still searching for a name @cercandodiscrivere - Tumblr Blog

𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - you loved him when you shouldn't have. he hurt you when he swore he never would. now, after everything—grief, silence, years apart—you're learning how to be near him again. it isn't perfect. it never was. but maybe, just maybe, there's still something here worth holding on to. warnings - afab!reader, age gap, forbidden love/brother's ex-best friend trope, mentions of parent death, grieving, brief mentions of drug use/fighting/usual nam gyu vibes, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! 18k words

You grew up with Nam Gyu like a shadow in the hallway. He was always there–shoulder to shoulder with your brother, dropping his shoes by the door, raiding the fridge like it was his own. You were the kid in oversized pajamas, trying to blend into the wall just to watch him. Too shy to speak. Too small to matter.

But you remember everything. The way he laughed too loud, cursed too often, smoked behind the shed even when your mom caught him and told him he’d “ruin his lungs and your brother’s future.” You remember the scabs on his knuckles. The choked grin he gave you when he caught you staring. The way he’d ruffle your hair and call you, “lil sis.”

You remember the day he stopped coming. No warning. No goodbye. One week he was there every day, and the next, your brother wouldn’t say his name. Your parents said it in hushed voices. “He got in with the wrong crowd,” your mom murmured. “Drugs. Guns. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

You never saw him…not until that night.

You’re in college now. Still living at home. Still doing everything right. Your classes are going well. Your professors say you’re “gifted.” You paint portraits for extra cash, volunteer at the community center when you’re not studying. You’re a good girl. Your mom tells her friends how proud she is. Your dad gives you curfews like you’re sixteen.

You still have your childhood room. Pink sheets. Sketches taped to the wall. A desk in the corner covered in soft, pretty things. You don’t party. You don’t sneak around. You don’t lie.

Until you do.

It’s late when your class ends. You stayed behind to finish a painting, left campus with paint on your fingers and your brain still half lost in the shade of someone’s eyes. You don’t even think twice when you pull into the convenience store down the street from your campus. Just want a snack. Something sweet before you drive home.

The bell jingles when you walk in. You head straight for the drinks cooler, tug it open with chilled fingertips. You’re crouched by the candy shelf when you hear it. That voice. Rough and low and unmistakably familiar.

“Thought that was you.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn–and there he is. Nam Gyu. Standing by the counter like a ghost you summoned. Same hooded eyes, same sharp jaw, same dead-serious stare. Only now he’s older. Taller. Built like a man. There’s a scar above his eyebrow. Tattoos you don’t remember. A cigarette tucked behind one ear.

He looks you up and down, slow. Unapologetic. You feel heat crawl down your neck. “You got taller,” he says. Then a smirk, “Finally.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He steps closer. Not enough to touch–but enough to make your chest tighten. You don’t know what to say. He looks like a warning sign. A mistake your parents would lose their minds over. But your heart is pounding like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Still got that same look on your face,” he murmurs.

“What look?” you manage, too quiet.

He tilts his head, eyes dark. “Like you’re about to beg me for something.” Your stomach flips. And just like that, your perfect little world starts to crack.

After that night at the convenience store, you told yourself it was nothing. A coincidence. A strange little flicker in your perfect routine. You didn’t give him your number. You didn’t ask to see him again. But then he showed up.

Outside the art building. Leaning on a low wall while you packed up your paints. He didn’t say much, just took a long drag from his vape before blowing the strawberry scented smoke in your face. “Just thought I’d say hi,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t already know your schedule.

Then he was waiting again a few days later. A different building. Same smirk. “You always walk to your car alone?” You told yourself it was harmless. You told yourself you were being careful.

It kept happening. You’d go to the cafe and find him there, nursing a coffee like he belonged. You’d leave a gallery show and see his motorcycle parked across the street. You never invited him. But you stopped telling him to go.

Sometimes he’d offer you rides. Just to be nice, he said. Other times he just…lingered. Leaning against your passenger door, watching you with those tired, heavy lidded eyes. Always in that same hoodie. Always looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

You told yourself you weren’t flirting. You were just being polite. But your body always got warm when he was near. Your voice always went soft. You didn’t tell your parents. You didn’t tell your brother. You just let it happen.

It wasn’t one big moment–it was a hundred little ones. A ride home that ended with him brushing your hair behind your ear. A compliment muttered under his breath that made your stomach twist. A lingering look when you leaned over the console, digging through your bag for gum.

One night, it was late. You’d been driving around for no reason. He was smoking, windows cracked. Your legs were curled up under you in the passenger seat. And he said, quiet, “You always this good, huh?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He nodded once. “Don’t party. Don’t lie. Don’t fuck around.”

You felt that sentence in your spine.

A Few Weeks Later…

You’re fucking him now.

On weekends. After class. In his car, in his bed, once in the bathroom at a shitty bar while music thumped outside. You’re kissing him like you need it to breathe. Letting him spit in your mouth when he says, “Good girls don’t take it like that.”

He’s your secret. Your filthy little addiction.

He picks you up in his car after lectures. Has you ride with your skirt pushed up, panties in his glove box. He buys you drinks with his hand on your thigh under the table. Fucks you dumb and raw and makes you smile at your parents like nothing happened.

You keep him off your social media. Tell your friends he’s just someone from school. Tell your brother nothing.

You lie to everyone. But not to yourself. You like the way he bites your shoulder. You like the way he growls, “Mine,” when you try to leave. You like the way he looks at you like he’d kill for you.

And that terrifies you. Because if your brother knew–if your parents knew–you’d lose everything. And if Nam Gyu ever stops showing up again, you’re not sure you’ll survive it this time.

Your parents left that morning for a weekend trip–anniversary, something fancy. They hugged you, kissed your forehead, reminded you not to let anyone over. You smiled. Promised. Said you’d be panting all weekend.

And now? You’re on your knees in front of Nam Gyu while your favorite candle flickers on your desk. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Your lips are glossy with spit. He’s got his thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging it down so you can watch your tongue roll over the head of his cock like he owns it.

“God, baby,” he breathes, hand in your hair, rough and praising. “Your mouth’s the fuckin’ prettiest thing in this house.”

You whimper. He grins. The bedroom still looks like it did when you were sixteen. Pink bed sheets. Fairy lights. Your easel in the corner. Drawings on the wall.

Nam Gyu leans back against your pills like he belongs here. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’d cry if your mom saw you like this, huh?”

You moan around him, cheeks flushed. He grips your jaw, pulls you off slow so strings of spit stretch between your ips and his tip. “Open,” he says. You do.

He smirks, just about to say something else–when the doorbell rings. You freeze. Both of you go still. Nam Gyu blinks, then frowns. “The fuck is that?”

You grab your phone. A text is already lighting up the screen.

Brother👾: you home? came to drop something by

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Fuck–fuck, fuck fuck,” you scramble up off the floor, panic blooming your chest. “It’s my brother. He’s here.”

Nam Gyu’s face goes flat. “I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”

“He doesn’t! He just–he visits, I don’t know, please–” you’re already pulling him up by the wrist, shoving at his chest. “Hide.”

“Hide where?” he hisses. You point to the bed. He gives you the dirtiest look. “You want me to crawl under your fucking bed–”

But you’re already halfway to the door. “I’m stalling him–just do it!”

He curses under his breath–but drops to the floor and disappears under the frame, just as you yank the door open.

“Hey!” you say, breathless. Too cheerful.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Uh–yoga. You know. Stretching.”

“You don’t do yoga.”

You laugh. “I do now!” He narrows his eyes. “I, um,” you step aside, heart pounding, “come in. You said you brought something?”

He holds up a brown bag. “Mom forgot her vitamin thing. Figured I’d drop it off.”

You lead him into your room. Your knees are shaking. He takes one step inside. Looks around. Frowns. “Why’s it smell like cologne in here?”

You blink. Your skin goes cold. “I–lit a candle,” you lie quickly. “It’s like…cedarwood or something. Manly. Grounding.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Takes another step inside. You can feel Nam Gyu under the bed. You don’t dare peek. You can barely breathe.

Your brother sighs and drops the bag on your desk. “Still weird being in here. Place hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

You give a weak laugh. “Yeah…nostalgic.”

Then he crouched to pick something off the floor–right by the bed–and your stomach caves in. But it’s just a pencil. He straightens up. Smiles at you. “You good though? You been okay lately?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod. “Yeah. Just…busy.”

“Tell Mom and Dad I dropped by.”

“I will.” He leans over and ruffles your hair like you’re still twelve. Then he leaves. You don’t move until the front door clicks shut.

A long moment of silence. You hear his car start. And then– “Are you fucking kidding me–” Nam Gyu’s voice, low and furious, as he drags himself out from under the bed. His hoodie is dusty, hair messed up. “You made me hide like a goddamn teenager–”

You throw yourself at him before he can even finish. “I’m sorry–I panicked–” His mouth crashes down on yours, fast and rough, and his hands are already shoving you toward the bed.

“You owe me for that shit,” he growls into your mouth. “You fuckin’ owe me.”

You nod, breathless, pulling at your clothes. He flips you onto your stomach. “No lights. No moaning. Be a good little liar and keep quiet for me.” You bury your face in the pillow and prepare to let him ruin you.

Your face hits the pillow as Nam Gyu shoves you forward, hand planted firmly between your shoulder blades.

“Gimme that fucking ass,” he growls behind you, voice dark and low with adrenaline. You can feel the floor dust on his jeans–feel how hard he is through the fabric. “Got me hiding under your bed like some fucking side piece.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, cheek pressed into the sheets.

“You’re sorry?” he laughs–sharp, mean. “You let me suck your tits with a stuffed bear watching and you’re sorry?”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down hard. He pauses. “You weren’t even wearing panties when you let me in.”

Your breath stutters. “I–”

He slaps your ass. Hard. “Fucking knew it.” You cry out into the pillow, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. “Shhh,” he coos mockingly. “What would your brother think if he heard you like this? Bent over your bed. Wet as fuck. For the guy he used to call family.”

He lets your hair go and spits down between your thighs. One hand spreads you open–no teasing, no warning–and then his fingers are inside you, two thick and fast, curling up deep. “Goddamn,” he breathes. “Still so tight. You been keeping this little pussy just for me.”

You nod frantically, dropping into your pillow.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes–yes, I have–just you–”

“Good fucking girl.” He pulls his fingers out and slaps your cunt with them, soaked and loud. Then you feel it–his cock, hot and heavy, dragging through your slick. He nudges the head against your entrance, just enough to make you clench. “You wanna get filled like a dirty little secret?”

“Yes–”

“You gonna keep lying to Mommy and Daddy about where you go at night?”

“Yes–” He pushes in deep. Your back arches, mouth open in a silence cry. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. Just ruts into you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass, skin on skin loud in the silence.

His hand clamps over your mouth. “Don’t you dare making a fucking sound,” he hisses. “You want them finding out you’re a whore now? Wanna explain to your brother how I stretch you out and fuck you dumb?”

You whimper under his palm. Your legs shake. He shifts his grip to your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. One hand choking you, the other slipping between your legs.

“You feel that?” he grits, rubbing your clit fast. “That’s me. That’s all me. Every inch of this sweet little cunt’s mine.”

You’re spiraling. Coming so hard your body jerks in his hold. He fucks you thorugh it–growling, mean, filthy.

“Fucking squeeze me like that again and I’ll make you suck me clean after.” You sob. He bites your shoulder. Sucks a mark into your skin so deep you’ll see it for days. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You–fuck–you–”

“That’s right.”

When Nam Gyu finally cums, it’s with a loud grunt, buried deep, your name spilling from his mouth like a threat and a prayer. He stays inside you for a second–hands still on your hips, breath heavy against your ear.

Then he pulls out slow, the slick sound obscene. You collapse on the bed, boneless, face flushed and eyes glassy. He watches you. Watches his cum drip out of you onto your cute pink sheets. Watches your thighs tremble. Then he leans down, kisses your lower back, and mutters: “Bet your brother wouldn’t believe a sweet girl like you could take dick like that.”

You’re still facedown on your bed. Cheek pressed to the sheets. Legs sprawled. Your breathing is uneven and your thighs are trembling. For a second, neither of you move.

Nam gyu just stands there, his jeans still half down, eyes fixed on the mess he made. Your pussy, swollen and leaking. His cum on your thighs. Your back rising and falling like you just ran a mile. “You okay?” he asks finally, quietly.

You nod, a little dazed. “Mmhm.”

He exhales–then zips himself up and pads toward your door, bare feet creaking on the old floorboards. “Don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll clean you up.”

A minute later, he’s back–with a warm washcloth from the hall bathroom. His voice is different now, lower. Soothed. He kneels between your legs. The cloth is warm when it touches you. Gentle and careful.

You twitch. “Easy,” he murmurs, one hand on your thigh. “I got you.”

He wipes you clean–slow circles, gentle dabs. No teasing. No filth. Just care. You feel him swipe the cloth through the mess between your legs, wiping up his cum, then toss it to the side. “I was too rough,” he says after a moment. Guilt peeking through.

You peek over your shoulder, cheek squished to the pillow. “I liked it.”

He huffs a breath–smiles, barely–and leans over to kiss your lower back. Soft. A little reverent. Then again. Higher this time. Between your shoulder blades.

You feel his hands under your arms, pulling you up slow, and before you can even fully sit, she’s scooping you into his lap like you’re his. His girl. His baby “C’mon,” he mumbles into your hair. “Shower.”

He carries you to the bathroom room, flicks the light on low. The old shower rattles a little as it starts up. You sit on the counter while he grabs your towel and favorite body wash. He kisses your knees while he waits for the water to heat.

And when you’re both finally inside, under the spray, he washes you like you’re something breakable. Soapy hands across your shoulders. Your back. Down your arms. His fingers slow on your belly, gentle between your legs. No filth now. Just love.

He lets you wear his hoodie after, even though it’s warm outside. And later, curled up in your bed with his arm under your head and his hoodie draped over your bare legs, he holds you so close you can feel his heartbeat in your spine.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I never left,” he murmurs. “You just stopped looking.”

The window’s cracked. The summer air slips in slow, thick and sweet, brushing over your skin. Crickets hum somewhere outside. Your childhood neighborhood, still the same–still safe. Still small.

Nam Gyu’s hoodie hangs loose on your body, sleeves bunched at your wrists. Your legs are bare beneath the covers, curled into his. His chest is warm against your back, arm heavy around your waist, holding you like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He takes another drag from his vape. The quiet click of it echoes in the stillness, then a curl of strawberry vapor drifts out the open window. “Babe,” he mumbles sleepily against your shoulder. “I’m gonna get you addicted to this shit.”

You smile faintly. “No, you’re not.”

“You already like it.”

“I like you.”

He huffs a breath. Doesn’t say anything for a second. Just lets it hang there. You’re quiet for a while. Long enough for your heart to settle, long enough that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

But then, you ask, “Why’d you stop coming around?” It’s soft, gentle. But it slices through the silence like a blade.

He’s quiet for a long time. You don’t push. You just wait. Eventually, he shifts behind you–pulls the covers tighter around the both of you. His vape clicks again. Then he exhales slowly, and says, “Your brother told me to.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Nam Gyu lets the words come slow. “It was right after that one summer,” he explains. “The one where I started skipping school. Showing up with bruises and black eyes and shit.” He pauses. “Your parents got worried. Thought I was a bad influence. He didn’t disagree.”

Your heart twists. “He told me if I gave a fuck about you,” Nam Gyu says, no emotion in his voice. “I’d stay away. Said you didn’t need some punk with a death wish hanging around the house anymore.”

You roll over to face him. He doesn’t look at you. Just stares up at the ceiling, eyes half lidded, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your blanket. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he mutters. “Didn’t want you to see what I turned into.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper.

“I do now.” You shake your head. He finally looks at you. His eyes are darker than usual. Not angry. Just hurt. Heavy.

“You were so fucking little,” he mutters, almos to himself. “Used to sit in the grass and draw with sidewalk chalk. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes without blushing.” Your throat tightens.

“And then I got kicked out of school. Started running shit with guys who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in someone’s back. Stopped being your brother’s friend and started being a problem.” He holds his vape up to his lips but doesn’t hit. “You shouldn't even want me in this bed.”

“But I do.” He looks at you. Really looks. And then he tucks your hair behind your ear. Leans forward, slow, like it hurts him, and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He’s still watching you. Eyes darker now. Not with lust–but with something heavier. Something that makes your chest ache. His hand slides under the hem of your hoodie–barely there, just resting on the small of your back. Then– “Get up here,” he murmurs. You stare up at him in confusion. He taps your thigh gently. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second before shifting forward, crawling up his chest until your body lies flush against his–chest to chest, cheek nestled into the dip between his collarbones. You feel his hand curve around your thigh to help you settle, the other resting flat between your shoulder blades.

His warmth sinks into you instantly. “See?” he mumbles into your hair. “Better.”

You hum in agreement, eyes slipping closed. You feel his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. One slow, endless loop at a time. It makes your whole body feel like it’s floating.

“I used to think about this,” he says softly, after a long pause. “Back when I stopped coming around. Used to imagine what it’d be like…if I had got to see you one more time. If I got to lay with you in my arms.”

You don’t say anything, just tuck your face deeper into his neck, like maybe if you hold him tighter, he won’t disappear again. His breath slows. He keeps talking–quieter now, barely audible. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again. Let alone have you fall asleep on top of me like this.”

Your heart thuds hard against your ribcage. And then his arms tighten–just slightly. Not possessive, or horny, not even jealous. Just holding. Just having. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You try to fight it. But your limbs go heavy. Your breathing softens. And eventually you drift off like that–clinging to him. The only boy who ever made you feel both ruined and safe.

And when you woke up the next morning, he was gone. Not in a left you forever way. Just gone-gone. A scribbled note on your desk: had to run. be back later. lock the door–gyu

You had class anyway. You showered, threw on your usual outfit–something cozy, something simple–and tried not to spend the whole lecture replaying the feel of his hand gripping your hip while you moaned into his throat. When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

bby boi🧸: party tonight

bby boi🧸: come

You pause. You’re not a party girl. You’re a homework and chamomile tea and skincare before bed kind of girl. But still, your heart skips.

You send back: you’ll be there??

His response is instant.

bby boi🧸: obviously

bby boi🧸: i’ll pick u up

You try on four different outfits before settling on a soft cream sweater and black leggings. Cute socks. Clean sneakers. A spritz of perfume behind your ears and a hint of gloss on your lips.

You hear his car outside. You grab your bag, check yourself in the mirror one more time, then head out. When you slide into the passenger seat, Nam Gyu looks you up and down–blinks once, then frowns. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Your stomach twists and you freeze up. “What?”

He doesn’t mean it mean. He just gestures vaguely. “All girly.”

You bite your lip. Look down at your outfit. “I thought it was cute.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. And then–you swear it–his eyes soften. “It is.” And then he drives.

The house party is loud. Music shaking the walls. People crowding the front lawn. The air smells like weed and stale beer and cheap perfume.

The second you step inside, it hits you all at once–flashing lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, girls dancing on tables, guys with bottles in their fists. Someone yells something unintelligible across the kitchen.

You flinch. Nam Gyu doesn’t. He fits in here. Like he was made for it. The tattoos, the lazy confidence, the way his hand wraps around your wrist without thinking as he guides you through the crush of people.

He starts talking to a friend. Someone taller, louder. They laugh, talk about something you can’t follow. A blunt gets passed. A girl slaps Nam Gyu’s arm playfully. You stay quiet. Pressed against his side. A pretty little shadow in a soft sweater, wide eyed and quiet. He doesn’t let go of your hand, but he doesn’t look at you, either.

You can feel the stares. From girls. From guys. You don’t belong here and you know it. But you want to. Because he’s here. And you want to be where he is. Even if it means swallowing the knot in your throat and trying not to look like you’re trembling.

You’re still glued to his side, barely saying a word, when he finally turns to look at you. You don’t know what gives it away. Maybe the way your hand keeps fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Maybe the way you flinch every time someone brushes past too close. Maybe it’s how you haven’t laughed once tonight–not even a fake little chuckle to make him feel good.

He leans down toward your ear, voice low. “Come with me.”

You nod immediately, clinging to his sleeve as he guides you out of the kitchen. Up a hallway, past a line for the bathroom, through a cracked open door into some random bedroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise softens. You can breathe again. Nam Gyu turns to face you. Eyes sharp but not unkind. “You wanna leave?” he asks, arms folding as he leans against the dresser.

Your eyes widen. “No.” You’re too quick to answer. Too eager.

His brow arches. “No?”

“I–” you swallow. “I wanna stay. I just…”

His head tilts. “You just?”

“I wanna stay with you.”

That get a smile. Slow, crooked, dangerous. “You’re not exactly blending in, baby.”

You blush. You look down at your shoes. “I know. I’m not really…” You trail off, unsure how to say it. Not cool. Not edgy. Not the kind of girl who smokes and dances on tables and makes guys stare.

He pushes off the dresser and walks up slowly. The floor creaks beneath his boots. When he’s in front of you, he reaches for the end of your sweater sleeve and tugs it between his fingers. “You wanna drink with me?”

Your lashes flutter. “Right now?”

“Yeah. right now. Or not. Up to you.” You’re quiet, nibbling on your bottom lip. He leans in and murmurs, “You don’t have to, baby. If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna make you.”

And maybe it’s how gentle his voice goes. Maybe it’s how patient he is, for once. But it makes something inside you crack open. “I just…” You finally say it. Small and honest. “I just want you to like me.”

The moment hangs in the air like fog. His eyes flicker up to yours. He doesn't laugh. Doesn't tease. He just takes a breath and closes the distance–his hand slipping beneath your jaw to tilt your face toward his. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice rough. “You think I don’t like you?”

Your breath catches. “I show up to some stupid party full of assholes I hate just so I can see you in that sweater,” he mutters, thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re the only reason I’m not high off my ass right now.”

You blink up at him. Slowly. And he leans in–kisses the corner of your mouth. Not quite your lips. Not yet. Then he murmurs, “Now sit on the bed and tell me what kinda drink you want.”

She looks up at him from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, her voice quiet under the bass still thudding from downstairs. “Can I go with you?”

He doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your wrist and pulls you in close, tucking her under his arm like she’s already his and leading her back down to the chaos.

It’s worse this time. There’s someone passed out hallway up the stairs. A couple making out in the hallway. The music’s louder. Someone’s lighting a blunt in the living room. But Nam Gyu doesn’t let go of you, not even once.

In the kitchen, he shrugs his arm off you just long enough to grab a red cup, filling it up from a big bottle of something clear. He leans his weight into the counter lazily, one arm slung low around your waist again–pulling you back against him.

You go without a fight. Back flush against his broad chest. He takes a sip, smirking into the cup, and then lifts it toward your lips. “Wanna taste?”

You hesitate, then nod. The second it hits your tongue, you choke. “Oh my god,” you sputter, coughing into your sleeve. “That’s awful!”

Nam Gyu lets out a low laugh against your shoulder, that kind of boyish snort he almost never shows. You feel it more than you hear it–the way his chest shakes behind you, the curve of his smile pressing into the side of your neck. “I told you.”

“You didn’t tell me it tasted like nail polish remover.”

He just hums, taking another sip like it’s nothing. You wrinkle your nose, settling back against him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. The music’s changed–something heavier, the bass vibrating through the floor–and you can’t help it. You start to sway a little. Barely. Just the tiniest movement.

But he feels it. His hand twitches against your hip. And then he coughs once. Clears his throat. You feel his body tense behind you. His voice sounds a little too casual when he talks to the two guys across from you–one of them saying something about a fight that broke out at the last party, something about who got banned from whose place. But Nam Gyu barely responds. His fingers are digging into your sides now. Harder.

“Stop rubbing on my cock,” he mutters in your ear, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that no one else hears, “or I’ll fuck you right here in front of my friends.”

You freeze, it makes you hold your breath. And he just sips his drink like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say that with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, while your heart’s racing and your thighs are clenching and his arm is tightening around your waist. “You’re so mean,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smiles into your hair. “Yeah, but you like it.”

One of his friends glances over from where he’s grabbing another drink. “Yo, Gyu,” he calls with a grin, “you bringin’ her to to share or are you takin’ her straight to the backseat?”

Nam Gyu doesn’t miss a seat. “Backseat,” he says, cool and sure. “Gonna get my dick sucked before we leave.”

Your hands shoot up to cover your face, lips parted in shock. You’re mortified. He said it like it’s nothing. Like you’re not right there in his arms, practically melting from embarrassment. “Stop,” you whine, shoving lightly at his chest without looking at him. “You can’t just say that–”

“Why not?” he asks, way too smug. “They should know how good you are for me.”

You make a tiny, wounded noise and try to twist away but he just laughs and hugs you tighter from behind. One hand slides up to tilt your chin, making you look at him with that pouty, red faced glare. He hums, “Cute. Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”

His friends chuckle, amused but distracted. The music’s loud. No one really cares. But he’s got you blushing so hard it hurts, hiding your face again in his hoodie as he kisses the side of your neck like you’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

The second the car door opens, it’s like a dam breaks. Nam Gyu pulls you in with both hands, climbing into the backseat, already crowding you against the seats. It smells like him in here–his cologne, his vape, the faintest trace of weed–and it’s warm, private, and dangerous.

“You were so fuckin’ cute tonight,” he mutters, shoving your sweater up to your ribs, fingers skating over your bra, your waist, gripping like he wants to leave fingerprints. “Walkin’ around all shy in your little socks like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doin’ to me.”

You gasp as you watch him unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just far enough for his cock to spring free–already hard, flushed dark, tip leaking. “Gyu–”

“You wanted this.” He cups your chin, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Been squirming in my lap all night. You want me in your throat, baby?” You nod, eyes wide. “Then open up. Be a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

You drop to your knees on the floor of the car, wedged between his legs, the driver’s seat digging into your lower back. Your hands wrap around the base of his cock as you lean in, tongue licking a stripe from base to tip. He hisses through his teeth. “Shit–look at you,” he pants. “Good fucking girl.”

You swirl your tongue around the head and then take him in slowly, inch by inch, until your lips are brushing your fingers. He’s thick. Heavy. The weight of him presses on your tongue, makes your eyes flutter. You moan.

“Fuck. Don’t tease. Take it.” You do. You pull off, spit thick and glossy between you, then open your mouth wider–letting him slide in deeper. He grabs your hair with one hand, the other bracing on the seat as he starts to thrust.

It’s filthy. Wet. Your eyes start to water almost immediately as he pushes in too far, holding your head down until your nose is buried in the soft of his belly. You choke, gag–but don’t pull away. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“God, baby–fuck yes–take it, just like that,” he grits out. “Look at you. My pretty little slut, takin’ cock in the back of my car like you were made for it.”

You can’t respond. You can only moan around him, eyes blurred, throat tight and aching. Spit’s running down your chin, soaking your sweater. He’s panting now, hips jerking up faster. “You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth?” he groans. “Huh? You gonna swallow for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as best as you can with him deep in your throat, and that’s all it takes. His breath stutters, his grip tightens. “Fuck, shit, baby–swallow it. Take all of it–”

He spills down your throat with a rough groan, holding your head down while he pulses in your mouth. You whimper, obedient, swallowing everything, lips wrapped around him until he finally lets you go. You pull off with a gasp, coughing a little, tear streaked and flushed and ruined. And he just leans forward, pulls you into his lap, and kisses you slow. “My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches up with his sleeve and gently cradles your jaw with his fingers. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. He wipes at your mouth first–slow, careful–then tips your chin to swipe at the smudged mascara trailing beneath your eyes.

You blink at him, dazed and pink-cheeked, and he smiles like he wants to kiss you again, like he’s proud of the ruin he made. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you in the front seat before someone calls the cops.”

It makes you giggle. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up, helps you climb over the center console. His hand never really leaves you–either steadying your thigh, brushing your hair back, or resting on your knee as he starts the car.

The drive is quiet at first. Warm. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio.

“My parents come back tomorrow,” you whisper, watching the streetlights blur past.

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, picking at the hem of your sweater. “Means I probably won’t be able to see you as much.”

Nam Gyu exhales, his hand squeezing your knee silently. “I won’t abandon you, baby.” You glance over at him, brows slightly furrowed. He grins. “You’re gonna sneak out like a good girl for me, right?”

You roll your eyes, but you nod. “Yeah.”

“Atta girl.” HIs voice dips low–something teasing and dark curling around the edges. “Keep bein’ good and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your cheeks burn. There’s a pause for a second, then softer he speaks, “If your brother knew, he’d literally kill me.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah. I know.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel with his thumb. “He always was a hothead.”

Another stretch of silence, then you speak again–quieter this time. “I’m almost done with this semester.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “Proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go back.”

His head turns, eyes flicking toward you for a second. “Why not? You’re great at art.”

“I enjoy it. I do,” you say, staring out the window. “But it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like it’s what they want. Not what I want.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak right away. His fingers squeeze your knee again. “You know you don’t have to live for them, right?”

You glance over, surprised at the softness in his voice. He’s still focused on the road, but his jaw’s tight. “You can figure out what you want. Doesn’t have to be what they mapped out for you.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

The words hang in the air–we’ll. Like he means to stay. You look at him. The boy who wiped your mouth and kissed your ruined face. Who made you feel both destroyed and protected in the same breath. “Okay,” you whisper.

And when he parks outside your house, he doesn’t kiss you again–not right away. He just brushes hair out of your face and says, “Text me when you’re inside.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

It’s been a few weeks since that night in his car, since he murmured “good girl” against your cheek like it meant something more than obedience. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. You haven’t dared ask.

Since then, you’ve been lying with more ease than you ever thought possible. “Studying at Mia’s.” “Group project ran late.” “Just staying at school a little longer.”

Your parents don’t question much, not now–not with finals around the corner and your sketchpad always in hand. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to, but Nam Gyu hasn’t complained. Not once. He still texts you throughout the day: stupid memes, blurry gym selfies, a voice memo once where he told you “I miss your weird little laugh.” You keep replaying it when the ache of not seeing him gets too much.

For your final project, you’re supposed to do a single charcoal portrait: someone real, someone who stirs something in you. You chose him. You don’t tell him, of course. You’ve been working on it in secret, staying up late when the house is quiet and everyone’s asleep. His face is starting to emerge from the paper–sharp, shadowed. The slope of his brow, the mess of his hair. Your fingers stay smudged with graphite. You’ve ruined two pillowcases and a sweatshirt. You don’t care.

It’s almost done when your phone buzzes beside you.

bby boi🧸: come open ur window

Your heart stutters. You’re in bed already, oversized shirt on and bare legs, a little flushed from how often you’ve been thinking of him lately. You tiptoe across your room, crack the window open, and there he is–dark jacket, tousled hair, looking up at you like he’s done it a hundred times.

You help him climb in, trying not to laugh when he bumps his knee on your desk. “Shh,” you whisper, biting your lip. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

He grins, breathless from the climb, and whispers back, “You gotta get a ladder or something. I’m getting too old for this.”

You snort softly and motion for him to sit, but his eyes are already scanning your room–and they land on the sketchbook still open on your desk. He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

You freeze. “Nothing–” But he’s already walking toward it. You’re too slow to stop him. His hand hovers over the page–not touching, not smudging. Just looking.

It’s his face. Almost exactly. You even captured the little scar above his eyebrow. The way his mouth curves when he’s about to tease you. The soft shadows under his cheekbones. It’s him, raw and unfiltered. It’s him how you see him.

When he speaks, it’s quiet. “Is this for school?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Final. It’s…it’s a portrait unit.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Just staring. Then– “You made me look better than I do in real life.”

You huff. “No I didn’t.”

He finally turns toward you. His voice is rough when he says, “That’s how you see me?”

You nod again, smaller this time. He steps closer. His hand finds your cheek and his thumb brushes a charcoal smudge you didn’t know was there. “You make me look like someone worth something,” he murmurs. “No one’s ever done that before.”

And suddenly your room feels very small. The night very quiet. Your breath caught in your chest.

You whisper, “You are.” His fingers tilt your chin up. And when he kisses you, it’s the softest it’s ever been–like he’s scared he’ll break something if he presses too hard. Like he’s trying to memorize how this moment feels.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, legs warm under the covers, blanket draped across your lap. Nam Gyu’s stretched out beside you, propped against your headboard, jacket sleeves pushed up around his forearms and one leg hanging off the mattress. His hair’s still messy from the wind outside, and he smells faintly like smoke and detergent.

The window’s cracked open behind you for air. A breeze curls in, bruising over your bare arms. He looks at you sideways. His voice holds a bit of a teasing tone. “You gonna hide me forever?”

You smile, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Why? You jealous?”

He scoffs, then shrugs, not denying it. “Maybe. Kinda pathetic, right?”

You giggle, and he leans his head back against your wall like he’s trying not to smile. The sound of your laugh is his favorite thing in the world and you have no idea.

“No,” you admit softly. “I’m not trying to hide you. I’m just…” You trail off, picking at the edge of your blanket.

He doesn’t push, just waits. You finally exhale, voice quieter. “I’m sure I’ll tell them eventually. Just…not right now.”

He nods, like he understands. Like he does understand. There’s a long, gentle pause. And then, just above a whisper, you say, “I know why they don’t like you anymore.”

His jaw twitches, but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t speak. You go on, nervous but honest. “I think it’ll be hard to show them you’ve changed. Especially with, you know…you being twenty-five. And my brother’s ex-best friend.”

Nam Gyu’s gaze drops. His thumb starts tracing a crease in your sheets. “Yeah.”

“They’ll really have a hard time with it,” you add.

“I know.” His voice is so soft it barely reaches you. “But I don’t care about them.” You glance up at him. “I care about you,” he says, finally looking at you again. “That’s it.”

Your heart aches. You try to hold his gaze, but your face heats up too fast, so you look back down at your lap, hiding a shy smile. He shifts closer, knocking your knee with his. “Hey,” he whispers. You look up. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll sneak through your window for as long as it takes.”

That makes you laugh again, soft and surprised. “You better be careful, my dad’s got a gun.”

“I’m not scared of your dad.”

“You should be,” you tease.

He grins at that, and for a few quiet minutes, you just sit there. Letting it be easy. Letting yourself enjoy him. Then he reaches out, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “So…you drew me, huh?”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and half heartedly whacking him with it. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’m not!” He’s laughing, dodging your attack. “It’s just–kinda sweet. That’s all.”

Your cheeks burn again. But you let yourself lean into his side, head resting on his shoulder, legs tangled under the blanket.

Outside the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, you whisper, “I really like you.” And he doesn’t say it back–not yet. But he turns his head and kisses your forehead like he means something more than words ever could.

3 Years Later…

You’re twenty-two now. Not the same girl who used to sneak out at night and crawl into the passenger seat of his beat-up car, trembling and giggling. Not the girl who kept him hidden like a sin. You’ve graduated, moved to Seoul–far away from the suffocating small town and all its long memories. You rent a cozy little apartment above a flower shop, teach art at a nearby school, and on weekends, you lead pottery classes for older women who treat you like their daughter.

You’re happy, or maybe just quiet. It’s not the same thing, but it’s close enough. He stopped reaching out years ago. First, the replies came slower. Then his messages turned from blue to green. You checked his socials–gone. He blocked you. No warning. Just…gone. It left a hole you haven’t really filled.

Your new friend drags you out to this sleek little place tucked into a quiet alley near Itaewon. Good food, expensive drinks, soft jazz humming in the background. It’s a far cry from the smoke filled house parties you used to cling to Nam Gyu in.

You eat. Laugh. Nurse your drink while your friend heads out early, waving goodbye with a wink and a joke about getting some sleep for once. And you’re left in the half dim lighting, swirling your cocktail with the straw, letting the music buzz low in your chest.

That’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes. You look up. Nam Gyu. Standing near the door, dressed in black, sharp around the edges–just like always. But older. His hair’s a little longer, his build filled out. There’s a woman on his arm, clinging to him like a promise.

And yet–his eyes are locked on you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then he says something to the girl–quiet and low. She nods and walks off without looking back. And he stays. Still staring.

You drop your eyes, suddenly cold all over, pretending you didn’t see him. You focus on your drink, heart pounding in your ears. You should walk away. Leave. But it’s too late.

He’s already walking toward you. He stops at your table, hands in his coat pockets, that same worn-in confidence in his stance. “You grew up.”

You don’t look at him. Not at first. Just blink, stare at the ice melting in your drink. But something in you snaps. You glance up slowly, eyes sharp, voice quiet. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you ghost someone for three years. People change.”

And that hits him. You see it. The flicker in his jaw, the faint squint in his eyes. He pulls the empty chair out and sits without asking. Like he used to. Like no time passed at all.

“You’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You laugh bitterly. “I’m over it. I just…didn’t expect to see you here. In Seoul. With another girl on your arm.”

He leans back in the chair, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “Didn’t think I’d see you either. You’re different.”

“So are you.” You pause, then add, quieter, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” And neither of you say it–but it’s there. The silence. The grief. The thousand things that were left unsaid.

“You should go.” Your voice is steady, but the hand gripping your glass is trembling slightly. You don’t look at him. You can’t. His presence is a weight across your skin, heavy and electric. “I’ll forget I saw you,” you murmur. “Just go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. “That’s not what you want.”

You swallow hard. Still not looking at him. Your thighs press together under the table on pure instinct–tight and tense. You’re trying to stay composed, but he sees the way your knuckles pale where you hold your glass. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leans forward slightly. Drops his voice. “Come back to my place.”

You scoff, shaking your head once. “What about your girlfriend?”

He lets out a short, amused breath through his nose. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Something shifts. Something cracks. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re standing. You don’t look at him as you walk toward the door. He follows without a word.

The city blurs by outside the windows of the black car. You sit in the back seat beside him, silent. Tension coils in the narrow space between your bodies. His leg brushes yours and you don’t move away.

By the time the elevator door opens to his floor, your heart is pounding in your ears. His apartment is nothing like what you imagined it to be. A luxury penthouse, floor to ceiling windows, expensive furniture. Dark, sleek, masculine.

You step inside slowly, heels clicking against the hardwood. You don’t say anything at first–just walk to the edge of the living room where Seoul glitters beneath you like a galaxy.

“How the hell do you afford this?” you ask, half to yourself.

Behind you, Nam Gyu shrugs off his coat. “I work. I don’t blow it on drugs anymore. Turns out you save a lot of money when you’re not trying to kill yourself.”

You turn around, lips parting–but the words catch in your throat. He’s staring at you. Not just looking. Staring. Like he hasn’t blinked since the second you stepped through the door. You glance down at your dress. Tight. Black, with thin sleeves resting on your shoulder. A slit up the thigh. It clings to all the right places. Your body has changed since he last saw you. Fuller. Softer. More woman than girl now.

You look back up at him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He moves. Crosses the space between you in three strides. His hands are on your waist, gripping, pulling. His mouth finds yours–hot, desperate, bruising. He kisses you like it’s been years. Like he hated every day he couldn’t.

Your back hits the window. His hands push down your dress straps roughly, pulling them to your elbows. His mouth is on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathes against your skin, voice hoarse. “You–fuck, you feel so good now.”

Your fingers are in his hair. His knees hit the hardwood. He doesn’t even hesitate. Not when he sinks down in front of you, palms sliding up the backs of your calves, slow and reverent like he’s praying. Not when his eyes travel up your legs, over the soft swell of your thighs peeking through the slit in your dress. He palms them–big, rough hands gripping tight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You got so–” He swallows. “You grew up, baby.” His eyes flash up to yours, pupils blown wide. “Can’t believe you’ve been walking around like this. Looking like this. And I’ve been–” he breaks off, licking his lips. “Dreaming about this body for years.”

Your heart pounds. He pulls your dress up, bunches it around your hips. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping your ass, squeezing hard–groaning like he’s in pain. His mouth finds the inside of your knee, trailing kisses up, slow and sloppy, as he mumbles against your skin.

“Want you so bad, fuck–lemme taste you please. Just–please, baby, I’ll be so good.”

You stare down at him–this tall, cocky, once detached man–now on his knees, lips at your inner thigh, begging. Begging to worship. “You’re begging now?” you murmur, breathless.

He nods against your skin. “I’ll beg all night. You want me to get on my hands and knees and crawl after you, I fucking will. Just let me have you. Let me taste you.”

You step out of your heels. Then out of your panties. He groans when they slide down your legs, eyes locked to the wet center like it’s the only thing on earth. Like it’s his.

And then he’s buried between your thighs. His tongue is hot and filthy, all open mouthed kisses and greedy flicks. He moans into you–loud, like he doesn’t care who hears. Like he wants the whole goddamn city to know how good you taste. His hands hold your thighs apart, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh. He eats like he’s drowning in you.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he mumbles, lips slippery against your folds. “Missed this pussy. Dreamed about it–”

His tongue drags up and flattens over your clit. You gasp–head falling back against the glass window, body trembling as he sucks, gentle and then hard. He groans like he feels it too, like your pleasure is his pleasure.

“You’re perfect now,” he mutters, breathless. “Full and warm and fuckin’ mine.”

You whimper. “Gyu…”

He pulls back just long enough to look up at you. His chin is wet, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Say you missed me,” he growls.

“I missed you,” you whisper, shaking.

“Say this pussy missed me.”

Your voice breaks this time. “It missed you–fuck–” And then he dives back in like he’s starving. Tongue flicking and curling and fucking into you until your knees buckle. You cry out, grinding down on his mouth, and he lets you–hands under your ass, guiding your hips, moaning as you ride his face.

Your thighs clench around his head. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re full on sobbing through your orgasm, shaking, slumped against the window. Your dress is a mess. Your hair’s a mess. Your legs won’t stop trembling.

Nam Gyu finally rises–slow, towering over you. He licks his lips, grinning. “Now,” he says, undoing his belt, voice like thunder. “I’m gonna fuck you in front of this window until every bastard in this city knows who you belong to.”

He towers over you–belt undone, pants halfway down his thighs, cock flushed and aching. It’s thick, heavy, twitching against his abs, and he’s panting just from looking at you. “Please, please let me fuck you.” His voice is trembling.

Your breath catches. He’s flushed, hair messy, pupils blown wide with want. He’s not cocky anymore. Not right now. He’s wretched before he’s even really touched you. “Say I can, baby. Say it’s mine.” He pleads with you.

You glance down at his cock, then back up, lips curled into the faintest smirk. “You want it that bad?”

He nods quickly, hands coming up to cup your face. “So bad. You don’t even know–I’ve been dreaming about you, baby. Jerking off to the thought of your tits, your thighs, your voice. I’d do anything. Anything. Let me show you.”

You lean in, brush your lips across his ear. “Then show me.”

He groans, loud, and spins you gently, pressing your front to the window. The glass is cold against your skin, but he’s already tugging your dress up, sliding it over your hips until it’s bunched around your waist.

You hear him behind you. Fumbling, panting, cursing under his breath like he’s in pain. “So pretty,” he breathes, gripping your ass, spreading you open. “Your body…fuck, your body’s perfect. You were beautiful before, but now–” He groans. “Now you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You whimper when he grinds his cock between your thighs, dragging the length of it over your soaked center. He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, voice hot and needy in your ear. “Let me in baby. Please. Let me fuck you. Let me make you mine again.”

“Say it,” you whisper, trembling.

He nuzzles your neck. “Please, baby. I need it. Need to feel you again. Need to fuck you until you scream my name.”

You shift your hips back, guiding him to your entrance. “Then take it.” He sinks in with a gasp. His hands fly to your waist–gripping so tight, he might bruise. His hips roll forward, slow at first, savoring the heat, the stretch, the way you take every inch like you were made for him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel even better than I remembered–tight, hot, wet. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

You moan, pressing your palms to the window as his pace builds. Every thrust is deep, smooth, worshipful. He’s fucking you like it’s the last time he ever will–like he’s memorizing your body all over again.

The glass fogs beneath your hands. “Look at you,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Bent over my window, letting me fuck you like a good girl. All these people down there, and you’re just taking it.”

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot–when his hands slide under your dress to grab at your tits, squeezing, groaning at the way they fill his palms. “You got so soft,” he moans. “So full. Your thighs–your ass–your tits–fuck, I could die between them.”

His hips slam into you harder, needier, his voice dissolving into whimpers against your skin. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “I’m gonna fucking come. Say it’s mine–say this pussy’s mine–please.”

You tilt your head back, grinding against him, loving every filthy, desperate word. “It’s yours, Gyu. It’s all yours.” That’s all it takes. He breaks. He comes with a guttural moan, hips snapping forward as he spills deep inside you–grinding through it, panting, groaning, hands trembling where they told you.

He doesn’t pull out. Just leans forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, whispering between shaky breaths. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Don’t make me go another day without this. Without you.”

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m never letting you go again.”

The lights are dim, casting a soft golden glow across the tiles and the water. The deep porcelain tub stretches wide in his massive bathroom–sleek black counters, warm wood floors, and wall to wall windows that overlook the glittering city.

But right now, all you care about is him.

You sit across from each other, the water nearly up to your shoulders, the scent of sandalwood bubbles curling into the air between you. Your knees poke up from the water, glistening in the low light, and his hands rest lazily on his thighs, head tilted back against the edge of the tube.

He looks soft like this. Damp hair curling slightly at the ends, his strong chest rising and falling slowly. When you stretch your legs out and place your feet in his lap, he looks down–smiles.

You wiggle your toes. Nam Gyu huffs a quiet laugh, one hand sliding along your shin. “You’re such a brat.”

“Say it again,” you murmur, teasing.

He grins. “Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. He catches your ankle, presses a kiss just above the bone. It’s stupidly gentle. So is the look in his eyes. “What?” you ask, your voice dipping quiet, almost embarrassed.

His shoulders shrug. “Nothing. You’re just…here. In my bath. With your toes in my lap. I think I used to dream about this.”

That’s what does it. The question slips out before you can stop it–fast, unfiltered. “So who was that girl, if she’s not your girlfriend?” The words echo a bit too sharply in the steam filled room. Your eyes go wide. “Shit–I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in gently. “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you.”

You look down at the water, heart racing, skin heating in more ways than one. “It didn’t bother me,” you say softly.

Nam Gyu gives a slow, amused sigh. “We work together.”

You glance up. “Work together?” You make air quotes with your fingers, voice skeptical. It makes him smirk.

“You wanna go through my phone?” he offers casually. “Deadass. You can scroll through the whole thing. You won’t find anything. No flirty texts. No hidden apps. Just boring ass group chats and my open tabs of porn with girls that look like you.”

You stare at him wide eyed. “What?”

“I’m not kidding,” he says, holding your gaze. “Same body type. Same thighs. Same tits. Same soft little belly. They all look like you. I haven’t fucked anyone since you. Haven’t wanted to.”

The words dangle in the air, leaving you speechless. He runs his hand up your calf, fingers trailing lazily along your skin. “It’s like I ruined myself,” he says with a small laugh. “Now nothing else works.”

You hold your breath. “Gyu…”

“I don’t say that to pressure you,” he murmurs. “You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t want you wondering where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. It’s only ever been you.”

You slip your foot from his lap, crawling forward through the water, slow and shy. He watches you, still and waiting, until you’re between his legs, your chest pressed lightly to his, water lapping around your waists.

Your fingers slide up to his jaw. You tilt his face to you. “Thank you for telling me,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You gonna kiss me now?”

You lean in, barely brushing your mouth over his. “Maybe.”

He grins, water dripping from his lashes. “I missed you so bad,” he breathes out. You kiss him. Long and deep. The kind that makes your toes curl beneath the bubbles.

His hands find your back, your waist, your thighs under the water. You pull back just an inch, catching your breath, whispering, “You don’t have to ruin yourself anymore.” He looks at you like he’s already been saved.

You’re still curled into him, damp skin pressed against his chest, your nose tucked under his jaw. The bubbles have started to fade, leaving the water silky and warm around you both. His arms rest around you, hands drifting mindlessly over your hips, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s a smile curling at your lip. “So you’re really gonna sit here and tell me,” you murmur, “that you didn’t fuck anyone else in the last three years.”

His brows lift. “That’s what I said.”

You tilt your head. “Not even once?”

“Just me and my hand,” he says without shame.

Your mouth falls open a little. “What the fuck.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I tried. Once. Didn’t work.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. “Didn’t work?”

“Couldn’t get it up,” he says bluntly. “She wasn’t you.”

You blink at him, jaw slack. “Wow. Really making me feel special over here.”

“You should,” his eyes drag slowly down your face, your lips, your body beneath the water. “You broke my dick. Congratulations.”

You snort, about to make some sarcastic comment–but then his hand trails down your side andrests on your thigh, spreading gently. Not demanding, just waiting. You breathe in slowly. Then you slide out of his arms. His brow furrows. “What are you–”

“Shhh,” you whisper, slipping lower in the water. His hands twitch like he’s about to reach for you, but then you’re disappearing beneath the surface.

The water distorts everything. His legs, the dimmed lights, the ripples against your arms as you ease forward and settle between his thighs. You press your palms to them gently, guiding him back as he leans against the tub wall.

You glance up, his figure blurred and glowing in golds and blues through the water, and then you wrap your fingers around his half hard cock, stroking slow. Above the water, he groans. His head falls back.

You close your lips around the tip. Heat pulses through the water and through your chest at once. You bob your head slowly, the pressure different down here, warmer, heavier. Your mouth moves with gentle suction, tongue tracing every inch of him you can fit.

You feel the way his hips twitch, his thighs flexing under your hands. You come up only for air–eyes meeting his as you gasp softly, mouth wet and pink and hungry. “You’re really gonna kill me,” he pants.

“I’m making up for three years of you being tragically abstinent,” you tease, voice low and playful.

He grabs the sides of the tub, knuckles white. “You think I won’t drown in this bathtub for you?” he growls.

You grin. Then you go back down. This time, you take him deeper. Let your throat relax, water bubbling softly around you as you move. His hand slips into your wet hair, not pulling, just holding. Like he’s grounding himself.

When you come up again, your lips are slick and swollen, and his whole body's shaking. “Get up here,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Please.”

You blink slowly. Innocent, dangerous. “Why?”

“I need to fuck you.”

You hum, dragging your nails along his thigh. “Thought you liked my mouth?”

His hand wraps tight around your wrist. You think he’s going to pull you into his lap again–but instead, he’s yanking you up, water sluicing down your body, your chest bare and glistening in the low bathroom light. “Get up here,” he growls. “Now.”

You step out of the tub slowly, dripping, trembling–but you don’t get far. He doesn’t wait. The second your foot hits the tile, he grabs your hips, towel falling away, and guides you down to the floor with him. We skin against wet skin. His back hits the side of the tub, and he grabs you right over his lap, one hand fisting your thigh, the other slicking down your waist, squeezing.

“You gonna make me beg again?” he pants, eyes hungry and ruined.

You stare down at him, breath catching, chest heaving. “No,” you whisper. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.” You reach down, guide him to your center, and sink down slow.

His mouth drops open. His eyes flutter shut. His head thuds back against the porcelain. “Fuck–baby–”

You roll your hips gently, slowly, letting him stretch you open, letting him feel every second of it. He’s still wet from the tub, water pooling on the tile beneath you, your thighs soaked and gleaming as you ride him in slow, grounding waves.

He looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. His hands settle on your waist, fingers shaking, thumbs stroking your stomach. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You feel unreal.”

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders and he leans in just enough to kiss you–sloppy, desperate, soaking wet–moaning into your mouth as you move faster. “I missed you so much,” you gasp.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes. “Not once.”

And then you’re gasping, trembling, choking his name as your thighs shake and his grip turns bruising–and he fucks up into you like he’s losing his mind, like he’s starving, like he’s going to die here if he doesn’t make you come on his cock one more time.

You’re both still dripping, steam rising from the bath behind you, your bodies tangled on the bathroom floor–no time, no space, just now. Just need.

You’re both a mess–sweaty, soaked, sprawled on the bathroom floor. Water drips from your hair, your thighs still trembling as you lean forward and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is still pounding beneath your ear, fast and wild like it hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Nam Gyu exhales, arms loosely draped around your back, and murmurs, “Stay.”

You lift your head and look up at him, lips still parted from the kiss you just barely pulled away from. “I can’t.”

“Nooo,” he gorans, throwing his head back dramatically against the floor. “Why not.”

You sit up slowly, reaching for a towel and dabbing at your skin. “Because I have to go back to my place.”

“Why,” he whines, dragging the world out like a child being denied dessert.

You raise your brows at him, smug. “You can text me. I won’t block you.” A pause. “Like you did to me.”

He groans again, but this time it’s more shame than play. He covers his face with his hand. “Low blow.”

You stifle a giggle, drying off as you stand up. “You deserved it.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “So we fuck and now you’re just…heading out?” He sits up, watching you with narrowed eyes, trying to look offended but the corner of his mouth is twitching. “What are you now, a fuckboy?”

You laugh, tossing the towel at his head. “Please. My cat will literally kill me if I don’t go home and feed him. He’s feral.”

He catches the towel mid-air, chuckling under his breath as he watches you step around him, grabbing your dress. “Your cat’s got an attitude,” he mutters.

“So do I,” you say with a wink, slipping your dress back on. “Maybe that’s why he likes me.”

Nam Gyu is still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, towel in his lap, just watching you move. Like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your back and the shape of your smile.

“Do you work tomorrow?” you ask, glancing at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your hair.

He shrugs, like the question is beneath him. “I’ll call in.”

You roll your eyes, but your gin is soft. “Okay, well–once you do that, call me. And we’ll meet up. Okay?”

His eyes warm. He nods. “Okay.”

You lean down, press one last kiss to his lips, and whisper, “I’ll see you soon.”

And as you head for the door, he calls after you, voice lazy and teasing: “Tell your cat I said fuck you.” You laugh all the way to the elevator.

The night air is cool on your cheeks as you walk home alone, heels clicking against the pavement, your head still spinning from everything. From him. His mouth. His hands. The things he said. The way he looked at you like you’d swallowed the stars and spit out light. You smile. You don’t mean to–but it happens.

Your phone is warm in your hand, your fingers brushing over his most recent texts. Let me know you got home safe. i should’ve made you stay. i already miss you…

You tuck it away and swipe to call instead–someone else. Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Yo. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse. “I just…guess who I ran into tonight.”

He groans. “If this is one of those ‘you’ll never believe who I saw at the grocery store’ calls, I swear to God–”

“It’s Nam Gyu.”

Silence. Then a sigh, long and familiar. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Where? And why?” he asks.

You pause. “Out. At this lounge. He was there with someone but then he…he saw me. Came over.”

Your brother mutters something under his breath, probably cursing like he knows your mom doesn’t like. “Stay away from him,” he says. Not a suggestion. A command. “There’s a reason Mom and Dad made him stop coming around back then. You remember that, right?”

You stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Your heart beats a little slower than it did earlier. “I know. I just…” You swallow. “He seemed…different. I don’t know. Maybe he’s changed.”

Your brother’s voice is flat. “Yeah. I highly doubt that. People like that don’t change.”

You shift your phone to the other ear, trying not to sound defensive. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just be careful, okay? Seriously. That guy’s not–he’s not built for soft things.”

You don’t say anything else. You just promise you’ll call later, then hang up as your apartment comes into view. Once inside, your cat is already meowing at the door like you left him for dead. You scoop him up, kissing the top of his head as he purrs against your collarbone. “I know, I know. I was bad. I’ll feed you.”

You change out of your dress, wash the makeup off your face, pull on the ugliest, softest sleep shirt you own. You scroll through your texts again.

Gyu💀: you make the stupidest faces when ur about to cum

Gyu💀: in a good way btw

Gyu💀: text me when ur home

Gyu💀: text me when ur in bed

Gyu💀: text me even if ur not thinking about me. idc i’ll take crumbs

You smile again. Just a little. And type:

you: i’m home. in bed. and thinking about you

you: but i’ll text you in the morning, gyu. goodnight

You don’t expect him to reply–but he does. Almost instantly.

Gyu💀: fuuuck. okay. goodnight baby

You sleep like shit. Even curled under your coziest blanket with your cat tucked behind your knees, all you can think about is the way Nam Gyu looked at you last night–like he wanted to memorize the shape of your body with his hands, like the ache in his voice was real when he said “please.”

You wake up slow, eyes gritty, throat dry. A faint soreness between your legs and something heavier sitting right in your chest. It’s a quiet morning. The city hasn’t quite stirred yet. You make tea. Feed Tofu so he won’t scream at you. Sit cross legged on your couch with your sketchpad and try to lose yourself in a drawing–but your lines are uneven. Unsteady. You flip to a blank page and try again, but halfway through you realize you’re drawing him.

Again.

Same strong brow. Same dark eyes. A mouth you could recognize by feel alone. You drop the pencil, lean back, and just…stare at the paper. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t. But you do. You pull your phone from the coffee table and scroll back to his last text from last night. You stare at it, thumb hovering. Then you start typing.

you: i think i missed you.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly. A bubble appears. Then it disappears. Then reappears.

Gyu💀: meet me at my club tonight. 7pm.

You: okay

You spend way too long picking out what to wear. It’s stupid. You’ve already had your tongue down his throat and his hands between your thighs and you've literally ridden him on his bathroom floor–but still. You want to look good.

You pull on a long black skirt with a small slit up the side. A soft, oversized cream sweater–that sweater, the one from years ago. The one he used to tease you about for being a blanket. You tuck it in just enough to show off your waist. High-top sneakers, a little scuffed. Hair down. Lips tinted rose.

You keep the makeup minimal. Soft, comfortable, like you. Your phone buzzes with the Uber notification. You give your cat one last kiss on the head. “Don’t wait up,” you mumble.

The club is huge. Loud and packed. The music thrums like a heartbeat in the pavement beneath your feet. The line outside stretches down the block and curls around the corner. You suck in a breath, heart already skipping.

This…is definitely not your speed. But you keep your head down, stay in line, and when you finally reach the front, you dig through your bag for your ID–only for the bouncer to nod at you and open the velvet rope. “Go ahead.”

You look at him confused. “Wait, what–?”

But the guy’s already moved on to the next person. You step inside. The air hits you like a wall: warm, electric, pulsing with music, and sweat, and weed. Neon lights flicker from above, reflecting off mirrored walls and liquor bottles behind the long bar.

People are dancing, drinking, pressed together in corners and booths. It’s chaos. Flashy and expensive. Like something out of someone else’s life. You hover next to the bar, trying not to look too awkward. You pull out your phone and text: i’m here.

You chew your lip. Grip your purse. You feel like you don’t belong, like you’re playing dress up. You wonder where he is–if he’s even here yet. If this was a mistake. Until you feel a hand curl gently around your waist. And hear that familiar voice, low and close to your ear. “Of course you wore that sweater.”

You turn, already smiling. Nam Gyu’s standing there in all black–jeans that fit way too well, a dark t-shirt, and a subtle chain around his neck. He looks good. Too good. And he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room.

He leans in a little, fingers still at your waist. “You want a drink?”

You hesitate. “Um…something light?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Light?”

“I have to function, Nam Gyu,” you tease, bumping his arm gently.

That gets a crooked grin out of him. “Got it. Girly. Weak. Possibly pink.”

You roll your eyes but don’t let go of the smile tugging at your lips. “I trust you.”

He waves down the bartender–doesn’t even have to wait. Just murmurs something low and quick, and the guy nods and starts mixing. You blink, impressed. “You really own this place?”

He shrugs. “I helped start it. Now I run most of it.”

The drink slides into your hand moments later. It’s pink. Fizzy. Garnished with a sugared rim and a twist of something citrusy. You raise an eyebrow. “This better not make me black out.”

He laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, barely any alcohol, and honestly–delicious. “Okay, you win.”

“Say it again,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle against your hip. “I win.”

You bump him again with your elbow. “Don’t push it.”

Nam Gyu leads you through the maze of people like he’s done it a thousand times. And you guess he has. He knows this place like muscle memory–nodding at staff, sliding past corners and shadows and pulsing light until you’re climbing a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the DJ booth.

The noise dips once you’re up top. Not gone, but softened. The VIP lounge is sleek and expensive. Still crowded, still buzzing–but the music doesn’t rattle in your teeth up here. The lighting’s softer, the drinks fancier, the couches low and plush and wrapped in velvet.

You hover just inside the railing. You can see the whole club from here. The crowd below like moving constellations, all glitter and movement and rhythm. It’s a little surreal. This whole night is.

Nam Gyu presses a warm hand to the small of your back. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still on the floor below. “It’s just a lot.”

“You’re doing good.” His voice is warm, fond. “You look good, too.” You glance at him, just to see if he means it. He’s already looking. Already caught. You feel heat bloom at the base of your throat. “Still soft,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your sweater where it tucks into your waistband. “Still my girl in sneakers.”

Your breath catches. You don’t say anything. You just take another sip of your drink and try not to melt under the way he’s watching you.

You take the last sip of your drink, lips brushing the sugared rim one final time. Nam Gyu’s watching you–he hasn’t stopped. Leaning back on the velvet couch, one arm stretched along the back behind you, the other draped over his thigh. Relaxed and cocky. Completely zeroed in on you.

He looks like he owns the room. He catches your glance and tips his head slightly. “What?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You look away, eyes drifting down to the crowd below. Bodies moving together like waves. Hands in the air, heads thrown back, lights slicing through the dark. Music thrumming through the floor, vibrating faintly beneath your shoes.

“Still not your scene?” he asks softly.

You rest your arms on the railing, trying not to fidget. “Not really.”

“But you’re here.”

You bite your lip. “I said I missed you, didn’t I?”

His breath catches. It’s subtle, but you hear it. Feel it. That little hitch of surprise. Or maybe restraint. When you glance back, he’s already closer. Not touching. But closer. His voice dips. “You know, if I were still twenty-five, I probably would’ve pulled you into the bathroom by now.”

Your eyes widen. “You’d pretend you didn’t want it,” he continues, “but you’d be dripping. Just like always.”

Your thighs clench under your skirt. You keep your face turned away, but he sees it–he feels it. You shake your head, forcing a light laugh. “You’re not twenty-five anymore. And I’m not nineteen.”

“No,” he says. “You’re better now.” His hand brushes your leg–barely there. Just the edge of his pinky along your thigh, just above your knee. A touch so light it might’ve been imagined. You press your lips together, pulse ticking fast in your throat. He leans in again, mouth near your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”

You don’t answer. Not out loud. You just watch the floor below, the way the people dance like nothing else matters. Like they’re made for it. And you try to pretend your heart’s not thudding out of rhythm every time Nam Gyu looks at you like that.

The second he unlocks the door to his office and lets you inside, you don’t wait. You barely hear the click of it shutting before you’re pushing him back, slamming your mouth into his. His low grunt stutters in surprise, but he melts into it fast–too fast–his hands already sliding down to your waist like he’s been touch starved.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles between kisses, pulling at the hem of your sweater. “Didn’t know you were gonna be the one attacking me tonight.”

You tug him toward the couch, straddling him without another word. His back hits the cushions with a soft thud, and you’re already grinding your hips down into his lap, your long skirt riding up with every roll.

He gasps. Then grins. “Shit. Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Your fingers curl into his shoulder, eyes dark as sin. “Nothing.” You smirk. “Just sit there and be good.”

His breath catches, then he nods fast, wide-eyed and helpless. “Yes ma’am.”

You swear you feel him throb beneath you when he says it. You reach down between you and unbuckle his belt slowly, fingers brushing over the hardness beneath. He’s not just hard–he’s aching. You can tell by the way his head tips back, the way he groans when you palm him through his boxers. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He mutters again.

You slip your hand under the waistband and wrap around him, warm and solid in your grip. His hips jerk. His fingers clench the edge of the couch. He doesn’t even try to touch you back–just watches you, desperate and ruined, as you work him slowly, teasing.

But then your phone vibrates on the table behind him. You don’t look at it. But it keeps going. Buzz. Buzz.

Nam Gyu blinks up at you. “You can get it, baby–”

You grab it and answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

Your brother’s voice hits your ear, loud and clear. “Hey–did you talk to the lawyer yet? They need the signature for Mom and Dad’s estate paperwork–”

Nam Gyu stiffens beneath you. Your free hand presses to his chest. Stay quiet, don’t move.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I got the email, I just haven’t–”

You shift your hips, slowly. Nam Gyu gasps. “F-fuck.”

“Who was that?” your brother snaps. “Is someone with you?”

Your stomach drops. You answer too fast. “Just a friend.”

He goes quiet, then says, “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

You glance down at Nam Gyu. His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.

“I knew it. I knew you were lying the second you said you ‘ran into him.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brother’s voice cuts like a blade. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say? Is this your way of grieving? Sleeping with him? Letting him back in? It’s fucked. You need to stop.”

You flinch, like his words reached through the phone and hit you. “Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t throw them at me like that.”

He’s relentless. “Then grow the fuck up. Sign the fucking papers. Get your life together. And don’t come crying to me when he fucks it all up for you again.”

You stare down at Nam Gyu, your hand still curled tight into his shirt. His eyes are locked on yours, unreadable. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just waits.

You hang up without saying another word. The silence in the office is heavy–tense, electric, raw. You press your hands to your thighs to steady yourself. Then you look him in the eyes, and sink down on his cock in one long, slow, devastating motion.

You fuck the anger out of yourself.

Hands braced on his chest, thighs tight around your hips, you ride Nam Gyu like you own him. Because in this moment–you do.

He looks wrecked beneath you. Face flushed, lips swollen from all the begging he’s done. Hair sticking to his temples, chest heaving. The matching bra and pany set you wore just for him is long forgotten–his greedy hands shoved the cups down, hands full of your tits, moaning about how perfect you are.

Though now, he’s bare beneath you. Arms pinned above his head, wristed held down by your strength, though he could easily break free. His cock buried deep inside you as you ride him hard and mean. “Fuck–please, baby,” he gasps. “I missed you–I missed this–please, let me touch–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, hips grinding down, your cunt clenching just to hear the way he chokes on a moan. “You don’t get to touch unless I say.”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he whimpers.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You like being used, don’t you?”

His whole body twitches. “God–yes–I fucking love it.”

Your pace grows harsher, your breath ragged as you ride him harder. You feel how close he is–his cock throbbing, his body straining beneath you. You let go of his wrists and grab his face instead, making him look at you. “You gonna beg for it?”

He nods fast, completely gone. “Please let me come, please–please–I’ll do anything–I’ll worship you–”

You’re right on the edge too, hips slapping against his, your body shaking. And then–the door to the office swings open.

“Nam Gyu, I’ve been looking for you–” The voice cuts off. She freezes in the doorway. Her. The girl from dinner. She’s wide-eyed, staring.

Nam Gyu doesn’t even flinch. “Get the fuck out!”

“Jesus–sorry–!” she blurts, scrambling backward and slamming the door behind her.

Silence. Your chest heaves, your palms still splayed across his chest. You’re still seated on his cock–him still pulsing, twitching, begging.

You slowly start grinding again. Nam Gyu gasps like he’s dying. His hands grab your waist, desperate and clumsy. “Please. Please don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything–just let me come inside you–I’ll die if you stop–”

You smirk, breathless. “Embarrassed, baby?”

He groans. “I don’t care. Let them all hear. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

And you fuck him again–merciless and slow–watching him unravel. You ride him until he’s coming undone beneath you, moaning your name like he’s worshiping it, spilling inside you with trembling thighs and bruised lips.

You both slowly start to get dressed, the sticky heat of your bodies cooling in the aftermath. He watches you as you fix your bra and skirt, soft and reverent, like he still can’t believe he got to touch you yet again.

When you’re slipping your sweater back over your head, Nam Gyu clears his throat and goes, “Can I come over tonight?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Gyu. If you know where I live and we…don’t work out…”

His jaw flexes, but he nods. “I get it. I do. But I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I swear. I’ll leave if you tell me to. Hell. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to.”

Your lips twitch with a reluctant smile. “Okay.”

The drive back to your place is quiet, but not awkward. His fingers rest gently on your knee the entire ride, like he’s grounding himself just by touching you.

When you pull up to your apartment, you glance over shyly. “It’s nothing like your fancy penthouse.”

Nam Gyu lets out a quiet laugh, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I used to live on the street, baby girl. Your place is heaven to me.”

You feel your stomach twist at the nickname, the sincerity in his voice, the softness that feels too real. He follows you inside.

A Few Weeks Later

The road stretches ahead in one long, gray ribbon, the sky overcast, heavy like your chest. You sit with your legs pulled up on the passenger seat, sweatshirt sleeves bunched around your fists, the silence between you and Nam Gyu comfortable–but weighted.

He reaches out every once in a while to rest his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans in slow, absent circles. It’s been like that for most of the ride–quiet, steady touches. No music. Just the sound of the engine, the tires on the highway, and the occasional soft murmur between you.

After a while, he glances over. “So why are they selling the house now?”

You swallow. “My dad got really sick. About a year ago.”

His expression shifts immediately–brows pulling together, eyes flickering over you.

“He passed away six months ago,” you say, voice quiet. “Mom lasted another three months. I think she just gave up.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low and serious. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, staring out the window. “It’s fine. It’s just been…a lot. Trying to get everything settled. Especially with my brother.”

Nam Gyu glances at you again. “He’s still giving you a hard time?”

You don’t answer right away. Just lean your head back against the seat and sigh. “He’s angry. About everything. And he’s always been overprotective. So when it comes to you…”

“I don’t care,” Nam Gyu cuts in gently. “Let him be pissed. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Your glance at him, heart clenching. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He just shrugs, eyes on the road. “Yeah, I did.”

By the time you arrive, your stomach’s tied in knots. The house looks the same. Like it’s been frozen in time. The overgrown bushes. The chipped mailbox. The front door with the faded welcome mat your mom refused to replace. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

You spot your brother’s car in the driveway, along with the lawyer’s. The realtor’s already waiting on the front porch, arms folded, clipboard in hand.

Nam Gyu parks behind them and kills the engine. He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod, jaw set. “Let’s just get it over with.”

You step out of the car together, and the second you and Nam Gyu walk through the front door, you hear it: “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You turn slowly, meeting his glare. He’s standing in the living room with the lawyer and realtor, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his neck veins are visible.

You sigh. “Just let me sign the papers and we’ll go.”

His eyes cut to Nam Gyu. “You brought him here? Are you serious?”

“I said drop it,” you snap, already walking past him toward the kitchen where the documents are laid out. “We’re not doing this right now.”

Nam Gyu stays close but quiet, his posture tense. He doesn’t bite back–doesn’t give your brother the satisfaction of a fight. Not yet.

You take the pen the lawyer hands you and sign your name quickly, the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Your brother scoffs. “This is such a joke. You always do this. You let trash back into your life and pretend like it’s love.”

You slam the pen down. “I said we’re not doing this.”

He steps forward. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say if they could see you now?”

You open your mouth to respond–but Nam Gyu steps in, voice sharp and low, “Hey. That’s enough.”

Your brother’s gaze cuts to him with a fresh wave of hatred. And you–your hands are trembling slightly, but your face is steel. You just pick up your copy of the signed papers, turn to the realtor, and say flatly, “We’re done here.”

You walk out without another word. Nam Gyu follows, slamming the front door behind him. You’re halfway to the car when the fury claws up your throat like bile. You stop short, heart pounding. Then you spin on your heel.

Nam Gyu calls your name, but you’re already storming back into the house. Your brother’s standing in the living room with his arms crossed, smug like he won whatever argument this was supposed to be.

“Stop making their death about you,” you snap, voice trembling out of anger. “You have done nothing but make this whole process awful for me. I’ve handled everything while you sat in a different country and judged from afar.”

“Oh, please,” your brother scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t even show up to the funeral. Who are you to talk about grief?”

Your breath catches. Behind you, you hear the soft click of the front door as Nam Gyu steps back inside. He doesn’t say a word–just rests a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you.

But you’re shaking. “I hate you,” you whisper at first. Then louder, “I fucking hate you.”

Your brother’s jaw clenches. “Take the money from the house,” you say, venom in every word, “and don’t ever fucking call me again.”

There’s a moment of silence–so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. And then he laughs. Cold and cruel. “Oh, I see. Gonna run off to Nam Gyu now?” he sneers. “Let him make you feel special again, right? Until you have one minor disagreement and he beats you like he did his ex?”

The world lurches sideways. Your ears ring. You blink at him, stunned. Frozen. You didn’t mishear him. You couldn’t have.

You feel Nam Gyu stiffen behind you–but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a single word. Your brother smirks. “Yeah. Bet he didn’t tell you that part, huh?”

Your mouth opens. But no sound comes out. The only thing you can feel is the blood roaring in your ears, and the warm, heavy pressure of Nam Gyu’s hand still steady on your shoulder.

You turn to him, jaw tight. “Let’s go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t argue. Doesn’t glance back at your brother. He just follows you out of the house like a shadow.

The car ride is silent. He doesn’t start the engine right away when you both climb in–just sits there, hands limp on the wheel, staring through the windshield.

You cross your arms, sinking into the passenger seat, then say sharper than you mean to, “Can we go to the hotel, please?”

He flinches. But he turns the key. The drive is only ten minutes, but it feels like forever. No music. No words. Just the muted hum of tires on pavement and the ache of something cracking between you.

He parks. You both get out. Check-in is stiff, wordless–he pays, and you trial behind him to the elevator, eyes on the floor.

When you reach the room, he unlocks the door and lets you walk in first. The moment it shuts behind you, you just stand there. Motionless. The room is dim and clean and painfully quiet. It feels sterile. Temporary. A holding place for whatever happens next.

You turn to face him slowly. Nam Gyu’s already watching you. “Go ahead and ask,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, but there’s something hollow behind it–something bracing for impact.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. “I…don’t know if I want to hear it.”

His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at you, eyes dark and tired. “That’s fair.”

You stare at him for another beat, your chest rising and falling too fast. The air between you feels thick. Heavy.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he finally says, voice quieter now. “Not like he thinks I did.”

Your heart knocks hard against your ribs. But you don’t speak. Not yet. Because some part of you still isn’t sure which version of him to believe.

You cross your arms tighter across your chest, your nails biting into your sides. “Then tell me,” you say flatly. “I guess.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes search yours for a long, tense moment, like he’s checking for how much you really want to hear it. But then he takes a slow breath and begins. “It was bad between us. Me and her,” he explains quietly. “I was using all the time. Coke. Pills. Anything to get through the day. She wasn’t much better.”

You don’t interrupt. Just wait.

“We fought constantly. Screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming…the cops got called once. She said I grabbed her arm too hard. I probably did.” He shrugs, but it’s bitter, like he hates himself for even trying to sound casual. “I black out half that week. The only reason I remember any of it is because of the court transcript.”

You swallow hard.

“She dropped the charges a month later,” he says, gaze fixed on the floor now. “Said she exaggerated. Said she didn’t want to ruin my life. But the damage was done. I did six months for possession and resisting arrest.”

You stare at him. The hotel room is quiet. The carpet beneath your feet feels like it might give out. You take one step forward. Then another. And then you shove him. Not hard. Just enough that he stumbles back one step back. He blinks at you, stunned.

“Why,” you begin, voice cracking with fury, “do I still fucking love you after that?”

His eyes fly to yours, wide. “Wait…you what–?”

You shove him again. “You’re not a good guy.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, hands open like he’s surrendering, but there’s something desperate in his voice–like he wants you to hit him again, just to feel it.

So you do. Push him harder this time, until he stumbles back onto the edge of the bed, catching himself with his hands. You’re standing over him now, your whole body trembling with rage and confusion and want.

“So why do I love you,” you whisper, “and why do I wanna fuck you right now?”

He’s breathing hard, looking up at you like you’re the only god he’s ever believed in. “I don't know,” he whispers. “But please…do it anyway.”

Nam Gyu looks up at you like he’s already undone. You climb onto his lap without a word, straddling him, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and dragging it up and off with a force that makes him gasp. Your nails scrape down his chest as you lean in, mouth at his jaw, biting hard.

He groans–loud–grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “I missed you,” he pants, “I missed you so fucking much–”

“Shut up.”

You crash your mouth onto his, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue. He’s already hard beneath you, bucking up into your core like he can’t help it. Your hand fumbles at his belt, yanking it open, and he moans like it physically hurts to be touched again by you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he stammers, head tilting back as you reach into his briefs, wrap you fingers around him. “Please, baby–please, I need you–”

You tear off your shirt, your bra, and then stand up just long enough to shimmy out of your pants and panites in one frustrated motion.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nearly breathless. “All for me?”

“Who else?” you snap.

He surges forward, mouthing hungrily at your chest, hands roaming your thighs as you push him flat on the bed and straddle him again, dragging his cock through your slick folds.

“Beg for it,” you whisper into his ear.

“Please,” he groans instantly. “Please ride me, baby, I’ll do anything–need you so bad–been so fucking empty without you.”

You sink down in one swift, brutal motion and he chokes, hands flying to your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Holy fuck! You feel–fuck you feel unreal.” He gasps.

You ride himself without rhythm at first, just fast, messy, like you’re tyring to fuck the heartbreak out of yourself. His fingers bruise into your skin, jaw slack as he watches you, completely gone.

“You’re mine,” you growl, voice raw.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yours, all yours, always–fuck, don’t stop, please–”

You lean down, press your chest to his, fucking him deeper, harder, his name falling form your lips like a curse. Your teeth catch his bottom lip, dragging it before you kiss him again, rough and desperate.

The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. His breath is ragged and stuttering beneath you.

“Gonna come,” he whines, completely unguarded. “Fuck–please, can I? Inside you? Please let me…”

“Do it.”

He shatters with a strangled cry, clinging to you like you’re salvation. You don’t stop moving, riding him through it until you come too, a tidal wave breaking as your head falls into the crook of his neck, mouth open in a silent moan.

You collapse together–sticky, panting, clinging.

His voice is hoarse, barely audible. “I love you. Even if you hate me–I love you.”

You’re still catching your breath, chests pressed together and damp with sweat, when Nam Gyu murmurs, voice low against your temple, “Do you love me…or do you just love fucking me?”

You huff a laugh against his neck. “Do I have to only pick one?”

That makes him laugh–deep and breathless, warm in your ear. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. The air between you settles, heavy with heat and history.

“I do love you,” you whisper eventually. “But if you ever do anything to me…I will kill you. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s no trace of amusement left in his face–just the solemn curve of his mouth as he nods. “Oh, trust me,” he says quietly. “I know.”

You giggle a little, even as your chest aches. You curl tighter into him, cheek resting over his heart.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he whispers, “I’m sorry about how today turned out.”

You nod slowly, fingers tracing the faded ink on his ribs. “I’m just…glad to be done with it all, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it.”

You swallow thickly. “I really miss them.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything–he just strokes your spine gently with the pads of his fingers, grounding you.

“I hope they can’t see how things turned out,” you admit, barely audible. “They’d be disappointed in my brother and me.”

He exhales. “You’re doing your best. You loved them. That’s what matters.”

You blink up at the ceiling. Your throat is tight, but the tears don’t come. “I don’t think I’ve ever really said goodbye,” you murmur.

Nam Gyu kisses your hair, cradling you like you might slip through his arms. “Then maybe we do that tomorrow.”

You let your eyes fall shut, cheek still resting on his chest. His heartbeat thuds gently beneath your ear, slow now. Safe.

You yawn, voice muffled in his skin. “I didn’t go to their funerals.” Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing your back, waiting. You swallow, then keep going. “Because I didn’t want it to be real. If I didn’t see it…then it wasn’t real.”

He exhales through his nose, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I understand,” he murmurs. “They do too.” You close your eyes tighter. “It’s okay to grieve however you need to,” he adds gently.

“I guess my way of grieving,” you whisper, “is fucking a guy who’s no good for me.”

That makes him laugh–quiet and tired, like he knows exactly much weight lives in that sentence. “I’m trying to be good for you,” he says softly.

You shift, pressing your nose to his neck. “I know, Gyu.”

The morning comes with a dim gray sky and a chill in the air. You’re sitting on the edge of the motel bed, tugging on your hoodie, still half asleep. Nam Gyu runs a hand through his messy hair, watching you quietly.

He speaks up, voice rough with sleep. “I could take you to see them. If you want.”

You look up, startled. You hesitate, heart thudding a little faster. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never been. Not even once.”

Nam Gyu stands, walks over to crouch in front of you. “Then maybe it’s time.”

You stare at him for a beat, then nod slowly. “Okay. Yeah…okay.”

The cemetery is still. Wind rustles through the trees, leaves whispering to each other like they’re trying not to disturb the silence. You walk slowly between the rows, your fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of your hoodie, until you see their names etched in stone.

Your knees give a little when you reach them, and you let yourself sink into the grass. It’s cool beneath you, soft and damp. Nam Gyu stays quiet, standing behind you, one of his hands resting gently on your shoulder.

You stare at the headstones. Your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. It takes a moment for your voice to steady. “Hi,” you finally whisper. “I’m here.” You press your hands into your lap, knuckles white. “Sorry it took me so long.”

The air is thick with things unsaid. You look at the flowers someone left–probably your brother. You didn’t bring any. Didn’t think to. You feel stupid about it.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want it to be real,” you say. “I thought if I just kept going, you’d still be out there somewhere. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t want this to be true.”

You draw in a shaky breath. Nam Gyu’s hand squeezes lightly. “I miss you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaks a little. “I think I’ve just been pretending that I’m fine. Like maybe if I didn’t cry, I could just keep going. But I’m not okay.”

You look up at the sky. “I’m trying. I don’t know if I’m doing anything right, but I’m trying.”

And then, slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Nam Gyu is still there, hands in his pockets now, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow manages to be both calm and full of quiet affection. When your eyes meet, he just offers you a small smile. Gentle. Patient.

That’s all it takes.

The tears come without warning–hot, soundless, unstoppable. They roll down your cheeks like something broken, finally cracking open, something too tightly held for too long.

You turn away quickly, but Nam Gyu kneels beside you. Doesn't say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him, tucking your face into his chest as your shoulders shake.

Still quiet. Still safe.

You cry there, finally, in the open, in front of the only people you ever wanted to be proud of you. And Nam Gyu just holds you, steady and still, like he knows this is what you needed more than anything else.

The takeout containers are scattered across the bed, half empty and grease stained. You’re both sitting cross legged, the TV playing something mindless in the background, the glow of it soft against the hotel room walls. Nam Gyu’s balancing a carton of noodles on his thigh, shoveling them in like he hasn’t eaten in days.

You stab at a dumpling with your chopsticks and laugh when it slips out of your grasp for the third time. “Okay,” you grumble, “I’m gonna sue.”

Nam Gyu snorts. “Sue who? The dumpling?”

“I don’t know,” you say, popping a piece of broccoli into your mouth instead. “Whoever invented chopsticks. My hands are too sweaty for this.”

“You want a fork, baby?” he teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “I’m fine. I’m strong. I’m independent.”

“You’re losing a war to steamed vegetables.”

You laugh, that warm, honest kind that makes your stomach flutter a little when you realize how easily he draws it out of you. You let the moment breathe, quiet and soft.

Then, Nam Gyu asks, gentle and unassuming, “How are you feeling?”

You pause, the air in the room suddenly a little heavier. You push a noodle around your carton. “I was fine,” you say, voice light and falsely bright, “until you asked.” You look up at him with a shaky smile, then down again. “I’m okay. Or… I will be. I think.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t press. He just hums quietly, finishes chewing, and reaches for one of the fortune cookies on the nightstand. He tosses one toward you, and it bounces off your chest before landing in your lap. “Open it,” he says. “Let’s see what your fate is.”

You crack it open and read the slip aloud: “Your strength is not loud, but unshakable.”

Nam Gyu grins. “It’s true though. You’re handling all this…better than I ever could.”

You crumple the fortune and toss it toward the trash, missing entirely. “Thanks, I think.”

He leans back on his elbows, watching you with something quieter in his gaze. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to be anything for me.”

You make a face and throw a balled up napkin at him. “Okay, stop being sappy. I’m emotionally fragile and your tender little voice is gonna make me cry.”

Nam Gyu snickers, catching the napkin before it hits his chest. “Fine, fine.”

You nudge his leg with your knee. “What does your fortune say?”

He breaks the cookie with a dramatic flourish, unfolds the tiny strip of paper, and squints at it. “Huh.”

“What?” you ask, peering at him.

He looks at you, deadpan. “Says I’ll receive the most mind blowing head tonight.”

You stare at him, horrid for half a second–before you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach and nearly knocking over the soy sauce. “Shut up! No, it doesn’t!”

He’s already cracking up too, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m kidding. It actually says…” He clears his voice and reads it in a mock serious voice. “A long awaited answer will arrive when you least expect it.”

You go quiet for a beat, your laughter trailing off. “That one’s kinda eerie,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu murmurs, folding the fortune and slipping into the takeout bag. “Guess we’ll see.”

You smile faintly, then settle in beside him again, letting your fingers brush against his without holding on–just a soft, simple connection. And for a moment, nothing hurts.

The silence stretches, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything else. Just leans his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded.

Outside the city hums below you. Inside, everything is still. You think: maybe this is where the worst ends. maybe this is where something new begins.

You don’t know what comes next. But for now, you stay.

a/n - so, so happy to be back posting again! i absolutely loved writing this story...so lmk if anyone would be interested in a part 2 of this! i'm cooking up some more juicy fics!! xoxo, squid

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