic the way she steals lara’s car to come park it up the street and sneak into your room on the nights you can’t spend with her at her place. you guys are quiet enough to make sure nobody else hears, and you’ll admit that the sneaking around part makes things so, so much more fun.
“just leave before my dad wakes up,” you tell her, pulling her down by the neck to plant another kiss against her jaw. 
“i’m only gonna spend the night in your room once you specifically ask me to,” she pushes you away and smirks at you playfully. “i’ll be around if you need me.”
“whatever.” you roll your eyes and turn to pull up your phone. “not gonna beg.”
“someone else will,” she says back, but not before jumping on the bed to plant a forceful, dizzying kiss on your lips. “bye, y/n.”
you want to rip your hair out, but it doesn’t make your heart thud any less watching her climb down and out of your bedroom window. you roll your eyes as she stops, looks up at you, and does another one of her stupid backflips right on your front lawn before disappearing into the night.
dani shows up to practice the next day wearing every single hickey you gave her on full display. she didn’t even try to cover them up. you guys lock eyes briefly and you can’t tell if she’s playing a mind game with you, or is just trying to play with fire and test your limits. you won’t give her the satisfaction though– part of you likes knowing the secret stays between you two.
“ah, heartbreaker dani strikes again. another sorority girl?” kazuha arches a brow, shoving playfully into daniela’s shoulder. lara shakes her head laughing and follows onto the ice. 
nevermind. you feel your blood boil. maybe next time you should leave your initials. 
your dad makes dani get off the ice and go put on a neck guard to stop distracting everyone. dani rolls her eyes but does so begrudgingly. your eyes meet as she hops off the ice and towards her bag. 
“are they really a distraction?” she asks you casually.
“extremely.” you say, trying to match her non-chalance. “tell your girl toy to stop trying so hard next time.”
“she’s got a mind of her own,” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up with something unholy. “but i’ll do my best.” 
-
the weeks pass and you guys don’t discuss the nature of your arrangement, but you both know it’s critical to keep it under wraps. your dad is thrilled that you’re spending so much time at lara’s, and lara and megan are too busy with their own things to notice dani either disappearing all night or letting you in. 
your phone buzzes in the middle of homework and you spot the number, saved simply as “captain.”
come over
say please
i don’t beg but i’ll make sure you do so, again, come over
you roll your eyes at how easily you’re convinced. 
“taking the car and going to lara’s,” you call out to your house, and your dad calls back in approval from the other room.
your stomach hasn’t quite stopped flipping when you pull into the trio’s driveway. daniela is already in the doorway, looking stupidly attractive in her oversized hoodie and baggy shorts, and you two nearly don’t make it to her room before she already has her hands on you, pulling you in.
you two fall back onto the bed and you’re straddling her much too quickly to call it casual. she pulls at your top and you try to regain some of your dignity by poking fun at her. 
“wasn’t i just here this morning? so eager to have me back so soon,” you tease.
“you can stop showing up whenever, you know,” she bites back, putting her hands over yours to guide them to her hoodie. you take the hint and pull her hoodie off over her head, biting your lip in eager anticipation.
“you’d miss me too much,” you clip back easily. she smirks and reaches up from beneath you to capture your lips with hers, her fingers hooking into your waistband to start sliding your pants down your thighs. you know the motions by now and start to lean up to let her get them off from your ankles.
that is, until you hear the door swing open.
“have you seen my bite guard? i left it in the–” megan starts, but immediately pivots into a half- scream, hands flying up to cover her eyes. “oh, bro, jesus christ–”
oh fuck. 
you and dani move equally fast to push off each other. you truly had convinced yourself that you two had mastered the whole sneaking around thing, so you’re not exactly prepared for whatever may come next. the dread sets in immediately. you can trust daniela, and you can trust yourself, but the last thing you need is someone else involved.
“you can’t tell my dad,” you blurt out immediately. 
“oh my fucking god, not coach,” megan panics. “he’s going to kill me if he finds out.”
“why would he kill you?” dani squints at the younger girl.
“bro, i’m letting this happen.” megan brings an open palm to her forehead, beginning to pace around daniela’s room. “i’m complexit, or whatever.”
“complicit,” dani corrects quickly
megan ignores the correction and keeps rambling. “no, this is so bad. i’m basically putting the strap in your hand.”
“okay, meg, please, too far,” you groan, and daniela lets out a loud hollering laugh.
“i’m going to die and i literally just barely beat the virgin allegations,” she gasps.
you shake your head and give a look to daniela. is she always this neurotic? 
“meg, please, go like, take some deep breaths over there. we’ll stop if it’s freaking you out that bad,” daniela tries to soothe her, pointing out the door.
“how long?” the ginger asks.
“oh my god bro, we’ve only fucked like, the past month.”
megan’s dark puppy eyes go wide, honing in on you. “a month is more than zero. i was hoping you would say zero.” 
“are you asking for an apology?” you try to ask, desperate to make sense of why exactly she’s panicking. 
daniela groans and finally gets out of the bed, tossing a hoodie over herself and handing you your pants back. she grabs megan by the back of her neck and waves over to you. “we’re gonna go.”
“where?” you question. it’s nearly 10pm and the tail end of a freezing october. 
“where else? the lake, duh. she needs to hit the ice to calm down. we’ll be back.” she groans and grabs a few sticks tucked away in the corner of her room, before she drags the ginger out the door and shuts it behind them.
you let your head fall backwards onto dani’s pillow and stare at the ceiling, the dread sinking in. 
-
you’re not quite sure when you dozed off, but you’re woken up to the sound of the door creaking back open. the familiar curls enter the room and dani comes to kneel in front of the bed, eye to eye with you. the gesture is sweet, almost tender, as if she’s trying to be close without waking you.
“i didn’t think you’d still be here.” she tells you quietly, before gently poking at your cheek. “awake?”
“i told my dad i was sleeping over at lara’s and he has my location. i can’t just leave my phone here,” you groan groggily at her. “meg okay?”
“she’ll be fine. she won’t say anything. believe it or not, we can keep secrets surprisingly well. ask lara what we pulled for her girlfriend last year.” she sits on the edge of the bed. “you stayed?”
“does me being here ruin your plans somehow?” you ask, confused about what she expected.
“i mean, no, i’m going to a party anyways.” she shrugs, her demeanor hardening. “might bring someone back. if you don’t want the couch, then you might want to room with lar.”
“you’re a fucking joke,” you blurt at her, sitting up to meet her eye-level. “always so irritating.”
“what happened to feeling possessive?” she arches a brow playfully.
“no, shut up dani. tell me something– why were you so much nicer to me before we started hooking up?” you question, narrowing your eyes at her. “you weren’t this big of a dick until the first time. i didn’t even think you were capable of being this big of a piece of shit.”
“i didn’t know you noticed how i treated you before,” she says simply, crossing her arms over her chest and giving you a curious look. “you cared about that?”
you take a second before ripping her a new one and read into her implication. it really does make sense in her head that if you only wanted her for sex, there was no need to keep up the dynamic from before. 
is this the root of all this confusion? is daniela just playing a role she thinks you assigned to her?
“tell me something about you,” you blurt out. 
she un-crosses her arms and arches a brow in confusion. “like?”
“anything. what’s your favorite color?”
“blue.” she pauses for a second. “yours?”
“blue,” you repeat, and she smiles at the coincidence. 
“do you miss cheer?” she asks quickly, as if to not let the silence take over.
“you remember that i did that?”
“yeah,” she says simply, before fishing in the pocket of her hoodie for a protein bar she had clearly just been eating. “do you want a bite? did you eat while i was gone?”
you feel rattled by her sudden change in demeanor. where did the fuckboy from 5 minutes ago disappear to?
“where is all this coming from?” you ask.
“if you wanted to be friends, you just had to say so.” she seems so casual about it, the flip, but you won’t question it further. this feels like the dani you met in the car, that first time alone. the sincere, unabashed one you got so inexplicably hooked on, and you want to make the most of it while she’s still showing you that girl still exists.
you take the protein bar as a peace offering and take a bite. “i do miss cheer, if that matters to you.”
“try out for our team,” she says quickly, like the solution is obvious.
“it’s not that easy. it’d be like you trying to play for a new team right now in the middle of your season.”
“so then cheer just for me,” she grins.
“i’d rather die than be an ice girl.” you roll your eyes. “i can’t even skate.”
“seriously? with your dad?”
you pinch the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes. “dani, please don’t talk about my dad while i’m debating getting naked for you again.”
“yeah?” the way she grins at your confession makes your heart thud. 
“but you said you had a party to get to, so
” you trail off, eyeing her. 
you almost let out a scream as daniela leaps and tackles you back into a laying position, biting playfully at your jaw. 
“you’re going to get me in so much trouble,” she sighs, pressing feverish kisses against your neck.
“good thing he won’t find out.” you lift her chin to face you and press a finger to her lips, admiring her pretty, pretty face. “don’t tell me you’ve never kept something a secret before?”
“i’m gonna have to,” she breathes, her arms snaking under your back, “‘cause i’m having a hard time keeping my hands to myself.”
“do something about it,” you grin, and dani doesn’t make you wait.
-
there’s no point in lying to yourself. you can fool the world, maybe, between the stolen glances and rushed kisses in the empty locker room or in the secrecy of your bedroom, but you can feel the way dani’s eyes never quite leave your head. you find yourself thinking about her at every turn, remembering new things as she keeps opening up to you about her past, her hopes for the future, her experiences as captain. you want to think that of course, if she’s the best hook up you’ve ever had, it’d be obvious why she’s on your mind, but you know it’d be a lie to pretend your feelings weren’t getting involved, despite your better judgement.
each time you watch her wink at you from the ice, or order your coffee perfectly as if she’s memorized it, or see her leave a stupid cute note on your clipboard, you can’t help but wonder if she’s this damn charming with all her other hookups too. 
you try not to overthink it and instead focus on the newfound freedoms your dad is slowly loosening up to allow you, with each passing week that you stay out of trouble (at least, trouble that he’s aware of.)
can i go to a party if i stay w lara and megan the entire time?
You’ve got some nerve asking If I call you need to pick up at any point
i’ll leave with her and text you each step of the way
you text to the group chat that you’re good to go and they all send a variety of cheering gifs or stupid memes about how fucked up they’re going to get you.
(at least, all of them except for dani, who never acknowledges your texts in the group chat.)
you appreciate that they’ve finally stopped treating you just as coach’s daughter, finally brave enough to stop babying you. you’re especially grateful when you get to the party and yunjin is feeding you shots much to chaewon’s disapproval, the defenseman screaming laughing as lara and kazuha try to race to take down their drinks before megan even manages to take a single, nervous sip from her cup. you’re grateful to have made so many stupid fun friends who are so so nice to you, but you can’t help but feel like the shenanigans would feel complete with the presence of one particular frat-boy-like captain who thrives in these environments. 
you try to not be obvious about looking around to seek her out, but you can feel the eyes on you from the other side of the room. like two magnets finding the opposite ends of each other, always pulling to touch.
unfortunately, when you do spot her, looking painfully attractive in an oversized university polo and a backwards hat, she’s standing way too close to a random girl for your liking. you guys had never discussed the parameters of what was and wasn’t allowed, and a part of you had always known she wasn’t likely the type you could lock down if you were just friends with benefits. 
fine. you don’t owe her anything. you turn back around and reach for chaewon’s hand, inviting your friend to dance with you as lara’s girlfriend hands you another drink. you’re over trying to push dani. if she wants anything from you. she knows exactly where to find you.
you’re almost able to push her out of your head until chaewon trades to be dance partners with kazuha, landing you with yunjin holding you by the waist. you think nothing of it– her super secure girlfriend is literally two feet away from you, doing the same with kazuha, and yunjin has always been nothing but platonic with you, doting on how much she loves chaewon.
“i’m sure these moves have your girl so, so happy,” you laugh, motioning to how she can manage to both lead you so smoothly and also trip up over her own feet at the same time.
yunjin grins back at you in response. “i always step on her feet, and she’ll still kiss me. i think she pretends it doesn’t even happen.”
“now that’s true love,” you coo, motioning over to the bobbed girl in question, who blows you both a kiss as kazuha dips her over and over.
“i like to think she’s into me,” yunjin smiles.
“y/n isn’t drunk enough to be able to keep up with your whack ass moves, huh.”
the hair on the back of your neck tingles. you’ve gotten too good at picking up daniela’s husky voice absolutely anywhere. 
“funny. if anyone knows about getting shit-face wasted, it’s you, cap.” yunjin raises her cup to the blonde, words teetering dangerously on the edge of disdain. she motions to you and shoos you two off irritatedly. “take it away.”
before you can protest, dani is pulling you into the hallway, secluded from the bustle of the party centered in the living room.
her hands are all over you, her teeth in your neck painfully fast with no warning, as if to assert herself. you shove her away. 
“what the fuck, dani?” you hiss, wincing at the sting of your skin.
“missed you,” she says simply, pressing you back up against the wall, and you’re in shock about hearing her blatant confession. you think back and realize it might be the first time she’s ever admitted something like that. 
“you’re sending me mixed signals,” you call her out, putting a hand on her chest to keep some space between you two. “you don’t want me to get mad at you but you go crazy when you see me complimenting someone else.”
“fine then,” she growls, though you knew she’d avoid taking accountability for the whiplash she’s putting you through. “so should we just fucking quit while we’re ahead?”
you see the way her eyes change, something pressing beneath that calloused exterior, you know dani, deep down, and you know what it means when she acts out. so you decide to take a chance. 
“i want to know more about you,” you breathe gently, looking around quickly to make sure there’s no prying eyes, before cupping a hand to her cheek. “and i want to keep seeing you. please stop trying to fuck with my head.”
her eyes soften, and your heart melts. your bet pays off– her guard is dropping.
“you won’t like what you find,” she warns, and the way her voice hardens makes you wonder what she’s possibly been through to think so low of herself. 
“let me decide that on my own,” you tell her, tilting your head. “why do you keep pushing me away?”
“i thought i was fine with it, but i kept thinking about it. and i don’t want to hook up with someone who’s just using me to get back at someone else.”
“me liking you had nothing to do with my dad. it’d be easier to like you if my dad wasn’t terrified of you,” you shake your head, realizing how fucked up the reality of the situation is.
you don’t realize what’s slipped out of your mouth until daniela’s eyes are lighting up, even in the dim lighting. her voice is so, so eager, you want to risk it all and kiss her right there and then.
“y/n, you like me?” she questions.
“duh,” you wrinkle your nose, embarrassed but unable to find a way to take it back. “are you blind? is it seriously news to you?”
“i thought yunjin was fucking with me.”
“god, yunjin could see it,” you want to shrivel up and die– you had never mentioned dani to her, but yunjin is dating chaewon, the super genius, and is clearly no idiot herself.  “but why would she lie to you?”
dani bites back a guilty smile. “i’ve been kind of shitty to her before.”
you remember the first time watching their rivalry at practice, the smoothness with which they play but the very obvious tension off the ice. you even remember how dani didn’t bother you until it was yunjin who started dancing with you. 
“why are you so fucking weird about yunjin?”
you expect an excuse, but dani simply grits her teeth and lets out a breath. ïżœïżœïżœyunjin is like, what i could be if i wasn’t so fucked up. she’s confident and stupid but people really like her.”
“people really like you,” you press back.
“people put up with me,” she corrects, smiling painfully. “you and i both know i’m bad news.”
“that’s not true.”
“you know it is,” she insists “coach only tolerates me because i’m lara’s best friend, and because i got captain.”
“you’re a star player, that’s why you’re captain.” 
“megan is a star player,” she corrects you again. this is new territory for you– daniela’s always been so infuriatingly cocky, you almost don’t know what to make about the overload of sincerity she’s sharing with you. you regret every time you’ve talked shit about her ego, realizing it was probably the only thing protecting her from this terrible notion she has of herself.
“you almost won player of the year last season,” you remind her, the party now lost behind you both. “that’s nothing small.”
“your dad got so mad when i got nominated that year and not lara,” she laughs, but you can hear something painful in her voice. the pain of being constantly compared.
“you earned it for a reason,” you answer quickly, and you see something click in her.
“you’re the only person who’s never sized me up to lara,” she tells you. “or yunjin.”
“no comparison,” you answer quickly. “you’re so one-of-a-kind, dani. it’s mesmerizing.”
“i love lara, but even she puts me in this box, like i can’t be trusted. i know she means well but it’s hard sometimes. she’s so perfect, yunjin’s so likeable, and i’m too much,” dani breathes. 
“you’re not too much,” you disagree. “you’re so human. you’re like the most authentic person i know.”
“i feel like my feelings are too big for my body sometimes,” she admits, and you can’t believe she’s sharing all this at a frat party at like 1 in the morning. “like they control me instead of the other way around.”
“that makes you so special. you’re not hiding away like everyone else. you’re not scared to treat people like human beings.”
“nobody cares about that,” she snorts.
“i care about that. my dad always treats me like i’m some breakable doll.” nobody has ever made you feel safe or seen enough to confess the frustrations of being the youngest in your family comes with. “my brothers were always the ones allowed to get away with everything but i had to be under his thumb.”
“i wish we would have met any other way,” she says simply, and you feel the weight of her words resonating from inside of you. she leans in before adding a quiet whisper, “y/n, you like me?”
“i should have never said something,” you roll your eyes, but she reaches for your hand.
“you guys okay?” 
your eyes both snap up at the voice. you breathe out a sigh of relief as you realize it’s those big brown puppy eyes looking back at you. 
megan.
“i was going to steal lara’s keys so we could go–”
“kiss, a lot,” her girlfriend chimes in, cheeks flushed from clearly one too many drinks.
“no, she’s too tipsy for that, ignore her.” megan wrinkles her nose, holding the girl tightly by the waist to help hold her up. “i was going to let her sleep it off in the car but i’ll just get us an uber to take her home. take the keys, and go talk. that way, nobody interrupts.”
“i’m gonna teach her how to rock your shit once you’re all sobered up,” dani promises, pointing a finger at the both of them.
“dani, i am so serious, please shut the fuck up,” megan begs, and you can see her ears flushing red from beneath her beanie.
her girlfriend grins mischievously. “nooo, you should hear what she can do when–”
megan interrupts by simply turning them around and walking away with the girl in tow, throwing the keys at your feet as her eyes go wide. you hear her tone soften as she walks off in search of somewhere to let her clearly drunk girlfriend sober up. “okay, baby, not now, but especially not ever with dani
” 
-
you’re a little nervous that you’re being driven home without lara present, but you figure being home is better than staying out in your dad’s book. dani admits she hadn’t actually been drinking that night, which is a surprise to you, but you’re absolutely counting it as a win that she confessed all these thoughts sober.
you don’t remember who reaches out first, but her hand is holding yours as she drives down the familiar streets to your house, and you feel like you can picture it forever. 
“how did you get captain after lara turned it down?” you ask, after she had opened up about so many other issues in her life, answering each of your questions more honestly than the last.
“it was our old coach, she was training your dad before she transitioned to a new team.” you remember this. your dad had been assistant coach for years, and when the old head coach announced her retirement, your mom threw the biggest celebration to cheer him on for his promotion. “coach misty looked me in the eyes and told me that even if the athletics department wanted lara, i was always her first pick.”
“really?”
“she said i needed the responsibility so i wouldn’t do more stupid things.”
“that worked out,” you deadpan.
“i was worse, when i first joined the program. i’d skip practice, i had a shit attitude, i’d show up to games hungover. i threw up once offsides because i had been partying the night before too hard. at least now i stop before i get sick.”
“really?” you can’t imagine it. as destructive as dani is off the ice, her commitment to her sport is sacred. sure dani can be a goof during practice, but never during the drills themselves, or the games. you’d never once seen her show up with less than 110% when it comes down to it, laser-focused on whatever she’s doing.
“she saw the worst in me, and still believed i could be good,” dani shrugs. “good enough to announce me captain. i cleaned up my act a little once that happened. wanted to make her proud.”
“someone believed in you, once upon a time.” you tell her softly. “maybe you should remember that when you feel reckless.”
“fine.” she lets out a sigh and taps the steering wheel as if she’s thinking. you’re about to make a dumb comment about how good she looks in that hat, but she catches you off guard with her next statement: 
“i think we should stop hooking up with other people.”
“what?” you question, as if you heard her wrong.
“just make it easy.” she shrugs again, avoiding your gaze. “plus finals are coming up, we’ll be able to stay focused and blow off steam with less time in between.”
you’re too caught off guard to give a straight answer. instead, you want answers to your pressing questions. “when we first met, why did you get weird when i told you everyone was warning me about you?”
she hums for a moment, her thumb running across your knuckles. “i let myself start to like you, then i remembered who i am and what i do.”
“you’re not a bad person, dani,” you shake your head.
“you can’t even claim me,” she pushes back, pulling up in front of your house. 
“you’re not exactly showing me off either,” you point out.
“your dad would kill me,” she laughs, pointing to your house with all the lights off, “and i have one more year before i go pro.”
“fine.” you turn in the seat to face her, bringing your interlaced hands up to examine her knuckles. “we keep it secret for one more year, and once we graduate, if we’re still together, we say something.”
“so, we’re not gonna sneak around forever?” she asks, eyes lighting up.
“i’m private, but i want to make it very clear that i’m not ashamed of you.” 
“you’ll hate me in a year,” she pushes you teasingly. 
“i hated you for a little bit, but you grew on me.” you reach over to plant a soft kiss on her lips, feeling much too bold considering your dad is asleep just inside the house. “maybe you’ll hate me in a year.”
“guess you’ll just have to stick around a year and find out,” daniela smirks, before reaching across your seat to let you out of the car door once more.
you make it upstairs to your room, and she sends you a screenshot of her lockscreen.
look at what time i made it home. 
the time is irrelevant. all you see is that her background has been changed to a team photo, where you and her are sharing a glance. your heart thuds as you hunt down the same photo and change yours too. 
“this fucking stupid ass crush,” you mumble to yourself, before letting yourself fall asleep. you don’t have to have a name for it. whatever it is with dani, at least as of tonight, is perfect.
-
there’s two semifinal home games left until the championships, and you’ve never felt more anxious to be through a game in your life. between finals coming up, your dad extra on edge, and now trying to make time to see dani outside of just when the sun is gone, you feel like something is dangerously close to bursting, and yet you’re not sure which part of your life is bound to burst first.
the semi-final game, however, gives a hint that hockey is probably going to be a huge stressor for the next two weeks.
the game is absolute insanity. the girls are playing like maniacs, both intense and borderline sloppy as they barely manage to keep a lead up above the attacking team. your dad is beyond himself, screaming so hard he ends up snapping a clipboard over his knee out of frustration when the team lands another foul and gets away with it.
dani, however, is not one to let things slide, and makes sure the team knows she won’t tolerate a dirty play against megan under any circumstance.
daniela takes the other team’s center down, gripping her by the back of her jersey, and slams her into the ice. she drops on top of her, swinging two fast blows in succession against her helmet before the ref can swing over. yunjin jumps in quickly, dogpiling onto the other girl as her teammates come to her rescue. kazuha, freakishly strong, reaches down to yank a girl off dani’s back. 
the referee finally makes his way over and calls a 2 minute penalty for daniela. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her in the box. she storms over and slams the half-door shut, watching anxiously as her team tries to play without her for the next 120 seconds.
“never seen you fight before,” you tell her through the glass, trying to distract her as her eyes stay laser focused on the ice.
“this team fractured my eye socket last year.” she tells you back sharply, and she seems genuinely pissed. “and now trying a high-stick on meg? they had it coming.”
they barely scrape by with the win, and you have to sit through your dad’s lecture about how playing sloppy is almost worse than losing.
you, the golden trio, and their girlfriends are all leaving the stadium towards the parking lot, ready to go to their place and go straight to sleep after such a heavy game. but there’s an unfamiliar voice calling out from the dimly lit lot.
“you had to try and play dirty to win?” the girls call out, and you recognize them as some of the players from the other team. you look around and realize it’s just the few of you in the parking lot, last to leave. you get a sinking feeling in your stomach.
dani, fearless as always, is the first to step in front of your team and snap back against the attempts at intimidating her team. 
“i was gonna apologize for beating your ass bare in front of thousands of people, but it sounds like you deserved it,” she bites back.
“you call a dirty dogpile beating my ass?” the girl scoffs. “try again alone and you won’t come out as easily.”
“not worth it,” lara rolls her eyes, unlocking the car door to load her stuff into.
“easy to say when you can only win on home turf,” the girl responds.
“home court advantage? are you serious? look at our fucking record. you talk a lot of shit for a team that just got their asses whipped,” dani bites back, chest puffing as lara reaches out to hold her back. you feel frozen at the exchange.
megan is stepping backwards with nervous eyes, tutor girl pulling her by the wrist to try and distract her.
“oh come on, come step up like a fucking grown up.” the other team’s player points at the ginger in question and how tutor girl is trying to redirect her. “or does your little loser girl do all the hard shit for you?”
you see something twitch in megan’s jaw, her eyes blowing dark. 
holy shit. 
within seconds, megan is launching forwards, both hands pressing into the other girl’s shoulders and sending her slamming into the ground with one harsh push. she stands over her as you all bolt to grab her.
“next one ends as you with no teeth,” megan says, voice cold and even. you have never once heard megan talk like that, much less think she was capable of it.
ugh. to be her girlfriend, having someone claim you that hard. 
“she gets it, baby,” tutor girl pulls her back.
you can tell this was the catalyst to something terrible.
“you wanna start something then not finish it?” the other girl snaps angrily, lifting herself up off the ground with the help of the two other girls.
“your girlfriend says that’s a pattern of your’s,” dani snips. 
oh, this idiot and her big mouth.
“try it again, blondie,” she challenges, gesturing for her to approach.
“walk away, daniela,” lara pushes her, but dani’s too fucking stubborn to back down. 
in seconds, dani’s shoving into the other girl, despite the height difference, pressing her face into the other girls’ fearlessly. you’re in awe of how she seems completely unphased.
“they might not fight, but i do,” she bites, “and i’m not known to fucking lose.”
the other girl shoves back and before you know it, they’re at blows, even scarier now without all the padding from the game. you’re seconds from running in to try and pull them off of each other when you see a flash of another girl coming up behind her. you realize her intentions look less than a friendly way to blow off steam.
megan’s scream is the loudest. “dani!” 
the girl lifts her foot to land a kick straight into the side of dani’s knee, and you see the sickening bend of a joint that shouldn’t go in that direction. 
daniela screams and drops to the ground face-first, and the other team’s girls freeze as they realize what just happened of their teammate taking it too far. they sprint in the opposite direction, disappearing into the night, and you feel your heart start to race as dani stays on the ground. you’re waiting for her to make some stupid joke, to pop up and do a backflip or something, but once you see her swollen cheek and bloodied lip dripping with silent tears as she grips her knee, you realize something is horribly wrong.
“dani?” you whisper.
“i think we need a doctor,” lara utters, starting the car.
“dani, can you get up?” megan asks worriedly, and daniela keeps ignoring everyone to clutch her leg.
“this is not good,” you whimper, feeling your body go numb.
you immediately direct megan to help dani to her feet, and lara is racing to pull her car around. megan and her girlfriend help dani limp into the car, and the blonde is ignoring all of you with wide eyes. 
“i think she’s in shock,” lara says worriedly, and you bring a hand to dani’s face. the gash above her eye from where she hit the ground is bleeding profusely, and she looks pale.
“hey, you’re okay,” you reassure her, trying to bring her back to earth.
“y/n, i felt two pops. both my ligaments.” she says it solemnly, eyes still wide, as if she’s processing it over and over. “that’s my knee. that’s my career.”
“you also hit your head which i’m sure didn’t help,” you push back, knowing dani always manages to get out of things with the craziest of luck. you press a kiss to her knuckles, forgetting the world around you. “you’ll be okay.”
“that’s it for me,” she says quickly, before her face pales again and her head slumps forward, the shock clearly wearing off.
the ER nurse takes one look at daniela, bloodied, bruised, and her limp body only held up by megan’s sheer strength at this point, and hurriedly gets her in a wheelchair and out of the lobby.
your group waits anxiously in the lobby, intentionally leaving out mentioning this your dad yet. you can already hear what he’s going to say to her, and you figure the last thing she needs is to hear his lecture right about now. hours pass by, megan and her girlfriend curled up in one chair, lara falling asleep on your shoulder, as you fidget with your phone waiting to hear literally anything back.
they allow one person back to go see her, and lara wakes up and volunteers immediately. part of you wishes you could go back with them, but you figure if only megan knows, you shouldn’t be spilling to just anyone especially when dani can’t stand up for herself.
lara comes back a few minutes later, shaking her head. the disappointment is written clearly on her features.
you realize now, why it had to be dani as captain. yes, lara is lovely and easy to like and responsible, but as soon as the pressure hits, you can read the distress all over her features. she’s shutting down, clearly bearing bad news.
dani would be frustrated, maybe, but her energy would stay up and she’d find some way to make even the biggest problems seem like no sweat. that’s what coach misty had seen in dani, all that time ago, to appoint her captain. an undying tenacity and a willpower of steel– the kind that inspires people.
“the forehead needed three stitches, which they did.” she lets out a sigh. “um, but they’re putting her in for a cat scan right now to see what’s going on with the knee and how bad it is.”
“they’re going to go straight into surgery to see what they can repair in her knee. the acl and the mcl both ripped from the impact. they said we should look into pressing charges.”
your heart drops.
“the good news is my girlfriend has seen plenty of acl rips that can heal fast enough to finish a season. we might not have her for championships but she’ll be with us next year.”
you look over at megan, who is teary eyed at the thought of all of this. “can we see her?”
lara nods. “she has a room, they’ll let us know when we can go in.”
lara decides to be the responsible one and steps outside to call her girlfriend first, and then face your dad. once a nurse comes down to say she’s accepting visitors (albeit, sleepily due to the pain meds,) megan is leaving you guys in the dust to race upstairs towards the room. 
dani’s peaceful snores from her bed bring you some source of comfort. megan curls up in the chair next to the bed and pulls out her phone, mumbling something about calling out from class the next day. 
lara’s girlfriend arrives and the other girlfriends wait outside the door, peeking in through the crack in case dani stirs.
“poor lar is still on the phone with coach y/ln. you can imagine how it’s going,” she wrinkles her nose. tutor girl grimaces.
“hate to be her right about now.”
“check it out. your puppy dog doesn’t want to leave her side,” you laugh. 
“you haven’t either,” tutor girl points out playfully. 
“someone sane has gotta keep an eye on our captain,” you shrug. 
“dani is like a big sister to her,” tutor girl says worriedly, watching from the window as megan lays her head on dani’s bed. “she loves her.”
lara’s girlfriend turns to you, and with zero judgement in her voice, asks simply: “what’s she to you?” 
“loaded question,” is all you say, and they both laugh in response. 
megan bursts out the door with an eager smile. “she’s awake!”
you let the other girls go in first and say their pieces. at this point, it’s nearly 2am after all the waiting, and the adrenaline doesn’t balance out how tired they all must be from the game and being up this late. you let them trickle out of the room as they finish up, last out being megan, before you nod to her and promise you’ll keep an eye on her best friend through the night.
they leave, and you step into the room, feeling a small breath escape you at the sight of her.
she’s sitting up in the bed, beaming that stupidly gorgeous smile at you, but the stitches on her forehead and the scrapes and bruises on her face make your heart ache. she looks so small in the hospital gown, your otherwise larger than life daniela, but all you can think about is how grateful you are that she’s in one piece.
“will i sound too familiar if i start screaming about your dumb fucking choices tonight?” you start, but your voice can’t hide the fact that you’re not actually angry at her, as stern as you’re trying to be.
“sorry i’m such a shit-head,” she apologizes simply, the smile never dropping. 
“how’d you know my dad’s nickname for you?” you tease.
“‘cause he calls me it like it’s my government name,” she winkles her nose back at you, looking around before reaching out a hand to you.
“i don’t think you’re all that bad, daniela avanzini.” you smile gently and take her hand in yours as you stand next to the bed.
“you haven’t known me long enough,” she snorts. “you’ll find something.”
“shockingly, i’ve liked what i’ve seen.” you press playfully into her chin. “i hope i get to know you long enough to prove you wrong, but you’re gonna have to stop doing stupid shit like this.”
“careful,” she clicks her tongue. “people might think you’re soft for me.”
“you got under my skin at some point.” you shrug, the smile on your lips only growing. “unfortunately, i think i like you there.”
she pauses for a moment, and you wonder if she’s going to say something stupid, but instead, she simply looks up at you with those sharp gorgeous dark eyes. 
“will you stay, please?”
“you know,” you tell her, relenting instantly and cuddling into the bed with her, “i had this sick fantasy of finally hearing you beg, but now that you’re begging, i feel like a horrible person because it doesn’t actually turn me on.”
“you’re so evil,” she laughs. “maybe we are meant to be.”
“slow down, playboy,” you tease, before letting out a quiet nervous breath. “what’d the doctor say?”
“good thing i’m still insanely hot,” she says, flexing her biceps beside you, “cause it sounds like i’m never playing hockey again.”
your heart drops. “what? but lara said–”
“recovery for all the ripped joints is well over a year. that’s this and next season.” she holds up two fingers. “there’s no chance i’m going pro missing my rest of my junior and then my senior season, and that’s if my knee even heals right.”
“dani
” you feel your heart ache at the implication.
“that’s what, almost 15 years? just down the drain.” she shakes her head, dropping back against the pillow with wide eyes. “everyone is asking me what the fuck i’m going to do next and all i can do is stare back like an idiot.”
“you don’t have to know that yet,” you tell her gently, resting your head on her shoulder. “i think you should give yourself a chance to rest.”
she scoffs and runs a hand through her hair, sarcasm dripping in her voice. “still want to sneak around with me? broken knee, no more games, useless ass captain with her career down the drain? at least i can smoke so much more weed while i rot on the couch.”
you blink once, twice, as you realize the warmth in your chest has overflowed in a way that never had anything to do with daniela’s status. you like her for her, and you’re hurt she couldn’t see that from the start.
you cup her face gently in your palm and turn it to face you.
“dani,” you say quietly, trying to take in every inch of her features, her poor cut up face. “i don’t think i want to sneak any more.”
your heart pounds at the way her eyes light up.
“even like this?” she questions.
“especially like this.” you nod. “just give me some time to find the right chance to talk to my dad. maybe you can tell lara. we can figure it out from there.”
you’re mentally prepared for an excuse, from the pushback of wanting to still be single. you’re prepared for her to flip that switch and slap you with some stupid fuckboy ecxcuse, as she does whenever feelings start to get too heavily involved, but you know that’s a risk you run wih her anyways.
instead, she just stares back at you with those beautiful eyes, her smile threatening to split her face in two. 
“okay,” she says simply, and it’s enough for you.
“you’re going to be okay,” you reassure her, carefully leaning into her chest to not disturb her bad leg. she wraps and arm around your shoulder and plays mindlessly with your hair. “you’re so one of a kind. things always work out for you.”
the night finally catches up to you, and you fall asleep in her arms. at this point, you don’t care who sees you. all that matters is dani needs you, and you want to be there for her, and there’s nothing your heart wants more than to make her feel cared for. 
-
the championship game finally arrives two weeks later, and your heart breaks as the teams make it a special point to roll out a carpet on the ice to celebrate dani, who limps out in her leg brace and blows kisses all around her at the roaring fans. 
the collegiate sports world was rocked by the news after your dad helped file the police report last week. the headlines hit immediately after: 
“hockey champion’s career cut short due to violent assault from opposing team.” 
you know it breaks her heart to have to watch the game from the bench, but dani’s calling out and making suggestions to your dad, screaming at the girls from the box to make sure they know she’s down but not out for the count. you can tell it does wonders for their morale, their leader still pushing as hard as she can from the constraints she has. 
they’re wobblier on the ice than usual– like a creature on four legs that just lost it’s front foot. megan is compensating for the new left wing, who doesn’t match up with kazuha quite as gracefully as dani did, but they’re making it work. the game stays at a tense 0-0 even down to the bottom of the final period, and that’s equally lara’s job as goalie as well as yunjin’s work as defenseman to keep the puck away from their net.
it’s the offence that is feeling dani’s absence the most. it had always been kazhua to dani, zuha making a hole as dani runs the puck up, and then both of them clearing a clear pass to megan to make the final score. megan is overcompensating, somehow in multiple places at once, and by some miracle, makes a buzzer-beating shot that brings them up to their second championship victory.
1-0, and no easy feat.
the girls all swarm megan on the ice, but you quickly realize megan is crying her poor little eyes out as she races out of the swam and instead runs straight to the player box, crushing daniela in a hug as she tosses her helmet to the side.
dani furrows her brows and gives megan back the tightest hug she can manage with all the padding still on her. the other girls come to quickly trickle in and follow suit, and you can hear megan’s loud sobs heard over the hums and sniffles of the other girls. the reality sets in. their  beloved captain is done for.
“we’re going to announce the next captain tomorrow after the championship recap press release,” your dad tells them, after a few pictures with the trophy and a debrief about the game. “get some rest, you all played your best tonight.”
he points to yunjin and daniela and motions for them to follow into his office. you figure you’ll give them some space and wait outside with lara and her girlfriend, but once you see yunjin step out and hurry away, you hear the volume increase. lara and the physical trainer both exchange concerned glances and walk away to offer them more privacy. you try to focus on other things, but you hear a thud of something hitting the desk, and walk into the office.
you catch the tail end of their argument. daniela’s jaw is hard and her face is red, almost as red as your dad’s, and you can tell the two have probably been screaming at each other a fair amount of time before you got there. 
“captain goes to yunjin.” he presses firmly, slamming his fist down again into the table. “you thank the program for their time, you make the announcement that it’s huh, and you train her until the season starts. you can still see your scholarship out as long as you’re training with us since the injury wasn’t your fault.”
“i don’t give a fuck about my scholarship. yunjin is the wrong call for captain,” daniela bites back fearlessly. 
“if you wouldn’t have gone looking for trouble, we wouldn’t have to be making this call.” he growls, shooing the both of you out of his door.  “you don’t get to call shots any more, avanzini, you are done for. do what i say. announce huh at the press conference and stop causing issues.”
daniela storms out of the office, and you follow behind her, your dad slamming the door shut behind the two of you.
“if i wasn’t stuck in this fucking brace, i’d beat his ass too,” she rants, waving lara over. “let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“enough with fighting people,” you growl, following them to the car.
you spend the night, and daniela doesn’t want to say a single word more about it, instead simply laying in the bed and letting you play with her hair until she falls asleep. you want to leave it there, but something inside you is pressing to dig a little deeper, so you slip out of the bed as gently as you can without waking her, and ask lara if you can borrow the car to make a quick trip. your dad is clearly too stressed out about the conference tomorrow to be checking where you are, so you figure maybe you can dig a little deeper into this as you give chaewon a quick phone call. 
you make it to chaewon’s apartment complex and just as you had the hunch, yunjin is pulling up at the exact same time, looking like a zombie as she tries punching in the access code to the front door. you park and race up behind her before she can leave you behind.
“hi yunjin,” you greet, making your presence known.
“y/n.” she forces a smile, spinning on her heel. caught. “good to see you.”
“i thought we were cool, but you don’t seem that thrilled to see me,” you wrinkle your nose. “did chae tell you i was asking about you?”
“unfortunately, yes,” she wrinkles her nose back at you. yunjin straddles the line between being confident and cocky, just barely able to rein it in that you’re never quite that annoyed with her. 
“sorry for you, but i need answers,” you press.
“all for a girl who won’t claim you?” she arches a brow.
you bite back a grimace, not wanting to admit how deep that cuts. “this isn’t about dani.”
“when it comes to this team, everything is about dani.” she shakes her head.
“when it comes to dani, everything is about the team,” you insist, and you see yunjin’s eyebrow twitch slightly.
“i hate admitting when daniela is right, but i also disagree with the call to make me captain.”
“so don’t accept,” you state simply.
“i have to,” yunjin sighs. “it’s not that easy.”
“why don’t you think it should go to you?”
“i love hockey, but i don’t live and breathe it. coach y/ln just wants an incoming senior who can say the right polite things, keep the sponsors happy, and then graduate and be out of there. i’m the closest she could get to lara raj. dani, as much trouble as she caused, also got us the right kind of attention. it was supposed to be her keeping captain until she graduated. someone like that isn’t going to pop up again. lightning doesn’t strike twice.”
you marinade on her words. that might explain why dani is so irritated about the call– yunjin seems ready to be a puppet for the next year, and daniela would rather die than let captain go to someone who doesn’t see the sport as their whole life.
“i’ve never seen her like that before, so reasonable. she’s crazy about you,” yunjin adds as an afterthought. “she met her match in you.”
“crazy knows crazy,” you laugh.
“i think you believing in her changed her.” yunjin corrects you, offering a small smile as a peace offering. “she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s our favorite pain in the ass, so thank you for taking care of her.”
suddenly the door swings open, revealing a sleepy-eyed chaewon.
“oh hi, y/n,” she blinks, looking between the both of you. “i wasn’t expecting you to actually come over.”
“not crashing, just needed to find yunjin. thanks, chae. see you tomorrow.” you nod to them both and head off. you don’t have a plan, but you at least have a better idea of what’s going through daniela’s head, and maybe that can be enough for now. you drive back to her place and squeeze right back into bed with her, wondering what this new chapter could possibly have in store for you.
-
the press conference finally comes the next day, and you’ve never seen so many bodies packed in the conference room before. photographers, reporters, even what looks like scouts and coaches invited from other teams. yunjin is seated next to you in the front row by the coaches, and megan and lara are right outside the door watching on the screen outside the room with the rest of the team. 
dani limps her way onto the stage, unreadable expression on her face. they offer her a roaring round of applause, their university’s mini-celebrity, before quieting down as she takes to the microphone to start the speech.
“hockey has given me the most beautiful past 15 years of my life. i’d like to thank the program, for giving me a home to call my own, and the coaches, for pushing me to be my best. i’d like to thank the girls, most of all, for trusting my decisions, following me into the dark, and picking me up every single time i’ve fallen in pursuit of perfection.”
“as we celebrate this win,” she continues, “i know my time as captain has come to a beautiful end. i will mourn the season i never got to share, but i know the next captain is going to set the most incredible example for the team moving froward. being captain changed me. it gave me something to be responsible for, and a reason to believe in myself, even on the hardest days, when nothing felt redeemable. this is not a decision the program has taken lightly, as the job of team captain is only for those strong enough to lead by example, and believe in themselves to do it with a clear focus on the team.” 
she presses her lips into a fine line, clearly trying to fake a smile. your heart aches as you know she’s being forced to do this against her better hopes.
“i am proud to announce my successor,” she starts, her face cold. 
theres a pause, and you see her eyes change. she looks up at you and that glint of mischief shines as your eyes meet. you whisper a scolding to yourself but the grin on her face tells you that her mind is made up. she leans into the microphone and takes measures into her own hands.
“the women’s hockey team is in no better hands next year than incoming junior megan skiendiel. thank you,” she nods and stands up, and the conference room bursts into a roar of flashing cameras, overlapping questions, and a few whistled cheers.
you know your dad is going to fucking kill her but she walks off the stage with no fear and heads backstage. 
tutor girl texts you immediately. 
holy shit
daniela’s too smart. the university is in too tight of a position to retract her statement. dani is adored by thousands, and the sob story of her early retirement locks in her legacy as a hero– if your dad retracts her statement, he’s as good as dead.
you all rush to find her backstage as your dad scrambles to the mic, announcing “no further questions.”
megan is the first to spot her, and you can already see the color drained from her face in shock as her lip quivers. “dani–”
“listen, megs.” daniela grabs the taller girl by the shoulders, pulling her in to look her deep in the eyes. “you are our top scorer. you are first to practice every time and always the last to leave. you live, breathe, and die by this sport. everything i know, i’ve taught you, and you’ve surpassed me. you are a better, younger version of myself and you are the heart of this team.” 
you didn’t know where dani’s head was at with yunjin, but you can see it now. experience and composure vs talent and dedication. yunjin is perfect on paper, but megan is obsessed with the sport down to her very core. and when daniela needed a reminder she was more than just a stupid little problem child, she recognizes that megan needs the same push to see she’s not just some nervous idiot little kid. 
“i can’t do what you do,” megan hiccups, and you can see how hard she’s biting down on her lip to stop herself from bursting into tears. “i can’t do any of this without you.”
“you won’t have to.” dani pulls her into a crushing hug, and you feel your heart warm. “i’ve got your back, and you’ve got all of ours. believe in yourself, or at least remember that at least one person believes in you, and the rest will come naturally.”
your dad’s voice booms over all of you, interrupting the otherwise tender moment. 
“avanzini, my fucking office, now.”
he’s stanced menacingly in front of the group, finger pointed in the direction of the coach’s offices. you all fall silent, clearly terrified of what comes next from him.
well, all except for daniela, who steps right up to him and points a finger just an inch from his face. 
“yeah, keep swearing at me ‘cause i got more to say to you, you bald-headed bitch,” she pushes back fearlessly. 
“oh, don’t start, avanzini,” he groans, backing down and walking towards the office. 
you want to die of laughter as you watch her limp after him. daniela and her incessant need to run her mouth.
you give megan a quick squeeze of reassurance and leave her in the arms of the girls. whatever is about to go down between daniela and your dad should probably involve a witness, so you chase them down and follow into his office. they don’t even notice you entering, right back into a screaming match they’re all too good at. 
“do you know the shit you just got us into? i have a whole department losing their minds over their top spokesperson having to transition off and now you’re going off script picking your own fucking captain! do you know the position that puts us in?” he’s seething so hard, you see the spit flying from his lips as he can barely contain himself. “do you ever fucking think about anything besides yourself?”
“yes, actually.” daniela’s face is hard, she’s standing tall, taking the verbal beating but snapping back just as forcefully to make sure he knows it won’t be an easy fight. “i think about a lot of other people, actually.”
“forgive me for finding that hard to believe, between the partying, the disrespect, and the self-centered attitude.” he holds up a finger for each vice he lists. “you carry yourself like some cocky frat boy and i’ve enabled you for way too fucking long. sometimes i wonder what the fuck goes on up there in that brain of yours besides thinking about yourself.”
you see daniela’s fists clench, and she lets out a sharp breath. 
“you wonder what i think about?” she snaps, before taking a step back and laughing bitterly. “this is a great time to tell you that i’m in love with your daughter.”
you freeze. oh christ.
“don’t joke like that, avanzini.” he waves her off, immediately attempting to call her bluff.  “you’ve already put my blood pressure high enough. don’t pick the low fucking blows.”
“coach,” dani says simply, and her eyes flicker to you. 
you look back at her, and realize your dad is staring between the two of you. his face falls instantly as he sees the look you share.
“y/n, if she’s roped you into some prank, it’s not fucking funny, and this is not the time. this is serious, kiddo, you can’t let her use you to make a joke at my expense–”
your eyes meet dani’s once more, and you realize you have a choice. be stuck under his thumb forever, or choose to be impulsive and brave. 
and something about those eyes makes you feel like maybe, it wouldn’t kill you to be your own person. 
“i know daniela is a pain in your ass, but she’s also passionate, and brave, and she loves hard.” you start, and your dad groans in exasperation as he buries his face in his hands.
“not you, y/n, i literally told them the only rule was not you,” he sighs, before pointing back at daniela. “i should have known i couldn’t fucking trust you.”
“you don’t see the good side of her because you’re too busy wishing she was lara, or yunjin.”
you see dani and your dad tense simultaneously. 
“i’d be pretty annoying too if i couldn’t exist by myself,” you continue. “you’re always comparing her and she never gets a chance to just be celebrated for everything she does right.”
“no. not being trusted is a consequence of your own decisions,” he tells her.
“you don’t know everything about me,” daniela growls. 
“no, avanzini, i do know you,” he snaps back quickly, an accusing finger in her face. “i know you’re arrogant and hot-headed. i know you act first and think later, and that’s if you even think at all.”
“and all of those things make her someone you can depend on to give 110%,” you jump in to her defense. “do you know how many times she’s shown up to cheer someone up after a hard game? how she teaches others how to show up first to every practice? how she’s there the moment anyone needs someone? every time the girls start to beat themselves up because you’ve been a dick, she’s the first one helping them feel better about themselves.”
“it’s not just about being composed,” you go on, “it’s about being connected, and daniela cares about everyone equally. doesn’t pick favorites, unlike you.”
“y/n, are you trying to kill me?” he runs a hand over his bald head, his skin redder than you’ve ever seen it before. he glares once more over at daniela. “and you, shit-head, you are to stay away from my daughter or i kick you from the team.”
“i’m not approved to play anyways,” dani snaps back immediately. “you can’t stop me from shit.”
“kicking her isn’t your call,” you push back.
“she’s going to ruin your future,” he warns, but it feels like the weak final attempt of someone losing to try and get the upper hand.
“you not listening to anyone else is going to ruin yours. watch how your team falls apart without dani to guide them,” you snap back, grabbing daniela’s hand to yank her out of the office with you. “she’s not some fucking monster.”
you pause for a second in the doorway, before adding a final thought.
“and for the record, dad, dani did everything possible to ignore me. i sought her out, over and over, because she was the only person who treated me like a human being and not like your little puppet.”
your hands are shaking as you two simply keep walking, making your way out of the building. you’ve never once pushed back against him like that.
“holy shit,” daniela says simply, slumping up against the giant oak tree by the athletics building. 
it’s not enough for you, you’re all adrenaline, and if there was ever a time to claim and be claimed, it’s now.
“you could say it to my dad, right in his fucking face, and yet you can’t look me in the eyes and say it to me?” you tell her hurriedly, grabbing her hands and holding them in your own shaky ones. “you can look him in the eyes, tell him off, tell him you’re in love with me, and still not be able to look me in the eyes to say it here?”
“i didn’t think the chance would ever hit me again,” she admits. “i did it, but i was fucking scared.”
“big bad avanzini, scared?” you laugh, throwing your head back. “never thought i’d see the day.”
“i want to be a different person for you,” she tells you, her tone dropping into a more serious one, as she brushes a few strands of hair from your face. “a good one.”
“you are a good person,” you press, taking her face into your hand. “i wanted you then, before you knew you were good, and i want you now.”
“it’ll kill me if i hurt you,” she clenches her jaw.
“dani, we’ve already hurt each other and we weren’t even together.” you shake your head at all the time you two had wasted being stupid and playing games. “and you forgive me, and i still forgive you, and i still know you’re good at your core.”
“i want you bad, y/n,” she breathes shakily. “but things i’ve loved in my life never really end up working out.”
“because you sabotage them, thinking you’re not worth it.” you hold her perfect face in both of your hands, forcing her to look at you. “you are perfect for me.”
“it’s risky,” she warns you, but you can see her guard falling one last time. “being in love can be really fucking painful. it’s a huge risk.”
“luckily for me, i fell in love with the most reckless, relentless daredevil i’ve ever met,” you grin, and she matches your smile with her own. “i trust you, daniela avanzini. with my whole heart, actually.”
she pulls you into a searing kiss, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in the fresh air, not hidden in someone’s room or in a dark hallway. you relish it, her soft, warm lips against yours in the brisk winter time air, the way she pulls you in to press your bodies flush together. your heard thuds at the realization. 
it’ll be the first of many.  
-
megan taps the microphone nervously, pulling at her tie to loosen it. 
“uh, hi.”
tutor girl is recording next to you, looking like a proud soccer mom. she told you just moments before how hard megan had worked on this speech. the summertime pre-season press conference is no joke, usually it’s how the program will set the tone for the upcoming season, and the team is eagerly waiting in the front row of the conference seating to cheer on the ginger on stage.
“i take the torch of leadership from a mentor who is extremely dear to me.” she starts slowly, and you notice that she has no notes in front of her, having memorized the speech itself.  “i’m excited to work to bring out the best in this team, the way our former captain brought out the best in me, and in every one of us. i will aim high not to achieve, but to improve. all i will seek is that we improve upon ourselves, and the rest we’ll take as it comes for the love of this beautiful sport. thank you for believing in me, and i hope this season gives everyone something to be proud of. my name is megan skiendiel, and i am extremely honored to be named the women’s hockey team captain.”
she nods, bowing slightly, and stands up once the photos have all been taken.
dani watches on the other side of you, arms crossed. her lips are pressed into a grin. 
“you did this,” you tell her, motioning to the packed conference and the roars of cheering fans from outside the conference room. “your stubborn self made this all happen.”
“someone once described me as relentless,” she smiles, poking you in the hip.
“no, i said you’re annoying,” you correct, as the two of you make your way back towards the coach’s area.
“i’ll be honest, i probably wasn’t listening either way.” she teases, and you roll your eyes. “you start yapping and i get lost in those eyes.”
“okay, alright loverboy,” you push her face away, but she presses back twice as strong to plant a kiss on your cheek. you squeeze her cheek in response. “ugh, you’re so fucking cute it makes me aggressive.”
“you’re always aggressive,” she laughs. 
“don’t let anyone look at you during the faculty meeting,” you warn. “if someone smiles at you, you say–”
“‘i have a girlfriend, i love her with my whole heart, and she’ll kill you,’” dani nods, remembering the lines you two playfully ran the night before.
“you’re so good.” you hum happily.
“if anyone looks my way, i’ll call you and then punch them in the head,” she reassures you, laughing.
“no violence.” you warn her. “you’re not a frat boy any more.”
“i love you,” she says simply, but the firmness in her tone and the way she reaches for your hand speaks volumes. 
you grab her by the chin and stare deep into those beautiful dark eyes. her tooth gem sparkles as she smiles widely back at you. 
“be good, and have fun. i’ll wait for you at home.”
“naked, hopefully,” dani quips back quickly.
“we can’t keep traumatizing poor megan,” you laugh, shaking your head.
“you are the best thing that ever happened to me,” she tells you earnestly, eyes looking over you as if seeking something.
“if someone discovers how to quit you, i hope they let me know,” you wrap your arms around her neck and plant one last kiss on her forehead.
“hope that never fucking happens.” she says easily. “you’re stuck with my ass.”
“ugh.” you push her away with one last kiss to her cheek. “go be charming and stupid somewhere else before i drag you into a bathroom.”
she looks so fucking cute in the university polo. a popped collar and a red cup in her hands and she’d look much too comfortable throwing back to her frat boy days. she runs off and joins the familiar figure of your dad as the hockey program faculty head into a meeting room.
your dad shoves her, and she grins twice as big up at him as she jumps up to slap the back of his big, bald head and then sprints off. he grumbles something and you watch as the two disappear into the room with the rest of the staff. you couldn’t be more proud of the way dani has found a way to keep chasing her dreams.
daniela avanzini. incoming senior, and new assistant coach in training.
and, her title for you and you alone, daniela avanzini. the most passionate, caring, insanely brave girlfriend anyone could have ever imagined.
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hoshifighting · 1 year ago
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Workaholic!Joshua
— Synopsis: Joshua consistently skips happy hours or works overtime. You've tried to warn your friend countless times, but he didn't listen to you. As a result, it's no surprise that Joshua experienced a burnout on the office floor. — WC: 5.3k — WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, angst, office setting, fingering (f. receiving), clit stimulation, handjob, penetrative sex, a little bit of car sex, protected sex, dirty talk, flirty Joshua.
[Please be aware that the following text includes mentions of burn-out, collapse, fainting out, which may be a sensitive topic for some]
[Issue Club Serie]
You remember when you heard your manager talking about a job vacancy in the recruitment and selection sector. The name immediately stood out to you—Joshua. You studied with him in college, and you knew he would be perfect for the role.
The manager loved him. Joshua was charismatic, empathetic, and dedicated—everything the recruitment team needed. Every morning, he would thank you profusely, and at least twice a week, he would insist on buying you an overpriced coffee. It took some time for you to convince him that he didn't need to do this.
But there was something else you couldn't help but notice. The sheer number of job interviews Joshua had to lead, the late nights you'd see him at his desk with tired eyes, and how he always seemed a little lonely, even though the team welcomed him with open arms.
Joshua would rarely show up to the department's happy hours on Fridays or the company parties, and even then, he would only talk about work. There was no relief, no relaxation. You found yourself listening to him until the end of the night, as the rest of the team started to ask if he would even bother coming anymore, knowing he probably wouldn't.
You couldn't help but feel for Joshua. He was clearly passionate about his work, but at what cost? You watched as he isolated himself, unable to find that work-life balance that so many of us strive for. It made you wonder, what was driving him to push himself so hard, and at what point would the stress and loneliness become too much to bear?
As his friend, you couldn't help but worry about his well-being. You'd seen him cancel plans, skip social events, and even miss out on family gatherings, all in the name of his career. It was admirable, sure, but also concerning. 
You could consider reaching out, inviting him for a coffee or a quick chat. Maybe he just needed someone to listen and remind him that there was more to life than just work. 
But then again, who were you to judge? 
Everyone has their own path, their own motivations. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that Joshua was heading for a burnout. You wondered if there was a way to help him find a better balance without undermining his ambitions. It was a tricky situation, and you weren't sure how to approach it.
As you glance at the clock, the hands indicate it's already 3:35 pm. Your stomach growls, reminding you that you've been so absorbed in your work that you've skipped lunch. Deciding it's time for a much-needed break, you gather your phone and wallet, heading towards the exit of the department.
But just as you're about to leave, you spot Joshua, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in a blur of movement. You can't help but let out a small sigh, knowing he's likely putting in extra hours again. Turning around, you make your way over to his desk, standing beside him.
"Joshua, it's past 3:30. Don't you think it's time for a break?" you say, your voice laced with concern.
Joshua looks up, blinking a few times as he registers your presence. "Oh, hey Y/N. I'm just trying to get this report finished before the end of the day," he explains, his brow furrowed in concentration.
You can't help but smile at his dedication. "Come on, you've been working non-stop. Let's go grab a bite to eat across the street. My treat," you offer, hoping to coax him away from his desk.
Joshua hesitates for a moment, glancing back at his computer screen. "I don't know, Y/N. I really need to get this done..."
"It can wait, Joshua. You need to take a break and recharge," you insist, your tone gentle but firm.
With a sigh, Joshua nods and starts to gather his things. "Alright, you win. Let's go," he says, shrugging on his blazer.
You can't help but feel a sense of triumph as the two of you head towards the elevator. "So, how are the apprentice interviews going?" you ask. "They're going well, actually. The candidates are all so eager and eager to learn," Joshua replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
You chuckle, nodding in understanding. "That's the best phase, but I hope they don't overwork themselves in the future, right Josh?" you say, casting him a knowing glance.
Joshua ducks his head, chuckling quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he says, the hint of a smile still playing on his face.
As you step out into the bustling street, you feel the sun's warmth on your face, a pleasant contrast to the cold, sterile office. You turn to Joshua, a playful grin spreading across your face.
"Alright, Josh, here's the deal. If you talk about work during this break, you'll owe me an ice cream," you declare, wagging a finger at him.
Joshua laughs, a genuine sound that lightens the mood. "Deal. Though, to be honest, I'd buy you an ice cream anyway," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Don't you forget it. And remember, I'm serious," you say, trying to keep a straight face as you give him a mock-stern look.
Joshua raises his hands in surrender, still chuckling. "Alright, alright, I heard you loud and clear."
As you both find a cozy little café, the smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee envelops you. You choose a table by the window, and as you settle in with your meals, the casual chatter of other patrons creates a comforting background hum.
"Did you hear about the latest drama?" you begin, leaning in conspiratorially. "The director's wife found out he was cheating on her because her strawberry jam kept disappearing from the fridge—and the director doesn't even like strawberry jam!"
Joshua's mouth drops open, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No way. Seriously?" he exclaims, staring at you.
You nod, your face a picture of exaggerated exasperation. "Yup. She noticed it was going down way too fast and started putting two and two together."
Joshua shakes his head, still processing the story. "That's wild. You know, during the last interview I led, they actually put some strawberry jam on the table so the candidates would—" He stops abruptly as your glare pierces him. He laughs, holding up his hands again. "Sorry, sorry! No work talk, I remember."
You can't help but smile at his sheepish expression. "Thank you. So, back to the story. After she figured it out, she didn’t just confront him. Oh no, she went all out. She invited him to a romantic dinner, complete with candles and, of course, strawberry jam."
Joshua raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "And then what happened?"
You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "She waited until he took a bite of the dessert she made—some fancy strawberry tart. And then she calmly asked him if he enjoyed it as much as his 'office snacks.'"
Joshua bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his food. "No way! That’s brilliant. What did he do?"
You grin, enjoying his reaction. "He turned beet red and started stammering. She didn’t even wait for an explanation. She just got up, left the table, and moved out the next day. Took the jam with her too, just for good measure."
Joshua laughs so hard tears form in his eyes. "I can't believe it. That's some next-level pettiness. Good for her."
You noticed Joshua seemed more relaxed after your lunch together. He even managed a smile when you passed by his desk later that day. However, during the week, your attempts to repeat the lunch outing were met with resistance. Each time you invited him, he had a different excuse.
"Hey, Josh, want to grab some lunch today?" you asked on Tuesday, hoping to replicate the success of your last outing.
"Sorry, Y/N. I need to lead the apprentice interview," he replied, not looking up from his computer.
On Wednesday, you tried again. "How about lunch today? There is a pasta sale going on at the mall."
Joshua sighed, shaking his head. "I wish I could, but I need to filter the job applications. We're getting so many, and I need to find the best ones."
By Thursday, your frustration was evident, but you kept it in check. "Lunch today, Josh? You deserve a break."
"I'd love to, but I need to solve the issue with the employees' late salaries," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It's causing a lot of stress for everyone."
Joshua was developing into someone who rarely took a break from his work. Today was Friday, and as you were leaving with your coworkers, all you wanted was to taste a cold beer and find some refuge from the rough week. The whole department was eager to hang out together, and the air was filled with energy.
You were refreshing your makeup at your desk as your coworkers trickled out, laughing and chatting. Glancing over, you saw Joshua standing by the printer, watching the curriculums pile up.
"Josh, you coming out with us tonight?" you called over, hoping to finally get him to relax.
He looked up, "I don't know, Y/N. I have these curriculums to go through, and then there's the report I need to finish."
Tired of trying, you sigh in defeat, the weight of your concern for Joshua pressing heavily on your shoulders. He notices, his eyes meeting yours briefly, but you turn away and walk out. You knew you didn't have the responsibility of checking on him every single time—it was his choice to work himself into exhaustion. But how could you not worry? He was a great friend, and the thought of him breaking down alone between the dividers of his desk was unbearable.
As you sip your beer, trying to enjoy the happy hour, the image of Joshua's lost eyes lingers in your mind. The laughter and chatter around you fade into the background as your thoughts drift back to him. After a few hours, the night winds down, and you remember you forgot your keys at the office. Debora, your coworker, offers you a ride back so you can retrieve them before heading home.
The office is dark and silent as you and Debora step inside, your footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. Only one light is turned on, casting a dim glow over a single desk. You immediately recognize it—Joshua's desk. But he isn't sitting there.
A sense of dread fills you as you approach, the cubicle dividers blocking your view. As you round the corner, you see him—Joshua, sprawled on the floor.
You gasp, rushing to his side. "Joshua!" you scream out, your voice trembling with panic. You carefully lift his head and place it on your lap, your hands shaking as you check for signs of consciousness. He's unresponsive, his face pale and drawn.
"Debora, call an ambulance!" you shout, your voice tight.
Debora fumbles with her phone, her fingers trembling as she dials. She quickly explains the situation to the operator and then rushes to find building security for additional help.
You gently shake Joshua, trying to rouse him. "Come on, Josh, wake up," you whisper urgently, but he remains still, his breathing shallow.
Minutes later, which feel like an eternity, the sound of sirens pierces the silence. The paramedics arrive, and you reluctantly let go of Joshua as they take over, assessing his condition and preparing to move him. You insist on riding with him to the hospital, unable to leave his side.
As the ambulance speeds through the city streets, you hold Joshua's hand, your heart pounding with worry. Outside the building, a few employees gather, watching the scene unfold with concern. You barely notice them, your focus entirely on Joshua, praying silently that he'll be okay.
You don't know exactly how many hours you've been by Joshua's side as he lies in the hospital bed. You watched the morning light grow brighter through the window, dozed off, woke up to find him still sleeping, went to the bathroom, and grabbed something from the cafeteria. When you return to his room, you see Joshua awake, a nurse measuring his blood pressure. An uncomfortable silence settles in as the nurse finishes up and leaves.
You sigh, walking next to him and turning your back to him.
"Are you mad at me?" Joshua asks, his voice still weak.
You shake your head, the words snapping out before you can stop them. "No, I'm letting you rest, since you don't do it yourself."
He sighs deeply, and you close your eyes, immediately regretting your harsh tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you this much trouble," he says softly.
You shake your head negatively, looking down. "I found you on the floor, Josh. The only reason I was there was because I forgot my keys. What if I hadn't come back?"
Joshua struggles, but he manages to reach out and catch your hand that is hanging by the bedside. His cold touch makes you glance at him. His eyes are full of exhaustion.
"Please, don't make me this worried again,"
Joshua squeezes your hand weakly. "I'll try, Y/N. I really will. I'm sorry for pushing myself so hard and for pushing you away. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten."
You nod "You don't have to do everything alone, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."
He nods, his eyes glistening. "I know. And I appreciate it more than you know. I just... I need to find a better balance."
"Promise me you'll take it seriously this time," you say.
"I promise," he whispers, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit, weakly. "I'll take better care of myself."
You sit down next to him, your hand still in his. "Good. Because you can't go through that again."
You didn't like the rumors circulating around the office about Joshua while he was away. It bothered you to hear whispers about his collapse, especially since everyone in his department knew how hard he worked and yet pretended everything was fine. 
As the days passed, Joshua's desk slowly filled with Post-it notes and snacks, contributions from you and other departments. Joshua's sudden health scare was a wake-up call, touching more hearts than just yours.
When Joshua returned today, Friday, you watched from your desk as he walked in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his desk. Messages of encouragement and little treats were piled high. 
His face goes red as he glances around, catching the subtle glances of his coworkers. They quickly return to their tasks, but you see the corners of their mouths twitching with barely concealed smiles.
He worked at his desk, and his department members spared him from taking on too much. As the windows started to show the darkening sky, some people had already left to go home. Unlike regular Fridays, there was no happy hour planned for tonight.
Seungkwan approached Joshua's desk, a concerned look on his face. "Hey, Josh, you should really think about not doing extra hours today."
Joshua shook his head, "I'm going to take it easy for now
" a small smile formed as he looked at you. "Also, I have a happy hour for two tonight, so no extra hours."
As his friends gave you sly glances and teased you with their smiles, you felt your cheeks blush.
"Looks like someone's got a date," Seungkwan said, grinning.
How did you two end up on a date? It started in the hospital. Joshua was still recovering, lying in bed, holding your hand. The room was quiet, the noise from machines was the only sound.
"How can you forgive me?" he asked, his voice soft.
You shook your head, a gentle smile on your face. "I'm not mad at you, Josh. But it would be cool if you took a break every now and then. Maybe we could go to a happy hour someday."
Joshua licked his lips, still holding your hand and giving it a weak squeeze. He looked up at you, all flirty. "Would you be open to having a happy hour with just you and me?"
You blinked, shocked. "What?"
He blushed, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "Come on, it's so difficult for me to take a break. I'd love to have you as the motive for my breaks."
You scoffed, attempting to conceal the warmth that spread throughout your chest. "You should take breaks for your health and my sanity."
Joshua brushed his thumb against your hand, a playful grin grabbing at his lips. "Don't scold me, Y/N-nie, I'm sick," he teased.
You stared at him, a shocked smirk on your face. "You're taking advantage of me."
"Yes," he said, his smile growing. "Using the advantage, so you accept having an encounter with me."
The memory of that conversation makes you smile as you walk out of the office together, the evening air cool and refreshing. 
"So, where are we going for this happy hour?" you ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Joshua chuckles, his eyes bright with excitement. "I thought we could try that new restaurant around the corner. I've heard good things."
You nod, feeling the tension of the week melt away. "Sounds perfect."
As you both enter the bar, the atmosphere is lively but not unpleasant. You find a cozy corner table and settle in, the soft murmur of conversation and clinking glasses creating a comfortable backdrop.
Joshua looks at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and something else that makes your heart skip a beat. "Thanks for convincing me to take a break."
You smile, raising your glass. "To more breaks and less stress."
He clinks his glass against yours, a genuine smile on his face. "To more happy hours with you."
After dinner, you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Joshua's car. The air is filled with a comforting silence, both of you soaking in the cozy warmth of the evening. As he pulls the car up in front of your house, you pause for a moment, your heart quickening in your chest as you struggle to gather the courage to look over at him.
Instead, you direct your gaze out the windshield, staring at the street ahead of you. The dim glow of streetlights paints the night in soft hues of orange, casting shadows on the quiet neighborhood.
"Do you want to come inside?" you ask, your voice hardly above a whisper.
Joshua turns your face toward his, his touch gentle as he lifts your chin with a soft touch. "You want me to go inside?" he enquires, his tone soft.
You nod, your gaze drawn to his mouth. "Yes."
"Then tell me," he teases, "what exactly are we going to do inside?"
You gulp, your mind racing. "We can... we can..." you stutter. You didn't have an answer on the tip of your tongue.
Joshua leans in close to you, his smile growing wider as he whispers against your skin, "I'm going to come inside, but go easy on me," he says, his breath warm and sultry, "I'm not quite recovered yet."
You shiver at his words. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice still low and quiet as you look up at him.
"What do you think I mean?" he replies with a smirk, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I mean," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear as he speaks, "that you might have to take it slow with me."
"Slow? How slow?" You're whispering, not because you're afraid of being loud, it's because you're so horny that your voice is strained. 
Joshua's lips curve into a smirk as he sees the effect he's having on you. 
"Slow," he whispers back, his voice low and seductive. "Slow to the point where you feel yourself starting to drip."
He closes the gap between you, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours as his hands slide up your hips.
"Are you sure you want me to come inside?" he asks, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin.
Your mind could only focus on the two last words. Mind foggy. "Come inside?" 
Joshua widens his eyes slightly, then a cocky smile spreads across his face as he registers the double meaning of your words. "Hmm look at you, how nasty... I guess we can do this too..."
His lips crash against yours, no longer gentle but filled with urgency. His tongue delves into your mouth, exploring, tasting. You gasp, the wet noises so sultry inside his sleek car. His hands unclasp your seatbelt, and one slide from your knee to your thigh, slipping under your pencil skirt to feel the lacy panties you wore.
"Slowly, like this," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice too sultry.
His hand moves to the front of your panties, and you instinctively raise your hips as he pulls them down, discarding them onto the car's floor. The air inside the car starts to feel foggy, just like your senses, and your breathing becomes more rapid.
Joshua's hand returns to your now bare skin, his fingers teasing and exploring the wet folds of your pussy. You moan softly into his mouth, your body reacting to every touch. And slow, just like he said, he starts to circle your clit with his finger, making you instantly melt against the seat as you spread your legs wider for him.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, filled with fascination as he watches your reactions. Your mouth can't correspond to the wet kisses anymore, your hips roll against his hand, your legs spasm as you try to keep them open, and your skirt rises, revealing your sopping cunt glistening.
You find yourself pushed back against the seat, your body arching as you grow more desperate for him. His eyes never leave yours.
“I can feel how much you want this.” 
You can only nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers speed on your swollen bud. 
“So open, so needy.” he murmurs making you feel that sharp stitch in your belly侀your horniness growing. 
His words make you moan, and he chuckles, his voice filled with a gloomy promise. “I want to hear more of that,” he says, his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping inside. You cry out, your body responding instantly to his touch, your head thrown back.
“Joshua,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shirt as you try to ground yourself.
He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Yes, Y/N? Tell me what you need.”
“More,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, “I need more.”
He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fiery intensity. “More? I can give you more.”
With that, he increases the pace, his fingers moving inside you making the squelching wet songs, louder. He watches you so closely that you feel embarrassed; it is as if he reads everything about you and knows every secret you keep.  
“Every little touch, every little tease
 you’re soaking it all up.” He coos, and you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer. 
You can only whimper in response, your body trembling with the need for release. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all too much, and you can sense that you are nearing collapse.
“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips. “Let go.”
His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, your body convulsing against his leather seat. Joshua holds you through it, his touch possessive, trying to keep you still so you can feel the waves better. As you come down from the high, you find yourself panting, your body still trembling non-stop.
His fingers are soaked, glistening in the pale light. With a teasing grin, Joshua brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied pop. You immediately turn your face to the window, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you try to straighten your skirt. His chuckle fills the car, rich and warm.
“Shy now, are we?” he teases, his voice low and playful.
You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your hands fumbling with the fabric of your skirt. But Joshua isn’t done with you yet. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “We can resume this inside. What do you think?”
You nod, finally daring to meet his gaze. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping out of the car. You watch him circle around to your side, suppressing a laugh when he catches the glimpse of your knees trembling as you exit the vehicle.
“Did you get this horny?” he can't hide the amusement in his voice.
The walk to your front door feels like an eternity, your fingers fumbling with the keys as Joshua’s need becomes more apparent. He’s pressing his bulge against you, his hands roaming over your body as he kisses your neck, making it hard to focus on unlocking the door.
Finally, the door swings open, and you grab Joshua by the collar of his white shirt, pulling him inside. Your mouths collide in a desperate kiss, his hands clutching your hips as you stumble toward the bedroom. You don’t care about the noise or the awkward angles; all that matters is the friction among you, the urgent need to be closer.
With outstretched arms, you brace yourself against the wall, your body arching toward his as he presses against you. His hands are everywhere—sliding under your blouse, unhooking your bra, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. You moan into his mouth, your hands clutching at his hair while you're absorbed by the feeling.
“Bedroom,” you manage to gasp, your voice breathless and needy.
Joshua’s response is a low growl, his hands gripping your waist as he guides you through the hallway. You barely make it to the bed before you’re pulling at each other’s clothes, the fabric tearing in your haste to be free of it. His shirt falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, his pants, your blouse—until there’s nothing between you but skin and heat.
He pushes you gently onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kisses you sloppy. His hands continue their search, teasing, caressing, making you frantic with need. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his back as you pull him closer.
His cock lays heavily against your belly, a warm, wet spot forming on your skin from his precum. You grab his throbbing length, feeling it pulse under your touch. Joshua shudders, moaning needily against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and adding to your own arousal.
Your hand collects the sticky lubrication, spreading it along its entire length. You begin to stroke him, your other hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His eyes flutter open, trying to stay locked on yours as you speed up your strokes. His gasps and whimpers alimented your hunger, making you feel yourself oozing more and more.
At a certain point, he lets out a high-pitched squeak, hiding his face in your neck. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice strained and desperate.
You close your eyes, the heat of his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Open this drawer," you murmur, nodding towards the bedside table.
Joshua extends his arm, fumbling slightly as he opens the drawer and finds a couple of condoms. He picks one up, glancing at you with a teasing smile. "Always prepared, huh?" he says, tearing open the shiny packet.
His hands move with such practiced ease that it makes your breath catch when you watch him slide the rubber down his length. His cock looks even more inviting now, sheathed and ready for you.
He positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a moment to look into your eyes. Slowly, he pushes inside, filling you inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, your pussy stretching to accommodate him. Joshua’s groan is deep and throaty, his hands gripping your hips as he bottoms out.
For a moment, neither of you moves, so you adjust to his side, but thankfully his fingers prepared you well in his car. Then, he begins to thrust, his pace is slow at first, his eyes locked on yours, watching every reaction, his ears alert to your every moan, and every wet sound from your stretched little cunt.
You arch your back, meeting his thrusts, your hands clutching his shoulders. “Faster, Joshua,” 
He complies, his pace quickening, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room is filled with the sex sounds—the slap of skin against skin, the mingled moans and gasps, the creaking of the bed. You feel yourself climbing higher, the knot on your belly desperately wanting to blossom.
Joshua’s rhythm falters for a moment, his grip on your hips tightening. “I’m close,” he whispers, his voice strained.
“Me too,” you reply, your nails digging into his back.
Joshua takes his cock out of you, positioning himself a little further back before slamming all the way in again. The sudden movement makes you grab his forearm, while his other hand lays on your belly. Each thrust is powerful, hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside you that makes you sob with pleasure. You grow tighter around him with every second, the stimulation driving you both wild.
"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.
"Am I?" you manage to gasp between his thrusts.
"Absolutely," he praises, his words going straight to your core. "You're so tight, so wet. You're perfect for me."
The praise sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch your back and cum for him. Joshua smiles at the sight of you unraveling beneath him—Your legs try to close instinctively, but his hips keep them wide apart. Your eyes roll back, your pussy gushing as your fingers curl around the headboard.
He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing it just as your orgasm peaks. It shatters you, making you curse.
"Fuck, Joshua! You're so deep... don't stop... please, don't stop. God, you're going to make me cum again."
"You're so fucking tight," he groans, his pace quickening. "I can feel you squeezing me. You're gonna make me cum so hard."
"Keep cumming for me, baby," he whispers, his own voice shaking.
His moans grow louder, his pace more frantic. Your dirty talk pushes him to the brink, and with a final, powerful thrust, he cums hard. His loud moaning, combined with the sensation of his cum filling the condom, makes your head spin.
Joshua leaves you shaking for the second time that evening, fully exhausted and completely satisfied.
Joshua falls on his side beside you, his breaths coming hard and fast. You can't help but tease him, a smirk playing on your lips.
"Are you going to faint here too? Should I call an ambulance? After all, you weren’t as slow as you said you would be."
He laughs, his chest heaving. "I’ve got enough energy to fuck you all night if you want to, leave your bed all drenched," he says, kissing your cheek and playfully slapping your clit, making you shudder.
"All night, huh?" you tease back, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Big talk for someone who just collapsed next to me."
Joshua grins, his eyes sparkling. "You doubt me?"
"I’m just saying," you reply, your tone playful. "Maybe you should pace yourself. I wouldn’t want you passing out on me."
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m not going anywhere. And if you think that was all I’ve got, you’re in for a surprise."
You chuckle, your fingers dancing down his stomach. "Promises, promises," you whisper, your hand inching closer to his now half-hard cock. "Let’s see if you can keep up."
Joshua groans, his body responding to your touch. "You’re going to regret challenging me," he murmurs.
"Bring it on," you whisper back.
2K notes · View notes
ruebossanova · 15 days ago
Text
professor o'connell: the mini series - 1
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
college prof!billie x student!reader
word count: 1.5k
warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension
summary: you never expected your literature professor to be young, sharp-tongued, and devastatingly captivating - but professor eilish is all that and more. between tense lectures, stolen glances, and secrets that linger after class, you find yourself tangled in a dangerous game of curiosity and control. how long can you keep it professional when the air between you burns with something more?
masterlist
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the hallway smelled like coffee and printer ink. lockers lined the walls even though no one really used them, and the sound of someone's sneakers squeaking across the linoleum echoed faintly. it was too early for anything to feel real, and liora was still half-dreaming when she pushed open the classroom door.
the light was soft inside, filtered through high windows that caught the morning haze. students filled the back rows first—classic. liora drifted somewhere near the middle, dropped her canvas bag beside the chair, and sank into the seat like she'd been holding her breath all morning.
she barely glanced at the front of the room at first, too busy unzipping her hoodie and smoothing out her notebook. then a voice—low, even, and almost too smooth—cut through the sleepy chatter.
"morning, everyone."
liora looked up.
and froze.
the woman at the front of the class wasn't what she expected. not even close.
tall, loose-fitted shirt hanging just right, her dark hair pulled back under a knit beanie like she hadn't tried at all and still managed to look—cool. cool in a way that made your chest tighten. her eyes, pale and unreadable, swept the room with a kind of calm confidence that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway.
professor o'connell.
liora didn't breathe until billie looked away.
billie set her laptop down on the desk and clicked something open on the screen. the soft tap of keys echoed, then stopped. she glanced up.
"so," she said, voice light but clear, "i'm professor o'connell. billie's fine, too, if that's more comfortable. i teach this course in creative composition and lyrical analysis—basically, it's english lit, but with more music and fewer essays you'll want to set on fire."
a few people chuckled, sleep still hanging off their voices. liora's stomach twisted. she didn't laugh, but her mouth tugged at the corner like it wanted to.
billie's eyes drifted back to the roster on her screen.
"let me just get a sense of who's here," she murmured, then started reading names.
"elliot abram?"
"here."
"cassidy baines?"
"present."
"liora... rai?"
"i'm here"
billie nodded slowly, her gaze lingering just a moment too long. "beautiful name," she said, like it meant something. "thank you."
liora stared down at her notebook. the top of the page blurred slightly before she forced herself to breathe again.
billie continued reading names, but the heat in liora's cheeks didn't go away. her full name never rolled off anyone's tongue like that—never without hesitation, never with intention.
when roll was done, billie leaned against the desk, her arms folded. "okay. i don't like icebreakers. they're awkward and fake and you all secretly hate them."
a few students laughed—this time, liora included.
"but i do want to know who you are. not in the cheesy way. in the why-are-you-here way."
she pushed her hair behind one ear and nodded toward the board.
"your first assignment's simple. it's not graded. i just want you to write a page about this question—what does music say that words can't?"
the room quieted.
billie continued, soft and serious now. "i don't care if you've never written anything in your life. this isn't about being good. it's about being honest."
someone raised their hand in the back. "can we write lyrics?"
"you can write in blood, for all i care," billie said, and a few students laughed again. "just don't be boring. if you're boring, i'll know."
her eyes flicked back to liora—quick, but unmistakable.
liora swallowed.
the lecture started slow.
not boring, just... soft. like billie was setting a mood more than teaching. she talked about metaphor, about musical phrasing as narrative structure, about the way a repeated lyric could punch harder than a paragraph. her voice never rushed, never cracked. she didn't fidget, didn't pace. she just leaned her hip against the desk, fingers tracing the edge of her water bottle like she was thinking out loud to a room full of ghosts.
liora watched her the way someone might watch a fire—entranced without realizing it.
she was used to professors being either stiff or overcompensating. too many tried too hard to prove they had authority. billie didn't do that. she just was. and it did something to the room. made everyone quieter. made the air feel heavier.
"there's something music can do," billie said, tapping the board with a dry erase marker, "that essays can't. it cuts through memory. not around it. through it. the right song doesn't remind you of a moment—it puts you in it. like time travel, but with better lighting."
liora didn't write that down, but she knew she'd remember it anyway.
the girl next to her had started doodling in the margins of her notebook. someone behind her was chewing gum too loudly. the boy by the window kept checking his phone. but liora didn't move. her pencil rested against the page, unmoving.
billie walked to the board and wrote:
"when language fails, music answers."
the chalk squeaked slightly. her handwriting was slanted, imperfect. under the lights, the ink on her exposed wrist caught liora's eye—lyrics tattooed in a fine line script she couldn't read from this far away.
"that's the quote we'll work from next week," billie said. "write it down. argue with it. prove it wrong if you want. just don't ignore it."
liora lowered her gaze. her fingers gripped the pencil. write it down, billie said. like it was just another sentence. like it didn't already live inside her ribs.
billie glanced toward the back row where a group of boys had started whispering. one of them smirked and said something too low for liora to hear, but she caught enough—something about billie's age, the word hot, the phrase bet she's not even a real professor.
billie didn't flinch. she let the silence stretch. then she walked slowly back to her desk, closed her laptop, and looked out across the room.
"if anyone's confused about whether i belong here," she said evenly, "you're welcome to drop this class. i promise your refund window is still open."
quiet.
no one moved.
liora felt something tighten in her chest. not pity. not admiration, either. something in between. like respect, but more personal. she hated the way billie had to defend herself for being young. for being her.
billie's gaze swept the room again, slower this time.
when it landed on liora, it didn't move away.
chairs scraped against tile as the clock hit the hour. papers rustled, bags zipped. the usual chaos of everyone rushing to leave—except for liora.
she moved slower. not on purpose, but something in her refused to follow the current. she tucked her notebook carefully into her bag, slung it over one shoulder, then pretended to fumble with the zipper a second longer than necessary.
billie was still at her desk, sliding her laptop into a worn leather sleeve, fingers moving with practiced ease. her head was tilted slightly, earbuds resting around her neck, a lazy kind of calm on her face that made it impossible to look away.
most of the room had cleared when billie glanced up—and caught her.
"you good?"
liora blinked. "oh—yeah. i just..." she hesitated, then stepped forward. "i had a question. about the assignment."
billie nodded once and leaned her elbow on the desk, fully facing her. "shoot."
liora hated how loud her heart sounded. she tried to ignore it.
"when you said we could write in any form... did you mean, like, lyrics? or poetry? or just... freewriting?"
"any form," billie said. "i meant it."
her voice was gentler now. less classroom, more personal. and now that they were this close—no rows of desks, no audience—liora could see the pale freckles scattered across her cheeks, the faint smudge of eyeliner just barely under her lashes. her eyes weren't just blue. they were gray, soft and stormy, with something behind them liora couldn't name.
"so if it's a poem that doesn't really make sense," liora said slowly, "that's still okay?"
billie tilted her head. "does it make you feel something?"
liora nodded before she could stop herself. "yeah."
"then it makes sense."
the words settled between them like warmth. not cheesy, not condescending—just simple. true.
liora looked down, letting her fingers curl around the strap of her bag.
"what do you usually write?" billie asked.
liora hesitated, then answered honestly. "stuff i never show anyone."
billie smiled—just barely. "those are usually the best kind."
she stepped around the desk then, close enough that liora caught the faint scent of something warm and clean—like sandalwood and fresh laundry. she reached for a printed syllabus on the edge of the table and handed it to her.
their fingers touched. just for a second. but it was enough to send a pulse through liora's spine.
"just in case you didn't grab one," billie said, casual again, but her voice had dipped lower. "i keep forgetting people actually read these."
liora took it with both hands, as if it were heavier than paper.
"thanks," she murmured.
billie gave a nod, slow and deliberate. "see you thursday, rai."
the way she said her name made liora's stomach flip. it wasn't just the pronunciation. it was the intention. like she wanted to say it again. like she liked saying it.
liora turned and walked out, heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to outrun her.
————————————————————————————
197 notes · View notes
maewphoria · 27 days ago
Text
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⌗⠀양정원⠀⠀CAT⠀DISTRIBUTION⠀SYSTEM⠀꒰⠀PT.6⠀꒱
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SYNOPSIS⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀starting college in a new city, you’re settling into your apartment and trying to make it feel like home. on your first day, a fluffy calico cat appears on your neighbor's balcony, jumping towards yours as if to greet you, stealing your heart instantly. but when a voice calls out for the cat from the next balcony, panic sets in—you rush back inside, too shy to meet your new neighbor. that neighbor turns out to be yang jungwon, a fellow student in the same university who’s also new in town. thanks to his mischievous and adventurous cat, the two of you keep running into each other in the most unexpected ways. a friendship blossoms, slowly turning into something deeper—though jungwon keeps insisting it’s nothing more than friendship. as feelings grow stronger, the question remains: will their bond turn into something more—or remain just a college memory?
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pairing⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀college student!yang jungwon x college student!f.reader. featuring⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀all enhypen members, le sserafim yunjin, kazuha, and chaewon, aespa winter. word count⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀14.352k genre⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, kinda slow burn, college life, university life, slice of life, comedy (although i don't find myself funny), friendships, relationships, and the cat distribution system. (it has chosen you and gave you two lovely cats.) warnings⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀drinking alcohol, parties, getting drunk (obviously), misunderstandings, jealousy, denial (jungwon is in denial), lots of flirting and tension, cat keeps breaking into your apartment, cat gets really sick, mentions of cat sickness, mentions of surgery, mentions of depression, friends panicking and being dramatic, kissing and skinship (soon), reader (aka us) is very delusional and does a lot of overthinking, and might contain suggestive content in the later parts that are yet to be posted. lowercase letters intended. proofread. tell me if i'm missing anything. méw's notes⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀hi guys, part six is finally up! i hope you enjoy it—we’re getting close to the end of tcds! i also hope this fic is a little helpful for anyone planning to adopt a cat, especially a female one. i did my best to research this illness/disease, and i really hope it helps raise some awareness. thank you so much! likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.
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library⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀part one. part two. part three. part four. part five.
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#⠀OO7⠀:⠀IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH.
after the confrontation on the balcony, as the glass door closed behind you, you stepped into the stillness of your room—quiet, dim, and far too heavy for comfort. you moved on autopilot, your feet taking you to the bed where you sat slowly, almost as if sinking into the weight of your own thoughts.
you reached for your phone, cradling it in your hands as you stared at the screen. your thumb hovered over your contacts. the idea flickered in your mind—maybe you could call your friends. maybe you could ask to crash at their place. not because you didn’t want to be alone, but because being alone tonight felt a little too much like punishment.
but then guilt tiptoed in, soft and unwelcome. you remembered every time they had helped you—helping you carry your own burdens like they were weightless, never once complaining. they had been nothing but kind, offering their comfort even when you hadn’t asked for it.
and suddenly, the thought of bothering them again felt
 unfair.
“they have their own lives. their own worries. you can’t keep showing up and burdening them every time something goes wrong.”
so, with a sigh, you locked your screen and placed your phone on the bedside table. you told yourself you'd be strong. just for tonight. you could handle it. you didn’t need to offload every heartache the second it showed up at your door.
but then, as if the universe had been eavesdropping, your phone began to ring.
you jumped slightly, startled by the sudden noise in the silence. your heart skipped a beat—and you hated that the first name that came to mind was jungwon.
for a brief, reckless second, you hoped it was him. calling to apologize. calling to say he didn’t mean it.
and then, in the same breath, another part of you hoped it was him just so you could decline the call and let him sit in it.
but when you looked at the screen, it wasn’t him.
it was your friends.
you let out a soft breath—half disappointment, half relief—but mostly warmth. because as much as part of you wanted it to be jungwon, a bigger part of you was grateful it wasn’t. you weren’t sure how you’d even speak to him after what he said.
you answered the call, trying to sound normal.but before you could even greet them, yunjin’s voice rushed through the speaker, laced with concern, “are you okay?”
it wasn’t even a question, not really. more like an instinct. and it caught you off guard.
you smiled faintly, that fragile kind of smile people make when they’re holding back everything. “yeah, i’m fine,” you replied.
you weren’t. and they knew it for some reason. they can feel it.
there was a short pause. and then, as if she’d read your mind through the phone, yunjin asked, “do you wanna have a sleepover at our place tonight?”
you blinked. bestie telepathy. it had to be. that uncanny ability they had to know when something was wrong—even when you tried your best to pretend otherwise.
a laugh escaped you. soft and surprised.you nodded, even though they couldn’t see you. “yeah,” you said quietly, “i’ll pack my things and be there in a bit.”
you ended the call with a soft sigh, already feeling lighter knowing that someone—no, someones—were waiting for you with open arms. with the faintest hint of urgency, you stood and began to pack a small overnight bag, not really thinking too hard about what to bring. just the essentials. maybe a little comfort.
and for some reason, you threw on a cap and pulled a mask over your face. maybe it was to hide, maybe it was to feel invisible—or maybe it was just easier not to be seen. you slipped into an oversized shirt and a pair of loose, faded jorts, comfortable, and safely unremarkable.
you stepped out of your apartment and made your way to the elevator. your mind was a little numb as you rode the elevator down to the lobby, like it hadn’t caught up to your body yet. and then the elevator doors opened with a soft ding.
voices.
chatter and familiar tones—and then you looked up.
all six of jungwon’s friends were standing there, sunoo, riki, jake, sunghoon, jay, and heeseung, they were talking animatedly, unaware of your presence as you stepped out quietly, head bowed as to not be seen by them as they enter the elevator.
you kept your gaze low, focused on the lobby tiles, pretending to check something on your phone, hoping they wouldn’t notice you.but then—just before the elevator doors began to slide shut—you heard sunoo’s voice drift out.
“you know how jungwon can be
 he takes everything too seriously. if something goes wrong, he’ll find a way to blame himself—even when it’s not his fault. he’s always been like that, ever since his parents—”
click.
the elevator swallowed the rest of the sentence, the soft whoosh of the doors cutting off the words like a curtain falling.
you stood frozen in place, staring at the closed doors as if they might reopen and finish the sentence for you. you weren’t trying to eavesdrop—well, maybe you were—but you hadn’t expected to catch something so personal.
a knot twisted in your chest. you didn’t know the full story, and now you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. not like this. not overheard in a lobby with your heart still tender from the weight of what happened earlier.
you shook your head slightly, as if to clear it, then pulled out your phone and called for an uber. no more lingering. you had somewhere warmer to be.
twenty minutes later, you stood in front of your friends’ dorm, and as soon as the door opened, a wave of warmth rushed over you—not just from the actual temperature, but from the way their faces lit up.
“you’re here!” yunjin beamed, pulling you into a hug that smelled faintly of vanilla lotion and shampoo.
“about time,” chaewon teased, nudging you playfully before tugging you further inside.
arms wrapped around you, voices overlapped in a chorus of “are you okay?” and “you hungry?” and “we saved the comfiest blanket for you,” and you couldn’t help but smile through the sudden tenderness building in your throat.
kazuha appeared from the kitchen with a bag of chips in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. “go change into pajamas, we’ll set everything up.”
you nodded gratefully and slipped into yunjin’s room, trading your oversized shirt and jorts for soft cotton pajamas and a pair of fuzzy socks that didn’t match—but felt like home anyway.
when you walked back out, the living room had transformed. the couch was already claimed by a pile of blankets and pillows, a nest of comfort. the television was on, netflix already open, and your friends were scrolling through a seemingly endless sea of thumbnails.
“we’re debating between trashy romance or murder documentary,” chaewon said, holding up the remote.you smiled—genuinely, this time—and settled in beside them, letting yourself exhale.
for the first time that day, you weren’t thinking about jungwon.
you were just here.
you were safe.
meanwhile, just a wall away from your apartment—jungwon lay stretched across his couch, motionless, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. his gaze was fixed on the ceiling above, as if it might hold the answers he didn’t have the strength to ask for. nestled on top of him, yami, purred softly, her tiny chest rising in tandem with his. she was the only thing grounding him at the moment.
his friends sat scattered around the living room, their usual energy dulled into quiet concern. it wasn’t often that jungwon looked this defeated. yes, jungwon has been feeling down lately but not like this and it made the air feel heavier than it should.
sunoo, who had been chewing on the inside of his cheek for the past five minutes, finally couldn’t take the silence anymore. he shifted in his seat, then threw a look toward jay and heeseung—an expression that practically screamed, ‘say something, you idiots. tell him he got it all wrong at the library.’
heeseung caught the glance and sighed, straightening up from his spot. he cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, jungwon
 about what happened earlier.” he began slowly, cautiously, like someone trying not to set off an emotional landmine. “i had no idea there was a plan, alright? because someone—” he paused, turning to shoot a pointed look at jay, who was already shrinking under the weight of his own guilt, “—forgot to tell me.”
jay gave a sheepish little wave, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like an apology.
heeseung went on, “i swear, i only see y/n as, like
 a little sister. and maybe our club’s future secretary if she ever stops pretending she’s not qualified. that’s all. i promise.”
they all waited for jungwon’s response, half-expecting an explosion, or at least a grumble. instead, he just let out a breath and murmured, “it’s all good, man. that’s not even the problem anymore.”
the room paused—time itself almost felt like it held its breath. even yami blinked slowly.
jay leaned forward, his voice suddenly full of that naive, eager hope only jay could pull off. “wait, but we could totally fix this, right? like, plan something new again? dramatic surprise? maybe balloons? a flash mob?” he was clearly trying to lighten the mood, maybe even pull a smile from jungwon.
but jungwon just sat up, gently lifting yami off his chest and setting her down beside him. he looked around at all six of his friends, then shook his head.
“unless any of you know how to go back in time and tell past me to shut up, then no. there’s no fixing this.”
they all blinked.
“won,” riki finally spoke, voice soft but steady, “what
 what do you mean?”
jungwon exhaled again—long, slow, and bone-deep. then he began to recount everything that happened on the balcony. every word, every silence, every painful truth that had slipped past his lips too quickly. how your eyes had dimmed, not with anger, but something worse—disappointment. and how the door had closed behind you like a final page turning.
by the time he finished, the room was completely still. and then, like a wave breaking, a collective groan escaped from the group.
sunghoon threw his head back on the couch dramatically. “dude, why did you say that?”
“it just came out,” jungwon muttered, his voice small, almost boyish. “i didn’t mean any of it. but she was being honest and i—i couldn’t. i didn’t know how.”
his friends didn’t say much. they didn’t need to. they were disappointed, yes—but not at him. not really. they knew this was coming.
jungwon had been bottling up everything for so long—feelings he didn’t understand, guilt he couldn’t name, a fear of being vulnerable that had grown roots in the quiet corners of his mind. they had all seen it brewing like a storm. they just hadn’t expected him to break right there, right in front of you.
and the worst part? he knew he had no one to blame but himself.
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once both friend groups were updated on what had gone down between you and jungwon, an unspoken tension settled over campus like a thin layer of frost. no one addressed it directly, but it was there—lingering in the air, cold and undeniable.
even brief glimpses in the corridor turned into emotionally charged encounters. whenever you or your friends crossed paths with jungwon’s group, the mood would shift immediately. smiles disappeared, footsteps quickened, and side-eyes became the norm.
your friends were the type to protect their own with quiet loyalty and sharp glares. the mere sight of jungwon was enough to make yunjin’s jaw tighten, and kazuha’s eyebrows would pull together in silent disapproval. they didn’t need to speak for you to know—they were mad on your behalf.
but it wasn’t just awkward glances and distant stares.
sunoo and riki were struggling the most.
they had close ties with chaewon and kazuha through their shared courses—bonds that had once been easy, playful, and filled with casual banter. now? those friendships were strained at the seams, caught in the crossfire of someone else’s mistake.
sunoo, who once was part of the same friend group as chaewon in their course, now tiptoed around her presence. sometimes, he’d catch himself lingering a little too long near her desk, only to retreat the moment she turned her head—like a guilty puppy caught chewing on something he shouldn’t.
riki wasn’t much better. he used to be kazuha’s go-to dance partner, their synchronicity well-known among their classmates. but now, he’d sit two seats away during practice, pretending the distance didn’t feel strange. he missed the shared laughs, the impromptu freestyle battles—but pride and guilt tangled around his feet like invisible chains.
jungwon, on the other hand, had always maintained a polite distance from yunjin, even though they shared the same course. but lately, he could feel her eyes burning holes into the back of his head during lectures. her anger was subtle, controlled, but sharp enough to cut. and he didn’t resent her for it—not even a little. if anything, he agreed with her. he was the one who screwed up. he was the reason for all of this.
almost two months had passed since that night on the balcony. two months, and the wound was still raw.
then, one afternoon, the tension cracked—just a little.
sunoo had gathered enough courage to approach chaewon after class. he looked nervous, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag as he trailed behind her down the hallway.
“hey, chaewon
” he called softly, tentative, like her name might shatter if he said it too loud.she didn’t slow down, didn’t look back.
“look, i—i just wanted to say sorry about jungwon, okay? not for him. i mean—i know i can’t speak for him but—i just feel bad about everything.”
chaewon finally stopped.
she didn’t turn around. didn’t soften. she simply adjusted the strap on her shoulder, her voice calm but firm.
“if you’re here just to apologize for your friend’s behavior,” she said, “then don’t bother.”
sunoo froze. he felt his chest tighten, like her words had hit him square in the sternum.
she glanced over her shoulder at last, her expression unreadable. “he should be the one apologizing to our friend. not you. and he can’t keep hiding forever.”
and with that, she walked off, her head held high. not a single backward glance.
sunoo stood there for a while, staring down at the floor, the weight of her words pressing into him like gravity.
because deep down
 he knew she was absolutely right.
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while your friends stayed busy holding grudges on your behalf—wearing their loyalty like armor—you simply kept living.
you called your parents often, keeping them updated on the ordinary parts of your life: school, projects, the occasional grocery mishap. but you never mentioned jungwon. you tucked that chapter of your heart away, sealed under the phrase: it’s not important anymore.
you went out more. dinners with friends, lazy movie nights in their dorm, laughter that bubbled louder when the drinks came out. life, though tender and bruised, went on.
still, not everything had changed.
yami, jungwon’s fluffball of a calico cat, never stopped visiting you. if anything, she seemed to come more often—as if she sensed something fractured and chose to continue visiting you anyway. and you welcomed her with open arms every time.
eventually, you even installed a little cat door beside your balcony slider, just for her. a tiny passage so she can go in and out anytime. you stocked up on food and water dispensers, bought her a cushy bed that looked way too expensive for a cat, and threw in a few plush toys shaped like fish for good measure.
she was family now.
her owner, however, remained firmly uninvited.
but then one day, the rhythm of your soft domestic peace broke.
yami padded in as usual, her tail flicking lazily behind her. she made herself at home in her bed by the window, curling into a delicate swirl of fur and quiet purrs. you were in the kitchen, humming to yourself, stirring something warm on the stove, before settling onto one of your kitchen stools.
you turned slightly, just to check on her—as you always did. and she was there, small and still, nestled in her bed you bought for her.
you smiled. she looked impossibly precious.
“yami,” you called softly, expecting her usual chirp in return.
but nothing.
your smile faltered. yami was normally reactive, especially to your voice—chatty and bright-eyed, with a meow for everything. but today
 silence.
your chest tightened. you slid off the stool and walked over, kneeling beside her bed, gently brushing your fingers over her fur. “hey, baby
 you okay?”
she blinked slowly. her meow came, but it was weak—thready and too soft. she pushed herself up to lick your hand, and then, without warning, she began to vomit.
your heart jumped straight into your throat.
“oh my god,” you whispered, panic clawing at the edges of your thoughts as you cradled her trembling frame. her body slumped almost immediately after, her breath shallow, her paws twitching faintly.
you didn’t think. you moved.
grabbing your small blanket from your couch, you carefully wrapped her fragile body in it, whispering reassurances you didn’t even register as you said them.
then you ran—barefoot and breathless—out of your apartment, down the familiar hallway, across the invisible line you’d drawn between yourself and the one person you swore you wouldn’t go back to.
your fist pounded against jungwon’s door, rapid and unrelenting.
it only took seconds before you heard movement behind it, hurried footsteps on tile. the door flung open, and there he was—hair tousled, eyes wide, utterly unprepared for the sight of you.
his name caught in your throat, tangled in panic and desperation.
his gaze dropped to the bundle in your arms, and his entire expression changed—fear replacing surprise.
“y/n?” he said, voice uneven, but you couldn’t speak yet. your arms shifted to reveal yami, nestled and trembling, her meows barely audible.
tears finally spilled, hot and uninvited, as you choked out the only words that mattered:
“please
 she’s not okay.”
and just like that, the silence between you shattered. not with apologies. not with explanations.
but with the shared heartbeat of two people who loved the same little creature—enough to forget the walls they’d built around themselves.
jungwon didn’t hesitate.
the moment he saw you—your tear-filled eyes, your trembling hands clutching yami wrapped in that soft blanket—he turned on his heel and sprinted back inside his apartment. the door remained flung open behind him as he grabbed the first hoodie he could reach, tossing it over his shoulders with frantic hands before hurrying back out and pulling the door shut.
“let’s go to the vet,” he said, voice tense but calm, like he was clinging to control for your sake. his eyes were locked on yami, and though his chest rose and fell quickly, he was doing everything not to spiral.
you nodded mutely, your heart thundering so loudly it drowned out your own thoughts.
he reached for yami, and you let her go, your hands lingering for a second longer on the blanket. jungwon cradled her gently, then took off toward the elevator, glancing back only once to make sure you were right behind him.
your fingers were trembling as you pulled out your phone and booked an uber, breath shaky as you tried to think straight.
the ride to the veterinary hospital was a blur—city lights rushing past the windows, your reflection staring back at you, pale and worried. jungwon was silent beside you, holding yami as if she might shatter at the slightest movement.
once you arrived, the moment you stepped through the clinic doors, both of you spoke at once.
your voices overlapped in pure chaos—words rushing out, half sentences, pleads for help, concern thick in every syllable. the poor receptionist blinked at you like you were speaking in tongues, eyebrows raised in mild alarm. she held up her hand, the universal sign for calm down, and calmly said, “you need to slow down. i can’t understand either of you if you both panic.”
you both fell silent, gulping back anxiety as she picked up the phone to call a doctor. everything moved fast after that—hands reaching, nurses in scrubs, yami whisked away through a swinging door before you could even whisper a goodbye.
you and jungwon collapsed onto the stiff plastic chairs, side by side but not speaking. there was nothing left to say. your thoughts were consumed by one small, fragile thing—would she be okay?
minutes passed like hours.
then a nurse appeared, clipboard in hand, and called out jungwon’s name. he shot to his feet before his name fully left her lips, and you followed closely behind, unsure if your legs would carry you all the way.
he reached the door to the consultation room but paused—finally turning to you, eyes softer now.
“come with me,” he said, gently. “she’s basically your cat, too.”
you blinked, surprised by the way your chest tightened at that. but you followed, no hesitation.
inside, the room was stark white, the only warmth coming from the woman sitting across from you—mid-thirties, calm-eyed, with a soft but serious voice that felt like both a warning and a balm.she didn’t waste time.
“your cat is currently suffering from pyometra,” she said, looking between you and jungwon. her tone was matter-of-fact, but not unkind. “it’s a serious, life-threatening infection of the uterus. it happens in unspayed female cats, especially as they get older. if not treated quickly, it can become very dangerous.”
jungwon’s head dropped at her words, his guilt practically radiating from him. his grip tightened on the fabric of his hoodie as he stared at the floor.
you looked at him—his eyes glassy, hands slightly trembling—and reached out, gently slipping your fingers into his. your touch was soft, deliberate. this time, it was your turn to be the calm one.
the room was quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. the doctor’s expression remained composed, but kind.
“what causes it to happen?” you asked, voice steady though your chest felt tight.
the veterinarian nodded, welcoming the question. “pyometra typically occurs when a female cat goes into heat repeatedly without mating or pregnancy,” she began. “each cycle increases the production of progesterone, which thickens the lining of the uterus. over time, that lining can form cysts. and once that happens, it becomes the perfect environment for bacterial growth.”
both you and jungwon listened intently, absorbing every word. he gripped your hand tighter with each sentence, as if your shared touch was the only thing anchoring him in the moment.
“there are two kinds of pyometra,” she continued. “the first is open pyometra, which presents with noticeable symptoms—pus or discharge leaking from the vulva. it’s alarming, but easier to catch. the second is closed pyometra—far more dangerous. there’s no visible discharge. all the infection is trapped inside the body, which can lead to sepsis or organ failure if untreated.”
she paused for a breath, her gaze turning somber.
“because of yami’s long fur, her symptoms were hidden. it’s a textbook case of closed pyometra.”
jungwon let out a low sigh, barely audible, but you felt it through the way his shoulders dropped and his fingers pressed harder into yours. you instinctively started stroking the back of his hand, slow and comforting, trying to ease the panic rising in him.
“the only way to save her life is immediate surgery,” the vet added, her voice gentle but unflinchingly honest. “we don’t have the luxury of time. i need your permission to proceed.”
she glanced between you both, empathy written across her features.
“i want to be transparent—there are risks,” she said. “especially considering she’s already weak. but doing nothing would be far more dangerous.”
for a moment, the silence was so thick it nearly suffocated you.
then the veterinarian posed her final question, calm but expectant. “do i have your permission to perform emergency surgery on yami?”
you turned your head toward jungwon. his eyes met yours—feeling guilty, desperate, and shimmering with hope. there was no hesitation between you. you both looked at the vet at the same time, hearts aligned.
“please save her,” you said in unison, voices soft but resolute.
the vet smiled gently, touched by your unity. “thank you for trusting us,” she said with a nod. “we’ll take good care of her. i’ll have you sign the consent form with my secretary. and we’ll update you throughout the surgery.”
she stood and extended her hand. you both rose and shook it, one after the other, feeling like you were handing over a piece of your hearts along with it.
then she exited the room, leaving you and jungwon standing side by side, hands still clasped—unspoken worry and fragile hope binding you together.
you both sat back down, the silence settling once more between you like a familiar fog. it wasn't until the soft creak of the office door opening that either of you realized—your hands were still intertwined.
the secretary stepped inside, making both of you release each other's hands, her heels clicking softly against the tile floor. she offered a warm smile, the kind that held a trace of amusement. she had clearly noticed the subtle way your fingers immediately slipped apart, almost guiltily, as if touch itself was forbidden.
“good evening,” she greeted, her tone professional yet light. “i’m doctor kim’s secretary. i have the consent form here—one of you will need to sign.”
she placed the paper gently on the table, her eyes flickering between the two of you. there was a slight quirk at the corner of her lips, almost playful.
“so,” she asked, “who’s signing? the boyfriend or the girlfriend?”
that one question seemed to short-circuit both of your systems.
your faces flushed almost simultaneously, heat blooming from your cheeks to your ears. you shook your head quickly and pointed toward jungwon, who at the exact same time shook his own head and pointed to himself.
“i’m the owner,” jungwon said quickly, trying to steady his voice, “but she helps a lot with taking care of my cat.”
you nodded, eyes lowering slightly.
“he’s not my boyfriend,” you added in a murmur, your tone a whisper of disappointment laced with something unspoken. regret, perhaps.
the secretary smiled knowingly but didn’t press further. she slid the form gently toward jungwon, who signed it without hesitation, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before she exited the room and left the two of you alone once again.
after a few more minutes of staying inside doctor kim's office, you and jungwon finally decided to step out of the office together. the air in the hallway felt colder now, like the gravity of the situation had truly settled into your bones.
without speaking, the two of you moved through the softly lit corridor, your footsteps echoing faintly against the linoleum floor. you walked side by side, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, but not quite.
you found a small row of chairs positioned just outside the emergency room—sterile, uncomfortable things that looked like they had weathered years of worried visitors. but you didn’t care.
you both sat but this time, you didn’t sit as closely. a single empty chair separated you—a quiet, awkward little space that neither of you had the courage to cross. you sat in silence, both of your minds full of worry for yami, who was now being prepped for emergency surgery. all you could do was wait, and hope.
jungwon’s eyes shifted subtly in your direction. he took in the curve of your shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of your breath
 and then his eyes dropped to your bare feet.
he blinked, surprised.
without a word, he stood up and approached the receptionist’s desk with gentle urgency, asking quietly if they had spare slippers. she pointed him toward a cabinet near the hallway. he nodded, thanked her, and returned with a small pair in hand.
you looked up, confused. and then you stilled.
he was kneeling in front of you.
“jungwon—”
but he didn’t let you finish. he gently took your foot into his hand, his touch tender and reverent. he dabbed at your skin with a tissue, wiping away the dust and dirt that had clung on your feet, more worried about yami than your own feet. you watched him—watched the quiet concentration on his face, the soft furrow of his brow as though this small act held the weight of the world.
he slipped the slippers onto your feet carefully, like it was second nature.
you could’ve stopped him. you probably should’ve. but being this close to him again made your heart ache in ways you didn’t expect. it felt right—dangerously right.
like he was meant to be there. kneeling before you, caring for you. as if his hands were carved to fit yours, his presence molded to exist beside yours.even earlier, when you held hands in the doctor’s office—it had felt so effortless, so natural. like your fingers were never meant to let go.
and for a moment, in the middle of a cold veterinary hospital with antiseptic in the air and worry in your chest, you just wanted time to stop for the both of you.
“thank you,” you whispered, voice fragile as glass, barely making it past your lips.
jungwon looked up, startled, as if your words had pulled him from some invisible fog. for a second, he forgot how to breathe. you were so close—closer than you’d been in months—and in the gentle lighting of the waiting room, with the worry still clinging to your lashes and your voice soft from the weight of fear, you looked devastatingly beautiful. it hit him all at once, like a memory he hadn’t been ready to remember: how much he missed you.
“you’re welcome,” he murmured, voice low, almost careful. he pulled himself back, settling into his chair again, a single chair between the two of you—as if that distance might protect the both of you from the things you still hadn’t said.
but the silence didn’t last long.
you looked down at your hands and suddenly, without warning, the dam broke. tears welled up and spilled over, soft and trembling, like a storm finally surrendering to the sky. it caught you off guard—how your panic, fear, and helplessness all swelled at once and poured out like a flood.
jungwon froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide with concern. and then instinct took over.
he scooted closer, occupying the only space that was keeping both of you apart. there was hesitation in his fingertips as he tried to decide whether to reach for your hand, your back—anywhere that might tell you you weren’t alone. but in the end, he simply wrapped his arms around you, pulling you gently into his chest.
“i was so scared,” you breathed against the fabric of his hoodie, your voice trembling with each word. “i thought
 i thought she might actually die. i thought it was my fault
”
your fingers clenched the soft cotton of his hoodie, and his arms tightened around you in return. he rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, his other hand smoothing through your hair with soft, comforting strokes.
“no,” he said quietly, firmly. “it’s not your fault. you did everything right. you saved her. if anything, it's my fault for not noticing.”
you shook your head against him, tears still falling. “i didn’t mean to sound like i'm blaming you
 i wasn’t trying to say it like that,” you whispered through shaky sobs.
that surprised him more than anything. he pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face, cupping your cheeks delicately with both hands. his thumbs gently wiped away the trails of your tears, and his brows furrowed with something achingly tender.
“hey, no, no. i know,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “i didn’t take it that way. i promise. i just
 i feel responsible, too. since i'm her owner.”
he leaned forward and wrapped you in his arms again, holding you tighter this time. no hesitation. no distance. just two hearts, bruised but still beating, finally leaning on each other after carrying too much for too long.
for a while, neither of you spoke. there was only the sound of soft breathing, the occasional sniffle, and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above you. outside the room, the world continued on—but in that moment, it felt like everything had paused to give you both space to feel, to heal, and to simply be.
as the storm of panic finally began to subside, the two of you remained entwined in silence, neither rushing to break the fragile calm that had settled between your bodies. jungwon still had one arm gently wrapped around your shoulder, his free hand absentmindedly playing with your fingers—tracing the lines on your palm like he was trying to memorize them. his cheek rested against the crown of your head, as if anchoring himself to you, steadying the both of you in this unfamiliar stillness.
you, in turn, had your head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie. the scent of him was oddly comforting. you toyed with his hand, letting your fingertips dance over his knuckles, occasionally brushing against his wrist.
neither of you spoke, content in the silence, until jungwon’s voice broke through—soft and careful, like he was afraid even his words might cause the moment to vanish.
“are you okay now?” he asked quietly.
you didn’t answer with words—just shook your head, slowly, before inching closer into his warmth. jungwon exhaled through his nose, shutting his eyes for a moment, biting down gently on his lower lip in an attempt to stop the smile that tugged at his mouth. he didn’t move. he just let you curl into him, closer than ever.
you tilted your head, voice muffled slightly by his shoulder. “how long do you think the surgery will last?”
he glanced at the sterile wall clock before replying. “maybe an hour? give or take?”
you fumbled for your phone and lit up the screen. “we’ve only been here for, like, forty
 fifty minutes tops,” you murmured before locking the screen again and slipping it back into your pocket. “feels like forever.”
jungwon chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “hospital time doesn’t follow normal rules. every minute here is at least ten emotionally.”
he looked down at you then, his gaze soft, his voice laced with gentle concern. “are you hungry?”
you met his eyes, and suddenly the space between you two felt smaller than before. you both noticed, both blushed, but neither moved away.
“i’m okay. not really hungry,” you murmured. “let’s wait until we know yami’s surgery went well. i wouldn’t be able to eat anyway.”
you returned to your position against his shoulder, and he, without thinking, rested his cheek once again on top of your head, his fingers now absentmindedly drawing slow circles on your arm.
“y/n,” he began, a tentative breath in his voice, “i know this might be a really bad time but—”
“can we just
 stay like this a little longer?” you interrupted, so softly it almost dissolved into the silence.
your voice trembled just slightly—not enough for him to call it out, but enough for him to notice. you weren’t ready. not yet. not for that conversation. not for the words you were scared he might say.
because part of you feared the apology that might come, feared the reopening of a wound just barely scabbing over. but another part of you—small and stubborn—still wanted to hear it, to believe him, to accept the possibility that maybe things could still mend.
so you stayed in his arms, pretending you were only waiting for news about a cat, when in truth, you were waiting for courage.
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after several more minutes wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace, the sterile, metallic sound of a door swinging open cut through the quiet. doctor kim emerged from the surgery room, peeling off her gloves and removing her mask, and the sound startled both of you back into reality.
instinctively, you pulled away from one another—hands slipping apart as you both stood up in unison. without needing to speak, you both hurried toward her.
“doctor kim?” jungwon’s voice came out softer than he probably intended, laced with a kind of quiet desperation.
she looked up, met both your eyes, and offered a reassuring smile—the kind that lifted the weight off your chest before she even said anything.
“the surgery went well,” she said gently, her voice calm and clear. “she’s stable, but we’ll need to keep her here for observation over the next few days. you’ll be able to see her shortly, just give us a few minutes to settle her in.”
a collective breath you didn’t realize you were holding left your lungs. jungwon, too, visibly relaxed, his shoulders finally lowering from where they’d been tensed up to his ears.
“thank you—really, thank you so much,” you both said, voices overlapping, gratitude spilling out from the both of you like it couldn’t be contained.
as doctor kim walked away, a grin bloomed across jungwon’s face, mirrored perfectly by your own. your hearts were light again, like someone had flipped the world right-side up.
without thinking, you raised both hands, fingers spread in celebration. “high five?” you grinned.
jungwon mirrored you, and the moment your palms met with a satisfying slap, he let out a breathless laugh—and then, very dramatically, slumped forward against you, nearly falling into your arms.
you let out a startled chuckle as you caught him. “whoa! hey—are you okay?”
he nodded, still laughing as he clung to you like he hadn’t realized just how much tension had been holding him up. “i’m fine. just
 adrenaline crash, i think.”
he buried his face into your shoulder, still chuckling softly.
you tilted your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. “did you just get weak in the knees? seriously?”
his voice came muffled through your hoodie. “excuse me, but my daughter was just in surgery.”
you burst out laughing at that, the weight of the last hour finally melting into something warm and light and full of life. “your daughter?”
he lifted his head just enough to give you a mock-offended look. “yes. my fluffy, dramatic, calico daughter.” he said, which only made you laugh harder.
and there you stayed—arms wrapped around each other, hearts still racing, breaths still syncing. at some point, it stopped being about holding him up and became something else entirely. something unspoken, something neither of you wanted to end.
you weren’t just holding each other anymore. you were holding peace, holding relief, holding the quiet joy that came after surviving something scary—together.
the silence between you had settled into something almost comfortable—soft, fragile, like a delicate thread neither of you wanted to break. but then, jungwon’s voice came, barely more than a breath against the air between you.
“i want to be friends again,” he whispered.
your fingers, resting lightly on the fabric of his hoodie, instinctively gripped a little tighter. the words caught you off guard—not because they were unexpected, but because of how quietly and vulnerably he’d said them.
you stayed still, giving him space to speak, to unravel the rest of what was clearly weighing on him.
“i know i probably don’t deserve a place in your life anymore,” he continued, his voice tinged with guilt, “not after the things i said. but i
”
he paused, and you tilted your head, curiosity pulling at your thoughts.
“you what?” you asked, your voice soft, patient, but laced with something inquisitive—like you were leaning into the edge of a door that had been closed for too long.
“i missed you.”
three simple words. soft, sincere, and completely disarming. they slipped past his lips with a kind of quiet desperation, and the moment they reached you, you felt your cheeks burn in response, a warm blush rising like dawn beneath your skin.
he glanced at you, and his next words came almost as a plea. “i missed you
 and i’m really sorry for what i did. i mean it. i won’t do it again. i promise. please forgive me y/n.”
you let out a small sigh—not one of frustration, but of release. your hand gently moved across his back in slow, soothing circles as you finally spoke.
“i missed you too,” you said softly, and this time, it was his turn to be surprised. you felt the tension in his shoulders shift as your words sunk in, followed almost immediately by the warmth of his arms tightening around you.
he clung to you a little closer, his heart probably pounding just like yours.
“you won’t avoid me again?” you asked, your tone gentle but teasing, eyes glancing at him, his chin resting against your shoulder.
he nodded instantly, eager. “never again.”
“and you won’t say any more mean things to me?”
another quick nod. “i won’t. promise.”
you let the silence stretch just a bit longer before smiling. “okay,” you whispered. “i forgive you. we can be friends again.”
you felt him melt against you, his voice muffled as he murmured a series of grateful little thank-you’s and i'm-sorry’s against your shoulder, like he was afraid you’d take it back if he let go.
a grin tugged at your lips. “so
 are you buying me dinner later?”
he pulled back just enough to look at you, a chuckle escaping him—relieved, amused, and affectionate all at once. “of course. anything you want.”
you raised a brow. “anything?”
“well
 maybe not anything today,” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin creeping onto his face. “i mean, i still have to survive paying for yami’s hospital bills. emotional damage and financial ruin—i’m really hitting the jackpot today.”
he let out a soft laugh, embarrassed but trying to play it cool, his eyes flickering toward yours with a quiet hope that you’d find it a little funny too.
you laughed, the sound light and real. and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like you were tiptoeing around what had been broken. instead, it felt like maybe, just maybe, something was starting to mend.
“okay, fine. we’ll save the luxurious cravings for another time,” you said, your voice soft with a playful hum. he smiled gently, still holding you in a loose embrace, tilting his head as if waiting patiently for you to announce your dinner wish like your lives depended on it.
“i’m kinda craving jjapaghetti and jjapaguri,” you admitted, eyes narrowing slightly as you imagined the taste. he nodded slowly, like a fellow soldier understanding your hunger on a spiritual level.
“now that you mention it
 i kinda miss jjapaghetti and jjapaguri too,” he replied thoughtfully. “which one should i buy? or should i buy both?”
you blinked, suddenly shifting into serious mode, like you were about to defend your thesis on instant noodles. “okay, so—jjapaghetti is really good, but it does have this subtle bitterness at the end. jjapaguri, on the other hand, skips the bitterness altogether, but it’s a bit pricier.”
he listened as if the fate of his dinner truly depended on your wisdom.
“so should we just buy jjapaghetti instead?” he asked, genuinely weighing his options.
“yep. it’s less expensive,” you said with a cheeky grin, “and let’s be honest—you’re already broke.”
he pulled back from the hug slightly, eyebrows raised, placing a hand over his heart like you just wounded him. “hey, i’m not broke.”
“not yet,” you quipped, grinning wider.
he shook his head, laughing quietly, the kind of laughter that spills out when you’re genuinely happy and maybe a little smitten. the banter wrapped around the two of you like a bubble, light and warm, until a quiet voice gently popped it.
“um
 i hope i’m not interrupting,” said a familiar tone. both of you turned just in time to see doctor kim’s secretary standing nearby, clearly trying her best not to look like she’d walked in on something intimate for the second time.
you both quickly pulled away from each other, faces heating up as she continued, “but you can now visit yami.”
“thank you,” you both blurted in unison, hurriedly bowing your heads in gratitude.and without another word, the two of you practically bolted—racing down the corridor, not just to see yami, but also to escape the undeniable embarrassment of being caught once again, now mid-hug
 by the same person.
you both heard it—the soft, unmistakable giggle of the secretary trailing behind you like a teasing breeze. it was subtle, but enough to turn both your cheeks redder. your reactions had clearly entertained her, and the realization only made your embarrassment bloom deeper.
but there wasn’t time to dwell on that. the moment you reached the room where yami was being kept, your footsteps slowed and your voices hushed into reverence. you both instinctively moved to her side, your eyes falling on her small, unconscious figure lying peacefully on the hospital bed.
and just like that, the laughter from moments ago vanished.
neither of you dared to touch her. it wasn’t fear exactly—more a deep and aching respect. she had just survived surgery, her tiny body still recovering. one wrong move felt like it could shatter the fragile peace of her sleep. so instead, you both stood there in silence, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as if it were the most sacred thing in the world.
jungwon was the first to speak, his voice no louder than a whisper. he leaned in slightly and murmured soft, sweet words into the space between him and yami.
“you did so well, my brave little girl
” he said, eyes glistening with both pride and guilt. “i’m so sorry i didn’t realize something was wrong sooner.”
his words weren’t just for her—they were an apology etched with quiet regret, offered to a friend, a companion, a daughter in fur.
you watched him, heart aching and full, before sitting down beside him. the two of you began to softly talk, your voices wrapped in the stillness of the hospital room. you discussed logistics, trying to build a schedule around your mismatched university lives—two different majors, different class times, different days of availability. yet somehow, in this moment, it felt like you were a perfect team.
you negotiated who would visit in the mornings and who would cover the evenings. jungwon insisted on taking the weekends. you agreed on everything with surprising ease.
eventually, it was time to let yami rest in peace and healing. you whispered one last goodbye, gently promising to return soon, before slipping out of the hospital and into the comforting hum of the night.
a few blocks away, the soft yellow glow of a convenience store pulled you in like a familiar friend. the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you wandered through the aisles, finally remembering that jungwon had promised to buy you dinner. you were actually just joking about making him buy you dinner.
he noticed when you instinctively pulled out your phone to pay, and with a chuckle, reached over to stop you.
“ah-ah, no cheating. this one’s on me, remember?” he said, grinning as he took your items from your hands and placed them on the counter.
you pouted in protest but let him win this round.
the cashier looked at the two of you—your teasing, your easy laughter, the way you hovered near each other like planets in orbit—and let out a sigh so deep it might’ve reached the freezer section. clearly, he’d witnessed one too many lovebirds tonight.
jungwon thanked him anyway and led you to a small table just outside, where the evening air was cool but gentle. he took your jjapaghetti and his, insisting on cooking them himself at the store’s instant noodle station.
“sit. i’ll take care of it,” he said, rolling up his sleeves like a man on a mission.
you watched him from the table, arms resting on the surface, chin in your hand, amusement dancing in your eyes. the way he moved—slightly awkward but determined—made your chest feel oddly warm. it was like he was trying to patch up every crack between you two, one act of care at a time.
when he returned, he had two perfectly cooked bowls in his hands, the noodles expertly mixed and steaming. he even bought both of you boiled eggs.
you took yours with a small smile.
and just like that, the conversation began to flow—light, effortless, and full of the kind of laughter that only comes after tears.
you both talked for what felt like hours—conversation flowing as naturally as breath, like no time had passed at all since you last truly talked to each other.
you traded stories about university life, swapping updates on the chaos of lectures, grumbling about professors who seemed to enjoy assigning misery disguised as coursework, and laughing over just how many assignments you'd both had to juggle. midterms were creeping in like an unwelcome guest, and naturally, the mutual panic came with it.
“i swear my brain physically rejects information after 10 p.m.,” you sighed dramatically, and jungwon snorted in agreement, nodding as though you'd just spoken a universal truth.
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after that night, things didn’t just go back to normal—they evolved. the late-night meetups continued, and the hospital visits turned into a shared routine. together, you took turns watching over yami, your fluffy little patient, as she slowly recovered under your care.
when she was finally discharged, you both made a quiet, unspoken agreement—this bond you had rekindled wasn’t going to fade again.
somewhere along the way, you found yourselves exchanging apartment passcodes. it started with practicality.
“since yami will be recovering in your place, it just makes sense if i can get in when you're not home,” you told him, casually typing his code into your notes app.
but for some reason, something tugged at you, something inexplicable. before you could second guess it, you found yourself grabbing jungwon's phone and typing in your own code for him.
“just in case of emergencies,” you mumbled with an awkward chuckle, barely meeting his eyes.
jungwon blinked at you, surprised. there was a beat of silence before he sighed—half amused, half endeared—and nodded.
“got it. emergencies,” he said with a knowing smirk, and just like that, you had each other’s doors.
of course, neither of you abused the privilege. jungwon would never just barge in unannounced, and neither would you. whenever you needed to come by, you made sure to check in first—typically over chat.
you: hey, are you out already? jungwon (yami's dad): yep, left 20 mins ago. yami’s being a diva, btw. you: as always. omw.
you took turns tending to her. when jungwon had lectures and you didn’t, you'd head over to his place, and vice versa. it was a rhythm. comforting. like the soft ticking of a clock that no longer reminded you of time lost, but of time shared.
and, of course, with all the apartment visits came unexpected moments.
like that one day—early into the routine—when you slipped into jungwon’s apartment thinking he had already left for class.
you were halfway into the kitchen when you turned and froze. there he was. not fully dressed. not even halfway there. just a towel. wrapped low on his waist. beads of water still trailing down his chest like tiny betrayals of modesty.
you screamed.
a full, honest-to-goodness, high-pitched yelp as you covered your face with both hands like you’d seen the sun itself.
“i am so sorry!” you cried, spinning on your heel, eyes sealed shut like that would somehow erase what you had just witnessed.
jungwon, the absolute menace, just laughed.
like, really laughed.
“this reminds me of our first meeting,” he said between fits of laughter, his voice bouncing off the walls. “back then, you screamed and used yami as your cover.”
“oh my god, don’t remind me,” you groaned behind your hands, your face burning hotter than a stove top.
“okay, okay—i’ll go change. just, please
 sit down before you pass out,” he added, still chuckling as he disappeared into his room.
you slumped onto the couch, muttering to yourself about how life really had a sense of humor.
after that day, jungwon had handed you his class schedule—organized and color-coded, of course, like any responsible student who’s secretly on the edge. in return, you gave him yours, and he blinked in surprise.
“why... do i need yours?” he asked, brows raised in curiosity.
you shrugged nonchalantly, like the answer was obvious. “it’s only fair. i’m learning things about your schedule—you deserve to know mine too.”
he looked at you like you had just spoken in riddles, but accepted it anyway. after all, who was he to turn down something you were willing to offer?
and so began the strange little rhythm of your new-old friendship.
some days, jungwon would return home from a long day of classes and find you fast asleep in his apartment. sometimes curled up on the couch with yami tucked against your chest like a soft, living plush toy; other times, shockingly, on his bed as if it were your own.
the first time it happened, he stood frozen in the doorway of his bedroom for a moment, silently debating whether to wake you. eventually, he leaned down and gently nudged your shoulder.
you stirred. groaned. then furrowed your brows and muttered a very grumpy, “what?”
“uh
 you’re in my apartment,” he reminded you softly, trying not to laugh.
and then it hit you.
your eyes flew open as realization smacked you across the face. you sat up abruptly, hair a wild mess, and gawked at him. “i—oh my god, i’m so sorry—i didn’t mean to fall asleep! i'm so sorry!”
before he could say anything else, you practically sprinted back to your own apartment, still mortified.
but the pattern continued. again and again, he'd come home to find you asleep—clearly drained from classes, yami-care, or both. so one day, he simply... stopped waking you.
instead, he slipped off his shoes quietly, crouched beside you, and carried you out of the apartment—arms tucked under your knees and back like some ridiculous scene from a romantic drama. you stirred once, but mumbled something incoherent and immediately dozed off again. jungwon had memorized your apartment passcode by then, and with careful, almost reverent movements, he’d unlock your door.
he tucked you in like it was second nature, smoothing the blanket over you, taking off your shoes and socks before slipping out quietly, the door clicking shut behind him.
soon, the changes in both your lives didn’t go unnoticed.
your friends, and jungwon’s too, began to raise eyebrows. yunjin, kazuha, and chaewon, on your side, noticed you were constantly busy or vanishing early. meanwhile, jungwon’s group noticed how he always seemed to be in a rush after class, brushing off plans with a vague “i’ve got something to do.”
at first, no one minded much. people get busy. life happens. jungwon's friends also knew what happened to yami.but then came the smiling.
the random giggles during lunch. the way both of you would suddenly light up as if remembering an inside joke—or maybe, a memory only the two of you shared.
“what’s so funny?” yunjin would ask, brow arched.
“nothing,” you’d reply smoothly, lips twitching into a grin. “just remembered something stupid.”
jungwon gave similar answers to his friends. just a shrug. “something funny popped in my head.”
and yet, neither group knew what was really happening—that the two of you had found your way back to each other. that you had forgiven jungwon, and he had done everything short of building a bridge out of guilt to prove he deserved that forgiveness.
the truth was quiet. private. fragile like a secret flower just beginning to bloom again.
you both agreed—no grand announcements, not yet.
especially not to your girls—yunjin, kazuha, and charwon—who, to this day, still carried a heavy grudge on your behalf. they hadn’t forgotten what jungwon had said to you. and sure, he’d apologized, more than once, but as far as they were concerned, no apology could patch a wound they didn’t see heal.
“if they find out
” you had said one night, sprawled on the floor beside yami’s bed while jungwon fed her bits of tuna.
“they’d freak out,” he finished, sighing.
you nodded. “like, full-blown drama. group chat explosion. maybe even a powerpoint presentation on why you don’t deserve redemption.”
he winced. “honestly? wouldn’t put it past yunjin.”
and yet, beneath the secrecy, the late-night visits, and the quiet laughter, something warm was rebuilding. something delicate but real.
and neither of you wanted to rush it.
until the day your friends finally snapped, you had naively believed you were in the clear. but deep down, you always knew they were too attuned to you—like they shared some mystical thread of best-friend telepathy. they had a way of knowing when something shifted, when the air around you carried a different weight, or in this case, a different lightness.
you had tried—really, really tried—to hide the fact that you and jungwon were friends again. but apparently, happiness has a scent, and your friends could smell it from miles away. they didn’t know the cause, but they knew it was something. and for a while, they let it be. after all, you looked so radiant lately, so effortlessly content, and they didn’t want to be the ones to dim your smile with questions.
what they didn’t know was that the reason behind your glow, your random giggles, and your oddly planned schedule wasn’t some secret hobby or newfound passion—it was jungwon.
and then there was yunjin.
being in the same course as jungwon had its advantages—and disadvantages, especially if you were trying to keep secrets. she noticed the changes in him, too. the way he practically floated down the halls, always in a rush to head home. how he'd cancel plans with his friends without explanation. and worst of all, the sudden, dreamy smiles he’d give the floor mid-lecture, as if he were remembering some inside joke with a ghost.
it was suspicious. too suspicious.
so yunjin, being the sharp, unrelenting investigator she was, told kazuha and chaewon. and that was it—the final straw. the three of them decided that they’d had enough of guessing and speculating. it was time to confront the mystery head-on.
they staged an intervention. well, more like an ambush.
the plan was simple: show up unannounced at your apartment and demand answers. the execution, however, didn’t go as smoothly.
they rang your doorbell, fully expecting you to swing the door open with your usual cheer, maybe holding a snack, ready to welcome them in like always. they had even messaged you earlier, letting you know they were coming. typically, you’d have already unlocked the door before they even knocked.
but today... silence.
minutes passed.
long, unsettling minutes.
the hallway suddenly felt too quiet, the air too heavy. unease began to crawl up their spines, unwelcome and ice-cold.
“why isn’t she answering?” kazuha muttered, her voice a little shaky.
“maybe she fell asleep?” chaewon offered, but she didn’t sound convinced.
but then—like dominoes—they each started to spiral. what if something had happened? what if all the happiness you showed them was just a mask? what if, behind closed doors, you were suffering? what if—
“no,” yunjin muttered, eyes wide with dread. “we’re going in.”
and just like that, all rules of privacy went out the window.
they didn’t even hesitate. kazuha quickly typed in the passcode to your apartment—yes, the very one you’d given them for emergency purposes—and swung the door open, fully prepared for the worst.
“hello?!” yunjin called out, her voice trembling slightly as the three of them stormed inside.
panic gripped them as they split up like a search-and-rescue team on a mission. chaewon rushed into your room, kazuha flung open the bathroom door, and yunjin—god bless her—checked behind the shower curtain like she was in a horror movie. the kitchen cabinets were flung open, the walk-in closet ransacked, and at one point, kazuha even opened a cabinet barely big enough to store a rice cooker.
“she wouldn’t fit in there,” chaewon pointed out the very obvious.
“you never know!” kazuha snapped, clearly not thinking logically anymore.
if only you could’ve seen them—running around your apartment, shouting your name, opening drawers, yanking back curtains, checking behind doors as if you might have evaporated into your own walls. they were full-on spiraling, their fear turning dramatic in the most chaotic way possible.
in their eyes, this was a rescue mission not knowing you just weren't home.
you were, at that very moment, next door—in jungwon’s apartment—nestled into the familiar rhythm of helping him take care of yami. the three of you had just started debating what movie to watch, scrolling through options with so much seriousness.your phone, however, had other plans.
it rang—sharp and sudden—and when you glanced down at the screen, your breath caught in your throat.
the caller ID sent a wave of panic through you.
without hesitation, you pressed a finger to your lips and gave jungwon a wide-eyed look of warning. he immediately froze, catching on in record time. with a comically exaggerated movement, he nodded solemnly and even went as far as to gently cover yami’s tiny mouth, just in case she decided now was the perfect time to meow for attention. traitor tendencies and all.
you stood up, nerves tingling, and answered the call with a quiet, “hello?” already tiptoeing toward the balcony as if whispering might somehow protect you from what was coming.
on the other end of the line: chaos.
a barrage of voices erupted all at once—yunjin, kazuha, and chaewon—your personal trio of interrogation. they sounded like they'd just run a marathon and immediately signed up for a second one. you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
“guys, calm down,” you said with a chuckle, trying to sound casual despite your heartbeat pounding like an alarm inside your chest.
you slipped out onto the balcony to hear them better, your phone pressed tightly against your ear. but just as you turned slightly—casually glancing toward your own apartment—your blood turned cold.
they were there.
your friends. inside your apartment.
you froze in place, eyes wide, barely managing to duck out of sight before they turned toward the window. with all the grace of a panicked raccoon, you dropped down and crawled back into jungwon’s living room, abandoning all dignity in the process.
jungwon blinked at you from the couch, startled. his mouth opened to ask what was happening, but you shot him another frantic look and pressed the phone tighter to your ear, whispering, “shh—they’re in my apartment like right now.”
his eyes widened as he nodded, then mouthed, ‘oh no’, dramatically clutching yami closer like they were watching a thriller unfold in real time.
on the phone, your friends had clearly heard your shocked reaction. “wait—what was that? where ‘are’ you?” yunjin asked, suspicion leaking into every syllable.
you scrambled for a lie. any lie.
“uh
 i’m at the convenient store near my place,” you said, forcing a nonchalant tone that sounded just a little too bright. “i was craving snacks. y'know, those late-night snacks that i love so much.”
dead silence.
“but they don’t have the ones i want,” you added quickly, layering your story with unnecessary details the way all bad liars do.
“then what was that noise earlier?” yunjin pressed, clearly not buying it. “you sounded startled. did something happen?”
you closed your eyes briefly, praying for divine intervention.
“oh, that?” you laughed awkwardly, nerves rattling in your chest like loose change. “i bumped into something. y'know, walking in public while using my phone—bad combination.”
jungwon, still watching you like you were the most entertaining show he’d ever seen, bit down on a smile and shook his head, mouthing, ‘you're so bad at this.’
and you were. spectacularly so.but for now, you had bought yourself a few more seconds—and in a war against the nosiest trio you knew, that was nothing short of a miracle.
fortunately, they bought it. or at least, they bought just enough of it.
they were still shaken, their thoughts clouded by the fog of panic they'd conjured only moments ago. nothing you said was fully registering, but the sound of your voice—alive, casual, unmistakably you—was enough to soothe their frayed nerves. for now, that was all they needed. you were safe. breathing. talking. and that was more than enough.
as they continued to chatter on, still slightly breathless from their overactive imagination, you looked over at jungwon and silently mouthed, ‘i need to go, now.’
he didn’t need any further explanation. he immediately and quietly placed yami down onto the couch, giving her a gentle pat, then grabbed your school bag and your hoodie in one swift motion, already moving to help you get out the door undetected.
he caught up to you by the door, carefully sliding your bag over your arms, adjusting the straps against your back with quiet focus. the gesture was gentle, familiar—like he'd done it a hundred times before. all the while, you nodded and hummed into the phone, pretending to listen as your friends continued to recount their horror scenario.
“we thought something happened to you! you weren’t answering our chats as well as your door and we panicked!” yunjin’s voice cracked through the speaker with frantic sincerity. “so we just—barged in. we’re sorry! but also not sorry!”
you gave a soft laugh, mostly to hide your guilt. “it’s okay, really. i appreciate you guys being worried. it’s... sweet,” you said, hoping your tone masked the full-blown adrenaline still coursing through your body.
as you slipped on your shoes in a quiet hurry, jungwon crouched beside you, holding the heel steady so you could slide your foot in faster. you looked up at him with a grateful smile, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’. he nodded, lips twitching upward in amusement, clearly entertained by your spy-level escape mission.
with everything in place, you waved at him quickly before darting out the door and sprinting—quietly but with urgency—toward the elevator.
you pressed the down button and glanced back once to make sure the coast was clear. the doors opened with a ding, and you stepped inside, straightening your hoodie, fixing your expression, and pressing the button to your floor once more to sell the illusion.
you were now playing the role of a perfectly unaware girl who just returned from a snack run.
“alright guys,” you said smoothly into the phone, as the elevator began to ascend, “let’s continue this at home. i’m already exiting the elevator.”
you ended the call just in time, your heart thudding with each step as you walked down the hallway toward your apartment.
and then—right on cue—the door flew open.
your friends stood there, their expressions a mixture of relief, guilt, and overwhelming love. they didn’t hesitate. the moment they saw you, they ran to you like you were a long-lost puppy finally coming home.
you barely had time to react before you were wrapped in their arms—tight and trembling, warm and chaotic. you could feel their relief in the way they held you, as if trying to squeeze the fear out of their systems.
you laughed, a bit breathless, and hugged them back.
deep down, you couldn’t help but silently thank your past self for the brilliant idea of pretending to come from the elevator.
because from the way they were reacting now—tears in their eyes, hearts on their sleeves—had they known the truth, you would’ve never heard the end of it.
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it took nearly the entire afternoon—well into the dusky stretch of early evening—before your friends finally calmed down.
they had clung to you, refusing to let go, trailing behind you as though you might suddenly vanish if left unsupervised for even a second. their eyes watched your every move, their expressions a mix of relief, suspicion, and dramatic devastation. you'd never felt so
 babysat.
and now here you were: slumped on your couch, rendered immobile by the weight of your very persistent, very affectionate friends.
kazuha had her head nestled against your shoulder, arms looped tightly around yours like a stubborn koala. chaewon mirrored her on the other side, equally glued to you in her own pouty embrace. and as if that weren’t enough, yunjin had claimed your lap entirely—head resting across your thighs, her legs curled comfortably and half draped over chaewon, as if your body had suddenly become their favorite therapy blanket.
they were venting in turns, occasionally overlapping in a trio of chaotic voices. they told you every absurd theory they’d imagined during those few minutes of silence. how they had watched one too many videos on tiktok and youtube shorts—those ominous signs to look out for clips—feeding their paranoia like gasoline to a bonfire.
“it’s the algorithm’s fault!” yunjin declared dramatically, waving her hand in the air like a defense lawyer. “i saw one video about hidden depression and then ten more just popped up! how was i not supposed to panic?!”
you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out despite yourself. they all pouted in response, clearly wounded by your amusement.
“we were worried,” chaewon added, her voice muffled against your hoodie. “like, seriously worried. and you didn’t respond to our messages.”
“you scared us,” kazuha whispered, her grip on your arm tightening.
the laughter faded gently from your lips. you softened. they weren’t being dramatic just for the sake of it. they were scared because they cared—so deeply and unconditionally that they were willing to break into your home just to be sure you were okay.
and it took everything in you not to crack right there. not to spill the truth about jungwon. because lying to them—especially them—felt like swallowing glass.
you’d never lied to them before. not once. and now here you were, sitting in a fortress of limbs and love, withholding something that would surely make them storm into jungwon’s apartment if they ever found out.
they had been nothing but good to you. unwavering. supportive. champions of your battles, even the silent ones. and yet, you were keeping this secret because you knew how they’d react—not out of hatred, but out of fierce loyalty to you. they still held onto that wound, the one jungwon had left behind, even though he’d already apologized. even though things had changed.
but still
 somewhere inside you, buried beneath the guilt and caution, you believed—maybe hoped—they would eventually support you, whatever your heart chose. they always had.
the hours slipped by easily after that. laughter returned in waves, and conversation flowed effortlessly. snacks were passed around, silly stories were exchanged, and you just felt happy to spend this time with them.
eventually, the evening dimmed into night, and your friends finally decided it was time to leave—but not before fussing over you one last time. they hovered at your door, double-checking that you're truly fine. they repeated their reassurances, that you could always talk to them, anytime, no matter what.
you smiled at their concern, brushing off their worries with gentle humor.
“i’m really okay,” you promised for what felt like the fiftieth time. “i’m happy. like, genuinely happy. no thoughts of doom, no secret sadness. besides, you all know i’m not that kind of person.”
yunjin narrowed her eyes. “that’s what people say before—”
“—before they text cryptic messages and disappear? i get it.” you chuckled. “but trust me, if anything ever happens—if i get sad or something goes wrong—you’ll know immediately. because, duh. bestie telepathy.”
they hesitated
 then smiled.
“fine. we’ll trust the telepathy,” kazuha muttered, nudging your shoulder.
“but if it fails even once,” chaewon added, raising a brow, “we’re installing surveillance cameras.”
you laughed, nodding solemnly. “deal.”
you walked them to the elevator, watching as they entered and gave you a series of suspicious parting glares and half-serious i'm watching you finger gestures. the elevator doors slid shut, cutting off their laughter—and just like that, the hall was quiet again.
but your heart wasn’t.
the moment the metal doors closed, you turned on your heel and sprinted down the corridor like your life depended on it.
straight to jungwon’s apartment.
you pulled out your phone and quickly tapped out a message to jungwon.
you: they’ve left. i’m coming over again.
a soft chime confirmed it was sent. no reply came, but that wasn’t surprising—you knew he wasn’t the most phone-attached person, and besides, you figured he was probably cuddled up on the couch with yami by now, maybe already half-asleep with a cartoon humming softly in the background.
you stood in front of his door before opening the door gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too much. a little peek inside told you the living room was empty. the couch sat unbothered, the television off, the air still and warm.
your brows furrowed in mild confusion. where could they be?
your steps softened instinctively, light as a whisper, as you stepped farther inside. just as you were about to call out their names, you heard it—his voice. jungwon’s voice, low and unguarded, drifting faintly from his room.
you turned toward the hallway. the door to his bedroom stood slightly ajar, just enough for his voice to reach you, but not enough for him to see you standing there.
you paused, mid-step. you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop—honestly, you hadn’t—but something in his tone made you freeze. he wasn’t just chatting. he was... confessing. to someone.
no, not someone.
yami.
you inched a bit closer, your back pressed lightly to the wall beside the door, breath caught in your throat. every part of you screamed that this was private, that you were crossing into territory you weren’t meant to enter—but curiosity took over your whole being.
“yami,” jungwon said gently, “i don’t know when it started
”
his voice was soft—barely above a murmur—but every syllable reached you like a heartbeat.
“i don’t know when i started realizing that these feelings i’ve been having for y/n are
 something more serious than i thought.”
your eyes widened slightly. your pulse skipped.
he paused, as if searching through memories in real time.
“maybe it was when she ran into our apartment with you in her arms,” he continued, his tone touched with awe, “looking all panicked and out of breath. i’ve never seen her like that. she looked so shaken, but so determined. she just wanted to make sure you were okay. that moment—i don’t know—it showed me how
 pure she is.”
there was a little silence, like even yami was respectfully letting him speak.
“and i remember thinking,” he added, a quiet laugh escaping him, “i want to protect that. protect her. from anything and everything.”
you bit your lip. your hands were frozen at your sides, heart dancing wildly beneath your ribs.
“or maybe,” he continued, “maybe it was after the hospital. when we got home and she sat next to you, humming lullabies like she was made for that moment. or when she started bringing over those lunch boxes, like clockwork.”
you could picture every moment he was describing, the memories rushing back to you in vivid color.
“the post-its she leaves on the fridge,” he said, his voice growing fonder, “reminding me to give you your meds, reminding me i have a quiz and that i should try not to fail.”
he let out a breathy chuckle, the kind you only hear when someone’s smiling to themselves.
“maybe it’s the way she plays with you like you’re her own. maybe it’s the way she’s always here
 like this tiny, chaotic force of care and sunshine. maybe it was when she called you our child! or maybe—”
he stopped. you imagined him inhaling deeply, as though he'd just realized he’d said all of that in one breath.
you stood there, still invisible, your cheeks warm, your heart heavier than you’d ever expected it to be in this hallway.and yet
 it felt light, too.
like hearing something you didn’t know you needed.
“or maybe,” jungwon murmured, eyes still fixed on yami, “maybe it was during those months we weren’t speaking... when we were ignoring each other like strangers in the same orbit. maybe that’s when it hit me—too late, of course—that she isn’t just someone. she’s the one i can’t lose. she means more to me than i wanted to admit—not just as a friend.”
yami, ever the attentive feline therapist, offered a small, understanding meow as her tail flicked lazily over the bed.
he gave her a fond smile, almost as if she truly understood him.
“or maybe it all began the day i met her... on our balcony,” he continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. “it felt like a scene out of some indie romance movie. time slowed, and there she was—standing in this accidental spotlight, like the universe had decided to highlight her existence just for me.”
he lifted his hands, gesturing as if trying to recreate the way your silhouette had looked that day—light tangled in your hair, expression unreadable, presence unforgettable.
“whenever i saw her after that—even if she was far away, just sitting quietly in a cafĂ© or walking down the street—she shone. like, actually shone. it scared me. i’ve never been that aware of someone before.”
he paused, letting out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for a while.
“i’ve never felt this way,” he admitted quietly, “but i do know this: i really, really like y/n. i want her in my life. the first time she came into our apartment... it didn’t feel new or strange. it felt natural. like she was always supposed to be here—with us.”
his voice softened as he looked down at his hands.
“and the first time she fell asleep on my bed... i just stood there, staring. i didn’t want to move her. she looked so peaceful—so right—like she belonged there, like she belonged with me.”
a flush crept across his cheeks at the memory, and he reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.
“ugh,” he groaned suddenly, throwing himself back against his pillows. “i can’t take this anymore. i like her. no—scratch that. maybe i already love her? i want her. i need her. i think about her all the time. but what if... what if i’m too late?”
his eyes flicked toward yami, now stretching lazily beside him, as if wholly unbothered by the human-level emotional crisis unraveling in front of her.
“what we end up like my parents?” he whispered but you couldn't quite hear and only heard what he said next.
“what if she doesn’t like me back? what if she still hates me after everything i did? what if i tell her and she—yami? hey, where are you going?”
his voice stopped abruptly as yami leapt from the bed with purpose and began making her way toward the door, her little paws padding silently across the hardwood floor.
what jungwon didn’t know was that you were right outside that door—still frozen in place, still very much reeling from everything you'd just heard.
you peeked through the crack of his door and saw yami approaching, a jolt of panic seizing your chest.
oh no.
you scrambled into action.
just as yami neared the door, you turned on your heel and darted towards the door, your socked feet barely making a sound. you slipped out of the apartment with the stealth of someone escaping from a heist, closing the door behind you as gently and carefully as if it were made of glass.
once outside, you leaned back against it, chest heaving, heart positively thrashing against your ribs.
your hands flew up to your cheeks, which felt like they were on fire.
your entire face was burning with a heat that reached the tips of your ears. you didn’t even try to cool down—you just stood there, stunned and blushing, the echoes of his confession still tangled in your thoughts like music you didn’t want to stop playing.
you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, trying to steady the wild rhythm of your heart. it felt like it was trying to escape—like it was knocking against your ribs, desperate to tell the world what you'd just heard. with your eyes shut tight, you took slow, deep breaths, trying to collect yourself, to gather the storm of butterflies flurrying in your stomach.
but in your desperate attempt to ground yourself, you failed to notice the very thing that would knock the wind out of you all over again.
“what
 the actual hell?”
your eyes snapped open.
and there they were—three familiar faces frozen in the corridor like statues caught mid-gasp. wide eyes. parted lips. looks of sheer disbelief. yunjin, kazuha, and chaewon stared at you like they’d just witnessed a crime scene. or worse—a plot twist.
you followed their line of sight and realized, with dawning horror, that they’d just watched you bolt out of jungwon’s apartment like a sitcom character caught sneaking around.
“what were you doing
 in his apartment?” yunjin asked, her tone somewhere between confused and full-on interrogator mode.
you shot up from your leaning position as if spring-loaded, your mind racing to form a coherent sentence. but before a single word could escape your lips, your phone buzzed in your hand.
you looked down. a message from jungwon.
jungwon (yami’s dad): hey, are you still coming?
your breath caught.
your eyes darted toward his door just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of soft footsteps approaching—getting closer by the second.
oh no.
panic surged through you like a tidal wave.
without thinking, you grabbed all three of your stunned friends by their wrists and dragged them—utterly bewildered—into your apartment. the door clicked shut behind you just as jungwon’s doorknob gently rattled.
before any of them could so much as squeak out another question, you whipped out your phone like it was a grenade and your only chance at survival was disarming the situation.
you: nvm. i think i’ll come by tomorrow instead. kinda got tired chatting with my friends earlier. see you tomorrow!
you pressed send with the swiftness of someone sending a last message before a spaceship launches, then stuffed your phone deep into your pocket like it had become radioactive.
you turned around slowly.
your friends were now standing in the middle of your apartment, each of them fully in character as annoyed best friends waiting for answers. kazuha had her arms crossed and one perfectly sculpted brow raised. chaewon had both hands on her hips, a deadly combination. and yunjin—yunjin was tapping her foot against the floor like a teacher whose patience had long expired.
none of them said anything. not yet.
they didn’t have to.
their expressions screamed ‘start talking’.
“i can explain!” you blurted out, your hands shooting up in front of you like a peace offering, or more accurately, like that iconic scene from jurassic world—you, the humble trainer, and your three friends, very much the emotional equivalent of untamed velociraptors, ready to pounce.
yunjin narrowed her eyes and took a single, menacing step forward. “can you?” she asked, her voice calm, which only made her more terrifying.
“yes! yes, i can! but only if everyone agrees to not breathe fire at me while i speak,” you said quickly, then pointed toward the couch like a flight attendant gesturing toward the nearest emergency exit. “please. let’s all sit down like civilized humans. no growling. no biting.”
the three of them exchanged glances, sighed in unison, and—thankfully—complied. there was some dramatic eye-rolling and aggressive seat-choosing involved, but you counted it as a small victory.
as they sank into the couch, arms crossed and expressions guarded, you followed with a hand still pressed to your chest, finally letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. your nerves were fraying at the edges. your heartbeat was doing the equivalent of parkour against your ribs.
this could go one of two ways.
option one: they hear you out. they understand. maybe they don’t love the choices you made, but they forgive you. maybe, just maybe, they’ll even offer their support—help you execute the chaotic plans already forming in your lovesick mind.
option two: they shut you down before the words can fully leave your lips. they get angry. they walk out. they tell you it’s unforgivable. and maybe
 maybe you lose jungwon in the fallout too.
you sat down, trying to summon courage from whatever was left inside you. the truth weighed heavily on your chest—awkward, warm, and impossible to ignore now that jungwon’s feelings had been revealed like a secret written across the sky.
you didn’t just want your friends’ approval. you needed it. their love, their laughter, their irrational loyalty in the middle of your love-struck chaos. because this wasn’t just about a boy. this was about something more fragile and terrifying: hope.
and if you were going to navigate the emotional maze ahead, with jungwon’s confession echoing in your ears, you were going to need their help.
all of it.
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smutoperator · 1 year ago
Note
can you write ex gf minju? minju and you broke up cuz of college and you meet again years later but she has a family now but she cheats on her new husband with you.
Blast From The Past
Kim Minju x Male Reader
Tags: big dick worship, boss chair blowjob, cheating, college sweetheart, creampie, cum licking, (lots of) facefucking, future, home office, housewife, long time no see, mating press, milfju, multiple orgasms, passionate sex, pregnancy
Word count: 3918
April 29th, 2041
Twenty years ago, Minju endured her most heartbroken day of her life. Her group had just disbanded, and you decided to break up with her to focus on your college graduation. As the years passed, Minju transitioned from her days as an idol and actress and is now a 40-year-old housewife working from home in the real estate market.
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Minju has got into a business marriage. Her husband is sterile but wanted kids, so she found other guys to inseminate her twice. At this point, this is basically ten times Korea's fertility rate, so her 4-member family really stands out from her co-workers, who are all single.
Today, Minju was lonely. Her husband was on a work trip abroad. She then suddenly remembered her former college sweetheart.
"Could you come to my house?" Minju texted you. You two had met a few times since breaking up, but she never allowed such intimacy, especially as a married woman. Something must have changed then, but you accepted her invitation anyway.
You arrived at Minju's house just as she was starting to work. Minju welcomed you with open arms, feeling even lonelier as she had just dropped her kids off at school. "Sit here; I'm not feeling that well today," she said, pointing to her work desk. "What happened?" you asked. "My husband is away, and I feel so done with my marriage that I think I need a divorce," she continued. "And do you want to talk about this with me?" you asked. "Maybe," she replied.
Minju turned off the computer and went to the kitchen to pick up something to eat. But she couldn't help but look at you sitting at her workplace. Some burning feelings from the past were starting to creep back into her mind. You looked so handsome to her. So much so that she made an impulsive move.
"I need a break," Minju knelt under her desk and started carressing the area around your pants. You thought this was a little weird, but flashes of your college days came up immediately. You didn't say anything. It's her house; she can do what she wants. You'll just follow this beautiful noona, just like you did when she was just turning 20.
Minju knew you always had some love left for her. She could notice your erection bulging and wanted to see it after so many years, licking it while still clothed and then unveiling it. She was amazed; you truly hadn't changed down there in 20 years. That cock was throbbing and was bigger than the whole radius of her face. Still with her workplace outfit on, Minju dove onto your tip, licking it like a baby who discovers a long-missing toy. She really wanted to make up for the lost time, admiring that length and enjoying every second of it. It was so beautiful. Better, it was so big.
Minju licked your shaft from top to bottom and put it in her mouth, hitting her tongue with your tip. You really liked how submissive she was to your cock. Her angelic face always hides the fact that she can get slutty in a snap, and the way she worshipped your member was incredible. You tuck her hair out to get a better view of her beautiful face as she sloppily works on that shaft, twisting and sucking it full of lust and spitting on it like she's sucking a lollipop. She keeps going for five straight minutes. No noises except her naughty tongue, giving that cock the work it deserves.
"Come here after lunch, but instead of my mouth, you'll be inside my pussy," Minju says. "Ok, but why after lunch and not now?" you ask. "I need to solve some problems first." Before she moves further, she needs to free herself from this boring housewife life. "I'm calling it quits," she tells her coworkers at their online meeting. Her divorce papers will be ready for her husband when he arrives. A new Minju is about to be unleashed. Well, an old Minju.
A few hours later, you return to Minju's house. This time, she greets you wearing the lingerie she had under her office attire in the morning. "Take your clothes off, and let's go straight to bed," she says. Passionate kisses follow; this is already much better than the boring sex her husband has been giving her for over a decade. Minju pushes you into her bed and resumes the blowjob she had started that morning.
"You're still so big after all these years," Minju praises your length and makes sure to work the whole extension of it, even pouring lube for an easier slide into her soft little hands. "I fucking love this huge cock," she tells you.
"What made you decide to get back in touch with me?" you ask just as she takes a little break from filling her mouth full of cock. "Eunbi and Yeji were really noticing how unhappy I was, but it's all gone with you back in my life," she says, moving towards swallowing your balls, and you let out a groan.
Minju was really happy that she listened to her friends counseling. Your cock was double the size of her husband and very responsive to her stimulation, growing bigger as she kept working her magic on it. "I don't know how it's even going to fit inside me; my pussy hasn't taken a cock this big in, I guess, 20 years," she says. She might be concerned about showing her age, but to you, she is just as beautiful as she was two decades ago.
"I want you to fuck my face; I gotta test if I can take it," Minju tells you with a smile. You are over the moon, seizing the opportunity to use her beautiful, sexy, and warm mouth as a training ground before you get in her pussy. You give her no relief whatsoever, treating Minju like the slut she is and plowing her mouth upwards as you love to see her beautiful face full of cock.
Minju coughs and gags all over your cock. The truth is, all those years made her lose some of her deepthroating skills. Despite trying the hardest to engulf your hard boner, she can only take it halfway in. But she keeps trying, letting you push her head further down it. Your enormous girth barely fits in her mouth, turning her face into a mess as you make it red.
Your cock is full of Minju's saliva. Doubts arise in her mind about whether she can still take it. All those years with a vanilla husband might never bring back the young foxy queen Minju of the past. She can barely take half of it without gagging.
"That's so fucking hot," she says. "Do it again," Minju says, showing she won't give up and that a little extra training can bring her old self back. She closes her eyes and loosens herself up as more and more of your length goes down her throat, until she finally manages to deepthroat that anaconda for the first time in a long while.
"You still got it," you say, praising her. In the end, Minju is still the most beautiful woman on the planet to you, and she's even prettier when she's getting her face filled with your cock. You caress her pretty face as she sticks her tongue out to lick your cock. Slutty Minju has always been the best Minju, and you love how she slowly unleashes it and brings back memories of better days.
Minju throats your sword two-thirds of the way in now; get more accustomed to it. You know there is nothing this beautiful girl can't do and that she'll be taking it to the fullest soon. "Perfect, you're taking it so well," you tell her, diving your cock deeper into her throat, which makes her gag. 
"Maybe I'm ready to have it in my pussy," Minju says. "I want it so bad inside me; feel every inch stretching out my little pussy," she continues. You want it too; you love when she talks in a slutty way like this. 
Minju takes off the top of her lingerie, showing off her perky tits. She lies on her bed and spreads her legs as you kiss her little pink pussy that you haven't worshipped in a long time, before slowly eating her folds as she releases some cute moans. "You like licking that fucking pussy, baby?" she asks as she spreads her entrance for you to hit it deeper with your tongue.
"Keep going, baby; oh my god, lick my clit, I love it," Minju says as you take it in your mouth. "That tongue feels so good," she continues as you spit inside her and dive your head fully into her pussy. "Keep it there," she demands, getting her right leg up in the air. "You really like to worship my pussy, don't you?" she says. 
Minju grinds her breedable hips into your face as she enjoys your tongue; you get her really warm. "I want you to fuck me so bad; I want that big dick right inside my pussy," she begs with her beautiful smile. Soon, your face gets replaced by a long pole teasing her entrace.
You can feel that after all those years, Minju is still tight. "Nice and slow," she says as you rub your shaft into her entrance before teasing her into inserting just the tip. "Oh, Fuck, I love how you tease me," she says, as you shortly move straight into action and fuck her passionately in missionary.
Minju enjoys how your long length stretches her pussy. "Stretch it good," she says as you get deeper. Your cock slides with ease as you kiss her; her needy hole truly needed it. You go faster. "Don't stop," Minju says, "You're gonna make me cum already," she says, making you pick up the pace and choke her as she closes her eyes and you groan loudly.
"Fuck, I'm cumming, ah, shit." Minju has a fairly easy orgasm after a short few minutes. She really missed a long cock stretching her out; her pussy gets tighter and pinches your cock, but you remain strong, committed to stretching her cunt at all costs, as she softly curses and moans while kissing you in between. 
You lick Minju's neck as you give her a hard missionary pounding that sends her to the heavens. The way you wrap your body around hers makes her feel so loved, and the way your cock works hard in her pussy is so enjoyable to her. 
Your balls slap into Minju's clit as her right leg gets fully lifted and you press her back against the bed. Her orgasms continue as your cock gives her what she's been missing for nearly two decades. Minju just lets you dominate her and work as you please with her little breedable body.
"You're so fucking deep in me," Minju moans and laughs as you move to a mating press, her legs now all up in the air. Her pussy feels so good and warm the more you plow her. She's never felt that much pleasure since you left her. Minju starts regretting all those years you two were far apart, as your passionate pounding keeps giving her orgasm after orgasm.
Minju kisses you, thanking you for all the pleasure you are giving her as she goes back to worshipping your huge cock and tasting all her juices from it. She then rewards you with her wet pussy right in your face as she gets on top of you for a 69. You wrap your hands around her little waist, and you two compete to see who pleases the other the most. But Minju clearly has the edge. You can't match the way she massages your balls and gets you on the edge of unloading in her warm, cock-filled throat.
Truth be told, all Minju wants now is to be a sleeve for your massive cock. She gets on all fours as you spank her pale cheeks, her enticing pussy ready for more. "Ohhh shit," she moans as you insert just the tip, feeling very needy for that long dick. You grab the garters on her waist that are tied to her sexy black stockings as she swings her breedable hips to take more of that shaft inside her. Minju bounces on all fours as you spank her cute butt, tease her with slow pumps inside, and rub your tip on her beautiful wet entrance.
Slowly, you get your cock deep inside Minju; her pussy is wet but tightens fairly easily, giving you a huge challenge to stretch it out. "I love that cock stretching my tiny little pussy," she says. "Shit, you're so fucking tight after all those years," you tell her, barely able to get halfway inside as her pink hole clenches hard on every inch of that cock.
You have to take your cock out multiple times not to cum, her pussy gaping at each time. You then pump Minju faster, making her asshole wink at each thurst. "Fuck spank me like a slut," she begs as you increase the pace. Minju starts to regret not staying with you; she could have done that for years already, being the perfect toy for a massive cock that would stretch her out every single day.
Minju's little tits jiggle as she closes her eyes and explodes in louder and louder moans. "Don't stop," she demands, grabbing your hand as you wrap it around her waist. She's so slim and pretty—the perfect princess turned into the ultimate slutty fuck toy. "Take that cock," you tell her as you spank her further. "GOD, FUCK!" she yells. The line that introduced her to the world was about making it red, but now she's the one for whom you're turning the body red.
More spanks succeed in Minju's pale booty. And the more she takes them, the more she enjoys them. She's so overwhelmed she can't even stay on her knees anymore, cumming again as she gets pinned to the bed and turns your submissive doggy fuck into an even more submissive prone-boning of her pussy. You're now just her big bull manhandling her pink fleshlight, her torso and tummy hitting the bedsheets harder at each thrust you give her, her cheeks clapping as you put all your weight pressured against her hot body. 20 or 40 years old, Minju is still the same, perfect from head to toe.
"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEEP." Minju screams as your cock fulyl bulges under her belly and shapes her pussy from her entrance to her cervix, molding it like it's your own work of art. You could cum right now, and that would be enough on its own. But you want more; you want Minju to feel every inch of your cock every day for the rest of her life. She'll be yours, one inch at a time.
"AHHHHHHHHH!" Minju turns into a screaming mess as you pound her harder and harder. Her ass is fully up against your hips as you destroy Minju like a fuckdoll. She may have had doubts at first, but even at this age, she can still take it. "Oh my god, I'm cumming again." These words make you craze as you pin her even harder against the bedsheets and choke her, making her pussy clench and unleashing a powerful orgasm that almost makes you finish right after.
You slow down and kiss Minju, getting completely on top of her, making her hot body into your property. Slow and deep, all the way in, you make Minju moan softly while stimulating her neck with kisses, her face now redder than a tomato. She could die right there, drowned by pleasure, and it would be a happy ending for her.
You set Minju free, and she immediately bends over to crown your cock, taking it deep in her mouth as she enjoys tasting herself, smiling and moaning. She then lays down, giving you a perfect view of her red cheeks as your member slides up and down her mouth. You caress her soft cheeks as her blowjob drives you to the edge—two lovebirds who feel like they couldn't have got a better comeback than this. 
Minju keeps kissing your dick. "Fuck, I can't believe this thing fits all inside of me," she says. "It felt so good inside of my pussy," she continues, with more kisses. You can't resist her warm mouth wrapped all over your massive monster, pushing up as you go back to fuck her face nonstop, treating her mouth the same way you just did to her pussy. "Fuck my face and bulge under my tiny little throat," Minju demands as soon as she gags, and you do it just as she asks.
After some rough throat pounding, you go back to your romantic ways, sliding back inside Minju in a passionate spooning position and kissing her as your cock hotly slides slowly in and out of her pussy. You caress her nipples as she demands that you go deeper. "Stretch my pussy all the way in,"  she says, fingering her clit to the pace of your thrusts while you hold the little string around her waist. 
"Fuck, you're stretching me out so good," she says. "You're getting so fucking deep AHHHHH," she continues as your balls start smashing against her entrance. 10 throbbing inches, and Minju is taking all of them, just like at your college dorms when your friends went out. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
"God, it's gonna make me cum again, yessss," Minju moans as she closes her eyes and releases yet another flow of juices into your massive monster, the orgasms her sterile husband could never give to her. Meanwhile,  today she's basically lost count of how many times she creamed herself on that cock. "I'm gonna cum all over that fucking cock, AHHHHH," Minju screams as you choke her, making her unleash it even quicker as you push your cock deep inside her with all your might.
Minju is still out of breath as you move slower to allow her to enjoy her orgams. "Keep stretching that pussy up," she says as she grabs her little tits. "I love feeling every single inch of you," she continues. "Make me your little fucking bitch; make me submit to all your desires," Minju keeps going, more satisfied than ever at each time you penetrate deep inside her pussy. "Harder, harder," she says as you clap your balls on her clit nonstop and make her scream even further as you groan and have yet another close call.
"Keep fucking me until I die, or until you cum," Minju says shortly after she gives you the most torrid round of kisses. "Let me sit on that fucking cock," she says, starting her ride slowly to adjust to that massive length impaling her. You wrap your hands around her waist and push her body down with your massive prick. Minju starts to move faster, getting better acclimated to that huge cock. "Stretch me out," she says as you push up her pussy and take control before resuming the ride.
"Spank my ass like a slut," she says as her bounces get harder to resist; each spanking makes her ultra-tight pussy clench. You can't resist and start manhandling her once again while slapping her hard, loving the way she moans.
Minju pulls out for a bit and gets on her feet on the side of the bed. You follow as you two kiss each other, feeling like this could be your last time together. She massages your cock, and you kiss her neck. "I missed you so much, my lover, especially your big cock stretching me out so well," she tells you. "But I'm still missing one last thing," she says. "Nobody has ever fucked me like you," she continues.
Minju then jumps on your cock, committing to make you drain her balls inside her. She's not going to stop until you do. Her ride gets crazier. You have flashbacks of her 20-year-old energetic self, which she brings back just for this moment. "Wanna cum inside me so fucking bad?" she asks. "I want you to fucking fill me up," she continues. "I'm ready to feel every fucking drop inside of my pussy; please shoot your load inside me," she keeps begging.
Not only did you shoot it, but the load that you had been saving for 20 years spurted out of your cock like a geyser, filling Minju's tight pussy to the brim, so much so that lots of it spilled into your navel. Your cock was throbbing so hard for her that it kept pulsating for 10 long seconds after you shot your cum inside her. Minju, not wanting to miss any drops, licks your cum-covered tummy with her mouth, swallowing what leaked out of her cunt. If this was your last time together, it was surely worth it.
"My God, you fuck me so good; you're incredible." Minju praised you and gave you more kisses, feeling loved in a way she hadn't felt for a long time. "Marry me, let's do this for the rest of our lives," she said, giving a final kiss on your cock.
But you two couldn't even enjoy it for much, as Minju's husband, arriving earlier, announced himself in the house. You, still naked, had to hide yourself in Minju's closet as you listened to both of them talking.
"Why are you almost naked in lingerie, Minju?" Her husband asked. "Nothing," she said, "just wanted to try some things I haven't done in a while.". "I saw you want to file for divorce; what are you hiding from me, Minju?" he continues. "Well, our marriage stalled out; honestly, keep the kids to yourself. You wanted them so much, but I had to find other guys because you're sterile," Minju continues, increasing her tone.
The arguing continues as you remain trapped in the closet. Her husband leaves and goes, taking "his" kids back from school. Minju cries as you try to consolate her and keep her calm. You had made her feel loved for the first time in years. "I hope this isn't the last time we see each other," she says, carrying you out of her house before her husband returns.
A few months passed by. Minju and her husband get into a divorce settlement. But she never called you after that night. You wondered if she had gotten back to her risk-averse ways and just wanted to play it safe. Until you receive a call.
"Hello," Minju says. Your eyes get bright instantly upon hearing her voice. "I have some news," she continued. "I'm pregnant," she tells you. "I want to move away from my home; would you follow me?" she asks. "Sure, anywhere you go, I'll follow you down," you tell her.
Last call: flight from Seoul to Prague. The aiport sound system announces. Minju gives one last hug to her longtime best friends, Eunbi and Yeji. "I'll stay in touch," she tells them. You two are ready to depart and start a new life. Meanwhile, the baby bump on Minju's belly is more noticeable than ever.
What was supposed to be the end was just a new start.
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Shorter fic this time, busier week here. But on the 3rd year of my ult group's disbandment anniversary, I decided to drop this fic, which ends in the same way I feel about them today: Iz*one's end was just a new start, and its legacy has been enhanced by what happened after, as many of the most successful groups of the generation came from them.
PS: hopefully we see more of Minju this year. 🩊
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zraiusxo · 2 months ago
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omg your armin college au was so good! i would love to see a part 2!
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♡ part 1. warnings: 18+ content, smut mdni, oral sex (f. receiving), soft dom armin, connie cockblocking, ends before orgasm. reader discretion is advised. nsfw under the cut. not proofread. credits to @ ĐŒĐ°ŃˆĐ° ĐŒŃ‹ŃˆĐșа on tiktok as inspiration for this fanfic.
Armin Arlert College AU ♡
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The door shut with a loud slam, and the loud music and people's chatters outside became a distant, thumping heartbeat. The bright of hallway light leaked through the door frame, not enough to see clearly— but enough to feel everything.
His breath hitched as he took a small step backward, bumping into a stack of shoes on the floor. You heard him mutter something under his breath. He was flustered.
You didn’t move.
He stayed pressed near the opposite wall, as far from you as the closet allowed— shoulders stiff, posture closed off, as if even the sound of your breathing might shatter his balance. His hands were shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, fists clenched.
He wasn’t looking at you. Mmm, yeah not really.
And then there was the way his blue eyes flickered to you and away again like you were a fluorescent light that burned too bright. That was cute. His little glances. And the way his cheeks flushed bright red.
But you didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned back against the wall, letting the quiet stretch long enough for him to get uncomfortable in it.
Eventually, he cracked.
“I, um... I didn’t think it would land on me,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “The bottle. I mean.”
You raised a brow. “Is that a bad thing?”
He let out a dry, awkward laugh before frantically shaking his head. “No— no. Not that. I just... I wasn’t really expecting—”
“Me?”
He hesitated before nodding. “...yeah.”
You let a small smile grace your lips. “That’s fair. I wasn’t expecting you, either.”
He looked at you fully this time. There was a split-second delay, then a thoughtful sort of look settled over his face.
“You’re different,” he muttered, “From everyone here.”
Your gaze softened upon meeting his solemn blue eyes before tilting your head to the side. “Different how?”
He was silent for a few seconds, but he answered thoughtfully. “You carry yourself like you don’t owe anyone your time.”
Your eyes widened a little, eyelashes fluttering as you blinked, surprised at how accurate that was.
Armin stammered, the warmth creeping up the tips of his ears. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way!" he stuttered, "I just— when you confidently walked in at the start of the semester, when people started giving attention to the new pretty girl who transferred out from her east coast academy to this public university, I thought... yeah, she's too good for this, she’s not gonna give a shit about any of it. The parties. The chaos.”
You listened before shrugging without giving much though. “Well, it’s not that I don’t give a shit. It’s just... different. From what I'm used to, I mean.”
He nodded like he understood. And he probably did. There was something in his perceptive gaze that made you feel like he watched more than he ever said.
“I’ve been to a lot of parties,” you said. “But they were the kind with champagne and waitstaff. Dress codes. People name-dropping hedge funds instead of screaming lyrics and jumping on furniture.”
Armin cracked a dorky little smile at that. “So this is culture shock.”
“A bit.”
You both laughed quietly, more comfortable with each other now.
Then he let out a shaky exhale, like he was trying to say something without saying it.
“I don’t really fit in here either,” he mumbled with a quiet voice, biting the inside of his cheek. “Not really.” “You seem to be doing fine.” You reassured.
“Only because I have Eren.” he muttered. “He drags me to these things. I think he likes the idea of making me more... socially competent.”
You smirked. “Has it worked?”
Armin looked at you for a second, eyes trailing the delicate curve of your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. That didn't go unnoticed.
“No,” he admitted honestly. “Not even a little.”
That pulled out a hearty laugh from you, rosy cheeks lifting as you allowed yourself to smile genuinely.
He was still stiff though. Still holding back. You could feel it in the air, the way he kept shifting like he didn’t know what to do with the tension winding between you both.
So you said it plainly.
“You’re nervous.”
Armin swallowed, nodding his head yes. “Yeah. I am.”
You stepped a little closer.
“Why?”
His voice dropped just barely. “Because you’re... kind of a dream girl.”
You blinked.
He rushed to explain, waving his hands around. “Not in, like, a clichĂ© way. I just mean— God, this sounds stupid— I mean, you’re smart, kind and beautiful. You’re always so calm. Always so prim and proper and elegant." He rambled on. "You don’t try to get people’s attention. Because you already have it. Without doing anything. That kind of thing just... doesn’t happen in real life, you know?”
Your lips parted slightly. It caught you off guard, the honesty in it. The transparency. It wasn’t just some throwaway party line— he meant it.
“You could’ve had anyone,” he added, voice quieter now as he tried to claim his racing heart. “...and I still don’t get how I’m the one standing here. With a girl like you.”
There was a pause.
Then you took one step closer— not much, just enough for him to hear the softness in your voice without it getting swallowed by the coats around you.
“I’m standing here because I want to.”
Armin blinked.
You let it sink in, let him feel the truth in it.
“And you don’t need to say the right thing,” you added, “Or act a certain way. Just be you. That’s enough.” A small little grin crept up your lips, placing a hand on his tense shoulder.
For a long second, he just stared at you with cheeks flushed with a bright red. Chest rising, lips slightly parted, eyes dark and overwhelmed.
Then—
“
Fuck it."
And then Armin Arlert— awkward, sweet, nervous Armin— reached for you. And then he kissed you. It was clumsy for half a second— teeth knocking a little. You moaned softly into his mouth as your back hit the wall, and his hands flew to your waist. You could feel how warm his palms were, trembling a little even as he held you.
His tongue licked into your mouth, hesitant at first, then deeper— and the second you felt the cool metal of his tongue piercing slide against yours, your knees buckled.
You whimpered before you could stop it from escaping your lips, slick with his and your saliva mixed.
He pulled back just enough to whisper, warm breath ghosting against your skin. “You like that?”
His voice had dipped lower. Still a little shy, but there was something else there now.
You nodded, dazed. “Yes.”
Then, silently, he dropped to his knees.
Your breath hitched. “Armin...”
“I want to,” he said, almost under his breath. “Please let me.”
His fingers were warm as they slid under your skirt, pushing it up to your waist gently— like he was unwrapping something sacred.
He was quiet the whole time.
Not because he didn’t want to say anything, but because he couldn’t.
Because it was his mouth that was too busy worshiping your body.
He kissed your thigh first. Then closer. Then right over your panties—just soft, tentative touches at first, like he was easing himself into it. You were already soaked, and when he noticed that, he exhaled slowly, like he couldn't believe it.
You braced yourself against the wall, breathing shallow.
He didn’t say anything filthy. He didn’t need to. His reverence was loud enough.
His fingers reached your panties. He paused, looking up at you with half-lidded blue eyes in between your thighs.
“Can I take these off?” he asked.
Your breath hitched before reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair, and you nodded. "Please."
Armin bit his lower lip, fingers hooking around the band of the lace and slid it down slowly down your legs, holding it in his hand for a moment before shoving it the back pocket of his jeans. At first, it was experimental. His tongue stroked carefully, as if reading your body’s language— where your thighs trembled, where your breath hitched. When you moaned quietly, his hands tightened around your thighs.
He didn’t talk much. Barely muttered a thing. But every now and then, he made these soft, appreciative noises. A groan when your hips bucked. A sigh when you gasped his name.
The barbell of his tongue piercing caught your clit just right, a contrast of cold metal and soft warmth. That feeling. It had you bucking your hips into his face, body twitching and moaning his name. "Ar.. hng- minnnh..."
His tongue moved in slow circles, the coolness of the metal brushing your clit over and over, dragging filthy little sounds from you that you couldn’t keep in. You tried to stay quiet— but the way he flicked and sucked and moaned against your cunt
 It was obscene. You tugged at his hair— gently at first, then harder when he licked harder, deeper, right against where you needed it most. Your moans were choked and desperate. Tears started to well up at the corner of your eyes. "Hngh.. ah! Please, p-please.." You didn't even know what the hell you were begging for.
And when he slid one hand up your stomach under your skirt, just enough to press gently to your lower belly and hold you still, it made your knees go weak. It made you see stars. It was so good. More than you expected. Better than you’d imagined from someone who couldn’t even make eye contact five minutes ago. Your thighs started to close around his head, and he didn't even try to hold them open. He never rushed. Just kept eating your pussy without a word. Your little, needy moans were music to his ears, it gave him assurance that he was doing you right.
And when he glanced up through his foggy thick rimmed glasses, pupils blown, lips slick with your juices— God.
You were going to come. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, grinding your hips into his face, back arching off the wall. "Arminnn.. o- ohhh— fuck!" You were right there—
BANG BANG BANG.
“SEVEN MINUTES IS UP YO!” Connie shouted, still banging on the door with an evil cackle. “If y'two weren’t sinning, then I don't know what the hell y'all were in there for seven whole damn minutes for!”
You whined.
Armin groaned against your pussy before pulling his head back, resting his forehead against your thigh. “Fuck me.”
You were breathing heavily— frustrated, overstimulated, aching and mourning your stolen orgasm.
He looked up at you.
His lips were slick. His chin was wet. His face was flushed, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, blue eyes wide with something much darker than the usual innocence.
You tried to regain your balance, reaching down to pull your skirt down, but Armin was already gently pulling it down and straightening your dress, eyes low, brows furrowed like he was pissed about being interrupted. But still sweet. Still Armin.
Armin stood up, adjusting his hoodie, fixing your hair for you like you hadn’t just nearly come all over his face. He pulled you close, kissed you slow like an apology. And you could taste yourself in his lips.
“You okay, Y/N?” he murmured apologetically.
You nodded with a gentle smile, wiping your juices off his lips and chin. “Yes, thank you, Armin.”
Then he nodded with a small grin and pulled away, already unlocking the door with a terrified expression on his face, as if dreading all the teasing and questions once you both came back out.
He was shy again. Nervous. Sweet.
But under it, something dangerous was flickering to life.
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♡ a/n: umm chile... i just realized that armin still has reader's panties in the back pocket of his jeans. oopsies! should i use that as an excuse to make another part and they can continue where they left off here? hehe.
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dollveis · 3 months ago
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☆ ┆ SHE'S A LADY AND I'M JUST A LINE WITHOUT A HOOK. ellie williams — ❝ you can hold my hand if no one's home. ❞
CHAPTER 2 : i wanna be so much more. you help ellie with her studies and you start to grow fond of the auburn haired girl.
quick navigation .ᐟ series masterlist ⋆ next chapter
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featuring. college!ellie x afab!reader content warning ! loser!ellie x popular!student, not really any warnings, mostly fluff, ellie is pretty awkward. 5.9k words.
❀ not much happening yet, this is mostly reader and ellie bonding, im just establishing their dynamic for now, from chapter 3 it's where things start to get interesting, trust
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The following days pass in a strange, unfamiliar rhythm. People still whisper when you walk past, eyes lingering a little too long, like they're waiting for something, maybe confirmation, maybe denial or just a spectacle but you've mastered the art of not giving people what they want.
What you weren't expecting was Ellie Williams becoming a recurring presence in your life.
At first it's small things, you catch her watching you in the halls, eyes darting away the second you would look back; then it's the way she lingers near the places she wasn't before, the library, the main courtyard, the coffee shop off campus, never close enough to be obvious but obvious enough for you to notice. Then she finally starts talking to you, not a lot, just a word here, a sentence there, awkwardly mumbling ‘hey’ when you pass each other. She never pushes, never forces herself into your space, if anything she seems hesitant, like she expects you to tell her to fuck off at any moment.
You don't and you don't know why. Maybe because Ellie is easy to talk to in a way most people aren't, she doesn't expect anything from you, she doesn't pry into your life or asks questions she has no business knowing the answers to. Maybe it's because, for the first time in a long time, you're curious about someone, so you let it happen.
It's late when you see her again, tucked away in a far corner of the campus library, the space is quieter now, students having thinned out as the night dragged on. You were just about to leave, stretching out the tension in your shoulders from too many hours of studying, when you noticed her.
Ellie is slumped over a table, one hand buried in her already messy hair, the other one gripping a pen like it personally wronged her, a single notebook is open in front of her, pages scrawled with half written notes and little doodles in the margins– guitars, stars, something that might be a dinosaur. She looks miserable and before you can think better of it, you walk over.
Ellie doesn't notice you until you're practically next to her, she startles, looking up in mild panic, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't, “uh,” she says intelligently.
You raise an eyebrow, “you look like you're in hell.”
Ellie blinks at you, then she glances at her notes like she forgot they were even there. She exhales, slumping forward onto her arms, “feels like it,” she mutters.
You glance at the page in front of her, it's a mess, half of it is indecipherable, scratched out words and arrows pointing at other notes that don't make sense, you take a seat across her without thinking, “what class?”
Ellie hesitates before sighing, “chemistry.”
You look at her, “the one you almost burned down the lab in?”
She groans, dragging her hands down her face, “Jesus Christ, you too? That was like
 months ago.”
You smirk, “i'm just saying, not a great record,” Ellie just mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘gonna kill Jesse’ before shaking her head and slumping further into the table. You don't know why, but the sight of her, clearly frustrated and exhausted, makes something in your chest tighten, you're used to seeing people at their best, their most polished. This is different. Real. “Alright,” you say, reaching for her notes, “let me see.”
Ellie stiffens, “what?”
“Your notes,” you say, already scanning them, “Jesus, Williams, how do you even read this?”
The girl next to you looks deeply offended, “hey, my system works.”
“This isn't a system,” you deadpan, “it's literally a crime scene.”
Ellie groans, rubbing her face, “you don't have to help me, y'know?”
You just shrug, “i know,” a beat of silence after your words and then you hear her mumble a quiet ‘thanks’ under her breath but you pretend to not hear it when she says it.
That night something shifts, you don't know what exactly, maybe nothing at all but when you're finally back at your dorm after helping Ellie your phone suddenly buzzes with a new message.
Unknown number
uhh hey it's ellie
i got ur number from the uni gc hope that's okay
It's fine
Unknown number added as Ellie W (uni)
cool cool
also thx for helping me earlier
ure scary smart
You smirk, hovering over the keyboard before typing.
Scary smart?
yeah like intimidatingly
but in a hot way
Your stomach flips at her text.
Did you just flirt with me through text?
attempted
did it work?
You bite your lip, staring at the screen.
Maybe :)
Three dots appear on the screen, then they disappear, then they come back. Ellie is hesitating. You smirk to yourself, settling back into your bed, phone warm in your hand.
fuck wait
hold on
i had something cool to say
give me a sec
Should i come back later??
NO
i got this
Sounds fake but okay
There's another long pause, you can practically picture her, sitting in her dark room, hunched over her phone, probably frowning at the screen like she's trying to solve a math equation instead of, you know, holding a basic conversation.
okay
um
so whats up
You blink, that's it? That's what she spent all that time coming up with?
Wow, that was worth the way
shut up
i panicked
You don't say
look im not good at this okay?
i don't text people
ever
So I'm the first?

 maybe
no actually wait that sounds weird
not like in a creepy way
just like in a normal way
if that makes sense
It really doesn't
fuck
You bite back a smile, turning onto your side, curling into your blankets.
Relax, I'm messing with you
oh
cool cool cool
i knew that
obviously
Obviously
You pause, watching the screen, wondering if she's gonna try again, if she's gonna give up, if she's gonna say something that makes this weird, the thought makes you regret even entertaining this idea.
A new message pops up.
u like music?
No. I hate it.
shit really?
Ellie.
oh wait ure being sarcastic
There you go
fuck off
Your grin widens, this is kind of fun.
What kind of music do you like?
oh umm
i dunno
stuff w guitars???
Wow, such an expert
ill have u know i play guitar
No way
yes way
Prove it
how the fuck am i supposed to do that over text?
Figure it out, Williams
There's a long pause, she doesn't type anything.
brb
You wait, confused, wondering if she's just given up entirely, then, out of nowhere, your phone buzzes with a voice memo. You hesitate before pressing play. There's some fumbling at first, the sound of fabric rustling, something being shuffled around, then a quiet, almost hesitant strum of a guitar. It's not perfect, some notes sound a little off, like she's nervous or playing too fast, but it's nice. Calming in a way.
After some silence, Ellie's voice comes through, soft and incredibly awkward, “uh yeah. So. That's a guitar. That i'm playing. Which is proof that i play guitar. Okay. Uhm. Bye,” the voice memo ends, you stare at your phone and you press play again.
Wow, truly masterful
shut up
No, really. The “uh” at the beginning? Inspired. The “bye” at the end? Groundbreaking
im blocking u
No, you're not
ure right
You bite back a laugh, staring at the screen, feeling something settle into place, something that feels weirdly easy, natural, like you've been talking longer to her than just a few days and some awkward words.
Do you always narrate everything out loud when you're nervous?
no
maybe
fuck off
Thought so
whatever
did u at least like it?
You pause. You could tease her again, could keep the back and forth going, watch her fluster herself into oblivion but then you remember the way her voice had wavered, how she sounded almost embarrassed, like she was second guessing herself even as she played.
Yeah, i did
You're good
────────────────────────────────────
Ellie doesn't text again for a few days after that message, which is
 weird, not that you're waiting for it, not that you care but she'd been the one to start texting in the first place, and it's not like you shut her down or anything. So, what? Did she just change her mind? Decide she doesn't want to talk after all? The thought nags at you longer than it should.
By Thursday, you've convinced yourself you don't care.
By Friday, you're still thinking about it.
By Saturday, you're walking back to your dorm after grabbing a coffee when you spot her sitting outside one of the academic buildings, hunched over a sketchbook, a pencil tapping absently against her knee. The late afternoon casts long shadows across the pavement, catching in the strands of her messy auburn hair, her sweater is slightly too big, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a tattoo on her forearm and faint ink smudges along her wrist. She doesn't see you, you could keep walking, could ignore the small tug of curiosity in your chest, let her exist in her weird bubble of loser awkwardness. But against all logic, you don't.
“Hey, Williams,” you say, stopping in front of her.
Ellie jerks so hard she nearly drops her pencil, “Jesus— what— hi,” she stammers, looking up at you like she just got caught doing something illegal.
You raise an eyebrow, “that was dramatic.”
She rubs the back of her neck, already avoiding your gaze, “didn't uh— didn't see you.”
“No kidding,” she looks down at her sketchbook, then quickly shuts it as if you were about to snatch it out of her hands, you tilt your head, “you draw?”
Her shoulders shrug, like it's not a big deal, if like she's already prepared for some type of judgment, “kinda. Sometimes.”
You nod, studying her for a beat, then casually take a seat on the bench beside her and she immediately goes rigid but you pretend not to notice, “so,” you say, stretching out your legs, “you gonna tell me why you ghosted me?”
Ellie seems to choke on her own saliva, “what?”
You glance at her, “you heard me.”
“I— i didn't ghost you,” she insists, clearly panicking, grabbing her sketchbook like it was a lifeline.
You can't help but raise a brow, “oh? So you just happened to stop texting out of nowhere?”
She opens her mouth, closes it, open it again, then finally she sighs and mutters, “i didn't know what to say,” her words catch you off guard, you'd expect an excuse, a half assed attempt to brush it off, not honesty. Ellie shifts uncomfortably under your silence, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, “you're, like, really good at talking to people. And i'm uh. Not,” she says it almost like a confession, voice quiet, fingers still twitching the hem of her clothes.
Something tugs in your chest, you don't think before you move, you just nudge her foot lightly with yours, a small, barely-there tap. Ellie freezes, like, completely.
You fight the urge to laugh at her reaction, “relax,” you say amused, “i wasn't expecting poetic answers. You can just
 talk. Or send tragic voice notes. Whatever works for you.”
Ellie exhales, low and measured, “you didn't mind that?” so quiet you almost miss it.
You shake your head with a soft smile at the corners of your lips, “no, it was cute,” and Ellie looks at you with wide eyes, if like you just told her the sky is green, then, almost instantly, she turns red, shoves her hands deep into her sweater and looks anywhere but you, you bite back a smile. It's actually impressive how red she is, her face flushed to the tip of her ears, like her skin is physically incapable of handling any kind for attention
“I– uh,” she stutters then stops, shutting her eyes for half a second before shaking her head like she's trying to reboot her entire system, “shut up.”
You blink at her, wide-eyed with feigning innocence, “i didn't say anything.”
Ellie scoffs with her eyes still not meeting yours, “yeah, well. You're thinking something.”
As an answer you hum, tilting your head, “maybe," she groans and tilts her head back against the bench, eyes shutting again like she's in actual pain, the reaction only makes your grin widen. “So,” you muse, studying her, “do you just malfunction every time someone's nice to you or is it just me?”
Ellie's head snaps back up, her green eyes narrowing in a glare, “i do not malfunction,” you flick your gaze to her hands, still jammed deep in her pockets, like she's physically restraining herself from doing something embarrassing. Then to the way she shifts in her seat, legs bouncing slightly, like her own body is actively working against her, you raise a single eyebrow, Ellie huffs, “okay, maybe a little.”
You laugh, shaking your head, “you're a bit of a loser.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters with voice low, still flustered and awkward, still so very Ellie. It's weirdly endearing.
You stretch your arms out, tilting your head back to look at the sky, the air is crisp, that perfect in between of autumn-cool, enough to make you tuck your sleeves over your fingers, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable; leaves rustle in the breeze, spinning in lazy circles, across the pavement, the campus hums faintly in the background, distant voices, footsteps, the occasional sound of a car rolling by. The silence between you isn't awkward, it's easy, natural.
Still, you break it, “so,” you say, shifting slightly to look at her, “you drawing anything interesting?”
Ellie tenses subtly, her shoulders tightening, fingers curling inside her pockets, you almost expect her to completely dodge the question, but she exhales and mutters, “not really.”
You give her a skeptical look, “can i see?”
She stiffens, “uh– no.”
You smirk, “that bad, huh?”
Ellie scowls, “it's not bad.”
“Oh?” you lean in slightly, peering over her shoulder, “then, what's the problem?”
She immediately yanks her sketchbook against her chest like it's some kind of top secret government file, “personal.”
You can't hold a laugh, holding your hands up in surrender, “alright, alright, no sketchbook invasions today,” Ellie eyes you warily, as if expecting you to lunge for it at any second, you roll your eyes, “relax, i'll keep your little secrets.”
Another beat of silence, the breeze picks up slightly, carrying the faint scent of coffee from somewhere nearby. Ellie shifts beside you, and you can tell something is brewing in her head, something she's debating whether or not to say.
“I wasn't actually trying to ghost you,” she says quietly, you blink turning to her, Ellie isn't looking at you, her jaw is tight, her fingers twitching against the edges of her sketchbook. She exhales, like forcing the words out is physically painful, “i just– sometimes i don't know what to say. And i figured you probably had like
 actual people to talk to.”
Something tugs in your chest, you don't know why, but the words sit strangely, like they hold more weight than Ellie wants to admit, “you're an actual person, Ellie.”
She shifts uncomfortably, staring down at her lap, “yeah but like
 you know what i mean.”
You do.
You tilt your head slightly, studying her, it's not hard to piece together what she's saying, what she thinks is obvious. That you're popular, well liked, surrounded by people who actually belong in your life, that she isn't one of them. Which is funny, because for some reason you want her to be.
You nudge her foot again, this time softer, “i meant what i said, you know.”
Ellie hesitates, “about what?”
You meet her gaze, “i wanna talk to you.”
Her throat bobs and barely above a whisper, she says, “oh
” then silence. The wind stirs the leaves, somewhere in the distance you can hear some laughs, Ellie still hasn't moved, for a second you wonder if she's actually broken this time, like full system failure, but then she clears her throat and looks down again, fidgeting with her frayed sleeve, “uh, cool.”
She really is nervous, tapping her fingers against her sketchbook, bouncing her knee, shifting in place like she wants to run but also doesn't want to leave. The movement is restless, jittery, like an animal caught between fight or flight, her entire body radiates nervousness, shoulders hunched, muscles tight.
You watch her for a moment, amused, taking in the way her fingers drum against the worn cover of her sketchbook in uneven, erratic beats. She's always like this, you've noticed, always buzzing, always on edge, like she's just waiting for something to go wrong.
“You always this awkward?” you ask, lips twitching into a smirk, “or is it just me?”
Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face like she's trying to physically wipe away the embarrassment, “i swear i used to be normal.”
You raise a brow, tilting your head, “used to be?”
She hesitates, mouth twitching as if she's debating if she should be honest. With a resigned sigh, she mutters, “okay, maybe not normal but like
 less of a fucking disaster.”
You snort, shaking your head, “well, i think it's cute.”
Ellie chokes, like full on chokes. A sudden, violent cough that nearly knocks the wind out of her, she sputters, hacking into her sleeve, her grip loosening on her sketchbook enough that it almost slips from her lap, her entire face goes bright red once again.
For a second, you actually think you might need to call for help, “Jesus,” you laugh with wide eyes, “breathe, Williams.”
The girl waves you off, still coughing, trying, but failing, to regain composure, “i'm– fine.”
You smirk, taking a sip from your coffee, “if you say so.”
She exhales through her nose, shaking her head, “you really need to stop saying shit like that.”
“Why?”
Ellie finally looks at you again, cheeks still tinted with pink, lips parted like she wants to say something but thinks better of it. Her eyes flicker before she drops her gaze, rubbing the back of her neck, “because,” her voice quieter now, “some of us don't have the mental stability to handle it.”
“Good to know.”
She groans, slumping against the bench, like she's trying to disappear into it, “i hate you.”
You just smile, watching the way she avoids your eyes, watching the way she fidgets with the hem of her clothes. For a while neither of you say anything, it feels nice and comfortable.
Ellie isn’t fidgeting as much anymore. She’s still tense in that way she always seems to be but there’s a difference now, a slight shift, like she’s settling, even if just a little.
You check your phone, a message from Hana popping on your lockscreen, asking you to go back to the dorm, you sigh, shoving your phone back into your pocket, “i should go.”
Ellie sits up slightly, posture stiffening, like she wasn’t expecting that, “oh. Yeah. Right.”
You stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “try not to die of embarrassment while I’m gone.”
Ellie glares, but there’s no real heat behind it, “no promises.”
You laugh, stepping away, tossing one last glance over your shoulder, “see you around, Williams.”
Ellie hesitates, “
see you.”
You turn, heading toward the dorms building, the sound of your footsteps fading as you disappear into the crowd. Ellie watches you go, the way you move, the way you disappear into the blur of students, the way you didn’t hesitate when you said see you around.
Her fingers tighten around the edges of her sketchbook, her heart hammers against her ribs.
What the fuck is she supposed to do now?
──────────────────────────────────
You don’t hear from Ellie for the rest of the day, not in person at least, she lingers in your mind, though. The way she fumbled over her words, the way she reacted to the smallest bit of teasing, how she looked at you like she couldn’t believe you were actually talking to her, it’s funny, in a way. She’s so awkward, so bad at hiding how flustered she gets, but there’s something about her that keeps pulling your attention back.
By the time you’re back in your dorm, laptop open, trying to focus on notes for your upcoming test, you realize you’re waiting.
For what, exactly?
Your phone buzzes, and you don’t even have to check to know.
so
uh
hey
You fight a smile.
Hey
uh
how’s ur night
It’s fine
Studying
You?
same
Are you actually studying?
kinda?
does it count if i’m staring at an open textbook but not actually reading anything
Not really
shit
ok
well
i’m trying that counts for something right
Sure
There’s a pause, a long one, you assume the conversation is over since Ellie isn’t exactly the type to keep things flowing effortlessly but then your phone vibrates again.
do u wanna help me?
again

Help you how?
with studying
y’know like the other day
since ur smart as hell and i’m dumb as fuck
I thought you were trying
i am
it’s just not working
That’s tragic
it really is
thoughts and prayers
Fine
But if I help you, you actually have to try
No half-assing it
deal
when
You glance at your schedule, thinking.
Tomorrow. Library, after class
ok
cool
yeah
see u then
Try not to fail before then, Williams
Ellie doesn’t answer right away, when she finally does, it’s short.
no promises
You put your phone down, smiling to yourself before getting back to your work.
──────────────────────────────────
The next day moves at its usual pace, classes, assignments, the endless rhythm of routine but there’s an undercurrent of anticipation beneath it all. You don’t acknowledge it outright, don’t let it settle too deeply in your thoughts, but it lingers at the edges, an unspoken thing that refuses to fade. Ellie Williams.
You’re going to see her after class. Alone. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, it really shouldn’t be. You’ve helped people study before and you've helped her before, you’ve spent late afternoons cramming for exams with friends, tutoring classmates who needed a little extra help, staying late in the library to go over notes with someone who begged for a last-minute review session. It’s normal, something you’ve done a hundred times before but this feels different this time. Maybe it’s the way Ellie looked at you yesterday, like she wasn’t sure if you were real, like she expected you to disappear if she blinked too long, or the way she texts, so hesitant, so careful, like she’s constantly waiting for you to decide she’s not worth the effort.
She intrigues you. You’re not sure why, but she does.
By the time your last class ends, the quiet weight of the library calls to you, you shift your bag over your shoulder as you walk through the door, the scent of old paper and printer ink familiar in a way that feels grounding. The hum of hushed voices drifts through the aisles, the occasional rustle of a turning page filling the space between them, you scan the room, eyes drifting past occupied tables, past students hunched over laptops and stacks of books, until you see her.
Ellie is already there, she’s easy to spot, tucked away near the back, hunched over a table like she’s trying to disappear into it. Her sweater is slightly too big, the sleeves bunched around her wrists, the fabric worn soft from years of use, a battered notebook sits open in front of her, but she isn’t even pretending to look at it. Instead, she’s flipping a pen between her fingers, staring off into space with an expression that’s equally distracted and vaguely troubled.
You approach, setting your bag down with a quiet thump before sliding into the chair across from her, “you look so studious right now,” you tease.
Ellie startles, her pen slipping from her fingers, it clatters against the table, rolling toward you before coming to a stop near the edge. For a second, she just stares at it, then at you, then back at the pen, like she’s trying to process what just happened, “uh,” she clears her throat, straightening slightly, “yeah. Totally.”
A smirk tugs at your lips as you pick up the pen, twirling it between your fingers, “i can tell you’re working very hard.”
Ellie shifts in her seat, rubbing the back of her neck, she looks guilty, like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner, “i was, uh– about to start.”
You lean forward slightly, placing the pen back in front of her, your voice laced with mock sternness, “good, because if i’m wasting my time, i’m going to be very disappointed, Williams.”
Ellie swallows, “right. Yep. Got it. No time-wasting.”
You raise an eyebrow, “so, what do you need help with this time?”
Ellie exhales sharply, shifting her attention to her notebook, she flips a page, then flips it back, Hesitates, “um. Well. Pretty much
 everything?”
You sigh, resting your chin in your palm, “Ellie
”
She winces, “okay, okay. Specifically? Chemistry again. And maybe
 some math, and also, like, writing essays. But other than that, i’m totally fine.”
You stare at her, “so
 everything.”
Ellie groans, slumping forward onto the table, “i’m so stupid.”
You roll your eyes, nudging her book toward her, “you’re not stupid, you just don’t try.”
She peeks up at you from where her head is buried in her arms, her voice muffled, “i do try,” you give her a look, “
okay, i try sometimes,” she corrects, lifting her head just enough to meet your gaze.
You smirk, pushing your own notebook toward her, “then let’s start now,” Ellie stares at it like it might catch fire in her hands.
“
Right,” she mutters, picking up her pen, “starting now.”
The first twenty minutes are painful.
Ellie can’t sit still to save her life, she shifts in her chair every few seconds, adjusting her position like the fabric is bothering her, she messes with her sleeves, rolling them up just to pull them back down again, her fingers tap erratically against the table, first a steady rhythm, then an impatient drumming. Every time she stumbles over an answer, she rubs the back of her neck, muttering something under her breath and through all of it, she keeps sneaking glances at you, like she’s waiting for the moment you’ll finally snap, shove your books into your bag, and leave her to figure this out alone.
You obviously don't, instead, you slow down, breaking the concepts into manageable pieces, rephrasing things when she stares at you blankly. She listens, kind of. Her eyes are on you, but you can tell half her focus is elsewhere, you catch her zoning out more than once, gaze fixed on your mouth rather than the equations in front of her.
After the fourth time she does it, you sigh and lean back in your chair, “Ellie.”
She straightens so fast it’s almost comical, like a kid caught slacking off in class, “yeah?”
You narrow your eyes, “did you hear anything i just said?”
Ellie blinks, and for a second, you swear you can see the exact moment her brain scrambles for an answer, “uh,” a pause, “yes?”
You tilt your head, unconvinced, “then explain it back to me.”
Ellie’s mouth opens, closes, she glances down at her notes where she’s written barely anything, then back up at you, “so
” she drags out the word, stalling, “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell?”
Silence. You just stare at her, Ellie swallows, then gives you a weak thumbs-up.
You drop your head into your hands, “Jesus Christ.”
Ellie groans, dragging her palms down her face before slumping back in her chair, “i suck at this.”
“You don’t suck,” you mutter, rubbing your temples, “you’re just easily distracted.”
Ellie immediately sits up, offended, “i’m not distracted,” you arch a brow, “i’m not!” she insists, a little too quickly, she gestures vaguely at her notebook, where she’s written a grand total of three lines, “i just– my brain works different, okay? Like, sometimes i get it, and then other times my brain just says, nah, not today.”
You watch her for a moment, considering. She’s frustrated, more than she’s letting on, you can tell in the way her fingers tighten around her pen, the way she avoids looking directly at the textbook, like it’s mocking her. She wants to understand this, she’s just struggling to connect the dots.
With a sigh, you flip to a fresh page in your notebook, “alright, let’s try something different.”
Ellie watches as you start writing, her body leaning in slightly, like she’s trying not to seem too interested, her eyes flicker between your handwriting and your face, brow furrowing in concentration.
A minute passes before she mutters, almost like she doesn’t want to admit it, “
that actually helps.”
You glance up, surprised, “yeah?”
Ellie nods, then hesitates, “you– you don’t have to do all this, you know. I know you’re busy.”
You shrug, “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be.”
Ellie stares at you like she doesn’t quite believe it and bruptly, she looks away, ears turning pink, “oh. Cool.”
You fight back a smirk. She’s such a loser.
The next hour is
 easier. Ellie still struggles, still groans dramatically every time she gets something wrong, but at least now she’s trying, she asks more questions, actually engages instead of letting her brain shut down completely. She fidgets less, too– still restless, still awkward, but at least she’s not actively trying to crawl out of her own skin.
By the time you both decide to wrap up, the library has emptied out significantly, the sun has set outside, the sky a deep navy, the overhead lights making everything feel quieter.
Ellie stretches her arms over her head, groaning, “i think my brain is officially fried.”
You smirk, gathering your things, “then my job here is done.”
Ellie watches as you sling your bag over your shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck again but this time, it’s different, like she wants to say something but can’t quite bring herself to.
You tilt your head, “what?”
She hesitates, “uh. Just– thanks. For, you know. Helping me not fail.”
You roll your eyes but smile anyway, “you’re welcome, Williams.”
Ellie ducks her head, shoving her books into her bag like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands, “guess i owe you one.”
You glance at her, amused, “you owe me two already.”
Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face, “ugh, don’t remind me.”
You laugh softly, then gesture toward the exit, “c’mon, let’s get out of here before they kick us out.”
Ellie follows you out into the night, the cool air hitting your skin as the library doors shut behind you, for some reason, you don’t mind her company.
The air outside is crisp, the warmth of the day fading as the evening settles in, a cool breeze moves through the trees, rustling the leaves, carrying the faint scent of earth and distant cigarette smoke. The sky is caught in that in-between shade of blue, no longer the soft hues of dusk but not quite the full weight of night either, streetlights flicker on one by one, casting long, pale pools of light onto the pavement.
The two of you walk side by side, footsteps slow, unhurried. The quiet hum of campus fills the space between you, muffled voices from a group somewhere in the distance, the occasional car rolling past, the rhythmic clicking of someone’s bike chain as they pedal by.
It’s not an uncomfortable silence exactly, but there’s a weight to it, like something unspoken lingers in the air.
Ellie shoves her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched, head ducked slightly forward, she looks weirdly tense for someone who just survived an hour of studying.
You glance at her, eyebrow raised, “you good?”
Ellie startles slightly, like she hadn’t expected you to say anything, which is ridiculous considering you’ve been talking to her for the past hour and a half.
“Oh,” she exhales, her breath visible in the cooling air, “yeah. Just–” she tips her head back slightly, gazing up at the sky, watching as the last traces of daylight bleed out into the dark, “i don’t know.”
You arch a brow, “that’s specific.”
Ellie huffs out a quiet laugh, low and breathy, “i mean, i just– it’s weird, i guess.”
“What is?”
She hesitates, then shrugs, “this. You. Hanging out with me.”
You blink, “we weren’t hanging out.”
Ellie scoffs, shooting you a look, “okay, well, you were helping me not fail, and I was making it as difficult as humanly possible. But still.”
You smirk, “you really think i’d waste my time if i didn’t think you were capable?”
Ellie makes a face, something between disbelief and mild panic. You can see the exact second your words register because the tips of her ears turn pink.
“I—i guess?” she clears her throat, looking away, kicking at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, “but, like, you didn’t have to. You could’ve just ignored me.”
You roll your eyes, “Ellie, you asked for help. I helped you. That’s how this works.”
“Yeah, but
” she hesitates again, dragging the toe of her shoe against the pavement, “you’re, like, you.”
You frown, “what does that mean?”
Ellie shifts, suddenly looking like she regrets speaking at all, “y’know,” she gestures vaguely, “you’re cool. And, like, normal.”
You stop walking, “Ellie.”
Ellie stops too, blinking at you, “what?”
“You do realize you’re a person, right?”
She furrows her brows, “Uh– yeah?”
“And that you’re not some loser at the bottom of the social hierarchy?”
Ellie’s expression twists, like she definitely doesn’t agree with that but isn’t sure how to argue it either, “i mean
”
You narrow your eyes, “Jesus Christ.”
Ellie rubs the back of her neck, “okay, I hear you, but also– ”
“Shut up, Williams.”
Ellie opens her mouth, then shuts it again, “
okay.”
You shake your head, amused, and start walking again, after a beat, Ellie follows. This time, the silence between you feels easier, the walk back is slower, more natural, the tension from before unraveling into something almost comfortable. Every now and then, you catch Ellie glancing at you like she wants to say something, but she never does.
By the time you reach the point where your paths split, she hesitates, shifting on her feet, the streetlight above flickers slightly, casting shadows across her face.
“So, uh,” she scratches absentmindedly at her forearm, eyes flickering to the ground, “guess i’ll see you in class.”
You nod, “yeah.”
Ellie hesitates again, then, in a rush, blurts out, “I’ll—i’ll text you. If i need, uh. More help.”
You smirk, “you mean when you need more help?”
Ellie groans, tipping her head back dramatically, “ugh.”
You laugh, taking a step back, “night, Williams.”
Ellie grumbles something under her breath, but she lifts a hand in a half-wave before turning, heading in the opposite direction. You watch her go for a second, then shake your head, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
What a fucking loser.
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taglist!! : @ph4rmacyfa1rie @yasmilks @xaaaavleg @elliesgffrfr @sparkle-jump-rope-queen @liztreez @robinphobia @vahnilla
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lyn31 · 2 months ago
Text
Random Girl
Summary
A playful game spirals into chaos as you pretend to be a "random girl" hitting on your own husband, Zayne—who tries, and hilariously fails, to fend you off.
Ao3 link
My Masterlist ✹
Notes
Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Married couple, silly, banter, short and sweet, I watch too much of this trend...
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Zayne sits on the couch, legs crossed, scrolling through a report on his tablet. The warm evening quiet wraps around the living room. Dinner’s long done, the dishes tucked away, and the air smells faintly of whatever candle you left burning in the corner.
You emerge from the bedroom with a suspicious glint in your eye and plop down beside him—far too purposeful for someone pretending to relax.
He doesn’t look up right away, but you catch the flicker of suspicion in his brow.
You lean in with a dashing smile. “Darling, think fast—I’m a random girl!”
Before he can say anything, you grab his face and kiss him. It’s firm, a little dramatic, and you feel him instinctively lean into it, his hand resting against your waist. Then you pull back with an exaggerated gasp, frowning.
“Zayne! I’m a random girl! You’re not supposed to kiss me back!”
He blinks. “But you’re my wife.”
“It’s hypothetical!”
Now he looks thoughtful, as if genuinely trying to parse the rules of this absurd little game. “Ah. I see.”
You squint at him, not letting go. “I’m a random girl,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes as you give his arm a little squeeze.
Zayne pauses, then very slowly tries to pull his arm free, his expression going carefully blank. “Miss, I’m married.”
Your grin widens. “Why are you pushing me away?”
“Because,” he says, with the perfect rhythm of someone about to drop an overly formal declaration, “I’m married.”
“I don’t mind,” you say, biting your lip dramatically.
He raises an eyebrow. “You should.”
You scoff. “Why? You’re hot.”
“I’m already married.”
You lean in further, eyes sparkling. “That just makes you even hotter.”
Zayne looks at you evenly. “You’re forward. But my wife is irreplaceable.”
Then—clearly unsure of how to actually push you away—he starts edging back stiffly, like someone doing a dramatic stage exit in slow motion. It’s so unconvincing that you can’t help but reach for him again, smiling.
Which in turn only makes him scoot farther back along the couch like you’ve just threatened national security.
You burst out laughing, flopping against the cushions with a hand to your chest.
He eyes you warily as you sit back up, prop your chin in both palms, and tilt your head, smiling sweetly.
“You’re so cute,” you say, batting your lashes.
That gets him.
For a second, his expression softens—just a flicker—but enough to see it. His brows relax, mouth parting like he’s about to respond. The faintest hint of color touches his ears.
Then he seems to catch himself. “
Is this you again?” he asks, cautious.
You shake your head, all innocence. “Nope. Still the random girl.”
He stands at once, scooping up his tablet in one smooth motion. “I’m a married man.”
Your laughter echoes after him down the hall—until you scramble up and chase your poor, suffering husband.
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Notes
I write this on my lunch break...... No judgement over my lack of restraint! ahahahahaha P.S. Idk why I find it so funny that all Zayne needs as a reason is that he's already married, and if they're not married yet, it's probably "I'm taken" statement LOL Also at first I was like this would fit better for the College AU but doing it to older Zayne is so much funnier 😂
Here's the series list if you want to read more about Husband/Dad Zayne! Parenthood AU list ✹
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dozybeez · 13 days ago
Text
Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. Two)
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A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.
→ part one ... → part three coming soon
pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader
word count: 5.7k
content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI
authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.
songs for this chapter:
- Star Shopping by Lil Peep
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The morning after your shame spiral feels unreal, like maybe you dreamed it.
But you didn’t. Your body remembers.
There’s a soreness in your calves from pushing too hard in your late night rehearsal. A bruise forming low on your shin where you clipped the barre in frustration. Your mind might try to rewrite it as fiction, but your muscles know better. They ache with the truth.
You move on autopilot—again. Coffee, schedule, notes, quiz. You go through the motions like a well-oiled machine, but something’s
 off.
Because now there’s a new thought crouched in the corner of your brain. Something raw and humming like feedback in a speaker.
Him.
The boy from the studio. Blonde dyed hair, sweat-drenched tank top, chain catching light. The way he moved—messy, fluid, arrogant as hell. The way his eyes locked onto yours when he caught you watching. That split-second before you bolted.
You haven’t stopped thinking about it. Which is
 annoying. Inconvenient. Unacceptable, actually.
You don’t even know his name.
And yet, when you enter the dressing room before class that morning, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every sound around you. Like your ears are tuned for static. Like some part of you is listening for him even when you’re trying not to.
“Did you see Hoshi’s routine in class yesterday?”
The name catches you mid-sip of your protein shake.
You freeze.
You recognize a few of the girls clustered near the vending machines—one with red hair always seen leaving jazz class, another who shares your math lecture but never bothers with notes. They’re mid-conversation, low and fast.
“I swear to god, he doesn’t even try. It’s disgusting.”
“I know,” one of them groans. “He’s like
 terrifyingly good. It’s like watching gravity bend.”
You crouch to adjust your shoelaces, pretending it’s intentional. Your hands are trembling.
Someone laughs. “I heard he doesn’t even choreograph half the time. Just freestyles. Like
 pure muscle memory and vibes.”
“God, I’d die for that kind of flow. He just gets music.”
“And don’t even get me started on the face.”
More laughter. A dreamy sigh. “He’s like the final boss of the department. You don’t even challenge him—you just try not to look like an idiot next to him.”
Your throat tightens. The laces slip from your fingers. You already feel like an idiot next to him — especially after being caught creeping on him the night before.
You feel your throat tighten, air catching awkwardly between swallows. Their words sink into you like ink bleeding through paper. Not just the compliments—those sting, yes—but the tone. The awe. The weight behind his name.
Hoshi.
You hadn’t known what to call him. Now you do.
And apparently, everyone else does too.
You knew he was good. One look at him dancing last night and that was obvious. But this? This was something else. He’s not just talented—he’s legend-tier. The kind of person people whisper about. The kind of person you definitely don’t want catching you slack-jawed outside a studio door like some repressed Victorian ghost girl.
You tie your laces too tight and wince.
The bell chimes. Class in ten minutes. You yank your jacket on, zip it up to your chin like armor, and march out without saying a word.
Your heart’s beating a little too fast. You tell yourself it’s just caffeine.
But deep down, you know better.
âž»
The studio is hot.
Sweat-slicked air, pulsing bass, the bite of harsh fluorescent lights overhead—everything feels too loud. Too close. You’re in uniform: charcoal gray leggings, a slate-blue wrap top cinched perfectly at the waist, and your warm-up jacket hugging your arms like it was made to hold you together. Soft-looking, but structured. Nothing about it is accidental.
You haven’t taken the jacket off all day.
You need the weight.
It feels like the only thing keeping you from coming undone.
Your bones feel too sharp without it.
The others around you are rolling their shoulders, cracking jokes, warming up with that easy looseness you haven’t felt in your body once this week. You stretch silently against the wall, jaw locked, heart already sprinting even before the music starts.
You’ve practiced this routine. Mapped every count. Studied the instructor’s foot placement, her weight shifts, the shape of her hands as they cut through air.
You know what it’s supposed to look like.
But every time you try, it’s like your body can’t remember how to speak the language.
“From the top!” your professor calls, already clapping the beat into existence.
The music drops heavy. Everyone moves as one—but you can feel yourself lagging before you even start.
You hit the counts, technically. Your arms are sharp, your chest pops when it’s supposed to. You pivot cleanly on beat, land with control. But it’s wrong.
It’s all wrong.
Where the others melt into the rhythm, you punch through it.
Where they ripple, you snap.
Where they glide, you grind your joints into the floor like you’re trying to force the groove into submission.
You’re not off-time. You’re just
 tight. Artificial. Like a machine doing an impression of something human.
And it shows.
You see it in the mirror—the way your movements pull focus for the wrong reasons. You don’t look cool. You don’t look confident. You look terrified.
The music stops.
Silence stretches, and you feel the moment gather around you like a storm.
Your professor steps forward, hands on her hips. Her mouth is tight. Not cruel, exactly. Just tired. Like she’s done trying to find a gentler way to say this.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s cut the music.”
You freeze. Everyone else does too.
She looks at the group, but her eyes settle on you.
“You’re not getting it.”
Your throat tightens.
“You’ve had a week. And I know you’re trying. But at a certain point, effort doesn’t matter if it doesn’t translate.”
You blink hard. Swallow it.
She keeps going.
“You’re holding tension in every limb. You’re not listening to the rhythm—you’re fighting it. There’s no soul in your movement. It’s just
 choreography.”
Something behind your ribs twists.
“You’re technically clean, sure. But this isn’t ballet. This style needs release. Personality. Groove. And right now? You look like you're bracing for impact the entire time.”
Someone shifts their weight behind you. The sound makes you flinch.
The professor sighs. “Honestly? I don’t think hip-hop is for you.”
The words split the floor beneath you.
“I don’t say that lightly,” she adds. “Some people just don’t have the body language for it. That doesn’t mean you’re not talented—it just means you need to play to your strengths.”
Your spine straightens like it might hold back the heat crawling up your throat. You nod once, sharp and tiny.
She claps her hands again. “Alright, everyone else, back to position.”
You step out of the line.
No one says anything, but you can feel their eyes grazing over you like stray knives.
You walk to the back wall, crouch down, pretend to retie your shoe.
You don’t trust your face.
You don’t trust what’s rising inside you.
Because the thing is—you’ve been corrected before. Critiqued. Ballet is criticism. It’s pain. It’s sharpening your body into something useful.
But this feels different.
This feels like rejection.
You’ve never been told you didn’t belong in a style. Never been told outright to give up. And not in front of a full room.
You stare at the scuffed rubber on your sneaker. Try to blink away the sting building behind your eyes.
You should walk out. Shake it off. Prove her wrong next week.
But you can’t stop replaying it.
You’re not getting it. You look like you’re bracing for impact. I don’t think hip-hop is for you.
A part of you wants to be angry. To dig in your heels and overtrain until your knees give out.
But another part—smaller, quieter—is tired.
Tired of forcing it. Tired of failing in private and pretending it’s growth. Tired of dancing like you’re scared of being seen.
And that’s when it happens.
A flicker behind your eyelids. A memory you didn’t invite.
A boy alone in a studio.
Sweat on his jaw. Shirt clinging to his back. Limbs loose, music pouring through him like he trusted it. Like his body wasn’t a cage—it was a current.
You hadn’t realized, last night, what exactly you were watching.
But now?
Now you think maybe it was freedom.
The kind you’ve never felt. Not in your choreography. Not in your skin.
You don’t want to ask for help. You never do.
But the words from your professor are still ringing in your ears like bruises.
And suddenly, swallowing your pride feels easier than drowning in it.
âž»
You don’t know what you’re doing here.
The hallway hums with the kind of midnight stillness that makes every fluorescent light buzz louder than it should. Your shadow follows you in pieces—fractured by the low glow bleeding from under Studio C’s door.
You’re wearing what you always wear when you need to feel in control.
High-waisted black leggings, freshly laundered. A fitted ribbed tank top. Your sleek zip-up jacket, zipped halfway and snug across your ribs, sleeves pushed to your elbows with deliberate symmetry. There’s a tiny monogram stitched near the collar—just your initials, delicate and silver, like even your clothes are expected to perform.
Your ballet teacher once said sweatpants were for people who had already given up. That if you looked relaxed, you were relaxed. That discipline wasn’t just about how you danced—it was how you entered a room. How you carried your body. How you never looked uncertain. Never looked soft.
You believed her. You still do. Which is why being here—like this—feels like a betrayal.
You’re standing outside the one place you swore you wouldn’t come back to. Studio C.
You stare at the door. Music pulses faintly behind it—muffled bass, a steady rhythm. It’s looser than last time. Less aggressive. Still, it makes something tighten behind your ribs.
You open the door.
The hinges creak.
He’s already dancing.
Back turned. Shirt darkened with sweat. Blonde hair a mess. His shoulders are moving in slow, syrupy pops that melt into a glide, like his body is chewing on the beat before swallowing it whole. You almost lose your nerve.
Then he turns.
He doesn’t stop.
Just meets your gaze like he expected you.
A smirk tugs at his mouth as he hits one last move, lets the music carry his body into a final spin, and hits pause with a smooth flick of his fingers.
Silence falls.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, breathless but amused.
You ignore the comment. “Can I talk to you?”
He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out what changed.
You don’t wait. “I need help.”
He blinks. A pause.
“With
?”
You exhale. “Hip-hop.”
The smirk sharpens. “You?”
You cross your arms. “Yes.”
He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, revealing a flash of toned stomach, then lets it fall back into place.
“Didn’t peg you for the type to ask.”
“I’m not,” you admit, jaw tight. “But I need to get better. And I don’t have time to figure it out on my own.”
His eyes narrow slightly, considering.
You press on. “I’ll pay you.”
That gets a reaction.
He scoffs, laughing once—short and disbelieving. “You’re offering me money?”
“Yes.”
“You serious?”
You shift your weight. “I don’t expect you to do it for free.”
He walks toward you slowly, water bottle in hand, expression unreadable.
“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You snuck in here last night, watched me like I was an exhibit, ran off like your hair was on fire—then show up again tonight, ask for help, and throw cash at me like it’s a tutoring session?”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m not trying to insult you.”
“Too late.”
You square your shoulders. “I just—don’t usually ask people for things. And I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”
He watches you for a long moment. Something in his face softens—not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel it.
“You’re used to earning things,” he says quietly. “Not being given them.”
You don’t answer.
He sets the water bottle down. “Keep your money.”
“But—”
“I don’t want it.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Because it’s way more fun messing with you for free.”
Your eyes narrow. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Wildly.”
Another beat passes between you—tense, sharp.
Then his tone shifts.
“You really want help?”
“Yes.”
“Then lose the attitude.”
Your arms tighten across your chest. “This is my normal tone.”
“Yikes,” he mutters.
You roll your eyes.
He grins, and somehow it makes the space feel smaller.
“Alright,” he says, stepping back. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
You blink in surprise. “Wait—what? Right now? No. We have to schedule this.”
He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Schedules are boring.”
“I need a plan,” you insist firmly.
He smirks. “Fine. When?”
You glance at your watch, already calculating. “Seven tomorrow night.”
He nods without hesitation. “Seven it is.”
You take a deep breath and turn toward the door.
You try not to flinch when it clicks shut behind you.
âž»
You arrive at the studio twenty minutes early, nerves tightening every muscle. The polished floor gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights, reflecting your precise posture. You’re here early because that’s what you do—you prepare, you control, you own every second before anything even starts.
You pace softly near the door, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Your ballet jacket, monogrammed with your initials, feels heavier than usual, like armor against the unknown.
Minutes tick by. You check your watch again, breath shallow, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and something like dread.
Then, the door creaks open.
He strolls in—ten minutes late—with a lazy grin and an easy confidence. His hair is messier than before, strands falling over his forehead like he just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing a loose black graphic tee and baggy jeans, sneakers slapping softly against the floor. No sense of urgency, no hint of apology.
“Sorry, I’m fashionably late,” he says, flashing you a crooked smile that’s equal parts cocky and disarming.
You narrow your eyes but say nothing.
He drops his bag carelessly by the wall and stretches, cracking his neck as if the day’s been too easy so far.
You clear your throat. “We agreed on seven.”
He shrugs, that trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You get here early, I show up late. It’s the perfect balance.”
You bite back a retort and instead set your jaw, stepping forward. “Let’s get started.”
He laughs, pulls out his phone, and taps play. The bass rolls through the room, deep and steady, vibrating in your chest.
He moves first, fluid and unforced, every motion dripping with effortless cool. You try to mirror him, but your body is stiff, bound by years of discipline and control. Your arms don’t flow; your feet hit the floor like you’re following a script you can’t rewrite.
He glances your way, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You look like you’re trying to dance your way out of a straightjacket.”
You flush, cheeks heating, but refuse to break. “I’m just warming up.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, Tightwire,” he says, the nickname catching you off guard, “let’s see if you can loosen up.”
“Tightwire?” You blink at him, incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’re wound tight—like you’re balancing on a wire—but I’m kinda curious to see if you’ll fall or fly.”
You glare, but a reluctant smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.
He shrugs. “Hey, gotta call it like I see it
”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”
The music shifts, a little faster now, and you try again, letting the beat pulse through your limbs. Your movements aren’t perfect, but they’re softer, less mechanical. He watches with that half-grin, like he’s betting on you to surprise him.
“You’re getting there,” he says after a moment. “But don’t think too much. Dance isn’t about thinking. It’s about feeling.”
You nod, biting your lip, trying to absorb the advice even if it goes against everything you’ve been taught.
He steps closer, voice dropping just enough to make you lean in without realizing it. “Come on, tightwire. Show me you can let go.”
And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe you can.
The bass rolls steady through the studio as he steps back, watching you with that laid-back, half-amused expression like this whole thing is just a game to him. You feel the weight of his gaze—not heavy, but definitely there, sizing you up like he’s betting you’ll crack under pressure.
You press your lips together, squaring your shoulders. Precision is your armor, but in this moment, it feels more like a cage.
“Alright, so what now?” you ask, voice sharper than you intend.
He shrugs, leaning against the wall with that easy confidence that drives you nuts. “Now, you stop thinking so much. Feel the music. Let it move you instead of fighting it.”
You glance at him, disbelief flickering across your face. 
A slow grin curls at the corner of his mouth, eyes flickering with that mix of teasing and challenge he wears like a second skin. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s just starting to solve.
“You’re a ballerina, right?” His voice is low, almost casual, but there’s an edge to it—as if he’s daring you to prove him wrong. “I’m guessing, based on the way you move—tight, deliberate. Ballet’s all about control. Precision in every muscle, every breath, everything locked down like a well-rehearsed script.”
He pushes off the wall, stepping closer, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Hip hop? It’s a whole different game. It’s about letting go. Feeling the music pulse through you, even if it’s just a crack open—enough to catch the rhythm before it slips away.”
You bite your lip, trying to wrap your mind around what letting go even looks like. The idea feels like a foreign language to your body, which has been trained to hold tight, stay perfect, never falter.
“Look, I don’t expect you to suddenly turn into a free spirit. But maybe just loosen the grip a little? Stop trying to tame the music and ride it instead.”
His casual tone contrasts with the intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you catch a flicker of something real beneath the playfulness. It’s a challenge, but not a cruel one. More like a dare.
You cross your arms, meeting his eyes steadily. “And if I fall?”
He shrugs again, grinning. “Then I’ll be there to catch you.”
That small, unexpected softness undercuts the smirk, and your chest tightens. You want to push it aside, remind yourself this is just practice, just dance, nothing more.
You nod slowly, taking a breath. “Fine.”
He grins wider. “That’s what I like to hear. Now move.”
He steps back, giving you space, but his eyes never leave you. The music shifts—low bass curling around the edges of the room like smoke, thick and slow. He doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t offer instruction. Just waits, arms loose at his sides, like he’s already read the ending and isn’t in a rush to spoil it.
You plant your feet, pulse ticking in your throat like a second metronome. You know how to move. You’ve moved your whole life. But this? This feels like standing on a ledge with no choreographer telling you when to jump.
Still, you try.
You raise your arms—already wrong. Too rigid, too formal. You catch yourself and lower them again, forcing a breath through your nose. The beat rolls on. You take a step, then another, mirroring what you’ve seen in class. What you’ve seen him do.
It doesn’t work.
You’re too upright. Too precise. Each movement feels like it’s passed through six filters of correction before it even reaches your limbs. You know you’re getting it wrong—can feel it in the resistance of your own body.
You glance up. He’s watching, expression unreadable, one brow arched just slightly, but not mocking. Just
 waiting.
“I look stupid,” you mutter.
“No,” he says, arms crossed again, voice lighter now. “You look scared.”
You bristle, heat flaring in your cheeks. “I’m not scared.”
He tilts his head. “Then what are you holding onto so hard you can’t move?”
The question lands harder than you expect. Because you don’t have an answer. Or maybe you have too many.
You look down at your feet. “I don’t know how to be bad at something,” you say quietly.
There’s a beat of silence, and when you lift your gaze, something in his face has shifted—like he sees it now. The pressure. The fear. The weight of always being the best, or at least looking like it.
He steps closer, close enough that the air between you feels warmer, like static before a storm. “That’s the thing, ballerina,” he murmurs. “You’re not supposed to be good yet. You’re supposed to fuck up.”
You blink. “Is that how you learned?”
He laughs under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you kidding? I looked like a wind-up toy on a sugar high my first time dancing. Arms everywhere. Legs doing God knows what. It was tragic.”
A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He grins, triumphant.
“There it is,” he says. “You laugh like someone who doesn’t let themselves do it often.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s less bite in it now.
“Okay, again. But this time? Don’t think. Just feel.”
You square up, shifting your weight. Let the bass ripple up from the floor into your spine. Your body still resists—but less than before. You move again. It’s not perfect. Not even close. But for a few seconds, it’s not about perfection.
He watches you closely, not correcting, not stopping you. Just
 watching.
And somehow, that’s what makes your hands loosen. Just a little.
âž»
You don’t want to stop.
Even when your muscles ache. Even when the sweat is dripping down your spine and your chest rises in sharp, controlled breaths like you’re trying not to let on that you’re gasping. You’ve gone through the combo five times now, and not once has it felt right. Not once have you felt like you deserved to be here.
“I’m good,” you say quickly as he pauses the music. Too quickly. “We can keep going.”
But Hoshi tosses you a look over his shoulder like he’s heard this before. Like he’s not buying it.
“Nah,” he says, already flopping down onto the studio floor like gravity pulled him there. “You’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep chasing the ghost of whatever ‘perfect’ means in your head.”
You hesitate, hovering awkwardly near the center of the floor.
“I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice lacks conviction now.
He props himself up on his elbows, sweat-dampened hair curling at his temples. “You’ve got this edge like you think the world’s gonna end if you take five minutes.”
You bristle. “Some of us don’t have time to waste.”
His eyes narrow slightly—not offended, more curious. “That why you’re always wound so tight? Afraid of losing a second?”
You don’t answer, but you do lower yourself down, slow and stiff, like surrendering is a foreign language. Your limbs ache in protest, and the cold bite of the studio floor against your back makes you shiver.
For a moment, there’s just breathing. The hum of fluorescent lights. The ghost of the bass still buzzing under your skin.
Then, casually, he says, “You know, I just realized—I don’t even know your name. Been calling you Tightwire in my head this whole time.”
You turn your head to look at him. He’s watching you, one arm folded behind his head, that same smirk playing on his lips before you answer with your name.
He nods once, like he’s storing it away somewhere private. “Nice. I’m Hoshi, by the way.”
“I know,” you say, a little too fast.
His brow arches. “Oh?”
You glance away, trying not to let your ears burn. “Some people in the dressing room were talking about you. Said you’re insanely good. A little cocky.”
He laughs—full-bodied and unbothered. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You don’t say anything, but your lips twitch like you’re fighting a smile.
He stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “You always this intense?”
You lie back again, letting your gaze fall to the ceiling. “Only when I’m awake.”
He whistles low under his breath. “Damn. What’s it like in that brain of yours?”
You don’t answer. You don’t really know how to. But something about the quiet between you shifts—thickens, softens. Not quite tension. Not quite comfort. Just... awareness.
He breaks it with a chuckle. “Better tighten that bun, Tightwire. We’ve got a long way to go before you stop looking like a ballerina trapped in the wrong movie.”
You sit up slowly, chest still rising fast. “I want to get it right.”
His voice is softer this time. “You will.”
And for the first time tonight, you almost believe him.
Almost.
But belief is a luxury you don’t let yourself touch yet.
You stay quiet, letting the echo of the music and the pounding of your pulse fill the space instead. He doesn’t press. Just leans back on his hands, eyes skating lazily over the ceiling like he’s already half-tuned out.
You rise slowly, every muscle sore, every line of your body aching with the unfamiliarity of it all. The floor feels harder than usual beneath your feet. Or maybe you’re just feeling how far you have to go.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, casual, like it doesn’t matter either way.
You pause. “I need an exact time.”
That makes him glance up. He smirks. “7 sharp, then.”
You nod, already halfway to the door, spine straight, jaw locked.
His voice follows just before it closes behind you. “Better stretch tonight, Tightwire. Tomorrow’s worse.”
You don’t answer.
But your fists curl tighter around your jacket sleeve, and your steps are clipped all the way back to your dorm.
This isn’t working yet.
But you’ll make it.
Because you don’t know how not to.
âž»
The studio is cooler than last time, lights dimmed low to soften the harshness of the mirrors. Outside, twilight is bleeding into the campus sky—pale pinks and grays washing over the windows like a lullaby the room refuses to listen to. Here, the bass thumps quietly through the speaker in the corner. Not loud. Just enough to vibrate under your skin.
You showed up early again. Of course you did.
This time, Hoshi wasn’t ten minutes late.
Just five.
He strolled in with a Gatorade in hand and his hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he might start dancing or start a fight—either seemed equally possible. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, worn from use but somehow still stylish, and the tank he wore underneath clung to him in a way that was definitely unfair. His hair was tousled again—purposefully careless, like the rest of him.
He took one look at you pacing, gave a low whistle, and said, “Tightwire’s back.”
You didn’t rise to it. Just uncapped your water bottle and muttered, “We said seven.”
He held up his Gatorade in a mock toast. “And here I am. Growth.”
Now, fifteen minutes in, he hasn’t said much else.
And it’s driving you insane.
He’s been circling the room, hood down now, hands in his pockets, as if this were a museum and you were the exhibit. Every so often he hums or nods with the music, eyes following your movements—noting something. Calculating. You hate how much you want to know what he’s thinking.
You’ve been moving since you got there. Sticking to the choreography he gave you yesterday, step by step, beat by beat. You’ve practiced it in your dorm room, in your head, in your dreams. You thought today would feel better.
It doesn’t.
You’re already sweating.
Not from exertion—but from frustration. Every move sticks. Every beat slips through your fingers like water.
You push through another pass of the routine, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the mirror. You’re on beat. Technically. Your footwork is clean. You hit your marks.
So why does it still feel wrong?
You stop mid-step, breath ragged, palms curling into fists at your sides.
Behind you, Hoshi whistles low under his breath. “That looked painful.”
Your glare shoots straight through the mirror at his reflection. “It wasn’t painful.”
He strolls closer, tapping the volume down on the speaker. “It was like watching someone file their taxes in dance form.”
Your jaw tightens. “I’m doing the steps.”
“Exactly.” He drops into a lazy crouch, arms resting on his knees. “You’re doing them. Not feeling them.”
You exhale sharply and turn to face him. “Not everyone can roll out of bed and move like their bones are made of rubber bands.”
He smirks. “Flattering. But rubber bands don’t have this much charm.”
You don’t laugh. You’re too keyed up. “I just want to get this right.”
“Why?” he asks simply. “Why does it have to be right instead of real?”
You falter.
“I mean, when did you decide hip hop had one right answer? You’re not solving an equation.”
“No, I’m trying not to embarrass myself,” you snap.
He stands again, stretching his arms overhead. “You’re trying to ace it. That’s the problem.”
You fold your arms. “So you’re saying don’t try?”
“I’m saying
” He studies you a beat too long. “You’re dancing like you don’t trust yourself. I wanna see what you do trust.”
You blink. “What?”
He nods toward the center of the room. “Ballet. Show me.”
Your brows knit. “Why would you want to see that?”
“Because,” he says, voice low but sure, “I’ve only seen you in defense mode. I wanna see what you look like when you’re home.”
Your spine straightens instinctively. “I can’t just
 do it.”
He raises a brow. “Why not?”
“I need my shoes.” Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. “And I need to warm up. And I haven’t done my back stretches yet. I have rituals y’know
 I don’t—”
You stop yourself, but it’s too late. The panic already cracked through.
His head tilts, eyes catching yours. “Hey,” he says, tone gentler now. “Then do that. Do all of it. I’m not going anywhere.”
You swallow hard.
“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts in, not unkind.
“Don’t act like time’s your enemy,” he says. “You’ve got it. Use it. However you need.”
That silences you more than anything else.
Because he’s not wrong.
Time is something you’ve always tried to outrun. To out-schedule. To dominate before it could dominate you. You don’t know how to exist in a moment unless it’s mapped, controlled, checked off.
But right now? There’s no clock dictating your start. Just Hoshi, leaning against the mirror, giving you space.
So you nod slowly. “Okay. I just
 give me a second.”
“Take ten,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll be here.”
You move to your bag, fingers finding the soft, worn fabric of your ballet shoes. The satin slips through your hands like breath. You sit down and begin your quiet ritual—each wrap of the ribbons like a thread sewing you back together. He watches, but doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush.
You roll your ankles out, then rise, poised and still.
And finally—when it’s just you and the studio and the silence that lets you breathe—
You dance.
No music. Just the memory of it in your bones. The stretch and pull, the rise and fall. Every movement cut with precision, but this time, there’s something else in it too. A flicker of emotion. A note of defiance. Grace sharpened by something personal.
And Hoshi watches.
He’s quiet now, back pressed to the mirror, arms crossed loosely over his chest. But his usual smirk is gone. Replaced by something still, almost reverent. He watches the way your muscles glide beneath your skin, the way your lines slice through the air with deadly accuracy—like you’re carving out space in the world just by existing in it.
But there’s tension there, too. A tightness at the edge of every perfect landing. Like you’re trying to escape something that’s stitched into your very ribs. He can feel it in his chest as he watches you turn—controlled, contained, clenched.
Like you’re dancing against an invisible wall, not with the room around you.
You finish with a single, poised breath, shoulders lifted, jaw set like a blade.
And still—he doesn’t say anything.
Not right away.
He unfolds his arms slowly, and it takes him a second to find the right words. His gaze stays on you, steady. No teasing, no flash of teeth. Just something deeper now. Almost sad.
“You’re really good,” he says, voice low and a little rough. “But you look like you’re suffocating.”
âž»
Tag List: @minafrost @codeinebelle @sojuxxi @bestboileeknow @angelsbitx @socialsymphonies
(Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist <3)
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verus-animus · 6 months ago
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Hot Massage
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"P-Please... S... S... Stop..." Jeremy tried to plead desperately, but his numb lips and face made it incredibly hard.
"Shhh... Don't speak. You'll only waste your energy." I shushed the handsome hunk that laid beneath me. Opening another bottle, I poured out the clear serum and massaged it into his firm chest. It quickly began heating up and his skin soften slightly.
"W-Why....." He asked. I could tell he was trying desperately to make his large muscles move, but unfortunately all it did was twitch his fingers.
"Why? I don't know, Jeremy... Maybe it's because of all those years back in high school that you bullied me and completely ruined my reputation and any chances of me getting into a good college, or maybe it's because of the 'accident' you caused which burned half of my face off... What do you think?" There was definitely a hint of anger within my voice, but I quickly calmed down and continued massaging his warm pliable chest.
"...I-I'm s-sorry...." He really meant it this time. Unlike all those other times he said it in front of his peers. But it didn't matter anymore.
"A bit too late for that, Jeremy... Even if I have forgiven you for all those years back then, the serum has already reached its full effect. There's really no going back now." I smothered my hands against his rippling skin and felt how they slowly began sinking into him. Into his flesh.
"...no...ah..." He gasped, as he felt me invade his very flesh. My elbows disappeared as I got closer and closer to his anguished numb face.
"Don't worry, you won't feel a thing. Once I push my head inside and overlap my brain onto yours, you'll never have a thought of your own again. From now on I'll control your every movement, your every breath, and your every heartbeat. It'll be my rugged hands running across these perfect pecs, my juicy ass squeezing dildos deeper inside, and my handsome scar-free face hungrily licking up all the residue from the bathroom mirror."
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I gave his glazed-over eyes one last look and pushed my lips against his soft ones, before I plunged my entire head inside his. His fingers clenched together and he began gasping for air, as I moved around inside him and positioned myself correctly. As soon as I settled down my mind suddenly exploded with all of Jeremy's memories, dreams, and aspirations. I felt them embrace me and flow into me, until I felt myself own them as if they had always been mine.
I opened my new eyes just in time to see the last of the rippling effect on my new large chest settle down. As it did, I felt a torrent of unbridled cum unleash itself underneath the warm blanket.
It was done. Jeremy had taken everything from me back then; my life, my reputation, my future, my face... Now, I've taken it all back; the successful life, the promising future, and even the perfect face. This was a brand new start for me, the new Jeremy...
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Happy New Year everyone! Thought I'd pop by and let you all know that I'm still around. I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, and with a lot of things going on in life I haven't really taken the time to properly write. Still, I thought I'd give you all a treat with this older draft I made a while back. Hope you all enjoy it, and perhaps you'll hear more from me this new year! /Verus <3
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