#this is probably going to be my only fic for 2023 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucyandthepen · 9 months

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sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties.

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert.

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling).

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption — like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you.

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease.

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it.

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine.

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever.

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory.

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you.

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM.

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect.

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer.

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist.

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront.

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day.

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will.

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

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alonetimelover · 4 months

Text

pairing: (ex)Harry Styles x Ginger Spice's daughter!reader x Max Verstappen

fc: Sabrina Carpenter

summary: They broke up and she decided to disappear and write a heartbreaking song. Through this process her old friends from F1 were with her. With one two-time World Champion getting closer and closer.

warnings: swearing, cheating, Harry is an asshole in this (sorry!)

a/n: Long? Oh yes. It's a long one. But also my first F1 related fic, hope you enjoy!

masterlist

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f1 and redbullracing

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 349 392 others

f1 Is there a better way to start 2023 season than with YN YSN (sweetly called the tiny boss of Red Bull Racing) in the paddock? We say there is NOT! Welcome YN, we hope you have the best time with us!

view all 19 323 comments

yourinstagram thank uuuuu!

danielricciardo THE boss is here!

landonorris *heart eyes*

charles_leclerc Welcome back, YN!

ynupdates oh how i missed her face

ynsmybestie 5 months without even a photo of her finger online... it was a draught

ynsmymama yn's a vroom vroom girlie?????

ynsmybabie F1? is she a fan? tiny boss? what is going on?

⤷ ynupdates I feel like I'm the only one that knew. YN is Christian Horner's (red bull racing boss) step-daughter.

⤷ ynsmybestie isn't his wife ginger spice?

⤷ ynupdates yes! she's YN's mum. how do you guys not know that?

⤷ ynshands maybe because she's using her grandma's surname and not her mother's?

formulafan49 so we're getting las vegas content in bahrain? this sport is getting out of control with all those celebrities attending

⤷ landonorizz why are you being bothered by somebody that knows almost everything about formula 1? go be mad somewhere else

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yourinstagram

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 2 201 302 others

yourinstagram hiii💛 took a break and wrote a song. you're losing me is out now! i love all of you my pathological people pleasers.

view all 91 393 comments

danielricciardo be a happy song with me?

⤷ yourinstagram running to you right now

⤷ landonorris bringing mum's biscuits

⤷ maxverstappen1 I'll bring myself 😊

⤷ danielricciardo you lot weren't invited, but come in... I guess

landonorris you're the only person I'm not mad at for making me cry, ynn

⤷ yourinstagram you've heard the song before, lan

⤷ landonorris shhhh

⤷ danielricciardo it won't make her fall in love with you, norris

⤷ landonorris fuck you man

maxverstappen1 💛💛

ynupdates WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED HERE

ynsmybestie I won't recover. I fucking won't recover

ynsmymama I'm gonna die... its so sad. its heartbreaking. I'm losing myself

hArrysbtch woah, my heart cannot take this

harrysmoustache firstly, break my heart and take it, yn

harrysmoustache secondly, why is the whole f1 here? wtf

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, harrysmoustache and 45 202 others

harryupdates In his latest interview Harry was asked about his private life - especially his relationship with YN. After the question of "do you feel like you throw a great love away?" Harry answered with "I don't know. I don't regret a lot of things in my life but that's [the relationship] probably one of them." You can read the interview via the link in our story!

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hArrysbtch suddenly a six year lasting relationship was a mistake???

hArrysbtch ehh, harry. i kinda feel that the breakup (from Harry's side) happened a long time ago. there is no sparkle anymore

hArrysbtch now let me start on not mentioning her name like EVER "my last partner" her name is YN, why he can't just say it? it's been going on for years. since they started dating really...

harrysmoustache that wasn't the best interview

ynsmymama about 'you're losing me': "every artist has their imagination that they write down and then release. sometimes it's good and sometimes it should be kept private. i'm not the one to size it up." THAT WAS FUCKING LOW

⤷ harrysmoustache as much as I love him that was petty af

⤷ hArrysbtch especially when almost all critics named this song one of the best LYRICALLY and MUSICALLY in the last few decades

ynshands "I don't know if you can be ready to move on from a longterm relationship. it's definitely harder than from something that lasts months or two years." THIS MOTHERF****R IS TALKING ABOUT NOT BEING THE ONE TO MOVE ON BUT HE DID WHILE STILL BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP??????

⤷ ynsmymama this is called audacity

⤷ harrysfan49 cheating was never confirmed, was it?

⤷ ynsmybestie yes, it was. right after harry's "announcement" yn posted a story with lyrics from 'illicit affairs'. i think that's enough of a confirmation.

ynsmybestie yeah, here he comes again not being able to fucking say her name. those 6 years meant nothing?

⤷ harrysfan92 maybe he doesn't want to share his private relationship online

⤷ ynsmybestie i don't understand that. you're loving a person for six years, claiming them the love of your life, but saying the name is hard? he never mentioned her in interviews (my closest friend, my partner, someone I love). he couldn even show up at her birthday party because he had a photoshoot. just to point out, the drivers showed up in London, even though they had a race in Imola the next day.

⤷ harrysfan87 you guys are toxic. just gonna blame him for the breakup? unbelievable.

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ynupdates

liked by ynsmybestie, landofan92 and 88 203 others

ynupdates YN AND LANDO AT THE NIGHTCLUB IN MONACO!!!!!

view all 6 001 comments

ynsmybestie NO FUCKING WAY

ynsmybestie SHE LOOKS SO HOT

ynsmymama the way he looks at her ??? 🫠

ynsfan92 find somebody who looks at you just like lando looks at yn. YOU CAN'T

⤷ ynsmymuse have you seen how max looks at her?

landofan92 do I need to change my bio from norizz to yesrizz?

user39 yeah, moving on quickly when her exboyfriend is talking about how he adores her

⤷ ynsmybestie where??? because i only saw how awful he was to YN from the moment they broke up

user02 yeah, move on quickly and go trough all the drivers

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yourinstagram added to her IG story!

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lando.jpg

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 1 004 392 others

lando.jpg yn showed her favourites

view all 203 494 comments

danielricciardo LIAAAAAR. SHE LOVES ME MORE.

⤷ yourinstagram of course

⤷ lando.jpg i love your sarcasm

maxverstappen1 💛

yourinstagram not my fault you were the only ones available for photos

⤷ maxverstappen1 I don't mind

⤷ lando.jpg neither do I

⤷ danielricciardo I DO

⤷ charles_leclerc I DO TOO

ynsmybestie hot

ynsmybestie but also i see you YN with favouring Max and Lando, i see you girl

ynsmymama why I've never realised how hot those two are???

ynshands is there a thing she does badly?

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ynupdates

liked by ynsmybestie, maxandyn and 68 574 others

ynupdates YN and MAX VERSTAPPEN at the bar tonight in Zandvoort, celebrating Max's win!

view all 4 206 comments

ynsmybestie SEE? you defend the girl, you get the girl!

ynsmymama i mean i was rooting for them but i am still speechless

ynshands YAS PARENTS

maxfan85 after the race that he had, tying to yet another record and getting a girl? is there a thing he can't do or can't have??

ynsfan93 sooo, do we say they're together orrr?

⤷ ynsmybestie i mean, look at them. i have many friends but i'm not that cozy with any of them

⤷ ynsmymama i vote early stages of dating. yn's a touchy person in nature so you know, it can be that

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yourinstagram added to her IG story!

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a/n: do you want to see more of them?

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part 2

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen x singer!reader #max verstappen fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x ex!reader

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babybluebex · 2 months

Text

venus pt.1 | angus tully x fem!reader

summary: after being accepted as barton academy's first female student, you didn't think it could get any worse. as the fall semester progresses, you start to form a friendship with the outcast, angus, but what happens when the holidays come and you are the last two students on campus? PART 1 OF 2 pairing: angus tully (the holdovers, 2023) x fem!reader tags: canon compliance (this is a complete rewrite of the film, just with the added reader insert), lots of swearing, teddy is an asshole but what's new, 70s ideals about feminism (which YES is a warning), mentions of grief/loss author’s note: oof here we go, part 1 of my long-teased angus fic! be aware that this is literally 11k words, so i apologize for the absolute brick wall of text you're about to encounter (but don't worry, i put a read more on it :) ) also, if i missed any warnings/tags, pls dm me and let me know if you think i should add something! other than that, enjoy!

There were worse fates than this, right? There had to be, you were sure of it. You felt every pair of eyes on you as you walked down the center aisle of the chapel, acutely aware of the overwhelming masculine energy that you were drowning in. After all, at Barton, it wasn’t every day that these boys saw a girl. You wondered how long some of them had gone without laying eyes on a member of the opposite sex (a real one; skin mags don’t count).

It also didn’t help that the priest at the front of the room had intentionally brought everyone’s eyes to you the moment you walked in. You had tried to slip in unnoticed, but he had said “Ah, here she is now: our very first Barton lady! Come sit up front with the headmaster!”

You anchored yourself in the frontmost pew, next to the headmaster with a hippie beard, and kept your head still and staring straight ahead. You had known very little about Barton before that school year— you were from nearby Boston, and had gone to a larger high school with, not only a more mixed gender breakdown, but a significantly different economic situation than Barton. You had been shocked, as you took the bus from town to campus, at how many Mercedes and Cadillacs you had seen near the school. You felt like a fish out of water, in more ways than one.

The priest didn’t end his taunting when you sat down, though. “Many of you probably wondered, when you got on campus for the beginning of the semester, what the new building next to the dormitory was,” he began, and you heard a few mumblings from the row behind you, confirming their confusion. “Well, gentlemen, this year… Barton has become coeducational. The new building, Blackwell Hall, named for the esteemed Elizabeth Blackwell, is the girl’s dormitory.”

The mumbling behind you increased to a dull rumble, and you slightly turned your head to get a glance at the boys sitting behind you. All high school boys, kids your age, staring at you and wondering what your deal was. You took notice of one boy in particular, the only one around you not gossiping with his friends, totally uninterested and picking at his cuticles. Before you could even think to wonder about this boy, someone from near the back of the chapel yelled “Is she gonna be in classes with us?”

“Yes, she will,” the priest said. “She is a junior, so, gentlemen, make sure you welcome her warmly to our school.”

You sat and endured chapel while burning from all the stares in your direction, and, as soon as the priest dismissed the lot of you, you shot up and made your way to the doors, clutching your handbag close to your body. The August air hit your face as you stepped out, and you started back to Blackwell Hall, where your things sat, ready to be unpacked, but someone called out to you, demanding your attention.

“Hey, girl!” You turned to see who had shouted, and you were met with the sight of a boy with caramel-colored hair, wearing a sports coat and tie. Come to think of it, all the boys were wearing coats and ties. You hadn’t been told anything about a uniform, and suddenly your jeans felt less than appropriate. The boy had a cigarette in his hand, and he beckoned you over to him, and you clenched your back teeth as you (for some reason) obeyed.

“You’re a junior, huh?” the boy asked, and you nodded. “What classes are you taking?”

You pursed your lips. “Precalc,” you began. “Ancient Civ. Home Ec. Bio.”

“Gym?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“There’s not a girls’ locker room,” you said, hoping he understood your explanation.

The boy ashed his cigarette, and he said, “What period do you have Ancient Civ?”

You tried to recall what you had written down, and you said, “Fourth period, I think. With Hunham.”

“Oh,” the boy said with a winning smile. “I’m in that period too. Maybe we could be study partners.”

You drew in a breath and cleared your throat. “Maybe,” you said softly. “What’s your name?”

“Teddy,” he replied. “Kountze.”

“Right,” you mumbled. “Well, um, I’ll see you around, Teddy.”

“Um, are you going to the cafeteria?” Teddy asked hastily, like he was looking for something to talk to you about. “I-I was about to head there, and, if you wanted someone to sit with, I have a spare seat at my table.”

“I’m not,” you told him. “Gotta get back to my dorm and finish unpacking. I only got in town today.”

“How did…” Teddy started. “How did you get in? Your folks hear that Barton was going coed and got you in?”

You shook your head. “I went to Central High School, in Boston,” you replied. “I was doing a research project and saw in a newspaper that Barton was going coed and having a lottery for the first female student. I sorta put my name in as a joke, and then, when I won, it… Wasn’t really a joke anymore. I had to take some academic placement tests, since Central isn’t exactly a highbrow school, and I got a scholarship that covered a lot of my tuition. The board of trustees waived the rest of it, so…”

“You’re going here for free?” Teddy asked incredulously. “Jesus, I didn’t even know we had scholarships.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, Kountze,” a voice said from nearby, and you turned your shoulder to see the boy from chapel who didn’t give a shit about you. He stood tall, rail thin, a mop of dark curls on top of his head. He had eyes like black holes, his pale skin so translucent around his eye sockets that he had purplish-red bags underneath. “Nobody’s going to tell the bottom scum about possible academic achievements. It’s cruel to tease people with something they’ll never have.”

“Fuck off, Tully,” Teddy snapped. “Don’t you have some porno mag waiting for you?”

The boy (you supposed his name was Tully) pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and skulked away, and you scoffed under your breath. “Charming,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from his back as he left the scene.

“Jesus, yeah,” Teddy said. “That’s Angus Tully. Biggest asshole here, thinks he’s better than everyone else. God knows why, he’s such a fuckin’ loser. He’s in Hunham’s fourth period too.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at Angus Tully’s back, and then redirected your attention to Teddy, who was presently snubbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” you said softly, and, without another word, departed for your dorm.

You appreciated that Barton had built a separate dorm for the female students, but, seeing as you were the sole resident of the building, you were irked by it. It was too big and empty, too lifeless and soulless. Certainly, they had built it with future generations in mind, hoping that more girls would eventually enroll and prove the building a necessity, but, for now, you found yourself aching with loneliness. You missed your mom and your sisters, in your small apartment in downtown Boston, just a few blocks from your old high school. You missed hearing Linda Ronstadt records playing from your older sister’s room (the one she shared with your mom), or the ceaseless sound of the air conditioning unit buzzing away in the window of your room (the one you shared with your other older sister). Barton just felt too… Good for you. But, it was as your mother had told you: it was an opportunity that you could not afford to pass up.

You didn’t have a lot to unpack, and you hung up your clothes as you chewed your lip. For some reason, the interaction outside the chapel was sticking with you. Not Teddy, although he certainly had made himself hard to forget. No, you were thinking about Angus Tully, apparently the head asshole of Assholedom. You would be seeing him tomorrow too, for the first day of classes, in Hunham’s Ancient Civ class. You had never taken a class like that— your old school didn’t even offer the Advanced Placement program, so obnoxiously pretentious classes like that were out of your realm of understanding— and you were almost worried that you would flunk right out.

You tossed and turned all night, dreading sunrise and morning. Breakfast was served at 7, and classes began at 8, beginning with Precalc for you, then transitioning into Biology. After third period free, you had Ancient Civ, then an hour for lunch, then Home Ec, then your last few hours of the school day were reserved for something that, on the fax paper that you had been given at the front office, was called “Secretarial Studies”. You hated to think what that meant (surely, Barton wasn’t trying to prime you for being a secretary and nothing more), but mostly, it meant that your school day basically ended earlier than for others.

You awoke early, showered and scrubbed yourself clean (the water pressure in the shower was better than the fourth floor apartment that you used to deal with), and you dressed yourself in what you hoped was becoming of a Barton girl. The dress had initially been purchased as an outfit for special chapel occasions, Christmas and Easter or whatever, but you knew that your regular jeans and wrinkled t-shirt wouldn’t be enough for your new shiny academy.

Once again, as you entered the cafeteria for breakfast, you felt all eyes on you. You scanned the room for an empty seat (you didn’t fail to spot Angus Tully, sitting at the cornermost table, not conversing with everyone else) and sighed when you saw an open chair right next to Teddy Kountze. He spotted you and waved, and you made your way over.

“Hey there,” Teddy said. “How was your first night?”

“Fine,” you shrugged noncommittally. “Kinda quiet, though.”

“Yeah, nobody else in the whole building,” Teddy sighed. “No roommates or anything; that must be nice.”

“Nah, not really,” you replied. “I got used to my mom and my sisters, and it was just too quiet. Not nearly enough chaos for me.”

“How many sisters do you have?” A boy across the table from you asked.

“Two,” you said. “Both older. And my mom lived with us too, so there was always something going on.”

“Shit, for sure,” the boy said. “Are you gonna join any clubs while you’re here? Or sports or something?”

You didn’t exactly love the way that the boy said that. “While you’re here”. Like you weren’t going to stay at Barton for very long. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ve never really been a sporty type. I might see if the yearbook needs help or something.”

“You could join chess club,” the boy laughed, and Teddy (and pretty much everyone else at the table) laughed too.

“Why? What’s so funny about chess club?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Teddy sighed as he finished laughing. “Except that Tully’s ugly mug is there.”

“Tully?” you repeated. “Angus?”

“Do you know him?” a different boy at the table asked.

“No, not at all,” you said quickly. “Just… Heard some stuff about him, that’s all. How he’s apparently a douche.”

“You’ll see,” Teddy assured you. “In class, try to challenge him on something. See how he reacts, and you’ll get why we all hate him.”

You wrinkled your nose at the thought, but decided to not let it bother you. You made your way to class, hanging close behind Teddy and not really listening to him as much as you were admiring the school building. It was so… Old. So was your old school, but Barton was beautifully old, whereas Central was just old. Dark, shiny wood everywhere, framed oil paintings of people; it was a feat. You finally separated from Teddy when you reached the classroom for Precalc, and you hesitantly stepped in. A handful of guys were there, sitting on their desks and chatting, and the room fell dead as you stepped inside. You hazarded a small smile, and quickly made your way to the back of the room, your preferred spot in any classroom, but you were stopped in your tracks.

Angus Tully. He sat in the back corner, close to the window, his tie loose and crooked around his neck. He was looking out the window, but his eyes slid over to you as you approached the desk beside him.

“Hi,” you said gently. “Can I… Um, can I sit here?”

Angus shrugged, as if he didn’t care, and you slung your bag across the back of the seat before you settled yourself down. You tapped your fingers on the desktop for a moment, wondering what the next course of action was, and you mumbled out, “I-I heard you were in chess club?”

“Yeah,” Angus grunted out. “What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said, anxiously smoothing your skirt on your thigh. “Just, umm… I was wondering if there was, like… If you guys were open to new members.”

“Probably,” Angus said simply.

You nodded slowly, waiting for his next words, but they never came. “Right,” you said softly. “Okay.”

To your disappointment, Angus Tully and you shared every class together, except for your free period and Home Ec. His demeanor never changed a single bit throughout the day, sullen and curt. He didn’t speak during class, didn’t answer questions or even seem as if he was paying attention. It was odd. You were thinking about it as you settled into a desk in the back of the Ancient Civ classroom, and you yourself were hardly paying attention to the teacher, a one Mr. Hunham, until he called your name. “Miss?” he said, and you lifted your cheek out of your hand. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

You blinked a few times, your face positively burning hot, and you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you all know my name by now,” you began. “Know that I went to a public school in Boston, got in here on a lottery and a scholarship… I guess there’s not much else to know about me.”

“Have you ever studied ancient civilizations before, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. He seemed well-meaning, if maybe a little sarcastic.

“No,” you told him.

“Any experience with Latin?” Mr. Hunham asked next.

You deflated. Shit. This was that sorta school? “No,” you said, a little quieter this time.

“Well, that’s alright,” Mr. Hunham said. “We’ll catch you up to speed. Now, gentlemen— Ah, and lady— let’s open our books to the first chapter.”

All during class, you felt hot tears pricking at your eyes. You were humiliated. All these words and names that everyone else seemed to know, and you had no fucking clue what any of it meant. It was all Greek to you— Latin, actually, but that didn't matter. As Mr. Hunham was mid-sentence about some sort of war, the bell to end the class sounded throughout the room, and you instantly closed your textbook and began to shove it into your bag. “Read the rest of the section tonight!” Mr. Hunham called over the sounds of your classmates packing up and chattering. “There will be a quiz on Friday!”

You shouldered your bag and tried to avoid eyes as you skated out of the room, but a voice saying your name held you back. You hoped your eyes weren’t red as you turned to see Angus standing limply in the hallway. He had stayed quiet during Mr. Hunham’s class too, sitting again in the back corner, and you had managed to forget about him as you wallowed in shame. “Yeah?” you asked.

Angus carefully walked closer to you, and he said, “The library has tutors sometimes. If you need help with Latin.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “Thanks. I just… Didn’t know people still spoke that.”

“Not really, it’s a dead language,” Angus said. “But it’s helpful sometimes in classes. A lot of Ivy League schools have Latin courses that are required.”

“Well, thank God I’m not going to an Ivy League school,” you chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ll be lucky if community college takes me.”

“You go to Barton, colleges will be fighting for you to go there,” Angus shrugged.

“But I’m not somebody,” you protested. “I’m not a senator’s kid, my dad isn’t a CEO, like… I just go here.”

“But the name is good enough for schools to want you,” Angus said. “They want the prestige, that’s all.”

You thought on it for a moment, and you mumbled, “Thanks, Angus. I’ll, um… See you tomorrow.”

The whole first week of classes progressed at a snail’s pace. Every day was torturous— all of your classes, except for Ancient Civ, were easy. Home Ec was a complete wash, since you already knew how to sew and cook, and Secretarial Studies was just as you had feared: teaching you to type, mostly, but nevertheless skills needed to do office work. You were a little offended; you were the only student in the class, which was helmed by the front office manager Ms. Crane. Obviously the boys didn’t have to take this class, so what was Barton trying to say?

Finally, it was Friday night. Your dorm building was quiet again, and, even though they had provided a rec room with a radio and a few bookshelves, there wasn’t too much for you to do. You curled a loose thread from your sweater around your finger as you considered your next move, and you sighed as you grabbed your keys and shuffled into your shoes.

You pushed your way into the boy’s dorm, and there was a palpable change in energy. The lights seemed brighter, the air thicker, sounds coming from all manner of places. Some doors were open, the residents standing and chatting, and you could distantly hear the sound of a television playing somewhere on the first floor. Much livelier, more lived in; you wished you could have been placed there instead. You followed the sound of the television down the hall, past the chatting boys, and you noticed how conversations paused as you passed by. You despised that.

The door to the rec room was wide open, and you peeked in nervously. The television was playing some rerun of Gilligan’s Island, and boys were scattered to all corners of the room. Some played pool, some sat on the couches, some stood by the open window and smoked, but everything seemed to stop as you crossed the threshold. You made your way to an empty section of the couch and sat down, grinding your teeth as boys young and old watched you. You sighed, and you said, “What’s going on?”

The boy next to you, some kid that you knew was in your Bio class but didn’t know his name, frowned. “Huh?” he asked.

You jerked your head towards the television. “The show,” you said. “What’s happening?”

“Oh,” the boy said, and everyone resumed their conversations. “Umm, don’t you have a TV in your dorm?”

“Just a radio,” you said with a shake of your head. “What episode is this?”

The boy shrugged. “Wasn’t really paying attention,” he said.

You bunched your mouth up and sighed again, and you stood up. You could sense the disappointment as you left the rec room, but you couldn’t stand being in there any longer. You knew that being ogled at came with the territory of being the only girl at a boys’ school, but you couldn’t imagine it would have been anything like this. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your jeans and found a few errant coins in there, leftover from some excursion from God knows how long ago, and you started up to the second floor. In your building, there was a bank of phones on the second floor, and it made sense to you that this building would be the same.

Luckily, you were right. There was just as much business on the second floor as on the first, but the little phone bank was a calm corner. You sighed and examined the phone for a moment, trying to find the slot to put your dime, and you frowned. What the fuck?

“Just dial nine, and then the number you wanna call.”

You jumped in fright. “Jesus Christ!” you seethed, whipping around to see Angus. He sat in a shadow of the phone bank, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. He looked a little more casual than he did in class, his tie gone and shirt unbuttoned one or two to show the top of his undershirt. Still looked a little Grim Reaper in the face, though. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Angus huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Thought you saw me,” he said.

“I did not,” you mumbled. “Where’s the coin slot?”

“These aren’t payphones,” Angus told you. “Just dial nine for a non-school number, then dial away.”

You drew in a deep breath and shoved your dime back in your pocket, and you picked up the phone and started to rotate the dial, starting with nine, then going for your family’s apartment number. You felt Angus’s gaze seering on your back, and you cradled the phone to your shoulder as it rang. “Do you mind?” you asked.

“Do I mind what?” Angus asked.

“Scram, man,” you sighed. “I’m trying to call my mom, and I don’t want you listening to it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have come to a public phone if you wanted a private conversation,” Angus said, and you tilted your head at him in annoyance. “Doesn’t Blackwell have a phone bank?”

“Yeah,” you said. “But I didn’t wanna use it.”

“So you came here instead,” Angus said. “I think you like the attention.”

You swallowed thickly, anger tepid but starting to rise. “You don’t know me at all,” you bit at him.

“Why’d you come to this building to make your call if you knew that every guy would stop to stare at your ass?” Angus asked. “You knew that. You’ve been here a week, you know by now that you attract attention. I think you like it, but you can’t admit it because you have that whole quiet mystery girl thing going on.”

“Fuck off, Tully,” you mumbled. “I’m not here to be some goddamn puzzle for you to solve. And I’m not gonna fuck you if you figure out my backstory, so just go away.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Angus asked smugly.

You glared at him and that stupid crooked smirk on his face. “Stop staring at my ass first and we might get somewhere,” you told him lowly, just in time for the call to pick up.

“Hello?” your mother said, and you sighed in relief.

“Mom, thank God,” you laughed lightly. “You took so long to answer, I was worried nobody was there.”

“Oh, no, pumpkin, I’m here,” your mom told you. “I was just in the shower.”

“Is Rachel not home?” you asked. “Or Anna?”

“Rach is at work,” your mom told you. “She picked up extra hours at Neiman Marcus. She thinks they might promote her to manager at the end of the year.”

“Oh, wow,” you mumbled. “Good for her. And Anna?”

“Started taking night classes,” your mom said. “She started on Monday too.”

“Cool,” you chuckled. “What’re you doing tonight? I think ABC is showing some sort of movie—”

“I’m going on a date,” your mom said, and your mouth went dry.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Like… With a guy?”

“Yes,” your mom said carefully. “He’s nice, I met him at work. He’s taking me to a movie and dinner.”

“That’s…” you started. “Cool, Mom. Good for you.”

“What about you?” your mom asked. “Surrounded by all those boys, there has to be someone who’s caught your eye.”

You sighed. Your lip trembled, and you closed your eyes. You were acutely aware that Angus was still sat behind you, and the fact that you hadn’t heard his book turn in a few minutes meant that he was absolutely listening to your phone call, the little shit. “No, not really,” you said. “Everyone here is either too rich, too smart, or too… Asshole-ish. Some are even all three.” You made a point to turn your head towards Angus, and you heard his little huffing laugh before you turned back to the phone.

“Oh, well,” your mom said. “Maybe you’ll find someone. How are classes?”

“Fine, I guess,” you said. “I’m taking a class about ancient civilizations, and apparently I missed the class where they teach Latin, so I’m sorta lost. And Home Ec sucks because I already know how to do all that. And they’re making me take something about how to be a secretary, and that’s so infuriatingly sexist that it makes me angry.”

“It’s a bunch of men, in charge of a bunch of boys,” your mom sighed. “They’re trying their best to adapt to you.”

“I can’t even take gym class because they don’t have a place for me to change clothes,” you lamented. “Not that I wanna take gym anyway, but you see why I’m upset!”

“I know, pumpkin, it’s okay,” your mom said.

“Why would they go coed if they can’t even integrate girls in properly?” you sighed. “I wish I had just stayed home and gone to Central. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

“You’ll be alright, you’re still just adjusting,” your mom assured you. “But… If, by Christmas, you still don’t feel like you belong there, I’ll pull you out and you can go back to Central. But I have to know by Thanksgiving, so I can start the paperwork in time for spring semester”

“Sure,” you said. “That sounds good to me.”

“Alright, baby,” your mom said. “Richard will be here any minute, and I have to finish getting ready. I’ll be at work until 4 tomorrow, but call any time after, okay? I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you mumbled, and you held the plastic phone by your face as you listened to your mother hang up and the dial tone drone. After a moment, you hung the phone back up on the hook, and you readied yourself for Angus’s petty insults as you turned to leave the phone bank. But they never came. You eyed him, sitting there on the wooden bench, his dark eyes focused on yours, and you snapped, “What?”

“Nothing,” Angus said lightly, sliding back into the darkened corner and picking up his book. “Nothing at all.”

That was your weekly exercise. Week in and week out, all you did was classes. You wanted to avoid as many interactions with the others as possible, so you stayed quiet during class, kept to yourself, didn’t accept invites to parties or football games or to sit at lunch tables. You took to having lunch with Ms. Crane in the front office, and she seemed to commiserate with you about all the boys. “Some of these kids are real stinkers,” she told you. “But they’re teenage boys. I think it’s a law that they have to be.”

Your saving grace was the deal you had made with your mom. If you could just wait until Christmas break, you could go back to your old school, to your old friends, and you could forget about the hell that was Barton. You kept your grades up, so that Central could see that you hadn’t turned into some kind of slacker, and you consistently got B’s and A’s in your classes. Except for Ancient Civ.

The exam booklet slapped down on your desk, a red F blazoned across the front. You sighed and started to thumb through it, trying to figure out where you went wrong as the other boys also realized their grades were low, and your heart sank when you saw all of the multiple choice questions without a flaw. So it was your essay question that led you astray. On the very last page of the booklet, you found your essay, handwritten yesterday on something about ancient philosophers, and a red note in Mr. Hunham’s handwriting. See me after class.

You could hardly pay attention to the conversation between Teddy and Mr. Hunham. Your mind was racing, wondering what he wanted to talk to you about. You should have gotten a perfect score, but something held that back. Surely he didn’t think you had cheated? Or copied someone else’s work? You thought that you and Mr. Hunham got along (as well as any student can get along with their strict, hardass teacher) and your heart sank at the thought that you had definitely somehow disappointed him.

“... Offer a makeup exam” got your head out of the clouds, and you focused on Mr. Hunham at his podium. “You’ll all get a second run at this after break.” The class muttered and mumbled, only to be cut through by Mr. Hunham’s next words: “Of course, it will not be the same exam. You will now be responsible for new material as well. Your grade will be an average of the two.”

As Mr. Hunham instructed the class to open their books to a new chapter, you were shocked, along with everyone else, when Angus spoke. “No offense, sir,” he began, and you sucked in a breath. You had learned that, whenever any of the boys at Barton didn’t intend offense, that offense was certainly on its way. “But is this really the best time to be starting a new chapter? I mean, we all appreciate the, uh, makeup exam gesture… But our families are here.”

You rolled your eyes. Speak for yourself, Tully. Your mom had to work that day, as did both of your sisters, and you gotten instruction to take a Greyhound into Boston and someone would meet you at the bus station to bring you home. It wasn’t exactly the best plan, but it was what worked. Your mom had arranged with Barton to let you back on campus during break to empty your dorm room, and you sighed a thing of relief. Almost done. You were so close to leaving Barton in your dust and washing your hands of the entire school.

“Most teachers have already canceled class,” Angus continued. “We have chapel in forty minutes, then we’re out of here. I mean, our heads are elsewhere.”

“And where exactly is your head, Mr. Tully?” Mr. Hunham asked, and Angus shrugged.

“Uh, I don’t know. St. Kitts.”

Jesus. Of course Angus Tully was going to fuckin’ St. Kitts for Christmas. You would be lucky if your family could afford to have the heat turned on for Christmas.

Your annoyance turned to dire anger when Mr. Hunham decided to scrap the idea of a makeup exam and dismissed the class without another word. You hurried to shove your exam booklet in your bag, and you glared at Angus as you edged out of your row. “Thanks a lot, dick,” you mumbled, then left the room, not even waiting to see Angus’s response. Your heart raced as you tailed Mr. Hunham, and you finally called his name as he approached the door to his private office.

“Ah, Miss,” Mr. Hunham chuckled. “Yes, yes, let’s sit down and discuss your exam.”

“I-I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said hurriedly as he unlocked the office door. “I didn’t cheat or plagiarize, you didn’t even mark off any points. I don’t understand why I failed.”

Mr. Hunham said nothing as he led you into his office, and you wrinkled your nose. God, it smelled bad in there. Nevertheless, you sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk, and you waited with bated breath as he sat down in his seat. He examined you for a moment, for long enough for you to start to feel weird under his walleyed gaze, and, finally, he said, “In actuality, Miss, you didn’t fail. You got the highest score in the class.”

“B-But I got an F…” you protested. “Angus Tully got a B!”

“I wrote an F on your paper, but you actually got a 98,” Mr. Hunham told you. “Near-perfect score, I only took off in your essay question for misspelling ‘Periclean’.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Then, why’d you write an F on my paper?”

“Because I was disappointed in you,” Mr. Hunham said. You felt sick. Your skin was hot and your stomach roiled, and hot tears pricked at your eyes. “I heard from Ms. Crane that you were leaving Barton.”

You nodded silently.

“And why is that?” Mr. Hunham asked.

You sighed. “I miss my old school,” you admitted with a thick throat. “My old friends. Nobody likes me here, and I… Just think I’d be better off back home. I’m not a Barton person.”

“What is a Barton person to you, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. His hands were clasped at his chin, his bifocals in his fist. He seemed genuinely concerned about you.

“Someone not me,” you said. “Rich… Smart… Important. All those guys are gonna go to good colleges, and I’m gonna be stuck waiting tables my whole life.”

“You are smart, Miss,” Mr. Hunham told you. “You passed all your classes with flying colors, you made Latin look like a piece of cake. If you wanted to, you could go to any college in the country. Or the world!”

“I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for that stupid lottery,” you mumbled. “I don’t belong here, sir, we both know that.”

Mr. Hunham fixed his mouth in a thin line and sighed, and he said, “Of course. Well, I do hate to see you go. Your essay on the siege of Troy was… Very good.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “Umm, have a nice Christmas, I guess… See you around.”

Chapel that day felt exactly the opposite to your first chapel at Barton. The dread that had filled the air at the beginning of the semester had now changed to an excitement about going back home, and, even though you still felt like everybody was staring at you, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were done. You had made it. After you moved during break, you’d never have to lay an eye on Barton or any of those boys ever again. You had to admit that you were going to miss Ms. Crane, and maybe even Mr. Hunham too, but the positives far outweighed the negatives.

After chapel let out, you hurried back to Blackwell Hall and grabbed your suitcase and changed out of your nice dress, and you made your way to the front of campus, where a Greyhound bus sat, waiting to take kids into the city. You stepped on board, taking a seat towards the back of the bus, and you looked out the window at one last gaze at Barton Academy. Although, you couldn’t admire the architecture or the pretty way the snow glistened in the midday sun. No, you could only see the tall, lanky, dark-haired kid standing on the steps of the chapel, waiting for someone.

Even though you despised Angus Tully and didn’t really care if he lived or died, it was a sad sight to see him waiting like that. He looked so dismayed and forlorn, his suitcase at his feet, his hands in the pockets of his winter jacket. Maybe in another world, you and Angus could have been friends. Your mind wandered, thinking of meeting Angus somewhere else— your mind conjured the image of a bookstore, reaching for the same book and having a little back and forth on who should have it, before Angus acquiesced, but not before writing his phone number in the book.

The rumble of the bus nearly lulled you asleep on the two and a half hour drive to Boston, and you roused yourself as the bus pulled into the station. Gathering your things, you departed, along with a handful of other Barton boys. They quickly found their families that were waiting on them, and you wandered through the station. Your mother hadn’t indicated who would be picking you up, or where in the station to meet them, and you made your way to a payphone. You were sure she was at work, but you wondered if you could call the restaurant and ask for her. Before you could put your dime in the phone, though, you heard your name being called, and you looked to see an older man smiling at you from across the room.

Fear flashed hot in your face, but you kept your composure as the man approached you. “Hey, you look just like how your mom described you,” he laughed. “I’m Rich.”

“Who?” you asked.

“Rich,” he repeated. “I’ve been seeing your mother for a few months. She’s working the afternoon shift, and your sisters are both busy, so your mom asked me to get you.”

“Oh,” you nodded. “Right, yeah. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You seem tired,” Rich told you. “Long day?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you chuckled. “I’m just glad to be done with Barton, that place can go to hell.”

“I thought Barton was a boys’ school,” Rich mumbled.

“It’s a long story,” you sighed. “But whatever, that’s in my rearview now.”

“Alright,” Rich said. He seemed confused, but he took up your suitcase for you. “We already put fresh sheets on the pullout, so when we get back, you can take a nap if you want—”

“The pullout?” you repeated. “Am I not sleeping in my room?”

Rich winced. “Ah, well,” he began. “You see, my daughter is sleeping there, and—”

“Your—” you started. “Why is she in my room?”

“The bed was vacant,” Rich shrugged. “She’s lived there for a few months now.”

“And why is your daughter living with my mom?” you asked. “Do you… Did you move in?”

“Well, when your mother and I got married, we figured it was the logical thing to do.”

Your heart nearly stopped. Married. Your mother had gotten married, and hadn’t told you a single thing about it. No wedding invite, no pictures, not even a ‘hey, Rich and I are getting hitched!’ You felt sick and lightheaded, and you tried to take a steadying breath. It just sounded all shaky and unsure, though, and it made you feel even worse. “I, uh…” you began. “I…”

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Rich asked, and the camel’s back broke. Nobody can call you that but your mom.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you asked. “Rolling in here, doing all this bullshit, and for what? Are you trying to prove something? Win an award or what? Let’s see how quickly we can marry the single mom, that’ll go down great with her three adult children!”

“Rachel and Anna said they were okay with it,” Rich said.

“But you didn’t ask me!” you cried. “God, this is exactly what she wanted, huh, throw me in a boarding school and forget all about me? Fuck this, I don’t need this.” You snatched your bag from Rich and turned on your heel quickly, and you didn’t even hesitate when Rich called “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here!”

You begged and pleaded with the Greyhound driver to take you back to Barton. He said that he had to stick to a schedule and was really sorry, but he changed his tune when you dug into your bag and grabbed your pocketbook, pulling out a few 20s. You didn’t have a lot of money in the first place, and watching those bills go in his pocket hurt, but, in the end, you got back to Barton just as the sun was starting to set. You knew that whoever was staying over break would be shocked to see you (maybe even elated, depending on who it was), but you didn‘t care about reactions. You just didn’t want to think at that moment.

You followed the low din of boyish muttering to the cafeteria, and you steeled your nerves for entering. You could discern only two voices, maybe a third if you listened through the thick door hard enough, and you quickly pushed on the metal handle in the middle of the door to slam the door open.

Heads whipped towards you. You didn’t recognize a lot of them— some younger kids, and a guy that was on the football team and was a senior— and your heart sank into your stomach when you saw Teddy Kountze sitting at the dinner table. So you would be spending Christmas break with Teddy. Great.

But the bad feeling got worse when you saw who was sitting one seat down from Teddy. Angus fucking Tully. He stared at you with no joy or humor in his eyes, and you huffed out a breath.

“Miss?” Your gaze went to the head of the table, and a little bit of relief washed over you as you saw the face of Mr. Hunham. Was he supervising the holdovers? “What’re you…?”

“Got room for one more?” you mumbled, approaching the table and securing the seat between Teddy and Angus. You instantly reached for the serving dishes, wanting anything to occupy your shaking hands, and you slowed to a stop as you noticed the whole table staring at you; even Angus wasn’t trying to hide it, his black eyes as big as dinner plates. “What?” you barked, and the energy resumed at the table in a snap.

Dinner was finished soon after, and Mr. Hunham pulled you into the hall as the boys were cleaning up. “I thought you were going home to Boston for the holiday?” he asked gently.

“I can’t…” you started. “It seems like I don’t even have a place in my own family.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Hunham asked.

“My mom got married without telling me,” you told him. “And the guy and his daughter moved into our apartment, which could barely fit me and my mom and sisters in the first place, and now they’re there, a-and she’s in my room! That fucking bitch is in my room, and I-I—”

“Easy, easy,” Mr. Hunham said, putting his hand out to placate you. “Calm down. Listen, I understand that this is hard, it’s awful, but resorting to that is not what’s going to help you. We’ll find a place here for you tonight, and tomorrow we can call your mother and try to get this straightened out.”

“Can I not go to my dorm?” you asked.

“The school shut off heating and plumbing everywhere except the main building,” Mr. Hunham explained. “We’re sleeping in the infirmary.”

“Jesus Christ,” you huffed. You were so angry that you could kick something. “So now I gotta bunk up with them?”

“It’s definitely not ideal,” Mr. Hunham mumbled. “But it’s just for one night. We can put up a partition, if that would make you more comfortable.”

“Fuck it, whatever,” you sighed. Your eyes hurt, and a headache was starting to throb at your skull, and you said, “I don’t care.”

The boys were split into two rooms, the youngers (and Angus) in one, and Teddy and Jason in the other. The only other empty bed was in Teddy and Jason’s room, and you were quick to settle in and start off for the bathroom. Just as you were leaving, though, a beanpole in a white shirt and flannel pajama pants stopped you in the doorway.

“Hey,” Angus said curtly. “Where’re you going?”

“Shower,” you told him. “Brush my teeth, stuff like that.”

“Why did you come back?” Angus asked. “A little birdy told me that you were quitting Barton.”

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him everything, but you were worried about the leverage he’d have if he knew. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Nah, I think it is,” Angus said with narrowed eyes. “We know why everybody is holding over. His parents are on a mission trip, his family is in Korea, Kountze The Cunt’s having his house remodeled, and Jason’s dad is waiting for him to cut his hair. Why’re you here?”

“Why’re you here, Angus?” you asked. “I thought you were going to St. Barts or St. Kitts or something.”

“Obviously not,” Angus said quickly.

“Then, I’m obviously not quitting Barton,” you said, and instantly regretted it. “I might be… Haven’t decided yet.”

“What, don’t you like it here?” Angus asked. “Isn’t it a glorious beacon of education and brotherhood—” He stopped himself, dramatically clenching his fist in front of his face. “Oh, that’s right. Brotherhood.”

“Shut up,” you huffed.

“C’mon, man, leave her alone,” you heard Jason start from the room behind you, but Angus either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“You left, and then came back,” Angus said. “What’s wrong? Mommy decided she didn’t want you anymore?”

You couldn’t help yourself from letting your tears spill over your lashes, and you clenched your teeth. Angus held your eye contact for longer than you thought he would, and he only averted his eyes when your tears gathered at the corner of your mouth. You drew in a shaking breath, aware that everybody was staring at you, watching you cry, and you sniffled and left the room without another word. The showers were empty, and you jerked the handle to start the water, then locked the door to the room.

Your tears flowed freely then, and you sat on the tile floor and sobbed into your hands. You hoped that Angus could hear you crying from down the hall, and you hoped that he felt bad about his words. Knowing him, though, he had forgotten about you as soon as you left his eyeline.

By the time you finished your crying and your shower, the lights were off in both the rooms, a soft snoring coming from Teddy and Jason’s (and your) room. Your pajamas didn’t feel like they were enough for the cold in the infirmary, and you edged by the snoring Teddy in his bed to get to yours. The sheets were crinkly and dry and rough, and you bundled the wool blanket up to your chin as you tried to sleep.

That was destroyed, though, when you heard a “Psst!” come from the doorway.

You sighed. “Fuck off, Angus,” you mumbled sleepily.

“Just— Can I—?” Angus huffed. “I’m trying to apologize to you.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ apology,” you said. “Just leave me alone.”

“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” Angus whispered. “I was… Out of line. Or projecting or something, I don’t know. My mom and stepdad went to St. Kitts, but uninvited me so they could celebrate their honeymoon. I guess I’m just familiar with how it feels to not be wanted.”

You sighed and rolled over to face the doorway, and you settled yourself up on your elbows. “Can you just…” you started. “Think before you speak? I know it doesn’t really seem to matter to you, but sometimes, words hurt. Like, really hurt.”

“I know,” Angus mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“You really have to work on not being a huge asshole,” you told him. “You know, nobody here likes you. They all call you names and shit.”

“I know,” Angus said. “I don’t care. But you’ve gotta try to not be so judgmental. I think you write off everyone here because we’re from different tax brackets. Some of us don’t have it easy.”

You pressed your lips together. “Fair enough,” you said finally. “I’ll, um… Keep that in mind.”

“Alright,” Angus said. “Good night, then.”

“‘Night,” you said, and you watched Angus stalk out of the doorway and back to his room. You sat for a few moments more, thinking about how easily Angus had read your thoughts, and you wondered if the other boys could see right through you as easily. You were almost humiliated all over again at the thought that everyone could read you like that, but it didn’t matter. When the morning came, you’d call your mother and work out whatever the problem was, and you would be home in Boston by the next night.

It didn’t work out that way. You called your mother twice in the morning; the first time, she didn’t pick up the phone, and the second, she would hardly talk to you. “Mom, I just wanna know what happened,” you pleaded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I-I would’ve been supportive!”

“Would you?” your mother asked.

“Yes!” you sighed. “I wouldn’t have been happy, but I would’ve accepted it if you were happy!”

“Then, why can’t you accept it now?” she asked.

“Because you didn’t tell me!” you replied. “You didn’t ask me how I felt about it, if I wanted it to happen, if I even like the guy— I hadn’t even met him once before you did it!” You paused, chewing your lip, and you said, “Mom. Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?”

“No, pumpkin, I’m not,” she sighed, but you could tell she was nearing her wit’s end.

“Is that why you hurried to marry him?” you asked. “I-I’m telling you, I don’t care that you got married, I’m just upset because you didn’t tell me!”

“Okay, stop,” your mom said firmly. “I thought you’d be happy for me, baby.”

Anger flared in your stomach. “Dad hasn’t even been gone for a full year yet,” you mumbled. “And you’re already replacing him.”

“We all mourn differently, pumpkin,” she said. “I’m sorry that you can’t see that Rich makes me happy. I... I don’t feel lonely with him.”

“Well,” you sighed. “If this is how you mourn Dad, I don’t think I wanna come home. I think I’ll stay at Barton.”

“Where are you gonna go after the holiday ends?” your mom asked.

“Staying here,” you said plainly. “I can personally go up to Central and withdraw my paperwork over break. If you want to erase me and my father from your life so bad, then you’ve got your fuckin’ wish.” You slammed the phone back on the receiver with shaking hands, and you turned to leave the front office, only to run straight into—

“Fuck off, Angus,” you sniffled, side-stepping him and starting down the hall, back to the infirmary.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Angus said quickly, snatching your wrist in his hand and tugging you back. “What happened? Are you going home?”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m staying here. I never wanna see any of them again.”

“You said something about your dad…” Angus mumbled. “Is that true? Your dad’s dead?”

You wiped at your eyes, and your chest went hot. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled.

Angus sighed, and, for once, he did something nice for you. He pulled you into an embrace, not too tight but not so loose that it felt like he didn’t care, and you pressed your cheek into his shoulder. “My dad’s dead too,” Angus whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it, but… I sorta get it.”

You sniffled again, and you finally let your arms wrap around Angus’s thin body. You sat in silence for a moment, hugging each other, and you only parted when you heard a small scuttle from down the hall, near the infirmary door. Your head turned to see the youngest kid, Alex, standing, watching you two, and you stepped away from Angus and wiped your face. “Guess I’m staying,” you mumbled.

“Guess so,” Angus echoed.

The days were monotonous. Hunham would wake you up when the sun rose with a declaration of “It’s daylight in the swamp!”, and you would go through the routine of studying, then exercise, then more studying, then a little bit of free time. In the absence of gym class for months, the exercising was a little difficult, and you were left exhausted and panting every time, and you felt awkward with the guys around. However, after that brief moment with Angus, he had started to be… Better. He was still a dick most times, but he would do little things for you now; pass you the lunch dishes instead of sliding them in your direction, offer to sharpen your pencil during study time. It seemed that finding a similarity had broken his shell for you a bit, and you appreciated it.

You had taken to helping the cook with meals. Mary Lamb was a good woman that you had minimally interacted with (she had come and given a lesson in Home Ec about cooking, which really nobody paid attention to, but you had made a point to), and you felt a special kinship with her because of her Curtis. She was the only one you told the truth about your father to, and you knew that Mary wouldn’t say anything to the others about it. She seemed as if she appreciated the help in the kitchen, especially from someone who was competent there like you were. You liked talking to Mary, hearing her stories and letting her hear yours.

Just as you were starting to think that maybe break wouldn’t be all that terrible, less than a week into it, things changed. You shivered in the cold library, despite your sweater, and you tried to focus on the textbook in front of you, but it was nearly impossible. Angus was sitting next to you, and, every so often, his hand would inch out and he would doodle a little figure in the corner of your notebook. You rolled your eyes jokingly at him, trying not to laugh so Hunham wouldn’t fuss at you, and you shifted in your seat a bit to reach Angus’s notebook. You began to crudely sketch him, big dark eyes and messy hair, and he stifled a snort. Mean, he wrote underneath your sketch.

Accurate, you countered.

Before either of you could write anything else, there came an odd sound from outside. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder and louder, and you looked upwards, as if the ceiling of the library would allow for any sort of view of what the noise was. It was a loud chopping noise, growing ever louder and louder, drawing the attention of all of you, and even Hunham closed his book and said “What the hell is that?”

But, from across the table, a smile grew on Jason’s face, a knowing grin, and, all at once, everybody stood from their seats and went to the window. You couldn’t see as well as the others, being shorter than everyone else, but Angus put a gentle hand on your side and pushed you in front of him, letting you get closer to the window. His hand, positioned just above your hip on your torso, made a shiver run down your spine, but you attributed it to the sight of a goddamn helicopter buzzing overhead, lowering itself onto the snowy, abandoned football field. “I knew it!” Jason exclaimed. “He finally caved, the big softie!”

“What the fuck is that?” you asked quickly.

“Jason’s dad owns a helicopter,” Angus explained under his breath as Jason pushed away from the window with excitement.

“Any of you guys like to ski?” Jason called as he left the library, and the younger boys gasped with excitement. You all caught onto the idea at the same time, and the boys filed out, following Jason, but you stayed still at the window, watching the helicopter’s blades slow to a stop.

“Miss?” Hunham asked, and you closed your eyes. “Aren’t you going with them?”

You shrugged, hoping to seem less hurt than you actually were. “I can’t,” you said. “I don’t have any skiing gear or whatever, I’ve never even done it before… And anyway, I’m not about to call my mom to ask for permission to do that.”

You sat in the hallway outside the office as Hunham called all of the boys’ parents, being granted permission for the excursion, listening as each boy reacted with glee. It felt like a sick joke; of course you were left all alone again. Before you could ruminate on it for too long, the beanpole came and sat himself next to you, quiet as he scratched absently at his chin.

“Want me to get you anything from up there?” Angus asked. “Fridge magnet or postcard or…?”

You shook your head. “No,” you managed with a heavy, thick throat. “Thanks, though.”

Angus sighed, his eyebrows furrowing together as his jaw tightened, and he tilted his head towards you. His dark eyes looked soft, kinder than you had ever seen from him or thought was capable, and he said, “Sorry.”

You couldn’t help yourself. Your tears spilled and you clawed your fingernails into your palm, trying to stop from sobbing and heaving, and Angus moved closer to you, until his hip touched yours. He slung a skinny arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his body, his hand gently pressing into your head and ushering you to hide in his neck. He shushed you, whispering “If Hunham sees you crying, he’ll think I did it”, which did nothing other than make you laugh a little and sniffle hard.

You quickly parted from Angus’s warmth, wiping your eyes with your hand and seeing your mascara smear on the back of your hand. “Gonna go to the bathroom…” you mumbled, and Angus nodded, keeping his seat as you stood up and hurried down the hall. The women’s bathroom next to the office was hardly used, only ever you, Ms. Crane, and the lone visitor using it, and you clutched the porcelain sink as you gasped for breath. Jesus Christ. Would anything ever go your way? Being stuck at Barton over the holidays with the other boys sucked, sure, but now you were all alone with Hunham and Mary. Alone again. You wondered if you’d always be alone.

You ripped off a paper towel and dabbed at your eyes, trying to fix your makeup, and you pressed cold water to your face to try to calm yourself down. Fuck everything about this. It was unfair. Maybe Hunham would take it easy on you, loosen the reins a little. You trashed the paper towels and adjusted your sweater, trying to seem put-together, and you stepped out of the bathroom to see Hunham and Angus standing outside the office, embroiled in an intense conversation. “... Just one more time, please,” you heard Angus say, and Hunham put his hand up.

“There’s no point,” Hunham said. “The front desk says they’re not answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”

You started closer, and you watched Angus’s face fall, his eyes narrowing. He mumbled something under his breath, and Hunham harrumphed. “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so,” he said. “I could’ve been spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.”

“Angus?” you said, and he slid his eyes over to you. “Are you… What’s happening?”

Angus shot Hunham a deathly look, and he side-stepped your teacher, brushing past you, his arm knocking your shoulder. You locked eyes with Hunham, then quickly turned and started off after Angus. His long legs had carried him down the hall quicker than you were capable of, and you sped up a bit. “Angus!” you called for him, and you finally came up on him at the door to the infirmary, taking his arm in your hand. “What’s going on?”

“I’m staying here,” he said bitingly. “Mom and Stanley aren’t answering their phone.”

On some level, you were glad Angus was staying. At least it wouldn’t be just you there. And you were glad it was Angus, as opposed to Teddy or someone else. “Oh,” you managed. “Well, umm…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Angus said flatly. He leaned up against the doorway to the infirmary, listening to the other boys packing up, and he added, “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t say anything.”

You sighed, flicking your eyebrows. “Got it,” you mumbled. Your eyes lifted from the floor to see Ye-Joon, bag in hand, and he softly bid Angus a happy holidays, giving you a curt smile as he edged out of the infirmary. Jason lightly touched Angus’s arm as he told him to take care, doing the same to you before he departed, and you made eye contact with Teddy as he shouldered his bag. He didn’t have his sights set on you, though; he spoke to Angus.

“I guess that just leaves you and the chick, huh?” Teddy asked. “Be sure to do all your homework— and no funny stuff while we’re gone.”

If you could have swung a punch at Teddy, you would have. All the boys at Barton were the exact fucking same— Secretarial Studies, sex jokes, it was never-ending and never-changing. You watched Angus’s neck go flushed, and Teddy added, “Oh, almost forgot! I found that picture you were looking for.” Quickly, he stuck a square Polaroid in Angus’s shirt pocket, and a smile crossed Teddy’s face. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Tully. You too, Miss. See you after break.” He winked at you, making your skin crawl, and he departed the room with a chuckle as Angus snatched the picture from his pocket. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see what it was, only the back that read HAPPY HOLIDAYS, but Angus’s mouth screwed up at it, and he flicked it down onto the ground. Your eyes followed it, and you saw a portrait of a family, a mom and dad and a boy, and you recognized the dark eyes and sunken features of the boy. But, in a blank space of the picture, in Teddy’s handwriting, an arrow pointed to the boy and declared “Fuckwad”.

The cold was biting, even through your coat, as you stood on the football field and watched the boys load into the Smith’s helicopter. Your hands were deep in your pockets as you stared into space, wondering if it could get any worse. As the helicopter took off, the wind blew your hair back, and you watched as it rose, up, up, and away. A heavy energy fell over you three, and your teacher let out a heavy sigh. “Well, let’s make the best of it,” Hunham said, flat but trying to put fake life into his words. The look in Angus’s eyes was harsh enough to kill, and Hunham averted his gaze from him over to you, his two little wards, the holdovers. “Shall we?”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers

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httpsserene · 7 months

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʀᴛᴜᴀʟ ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴏᴛᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴡ/ᴍᴠ33

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you start showing interest in sim racing. max's only option is to turn you into the best virtual-racer there ever was--well besides himself, of course. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: fluff. brain vomit. formatting (done on mobile💀). tiniest explicit reference. not edited. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: max verstappen x fem!black!reader 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: headcanons & smau 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: word on the streets • key glock

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: thought about this the whole time i was working. and then some man had the exact same voice as max and i genuinely almost dissolved into thin air because i felt like max was punishing me for thinking about this on the clock :) anyways, hope u enjoy the brainrot, loves !!!

wanna be on my taglist ? send me an ask !

and yes, i did make a masterlist !

*whispers* next f1 kinktober fic this weekend

you were probably unaware that sim racing was even a thing until you started dating max

like you’ve seen the funny little twitch clips of people playing driving simulators and being absolute menaces on the road, but you never knew actual virtual racing was a thing

anyways, whether or not you consider yourself a gamer in this scenario, you’ve always been pretty down to play videogames with max.

he absolutely annihilates you in FIFA, and no matter how much he tries to help you, you’re a lost cause

in return, you embarrass him in COD; he should’ve looked at your kd-ratio before he tried to play with you

but, sim racing 🧐

i mean, like, you never even fully considered that you could sim race at all, like not for leisure at least

max takes that shit seriously, he’s a part-time f1 driver full time simracing twitch streamer 😤

you are always around watching him practice on the sim, playing the f1 games, and even tuning in for his iracing competitions

at first, whenever max would stream you would probably be doing other things with your time

your hair, cleaning, self-care, cooking, etc.

eventually, you started migrating to sitting on the couch off-camera and watching him drive irl instead of having the stream on in the background

you were originally like, “oh it’s just because i wanna drool over his massive veiny hands” 🤤

but now it’s like “oh i wonder what each button he presses with his nicely proportioned fingers on the steering wheel does?”

and slowly it transforms from “wow my boyfriend is so cool” to “wait…this sim-racing thing is kinda cool”😵‍💫

now imagine you being like “lol wait a minute now” and being like i'm only interested in because my boyfriend loves it 🤥

in order to disprove this theory you start to ask max questions about virtual racing

not that you wouldn’t before, but they were fairly surface level; now you’re asking him about tactics, strategies, and track conditions etc.

and max is fucking thrilled 🫨🫨🫨 !!!

he eagerly answers all your questions (maxplaning 🥱), going way more into depth than you were expecting, but what did you think was going to happen

max is always happy to ramble about any small facet of virtual racing (doesn’t matter if it’s the sim, or iracing, or f1 2023) but

it makes him really pleased that you’re showing a genuine interest in it because most people don’t

you support him in anything he wants to do wholeheartedly, and listening and answering your well thought out questions has him falling head over heels for you again

so, he thinks nothing of it other than you being the best girlfriend he’s ever had and trying to learn more about what he loves

his previous girlfriends didn’t really care to understand how important vr racing was to him

they all just saw it as him playing a “game” and him wasting time when they could’ve been on dates or smth

anyways

everything is going fine and dandier, max continues to answer all of your vr racing questions, and you continue to watch him pilot the sim

until, he catches you watching a beginner’s guide on f1 2023 and get’s so jealous 😒

bro is all like “wtf, you’re watching some lame ass unranked gamer when i’m your professional driver boyfriend who does this for a living?? hell nah if you want to start playing i’ll teach you”

you’re just like, “nahhhh….i don’t want to waste your time trying to teach me, it’s not worth it. i’m not even a good driver irl, so—“

max shuts that down expeditiously

if his girlfriend wants to start vr racing, he only has one option

make you the best virtual racer there ever was (excluding him)

you’re wide-eyed like, “i just wanna go vroom vroom in circles for fun 😭”

max deathly serious, “that was never an option”

he enlists you in his virtual-racing training camp

if you are aware of the disney rapid training montage where the mc sings one song and suddenly they’re the best fighter ever, that’s how i imagined it

mulan, for example, i’ll make a man out of you

max reveals his inner george russell, he becomes a power point king

instead of date nights being cute pottery classes—they turn into him teaching you the parts of the car, the buttons on the wheel, f1 2023 settings breakdowns, reviewing iracing competitions etc.

eventually max finally allows you to play on the sim after he thinks you’ve got the theory down pretty good

you suck at first 🤗

but then you start clocking in some hours

after work, during your “lunch break”, using the sim while max is gone and playing during all the practice and media sessions

whenever max is gone, and you have any questions or ask for feedback on how to get better, you text him all about it, of course not expecting an immediate response back

max has told you before that he likes getting out of the car after a practice session and checking his phone to see all the missed messages from you with some wishing him luck and the others asking for his thoughts on your strategies

one day, he’s going for lunch with some of the other drivers and they start to make fun of him for how he’s stuck in his phone, heart-eyes and all as he rapidly texts you

they probably think that you’re sending him cute texts or photos like that one time they caught him looking at photos of you and learned he had a locked photo album of you on his phone ☠️

max remains unbothered under their teasing thinking, “they don’t know my gf can out pace them by .200 in f1 2023”

max even personally bothers christian into getting him another sim for you

christian is so tired of you two, max won’t leave him ALONE

i think max would text his team principal screenshots of your lap times and make jokes about it

“if checo keeps dnf-ing, my gf can fill in”

christian gets you the goddamn sim 😒

y’all procrastinate on building and calibrating it, max more so because it means his chair would stop smelling like you 🥺

you get it set up, but you still play on his sim every once in a while after he told you that because you’re a simp

he goes to stream one day, planning on practicing with the redline team for an upcoming iracing event

and the man almost BREAKS HIS LEGS trying to sit down because you forgot to move the chair back after you were done using it 😭😭

in between his groan of pain he let’s it slip “ow fuck, my girlfriend forgot to move the seat back after she was done”

chat goes ducking crazy

yooo, what? ur gf sim races???

is she good???

max is like “hell fucking yeah my girlfriend is great sim racer, she could replace one of the boys at redline if she wanted too!”

(team redline sweats anxiously, mics now suspiciously silent)

max continues, “well she is not as great as me, but she’s good i guess”

stream chat “they are going to have babies that completely dominate f1” “if their babies are born in the netherlands we will be stuck in purgatory cursed with hearing the dutch anthem forever”

max continues with his practice but everyone is begging to see you play, even some of the redline guys are asking questions

they wanna know if they’re really at risk of you stealing their seat

max gives up and turns to you on the couch with a smile and says, “i will beg, schatje. do not put it past me, we all want to see you drive. some people are saying i’m lying so you have to prove them wrong🙇🏼”

you’re like “what 😅 no 😧i suck 🤭 at this 🤗” but you’re already getting up and walking over to boot up your sim

the urge to flex on people and embarrass them is something both you and max share

max opens f1 2023 and starts a party for just you two, and you both decide to do quali laps at zandovoort

you do your hot lap first, and max goes after you

max y’ know, probably thinks that he can take it relatively easier on you, there’s no reason to put 100% effort into something for fun, so he puts in 95% 😀 (competitive boy)

and you know that one nepenthez meme

that’s how this goes

max is like, already rambling to the stream “yeah that’s a comfortable p1, she still has a lot to learn before she can beat a world champ—P2??!!!! 😧😳”

you’re just in the background in your sim chair, turned facing the camera with an innocent little smirk smile on your face ☺️

you got pole by .050, and chat starts bullying max, the redline boys laughing hysterically in his headphones

max requests a rematch and promptly annihilates you :)

i like to imagine that eventually you start joining max’s stream and the two of yous start having little racing tournaments whenever you guys have the time

omg could you imagine the little championship ceremony where you put party hats on jimmy and sassy and have fake little tiny gold trophies for whoever wins 🥹

imagine one day ‼️ you actually start doing iracing events, and just working your way up to being one of the best 😌

ANYWAYS to wrap it up, best teacher max ever

virtual racing 🤝 strong relationships

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maxverstappen1 the only woman for me 🧎🏼

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yninstagram baby. baby—😭😭😭😭

➥ maxverstappen1 i love you

➥ yninstagram what the fuck has gotten into you 😳 i love you, maxy 🫶🏽

user the way ‼️ he cradles ‼️ her head 😭😭

danielricciardo3 this genuinely the sappiest thing max has ever said

➥ maxverstappen1 do not worry daniel you are the only man for me

➥ user my therapist will be hearing about this

user the fact that max personally handmade that meme 💀

user never thought i’d see the day that max uses the kneeling emoji

➥ maxverstappen1 i’m on my knees for her more often than you think

➥ user alRIGHT go ahead and clock out for me 😒

➥ redbullracingf1 do you remember the media training we had two days ago, max?

taglist: @lorarri | @saintslewis | @cherry2stems | @sweetpiccolo-blog

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ollie-lolly · 1 year

Text

How would they react when you moan in their ear?

Obey me brothers x gender neutral reader

Story: You claim you have a 'secret' to tell the brothers. Little did they know, it will be a a sound that is less than holy.

Warning: Suggestive, minors don't interact

Started and finished on: 19th march 2023

Word count: 423

Lucifer

-It is going to be hard to convince him to let you whisper something in his ear. He seems like a 'Then just say it in private kinda guy'

-But when you finally convince him

-He will raise his eyebrows and face you

-"Don't be embarrassed, you could have just said that you wanted my attention."

-RIP your legs <3

Mammon

-Will immediately dip down

-He is curious okay?

-He will quickly cover your mouth afterwards

-"SHHHH that is only for your first man to hear" ⋋_⋌

-Will shyly admit that he liked it. Only after saying "Stupid human"

Leviathan

-My boy has trust issues

-Probably due to Mammon screaming in his ear as a kid (poor boy)

-But if you have a good relationship with him and you are in private, he is more then willing to hear your 'secret'

-When you gently lean in and moan in his ear he freezes up.

-After a few seconds he'll scream, fall and pass out. (⊙ᴗ⊙)

-After he awakens and remembers what happened he will lock himself in his room for 'reasons'

Satan

-Will immediately put his book down for you

-You put your hands around his ears and moan

-He does not know how to react, just blushing

-When it settled in tough, he will ask if you did it as a joke or not

-If you said it as a joke, he will awkwardly laugh along

-If you did not do it as a joke he will remark that this is a weird way of confessing

-But will ask you to do it again

Asmodeus

-This man loves talking shit

-He is more then willing to hear you out mouth to ear

-Would make you say it again and again claiming "He did not hear you"

-When he is finally satisfied: "Oh MC how saucy"

-"You should have told me earlier dear. I am free anytime" ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

Beelzebub

-He would hear you out if he is actually willing to put his food down for a sec

-On the occasion that he is not eating, he will slightly bend his knees to reach you

-After your 'secret' He is kind of confused on what do do with this 'information'

-"Uhm do you want something from me?"

-You are going to have to tell him what you want him to do

Belphegor

-"Can't it wait? I was just getting comfortable"

-After an awkward turtle crawl to your mouth

-"Oh~"

-Will pin you down to make sure you won't get away

-"Do you want me to get it out of your system?"

Note: I remember when i wasn't a fanfic writer, that i constantly was looking for a fic like this! I guess that i am making my horny dream come true! This is the first time i made headcanons! Let me know if you want the dateables too!

(I will not do Raphael, Thirteen or Mephistopheles. Since I am not at that point in the story yet and I don't want to write them inaccurately.

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jaevie · 6 months

Text

Midday Reverie

Pairing: omega!Jaehyun x alpha!reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers (kind of), omegaverse, slow burn, smut.

Word count: 22.5k

Summary: After moving to the countryside to protect himself from hunters, Jaehyun is finally content: not only he lives away from omega stereotypes, but manages to get himself a job at the local sex shop. Everything is perfect until a huntress comes to town — one that, much to his surprise, is an alpha. And his mate.

Warnings: If you’re big/educated on omegaverse, know that I made the pairing a little non-traditional, with female alpha being able to get impregnated by a male omega. For smut, expect oral and unprotected sex, biting, scenting, toys, shibari, and extreme emotional involvement. This fic also contains mentions of death and descriptions of violence.

N/A: Wow, this was finished way faster than I intended. I hope you enjoy it! ♡

After years of running and hiding, Jung Jaehyun could say that, for once in his life, he was happy, safe and free.

The countryside observed his absolute content — a young man with a serene complexion, glasses on his nose and thick black hair caressed by the sea-scented wind — as he walked downtown. Attracted to beautiful things, the sun petted the top of his head. Even the soothing landscapes kept an eye on him: the historical houses carved into the hills, the imponent cliffs, the flower fields extending their arms into the horizon, and the never-ending ocean who occupied itself leaving giggly pecks on the shore, a kiss marked by the whitest foam.

The small town Jaehyun had chosen to live in was graced with more than natural beauties, as a colorful village thrived in the middle, very similar to an artist’s canvas. Medieval but also vibrant, with several shades of bricks decorating the buildings, streets and squares. The air was often dense with the smell of bread coming from the bakery, fresh pasta from the restaurants, and flowers from the shops.

It was such a lovely place. Perfect for an omega.

Although many hurtful lies had been spread about his kind, Jaehyun accepted the truth. He was a gentle soul, patient, understanding and sensitive to other’s feelings. However, he was not what others claimed omegas to be: so weak and submissive he would beg for love and affection; so unable to control himself his hormones would turn him into an animal. And finally, Jaehyun believed, with his entire heart, that he did not need to rely on an alpha to be happy or to find purpose in life.

So when he noticed how cruel life could be, how omegas were treated unfairly and how the government was paying hunters to keep them under control, Jaehyun ran away. Thankfully, it worked out.

The small bell on the door rang softly when he stepped in, finding his boss already inside the shop. “Good morning, Jae!” Haechan cooed, expressive brown eyes matching his big grin.

“Good morning!” Jaehyun put his bag aside, noticing a bunch of new boxes on the floor. “I see the packages arrived.”

“These are going to sell like water!” Haechan nearly jumped from excitement. Had he not been human, he was probably going to be an omega too. Sometimes, Jaehyun wished he could actually like Haechan: that the shop owner’s scent edged him on, and that Haechan’s gaze could make him blush. Things would be a lot easier if Jaehyun could fall for a human. “Here are the new plugs, the clit suckers are there, and these…” Haechan opened one of the boxes, removing a toy Jaehyun had never seen. It had two different ends connected by a string: a white vibrator and a clitorial sucker. Yellow, blue and pink flowers were imprinted all over it. Quite honestly, it seemed to match a little girl’s birthday party. “This is the revolution, my friend. It sucks the clit while the vibrator thrusts itself in.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened. Technology was really wild those days. “Wow!”

“I know! People can use it on their own and with their partners. Amazing, isn’t it?” Then, Haechan handed the toy over. “Here, this one is yours. Use it and give me your opinion. We need honest, accurate reviews.”

Jaehyun swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he felt the toy in his hands, rubbing his thumb against the smooth silicone. Perceptive as a fox, Haechan noticed his hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have anyone to try this with.” Jaehyun smiled without showing his teeth, dimples coming out shyly.

“Well, my boy, you can always try. Go out tonight and find yourself a lady. You don’t have to marry her, just a night will do,” Haechan encouraged with gentle taps on Jaehyun’s shoulder.

Deep inside, Jaehyun wished he could explain that his nature was way more complex. He was an omega, and omegas sought to have mates for life. Someone they could trust and thrive with, someone to complement their skills, to be nice to them. To build them a nest and keep them nice and warm. But no one should know about his nature. It was only going to put him in danger.

Laughing it off, Jaehyun kept his secret buried in his chest.

Heachan left after checking the storage to meet the marketing agency he had hired, leaving Jaehyun by himself. It was nothing unusual. Most of Jaehyun’s days were spent at the shop, anyway. He put all his efforts into keeping everything neat and being as attentive as he could muster, recommending the best toys for what the customers looked for. There wasn’t a single question he would not reply. At the end of the day, people felt comfortable to open up and listen, because there wasn’t anyone more patient and gentle-mannered than the sex shop’s salesman. And, obviously, comfortable customers made bigger purchases.

That was one of the reasons Haechan loved having Jaehyun as his employee. The other reason was Jaehyun’s looks. He was like an angel, with peachy skin, lively brown eyes, manly eyebrows and broad shoulders; Jaehyun was tall, soft and polite, cultured and humble. Haechan could not even guess how many people in town had a crush on Jaehyun, but he guessed the sales increase after his hiring was not a coincidence.

That day went by as ordinary: Jaehyun’s playlist was on in the shop — slow, melodic R&B tones that got the customers asking the name of the songs —, and a few customers arrived to check on new products. The sun was warm and life was good. Average, ordinary. Jaehyun liked it like an anchor liked to sit at the bottom of the ocean.

But when the bell on the door rang its premonitive chant, Jaehyun lifted his face to meet with the end of his peace.

You smelled like fading into sleep beneath the hot sun. Like an alluring adventure, a midday reverie. Orange-like, passionate, summerly. A scent so confident and strong he instantly knew that you were an alpha and that he liked you more than he ever wished to like Haechan. His heart, so candied, desired nothing but to be delicately held by your hands.

You did not look like most alphas, though. You were shorter than Jaehyun, with the average silhouette of a woman. Driven by details, Jaehyun registered the thin silver choker on your neck, from which small diamond stars hung; he took in how your hair crowned your face like moonlight made the night a thousand times more alluring. He looked into your eyes, sharp and dazzling, eyelids so long snowflakes could be captured in them. And the black, long jeans you wore? The oversized suit that combined your powerful aura? You had his knees trembling. Jaehyun stared in awe as you walked inside the shop, exhaling confidence and authority, running those unforgiving eyes on the shelves filled with vibrators, dildos and plugs, until they landed on him.

You tilted your head with a playful grin on your lips. “What’s wrong with your jaw?”

Jaehyun immediately closed his mouth without realizing he had opened it in the first place, his cheeks burning like flames on a stove. “I’m sorry, miss.” Sorry that you were so beautiful and it felt so right to just look at you — and that his mouth salivated at how gorgeously you messed with his brain. “H-how can I help you?”

Your gaze was analytical, cold even through the layers of playfulness. Only then he told himself that you were an alpha, and alphas were not to be trusted. How would he know you weren’t one of those hunters that tracked omegas and forced them into submission? Jaehyun had been lucky in hiding, but he knew most omegas had an unhappy ending. If you were an omega and an alpha caught you, you were sent back to the capital, and once you were there, you were forced to mate with someone your heart did not choose. It was a hideous crime against everything Jaehyun believed in, and he mentally thanked himself for taking his suppressants. That way, you wouldn’t be able to feel his scent. You would not even know he was an omega. Hopefully.

You stepped closer and closer, until Jaehyun could count the pores on your face. “I’m looking for a toy.” Your voice was velvety and calm, like a carpet that took him straight to the loveliest daydream.

Jaehyun nervously fixed his glasses. “Any preferences?”

“I like the flexible and potent ones. Extra points if they’re cute,” you replied, leaning on the counter — your scent, stronger with your proximity, could intoxicate his every blood cell. Why did it sound like he could be the toy you were looking for?

“W-we have this one, it arrived today,” Jaehyun was close to sweating as he handed you the new toy. “This end gives you clitorial stimulation. And this other end is-“

“Perfect for penetration,” you interrupted, using your fingers to explore the end that resembled the shape of a cock. “Does it thrust alone?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun's rosy cheeks embarrassed him further. “Excuse me, miss,” he politely pressed the button to turn the toy on, swallowing when you wrapped your lovely hand around the girth that started moving back and forth in a short, strong speed. He should not be thinking the things he did. God, he should not. “It has five different types of potency too.”

You nodded with a smile that only made you twice as beautiful, so much it was a scandal. “I’ll take it.”

Jaehyun proceeded to wrap the toy box for you, putting it inside the shop customized — but still discreet — bag. When you handed him your credit card, he quickly registered your name, and knew he had to say something else or he was going to regret his silence forever. “Are you new in town?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “I was transferred from the capital.”

“Really? What do you work with?”

“I’m a huntress.” Your honest reply almost made Jaehyun choke on his own saliva, but for the sake of his being, he did not. “You might’ve heard it. Rebellious omegas are moving to small towns, and the government is sending alphas to track them.”

Fuck. How Jaehyun was able to control the absolute agony in his face was even unknown to him. “So you’re an alpha, then…” he hummed as though he had not known.

“Yes,” you grinned like an angel holding a knife on its back, like a snake hidden in the bushes. “You’re not an omega by any chance, are you?” Your tone was mocking: you both knew the chances of an honest answer were low, in case he really was an omega.

“Human,” Jaehyun lied.

“I envy you. Human population is rising, and we are going down,” you sighed. “We wouldn’t, if omegas had the decency to face their destinies.”

Your words were like a sting in his chest. In true honesty, Jaehyun wanted to argue. To tell you what people called destinies was nothing but a way to both control and hurt omegas and alphas. He wanted to tell you what he thought: that omegas had suffered enough, seen as only useful for sex, to stay back home and take care of the kids and the housework while alphas, especially males, ran wild and free. Jaehyun wanted to tell you that your opinion was not only wrong, but violent. It made his heart ache, how you were part of the system he despised.

“I can imagine,” was all he said.

Your eyes held his gaze for a few seconds, as though you were trying to see through him, your nose trained to smell his lies. But you said nothing, accepting when he handed you the bag. “Thank you, mister…?”

“Jung. Jung Jaehyun.”

“I’m Y/N, but you already know that.” With a smile, you turned around to leave. When your hand was on the handle, Jaehyun spoke again.

“Miss, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“We still don’t have reviews on the toy you’re taking. With due respect, if you could write yours, so we can anonymously post it, I’d appreciate it.”

Jaehyun did not know how he mustered the courage to ask you that. Just like he didn’t understand how he resisted falling to his knees when you chuckled, frank and gorgeous and just made for him.

“You’ll hear from me soon, Jaehyun.”

Hidden into the dark embrace of the night, you were supposed to delight yourself in its secrets and maneuvers, but it was quite the opposite.

A cold drop of sweat ran down your temple as you squirmed on the bed. Another nightmare. It was as though you smelled the metallic notes of blood on your nose, dense and undeniable, while your mother, lying on the living room floor, tried to push the pup. Your fifth brother.

“He’s not coming out,” your mother insisted, her face salty with excruciating tears and laboring sweat.

Coldly watching from the balcony, your father sighed as if every word coming out of her mouth was made of pure, overreacting drama.

That night, after ten hours of pleading and sobbing, your mother and brother died on the cold floor. A pool of thick blood spread on the rug, and you were once again haunted by how your father told you to get it fucking off his face and clean it.

You woke up with a scream in your throat, that you swallowed harshly as sweat dripped down your nape. That nightmare was more frequent than you would ever like, and it repeated from time to time.

There was no escaping from the things you had seen. There was no exit from the way of the world, how females were meant to breed and bring live to pups. It didn’t even matter if they were alphas, betas or omegas. No woman was safe.

Every day, you did what you did not to end up like your mother. As long as there were omegas to hunt, you were not going to be forcefully paired with a random man that seeked to impregnate you. You would rather hunt a thousand omegas than allow anyone to put a pup inside you.

Even the cute, polite omega you had met that afternoon.

Jung Jaehyun. A name like sugary on your tongue.

Who was he trying to fool with those sweet eyes? Those plush lips, charming dimples, shiny black hair and his soft voice? Who was he trying to fool with that bewitching attitude that flourished right from the courteous and respectful garden of his heart?

You had come across attractive omegas before, with eyelashes so gracious that even the brattiness in their mouths came out alluring and dear, but it was different this time. Your heartbeat had been singing a different melody since you entered that shop, hoping to find another prey that would offer you a pleasing, feisty hunt. However, even the thought of Jung Jaehyun soothed your nightmare’s side effects, helping you focus on the devouring need to bring him to your arms and give him the world. A need so brutal it felt visceral.

You wanted to show him how you looked naked. To see his jaw dropping again, and to show him the true meaning of warmth.

But you had a file on him, a long list of information: where he was born, where his parents lived, what money the government was going to pay you for his capture. You knew his background, a lovely child that wished to be a theme park designer, mom’s only child, the best in class. You also had the address of Jaehyun’s suppressant provider.

All that information was like having a rope around his neck, a rope you were close to tightening in a firm, definitive knot.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” you chuckled bitterly, using your own blouse to wipe the sweat away from your face, and staring over at the sex toy on the bedside table, the same you had used as your head guided you back to him. His eyes, his hands, his lips.

You knew better than to give your heart any indulgence. Jung Jaehyun was your prey, and you were going to hunt him down.

“So, how was your night? Found a lady to try the new toy with?” Haechan cooed excitedly as he welcomed Jaehyun into the shop the next day.

If Jaehyun could give an honest answer, he would say that he put his vinyl records on, from Frank Ocean to Cigarettes After Sex, lit a musk candle, and counted how many suppressant pills he still had — everything so his mind would not chase you in its eternal longing for romance and belonging. You were a huntress, which severely compromised your morals and sense of judgment. It was so mean of you to do what you did, and still, Jaehyun wished you'd be gentle to him. A type of gentleness that put him to sleep and blew sweet air on his lungs — a type of care that was absolute, inviting and nesting. He wished you could build him a nest, with things that smelled like you, and bury him in your arms after a rough day. There was nothing else in the world that he desired as much.

“Not actually,” Jaehyun scratched his nape softly. “I preferred to stay home.”

“Ah,” Haechan’s excitement shrinked with himself, and he seemed smaller behind the counter. “I didn’t succeed either.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows furrowed. “What happened?”

“I have not been in the mood lately, you know? Which is very weird, considering the way I am.” Haechan pouted, looking down at his hands. His sorrowful tone made Jaehyun come closer to rub his back in soothing circles.

“Don’t worry, Haechannie. We all have our phases.”

“What if it is not a phase? What if I have lost my libido forever?”

“So dramatic,” Jaehyun chuckled. “It won’t come to that. Give yourself time and be patient. You’ll feel ready again one day.”

Haechan nodded with slightly hopeful eyes, although his face still looked pouty. Slowly, his features allowed a bit of rage in. “What a shame! I need reviews for my shop and can’t even push myself to experiment with the toy I was the most excited about!”

Jaehyun mentally told himself to be quiet, but his empathy spoke louder. He couldn’t help it. Seeing people struggling was something he really hated. “We still can get reviews somehow, you know? I asked one of the customers that bought the toy to write us one.”

“You did what?!” Haechan stood up in shock. “Who did you ask?”

Jaehyun raised his hands in peace. “You don’t know her. She’s new in town. But don’t worry, Haechannie. I wouldn’t have asked her if she didn’t seem open.”

The owner seemed to calm down, but retorted suspiciously: “She’s probably into you. I bet she’s leaving a whole ass review with several details to make you think of her…”

“I don’t think so,” Jaehyun readily replied.

“Why are you always so humble, Jae? Don’t you notice the effect you have on others?” Haechan sighed, then analyzed Jaehyun a little closer. “Unless… Unless you’re interested in her, that’s why you asked!”

As much as Jaehyun admired his boss, sometimes Haechan’s cleverness really got on his nerves. “Stop saying nonsense!”

“Your ears are red. You’re definitely lying! Come on, tell me everything about her! New in town, you said…?”

Disconcertedly, Jaeyun removed his glasses and rubbed his eyelids. “I’m not talking about her. Please, respect it.”

Haechan was about to stick his tongue out at his employee when the bell on the door rang and they both turned around.

And just like that, the sensation of summer was once again in Jaehyun’s lungs, the smooth moves of your hair bringing the soft notes of oranges to his sensitive nose — and this time, as he awkwardly put the glasses back on his face, Jaehyun thought he was actually going to die, because you walked in wearing a leather jacket that matched your biker gloves.

You rode a motorcycle. It was just parked outside.

Holy shit, you were a fucking badass!

“Hi, Y/N!” Jaehyun was close to gagging, his ears turning twice as scarlet, like cherries. “How are you?”

“Hey,” you grinned gingerly, taking a moment to look at the young man right next to Jaehyun. “Perfect. You?”

“Fine. This is Haechan, he’s the shop owner. Haechan, this is Y/N, our new customer” he was quick to introduce you.

“Nice to meet you,” Haechan hummed in a tone that sounded almost like a seductive coo, which embarrassed Jaehyun a little.

“You have a lovely shop,” you smiled. “I just came back to tell Jaehyun I wrote the review.”

“Ah, thank you!” Jaehyun uttered. “You can send it to me and I’ll post it on our website asap!”

“With one condition,” you spoke, staring at him deeply. His eyes were sweet, but yours were menacing. “I’ll send it if you have dinner with me.”

Both Jaehyun and Haechan held their breaths. Your target blushed while his boss tried not to jump around in a supportive display of happiness, content that his reserved and discreet employee finally had the chance to go out with someone he was interested in.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, was nearly shock-circuiting, wondering if you really wanted to take him out or if it was all a strategy for you to find out if he was an omega.

But what could he do against the soul crashing desire to be with you? What will did he have against his own instinct?

Denying you was not an option.

“Sure,” Jaehyun managed to reply. “I’ll be happy to.”

Taking Jaehyun’s suppressant provider down was easily risked off your list. Piece of cake. The man, a neat guy named Jaemin, offered little resistance when you knocked on his door, which led to you finding his hidden lab and the several suppressants he stored in the garage. Jaemin was quickly sent to jail right after.

Without suppressants, Jaehyun would be unable to hide his scent. He was probably going into heat too, when the time came; heats were usually so ferocious and ruthless he was going to give you all the evidence required to send him back to the capital as an omega. That was how you planned on catching him.

Of course, as you faced him at the lovely street restaurant, with candles burning on the table and the moonlight rays blessing your encounter, he did not know you already had planned his downfall from start to end. You pitied him. You pitied everyone. But it had never stopped you from doing your job.

“This is one of my favorites in town,” Jaehyun looked at the restaurant facade, with an angelic arch of light blue flowers surrounding the wood doors.

“Glad I picked the right place,” you replied, sipping on white wine. “How long have you been living here, if I may ask?”

“A little more than three years.”

“And are you happy?”

Jaehyun nodded without hesitation. “More than when I lived in the capital. Here, life goes by slower. There’s no traffic and the violence ranges are lower than average. I’m closer to nature too. I really like listening to the birds sing when I wake up.”

There they were again, his sweet eyes. His plush lips, charming dimples, shiny black hair.

Your inflamed desire to give him everything he could possibly have,

“Adorable,” you smiled. At that very moment, one of your colleagues, Taeyong, was breaking into Jaehyun’s house to get rid of his suppressants. Dinner had just been an excuse to bring Jaehyun out. Or so you liked to think. “I suppose you enjoy the people too, besides the lifestyle. Your boss seems to be a lovely boy.”

“Haechan?” Jaehyun’s eyes widened as he winded up some spaghetti on the fork. It caught your attention, how smooth and lovely his manners were in his structure, with long slender fingers and defined muscles on his arms. “He’s my friend, that’s all. But yes, he’s really cool.”

“It must be fun, working at a sex shop…”

He chuckled, looking exceedingly cute in those reading glasses, with a smile so pure and genuine you wanted to kiss him. It ached, being in his presence and knowing you could not make him yours, like a true alpha did to an omega.

“I thought so too, when I was hired, but now I just focus on helping people find what they want,” Jaehyun explained, seeming a lot more comfortable around you. He had barely touched his wine, so you could not blame it on alcohol. Maybe he was just a sweet and outgoing communicator. “It’s impressive how sex toys can assist us. They make couples grow closer and help people who are discovering what they like, and even those who are facing sexual traumas. I really like what I do, it makes me feel important.”

Shit. He was really adorable.

“What about you?” Jaehyun continued. “Are you enjoying the town?”

“Kind of. I love the capital, but it is nice here too.”

“Is the hunt going well? I mean, did you find any omegas?”

“None,” you replied, trying to suppress how his boldness surprised you. “They’re getting harder to catch.”

Jaehyun looked down at his fork. “Maybe… Maybe they don’t want to have a miserable life, you know?”

Softly, you clenched an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I mean, think about yourself. You’re an alpha. Aren’t there any responsibilities that come with the title that you wish you could avoid?”

“There are, that’s why I’m hunting,” you honestly replied, feeding from the curiosity in his gaze. “As long as I’m working, I won’t be needed in reproductive matters.”

Jaehyun’s eyes squeezed. “So you hunt omegas and send them back to serve the same matters you personally run from?”

“Hypocritical, right?” you hummed nonchalantly. “But it is them or me, and I’ve made my decision a long time ago.”

Jaehyun bit the inside of his cheek. How complex it was, to comprehend one’s motivation. “Do you really think that’s the only solution?”

“Well, if you have a better one, I’m all ears,” you tightened your eyes at him, chewing on a buttered rigatoni. “You have a very determined opinion, for a human.”

“I’m interested in social subjects. I think societies can be more equal and gentle.”

Of course he did.

“I bet that’s motivation for selling toys too,” you guessed. Alphas, betas and omegas tended to only have sex with their mates when they had the chance; if they had not found their mates, sex toys were the best substitutes, and offered some kind of relief. “Tell me, how many omegas have you attended lately?”

“Is that why you wanted to have dinner with me? Because you think I’m turning my customers in to you?” Jaehyun firmly replied.

“Not really. I can always use some help, but you don’t have to tell me. And relax, I’m not here to investigate you. The review was only an excuse for me to get to know you a little better.”

Jaehyun blinked behind his glasses. "Did you like it? The toy?"

“Yes, I was really impressed” your eyes analyzed him like a fox eyeing a distracted white rabbit. You leaned over, and he immediately pulled his face closer to yours, as if you were going to tell him a secret. “What I liked the most about it was that the thrusting end firmly stays in, like a true knot.”

If Jaehyun had any wine in his mouth, he would have spat it out. But he did not, and even then, the poor guy choked on his own saliva, coughing inside his closed fist as you pretended not to be entertained. You rubbed his arm gently, like you were not trying your best to have him crumble in awe for you. “Did I say anything wrong, Jae?”

“N-no,” he shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “I just swallowed saliva and it went wrong. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really imagine that’s a huge thing for an alpha.”

“It is,” you agreed while handing him a glass of water. Your eyes then averted from his face, landing only for a second on his jeans, where an imposing volume outlined the zipper. Much to your surprise, the sight of his hardness made you damp on your panties. Fuck. You were turned on too, and Jaehyun was going to smell it. Well, let him. “Feeling any better?”

He nodded, trying to keep his eyes sober as he detected your arousal, looking almost lightheaded as he grabbed his fork back and went back to eating.

When Jaehyun got home that night, he felt like he was going to explode. His heartbeat frantically jangled in his ears, his eyes blurred with overwhelming tears, his pants tightened with the fantasies of his lifetime. Unsure, his mind was like a matryoshka doll, with layers of thought unraveling as he tried to figure out whether you intended on seducing him to yourself or on capturing him as an ordinary, worthless prey.

You. You were going to be the end of him. And he was going to very much let you.

Minutes after he arrived, his cell phone screen lit up with a new email notification. You had sent your review.

In the speed of light, Jaehyun clicked on it.

“It's different from any toy I've used. Heavier, too. I was unsure the clitorial stimulation was going to work out, because the nozzle was larger than my clit, but it fit just fine. I just had to keep my lips spread. The clit sucking end feels like someone is really sucking on your clit, moving their tongue up and down. That alone would make an amazing toy. But the moment I slid the other end inside, it was mind-blowing. My walls immediately clenched, and the combination of the pressure with how my muscles squeezed the toy was stupidly good. It reminded me of the feeling of being penetrated for the first time. Worth every penny.”

Jaehyun tried breathing as usual, fighting against the sinful images of you all naked, with your glistening pussy tightening the toy as it thrusted inside you. He tried shaking away the thoughts of your body squirming on the bed as your clit was sucked and your legs shook, your irresistible face contorted in the sweet bliss and pleasure the toy offered you.

Bravely, he fought the painful desire to touch himself. Until he remembered you said the toy resembled a knot, and fuck, Jaehyun wanted to give it to you: to be inside you, locked in, tied to you until you were both satisfied.

His permissive hand traveled down his navel. Just a little relief wouldn’t hurt, would it? He could have some fun, alone, without anyone knowing…

The remaining pieces of morality injected some reasoning into his brain.

He grabbed one suppressant pill from his wallet and swallowed it down with a sip of water — the glass had shaken helplessly in his hand on the way to his mouth. With a quick look, Jaehyun noticed he only had another six pills. His heat, too, was close, dangerously now that you were close to him. Heats, he remembered with a shiver, could be triggered by the presence of a soul bonding alpha, and even if Jaehyun resisted the thought that you could be his mate, it was definitely time to refill his wallet.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the bedside table drawer. His heartbeat nearly stopped when he didn’t find the blister packs. Denying what he had already concluded, Jaehyun searched under his bed, in the bathroom cabinet, and even in the kitchen, but his pills were nowhere to be found. He knew what it meant.

As his heart cracked in more pieces than it was made of, Jaehyun knew you were hunting him.

“What do you mean Jaehyun isn’t here?” you clenched an eyebrow at Haechan, who pouted. He looked pretty much like a purry cat,

“He called in sick. Said he's got a fever. Was he well when you last saw him? You went on a date earlier this week, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, he sent me the review, by the way! Thank you so much, the details will definitely help.”

You couldn't tell if Haechan's words were mocking, or maybe he was just playful. “Not at all,” you hummed, leaving the shop without further conversation.

It was weird that Jaehyun had not sent you a single text after your encounter. Maybe he was too idiot to make a move after you told him about the knot thing, or perhaps he had found out that you were after him.

[Haechan just told me you're sick. Need anything?] you texted shortly after jumping on your bike to ride home. Your text was not delivered, much less seen.

Impatiently, you started worrying something had happened. You knew his address, but Jaehyun had never told you where he lived. Knocking on his door meant exposure. Shaking the idea away, you attempted to find distraction in a long bath that left your skin flushed, your fingers wrinkly like plums. Still, your mind restlessly played you like a chess, awakening your impulsiveness. What if Jaehyun needed help? What if he was sick indeed? What if he was…

Oh, so you did care about him.

“Screw it!” you resolved, readily standing up from the tub and leaving a trail of determined drops where you stepped, heavy and firm.

You rode as though you were late to a crucial event, your cheeks burning in touch with the cold breeze as your bike cut the night like a deadly knife in a birthday cake. In your ears, the beat of your heart musically revealed the bitter sensation of despair. Your plan was perfect. Jaehyun was perfect. You could not let him slip between your fingers.

However, when you got to his house and the lights were off, you knew he had.

He had run away from you.

For three days, you did not hear anything from Jaehyun. He did not leave a trace, not a merciful clue, as if he had never been there. The only connection between you and him was named Haechan, and his purry presence did not make those gut-wrenching days any less sore.

Every waiting hour left a bitter taste on your tongue. You walked on a tightrope, and emptiness was a blade that cut it thinner. Somewhere in the middle, you were unable to know if you wished to find Jaehyun to kiss or to torture him. All you knew was that you had failed both as a hunter and an alpha. You even had the hypocrisy to feel offended that he left, because, by leaving, he was denying you and everything you could be.

They said that when an alpha crossed ways with their omega, they felt like giving them the world. Like protecting them with the strength of their arms and the sharpness of their minds. It was what being a mate meant: a strong and undeniable bond, crafted by the angels of love and desire, to create roots so firmly into the ground that no one and nothing could stand between them.

You lied to yourself by thinking Jaehyun was all about the hunt. Deep inside, you knew he was far more than that. You knew your anguish and anger meant you hated that he was far away from you.

[No sign of him?]

[Not a shred.] Taeyong texted you back.

You wanted to scream, but decided to have a pistachio ice cream by the beach instead, angrily kicking the rocks with your feet as the sun shone — as though it had any reason to.

Where the fuck was him? Where the fuck was your omega?

How quickly you grabbed your phone after it vibrated on your pants pocket was insane. “Got any news?”

“Yes, Jaehyun’s back!” Haechan replied.

At daylight's speed, you ran to the shop. The purple shadows of dusk covered your hurried pace, legs burning all the way down the dark paths of your desire, your voice demanding under your breath when you walked in. “Where is him?”

Haechan readily got up, motioning for you to come with him. “In the back.”

Obediently, you followed him like a dog after a treat. It was only when you were inside the room where Haechan stored the toys that you noticed something was awfully wrong. However, you had no time to act on it.

Haechan had already handcuffed and locked you inside.

What happened next was something you would never imagine. The purry but also mischievous Haechan really commanded you around.

“You have to stay silent if you want to see Jaehyun,” he explained while blindfolding you. Needless to say he had already grabbed your phone and you were helpless, unable to call for help. Not that you would make a scandal, because now you were curious what that was all about. “I’ll drive you to him, but you have to behave.”

“When this is over, I’ll come to get you,” you growled, even though you did not mean what you said.

“Whatever.”

Humans.

It was night when Haechan led you to a car, putting you on the back and cuffing your ankles too. “Why are you doing all this?” You asked calmly. If Jaehyun had planned all that, you knew you did not need to fear. “Can’t you be civilized?”

Even if you couldn’t see him, you swore Haechan rolled his eyes. “I don’t trust you, Y/N. You’re mean and manipulative, and I’m just doing this because Jaehyun wants to talk to you. But I’ll do it my way.”

Exactly like you had suspected.

Much to Haechan’s delight, you managed to stay quiet for the whole trip. Not knowing where you were going to really bothered you, your instincts found such helplessness absurd, but you knew it was going to pay off if you saw Jaehyun again.

It took hours. And hours. But you finally arrived.

Haechan led you to what seemed like a house, and soon enough you were alone in a room, sitting on a chair. After a few minutes, your senses captured another presence, and the way your heart soothed told you everything you needed to know.

You felt some strange type of relief shivering down your spine, and said nothing. Let him speak.

“I hope the cuffs are not too tight. Are they burning?” Jaehyun asked, and you could have moaned at the mere sound of his voice.

“Oh, you made such a fool out of me… And now you’re trying to be gentle,” you chuckled sourly.

“I’ve always been gentle,” Jaehyun retorted. “But you were hunting me, and I’d rather make a fool out of you than fool myself.”

“I can’t make fun of that. Can I see, please?”

Jaehyun readily complied, removing the blindfold. You tried opening your eyes, but sunlight caught them unprepared. Slowly, as your eyes adjusted, you noticed Jaehyun was in an armchair right in front of you. He looked at you worriedly. His presence had you so focused you only noticed you were in a living room seconds later.

“What’s your plan now? Turn me in to the rebels?” you asked. There were illegal communities of beta and omegas who had rebelled against the capital.

“No,” Jaehyun said. “I want to talk to you. Omega to alpha.”

“All this for talking?” You nearly spat, a strand of your hair landing on your face.

Gently, Jaehyun leaned over to tuck it behind your ear. “I didn’t know how you were going to react, Y/N. You had all the power back then, and I needed to make sure I was not at risk. I told Haechan to be nice to you. I really meant no harm. I’m sorry about that..”

You breathed. “Go on. I don’t think there’s anything else I can do but listen.”

“I want you to listen openly. I know I’ve deceived you, but I really want us to get to an agreement. That’s why I brought you here.”

You let his words sink in, sure you looked quite ridiculous, all cuffed, unable to defend yourself. “Why, Jaehyun?”

His eyes almost faltered, but did not leave yours. “Because I like you.”

As if you were in middle school, your heart beat so fast it could have climbed up your throat. How silly it was, to be liked. To be adored, admired, to be wanted around. How stupid it was, to be responsive to one’s liking. To think you had finally found your mate after years of loneliness and pain, divided between who you truly were and who you could have been.

It was almost cruel, how Jaehyun messed up with the roughness it took you years to build.

His hands shook. Your scent in such a closed, small space was making it harder for him to think. “I’ve liked you since the day you first walked in the shop. I know you’re hurt by your own status, just like I have been, and I think I can help. Please, Y/N, let me offer you a different point of view. Let me convince you you don’t have to hurt others to be happy.”

“You lied to me. You and bloody Haechan.”

“You lied to me too. You’ve even stolen my suppressants, which is far worse in my humble opinion,” Jaehyun reminded you with the calmest of tones. “But I am here, ready to give you a second chance. All I ask is for you to give me one too.”

You simply stared at him. Your eyes resembled a sky that had both light and heavy clouds, with glimpses of sun and rain. An intrinsic inner battle. Finally, you acquiesced with your chin. “Go on.”

Jaehyun fixed his glasses before speaking. “I know I’m more than a pup maker. I have dreams. I want a good life, with friends I can count on, a life where I can be safe and have the same rights as anyone else. And if I ever have pups with someone, then it will be because we both agreed on it,” he breathed, sincerity dripping from his lips like wine. “That’s why I ran away and why I will not let you hunt me that easily. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m sure life as a female alpha takes a heavy toll. Whatever you went through, you deserve healing. You deserve to be heard and validated, Y/N. It is not others that dictate how you should live. What you want matters.”

His entire speech was like seeds of roses planted in the confinements of your chest. “How we should live is beyond us,” you spoke skeptically.

“Only because you choose to believe so,” Jaehyun disagreed. “If I had, I would certainly not be here. If you do, you’ll see hurting others is not your only option.”

How could Jaehyun be so understanding, so forgivable, so lovely? How could he offer you a chance of redemption? It amazed you. Badly. You breathed every particle of the room inside your lungs, so deep it was the first time you smelled the musky, leathery scent coming from the man in front of you.

The suppressants’ effects… They were low. Almost non-existing.

Jung Jaehyun smelled like the rawest of desires.

“If I decide to trust you, what’s it going to be?” you asked, pretending you were not lightheaded.

“We leave here together,” Jaehyun proposed. “And I promise you’ll have all the safety you need by my side.”

Most alphas would have laughed at the perspective of finding safety on an omega, but you did not. You tasted it. How good it would be, to have someone you could rely on. Someone patient, strong, who added to your dreams and aspirations. Someone you could be yourself with.

Your eyes softened, your wrists relaxing inside the cuffs. “Let me go, then.”

“Do you really accept it?” Jaehyun carefully confirmed.

The air stood dense between you two, hanging like a sword on a wall, an icicle on the top of a cave, and also like a gentle caress coming from a waiting hand.

You nodded. “I do.”

He stood up and approached the chair slowly. As his hands uncuffed you, you paid attention to the slenderness of his fingers. His musky scent was messing up with your head, your veins pumping blood to your lower body, even though you resisted the natural urge to touch Jaehyun whole as he uncuffed you like a real gentleman would.

Once you were free, he gazed at the reddened skin of your wrists. In an act that apparently was beyond any reasoning, Jaehyun gently brought them to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to where the metal had left a slight burn.

Your lips shook with the force of your breath. The man was crazy, a soft freak and a lord all together. With every passing second, you wanted him more and more. Holding his silky gaze, you mustered a grin before abruptly grabbing the hair on his nape and pulling Jaehyun down to his knees.

His eyes widened in fear.

“You’re so fucking naive,” you scolded. “Next time, think twice before trusting an alpha. Not everyone is like me,” you let your grip loosen, helping him stand up once again. “Promise me.”

His pupils adjusted back into a soft gaze. “You scared me,” he admitted.

“That’s the idea. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll be more careful.”

It was what you wanted to hear. Slowly, Jaehyun’s fingers returned to the gentle, languid caresses on your wrists.

“I suggest you back off if you don’t wish to be claimed,” you sighed.

His eyes had darkened at your words, his Adam’s apple tensing as he pulled his hands away in a respectful manner. “As I said, I like you, Y/N. Genuinely.”

Affection was a new, alien thing to you. However, your instincts encouraged you to embrace it, even if at your own pace and time.

“We both have instincts that can rush things. I’d be careful,” you explained, smoothly brushing his hair back. How the silky strands slid between your fingers felt like touching the clouds.

“You’re scared of love,” Jaehyun concluded, making you smile frankly.

“Aren’t you?”

“No. I’d happily give myself to a good alpha if we loved each other. I believe in long-lasting, healthy relationships.”

Your smile faltered. “I don’t think the world is ready for that, Jaehyun.”

“I don’t need it to be.”

You averted your gaze to the window. There was a sunny road outside, with few cars passing.

Minutes ago, you decided to leave the house. Jaehyun took you to a car, an old yet functional Chevy Impala.

“Where’s Haechan?” you asked.

“In his parents’ house. He was born here.”

You hummed, getting into the passenger seat. “He won’t be coming back with us, I hope?”

“No,” Jaehyun shook his head, already in the driver seat. “Also, don’t be mad at him, Y/N. He didn’t know I was an omega until I found out you had stolen my suppressants. And as weird as it was, Haechan was very willing to help. We thought it’d be better to take you somewhere far away, because you’d have less advantages.”

“I might forgive him for a few things,” you cooed, then looked over as Jaehyun started the engine, his fingers grabbing the wheel firmly. “What about your suppressants?”

“I’ve got a few more left,” Jaehyun replied. “But since you stole all of my supply and Jaemin is probably in prison now, I have to be careful.”

“Didn’t have any luck finding another provider?”

“As if I’m telling you,” Jaehyun chuckled.

You laughed along. “It’s my job, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” his tone was slightly more serious now, as he drove through the peaceful streets. “What did you do before hunting?”

“My dad had a law office. I studied law too, but never quite liked it.”

“What do you like, then?”

You caught your breath, your voice two tones lower, almost inaudible. “Baking.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows lifted in sweet surprise. “Like, baking bread?”

“Baking cakes. I’m really good at it,” you admitted, looking down at your hands. You had always been ridiculed because of your hobby. Your father, brothers and sisters constantly accused you of wasting your time with such stupidities. Alphas were born for high power positions: politicians, lawyers, doctors, CEOs… But baking cakes? That was a job for omegas. The weakest of the weak. You were taught that, even if you did not fully agree. The only person who supported you was your mother, because she expressed her love through the awesome, homemade dishes she cooked. However, as your mom had passed and you grew older, you preferred putting your efforts into something more socially accepted than to perceive the distant dream of having a bakery — even if you felt truly accomplished whenever you looked at a cake you had baked.

“That’s so nice!” Jaehyun encouraged. “What’s your best cake?”

Your heart fluttered at his genuine curiosity, making you bite the inside of your cheek. “Pistachio.”

“I love pistachio!” the man cooed excitedly. “I’d like to try it if you're okay with it.”

“I haven’t baked in forever,” you mentioned.

“Well, you have time now that you don’t have to hunt me,” he chuckled.

As the morning turned into afternoon and the sky was outlined with purple clouds, you noticed Jaehyun had driven considerably. By the corner of your eye, you caught him yawning sleepily. Shifting in the passenger's seat, you hummed. “Let me drive for a little.”

“I’m fine.”

“You want me to trust you but can’t trust me?” you pricked.

Jaehyun fixed his glasses. Such a cute habit he had. “Well, you’re the deadly one.”

“What you did to me can easily be considered kidnapping, Jaehyun.”

“But you know it was not like that, right? I mean, do you feel kidnapped?” he asked to be sure, making you chuckle.

“People have done worse things to me. Come on, let me drive.”

“Don’t worry,” he insisted. “What worse things?”

“I might tell you one day.”

You waited for the purple sky to turn dark with sparkling stars. You waited for the breeze to turn colder. You waited until Jaehyun just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Get some sleep,” you encouraged as you changed seats, holding his cautious gaze. “It’s fine, Jae. Trust me.”

Stubbornly, Jaehyun fought his own tiredness even after you were driving. His eyes got swollen from tiredness, his yawns became more frequent, and he pinched his own cheeks in an attempt to stay awake for a little longer, as if he feared you were going to disappear if he slept.

But it was quite the opposite, because when he finally closed his eyes and peacefully slept on the passenger seat, you knew you never wished to stay away from him.

The flowers swayed with the wind, and so did his hair. Jaehyun had not remembered arriving to the fields, but we couldn’t care less about the reason: you were right by his side, and it was all that mattered. “These are beautiful.” With a grin, you leaned closer to smell an orange tree flower. The hot shades of sunset matched you like an artist’s masterpiece, Jaehyun thought while relishing in the image of you acting so free. He wished nothing but to let you be.

“Just like you,” he whispered, another lovely flower blossoming between his fourth and fifth ribs.

You straightened yourself, coming closer to him and swiftly removing the glasses from his face. Jaehyun almost forgot how to breathe with you so close, your orange perfume making his head spin, his fingers shaking in nervousness. Your face got closer, and closer, and then…

And then he felt a hand on his shoulders, shaking softly. “Jaehyun,” your voice called, but did not come out of the image in front of him. “Jaehyun, we’ve arrived. Wake up.”

Untangling himself from his dream, Jaehyun swore the oranges still smelled fresh on his nose, and that he could feel the temperature of your breath against his cheek. It was just wishful thinking, though, because you were sitting on the driver seat. It was dark night and the car was parked right in front of your house.

“For how long did I sleep?” he cleared his throat, relieved that you were both back in town.

“Not enough,” you replied shortly. “Take some rest tonight.”

“I'll try to,” he breathed. Oranges. Oranges everywhere making him crave you like the trees craved the rain to flourish. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“You can.” You opened the car door to leave, shivering when the piercing cold breeze hit your skin and thundered on your bones.

Extremely sensitive, Jaehyun jumped from the car and hushed to your side. Without a word, he removed his hoodie and handed it over to you. You stared in awe, eyes big with admiration and delight, as if he had achieved global peace or discovered the cure to every disease. “What’s that for?” you asked.

“I don’t want you feeling cold.”

“Jaehyun, I’m like, eight meters away from my door.”

“Eight cold meters.”

Slowly, you grabbed the piece of clothing. It was impossible that someone was that amazing and kind-hearted. You had never met anyone like Jaehyun before, and it made you feel something in your chest that was strange, foreign, almost agonizing. You could not name it.

You put the hoodie on in front of him, pretending not to notice his pupils widening at the sight of you wearing something his. The musk, leathery scent was all around you again, making you almost bounce on your feet out of excitement. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“Not at all.” His features suddenly changed, as though he remembered something. “Ah, here’s your cell phone,” Jaehyun grabbed it from his back pocket, and your fingers brushed when you took it in your hands. “Sleep well, Y/N,” was the last thing Jaehyun said before entering the car to drive to his house — only after you had come inside, of course.

You locked the door and pressed your back to it, closing your eyes as though you needed the dark and the silence to absorb everything that happened in the past hours. Jaehyun had maneuvered you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine, and it was both revolting and pleasing. How willing he was to just be with you, with raw sincerity in his eyes, shook you to the core. It made your bones soft and your resolve like water, flowing, delicate, transpassing obstacles.

Such a weak alpha you were, afraid to act on what you truly desired.

Because it was clear, once you pulled the fabric of his hoodie to your nose, that you wanted him. That you were meant to be.

That he was your mate.

What you felt on your chest, you then knew, was hope.

The next day, shortly after you woke up, your phone vibrated on the bedside table.

[Do you like picnics?]

[I do.]

[Great. I’ll pick you up at 1PM].

Punctually, Jaehyun knocked on your door. Punctually, you opened it, surprising him with two things. The first one was that he had never seen you dressed so casually, with high-waisted jeans, a plain black shirt and white sneakers, hair in a simple bun allowing the sight of delicate earrings hanging from your ears. The second thing was that you held a small tray in your hand, covered by a gingham cloth, that smelled precisely like pistachio.

“You baked? Seriously?” Jaehyun’s eyes widened, and he hid his gracious smile behind his hand, causing your heartbeat to quicken.

“If you’re going to act this fucking cute I’ll just leave the cake here,” you replied impulsively, unsure of how to deal with what sounded like praise.

“Please, don’t!” In a heartbeat, Jaehyun lowered his hand and straightened himself. Deep inside his chest bones, his heart fluttered. You had baked for him. “I just didn’t expect it. Thank you.”

You nodded somehow sternly. A little voice inside your consciousness blamed you for being so rigid.

“Come,” Jaehyun offered you a smile, stepping aside so you could follow him to the Chevy Impala.

“Where are we going?” you inquired.

“You’ll see.”

Surprises made you uneasy. As did not being in control. However, for Jaehyun, you made a little effort — you knew it was important for him to make decisions. Thankfully, it paid off, because the car rode all the way up the hills until it reached the top of a cliff. It was easily one of the most beautiful sights you had ever put your eyes on, something only the countryside could offer, with sunlight rays dancing with the velvety waves, the foam kissing the beach like a devoted lover’s embrace.

“What’s wrong with your jaw?” Jaehyun chuckled, making you notice your mouth was agape. You also remembered it had been the first thing you asked him.

“This is beautiful,” you commented, the corners of your lips lifting in a discreet smile.

“It is, right?” Jaehyun sighed. The breeze lifted his hair slightly as he grabbed a basket from the backseat, and a towel that matched the cloth on your tray. He then proceeded to spread the towel on the ground and remove the things he had brought: homemade sandwiches with cheese, pesto and tomatoes, strawberries and peaches, orange juice and a local brand of chocolate you had never seen. You joined him, placing your tray on the towel and removing the cloth to reveal a small pistachio cake covered in buttercream. It might have taken you hours to get it done. “Let’s eat!”

You crossed your legs on the towel, reaching for the sandwich while Jaehyun poured you juice. As you took a bite, your mouth was filled with delectable flavorsome layers that reminded you of your mother. The care in each slice of cheese, the carefulness in dosing the olive oil for the pesto, and the perfectly smoked tomatoes sharpened your taste, causing your eyes to water. Uncontrollably, you chuckled out of joy.

Jaehyun joined you, a face so pure and glad it seemed to shine like the ocean waves. He was just… Just so soft-looking you wanted to squish his cheeks and kiss his forehead. “What? Is it good?”

“It kind of… It kind of reminds me of my mother,” you replied, comfortable enough to share something so private it weighed like a pirate’s treasure in your chest.

“Really? Does she cook for you?”

You took another bite. “She did, when she was alive. I guess it was her love language. In fact, she was the only one who supported me baking.”

Jaehyun looked carefully at you. “I’m sorry. Losing her might have been hard.”

“The hardest thing I’ve ever been through,” you admitted, contemplating the ethereal sight in the harmonic horizon. It was only now that Jaehyun listened that you realized how badly you’d been wanting to talk about your mother, as if the filter between your mind and brain stopped functioning. How could you keep secrets from the only person destined to you? Mates shared. Mates understood. “She died while trying to give birth to my ninth brother.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen. That’s why I decided to work with anything that didn’t have to do with getting pregnant.” Your eyes, frank, held his gaze.

Jaehyun nodded, and said nothing for a while. “How many omegas have you hunted, Y/N?”

“About a hundred.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“It’s a heavy guilt to carry on my shoulder, but it does seem small in comparison to a lifetime being used for my body. I know it sounds hypocritical, and it probably is, but it was my choice,” you replied.

“I don’t blame you,” Jaehyun took a bite on the sandwich, using his thumb to wipe off the pesto at the corner of his lower lip. “It’s hard to see beyond the rules.”

“What about you? What’s your background?”

He took a deep breath. “I was born and raised in the capital. Went to a boy’s school. You know how alphas, betas and omegas had classes together, right? Since then I couldn’t understand why alphas always bullied others and got away with it. If I opened my mouth, I was arrogant and full of myself, but if an alpha spoke, he was powerful, opinionated, and influential. I was bullied a lot for just being me, you know? Of course I spoke back, so I was in trouble quite often, being threatened and stuff. My mom and dad were very supportive of me, we had to move a few times…”

Empathetically, you wondered what it meant for an omega to constantly move. They were highly adaptable, but sought for stability and safety.

“So when I heard that omegas were rebelling and moving to the countryside to build their own lives, I didn’t think twice,” Jaehyun concluded. “I’ve been happier ever since.”

“Your parents might be nice people,” you commented, reaching for a peach. “Do you miss them?”

“Everyday,” Jaehyun smiled. “I call them on a weekly basis, so we’re fine.”

“That’s lovely.”

“What about you? Do you keep in touch with your family?”

You shook your head. “I don’t speak to my dad. We’ve always been the perfect alpha family, but it came with a high cost. My mom was always pregnant, even when she was tired and getting too old to bear. Dad thought it was her job, and we did too. But now… Now I understand she suffered alone.”

The salty breeze gently touched your faces and clothes as you shared confidences. Jaehyun’s understanding soothed you. He made you feel at ease, like sharing your experience was natural and necessary. You liked it.

“You were just a kid, Y/N.”

“I know.” A small smile bloomed on your lips. “I try not to blame myself. All I want is to live differently.”

And that he understood. “I’d say the more we live differently, the more we show others that it’s possible,” Jaehyun said while slicing the cake.

“You’re not wrong.”

It made butterflies fly in your stomach when he chewed on the cake with a content moan, his eyes closing and his eyebrows furrowing at the delicacy in his mouth. When his eyes opened again, Jaehyun’s brown irises reflected light as if the sun had set within his soul.

There were no words to describe that day but lovely, dear and sincere. You had never been on a date with someone before, at least not one where you saw yourself free from the norms of your status. There had been no need for you to be aggressive or demanding, like alphas were portrayed, and instead of playing the role of the needy submissive omega, Jaehyun was just… Normal. Respectful, wise, and so cool you admired him as a person.

You spent the entire afternoon sharing stories, talking about hobbies — he told you about his vinyls and you told him about baking — and contemplating nature. Time by his side seemed to pass two times faster.

“Thanks for today, Y/N,” Jaehyun smiled once you were in front of your door. “Thanks for trusting me and giving me a chance.”

“Thank you,” you emphasized. “I really had fun. Next time is on me.”

At your words, Jaehyun’s face lit up. You reacted too, your heart beating so fast you shivered, nearly forgetting how to breathe when his scent felt suddenly stronger to your heightened olfactory senses. He got so excited with the idea of you meeting again that his scent exhaled twice as freely.

Even if you liked to think you mustered enough self control to resist him, your body surrendered to arousal in no time. You closed your eyes, clenching your hands into fists.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” You only registered Jaehyun’s worried tone before replying.

“You’re practically rubbing your scent on my face right now,” you admitted, aware that as an instant response, your pheromones started exhaling too, mainly from your neck and inner thighs. Your bodies functionated beyond your reasoning, blood running warm and fast, desiring to mate, to be tangled to one another. A biological necessity to be all over him, and to protect Jaehyun with tooth and nail. It was how scent glands worked, releasing pleasurable smells that expressed raw bodily and emotional needs.

Your eyes opened, trying to gather some control even though they were sedated by desire.

Jaehyun’s ears were once again red. “M-my heat is approaching,” he muttered. “And you’re close to me, s-“ Jaehyun stopped himself. Now, he smelled your scent twice as strong too, a scent that was alluring and dominant. Perfect for him. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he praised without noticing, mouth numb with craving.

Only God knew how badly you were trying to control yourself. “Go home, Jaehyun,” you said authoritatively.

“Y-yes“ he stuttered, cheeks as red as his ears. “I should, right?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded firmly. “If you don’t want me to mark scent you, you fucking should.”

Jaehyun nearly grunted, both because of your intentions, and because of how seductive your voice sounded when you cursed. “What if I want to?” He asked.

Motherfucker.

And you loved it.

“You’re aware that mark scenting you can easily trigger your heat, right? And that your heat can cause me to go into a rut.” You reached for his wrist, simply holding it in place. Ruts had a similar purpose to heats, to find a mate and breed, even if contraceptive methods could keep you from getting pregnant. “That isn’t a nice idea, is it?”

“It’s a perfect idea,” Jaehyun challenged.

“You’re playing with me,” you warned. “Even if I’m being nice and collected, I’m still an alpha. I can be dangerous, Jaehyun.”

His gaze pierced yours with the firmness of a grip, and you knew he was about to say something to break your resolve before he even opened his mouth. “What kind of danger my mate can possibly put me in?”

Snapping, your grip on Jaehyun’s wrist pulled him flush to you. Your chests collided and your breaths violently mixed before you grabbed the hair on his nape and tugged hard, tilting his head to the side. His exposed neck made you groan lowly, the musky scent directly wetting your undies. You had to mark him so bad it ached in your guts, and the moment you stuck your tongue out and gave a broad lick on his skin, your body shivered, your nipples hardened and your hip rubbed the volume in Jaehyun’s pants.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he trembled.

“Shh, quiet” you instructed, in charge, breath blowing against the wet trail left on his skin. “Just feel it.”

You lifted your weight on the tip of your toes and rubbed your neck against Jaehyun’s, warm skin against warm skin. Parents scented their children, friends scented friends, packmates scented packmates — but scenting between mates was a whole different thing, an encounter of souls wrapped in animalistic bodies. It felt like your soul was touched for the first time, as you left your scent on Jaehyun’s neck, marking him as yours, telling others that he belonged to you. And he felt it too, a sensation so deep in his guts resembling the coziness of an established home. As though he never had to move in his entire life. Ever.

It was so intimate you felt naked in front of each other.

Slowly, Jaehyun’s hands found support on your waist. The grip on his nape softened, and soon he was rubbing his face against yours affectionately, cheeks brushing in a loving manner that made you flush. His heat was closer than ever, but this time it was different: heats usually led Jaehyun to lock himself in a room, surrounded by sex toys, a slave to the basic needs of his body to mate and find relief. However, with you he felt… Shit, he felt loved and taken care of, and it only amplified his craving. It was better, it was whole. It was mating.

“I love this,” he admitted.

You grinned, letting your nails scratch his neck gently. His cute shivers widened your smile. “Me too.”

Jaehyun wet his lips with his tongue. “Can I see you again tomorrow?”

You could not precise how exactly you loved that he did not intend on having sex with you that night. It was so much better that way, especially compared to the expectations of sexually aggressive alphas taking their pleasure as soon as possible. His question meant that you could take your time, because there was no running and hiding. You’d be together time and time again, until it felt like the moment was right.

“You can,” you chuckled, and yet another alien feeling assaulted your heart.

You suspected it was called happiness.

Hours later, you got out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your body and the silliest of smiles on your face. The euphoria of finding your mate was real, so carved it could be felt in the flesh, like an iron bullet. Your heart, toughened by time, prejudice and rage, now opened its arms to enjoy a feeling so holy you could crown it as your favorite.

You had a mate. And your scent was on him.

You could still feel Jaehyun’s perfume on you too, and all over the hoodie you had kept by your pillow, to smell him again and again.

For the first time in years, you were soft.

“Whipped,” you accused playfully as you looked at your image in the mirror, wondering how Jaehyun was feeling at that exact moment. You wanted to know. So, without further thought, you grabbed your phone to text him — and you would have, if other messages did not steal your attention. Messages sent by Taeyong.

[We found an omega pack hiding in a nearby city from where you are.

We’re gonna need you to come with us, so backups were sent to help you with Jaehyun.

We’ll be there tomorrow.]

You swallowed thickly, your heart faltering, your hands shaking. It could not be. You could not let Jaehyun get caught. You could not lose him now.

Or maybe… Maybe you were being stupid risking your own life and position for… For love.

Taking a deep breath, you started typing.

[Appreciate that. See you tomorrow.]

Jaehyun was God’s favorite. He was God’s most loved child, because only he was allowed to step in Her fluffiest clouds. The luckiest man alive, one of the few creatures that experienced love’s fingers opening him inside out.

And oh, it was almost killing him.

He would do anything for you: walk for miles, cry for centuries, write your name in a paper for eternity... All the letters, time after time, carved in his wrists, his thighs, his bones. You were his and he was yours, as the lovely scent on his neck reminded him with each breath. Summer lived in him like it had never done before.

Now, he felt less judgmental of the omegas that craved for an alpha. Needless to say he was excited for what you’d do the next day after your date at the cliff, restless even, taking pleasure in the simple act of breathing, knowing you had left your scent on his skin.

Scent marking an omega really could trigger their heats, and Jaehyun knew that his was lurking dangerously, ready to flourish. The signs left no doubt.

Firstly, he desired a safe space: somewhere with dim lighting, where he could surround himself with objects that smelled like you — shirts, pillows, your leather jacket and biker gloves, and even plushies, if you ever agreed to give those to him. His senses, too, were twice as sharpened: a primal state of animalistic instincts blooming along his consciousness, to protect him from undesired alphas. His mind was slightly hazy as well, and even if he was excited for your third date, the cold, feverish shivers running down his spine worried him.

He couldn’t surrender to his heat. Not now. Not when he was so determined to make you understand he liked you not because you were an alpha, not because he desired you sexually and biologically. Jaehyun needed you to understand he liked you, wholly, for who you were.

So, when you knocked on his door the following day, he opened it with blushy cheeks, bouncing on his feet out of nervousness.

“Jaehyun?” your eyes tightened. You looked fresh, hair swaying with the breeze, orange trees offering him shadow, calm, and absolute hell all together. “Are you going into heat?”

He groaned in frustration. “Then it is obvious.”

You looked around before stepping inside, closing the door behind your back. “I got new suppressants for you.” You opened your palm, handing him one of the blister packs he was so used to.

Jaehyun stared down at your hand. Even if he wished his heat could wait a little longer, your suggestion felt like a crime, especially now that you were there, in his home, gorgeous and strong. Why should he hold back? Why did he have to behave now that he could finally let himself go with you?

“I don’t want it.”

You blinked, surprised. “Sorry?”

“I don’t want it, Y/N,” he repeated, lifting his gaze to yours. “We don’t have to suppress our instincts anymore. We’ve found each other.”

Your breath was long and strong, strangely raspy. “Take these, just this time.”

“What is it, Y/N? Are you scared you’re going to hurt me? That I will induce you into a rut?” Jaehyun stepped closer, cupping your cheeks with his hands and looking deep into your eyes, trying to understand. “Are you scared you’re going to get pregnant? I’d never do that to you, Y/N. We can use protection.”

You closed your eyes shut as though his touch hurt. When they opened, it felt like you were both begging and suffering. Jaehyun could feel his body combusting, his blood running faster, a thin layer of sweat glistening in his forehead. “Jaehyun, please, you have to believe me. Promise me.”

Your words made no sense.

“What are you talking about?” he asked with the softest of tones.

In one second, you had taken him down in a swift move. Jaehyun’s chest met the floor as you forced your knee painfully on his back, making him yell in surprise. His glasses slid down his nose to the floor. You took the chance to slide a pill inside his mouth, forcefully pressing the palm of your hand against his lips as he squirmed on the floor.

You… You were hurting him.

“Swallow,” you demanded coldly.

Out of fear, Jaehyun obeyed.

Why were you hurting him?

The metallic sound of handcuffs made his throat tight. It was hard to breath. Jaehyun looked over his shoulder, still slightly confused, his dear eyes vulnerable. He only fully understood what was happening when the front door of his house opened, and a male alpha looked down at him.

“It wasn’t that hard, was it?” the man chuckled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Piece of cake,” you stood up, placing a heavy boot on Jaehyun’s back to keep him in place. Even your voice sounded different, distant. “He was practically begging to be fucked.”

Jaehyun’s heart… It broke in tiny little pieces, like glass poured all over the floor. The evidence of a slaughter.

“What won’t they do for pussy, hm? You really thought Y/N was into you? So many others did too…” The alpha male approached him, grabbing Jaehyun by the arm and helping him stand up. You stood right by his side, with the most devilish smile on your face.

When in heat, omegas were not helpless creatures, defenseless, sex slaves that submitted to anyone. They were primal, violent, and almost as deadly as alphas. So, once he was back on his feet, Jaehyun snapped. He took the male omega to his knees with only one kick of his legs, hitting his temple with the force of his knee. The man fell on his side, using his hand to support his weight precisely on Jaehyun’s glasses. Then, Jaehyun turned to you, and oh, he wished he could hurt you. He wished he could bite you raw, to bury his teeth into your neck and have you killed, but he could not.

You were the worst person he had ever met, and yet Jung Jaehyun could not act as though he didn’t love you.

He fell to his knees, tears running down his eyes. “You…” he sobbed, eyes wet with crystal salt. “You’re awful.” And evil, and mean, loathsome, disgusting, vile… All those things you were. But Jaehyun couldn’t speak. His throat hurt.

The male alpha stood up with a grunt, and was about to retaliate when you raised your hand.

“What use is he if you damage his body? We’ve already got what we need, Doyun.”

The blurriness in Jaehyun’s eyes did not allow him to fully visualize how his capture went. He felt strange hands on his back. He felt someone kicking him inside a car, and knew that someone started driving, leaving the town behind.

You were not there anymore.

Jaehyun had heard stories about omegas that were sent back to the capital. The hunters drove them to specific centers to get them tested and check their fertility levels. Said omegas were constantly watched, sleeping in cold cells until they were designated an alpha who matched their characteristics. However, even with the best attempts to match compatible alphas to omegas, it did not work out. It was not unusual for alphas to get hurt after trying to touch omegas: some were bitten like dogs, others scratched so deeply their skin bled, and others even carried scars, forever imprinted in their bodies. So, naturally, omegas were tied up while mating.

It was no different from rape.

Jaehyun wondered how you could have done that to him, just like you did to a hundred other omegas.

It was raining like it usually did in the capital, droplets falling through the skyscrapers, painted red, yellow and green from semaphores, shining neon on outdoors, as people went by as if nothing was wrong. Rats ate at the garbage in the sidewalks, the poor begged for food, and young girls and boys sold their sensuality at the corner of the streets, hovering seductively at the drivers who stopped at a red sign. Without the assistance of his glasses, the capital just looked darker than a nightmare, blurred and agonizing.

Jaehyun held back his tears. They were hard to swallow.

At least, the suppressant heat pill you had made him swallow was like a blessing.

But fuck you. Fuck you a thousand times!

He was never going to love again. Jaehyun was never going to be such an idiot. Such a naive fool.

He breathed hard under his nose, calling the attention of an alpha male that kept an eye on him. This one was smaller than the guy Jaeyun had kicked, with big doe eyes and blue hair.

“Hard time?” the man asked.

Jaehyun did not reply.

“I’m Taeyong,” the man insisted.

“Why would it matter what your name is?”

“Ouch,” Taeyong hissed. “It matters a lot. You’ll see.”

Jaehyun remained silent. He merely shifted on the seat, muscles tense and uncomfortable as his arms stood cuffed behind his back.

A few minutes later, the car came to a stop, then proceeded to enter an underground garage. The driver, another alpha Jaehyun had not seen until that moment, jumped out before opening the back door.

“Get out, loser,” he commanded, and Jaehyun had no choice but to obey.

He was given white clothing — plain shirts, pants, socks and sneakers —, that he wore without a word. Then, Jaehyun was taken to a room where a female alpha asked him a few questions. Did he have any diseases? When was his last heat? Was he sexually active? Was he on suppressants? Generic or branded? Did he ever take a fertility test?

Jaehyun answered honestly, speaking calmly even if he had the worst headache, caused by the lack of his glasses. Whatever he said, he knew tests were to be taken to either prove or deny his words.

The female alpha took notes and handed Jaehyun a paper. “You’ll be taking medical exams tomorrow. Please be aware of the requirements.”

Next, the guards took him to a cell, neater than his imagination could muster, with a single bed and a small bathroom he could use. Fucking government money. While the poor suffered and starved, the government raised buildings like that one, keeping them clean and equipped.

One of the guards brought Jaehyun dinner, some stew with vegetables, and a plastic glass filled with grape juice. Jaehyun did not touch it, even if his stomach growled.

“You better eat on your own before I have to force you,” the guard warned. They both knew a meal was necessary for his medical exams to come out with correct results.

The last thing Jaehyun wanted was any type of violence. So he ate, even when his throat was so tight he felt barely like breathing. He ate obediently, like every omega stereotype he fought against.

When the sun rose and he had barely closed his eyes, Jaehyun was taken to the medical wing. Every detail screamed such hygienic excellence he wished to vomit on its torturing, endless whiteness.

The nurse took his blood. His urine.

“We’ll need your sperm now,” the nurse explained as he guided Jaehyun to a separate room. He was an omega too, a young boy. “What scents do you feel the most attracted to?”

A scent like fading into sleep beneath the hot sun. An alluring adventure, a midday reverie. Orange-like, passionate, summerly.

“None in particular.”

“It will be better if you collaborate, honey. You smell like oranges, but I sense it is a scent that doesn’t belong to you. Would it work for you if you smelled it?”

Jaehyun’s heartbeat quickened and his knees seemed to pull him down. It was sad, how he had lost hope in himself.

Looking at his feet, he nodded.

The nurse opened a wardrobe that contained several rows of perfume bottles, all labeled with their respective scents. “I’ll apply some on you, and then you'll have some privacy. Just make sure to cum on this flask. Later, you can immediately take your suppressants, to stop any heat trigger.”

The flask weighed like nothing on Jaehyun’s palm. “Why do you do this? he asked the nurse.

“This what?”

“Why do you help the ones that violate you?”

The omega’s eyes clenched in confusion. “It’s our role. God made us this way, didn’t He?”

Jaehyun wanted to say God was nothing like that. God was something else.

Something that reminded him of orange trees.

The exams told no lies: Jaehyun was highly fertile, with a concentrated sperm that promised many and many pups to aid the population. That meant he had to be paired with a mate as soon as possible.

After two days in that cell, the guard came to take him out. “Time to meet your mate.”

So that would be it. Jaehyun was going to be matched with an alpha he had never seen before. Someone who was not you. He swallowed harshly as he stepped out of the cell, joining the guard on the way to the elevator. Every step he took towards his destiny ached.

And then, he heard a familiar voice. “What are you doing, huh?”

“Ah, Taeyong!” the guard exclaimed. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yes. The test results for this guy are wrong. Some confusion was made, you see. I have to take him back to testing,” Taeyong explained. “Mister Park’s orders.”

The guard politely stepped aside. “As you wish.”

“Come,” Taeyong hummed, placing a hand on Jaehyun’s nape to guide him over the elevator. But, at the last minute, Taeyong looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was watching, and quickly pulled Jaehyun towards the stairs down to the parking lot. “Come on, we gotta be fast.”

“Fast for what?” Jaehyun asked.

“For escaping, dumbass.”

Wide-eyed, Jaehyun tried to listen to his intuition. He didn’t want to be naive again, and Taeyong was an alpha… But anything seemed better than to walk back and be paired with someone he did not love. So he did as Taeyong said, rushing to a black car and sliding into the backseat.

“Lie down. You can’t be seen,” Taeyong instructed as he sat on the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere that’s better for you.”

Jaehyun lied down quietly as Taeyong drove. The car took a few turns left and right, getting to what seemed like a highway before Taeyong spoke again.

“You can sit down now.”

“Can you tell me what the fuck is going on?” Jaehyun demanded.

“I’m taking you to the rebels.”

“The rebels? You mean omega rebels?”

“And alphas, as I am clearly. It's my job. I rescue omegas.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“I think you’ve had enough jokes,” Taeyong chuckled. “You can chill, Jaehyun. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Is Y/N a rebel too?” Jaehyun breathed hesitatingly. Your name burned in his tongue. His brain clenched in a mantra: Tell me she is. Tell me she is. Tell me she is.

“The best of our kind,” Taeyong grinned. “You didn’t think she was actually letting the bad guys take you, did you? It might have seemed so, because it took me more days to rescue you than I planned. I’m sorry, but it was really risky to take you out earlier. I need to take care of my reputation, you know? And Y/N is surely going to murder me the minute she knows I could not keep you from getting tested. Shit.”

Hopelessly, Jaehyun started crying. His sobs were like heavy clouds making it rain in his heart. He didn’t know he was crying because he wished to believe Taeyong, or because he already did — because, if it was true, if you really were a rebel, then you were perfect. Then you did everything in your will to give him a way out. Then there was a chance your love for Jaehyun was real.

“W-what, are you-” Taeyong frowned. “Don’t cry, man, I’m sensitive to others’ feelings.”

“I thought Y/N hated me,” Jaehyun sobbed.

“She’s crazy for you. She’s saved omegas before, and some even fell in love with her, but it was never reciprocated. When she knew the hunters were coming for you, she asked for my help, and here we are.”

And just like that, Jaehyun’s was God’s favorite again. “When can I see her?” he quickly wanted to know.

“It might take a few days. She was selected for a mission in a nearby city, so she’s gotta be careful now. I’ll let her know you’re safe when we get to the headquarters, okay?”

It was hardly okay. Jaehyun had been impotent and despairing for the past days, because he believed tooth and nail that you were the worst person ever. But now, your love for him made him feel empowered and ready to fight against whoever got in his way. He could not simply sit down and wait for you. He had to be with you. Ferociously.

“I have to see her. Please, Taeyong. Take me to where she is.”

Taeyong chuckled apologetically. “I’m sorry, buddy, but I only take orders from your mate.”

You stared at Jaehyun's glasses, bent to your feet, the lens shattered in the shape of a cobweb where his happiness once shone. It was the grammar of your despair.

He had said that you were awful, and even if you hoped he was going to soon understand why you allowed his capture, that word stung like an unbearable twinge of pain right in your heart. Seeing your mate hurt and pretending it did not bother you was easily the hardest thing you had ever done, and although your fingers itched to light the world on fire to save him, you knew only patience and discretion were going to offer Jaehyun a way out.

You trusted Taeyong. He was your best friend. He was going to keep an eye on Jaehyun while you played your role in another hunt.

Sitting speechlessly on the passenger’s seat, you pretended to listen to Doyun’s precise instructions on how the hunting would go. Other two alpha hunters you met quite well were in the backseat: Jeno, sharpening his knife with repetitive moves, and Johnny, who still had his knuckles red from a previous hunt. From all three, Doyun was the colleague you trusted the least — and much to your dislike, he was in charge of the operation.

“We’ll act fast and be done with it. These omegas offer almost no resistance,” he cooed before his eyes landed on the glasses on your thigh. “What’s that for?”

Like a good alpha, you took care of your omega’s belongings.

“A victory statement,” you lied.

It took about an hour until you arrived at the nearby town, the paddy wagon smoothly driving through the suburbs. The minutes before a hunt started were always rough on you. Those people had lives of their own. Parents, friends, mates and children. Hobbies. The laws that separated you from them were as blinding as a fog. They did not deserve the suffering. The humiliation.

The sun shone in deadly sparkles of orange.

Doyun parked in front of an ordinary house. At his command, you all left the car, quickly following behind as he broke inside, coming across five different faces startled in fear: a middle-age couple, with an alpha male and an omega female, and three kids.

Fuck.

“Oh, look at what we have here,” Doyun chuckled under his breath, smoothly removing the knife from his hip. The blade shone like crystal water under the sun. “Such a beautiful family… What a shame it will be to hurt any of you.”

The kids hid behind the mother, tugging on her dress. You first noticed the bite on her neck, where the alpha’s teeth had sunk to make her forever his — then, your eyes slid down to her tummy, shaped a little rounder underneath the fabric. “Please, leave my kids and wife out of this,” the male begged. “I’ll go with you if you promise they will be safe.”

Your stomach turned over nauseously. “Doyun, they already have kids. Let them be,” you argued.

“Why?” He looked at you like a snake would look at a mouse. “They’re probably hiding the omega pack, Y/N. We need to make them speak.”

“They are mates and she is pregnant. Anything different from leaving them alone is pure masochism.”

“You’re softer. Is it because of that omega? Does he really mean something to you?” Doyun swiftly aimed the blade of his knife at you. “You haven’t been hired to care, Y/N. You’ve been hired to act. You better remember that.”

You held his gaze strongly, even when he stepped so closer it reverberated in your bones like a threat. Your blood boiled red.

“Jeno, you grab the kids. Johnny, take care of the man,” Doyun commanded, looking over each one of you until his eyes bore into yours one more time. “The woman is mine.”

Perhaps it was your love for Jaehyun that spoke louder, but this time you could not tolerate any more bullshit. Deep in your guts, it just didn’t feel right to allow alphas to wander as a crown made their heads weigh. As others owed them unconditional respect, a respect they did not own. Every person who was thought of as being of a lower class, as though they only existed for others’ pleasure and use… It was Jaehyun’s face you saw when you looked at omegas.

Any move from your side could easily destroy years of disguise and fakery, of hiding behind the mask you intended on using to protect Jaehyun, but you knew your priorities now. You knew that, in order to support your mate, you too had to be yourself.

The alpha that liked baking. The woman that fell in love with a rebel soul.

Clenching your fist, you tilted your head and grinned softly. “You fucking wish.”

How quickly your hand came for his cheek was even beyond you, the impact so powerful your fingers snapped. Mixed with the sudden pain, Doyun’s surprise was the perfect opportunity for you to kick the knife off his hand before he could retaliate.

And retaliate he did, throwing you against the wall. The shock of your back against it made you hiss, but the sound was cut short when Doyun wrapped a hand around your throat. A clean kick of your boots between his legs was enough for him to let you go, coming to his knees right in front of you.

For a moment, you crossed eyes with Johnny, who was already taking the family outside to the car, to take them somewhere safer.

Jeno, on the other hand, simply stared at the door frame as confusion munched longly at his features.

When you blinked again, the knife you had kicked away had caused a sharp, deep cut in your thigh. You hissed and stepped back in pain, your breath fast now that blood soaked your jeans, warm and red.

“I’m taking you back to the capital, Y/N,” Doyun’s smirk was perversely mocking. “They will make a fantastic breeding bitch out of you.”

Your entire body burned like a merciless fire. With one certain move, your fist collided with Doyun’s jawline, causing an awful sound echo through the walls.

You knew how jaws sounded when they broke.

Looking over at Jeno, you hummed in deep breaths. “Are you a good boy, Jeno?” He nodded, in awe. “Then, help me with this motherfucker.”

Doyun offered little resistance when Jeno lifted him up. Even his kicks and punches were a mere attempt as he had one of his hands trying to hold his dislocated jawline in place, teary eyes big with the pain. Never before you had seen him so defenseless. It made you proud.

You met with Johnny outside. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re hurt.”

Only now you noticed your blood was drawing an exposing trail on the floor. “I think my disguise ends here,” you chuckled dryly.

“Probably, but we do have more important things to tend to now,” Johnny retorted.

“Care to stitch me up before I drive?” you asked, making him frown.

“You’re driving? Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good id-”

“My mate needs me,” you interrupted. “I can’t make him wait longer. Can you keep the family safe?”

“Absolutely,” Johnny nodded. “What about Jeno?”

Looking over as Jeno locked Doyun inside the back of the paddy wagon, you breathed. “I’ll take him with me.”

“So you’re a spy?” Jeno asked in the back, as he made sure to watch Doyun, who was cuffed to the seat and sleeping peacefully after you had punched him in the head. You were not going to drive with him trying to speak all the way to the capital.

“You can say that,” you said while driving, hissing low whenever you had to use your leg. Even with Johnny’s skilled stitching and the painkillers, it hurt like hell. “At least I was until earlier today.” Now, you were just a rebel. Out in the open.

“And Johnny too?”

“And Johnny too.”

“Holy shit, you’re really good!” His surprised tone nearly made you chuckle.

“There is always space for new people, you know,” you encouraged, looking at Jeno over the rearview mirror. “You have a good heart, Jeno. You can work for a better cause.”

He looked down, a lonely strand of his black hair falling onto his forehead. “I don’t know… I think I’d easily get caught.”

“We all think that at some point. Then, we just get used to it.”

Jeno spoke no more. You too preferred to stay silent.

Every mile you drove meant a mile closer to Jaehyun. You could not wait to get to him. To finally let your arms embrace his sweet body.

A small red sign that twinkled by the steering wheel called your attention. Shit. You were running out of gas. “Jeno, I’m stopping to fill up. You keep an eye on Doyun for me, okay?”

Thankfully, you stopped at a gas station minutes later, quickly jumping out of the wagon. You were about to pay when Jeno called you. “Y/N, can you get me some snacks, please?”

“Sure. Anything in particular?

“I like shrimp crackers.”

And so you grabbed some at the convenience store, as well as bottles of water to keep you and Jeno hydrated. It was going to take another two hours until you reached the capital, and you had a feeling it was going to seem like twice the amount of time.

As you approached the cashier, you noticed small, lovely cakes placed around the line, and a specific flavor made your heart flutter. Those pistachio cakes were not to be compared to yours, but they could be a perfect small treat for Jaehyun. For when you would meet again.

Influenced by sweetness, your eyes lifted from the cakes to the glass door that faced the station. It was only then that you noticed Jeno was outside the wagon, with Doyun by his side.

Doyun had a gun in his hand.

Everything you held in your hands fell to the floor at the same time the bullet pierced the glass — and by then, you were already on your fours, searching for a way out. Another gunshot was heard as you rolled to your right, noticing a back door at the other side of the store. You ran to it in no time, as fast as you could even when the wound in your leg pulsated, and frantically looked around, searching for a way to escape.

There was an old man talking on the phone by his bike, and you did not think twice before pushing him aside. “I’m really sorry,” you apologized while grabbing his keys and phone, jumping on and starting his bike as if your life depended on it.

Well, it did.

One final time, you looked over your shoulder to witness both Jeno and Doyun behind you. A last shot was heard.

As you rode, the bullet in your shoulder bled through and through.

The headquarters were nothing like Jaehyun expected: less like separated buildings where the rebels hid, and more like a normal city, where people lived commonly. The only difference was that the only way inside was through a tunnel that was watched nonstop, certain as the sun came back every day. “The police are on our side,” Taeyong explained. “It’s safe.”

Jaehyun saw omegas, betas and alphas living so freely it even surprised his own expectations. Omegas worked as police officers, betas were teachers, and he got a glimpse of an alpha taking his kids to the local playground.

That place was everything he had ever dreamt of. And you were part of it.

“This is Y/N’s house. Like, her real house. She has an apartment in the capital too, for disguise purposes,” Taeyong hummed after he parked in front of a simple one floor house, even if Jaehyun knew to whom the house belonged to even before the alpha had said one word. The entire place smelled like you. “She told me to bring you here.”

Jaehyun grinned widely. God’s clouds all over his head again.

“Thank you, Taeyong.”

“It’s fine. Again, I’m sorry for taking longer to come and get you.” Suddenly, the alpha’s face lit up. “Ah, here, Y/N told me to buy you these.”

New glasses. Almost identical to the ones he previously had.

Taeyong left Jaehyun on his own after that. With the keys in his hands, the omega breathed deeply, looking around carefully, and recognizing you in the small details: the pictures of your mother on the wall, the resistant plants, the bakery books on the shelves, and the kitchen utensils that were worn out by how many cakes you had baked.

Jaehyun did not know it was possible, but he felt so much more in love with you his eyes teared. It was like digging deep into his being and sleeping in the calmest nest of his thankful wishing. Slowly and without noticing what he was doing, he started gathering small items that brought him comfort. One of the pillows on your bed, your hairbrush, a silky black gown you probably wore for sleeping in the summer, and a pair of your biker gloves. Jaehyun lied down on the bed with all those items nested inside his arms. His eyes closed to dream of you.

It was already night when his eyes opened again. Your scent, rawer than ever, came from the window as rain suited the neighborhood like a hat. And it was violently metallic.

After throwing your phone in the road and grabbing the one you stole, you called Taeyong and sent him your localization. The bullet in your shoulder hurt more excruciatingly at each passing second, but it was not enough to keep you from your final destination. You rode through the setting sun and the first clouds that gathered in the darkest shades of gray. You rode through thunder and lighting. Through the heavy summer rain.

When you got to the tunnel, you broke down in Taeyong’s arms.

Even though your ears understood every word your friend told you, because you automatically nodded in acknowledgement, your mind was too busy to make a full idea of what he said. The only thing you fully got, between delirium and the wetness that soaked your muscles, was that Jaehyun was safe.

Then, Taeyong took you to the hospital. You allowed it only because you did not want Jaehyun to see you injured. It would be a sin to scare him.

Similar to blank pages on a diary, the next hours were numb and almost imperceptible to you. Most of the time, your eyes remained closed out of tiredness, your body claiming its need to rest after the adrenaline flood in your veins. But a few things you remembered.

Taeyong was right next to you as the doctor, a young female omega, gave him instructions. “It will only cause more damage if we remove the bullet, actually. Her body will just surround it with a scar tissue and wall it off, but we should give her painkillers for a few days.”

You groaned on the bed, feeling a little more sober now, as you even registered the raindrops hitting the ceiling. “All of them, please,” your voice came out hoarse and exhausted. Much to your relief, you had already been medicated.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Taeyong leaned over.

“I’ve been worse,” you replied.

“We’ve sterilized your wounds, miss,” the doctor explained. “The bullet in your shoulder isn’t fatal, so the best thing to do is to leave it there. It’d be more dangerous if we tried to pull it out.”

You nodded in agreement. “If you say, I don’t mind it.” Your eyes slowly opened to meet Taeyong’s. “Where’s Jaehyun?”

Your friend smiled in amusement. “At your house. I didn’t want to call him.”

“Good,” you nodded.

In perfect timing, your face turned as soon as the doors were open, only to land on a very familiar face, one that you would recognize amongst a million. Your person was right there, soaked in rain, dripping on the hospital room floor, and he was smiling. Jaehyun was smiling through the droplets that fell from the black strands of his hair. So beautiful he could lend a bit of his beauty to every man on earth and still be the most handsome.

“Y/N,” oh, his voice… His beautiful, deep voice opened every curtain of your body, letting the sun shine through. Like a vice, his musky scent calmed down your heart.

You opened your arms to him, and the moment Jaehyun hugged you was like the weight of the world was removed from your shoulders. He was wet and cold, but also so warm that the greatest bonfire could not compare. The firmness of his chest against your breasts, his breath against the curve of his neck, his gentle fingers removing the hair from your face, strands that stuck to your skin due to your salty tears.

“Are you alright?” you sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Jae. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, don’t. Please, Y/N, I know it,” he looked into your eyes reassuringly. “Taeyong told me everything. I know. You don’t have to feel sorry.”

Your tears fell down your cheeks like waterfalls as you rested your hands on his elbows.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” he asked.

“Yes. Stay with me.”

You did not have to ask twice. Jaehyun was never leaving your side.

His hand held yours long after the nurse and Taeyong had left. “You should sleep, Y/N. You went through a lot,” he advised, letting the tip of his fingers tug your hair behind your ear.

“Why sleep when I finally have what I want? Two days waiting for you felt like an eternity,” you admitted, your voice low and serious. “They might have been rough on you.”

Jaehyun both nodded and brushed the tip of his thumb against the surface of your hand. “They were, but I suffered the most because I was heartbroken. I get it, though. Why things went the way they did.”

“I thought I was going to protect you for longer if I kept my identity, but it’s all over now,” you sighed. “I should have ran away with you when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t know, Y/N. It’s okay.”

You looked into Jaehyun’s eyes the most sincerely, squeezing his hand into yours. “Do you forgive me, Jae?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” The kiss he planted on your forehead felt like a mating bite. Like true, eternal love.

For two more days, the doctor insisted that you stayed under observation. Gratefully, your wounds seemed to act quick in the solemn act of healing, as bandages were constantly changed by Jaehyun’s delicate hands, so smoothly you only felt slight tickles when his fingers applied the prescribed ointments.

In moments like that, you felt blessed that your mate took care of you like you intended to take care of him, regardless of your status. Alpha, omega… It didn’t matter. You were both responsible for each other.

Also, you thrived like a cherry blossom in spring whenever he tended to your needs.

“You mate might have magical hands. Your wounds are almost fully dry, miss,” the doctor grinned when she came to last check on you.

Instead of bringing any biological or scientific explanation, you simply nodded. “Does it mean I’m free to leave?” you asked excitedly.

“You are, with the condition that you keep the exact treatment you’ve been doing here for seven more days.”

“You have my word,” Jaehyun spoke, looking bright like a winter night behind his glasses, and with a frank, happy smile on his lips.

An hour later, you left the hospital with your hand in his. The day was warm, the sky a lighter shade of blue as a few clouds played in the open. At the extreme and joyous brightness, your eyes tightened, and Jaehyun immediately used his free hand to hover over them.

You were going home.

Your house exhaled the lustful aroma of orange fields even more now that you were back to it, your pheromones and scent prominent like you were intentionally marking your territory. To Jaehyun, it was overwhelming, his sensitive nostrils addicted to every breath, his hands shaking from how badly he was trying to control his needs, taking suppressants to muffle any chance he went into heat. It was only going to distract you from healing, anyway, and no matter how he liked to think you were both safe, Jaehyun still feared alpha hunters would suddenly appear.

So he did what he thought best and played it safe. He cooked for you — your favorite dishes constantly on the table —, cleaned your wounds and slept with you, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead with every goodnight. Everything in those days felt comfortingly domestic, so much that Jaehyun knew, like the tree branches knew how to grow, that he could live days like that for the rest of his life.

“I haven’t been able to decorate the house with flowers in ages,” you sighed, eyeing the empty vases around your living room. “We should go on picking some today.”

“Isn’t your leg hurting?”

“Oh, this?” You chuckled, rubbing the stitches on your thigh. Summer had gotten so scorching you finally decided to put on shorts instead of pants, allowing Jaehyun to see more of you. “Looks uglier than it hurts.”

“You wouldn’t be ugly even if you tried your best, Y/N. Not a single part of you.”

There they were again. The reddest ears you had even seen.

“Sweet,” you praised with a peck to his dimpled cheek. “Let’s go!”

It was only when you arrived at the fields that Jaehyun realized your idea could not have been better. It was a perfect day to pick flowers, and even if he missed the town where you two met, the fields at the secret city were just as beautiful. Peonies, orchids, sunflowers, roses, lilies, and several sorts of plants grew over the horizon — the colorful sight was soul pleasing. With glowing eyes, Jaehyun admired how skilfully you cut the stems.

“I think we’ve got enough,” you stood up, putting some white lilies on the bucket he carried. Your eyes traveled up and, for a moment, you salivated at the image. His defined muscles clenched under his tangled sleeves, his shining black hair reflecting the sun, his brown eyes innocently holding your gaze. “Wow.”

Jaehyun frowned. “What?”

“You. I don’t think I ever said how beautiful you are.”

He fixed his glasses in that adorable way that showed both nervousness and care, looking down at the colorful bucket. “Oh, thank you.”

Swiftly, you pulled him by the hand until his chest met yours. “Why are you still on suppressants?” you asked calmly.

His eyes met yours again. “I don’t think it’s the right time to let it happen,” Jaehyun admitted. You could tell he was putting some effort into holding your confronting gaze. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“To get to you. Now that I have, I don’t feel like holding back. Is that okay?”

His cheeks resembled the peonies you had grabbed. “Yes, miss.”

“Don’t call me miss,” you reached for his hands with a smile that, to Jaehyun, uncrowned the sun. Your lips against his wrists left a feverish sensation on his skin. “I want you to call me yours.”

He swallowed, wetting his plump lips with his tongue before speaking. “My… My love.”

There were no words to describe how accomplished your heart beat at those words, like all the questions deep in your soul were answered by three simple syllables. Confidently, you stood on the tip of your toes, leaning closer as your eyes alternated between Jaehyun’s eyes and lips. He leaned closer too.

Your lips touched with the sun’s blessing.

With a hand on his nape, you kissed him so slowly it was possible to feel inch by inch of his mouth widening. A low, raspy moan escaped your throat when Jaehyun’s tongue found yours. He kissed you like songs were created, melody, rhythm and lyrics combining, making sense, becoming one. You could kiss him for hours, and you were probably going to if raindrops had not started falling heavily from the sky.

Parting ways with your laughter as background music, you ran straight to the closest shelter: a small and abandoned wooden barn, that at least was going to be of use until the rain passed.

It took one look for you to notice you were both soaked, fresh with rain, and so ready for each other it could be cut in the air with a knife.

After placing the bucket on the floor to let the flowers dry, Jaehyun kissed you again. This time, your tongues moved heatedly, drawing sensual circles around each other. Because there was no need to rush, you seized every bit of the kiss, from how your heads leaned forward to how Jaehyun’s lower lip brushed yours. You wanted to breathe him in. To lick him whole. To drink his every drop. Nobody had ever kissed you like that before, so warm and wanting it felt as though the sky was breaking open. Like a theft, your hand slid, gentle and demanding, under the soaked fabric of his white shirt.

“Is this okay?” You had to make sure.

“Yes,” Jaehyun breathed affectedly, feeling your nails against the defined muscles of his abdomen. His damped hair was dripping raindrops. “Is it for you too?”

“Yes.”

“I can wait a little longer, until we get home, if you want.”

“You’re my home,” Jaehyun retorted, and you were kissing him all over again.

For once in your life, it felt right to let go and devour the world with your own mouth. You took Jaehyun’s shirt off, kissing his muscles like a devotee worshiped a saint, memorizing every mole from his hip to his neck.

For once in your life, you let someone undress you, and kissed his knuckles in gratitude because it felt safe. Even if he could see the scars on your stomach. The marks of every plan going wrong. Every hunt, every lie.

“It’s fine,” you whispered.

But of course Jaehyun had to kiss you right there. Of course he had to press his plump, swollen lips from kissing against where you had been the weakest. “You’re beautiful, my love,” he murmured as his hands roamed your body, thumbs situated on the curve of your waist as his fingers sank against the fat of your skin. Your nipples peaked harder against the cool, fresh air. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Want you to make me yours.”

The shiver that ran down your spine was like thunder touching the ocean’s deepest ground. “You want me to bite you?” A bite given by your mate formed a permanent, unbreakable bond. It was a definitive and territorial claim, like the scar your teeth would leave in his skin.

Jaehyun’s instant and certain nod could easily have killed you with how fucking sweet he was.

With your lips back on his, your hands pulled your shorts down your legs; your panties rested where they landed, the bottom glistening with thick arousal. Proudly naked in front of your mate, you jumped on a table that was gladly by the barn’s door. It looked firm enough for what you were going to do.

Spreading your legs enough to offer him a peak of your core, you guided his wrist under your navel. “You look big, my love,” you murmured, giving in that you had absolutely noticed the girth in his pants. “Can you prep me a little?”

There was nothing Jaehyun would deny you. Readily, his hands spread your legs a little wider, and the tip of his fingers ran against your soaked, sliging lips. His gaze took as long as it needed staring at your folds, as though Jaehyun wished to commit the image to his memory in all its colors and shapes.

“It’s my first time,” lifting his eyes to yours, he confessed.

“So is mine,” you smiled. “I’ve only used toys.”

Jaehyun’s irises glimmered. So you were about to discover sex together, every stage of it, every thing that would and would not work out.

Fuck, what a lucky bastard he was.

Ever so gently, Jaehyun slid two of his slender fingers inside you, making you immediately clench around them with a breathy moan. “Go slow,” you instructed, only to find out Jaehyun did not need any of your orientations. Soon, he was with his mouth on your nipples as his fingers drew wet echoes in the barn, going at a pace that pressured a sensitive spot within your folds.

“You’re perfect,” Jaehyun grunted, needing you to know how amazing he was feeling just with his fingers buried in you, his eyes amazed to see such a breathtaking view. “So soft and wet, my love. Better than any toy I’ve used.”

“Baby,” you moaned, melting with how sweet Jaehyun sounded and how handsome he was when he concentrated on your body, those deep brown eyes focused on your cunt. His scent, too, was slowly driving you to insanity, feeding a brutal, biological need inside your guts. Growling, you tugged at his pants. “Take these off.”

It would be a shame to leave you waiting. Without removing his fingers from your clenching walls, Jaehyun pulled his pants and boxers to his feet with his free hand.

Your mouth drooled at the sight. How handsome he was, from head to toe, every color and vein, just for you... “Fuck, I want you,” you breathed impatiently.

The deep grunt that left Jaehyun when he pulled his fingers out came from the depths of his ribcage. From the tip to the base, his long fingers glistened with your pulpy juices. Almost too much to take. “Can I have a taste first?” he asked with eyes so allured you wanted to fuck him right then and there, but you complied, relishing as your omega got on his knees.

You removed his glasses to keep them from getting foggy.

At the first touch of his tongue on you, your toes curled at the edge of the table, your body unable to control its own responsiveness. You did not know if you liked the pleasurable sensations on your clit the most, or if it was how Jaehyun’s face was crafted while he had the time of his life between your legs. Even if impatience ate at your limbs, you let him suck and lick your pussy all he wanted, drowning in the slurping noises echoing in the barn. “Feels so good, baby. You’re so talented, doing this for the first time,” you praised, resting on your elbows as you watched, drawing slow circles with your hips for his mouth to follow. “That face is mine to cum, huh?”

Jaehyun moaned with his mouth still on you, looking up from where he so devotedly stood. “Yes. Just yours.”

“Good,” you tugged at his hair just slightly to lift his face back to yours. Your taste in his mouth was like oranges, like falling in love and lust. “I’m going to use it later.”

Thunder fell outside, lighting up the afternoon sky, as you adjusted on the table and kissed Jaehyun passionately. He grabbed the base of his member and aligned it with your entrance, rubbing the head, leaking with precum, up and down a few times. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“Hell no,” you shook your head with a grin. “I’m on birth control. I want your knot, angel.”

With his wet hair dripping on your stomach, Jaehyun grabbed the side of the table with such strength that it made his veins clench. You calling him sweet names nearly had his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. You were a temptress, so delicious and with a beauty that ended every standard, so knowing and lustful, and he was eager to please you, to feel your every inch, to make sweat and cum glisten on your skin like pearls. “You’re so good,” he muttered overwhelmingly, and even before he understood his own body, the head of his cock was welcomed by a wanton grip, one that soaked him warm and made his balls tense with how much cum he had for you. “You‘re the best alpha I could ask for, so beautiful and lovely, I’m so happy my heart is yours,” he mumbled, making your heart flutter.

You threw your head back when he was fully inside you, occupying the space sex toys, as effective as they were, never did. Your gaze held his all the time, even when they darkened with desire. You wanted to remember that scene forever. You wanted to keep it to your heart, the first time your omega felt your pussy around him. “I’m happy too, love. Madly,” you smiled. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. You?”

“Wonderful. You can move.”

Gripping the table’s edge, Jaehyun slowly retracted his hips only to slam them back again. The way his face clenched could be put in a painting and hung in a museum, because it was pure art, from his eyebrows to the curse that died on his lips. “I can feel you tightening around me.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed, this time thrusting a bit faster, which was a synonym for erratically. “S-shit, did I hurt you?”

“I’m not made of glass, Jaehyun. You can go harder,” you encouraged by planting a kiss on his lips and guiding his hand to grab your hip.

With that, Jaehyun was lost forever. He let years of suppressed heats explode in every blood cell, in every breath and thrust of his hips. He let himself be the savage, lewd creature his desire crafted, and only for you he moaned, your name like wine on his lips, the jiggle of your breasts and thighs feeding his arousal, his knot forming quicker than he liked.

You saw his eyes turn into needy orbs, his agape mouth letting out the most guttural moans you ever heard, and the exposure of his thick, masculine neck had your teeth sharpening in seconds.

You pulled him closer, your breasts rubbing against his chest.

Your teeth touched his skin, and that lovely musky, leathery scent edged you on. They sank through skin, blood and muscle, the sharp edges piercing the core of Jaehyun’s soul, until it was tangled to yours. You moaned with his blood in your mouth, feeling how your heartbeats aligned, how your pupils left almost no space for the color of your irises, how Jaehyun’s knot formed firm and long inside you. You took it ravishingly, shivering on the shaking table, lost somewhere between Jaehyun’s moans and the feeling of his body flush to yours, until you managed to gather enough consciousness to remove your teeth and offer him your neck.

The mere thing Jaehyun saw was your mouth, bloodied, smiling in permission, before he dived in to make you his as much as he was yours.

Equally.

“So you’re telling me that after leaving my shop to a complete stranger and traveling for hours I can’t see my friend?” Haechan crossed his arms stubbornly.

“Johnny is not that much of a stranger. He’ll have the time of his life selling things for you” Taeyong chuckled. “But yes, you definitely can’t see Jaehyun now. He’s in heat.”

“And when is it going to be over?”

Taeyong shrugged. “In one week, I guess?”

“All that?”

“I told you, there was no use in coming with me, but you insisted.”

Haechan sighed, not wanting to admit Taeyong was right. “Is Y/N with him?”

“Where else would she be? She is his mate now.”

“So all they will be doing for an entire week is to be locked up, fucking each other’s brains out?”

“Correct.”

Haechan rubbed his face in frustration. “And to think that I was worried about him…”

Jaehyun admired the two small teeth marks on your neck as he breathed in and out.

“Color?” you demanded.

“Green,” he replied, looking so deliciously pliable your mouth watered.

You were finally in a scenario Jaehyun had pictured uncountable times inside his head: in your bedroom, which now was quite honestly a nest for the both of you, somewhere your omega felt comfortable and had his most primitive needs tended to, while slow rhythm and blues played, and the aroma of freshly baked pistachio cakes filled the house. Not only was Jaehyun surrounded by things that had your natural scent shirts — pillows, a leather jacket, biker gloves and plushies — but you were there all the time, no exception, to keep him well fed, hydrated and completely satisfied.

You even had rubbed your pussy on a pillow for him, one that he kept his nose buried in.

Right now, you had Jaehyun’s naked body restrained by ropes, your hands working on the delicate yet firm knots that kept his hands behind his back, his wrists tied together, and his chest tied to one of his thighs. It was the sound of your breathing and the notes of the rope coming against the ground that turned him on, the helplessness and vulnerability to be put in your beautiful hands… Oh, Jaehyun loved it.

You had been hidden in the nest for three days. However, it felt like an eternity of knowing your mate and savoring his every reaction. Since you weren’t much experienced, both you and Jaehyun found out what you liked together, and the absolute attention you paid to one another was holy, like a prayer whispered at night.

“This will leave lovely marks on your skin,” you grinned wholeheartedly, brushing his hair back. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin.

“I love you,” Jaehyun let out as quick as a bubble exploding. Your beauty shook him to the core. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” you let your hand drift to where he needed you the most. “Are you sure you’re not sensitive? Is it like, your sixth boner today?”

“I can take it. Please,” he reassured.

“How do you want to cum this time, baby? My hand?” Jaehyun shook his head. “My mouth?” Another shake. “All the way in?”

Jaehyun nodded, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Want you to ride me.”

You replied by straddling his lap.

It always amused him, how fucking beautiful you were on top. Your tits were perfect in his hands and mouth, the curve of your waist giving space to the adorable fat in your belly, and how your thighs spread over his was just cinema. “Thank you, my love,” Jaehyun smiled.

“The pleasure is all mine,” you assured, rubbing the slick of your core against his swollen member before taking it all in, starting a quickened pace so your lovely boy could find his relief one more time.

Because his hands were restrained, Jaehyun couldn’t touch you, but he still stared in awe at the earthquaking vision of you rocking his world. You swallowed him full, making his cock disappear inside your entrance only to poke at your navel from inside out. Your pussy was his favorite place to be, where he felt the happiest, blessed in mind, body and soul, and you let him feast on it whenever he wanted. Your darling, loving man.

“Let go for me,” sweetly, you pecked his forehead.

Jaehyun felt his cock harden an almost impossible amount, his balls aching with cum, before he was moaning helplessly, his knot firmly attaching to your uterus.

It was the look on his face that made you cum along, riding his cock faster, eating from every move of his good looking face.

A thin drop of sweat ran down Jaehyun’s temple as you both calmed down, ecstasy giving space to a loving, bonding gaze. “I think we’re getting better at this,” he cooed, making you laugh.

“No doubt. We will be unstoppable once your heat ends.”

“I don’t want it to end.”

“Cute.” Softly, you lifted your hips. His member, glimmering in juices and white cum, rested against Jaehyun’s stomach.

It was going to take minutes for it to get hard again.

“Y/N,” he called.

“Yes, angel?”

“Can you make yourself cum for me?”

How you held your breath had Jaehyun close to wishing his hands were free to make you cum himself. But oh, he wanted to watch. He still was not over how beautiful you looked when you had an orgasm.

You smiled widely. “I think I love you even more with every word you say.”

Grabbing a light pink vibrator from the bedside table drawer, you rested back on the mattress with those attentive brown eyes following your every move. The device’s buzz filled up the room with a naughty promise. You brushed it gently against your nipples, then down your belly, all over your thighs and finally where Jaehyun loved the most.

He watched without a word, licking his lips when you moaned wantonly, first focusing the vibrations on your clit before easily sliding the vibrator inside your cum soaked hole. “Fuck,” you cried.

You dripped pearly white on the sheets. A beautiful sight.

Jaehyun’s skin shivered with goosebumps. Every damn time. “I’m so lucky,” he uttered, eyes glued to your pussy. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

As sweet and gentle-mannered as he was, Jaehyun could kill for the smile that bloomed on your face, so pure and adorable even if your cunt clenched around the toy. Your hand slid low, starting to rub long circles on your clit. “You are. Even more knowing that you’re going to fuck me dumb when I’m done.”

Most of his life, Jaehyun was told alphas strictly played the dominant role in the bedroom. Now, however, nothing thrilled him more than the perspective of switching roles with you.

You offered him the world. You allowed him to be.

He grunted quietly and yet deeply, already counting the signs of your orgasm approaching. First, your tightening drunk eyes; second, your hips rolling erratically; third, your chest trembling in long breaths that prolonged your ecstasy. “That’s it, my love. That’s it, looking so pretty for me…”

The moment your orgasm kicked in had your hole visibly pulsating, your mouth agape and your eyes rolling back. You let out a high-pitched moan as your back arched, and pulled the toy away fast, your swollen clit way too sensitive to receive further stimulation.

With his cock so hard it ached, Jaehyun admired in awe, unconsciously trying to get rid of the ropes that restrained him, which only caused them to burn hotter against his porcelain skin. He was so immersed that the only moment he noticed he was drooling was when spit ran down his chin. “Fuck.”

You sat on your thighs, readily licking his saliva and running your fingers through the knots on his back. The loveliest smirk decorated your face. “Time we untie you, angel.”

The experience of being untied was, perhaps, just as good as being tied up. Jaehyun watched with pupils dilated, taking small breaths of relief when the rope loosened around his skin, leaving red and pink marks on his body where it pressed. You watched in full delight, kissing the marks that blossomed in a deeper shade. “You’re so good for doing this, Jaehyunnie. I’m so lucky too, my love.”

He sighed when the rope fell entirely to the mattress, his muscles relaxing in freedom. Without waiting any longer, Jaehyun kissed you long, hands roaming up and down your curves. Smoothly, he turned you around, with your chest to the sheets and your ass up in the air. “Jaehyunnie is going to fuck you raw now, like dogs do,” he whispered, both his hands caressing your butt cheeks, his fingers slaves to both adoration and perversion. “Color?”

You smiled over your shoulder.

“Green. A thousand times green.”

You stared at the ceiling as your body rested in awe, a smile plastered on your face like it was permanent ink.

For the past few days, you had tended to Jaehyun rawly. Ravishing and frankly, to a point your bodies collided in exhaustion. All you had the strength to do was wrapping into each other’s embrace and sleeping for hours before you started it all over again.

After a specific round that left you breathless, your thighs shaking from overstimulation, his voice came out soft. “What now, Y/N?”

You hummed, leaning against his bare chest. “Hm?”

“What is it gonna be when we leave this room?”

“To give you an answer, I have to know what you want,” you replied, even though you were already considering the possibilities. Doyun was not going to stop hunting you, that much you were certain. You would never be safe as long as the government continued to sponsor people like him.

Jaehyun stared into the ceiling for a few seconds. “It is nice here. I feel safe and loved. I think I’ve always wanted that, too.”

“But?” you risked.

“But I don’t think it’s right for us to hide forever. What was built here has to be normalized out there, in the open,” he breathed. “I want to go back to the shop. I want to see the sea and listen to the birds sing in the morning. I want every omega in the world to have the opportunities they have here.”

Your chin rested on his chest, eyelashes batting softly as sunlight crystallized your irises. “Is that what you want? To rebuild the world?”

Jaehyun nodded.

“Good. I’ll give it to you,” you sealed your promise with a peck on his lips. Jaehyun’s eyes widened slightly as he puckered his mouth against yours.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean I will be the rebel to fucking stab the system in its throat.”

At that, Jaehyun got hard all over again. His eyes, so pure, blinked in a sparkling admiration. “I’ll fight with you.”

“Don’t say nonsense. You’re not fighting.”

“I think we agreed alphas don’t make choices for omegas,” he ran his hand through the sweaty strands of your hair. “If you fight, Y/N, I will fight with you.”

You let him be right. In every word and intention. In every truth of his desiring heart. And when Jaehyun smiled, his soul promised you way more than guns, hideouts and blood.

It was something worth fighting for.

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