Pairing: chan x afab(female)!reader, non idol au, FWB to lovers
Synopsis: chan let's you break one of the rules of your arrangement, heck he might as well break them all.
Warnings: crack, mention of aphrodisiacs, suggestive, smut (for the first timee!!), tiny angst, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people!), oral rec. (f.), praise kink (m and f), chan confesses mid fuck, MDNI
A/n: this is my first smutttt hellaurrrr!!! I feel weird after writing it, please tell me what you guys think of it! Also this is basically my fic for chan's birthday!! Happy Birthday Chan!! I know I don't post birthday fics but since the idea came around the this time I decided to make it like that. If you have extra eyes for errors no you don't.
Now playing: Sugar on My Tounge by Tyler the Creator
You and Chan only had three rules when it came to your special relationship. Rule number one: no feelings. This was about stress relief, nothing more. Rule number two: no sleepovers. The moment either of you came, you showered, dressed, and left. No falling asleep in each other’s arms, no pretending it was something it wasn’t. Rule number three: never fuck in the candy shop. His shop was his livelihood, and neither of you wanted the walls that smelled faintly of sugar to hold that kind of memory.
The rules were simple, written in invisible ink between the two of you, but they existed all the same.
Your friendship with Chan had always been easy, the kind that drifted between long silences and loud laughter without any discomfort. You’d known him for years, back when his only dream was to make something that was his, something with his own name on it. When the candy shop opened, you were one of the first to step through the door, half-proud, half-exasperated, because only Chan would throw himself headfirst into shelves of sweets and call it a business plan.
Things had been steady for him until the breakup. She was beautiful, polished, sharp-tongued in a way Chan mistook for wit. For nearly three years, he tried to shape himself around her, only for her to throw it all back in his face one evening when she told him she was done. She didn’t cry, she just left, leaving him with a half-unpacked shop and a silence that rang louder than anything.
You found him days later, trying to pretend he was fine. He wasn’t. His eyes gave him away, always a little too red, his smile tugged at the corners like it was made of paper. He filled his time stocking jars and scribbling notes, but his shoulders were too tense, his voice too flat.
It was during one of your usual nights together with cheap wine, takeout cartons, a bad movie flickering on the TV, that you proposed the idea. He was slouched against your couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, muttering about how he hated the thought of starting over. You were tipsy enough to say it out loud, the words rolling off your tongue like they’d been sitting there, waiting.
“Then don’t. Just… use me instead.”
The silence that followed was heavy. He lifted his head, blinking at you as if you’d suggested something insane. You didn’t flinch. You leaned back into the couch, your voice steady, casual, almost daring him to argue.
“Friends with benefits. No strings. You need a distraction, I don’t mind being one.”
He studied you for what felt like forever, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. And then, finally, he nodded once. “No strings.”
The first time happened in your apartment. Clothes came off in a rush, teeth clashing, hands desperate. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t romantic it was raw, and left you both breathing hard against your pillows. You didn’t talk about it afterward. He left, you showered, and by morning you were back to being friends.
That was how it stayed. His place or yours, always after dark, always under the weight of those unspoken rules. Sometimes he’d show up at your door without warning, sometimes you’d text him after a rough day, and within minutes he was inside you, fucking you like the world outside didn’t exist. When it was done, you’d gather your clothes, and leave without looking back.
The boundaries held. At least, that’s how you saw it. You didn’t cuddle, you didn’t stay for breakfast, you didn’t let your hands linger too long. You laughed with him the same way you always had, teased him, argued with him, carried on as if the nights never happened.
And it worked. The lines between you stayed neat and sharp, exactly where you wanted them.
Or at least, that’s what you believed.
---
The bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open, the kind of sound that had become familiar over the years. The shop wasn’t new anymore; it had grown into its own little landmark, a pit stop for kids with sticky hands and adults pretending they weren’t here for nostalgia. Bright shelves lined with jars and bags stretched out in neat rows, the air carrying that faint sweetness that clung to everything inside.
You stepped through, eyes flicking to the counter—empty. No Chan. You sighed, swinging your bag higher on your shoulder as you wandered between the aisles. Your fingers trailed lazily over the packets and boxes until you spotted a bright green bag of gummy worms. Without hesitation, you tore it open and popped one in your mouth, chewing as your eyes searched for him.
And there he was.
Bending at the caramel section “Golden Drizzle,” the ridiculous little sign read, no doubt his attempt at charm marketing, Chan was crouched low, stacking jars on the bottom shelf. His cap was pulled backward, the loose edge of his tank top revealing the line of his shoulder and the faint flex of his arm as he worked.
Grinning, you skipped down the aisle and, without warning, jumped onto his back.
“What the—” he jolted, hand flying out to keep a jar from toppling, but before he could spin around you leaned in close.
“Hey, Chris.”
The sound of your voice made him sigh, shoulders dropping, not with annoyance but with something softer, something resigned.
“Hey, baby.”
You slid off him with a laugh, leaning against the rack while shoving another gummy worm into your mouth. He stood, turning halfway, catching the crinkle of the torn packet in your hand. His brows rose.
“You know you’re gonna pay for that, right?”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “With what? Cash? Card? Or cu—”
“Hey!” His voice jumped an octave, cutting you off, and his eyes darted toward the other end of the aisle where a mom was examining toffees with her kid. “Don’t say that in public!”
You burst out laughing, your chuckles spilling loud enough to earn a glare from the caramel jars. Chan rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips, shaking his head like you were impossible. He stood, dusted his hands on his shorts, and began walking toward the counter. You followed, slipping easily into step beside him, your shoulder brushing his.
“So,” he asked, casual, “how was class?”
“The same boring shit,” you answered, popping another gummy into your mouth. “Yeah?” He pushed open the little gate behind the counter, moving smoothly into his space like he’d done a thousand times before.
You leaned against the counter, watching as he adjusted the register. “Professor droned on about supply chains. Like, do I look like I care about distribution centers in Ohio? Then the girl beside me kept clicking her pen like a machine gun. Drove me insane.”
He hummed, nodding, only half-listening but enjoying the way you filled the silence. “Sounds riveting.”
“Oh, totally life-changing. Best three hours of my existence.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed a handful of receipts and tucked them neatly into a drawer. Before you could keep rambling, the bell above the door jingled again and a small pack of kids came in, darting straight toward the shelves.
Chan slipped into shop-owner mode, ringing up purchases while offering half-hearted warnings about not running. You leaned on the counter beside him, watching the chaos unfold, when you felt his shoulder brush yours lightly.
His voice dropped, low, meant only for you. “I got a new batch yesterday.”
Your brows furrowed, and you leaned closer. “Yeah? What kind?”
“The tasty kind.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Chan, which kind?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he finished scanning a bag of chocolate coins for a kid, handed over the change, and only then turned his face toward you. His eyes gleamed with something that made your stomach dip.
“I got sex candy.”
Your gasp was so loud it earned stares from the kids at the counter. You froze, packet of gummy worms half-raised, then plastered on a bright smile, wiggling your fingers like nothing had happened. The kids squinted but took their candy and bolted out, bell jingling once more. The moment the door closed, you snapped your head toward him.
“You got sex candy?”
Chan nodded, lips pressed into a line that couldn’t quite hide the humor curling at the edges. “I don’t want to believe it either.”
“How?” you demanded, leaning forward, eyes wide. He dropped his elbows onto the counter, lowering his voice like he was sharing a dangerous secret. “Some distributor out of Seoul sent me a trial box. They look normal enough—gummies, lollipops, even chocolate bars—but they’re laced with…” he trailed off, tilting his head with mock seriousness. “Let’s just call it a chemical encouragement. Raises your blood flow. Fast.”
You blinked. “You mean…?”
“I mean they’re basically edible aphrodisiacs. Branded for ‘spice nights.’ Comes in all flavors, too. Grape. Strawberry. Mango passionfruit. I thought it was a joke until one of the guys in my supplier group chat admitted his girl nearly broke his bed after a lollipop.”
Your jaw dropped. “Chan.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I’m not touching anything in this shop ever again.” He chuckled, deep and low, leaning in just enough for his shoulder to brush yours again. “Relax. I keep them in the back. Behind the boring bulk boxes. You’re safe.”
You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re just waiting to sneak one into my stash.” His grin widened, wolfish. “Would I do that?”
You shoved another gummy worm into your mouth, muttering through the chew, “Absolutely.”
He laughed so loud it bounced off the jars, his hand slapping the counter once before he shook his head, still grinning at you.
The day stretched itself thin, the sun hanging low through the shop’s front windows, painting gold streaks across the jars and wrappers. You’d stayed longer than you planned, drifting through aisles while Chan worked. Somewhere along the line, he’d roped you into helping him, though “helping” was a generous term, you spent more time wandering than actually stacking shelves.
Every time you passed something colorful, your hand shot out, snagging it from the rack before slipping it into your tote bag.
“Carried a box of fudge,” you called across the aisle.
Chan’s voice echoed back without looking up. “You paid for it?” “Nope.” You popped the p in your laugh. “Just carried it.” A few minutes later, you snagged a rainbow lollipop, waving it in the air as you made your way toward the counter. “Carried a lollipop.”
“Y/N…” His tone carried warning, but the amused kind, the one that curled around the edges of your name. Another pass, another scoop. “Carried a pack of mints.”
He straightened from behind a shelf, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised. “Don’t carry my whole fucking shop, will you?” You grinned, batting your lashes before plopping the mints into your bag. “No promises.”
By the time evening settled, you’d claimed half a dozen things, your tote heavier than when you arrived. Chan ignored it, or tried to, busying himself behind the counter as he counted through a neat stack of bills. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead, the streets outside already dark.
You lingered at the counter, chewing the end of a gummy worm and watching him. The crease in his brow deepened as he counted, lips moving silently with the numbers.
“Channie…” Your voice came out soft, almost syrupy. He hummed, not lifting his eyes from the bills. You tilted your head, swinging your bag against your leg. “Channie.”
That got him. He turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”
You widened your eyes, pitching your voice into a babyish whine. “I wanna sit.”
He glanced at the empty stool by the wall. “Then sit.” You shook your head dramatically. “Not there.”
His gaze flicked back to you, then to the counter you were leaning against. His mouth curved. “You want me to carry you?” You nodded eagerly, pouting as you whined, “Yes.”
Chan groaned, the sound laced with a laugh, and let the bills fall back onto the counter. “You just want attention.”
“Guilty as charged.” He stepped around, his presence filling the small space between you and the counter. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing firmly into your sides as his eyes searched your face for a beat.
“Jump.” You obeyed, your feet leaving the ground for a split second before his strength caught you, lifting you easily and setting you down on the counter like you weighed nothing. “Thank you,” you sang, legs swinging gently.
“Yeah.” His voice was low, distracted. His eyes lingered—just for a moment—on your mouth before he tore them away, turning back toward the money like the numbers would anchor him.
You kicked your heels against the counter, watching him with your chin propped in your hand. His focus was sharp, shoulders squared, lips parted just slightly as he counted under his breath. For no reason at all, you found yourself smiling.
“You’re very attractive right now.”
He didn’t look up, his tone smooth, steady, like he was balancing both your words and the bills in his head. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” You tilted your head, studying him like he was something you wanted to taste. “And you know how that makes me feel?”
His lips quirked at the edges, still counting, still pretending his hands weren’t itching to drop the cash and reach for you again. “How?” Your smile grew wicked, and you leaned forward just slightly, voice dropping. “Horny.” That got him.
Chan’s hands paused mid-count, his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smile. He didn’t glance up right away—didn’t need to—but the shift in the air was palpable, heavy, and hot.
The register clicked shut with a metallic snap, Chan sliding the neatly stacked bills into the drawer with the ease of habit. He exhaled, rubbed his palm over his face, then set the teller aside. You were still perched on the counter, swinging your legs like a kid waiting for candy, watching him move around his shop with that steady, deliberate grace.
He started with the backroom, door locked with a twist, handle rattled to double-check. The hum of the fridges followed, one by one clicking as he turned the key, sealing away the frozen stock for the night. You traced him with your eyes the whole time, the overhead lights catching the sharp lines of his shoulders, the casual roll of his sleeves to his elbows.
“Let’s try the candy,” you called, voice playful, cutting into the silence. From across the shop, he didn’t even look up. “The sex candy?”
You grinned, “Yeah.”
“I already locked the room, baby.”
“Then unlock it,” you countered, crossing your arms with a stubborn tilt to your chin. “Nah.” He straightened from the fridge, pocketing the keys as he finally walked back toward you. His footsteps echoed against the tile until he stood between your parted knees, his chest almost brushing yours as he looked up at you. “Your place or mine?”
“Here,” you said without hesitation.
His brow shot up, incredulous. “No fucking—”
“…in the candy shop,” you finished in sync, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin.
“I know,” you added softly, fingers sliding over his shoulders. You leaned in, voice dropping with that slow, coaxing edge. “But I don’t feel like leaving. And you’ve been running around all day with stocking, customers, dealing with suppliers. You’re wound tight, Channie. Let me help.”
He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Actually, I’m not stressed at all.”
“Chris,” you whined, dragging out his name, brushing your lips against the base of his throat, “please. Just for tonight. I promise.”
His hands found your thighs, warm palms pressing firmly as if to ground himself. He breathed out, a slow, ragged sigh. “I don’t know, Y/N…”
That made you stop teasing. You leaned back just enough to look at him properly, really look at him. The set jaw, the flicker of restraint in his eyes, the way his chest rose a little heavier when you stared. And then you kissed him. Soft, slow, testing.
For a beat, he resisted, lips barely moving against yours. Then his hand twitched, sliding higher up your thigh, and he gave in. You tugged his hair gently, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and he groaned low before pulling back abruptly.
“Y/N,” he rasped, breathless. “Stop.”
You held his gaze, then threw your hands up dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop.” With a little shove to his chest, you hopped off the counter, your shoes hitting the floor with a sharp clap. His shoulders slumped with a sigh as you headed for the door.
“Wait.” You froze, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”
Something landed in your hands with a jingle of metal. His keys.
“Lock them up,” Chan said, a smirk tugging at his lips despite his exasperation. “Don’t want anyone walking in on us and shit.”
A slow smile spread across your face as you curled your fingers around the keys. You turned back toward the glass doors, heart thudding, and slid the bolts into place one by one. The echo of each lock rang like a promise in the empty shop.
When you looked back, Chan was still standing at the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that mix of resignation and want.
Your steps toward him were deliberately slow, teasing, like you had all the time in the world. Chan’s eyes tracked every move, arms folded, lips quirking at the corners. “Even if I hadn’t said no,” he murmured, voice low but tinged with amusement, “there was no way you’d leave without your tote. Especially with all the candy you stole.”
You raised a brow, chin tilting smugly. “Correction—I didn’t steal them. You were present when I took them.”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as if he should’ve seen that coming. “Whatever.” His grin deepened, then softened into something warmer. “Come here.”
You barely had time to quip back before his hands framed your cheeks, large palms hot against your skin. He pulled you in and crashed his mouth to yours. The force of it stole your breath, no gentle teasing this time, just Chan devouring you like he’d been waiting all day. A muffled sound caught in your throat, surprise bleeding into need as you melted against him.
“Fucking missed you all day,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, before kissing you again.
“Aww—” you started, but the rest of it disappeared when his hands slid down, gripping your ass with a possessive squeeze. Before you could react, his arms hooked under your thighs, and suddenly you were weightless.
“Chan!” You yelped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you like you weighed nothing. He didn’t break the kiss, didn’t falter just kept moving with you, lips hungry, tongue tasting, chest rumbling with a low chuckle when you pulled back just enough to murmur breathlessly, “Sheesh, we get it—you’re strong.”
“Damn right,” he muttered, amusement flickering in his eyes before he turned, lifting you higher and setting you down onto the cool surface of the counter. Your thighs parted automatically around him, tugging him closer, both of you panting slightly from the heat of it all.
When you finally pulled back, a string of breath between you, his gaze lingered on your lips, then flicked up to your eyes, dark and teasing. “You ever been fucked on a counter?”
Your grin was wicked, head tipping as you said sweetly, “Last year. October third. My kitchen. You were horny as fuck—and it was your birthday.”
Chan groaned, his head tipping back, teeth gritted in mock agony. “Don’t fucking remind me.”
You broke into laughter, the sound bubbling up until he pressed his forehead to yours to shut you up, his hands still firm on your thighs. “I’m serious,” he said then, voice dipping low, quiet, almost reverent. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”
The shift caught you off guard. His tone wasn’t playful it was soft, grounding, like a promise threaded into his words. You blinked at him, lips parting, and finally whispered back, “Okay?” Like you were unsure what he meant but willing to give yourself over to it.
Your hand came up, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. The simple gesture seemed to anchor him, his eyes locking onto yours, deep and searching. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize something only he could see.
“You okay, Chris?” you asked gently, curiosity flickering in your voice.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you again slower this time, deliberate, his lips pressing into yours with the kind of heat that burned steady, not frantic. His hand slid up your back, the other holding your thigh, and when he pulled you closer into his chest, it was less about lust and more about need.
His hands were on you before your brain even caught up broad palms tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The air hit your skin, and then so did his mouth, warm and eager, lips finding the swell of your cleavage.
“God,” he muttered against your skin, voice low and almost reverent. His mouth latched onto one breast through the thin lace of your bra, sucking lightly until you arched into him with a sharp gasp. His hand smoothed down, fingers trailing along your stomach, grazing your waistband.
He lifted his head, lips shiny, eyes dark but soft when they met yours. “Can I take these off?” His voice had lost all teasing, all banter—quiet, careful, as though he was asking for more than just your skirt.
“Of course,” you breathed, the word almost a sigh.
And then your skirt was gone, peeled off in a swift motion, tossed somewhere into the dim corners of the shop. He eased you back onto the counter, his hands guiding, his body following until you were lying flat against the cool surface. His lips began a slow, deliberate path down your stomach, peppering kisses that grew closer to your panties, each one sending sparks of heat through you.
When he got there, his thumbs hooked into the fabric, tugging gently. “Did I make you this wet, baby?” His voice had dropped lower, thick with heat, and when he dragged your panties down your legs, letting them pool at the floor, you swore your pulse leapt into your throat.
He kissed just above your mound, then lower, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your thighs. “So pretty…” he whispered, reverent again. Another kiss, closer to your folds. “So perfect for me.”
“Channie,” you whined, impatience tugging at every nerve.
His eyes flicked up, hooded, mouth still hovering where you needed it most. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“You already know,” you groaned, wriggling your hips, desperate for him.
“I do.” He smirked faintly, fingers squeezing your thighs as he held you steady. “But I want you to say it, Y/N.”
You let out a frustrated little humph, tugging his hair lightly, before whispering, “Want you to eat me out. Please.”
That single word had him groaning like you’d snapped the last of his restraint. He dove in, tongue immediately sliding up your folds in one long, slow lick that made your back arch off the counter. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard before pulling back to lap at you again, his tongue teasing through every slick curve.
Your moan spilled out raw, your fingers tangling tight in his hair as his hands pressed firmly into your thighs, holding you down like you might squirm away from the intensity. The wet, obscene sounds of him eating you out filled the quiet shop, his tongue moving in deep strokes before circling your clit again, switching between sucking and licking until your thighs trembled against his grip.
“Fuck, Chan—” you gasped, voice breaking as he moaned into you, the vibrations only winding you tighter. And still, between each lick and suck, he whispered praises against your skin. “So sweet for me… so good, baby… tastes like heaven…”
His words melted into the steady rhythm of his tongue, your nails scraping his scalp as he devoured you like he’d been starving all day. Chan’s tongue dragged one last, slow stroke over your clit before his hand slid lower, two fingers slipping inside you with no resistance. The stretch had you moaning, back arching, nails digging deeper into his hair as he curled them just right.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your cunt, voice muffled and full of hunger. “You’re dripping. You really wanted me to take you in the candy shop so bad?”
Your answer came in a broken whine, hips rocking into his hand, chasing every delicious drag of his fingers. He fucked you open steadily, tongue still flicking against your clit as his pace built, his jaw working greedily like he couldn’t get enough.
But the more he licked, the deeper he pushed, the messier it got, slick dripping down his chin, fingers curling as he slid in a third one. “So tight,” he rasped, breath hot against your folds. “God, Y/N, you’re so fucking tight and still swallowing me whole.”
Your thighs trembled, your moans climbing higher with every thrust, and he could feel it, the flutter, the clench, the telltale pulse that told him you were seconds away from falling apart. His lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking hard, and just as you reached for the edge, he pulled back. Fingers slipping out, mouth gone.
Your head snapped up, fury written all over your face. “What the fuck, Chan—”
He looked up at you, his lips slick, his chin glistening, chest heaving like he was the one being undone. His smirk was shameless. “What? You don’t want my cock?”
“At least let me cum!” you shot back, breathless, thighs still twitching.
“No.” His voice was sharp but low, firm. “I want to feel you cream my cock. And besides—” his eyes darted to the counter, then back to you, lips twitching— “I doubt we can even fuck on this thing. Too cramped.”
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, glaring down at him, and the sight of his wet lips only made you ache more. Without a word, you hopped down, moving toward the space inside the counter. He turned, confused, tugging at the buckle of his belt. “Where are you—”
But when he stepped in, trousers already loose around his hips, his words broke off into a groan.
“Y/N…” You were already on the floor, legs spread wide, fingers pulling yourself open for him, your slick glistening under the dim lights.
“You wanted to fuck, didn’t you?” you taunted, your voice a sweet lilt, but your smirk sharp.
“Don’t—” His jaw clenched, his cock straining against his boxers as he tugged them down.
“Don’t be like that.”
You only rolled your eyes, smiling as you tilted your head, voice dripping with tease. “Then come fuck me.”
He bit his lip hard, the sound in his throat more growl than groan as he yanked his shirt over his head, boxers shoved down in the same motion. His cock slapped against his stomach, heavy and flushed, and he dropped to his knees between your thighs.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss you, desperate, messy. His hand gripped your face, the other steadying himself on the floor as he devoured your lips. You tasted yourself on him, sweet and obscene, and the way he kissed you made your head spin.
When you pulled back just enough to whisper, “Please put your cock in, Channie,” it came out half-whine, half-command.
His forehead pressed to yours, his smirk melting into something hungrier. “How can I ever say no to you?” he whispered.
He grabbed the base of his cock, stroking once as he lined himself up to your entrance. His tip nudged against your folds, sliding through the slick, teasing your clit as his eyes locked on your face.
And then, with a low groan, he pushed in, stretching you wide until you were gasping, your nails clawing at his shoulders as he filled you.
The stretch was deliciously slow, his cock easing into you inch by inch until both of you were groaning in unison. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging tight as he filled you, the burn giving way to that sweet, toe-curling fullness.
“Fuuuuck, baby,” Chan gasped, voice ragged, his forehead pressing to yours as he pushed deeper, your walls fluttering around him like they were desperate to keep him there.
You kissed him hard, muffling your own whine, lips trembling against his as he finally bottomed out. Your thighs trembled around his hips, your whole body shivering at the feeling of him so deep inside.
He pulled back just enough to see your face, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. “Fucking love when you do that,” he groaned, his hips twitching forward once more like he couldn’t help himself.
“Channie—” you whimpered, arms wrapping around his neck.
He started slow, rocking into you carefully, his pace deliberate as if your body wasn’t already used to his size from countless nights of this. Still, each drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping.
“You’re always…so big,” you moaned, your voice breaking on the words.
His lips curved into a quick, smug grin even as his breath stuttered. “Thank you.”
But soon his restraint cracked. His thrusts grew sharper, harder, the sound of your wetness filling the quiet shop, obscene and perfect. He glanced down between your bodies, and the sight made his jaw slacken.
“Fuuuckkk,” he moaned, almost slurred, his voice dizzy with awe. His eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, pussy drunk, completely lost in you.
You felt it, the way his rhythm turned needy, how every thrust seemed driven by instinct. So you met him, grinding your hips up into his with every snap forward. The impact made his head drop, his mouth spilling broken moans into your neck as he pressed closer, his chest flush to yours.
“Y/N…fuck—” he groaned, voice muffled where his lips dragged against your skin. His breath was hot, uneven, as he rutted into you with abandon.
Your legs wrapped tighter around him, locking him in, and your praises spilled out as naturally as your moans. “That’s it, Channie, so good…you’re so good, my love…” He groaned at your words, his own spilling back against your throat. “You’re perfect…so tight, so warm—fuck, you’re everything.”
Your lips met again, sloppy and desperate, tongues clashing as his thrusts grew rougher, his body weight pressing you into the floor. You swallowed each other’s sounds, moaning into each other’s mouths until he pulled back, burying his face in your neck again.
And that’s when you heard it. Low, almost like he didn’t mean for you to catch it. His lips moved against your skin, his voice a strained whisper meant for himself, not you:
“Come on, man up. Just fucking say it.”
Your brows furrowed, your body still rocking with his thrusts. You didn’t say anything just tightened your legs around him, your nails scratching down his back as if to ground him in the moment.
He groaned, the sound guttural, and drove into you harder, like he was trying to drown out whatever war was happening in his head with the sweet, relentless rhythm of your bodies colliding.
His pace grew ruthless, hips snapping into you with a rhythm that bordered on desperation, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself deep. You clawed down his back, leaving angry red streaks he’d feel for days, but he only groaned into it, dragging his mouth back up to yours like he couldn’t stand the distance.
“Fuck, Y/N—” his voice cracked as he kissed you hard, teeth clashing, tongue tangled with yours, the confession spilling out between ragged breaths. “I fucking love you. Not just for this—” his hips slammed forward, making you gasp “not just for the way you feel. You’ve been with me through all my shit, and you never left. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
You cupped his face with trembling hands, forcing him to look at you, and the sight made your heart twist, his eyes glassy, tears threatening but never falling, his lips parted as though saying the words hurt and healed him at the same time.
“Chris…” you whispered, stunned, but smiling even as your chest ached.
“I fucking love you, Y/N,” he rasped again, more broken this time, and you kissed him before the sound could shatter you both.
The kiss lit something wild in him his thrusts turned frantic, sloppy, like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, like if he could just sink deep enough you’d understand everything he couldn’t say. You gasped into his mouth, voice trembling.
“You gonna cum, baby?” you breathed against his lips.
His forehead dropped to yours, sweat slicking your temples together, and he groaned, “Fuck yes—fuck, Y/N. Do you want it inside?”
Your nails dug into his shoulders as you nodded, eyes dark with need. “Yeah. I want it.” His whole body stuttered, his hips faltering as though the words nearly undid him. “Shit—are you sure?”
You smirked up at him, teasing even through the haze. “Hasn’t it been your dream to knock me up?” He let out a broken moan, half laugh, half disbelief, fucking you harder. “That was one fucking time—”
You laughed too, but it died in your throat when a wave of heat tore through your core, dragging you right to the edge. He felt your walls fluttering around him and his groan deepened.
“Baby, please,” he begged, lips brushing yours. “Cum with me. Please—”
You clung to him, pulling his mouth back to yours as the both of you tumbled over the edge. Your climax ripped through you with a sharp cry, nails sinking into his skin as your body convulsed around his cock. The sensation pulled him with you, he cursed, stuttering deep, then let go with a guttural moan, spilling inside you as his lips devoured yours.
Your bodies shook together, mouths locked in desperate kisses, his hips jerking with aftershocks as his cum filled you. He whispered your name against your lips, still breathless, still trembling, until finally he sagged against you, chest heaving, his confession echoing in every frantic kiss and every pulse of warmth inside you.
Your lips were fused to his, deep and lingering, as the last tremors of your climax ebbed away. His weight pressed into you, his chest heaving against yours, until finally he broke the kiss, dragging his lips down to your neck. He mouthed at your skin like he couldn’t get enough, whispering between kisses.
“Are you serious, Chris?” you asked breathlessly, half teasing, half stunned.
His lips stilled against your throat, then he lifted his head, eyes blazing and wet. “I’m so fucking serious.” His voice was raw, guttural, stripped of every shield he normally carried. “I love you.”
He swallowed hard, his gaze darting like he was afraid of what he’d see on your face. “So… you feel the same? Or—shit—” He cut himself off, raking a hand through his damp curls, words tumbling out in a rush. “I know this was supposed to be no strings attached. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped this on you. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll understand.”
You cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at you again, your thumb brushing the sheen of sweat on his cheek. “Chris. Of course I love you, you idiot.”
His breath hitched, and you smiled softly. “I love you because you’ve always been there. Because you care even when you pretend you don’t. Because you make me laugh when I shouldn’t. And because…” you smirked faintly, “you never half-ass anything—not even this.”
For a second, his mouth opened but no words came out just a trembling smile, just relief softening every hard line of his face. He collapsed against you, pulling you close, both of you tangled together in the warm quiet.
After a while, he sighed, voice muffled in your hair. “I’m sorry I had to fuck my feelings into you.” You barked out a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
He laughed too, shaking against you, and you kissed his smile before he could say anything else. His grin softened into something tender, his hand brushing over your side. “Want me to pull out, baby?”
You gave him a look, smirking. “Yeah.”
With a groan, he sat up, slowly slipping out of you. His gaze dropped between your thighs, and the smug grin that spread across his face made you roll your eyes. Watching his cum spill out, he bit his lip. “One day,” he murmured darkly, “I’m gonna make that shit stay inside. Can’t be wasting my cum like that.”
You smacked his chest playfully. “Pervert.”
“Visionary,” he corrected with a grin.
“Help me get up, dickhead.”
Chuckling, he slid his arms under you and lifted you with ease, setting you on the counter again. He bent down to grab your clothes and his own from the floor, handing you yours before pulling his briefs and jeans back on. As you wriggled into your underwear, you glanced at the sticky mess on the floor with a raised brow. “So… how exactly are you going to clean up that?”
Chris tugged his shirt over his head, hair falling into his eyes. “I’ll come in early tomorrow and deal with it.” He winked.
You snorted, shaking your head as you pulled your top back on. Then, a wicked thought flickered across your mind, and you couldn’t resist. “Crazy thought though… what if you walked around your shop naked?”
He froze, staring at you with wide eyes. “Don’t even—”
The look on his face broke you, laughter spilling out until your stomach hurt, and eventually he gave in too, both of you laughing like idiots in the middle of the candy shop.
Chris watched you shimmy into your skirt, tugging your shirt over your head with that smug little smile that made his chest ache. He leaned back against the counter, arms folded, hair messy and lips still swollen from all the kissing.
“You’re not uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious. You looked up while slipping your tote over your shoulder. “I am,” you admitted with a sly grin, “but you’re cleaning me up and giving me aftercare at your place, so I’m fine.”
His brows shot up, and he scoffed, pretending to be offended. “You’re not even letting me have a say in this?”
“Nope.”
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed his keys from the counter. “Unbelievable.” Then he moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. The night air spilled into the shop, cool and thick with the scent of rain-soaked concrete.
You stepped out first, tote slung against your hip, and glanced up at the quiet street. The candy shop’s neon sign glowed faintly behind you, buzzing in the stillness. Chris locked up behind you, the jingle of keys loud in the empty night.
As you strolled toward his car, the faint click of your shoes echoing against the pavement, he called out, “Top three places I’ve done it.” You turned, brow arched, lips twitching into a smile. “But which number though?”
He grinned, catching up with you in long strides. “Always gonna be number one.” His voice dipped, soft but certain. “Because I confessed my feelings to the girl who made me believe in second chances.”
Your steps faltered just slightly, your eyes softening as your chest warmed. “Chris…” you breathed, your smile curling slow and genuine. “Thank you.”
He leaned down and kissed your cheek, lingering just long enough for you to feel the heat of him. “Don’t thank me, baby,” he murmured against your skin, pulling back with that boyish grin, “just let me take care of my girl tonight.”
He moved ahead to the car, pulling the passenger side door open with a small flourish, like a gentleman straight out of a movie. You slid inside, the scent of his cologne lingering on the seat, and watched as he closed the door with a wink before circling around to the driver’s side.
The engine hummed to life, headlights cutting through the night as he pulled away from the shop. His hand found your thigh almost immediately, squeezing lightly, like he needed the reassurance that you were really there. The city lights blurred past, but it didn’t matter you were wrapped in the kind of quiet that only belonged to the two of you, the kind that felt like the start of something new.
---
The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the shop, the sweet smell of sugar and chocolate filling your nose instantly. Late afternoon sunlight cut across the counters, catching on the jars of candy like glitter. You spotted Chan right away, elbows resting against the glass counter, leaning down slightly with that warm smile he always reserved for kids. A gaggle of children stood in front of him, pointing at lollipops and chocolate bars, their faces pressed close to the display. He was patient, teasing them gently as they argued over flavors, his dimple flashing when one of them tried to haggle for “two-for-one.”
You leaned on the doorway for a second, just watching him, that swell of fondness rising uninvited in your chest. Then you stepped forward.
Chan looked up just in time to catch your eye. His whole face softened. “Hey, baby,” he said, the words easy and unbothered, like he’d been waiting to say them all day.
You grinned, walked around the counter, and without hesitation tilted your face up to kiss him. The kids in front of the counter immediately groaned in unison.
“Ewwww!” You and Chan broke the kiss, laughing into each other’s mouths, before turning back toward them.
“Hey, respect your elders,” Chan teased, pointing at them with mock sternness.
“Yeah,” you added, smirking, “this is what true love looks like.”
The kids groaned louder, one of them covering their eyes dramatically. You and Chan laughed again, bumping shoulders before he handed them their candy bags. “How were classes?” he asked, voice dropping into that gentle register he used only with you.
You shrugged. “Boring. But I survived.”
He smiled like that was enough for him, but before he could add anything, a young woman with a baby on her hip came up to the counter. You straightened, offering her a friendly “Hi,” while Chan slid into professional mode, ringing up her small basket of chocolates.
The baby started fussing, squirming in her arms, so the woman sighed and gently set the little one down on the counter. The baby immediately began crawling across the smooth surface, patting chubby hands against the glass, cooing as it explored.
You smiled politely, but as your eyes tracked the exact spot where the baby’s hands and knees slid across the counter, a slow wave of dread crept over you. Your stomach sank, your face twisting as the memory hit.
Oh. Oh no.
The exact place that baby was crawling… was the exact place Chan had you leaned back just last night.
The woman scooped her baby up again with a tired smile, thanked Chan, and left the shop. The bell jingled cheerfully behind her, the door swinging shut. You leaned close to Chan, lowering your voice into a sharp whisper. “Babe… you know what you had me on the counter?”
He smirked, still half-distracted by rearranging some candy bags. “Sheesh, baby, we can’t do it right now.”
You gave him a flat stare. “Really? Obviously, I know that. That’s not what I mean.”
He blinked at you, confused.
“You said I was dripping, right?” you pressed, your voice quieter now. That smug little grin spread across his face instantly. “Yeah. Made a mess too.”
You tilted your head toward the counter, eyes narrowing. “So… did you clean the counter as well?”
It took exactly two seconds for the realization to hit him. His grin collapsed, eyes going wide before darting to the exact spot you’d been staring at. He froze. His jaw tightened.
“That—was the baby on there?” he whispered, horrified.
You deadpanned, nodding once. “Yep.”
“Shit!” In a flurry of motion, Chan ducked beneath the counter, rummaging until he emerged with a spray bottle of disinfectant and a rag. He sprayed the surface aggressively, muttering curses under his breath as if trying to erase the memory from existence. The sharp citrusy scent of cleaner filled the air as he scrubbed like his life depended on it.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, still wiping furiously, his face contorted in disgust.
You leaned back against the counter, laughing so hard your stomach ached, covering your mouth to muffle it. “Oh my god, Chris, you should’ve seen your face!”
He shot you a glare over his shoulder, cheeks pink, before spraying another layer on the counter and wiping again with unnecessary force.
“Not funny, Y/N!” he grumbled, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“Oh, it’s hilarious,” you teased, doubling over with giggles while he tried and failed to look serious, scrubbing as if the counter might never recover.
warnings: miscommunication; mentions of masturbation; fingering; handjob; oral sex (f and m!receiving); unprotected sex
summary: you tell yourself it’s just stress relief. chan says it’s practice. but somewhere between the movies, the laughter and the way his mouth feels on you, something fragile snaps open - and you’re terrified it’s already too late to stitch it shut
a/n: yes this is 23k words of friends-to-lovers porn with feelings, no i don’t want to talk about it (jk, let’s talk about it pls 😂). it started as “haha what if it’s just friends with benefits practice??” and then turned into soft angst and confessions and tears and love. enjoy the pain!
you don’t really remember when it stopped being casual and turned into tradition, but friday nights have been yours and chan’s for years now. ever since you met during first year of uni - him, shy and overworked with a backpack full of notebooks; you, loud and a little reckless with coffee-stained lecture notes - the two of you have been inseparable.
there are other friends in your group, of course. the two of you go out with them sometimes, to bars or late study sessions in the library, but somehow it’s always the two of you finding each other again at the end of the night.
but friday nights? those are just yours.
it started simple, one of you too tired to go out suggesting “just a movie”. then it became a habit. now, it’s a ritual: you order dinner, sit on your couch, drink a little, watch something - it doesn’t even matter what. usually it’s your place that hides you both from the world, because you live alone now, your tiny dorm practically molded to include chan’s presence. his notebooks have sat on your desk. his hoodies in your laundry pile. his snacks hidden in your cabinets.
tonight is no different. you’ve already eaten dinner, mostly in comfortable chatter about projects and the exams coming up next week. chan groaned dramatically over his schedule while you teased him for making too many colour-coded study plans. you sipped on the wine you opened half an hour ago, warmth buzzing just under your skin.
now the movie plays, something random you’d picked without thinking. you’re stretched out on one end of the couch with your legs tucked under a blanket. chan is on the other, hoodie sleeves pushed up, one hand clutching his glass of beer while the other absently scrolls through his phone during the boring parts.
it’s easy, like it always is. until it isn’t.
on screen, the main character is suddenly pressed against a wall, kissing a guy like she’s been starved for it. you both make the obligatory noises - chan’s exaggerated "oh my god" and your laugh as you throw popcorn at him - but neither of you reach for the remote.
it’s not graphic, not really, just suggestive enough. clothes falling off, bodies tangled in shadows. then, a cut to the next day: the girl, sitting with her friends, cheeks pink as she whispers details about her previous night.
and the details are very… detailed. she talks about his mouth, how he went down on her, what it felt like, how she nearly screamed into her pillow. the girls squeal and press her for more.
you grin into your glass, amused, but the sound beside you is different - chan’s little cough, the way he shifts in his seat. you turn your head and look at him, seeing how his ears are pink now.
"what?", you ask, smiling.
"nothing", he says too quickly, eyes fixed on the tv.
you raise a brow, "chris"
he shakes his head while he drinks from his beer, "seriously, it’s nothing"
you lean closer, nudging him with your foot, "you’re literally blushing"
"no, i’m not", he tries to hide from you but you know better.
you smirk, "oh my god, you are. what’s wrong with you? is the word ‘oral’ too much for your pure brain?"
he groans, dragging a hand over his face, "shut up"
"no way", you laugh, prodding further, "you’re acting like-", you pause, narrowing your eyes, "wait. don’t tell me you’ve never-"
he stiffens.
your mouth falls open, "chris?"
his silence is answer enough.
you’re still staring at him, the movie long forgotten, "so… you’ve really never gone down on a girl?"
“no", he shakes his head, cheeks pink, "i’ve never… you know. with anyone. not really. i’ve kissed, but that’s it. that’s the furthest i’ve gone"
you open your mouth, and then close it again, "wow. i mean-", you catch yourself before saying the wrong thing, softening your tone, "i’m just surprised. i know you’ve had girls interested in you, chris"
he gives a small, humorless laugh, "interested in the idea of me, maybe. not actually me"
that twists something in your chest, "don’t say that"
"it’s true", he shrugs, though his voice is quiet, "i don’t… i don’t exactly scream experience. not when i spend most of my time buried in notes or fixing other people’s essays. and the few times i did get close? i freaked out. i didn’t know what to do. didn’t want to embarrass myself"
you study him, the way he’s fiddling with the hem of his hoodie sleeve, the way he can’t quite look at you.
"chris…"
"what if i mess up?", he blurts suddenly, voice raw, "what if a girl is just laying there, thinking about how pathetic i am? what if she tells her friends about it? i mean, the whole scene in the movie-", he gestures vaguely at the paused screen, "that’s what people do, right? talk. compare. rate"
you shake your head firmly, "not everyone. not like that. and even if someone did, that’s on them, not you"
he groans, dragging his hands over his face, "it just feels like this impossible thing. like i’m already behind, so the pressure’s even worse now. it’s stupid, i know"
"it’s not stupid", you say softly.
he lets out a breath, slumping against the couch, "i’ve tried to… prepare. you know. i’ve done some research"
your brows lift, "research?"
he scratches the back of his neck, ears turning red again, "yeah. like… guides, forums, videos. diagrams, even"
you have to bite your lip to hold back a smile, "you studied it"
"i study everything", he mutters, defensive.
you can’t help it - a little laugh slips out, not mocking, just… fond, "of course you did"
"don’t laugh", he groans, covering his face.
"i’m not laughing", you insist quickly, nudging his knee with yours, "i swear i’m not. it’s just… very you"
he peeks at you through his fingers, frown tugging at his mouth, "still doesn’t change the fact that research isn’t practice"
you tilt your head, watching the way his throat works when he swallows, the nervous little twitch of his jaw. he’s right - it’s not practice.
and maybe it’s the wine warming your blood, or maybe it’s the way he’s always looked at you like you’re steady ground. maybe it’s something you’ve been ignoring for too long. because suddenly, you hear yourself say:
"what if you practised with me?"
chan freezes.
you keep your voice as casual as you can manage, even though your heart is pounding, "i’m serious. you trust me, right?"
his eyes go wide, searching your face like you’re joking, like he’s waiting for you to laugh and say gotcha.
but you don’t.
"it’s just practice", you add, voice quieter now, "for you, it’s a way to get over the nerves. for me… well, it’s not like i wouldn’t enjoy it. and it’s a pretty great stress relief", you shrug, trying to play it off, but your pulse is racing.
he stares, lips parted, still stunned into silence.
"you don’t have to", you rush to say, "just… forget i said anything"
he swallows, throat bobbing, "you’re… serious"
"yeah", you whisper, "i wouldn’t have said it if i wasn’t"
the air feels heavy now, like the smallest movement could snap it in two.
finally, chan nods slowly, almost to himself, "okay. if you’re sure"
and just like that, everything shifts.
you still don’t really know how you got here. you can trace the steps back if you try - teasing chan about blushing at the movie you’d been watching, him surprising you when he admitted he’d never actually gone down on anyone, joking that maybe you should let him practise on you.
but now? now you’re lying on your bed, shirt bunched around your waist, panties the only thing left on your lower half, and chan is kneeling between your thighs fully dressed, hoodie still on like he’s about to study for a test rather than put his mouth on you.
his fingers rest stiffly on your knees, as if he’s waiting for permission even though you’ve given it a dozen times already. his hair falls into his eyes and you realise - he looks just as nervous as you feel.
"we don’t have to do this", he says, voice a little hoarse, "seriously. if you’ve changed your mind-"
"i haven’t", you interrupt quickly. your face burns, "i mean, unless you don’t want to-"
"i do", he blurts out, then winces, adjusting his glasses, "i mean- yeah. i want to. i just… don’t wanna fuck it up"
you laugh softly, though your heartbeat is pounding, "it’s practice, chris. that’s the point. and i-", you swallow, eyes flicking away, "i need stress relief. this… works out for both of us"
he exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, "right. practice"
still, when he looks down at you, his gaze lingers too long on the dark patch of lace stretched damp between your thighs, "you’re already…?"
"shut up", you groan, throwing an arm over your face, "of course i am wet, i’ve got you sitting there staring at me"
he chuckles nervously, "that’s… kind of hot"
your stomach flips, "chris"
"okay, okay", he holds his palms up in surrender, then settles them carefully on your thighs, "just… tell me what to do. if i’m doing it wrong"
you peek at him from under your arm, your chest tightening at the sight of him looking so eager, so tentative, "just… start slow"
he nods, then bends down, lips brushing over the lace at your center. just a soft kiss at first. then another. the heat of his mouth seeps through the thin fabric and you gasp despite yourself.
he pauses instantly, "too much?"
"no", you pant, "go on"
his mouth presses against you again, this time firmer. then his tongue darts out, pressing against the damp spot.
"fuck", you whimper, hips jerking.
he lifts his head, face flushed, "was that good?"
you glare at him weakly, "you’re such a nerd. just- keep going"
his grin is shaky, but he obeys. lips moving slowly over the lace, tongue dragging, sucking lightly until the fabric is wetter than before and you’re arching into his mouth. every reaction you give, he soaks it in, cataloguing your gasps and moans like study notes.
you’re moving your hips before you can stop yourself, chasing the friction.
"you like that", he murmurs, sounding more like he’s cataloguing a discovery than teasing.
"yes, fuck, yes"
then, without warning, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and slides them down. the cool air hits you and you squirm, but before you can cover yourself he’s tossing the lace aside and staring at you.
"fuck", he whispers under his breath, more to himself than you, "you’re… wow"
"chris", you hiss, embarrassment flaming, "don’t just- stare"
"right, sorry, sorry", he mumbles, but the awe doesn’t leave his face as he leans down again.
the first lick is tentative. broad, slow, from your entrance up to your clit. you cry out, hand shooting into his hair.
he freezes, "too much?"
"no", you groan, pushing his head closer, "don’t you dare stop"
his groan vibrates against you as he licks again, a little firmer this time. your thighs twitch, back arching. he tastes you carefully, tongue circling your clit, dipping lower to flick over your entrance, then back up again.
"fuck, fuck, chris-"
"like that?", he asks, pulling back just far enough to speak, lips shiny.
"yes", you gasp, tugging his hair, "more, please, more-"
the words spur him on. suddenly his shyness is burning away under your reactions, replaced with hungry determination. his mouth works feverishly - sucking your clit, licking your folds, groaning into you when your hips roll against him.
your moans fill the room, shameless, and he swallows them like fuel.
"you taste-", he pants against you, breath hot, "you taste so fucking good"
the praise makes you shudder, thighs clamping around his head. he groans and pries them apart, tongue flicking faster until you’re a writhing mess under him.
"does this-", he pauses to catch his breath, lips shiny with you, "does this feel good?"
"chris, oh my god", you’re babbling, breathless, "you’re so good, fuck, i’m-"
he doesn’t let up. his tongue circles your clit again and again, his lips sucking it between them until your vision blurs.
the orgasm crashes into you suddenly, tearing through you so hard you cry out his name, body shaking. your hips grind desperately against his mouth, your hand fisting his hair as waves of pleasure roll over you.
he groans, holding you down, licking you through it like he can’t get enough.
you collapse back against the mattress, chest heaving, thighs trembling around his head. he finally pulls back, face flushed, lips swollen, chin wet with you.
you stare at him, dazed, "the research really helped you", you manage, laughing weakly.
he grins, becoming shy once again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "guess i’m a fast learner"
your body still hums with the aftershocks, skin tingling, heartbeat skipping in uneven bursts. you’re not sure how long you lie there catching your breath, staring up at the ceiling while chan pulls back, wiping at his mouth like he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.
you expect him to joke, to say something nerdy like he usually would. but instead, he shifts back on his knees, adjusting his hoodie with a jerky movement, cheeks dark red.
"i, uh-", his voice cracks and he clears his throat, "i should… go to the bathroom. real quick"
you blink at him, brain still fogged, words catching up slowly, "the bathroom? why-"
he gives a strangled little laugh and pushes to his feet, "just- just a minute", and then he’s gone, hoodie moving behind him, retreating down the hall.
the door shuts softly, leaving you in the quiet of your room. you exhale, letting your body sink deeper into the mattress. your legs still feel weak, your thighs sticky, but it’s not just that. it’s not just the orgasm.
it’s him. the way he looked at you like he was starving, the way he moaned into you like he’d been the one unraveling. you close your eyes, heart stuttering as you replay it, his tongue, his voice, his name on your lips-
"stop", you mutter to yourself, dragging a hand over your face.
this is supposed to be practical. practice for him, stress relief for you. that’s all. that’s what you’d said, what you’d agreed. so why does it feel like something fragile cracked wide open between you?
you shift upright, tugging your panties back on with trembling fingers, then your shorts. it feels strange, covering up again, like you’re pretending the last half hour didn’t happen.
by the time you pad out into the living room, your hair is mussed and your lips still swollen from you biting them, but you try to hold yourself steady.
chan steps out of the bathroom at almost the exact same moment, hoodie sleeves shoved up, hair damp at his temples. his eyes meet yours instantly.
neither of you says anything.
you just stand there, the quiet pressing in, the faint glow of the paused movie still flickering across the room. his gaze flicks over your face, unreadable, then drops to the floor.
and in that silence, you both make the same choice. to not speak about what just happened. to walk past this like it was nothing more than what you said - practice, relief.
but deep in your chest, you know better. you feel it in the way your stomach flips, in the heaviness between your ribs, in the way his presence feels sharper now somehow, like the air itself is different.
something fragile. something dangerous. something you can’t name yet. so you move.
you brush past him, heading for the couch. he follows a moment later. you start the movie again. and the night carries on, steady, ordinary. but inside, neither of you is the same anymore.
the days after are strangely normal. at least, they’re supposed to be. neither of you brings it up, not once. the moment he came back from the bathroom that night, both of you slipped into this unspoken pact: don’t mention it. act like nothing happened. and that’s what you do.
your exams start right away and that helps. it’s easy to drown in deadlines, in notes spread across your desk, in late nights bent over your laptop with your brain buzzing from too much caffeine and too little sleep.
the only time you see chan outside of class is at the library, your tables pushed together with books piled high between you, or at the campus café where you both huddle over mugs of coffee before trudging back to study again.
and in those moments, it almost feels like everything is the same as it’s always been. chan frowning at his laptop, muttering formulas under his breath. you groaning into your notebook, doodling little stars in the margins when your brain refuses to absorb another word.
sometimes he taps your arm, pushing his cup towards you because he knows you’ll drink the last of his cappuccino without even asking. sometimes you tease him about how his glasses keep slipping down his nose, and he blushes and adjusts them in the exact same way he always has.
but underneath that, there’s something else. because not talking about it doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten.
you haven’t forgotten the way his mouth felt on you, the sound of his groan against your skin, the way your name broke out of him like he couldn’t help it. you haven’t forgotten how it felt when you came apart under him, sharper and deeper than anything you’d managed on your own.
you definitely haven’t forgotten the look on his face when he stared at you like you were something he’d been searching for his whole life. and your body doesn’t let you forget either.
the images sneak into your head when you’re least expecting it - when you’re trying to memorise dates, when you’re highlighting a textbook, when you’re brushing your teeth. suddenly you’re back in your bed, shirt bunched up, chan kneeling between your thighs with his hoodie still on like the world’s most innocent contradiction.
sometimes the memory leaks into your dreams too, vivid and warm, dragging you under until you wake up flushed and restless, your sheets damp, thighs sticky. those nights you roll onto your back, panting, and admit to yourself that you need to touch, need to relieve it, and it’s always his face you see when you slide your fingers between your legs. always his voice in your head, stuttering questions and shaky praise.
you hate yourself a little for it. but not enough to stop. and still, every day, you sit across from him with coffee during study sessions, just pretending. until friday comes around again.
friday nights are tradition. they always have been. no matter how bad the week was, no matter how much studying you had left, friday night was yours and chan’s. but this time, it feels different.
all day, there’s a nervous flutter in your stomach that won’t go away. your hands shake when you pack up your books, when you make space on the couch, when you change into something comfortable.
you keep telling yourself it’s just because you’re stressed, because exams have been eating you alive. but that doesn’t explain the way your chest tightens when you think about him showing up, or how your palms feel sweaty like you’re getting ready for a first date.
you’ve never felt nervous about him before. never. chan’s always been your safe place, your partner in crime, the person you could say anything to. but tonight? you keep glancing at the clock, chewing your lip, shifting in your seat like you’re waiting for something you can’t even name.
you hope the feeling disappears before he gets here. but deep down, you already know it won’t. you keep pacing your dorm, telling yourself you’re being ridiculous. it’s just chan. it’s always been just chan. but your brain won’t shut up.
what if he’s been thinking about it too? what if it’s weird now, what if he regrets it, what if he secretly can’t even look at you without remembering how shamelessly you came on his tongue?
you shake your head hard, pressing your palms into your temples. no. he would’ve said something if he regretted it. right? he wouldn’t keep showing up to study sessions, wouldn’t keep texting you dumb memes at two in the morning like nothing happened.
still, your heart pounds every time you glance at the door. you jump when the knock finally comes. too sharp, too loud in your small dorm. your body freezes for a second, like you need to decide whether to actually open it.
you force yourself to breathe, to smooth your hands down the front of your hoodie before crossing to the door. when you pull it open, there he is. chan, standing in the hallway with his backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day. his glasses slide down his nose almost immediately, and he gives you that sheepish smile that usually makes you roll your eyes. tonight, it makes your stomach flip.
"hey", he says, casual, like he didn’t have you trembling just by knocking.
"hey", you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky as you feel.
there’s a beat too long where you just look at each other. nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would notice, but it’s there - a pause weighted with everything you’re not saying.
and then chan clears his throat, stepping inside, "so, what’s on the menu tonight? i’m starving"
just like that, the air shifts back into familiar territory.
"you’re always starving", you shoot back automatically, closing the door behind him, "what do you want? pizza? thai? something greasy enough to kill us both before the exams can?"
he laughs, dropping his backpack by the couch, "you know me too well"
"obviously", you mutter, already pulling up the food app on your phone.
before long you’re sprawled across the couch together, menus pulled up, arguing over toppings the same way you always do.
"no mushrooms", chan insists firmly.
"you’re such a child", you retort, nudging his knee with your foot, "mushrooms are fine"
"fine? they’re fungus", he makes a face, and you can’t help laughing.
"you’re fungus", you shoot back weakly, and he rolls his eyes.
you’re both half-curled into opposite corners of the couch, phones out, scrolling through the endless list of restaurant options.
"okay", chan says suddenly, tilting his screen towards you, "what about this place? they make burgers with fried eggs on top"
"that’s disgusting", you reply instantly.
his jaw drops, "excuse me, you’ve never even tried it"
"and i don’t need to. i can picture the yolk dripping all over the bun. gross"
he narrows his eyes at you, "this is why you’re stressed all the time. you don’t live on the edge"
you bark out a laugh, "you think putting an egg on a burger is living on the edge?"
"obviously", he says, dead serious, and you throw a cushion at him. he ducks, grinning, glasses slipping further down his nose until he pushes them up with his thumb.
"fine", you say, scrolling again, "what about sushi?"
"sushi’s good", he admits, then adds with a smirk, "but you’re gonna hog all the salmon like you always do"
"that’s because it’s the best one", you shoot back, and he snorts.
"selfish", he mutters, but he’s smiling at you, and the teasing warmth in his eyes makes your chest ache.
by the time you finally settle on a compromise - greasy pizza with half mushrooms, half safe options for him - you’re both laughing too hard at the dumb "no mushrooms" debate to notice the minutes slipping by.
the doorbell rings and chan leaps up to get it, tossing you a triumphant grin like he personally summoned the delivery guy. you roll your eyes, but when he plops the boxes down on the coffee table, the smell makes your stomach rumble. soon enough you’re cross-legged on the floor, paper plates balanced on your knees, arguing over who gets the biggest slice.
"you literally just picked the one with the most cheese", chan points out through a mouthful.
"survival of the fittest", you shrug, already biting into it.
he shakes his head, but he’s smiling, lips shiny with grease, "you’re impossible"
"and you love it", you say without thinking, the words slipping out too easily.
he freezes just a little, then huffs out a laugh and nudges your shoulder with his, "unfortunately"
you both laugh, and the moment passes, but your stomach flips in a way it shouldn’t.
after dinner you collapse back onto the couch, pizza boxes stacked carelessly to the side. chan stretches out on the opposite sofa, one arm thrown over the backrest, legs spread in that careless way that takes up too much space. his hoodie rides up just enough to show the waistband of his sweatpants, and you force your eyes away.
you grab the remote, scrolling through movie options.
"no rom-coms", chan warns immediately.
you smirk, "what if i want to cry over two people falling in love, huh?"
"then cry over your own life", he shoots back, smirking too.
you chuck a balled-up napkin at him, "asshole"
he laughs, leaning back, utterly comfortable in your living room like it’s his own. and you should feel the same way - you always have. but tonight, it’s harder. because when the movie starts, your attention keeps drifting. not to the plot, but to him.
the way his chest rises and falls with easy breaths. the way he absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. the way his mouth curves when something funny happens on screen.
and just like that, your brain betrays you. suddenly you’re not seeing chan sprawled out across your couch. you’re seeing chan between your thighs, eyes dark with focus, lips shiny, tongue moving against you until you scream his name.
you shift uncomfortably, heat flooding low in your stomach. the thought makes your skin prickle, your breath catch. you cross your legs tighter, willing yourself to focus on the movie instead.
don’t think about it. don’t.
you glue your eyes to the screen, ignoring the way your pulse jumps, ignoring the dampness you feel gathering where you really don’t want it to, “just watch the movie. pretend he’s not even here”, that’s what you think to yourself.
you keep your eyes locked on the screen, determined to make it through the movie without betraying yourself. every time you feel your attention wandering towards chan, you squeeze your thighs tighter, dig your nails into your palm, breathe slower. you can do this. just a couple of hours.
the movie drags on. normally you’d be curled into your sofa, laughing at his commentary, nudging him when he says something stupid, pausing the film to argue about a plot hole. tonight, your body feels stiff, locked in place.
chan sprawls even further across his couch, one hand resting casually against his stomach, the other hanging over the side. when he yawns, the hem of his hoodie rides up higher, exposing a strip of skin that you definitely don’t notice. definitely.
when the credits finally roll, relief rushes through you - until you realise he’s looking at you. not at the screen, not half-asleep the way he sometimes is at the end of a long day. he’s looking at you.
"you okay?", he asks, voice low.
your heart skips, "yeah. why?"
he tilts his head, studying you like he’s solving one of his coding problems, "you seem… tense. quieter than usual"
shit. you force a laugh, tugging at the hem of your shorts, "it’s the exams", you say quickly, grateful when the excuse falls easily off your tongue, "i mean, we’ve already done a couple, but there’s still so much left. i just want it over with, you know?"
he hums, slow and thoughtful, nodding, "yeah. makes sense", he shifts, sitting up a little straighter, elbows on his knees, "you’ve been working really hard. i can tell"
the sincerity in his voice makes your throat tighten. you duck your gaze, focusing on the pattern of the carpet instead of his eyes.
"we’ll get through it", you mumble, "just… need to keep going"
"mm", he agrees, but there’s a weight behind it, like he’s not entirely convinced. his gaze lingers, heavy enough that you fidget.
then, after a beat of silence, he speaks again. carefully, like he’s testing the water.
"you know…", his hand rubs at the back of his neck, his glasses slipping down a little, "if you need to, um, relieve some stress…"
your stomach flips violently.
he clears his throat, meeting your eyes just for a second before looking away, "i could… help you. like you helped me the other day"
the words hang in the air, thick, undeniable. his cheeks are flushed, but his voice is steady.
"like…", his tongue darts out to wet his lips, "i could go down on you again. if you want"
your mouth goes dry. for a moment you wonder if you misheard him - if your brain, fried from exams and lack of sleep, just made up the words you’ve secretly been wishing for. but no, he really said it.
you blink at him. he’s not even looking at you now, his gaze fixed on some invisible spot across the room, ears red, hand still rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.
"chris…", you breathe, not even sure what you want to say.
he winces, shoulders hunching like he’s bracing himself for rejection, "forget it. i shouldn’t have said anything, i just-"
"no", you sit up quickly, cutting him off, "no, i-", your heart slams against your ribs, words stumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, "i want to"
his head jerks towards you, eyes wide, "you… do?"
heat rushes to your face, but you nod, "yeah. i mean…", you hug your knees to your chest, trying to gather yourself, "last time… it really helped. and it-", you swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, "it felt good. really good"
his breath hitches. his lips part like he wants to say something, but no sound comes out.
you scramble for words, heart racing, "and…i was less stressed for a bit. and you… you said you wanted practice, right?", you give a small, nervous laugh, hoping it hides the thundering pulse in your neck, "so it’s not… weird. it’s practical. it’s useful for both of us"
chan’s fingers flex restlessly against his knees, and he nods slowly, as if trying to convince himself too, "right. practice", his voice is low, strained, "and stress relief. yeah"
you nod quickly, maybe too quickly, "exactly. that’s all it is", but even as you say it, your throat feels dry. your skin prickles under the weight of his eyes.
he shifts in his seat, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves, "i just…", his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you catch yourself staring, heat curling low in your stomach, "i don’t want to mess it up. or make it worse for you. i’m still-", he lets out a breath, shoulders tightening, "still figuring things out. i don’t want to get it wrong"
your chest squeezes at the honesty in his voice, but you shake your head, "you won’t. that’s the point, remember? practice. you get better by doing it. and i-", your face burns, "i don’t mind helping you"
the corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but it falters before it can form, "you’re sure?"
you let out a shaky laugh, rubbing your palms against your thighs, "chris, i wouldn’t agree if i wasn’t sure"
for a moment, neither of you move. the only sound is the low hum of the tv in the background, credits still rolling. the air feels sharp, charged, like one wrong move could shatter it.
finally, he exhales, long and slow, "okay", his voice is firmer now, though his ears are still red, "this is just for stress relief… and for practice"
"yeah", you whisper, even though your whole body feels too hot, too alive, for such a casual excuse, "just that"
he nods again, like repeating it will make it true, "then…", his eyes flick towards the hallway, then back to you, uncertain, "should we… go to your room?"
your pulse jumps. you stand before you can talk yourself out of it, brushing invisible stains from your shorts, "bedroom", you confirm softly, and he follows close behind.
your room feels different when you both step inside. smaller, heavier, like the walls are pressing in, thick with anticipation neither of you can quite name. chan lingers by the door for a second, tugging at the hem of his hoodie like he’s second-guessing everything. you turn to him, trying to smile, but your throat is too dry.
"so", you say, trying to joke, to lighten the air before it crushes you. your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with deliberate slowness, "you know how to start now, so you won’t mess it up"
the words come out breezier than you feel, a shield to cover the racing of your heart. chan’s ears flush pink, his gaze darting down and back up again, like he doesn’t know where to look, "no pressure, huh?", he mutters, his laugh soft and awkward.
you kick the shorts aside, your panties - lace again, though you hadn’t planned it - catching the dim light, "it’s practice", you remind him, though your pulse hammers in your throat, "just like last time"
he nods, steps forward, and you lay on the bed. your legs part instinctively when he kneels between them, his hands hovering for a second before settling gently on your thighs. he’s warm on your skin, grounding despite the tremor in his fingers.
for a moment, neither of you speak. then chan exhales and leans down, pressing a soft, tentative kiss over the lace covering you. the contact jolts through your body, a gasp catching in your throat.
"still good?", he murmurs, glancing up through his lashes.
"yes", you whisper, clutching the comforter beneath you, "just… don’t stop"
he doesn’t. his lips brush over the damp patch, slow and careful, then firmer as your hips twitch towards him. his tongue presses against the thin fabric, teasing where you’re already soaked, and a choked moan escapes before you can stop it.
his eyes flick up to your face at the sound, and you see his confidence spark there, "that was good?"
"yes", you pant, cheeks burning, "god, yes"
he grins shakily, then bends again, lips sealing over you through the lace. every soft suck, every slow drag of his tongue makes your thighs tighten around him, your body already desperate for more.
before long, you’re squirming against him, hips tilting restlessly, "chris", you groan, the word breaking apart on your tongue.
he chuckles low, the vibration buzzing through you, "think you’re ready?", his fingers catch the waistband of your panties.
you nod quickly, too breathless to care about shyness anymore. he slides your panties down, slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on you the entire time. when the lace is finally tossed aside, he pauses, swallowing hard.
"fuck", he whispers, almost reverent.
heat surges through you, and you reach out, tangling your fingers in his hair, "i told you before to stop staring", you murmur, but your voice cracks.
"right", he mutters, shaking himself, then dips his head again.
the first lick is broad and slow, from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and it rips a cry from your throat. your back arches, thighs twitching around his head.
"fuck, chris", you moan, tugging at his hair.
he groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and does it again - firmer this time, bolder. he laps at you with growing hunger, his tongue circling your clit before dipping down to taste your entrance, then back up again.
"you taste so good", he pants between licks, lips shiny, "fuck- better than anything"
you gasp, trembling, your body on fire at his words, "don’t stop, please- just like that"
he obeys, his mouth working eagerly, his moans mingling with yours. every twitch of your hips, every broken sound from your lips seems to spur him on, his shyness burning away with each passing second.
and then, suddenly, he pulls back just far enough to murmur, breathless, "can i try something?"
you nod frantically, not even processing what he means, "yes, yes, anything-"
you don’t register it until you feel it: the slow press of his fingers against you, tentative but insistent. your gasp breaks into a moan, high and desperate, as he slides one finger in.
"fuck, oh my god-"
his mouth returns to your clit instantly, tongue circling in time with the gentle thrust of his finger. the combination is overwhelming, your body clenching tight around him.
"does that feel good?", he asks against you, his voice muffled, shaky.
"yes", you cry, hips grinding against his face, "yes, don’t stop, fuck-"
his groan rumbles through you as he adds another finger, stretching you slowly while his tongue flicks relentlessly at your clit. the sensation sends sparks shooting through your veins, your body trembling uncontrollably.
"chris, fuck, i’m-", you can’t even finish, your words dissolving into broken moans.
"come for me", he urges, his voice rough against your skin, "please- i wanna feel it"
the pressure snaps, your climax crashing into you with blinding force. your entire body shudders, back arching off the bed, his name tearing from your throat as you convulse around his fingers. he groans, holding you down, licking you through every wave as if he can’t get enough.
you collapse back against the bed, chest heaving, body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. your thighs twitch weakly against the sheets, your pulse thundering in your ears. you can still feel him, the ghost of his mouth everywhere, the slick heat of his tongue, the way he wouldn’t stop until you broke.
chan stays between your legs, his palms now resting lightly on your thighs like he’s afraid to move without permission. his face is flushed, lips swollen and glistening, chin wet with you. his glasses are slightly crooked, fogged around the edges.
"was… was that okay?", he asks finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it over your own ragged breathing.
you let out a shaky laugh, weak but genuine, "okay? chris, that was-", the word gets lost in the haze clouding your brain, and you close your eyes for a second before finding your voice again, "that was so fucking good. you were amazing"
the tension in his shoulders eases, just slightly, though his blush deepens, "really?"
you open your eyes, meeting his gaze, letting him see the truth of it, "really. you don’t have to second-guess every move. i promise"
his lips twitch into a shy, relieved smile, but he still ducks his head like he can’t quite handle your praise, "guess… research wasn’t useless after all", he murmurs.
you’re about to tease him when your eyes trail down, lower. you notice the way his hoodie bunches awkwardly across his lap, how he shifts subtly like he’s uncomfortable. his breathing hasn’t steadied the way yours has - if anything, it sounds sharper, restrained.
your stomach flips. oh.
he’s hard.
you blink, heart stumbling in your chest. your eyes linger too long before jerking back up. he notices. of course he notices. his breath stutters, ears burning red. he coughs, tugging the hoodie further down as if that could hide the obvious, "i- uh. i should, um…", his voice cracks, and he clears his throat again, "i should go to the bathroom. just, uh… deal with it"
the words hit you like a slap of clarity. suddenly, you remember last time. that first night. how he’d excused himself after, disappeared into your bathroom for some time, how he’d come back looking a little flushed, avoiding your eyes.
you push yourself up onto your elbows, staring at him, "oh my god", you whisper, "last week- you did the same thing, didn’t you?"
his eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights, "it’s not-", he stumbles, voice awkward, rushed, "don’t worry about it. really. it’s nothing"
"chris", you press, guilt flooding you, "you went to the bathroom to…", you trail off, cheeks burning, unable to finish the sentence.
he rakes a hand through his hair, flustered, "look, it’s not important. i didn’t say anything because- because it’s not your problem. i just needed to… you know. calm down"
but you can’t shake the guilt twisting in your chest. he’d just gone down on you until you couldn’t breathe and you hadn’t even thought about what he was left with after. and now, with your body still buzzing and your mind hazy, the thought slips out before you can stop it.
"but you must be uncomfortable like that", you blurt, words tumbling fast, nervous, "and it’s not fair, you did all that for me and-", you swallow, embarrassment prickling at your skin, "i could help. i mean- take care of it. for you"
his entire body goes rigid. silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. he stares at you like you’ve just spoken in another language.
"what?", his voice is strangled, hoarse.
you bite your lip hard, heat rushing to your face, "i just-", the words keep spilling, uncontrollable, like a dam breaking, "you said you’ve never done anything, right? so… so no one’s ever done that for you. and you’re obviously…", your eyes flick briefly to his lap before darting away, "turned on. and this could also be good practice. for you. and it could help, like, relieve stress for you too- ", you groan softly, dragging your hands down your face, "fuck, i don’t know, i just thought maybe it’d help. unless you don’t want me to, then-"
"stop", he cuts in suddenly, his voice sharper than you’ve ever heard from him.
your chest tightens, panic flashing through you, "s-sorry, i-"
"no, i mean-", he shakes his head quickly, fumbling, "stop before you talk yourself out of it", his hands curl into fists on his thighs, his chest rising and falling unevenly, "because i… yeah. i want that. i want you to"
your breath catches, "you do?"
his laugh is nervous, shaky, but his eyes burn with something desperate, unfiltered, "do you even know how hard it is to sit here like this after-", he breaks off, groaning softly, running both hands over his face, "yes. please. i want that"
the air between you shifts, charged and new. your skin prickles as he moves hesitantly, standing to tug his sweats down just enough to free himself. he leaves his hoodie on, mirroring you still half-dressed, both of you strangely comforted by the fact that you’re not fully naked for this.
he lies back on your bed, tense but trying to look relaxed, arms folded under his head. his cock pressing against his stomach, flushed and heavy, and you can’t stop staring for a second - your mouth suddenly dry.
you crawl closer on your knees, heart hammering, "so… i just-"
he swallows, voice rough, "whatever you want. whatever feels right"
you hesitate, then wrap your hand gently around him. he hisses instantly, his hips jerking.
"fuck", he gasps, biting down on his lip, eyes fluttering shut, "oh my god"
his reaction makes you bolder, your thumb brushing over his tip, smearing the slick gathered there. he moans, muffled into his lips, and your own stomach flips at the sound.
"does this feel good?", you ask quietly, suddenly shy.
"so good", he groans, his voice thick, needy, "don’t stop please"
you tighten your grip carefully, stroking him from base to tip in a slow, tentative motion. his whole body reacts - chest heaving, thighs tensing, a hiss slipping between his teeth.
"holy shit", chan groans, his voice breaking. his hand shoots down to grab at your wrist like he’s afraid he might lose himself too fast, but he doesn’t stop you. he just squeezes lightly, grounding himself.
you glance up, watching his flushed face, the way his glasses slip slightly down his nose, fogged at the edges. he looks wrecked already.
"am i-", you swallow nervously, "am i doing it right?", it’s not your first time, but you want to make sure he enjoys it as much as you did.
his laugh is breathless, pained almost, "are you kidding? fuck yes. yes, just like that"
his hips twitch involuntarily as you drag your hand back down, your thumb circling the head, spreading the slick that beads there. his head falls back against the pillow, exposing the column of his throat.
"fuck", he whines, low in his chest, "you’re gonna kill me"
you smile at him, stroking him faster now, watching his abs tighten under his hoodie with every movement. his cock pulses in your hand, leaking steadily, making it easy to glide up and down. he’s panting openly, no longer trying to hold it in, each sound spilling out and fueling you. the sight of him undone because of you makes your own core throb, wetness gathering again between your thighs.
after a minute, curiosity sparks, boldness overriding your nerves. you bend lower, your lips brushing the swollen tip as your hand continues working him. chan jerks, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.
"oh my god-", his eyes fly open, meeting yours, wide and glassy, "are you- are you really-"
you hum softly in answer, opening your mouth and taking just the head inside. the salty tang hits your tongue instantly, new but not unpleasant, and his entire body arches off the bed.
"fuck, fuck, fuck", he chants, hands flying up like he doesn’t know where to put them. they hover above you before finally tangling desperately in the sheets, "that feels- ah, that feels insane"
you hollow your cheeks around him gently, experimenting, letting your tongue swirl across the tip while your hand strokes the rest of him. his moans grow louder, unrestrained, echoing in your small bedroom.
"jesus, you’re-", he chokes, voice cracking, "you’re too good at this. i’m- fuck- i’m not gonna last"
the confession sends a rush of heat straight through you. you bob lower, taking him deeper, your throat relaxing as you adjust. chan’s hands finally give up on restraint, one burying itself in your hair. he doesn’t push, just holds, trembling as he groans your name like a prayer.
"don’t stop", he begs, voice wrecked, "please, please don’t stop"
you moan around him, vibrations making his thighs tremble. his hips lift helplessly, but you steady him with a firm hand on his stomach, holding him down while you keep working him.
his broken sounds fill the air - gasps, curses, desperate whimpers muffled against his bitten knuckles. he’s falling apart under you, unraveling with every lick, every stroke, every suck. and he looks beautiful like this - glasses askew, hoodie rucked up to reveal clenched abs, hair sticking damply to his forehead.
"shit-", his voice cracks, high and raw, "shit, i’m gonna- fuck, i’m gonna come"
you don’t pull away. if anything, you take him deeper, pushing yourself until your nose brushes the soft skin of his stomach. his strangled moan fills the air, guttural and raw, and his grip in your hair tightens just enough to tremble.
"fuck-," his voice is broken, a half-sob, "i can’t- i can’t hold it-"
you hum low around him, the vibration making his hips jerk violently. your hand strokes what your mouth can’t take, twisting, squeezing in rhythm. every second, every flick of your tongue, his control unravels further. his thighs are shaking under your palms. his stomach contracts sharply, abs twitching. his head tosses back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut behind fogged glasses.
"oh my god, oh my god, please-", he babbles, the words spilling out of him helpless, "don’t stop, don’t- fuck, i’m so close"
your own pulse hammers in your ears, arousal pooling heavy and wet between your legs at the sound of him. you swallow around him, and that’s it - that’s the breaking point. his whole body arches off the bed, hand fisting tight in your hair as his orgasm crashes over him.
"fuck-", the word rips from his throat, hoarse and wrecked, as he spills hot and thick onto your tongue.
you don’t move, just keep stroking and swallowing as much as you can, letting him ride it out. his hips jerk helplessly, every spasm drawing another broken moan from his chest.
he’s loud, louder than you’ve ever heard him - a mix of whimpers and curses and your name groaned like he’s praying to it. his release seems endless, hot pulses filling your mouth until it drips down your throat. he’s panting hard, chest heaving under his hoodie, skin damp with sweat.
finally, he collapses back against the bed, trembling all over, breath catching in sharp little gasps. you ease off him slowly, licking him clean with soft, tentative swipes, and then you sit back on your heels, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
chan blinks up at you, dazed, his glasses crooked, lips parted like he can’t find the words.
"holy shit", he breathes at last, voice wrecked, "that was-", he cuts himself off with a broken laugh, hand dragging down his face, "i don’t even know what that was. i think you just ruined me"
the silence after is heavy, the kind that presses into your skin, settling deep in your bones. you sit there on your knees, chest rising and falling, still tasting him faintly on your tongue. chan hasn’t moved much - sprawled out on your bed, hoodie bunched at his stomach, sweat glistening at his temples. he’s catching his breath like he just ran a marathon, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed crimson.
for a moment, you just stare at him, the raw sight of him undone, ruined, still twitching in the aftermath. it’s too much, too intimate, and you quickly duck your head.
"uh-", his voice cracks, soft and hoarse. he clears his throat, trying again, still breathless, "wow. that was… yeah"
you snort, though it comes out shaky, your lips tugging into a nervous smile, "very articulate, christopher. top marks on feedback"
he laughs, a breathless little huff that makes your chest ache for reasons you can’t quite name. his hand rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, tugging at his damp curls, "sorry. my brain’s not… really working right now"
"you don’t say", you mutter, trying to keep it light, teasing, though your heart is pounding like a drum in your chest.
he groans, dragging a hand over his face, glasses sliding crooked again, "god, i can’t believe that just happened"
your stomach twists, equal parts nerves and something else you don’t dare name. so you force a laugh, forcing the words out before the silence can grow too heavy, "hey, think of it this way, just like i told you. you got more practice. hands-on learning, right?"
he peeks at you through his fingers, ears bright red, "hands-on, huh? that’s… one way to put it", his lips twitch, embarrassed but amused.
"don’t look so scandalised", you shoot back, nudging his knee with your hand, "this was for both of us. you needed practice, i needed stress relief", the words feel brittle on your tongue, like glass that might shatter if you press too hard.
"right", he echoes, softer this time. he pushes himself up on his elbows, still flushed, still shaky, "mutually beneficial arrangement"
the phrase makes you laugh, though it comes out almost too high-pitched, strained, "exactly. very professional of us"
"super professional", he agrees, grinning weakly. then his expression shifts, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, "you’re… okay, though? with this? i mean-", he gestures vaguely, his hand fluttering through the air, "everything"
the question squeezes at your chest. you swallow past the knot in your throat and nod quickly, too quickly, "yeah. totally fine"
it’s not a lie, not exactly. you are fine. more than fine, maybe. your body is loose and wrecked, your pulse still humming from release, and yet there is something else there too. something sharp, fragile, cracking open in your chest. you shove it down before it can claw its way out.
he studies you for a beat longer, then nods, letting it go. his shoulders slump, tension bleeding out of him, and he lets out another breathless laugh, "god, if exams were half as intense as that, i’d actually study harder"
you chuckle, shaking your head, "don’t let the university hear you say that. they’ll start adding… extracurriculars to the curriculum"
"yeah", he says, grinning now, more himself again, "practical exams"
the both of you laugh, the sound lighter than the air between you feels. but when the laughter fades, quiet seeps back in, and you’re left staring at him - at his flushed cheeks, his mussed hair, his chest rising and falling beneath his hoodie. something inside you snaps again, a soft, almost imperceptible crack, like a thread pulled too tight finally giving way.
you feel it. you know he must feel it too, even if neither of you will admit it out loud. not now. not yet.
so you clear your throat, reaching for the corner of the blanket and tossing it at him, "hey, superstar. cover yourself before i start charging you for the show"
he catches it with a startled laugh, cheeks flaming again as he pulls it over his lap, "wow. brutal. no bedside manner whatsoever"
"hey, i never claimed to be gentle"
he shakes his head, grinning despite himself, and you cling to that - the banter, the laughter, the safe surface of things. pretending, together, that this is all it is: practice and stress relief. even as you stand to get the rest of your clothes, feeling more breakable than you’ve ever been.
the days that follow settle into a rhythm, the same one you’ve known since uni began.
the last exams, classes again, lectures, group projects, long hours hunched over textbooks until your eyes blur. chan is there through it all, like he always is. you meet in the library, side by side with laptops open, passing notes and snacks back and forth. you take breaks together too - quick coffees, cheap sandwiches from the vending machines, ten minutes of fresh air before diving back into the mess of exams.
on the surface, nothing’s changed. he still complains about professors under his breath just loud enough for you to hear, still pushes his glasses up when they slide down, still drums his pencil on the desk when he’s thinking. you still roll your eyes at him, still steal fries off his plate without asking, still laugh until your stomach hurts when he gets that high, wheezy giggle going.
but underneath, everything feels different. there’s a fragile edge to your laughter now, a quiet pulse in the air when you brush shoulders leaning over his notes, a sharp intake of breath when his knee bumps yours under the table. neither of you talk about it, but it lingers, heavy and electric.
and then friday comes again. movie night. your tradition, your anchor. you clean up a little before he arrives, trying to tell yourself it’s not for him, not because of him. but when you hear the knock at your door, your stomach flips the same way it did last week.
chan steps in, hoodie slung loose over his shoulders, hair messy from the wind outside. he kicks his shoes off like always, drops his bag in the same spot, greets you with a crooked grin like nothing in the world is different.
it’s almost easy, falling back into routine. almost. you decide on food, bicker lightly about who gets to pick the movie, laugh over the dumbest things while you eat. it’s comfortable, familiar. the kind of comfort that only comes from years of friendship, the kind that usually settles you like a weighted blanket. but tonight it only winds you tighter, because you know where this could lead, what’s waiting unspoken between you.
the movie starts. you sit on opposite ends of the couch tonight. he sprawls out, one leg hanging off the edge, hoodie rucked up a little at the waist. you try to focus on the screen, on the noise and light, but your eyes keep drifting. to the shape of his mouth, the slope of his throat, the way his chest rises and falls as he laughs at a line of dialogue.
before you know it, you’re burning, just like last week. you press your thighs together, shifting slightly, praying he doesn’t notice. but of course, he notices.
"you seem… tense", he murmurs suddenly, voice quiet under the sound of the movie.
you jerk your head towards him, startled, "what? no. i’m fine"
he raises a brow, unconvinced. your heart thunders. you swallow hard.
it feels like the ground shifts beneath you, like everything you’ve been ignoring is suddenly too close to the surface. but instead of running, instead of shutting it down, you hear yourself whisper, "fuck it"
and somehow, that’s all it takes.
minutes later, you’re in your room again, like you’ve stumbled into some unspoken script.the air in your bedroom is heavy. not the same nervous, fumbling kind of heavy as last week, but charged, expectant. you’re both more sure now, not stumbling into this for the first time but returning to something that already burned you alive once.
you lie back on the bed, pushing your shorts and panties down without waiting for him to ask. it feels shameless and brazen and your heart is hammering, but the look on chan’s face when you spread your thighs for him makes the embarrassment worth it.
he doesn’t hesitate this time. no stiff hands on your thighs, no lingering second-guessing. he slides down between your legs like he’s been replaying this moment in his head all week, hoodie riding up as he settles on his stomach.
"you know what you’re doing now", you tease, your voice shaky despite the grin on your lips, "so you can’t mess it up"
he laughs softly, but it’s lower, rougher than before, "guess you’ll have to grade me"
you don’t even have time to roll your eyes before his mouth is on you. no lace barrier this time, no easing in. just the hot press of his lips, the wet slide of his tongue over your clit that makes your whole body jolt.
"fuck-", your hand flies into his hair, tugging without thinking.
he groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your nerves. it’s different this time. not careful kisses and hesitant licks, but hungry, deliberate movements. he sucks gently at your clit, tongue swirling, pulling broken sounds from your throat before you can stop them.
you writhe against the sheets, thighs clamping around his head, and instead of backing off, he groans and forces them apart, locking his arms under your thighs to hold you open for him.
"chris-", his name rips out of you, high and raw.
he pulls back just far enough to look up at you, his lips shiny, his eyes dark, "tell me what feels best", he rasps.
your brain is clouded, words tangled with pleasure, but you manage to say, "there- right there, don’t stop"
he doesn’t. he dives back in, tongue flicking, circling, his groans getting louder every time you moan for him. your body arches, your hips rolling helplessly into his mouth. the sounds spilling from you are shameless now, gasps and whimpers and broken cries.
then he changes it up again - his tongue still working your clit, but his hand slides down, fingers teasing your entrance before pressing in.
"fuck!", you choke out, head falling back against the pillow.
last time, his touch had been tentative, careful. now, his fingers curl inside you with purpose, finding the spot that makes your whole body seize.
"oh my god, yes, there, chris, please"
he groans, the sound desperate, and pumps his fingers faster, his tongue relentless on your clit. the combination is too much. it builds fast, fierce, white-hot. you’re babbling nonsense, tugging at his hair, thighs trembling against his shoulders.
and then you’re gone. climax tearing through you, blinding and overwhelming. you cry out, body shaking, grinding against his mouth as if you never want him to stop. he doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, oversensitive, trying to push him away. only then does he finally pull back, panting, lips swollen, face wet with you. you collapse, dazed, chest heaving.
he wipes his chin with the back of his hand, but his eyes are wide, his expression dazed too, like he can’t believe how much he lost himself in you. you’re still catching your breath, body buzzing, when you notice it. the way chan shifts against the mattress, the rise and fall of his chest too quick, the faint bulge pressing against his sweatpants.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, still wrecked, still flushed, but a slow smirk tugging at your lips, "you know", you rasp, voice hoarse from moaning his name, "it’s not fair if i’m the only one getting relief"
his eyes snap up to yours, wide, startled, lips still damp with you. you sit up properly, then crawl towards him and making him lie on your bed now. your hand slides down his stomach, deliberately brushing the hem of his hoodie, "your turn"
he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, "y-you don’t"
"i want to", you cut in, your tone firm but not unkind. your hand hovers at the waistband of his sweats, waiting for his reaction, "unless you don’t"
he exhales shakily, and then his head tips back like he’s surrendering, "fuck. yeah. please"
that’s all the permission you need. you tug his sweats down just enough to free him, the fabric pooling at his thighs. his cock springs out, flushed, heavy, leaking already.
you bite your lip, heat blooming low in your stomach, "so hard", you murmur without thinking.
his face burns, but his hips twitch at the praise. you wrap your hand around him first, testing, squeezing lightly. his groan rips out instantly, head falling back.
"shit-"
you stroke him slowly, watching the way his chest rises and falls, the way his hoodie rides up, exposing his toned stomach.
"feels good?", you ask, your voice dripping smugness.
"fuck, yes", he groans, hips bucking helplessly into your fist, "don’t stop-"
you don’t. your hand works him steadily, spreading his precum down his length, twisting your wrist just to hear the broken sounds he makes. his hands fist in the sheets, his thighs tense under you, his face a mess of parted lips and shut eyes.
"you’re beautiful like this", you whisper, and it slips out before you can stop it.
his eyes fly open, glassy and desperate, "don’t- don’t say shit like that", he pants, "you’ll kill me"
you grin, then bend down, your tongue flicking against the tip of his cock. he gasps, a sharp, strangled sound, hips jerking.
"oh fuck-"
you do it again, slower this time, savoring the salty taste, the way he whimpers. then you take him in, lips wrapping around him, sliding lower, your hand working what your mouth can’t.
his groan is guttural, torn from deep in his chest, "holy shit, fuck, i-"
he tries to stop himself, but he can’t. his hips stutter up, shallow thrusts into your mouth, and you let him, bobbing your head to match his rhythm. your tongue flattens against him, your cheeks hollow, and he’s gone.
"you’re gonna- i can’t- fuck, i’m gonna come"
you hum around him, the vibration dragging another moan from his lips. it’s all too much for him. his hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just holding, grounding himself as he unravels.
"oh my god- fuck, fuck, fuck"
he spills into your mouth, hot and overwhelming. his whole body arches, thighs trembling, abs tightening under his hoodie. you swallow what you can, pull back slowly, lips swollen, hand stroking him through the aftershocks until he collapses against the sheets, utterly wrecked. you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, smirking faintly as you crawl up beside him.
he’s panting, dazed, hoodie sticking to his damp skin, "jesus christ", he mutters, voice wrecked, "you’re gonna kill me"
"guess the practice is working both ways", you say lightly, though your heart thunders in your chest.
his laugh is breathless, shaky, "yeah. guess so", but the way he looks at you - still undone, still reeling - makes it clear it’s more than that, even if neither of you will admit it yet.
it doesn’t happen all at once.
the first time after that week, when it happens again, you tell yourself it’s just another one-off, that the stress has been unbearable and chan offering to help is harmless. the second time, he’s too tired to think straight, too strung out from studying to argue when your hand lingers on his thigh and you murmur, "want me to help again?"
and then the third time, the fourth, the fifth…
before you realise it, it’s another ritual. friday night isn’t just about cheap takeout and terrible movies anymore. it’s the prelude. the movie ends, the plates get pushed aside, and one of you gives a look the other knows how to read instantly. you don’t talk about it, not really. you just… move.
sometimes it’s him between your thighs first, pulling your shorts down, glasses sliding low on his nose as he murmurs, "ready?", and waits for your frantic nod before licking into you like he’s starving. other times it’s you first, tugging at his sweats with a grin, "your turn tonight", and dropping between his legs as he curses under his breath, hoodie rucked up to show pale skin and trembling abs.
you never kiss. that line stays intact. mouths are for moaning, begging, praising, not for each other’s lips. but everything else blurs more with each week.
one night, when you’re sprawled on your bed with him buried between your thighs, you gasp, "fuck- right there, don’t stop"
he pulls back just long enough to smirk, chin slick with you, "i wasn’t planning to"
another night, you’re on your knees, his cock heavy on your tongue, his fist white-knuckled in your sheets. he groans, "fuck, you’re too good at this "
you pull off with a wet pop, stroking him slow, eyes wicked, "i guess practice is good for me too"
sometimes, when you whimper too loudly, he has to shush you, half-teasing, half-serious, "your neighbours are gonna know exactly what i’m doing to you"
your hips buck into his face, shameless, "let them"
as weeks pass, you both get bolder. he learns how to flatten his tongue just right, how to circle your clit until your whole body seizes. you learn that he goes insane when you take him deeper, when you hum low in your throat with him down your throat.
you tease him more, dragging it out, stroking him slow until he’s begging, "please, please, just- stop teasing"
he returns the favor, holding you down with his arm across your hips when you squirm, muffling your curses into your pillow. but it’s not cruel. never cruel. it’s playful, experimental, dripping with need.
the movies become background noise. sometimes you don’t even finish them. halfway through, your hand brushes his under the blanket, or his thigh presses into yours, and that’s all it takes. by the end of the night, you’re both sweaty, out of breath, clothes tangled on the floor, too wrecked to pretend it’s not affecting you. yet every time, you fall back on the same lines.
"good practice, right?"
"yeah. stress relief"
the words sound thinner each time, but neither of you dares to say anything else. still, when you catch him staring at you after you’ve collapsed against the mattress, when his hoodie rides up and you see his chest heaving, when your lips part like maybe this time you’ll kiss-
you both pull back.
next friday night changes everything.
it starts like all the others. the two of you are cross-legged on the couch, cartons of takeout spread across the coffee table. you’re arguing over who gets the last dumpling, him holding it just out of reach with his chopsticks while you glare at him.
"you’ve had three already", he says, smug behind his glasses.
"and?", you shoot back, lunging across the cushions.
he yelps, laughing so hard he almost drops it, "fine, fine, here-", he shoves it at you before you can tackle him.
the movie plays next. some ridiculous action flick with plot holes the size of sinkholes. you tease him for nitpicking the physics, he teases you for gasping at every predictable jump scare. your laughter fills the dorm, light and easy, the same way it always does. but beneath it - like every friday lately - there’s a hum in the air. a quiet knowing of what’s coming next.
later, you’re in your bed again. it’s become almost mechanical now: you tug off your shorts, he shrugs out of his sweats, both of you leaving hoodies and shirts on like it keeps this casual.
"same drill", he mutters, and even though he says it like a joke, his eyes are already dark behind his glasses.
then he’s kneeling between your thighs, pushing your knees apart, settling into a rhythm he’s perfected by now. slow kisses first, then broad tongue flattening over your clit until your back arches and your hand fists in his hair.
you moan his name, shameless now, because you’ve stopped pretending you can stay quiet for him. he groans against you, deeper, hungrier, eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
you come hard, body clenching around his fingers curling inside you, hips rocking helplessly into his mouth. and when you finally collapse back, panting, he’s grinning up at you, chin slick, hoodie bunched at his elbows.
"getting good at this", he says, voice wrecked but proud.
you laugh breathlessly, tugging at his hair, "shut up and come here"
you flip him without hesitation now. he leans back against the pillows, and you climb between his knees. his cock is already hard, flushed, leaking. you wrap your hand around him, stroke slow, and his breath stutters, "fuck-"
then your mouth replaces your hand, and he falls apart. moaning, begging, trying and failing not to buck up into your throat. you take him deeper, hollow your cheeks, feel him twitch against your tongue until he’s groaning your name like it’s the only word he knows. he comes hard, spilling down your throat, and you swallow greedily, eyes locked on his face.
it should end there. like always. the routine complete.
but this time, it doesn’t.
you pull off him slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, chest heaving. he looks wrecked - hoodie askew, hair sticking up, glasses slipping low, sweat shining at his temples.
and suddenly, it hits you. this isn’t enough anymore. your body is still thrumming with need, still aching, still clenching at nothing. his tongue and fingers aren’t enough, your mouth on him isn’t enough. you want more. you need more.
you need him.
before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out, raw and desperate:
"chris… i need you”
“again?”, he asks, still trying to catch his breath.
“no, i-i need all of you. i need you inside me"
the silence that follows is deafening. he blinks, stunned, like he’s not sure he heard you right. his lips part, then close, then part again, "w-what?"
you swallow hard, nerves spiking, but the truth is already out there, "i can’t-", your voice cracks, and you force yourself to meet his eyes, "i can’t just stop here. i need more. i need you"
the silence after your words stretches long, heavy, but not empty. it thrums between you, full of everything you’ve both been pushing down for weeks.
chan shifts on the bed, glasses sliding down his nose. his lips part like he wants to say something, then close again. he scrubs a hand over his face, and when he speaks, his voice is rough.
"you’re serious", it’s not a question.
you nod quickly, heart pounding so hard it hurts, "i am. i wouldn’t-", your voice falters, but you steady it, "i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t mean it"
he exhales shakily, eyes searching yours, "you know i’ve never-", he breaks off, swallowing, and then forces it out, small and almost shy, "i’ve never done it before"
your chest tightens, warmth flooding through you. of course you know. you’ve known since that first night when he admitted he’d never gone down on anyone, when he confessed how much of his “experience” came from research instead of reality. but hearing him say it now, here, with both of you teetering on the edge - it feels different. softer. raw.
"i know", you whisper. you reach for his hand, curling your fingers with his, grounding him, "but… i want you. but only if you want it too"
his eyes flutter shut, like he’s fighting to keep himself together. when he opens them again, they’re darker, steadier, "i want it", he says, no hesitation now, "i want you"
something inside you aches at the way he says it. you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. for a moment, the two of you just breathe, sharing the air, letting the certainty settle in the spaces where nerves used to live.
"okay", you murmur.
you’re the one who moves first. shifting into his lap, straddling one of his thighs. the heat of his body seeps through the fabric of his hoodie, and when you settle your weight down, his breath catches. your hand finds him again, still hard, still flushed and leaking, and you wrap your fingers around him. his groan is immediate, desperate, as his hips buck up into your touch.
"fuck-", he gasps, head tipping back, throat working, "every time… every time you touch me, i feel like i’m gonna lose it"
you smile faintly, dizzy with how much you want him, "that’s kind of the point"
you stroke him slow, watching the way his face twists, how his chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow breaths. without realising it, your own hips start to move, grinding down against his thigh. the friction catches just right, sending sparks shooting through you, and a whimper slips out before you can stop it.
his eyes fly open, finding yours instantly. his mouth curves, shaky but awed, "you’re… riding my thigh"
you flush, but you don’t stop. if anything, you press harder, your rhythm syncing with the movement of your hand around him, "shut up", you mutter, breathless.
he groans, low and broken, his hands twitching where they grip your hips, "i’m not complaining"
the heat builds fast, the two of you locked in this messy rhythm, grinding and stroking, breathing each other in. your shirt is bunched awkwardly around your waist, his hoodie sticking to his skin. you tug it up with your free hand, wanting more contact, more of him. you press your palm against the strip of bare skin, feeling the heat of him, and it’s intoxicating.
"god", you whisper, "you’re so warm"
he moves to take it off completely, and then his gaze drops immediately, catching on the hem of your shirt still half-tangled at your ribs. he swallows hard, then tugs at the edge.
"can i…?", his voice is shaky, uncertain, but his eyes are blazing.
your answer is instant, "yes. yes, chris"
his hands are careful, reverent almost, as he pushes the fabric up and over your head. he tosses it aside and freezes, "fuck", he breathes, eyes wide, "you’re not- you’re not wearing a bra"
heat floods your cheeks, but you hold his gaze anyway, pulse hammering, "no", you say softly, "i’m not"
for a beat, he just stares. his mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something, but no words come out. his glasses have slipped lower down his nose, and behind them, his eyes are wide, dark, almost frantic with focus.
and then something changes. the nerves are still there, trembling under his skin, but hunger pushes forward, sharp and undeniable.
"fuck", he whispers again, and before you can react, he’s sitting up.
the shift drags you closer, your chest pressing to his chest, and you gasp as his mouth finds the curve of your neck.
"chris-", your voice breaks off in a moan when his lips latch onto your pulse, hot and desperate. he groans against your skin, one hand sliding up your side until it cups your breast. the contact makes you jolt, hips grinding down harder on his thigh.
"oh my god", you gasp, still stroking him through it, "yes, yes-"
he freezes for half a second, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes blown and searching, "is this okay?", his voice is ragged, almost pleading.
you nod so fast it makes you dizzy, "yes, fuck, yes, don’t stop"
the sound he makes is half groan, half growl, and then he’s all over you again. his mouth claims the hollow of your throat, your collarbone, messy kisses trailing lower, and his hand squeezes your breast with nervous reverence. you cry out when his thumb brushes your nipple.
"you like that?", he murmurs, sounding more like a scientist cataloguing data than someone making you come apart.
"yes", you whimper, arching into his touch, "chris, please-"
he obeys instantly, rolling your nipple between his fingers, gentle at first, then firmer when your hips stutter against him. your own hand doesn’t falter, still wrapped around him, stroking slow and tight. every little twitch of his cock in your palm makes you wetter, makes your grind against his thigh more frantic. then he moves again, lowering his head, his tongue flicking over your nipple.
you choke on a cry, your free hand flying into his hair, "fuck"
he groans against your skin, sucking softly, then harder, alternating licks and kisses that make your whole body shake. his other hand pinches your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers.
"jesus, you’re-", he pulls off just long enough to gasp, breath hot against your breast, "you’re so fucking soft, so perfect"
you moan louder, hips rolling hard against his leg, the friction against your clit almost unbearable. your hand speeds up on him, making him curse against your skin.
"you’re driving me crazy", he groans, mouth moving to your other breast. he licks a slow circle around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, making your back arches helplessly.
"chris, oh my god- don’t stop-"
he doesn’t. he alternates between your breasts, his tongue, his teeth, his fingers, his groans vibrating through you while you keep stroking him, his precum slicking your palm. it’s messy and desperate and overwhelming, your bodies grinding and pulling and clutching like you’re both starving.
and through it all, you can feel the shift - how his curiosity is still there, but buried under something much hungrier. your hand is still stroking him, his mouth still at your breasts, when you realise you can’t take it anymore. the friction, the teasing, the way his thigh is soaked with you.
"chris", you gasp, tugging his hair so he looks up at you. your lips almost brush, breaths mixing, but you hold yourself back, "i need you now"
his brows knit, chest heaving, "you… you mean-"
"inside", you whisper, words shaky, desperate, "i need you inside me. please"
his breath stutters. his forehead drops to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he’s grounding himself, "are you sure?", his voice is hoarse, trembling with something between fear and hunger, "it’s my first time, i don’t- i don’t wanna mess this up"
your thumb strokes over the flushed head of his cock, making him groan low in his throat, "chris", you murmur, your voice firmer now, "you won’t. you’re perfect. and i need you"
he lets out a ragged sound, pressing his forehead harder against yours. for a moment neither of you move, just breathing each other in, hearts racing in sync.
"okay", he whispers finally, "okay. if you’re sure"
"i’m sure", you breathe back.
your hand slides down his length again, slow, teasing, and he curses, hips jerking. you grind against his thigh once more before straddling him properly, reaching down between you. his hands flutter nervously at your waist, then grip tight when he feels you line him up against your entrance. the blunt head nudges against you, hot, slick with your arousal. you both groan at the contact.
"fuck- you’re-", his words cut off with a strangled moan as you sink down, slowly, inch by inch.
the stretch burns, full and overwhelming, but you welcome it, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"oh my god", you gasp, voice breaking, "chris… so big-"
he lets out a strangled whimper, forehead pressed to yours, his whole body trembling, "holy shit, you’re- you’re so tight, so warm… i can’t-"
you bottom out, his cock buried deep, and you both stay there, shaking, clutching each other like lifelines.
"just breathe", you whisper, though you’re the one struggling for air, "just… breathe with me"
his forehead presses harder to yours, noses brushing, lips hovering dangerously close. you both groan in unison, breaths tangling - but you don’t kiss, you can’t. after a moment, you start to move, slowly, rolling your hips, grinding against him. he chokes on a sound, hands gripping your waist so hard it makes you moan.
"fuck, oh my god", he babbles, voice high and broken, "you feel so good, y/n, i can’t- i don’t know how to-"
"just- let me", you gasp, lifting yourself before sliding back down, your wetness making it easy now, "just feel me, chris. that’s all you have to do"
his head tips back, a strangled moan tearing out of him, and you take the chance to drag your mouth along his throat, licking, biting. his skin tastes like sweat and salt, and his pulse pounds under your tongue. he groans, pulling you closer, chest to chest, as you ride him harder.
"fuck, fuck, fuck- you’re gonna- you’re gonna kill me", he gasps, forehead slamming back against yours, your noses brushing again.
you moan right into his mouth, almost like a kiss, your lips so close you can taste his breath. his hips start moving, awkward at first, then desperate, thrusting up to meet yours. the angle makes you see stars, his cock dragging perfectly against your walls.
"yes, right there", you sob, nails clawing down his back.
"god, you’re- you’re so beautiful", he groans, words tumbling out unfiltered, "you feel so fucking good, i- i never wanna stop"
your teeth sink into the space between his ear and jaw, and he cries out, bucking harder into you.
"chris, fuck, i’m- i’m close", you pant, rolling your hips faster, your clit catching with every grind.
his forehead presses to yours again, sweat dripping, lips parting just enough that your moans mix in the small space between.
"me too", he gasps, voice shaking, "oh my god, i’m- i’m gonna-"
you cling to him, biting down on his shoulder, both of you unraveling. the orgasm hits you hard, tearing a cry from your throat as your walls clench around him. he shouts your name, hips jerking wildly as he spills inside you, hot and endless.
you’re both shaking, trembling against each other, foreheads pressed, lips brushing but never kissing, moaning right into each other’s mouths as you ride out every wave. the world narrows to nothing but heat, sweat, and the desperate sounds you make together.
your body slumps against his, boneless, still trembling from the intensity. his arms lock around you instantly, holding tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. both of you are breathing hard, chests pressed together, your foreheads still touching.
for a long moment, the room is silent except for the ragged sound of your lungs working, your heartbeats pounding against each other. his cock softens inside you slowly, the heat of him still seeping deep, making the aftershocks stretch out. your walls flutter around nothing when he finally slips free, leaving you empty in a way that feels unbearable.
you collapse onto the bed beside him, rolling onto your back with a dazed sigh. chan drops down too, landing heavily on his side. he immediately covers his face with his hand, groaning.
"holy shit", he pants. his chest still rises and falls quickly, sweat glistening at his hairline, "i… wow. i don’t even- wow"
you laugh weakly, breathless, staring at the ceiling as you try to collect yourself. your body still hums, sensitive everywhere he touched, "yeah. wow"
for a few seconds, you both just lay there, letting the silence fill in the words you can’t say. your skin feels too hot, your heart too fragile.
he peeks at you through his fingers, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen, "so, uh", his voice cracks, and he clears his throat, "i guess… that’s another… practice session?"
you snort, burying your face in your arm to hide how much it shakes you, "yeah. practice. stress relief. the usual"
"right", he says, and though he nods, his voice is softer, quieter, like he doesn’t even believe it himself.
you both chuckle awkwardly, like it’s some sort of inside joke, but your chest aches.
"for the record", you mumble, still staring at the ceiling because you can’t look at him, "you’re… really good at practice"
his laugh is nervous, shy, but there’s pride laced through it, "guess i’ve had a pretty great partner to, uh, practise with"
the words hang in the air, heavier than they should. you want to turn your head, to really look at him, but you don’t. you’re not brave enough. instead, you curl onto your side, tug the blanket up over yourself, "we should sleep, you can stay if you want" you whisper, as if sleep will patch over what just happened.
chan mirrors you, rolling onto his side, close but not touching, "yeah", he murmurs.
but long after the lights are off, you can feel it - something fragile and terrifying hanging between you. something that snapped open the first time you got into this and refuses to be shoved back into place. and you’re too scared to name it.
the next day, you’d both sworn you’d stay in your own rooms to actually catch up on sleep. but at 1am, your phone lights up with his name, “can’t sleep. you?”. ten minutes later, chan is at your door, hair messy, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands.
the movie you put on plays for all of five minutes before his mouth finds your throat, your nails dragging down his back through the fabric. you end up in your bed, half-dressed, breathless, the air too hot between you.
“should we-”, he starts, nervous, eyes searching yours like he expects you to laugh.
“yeah", you whisper before you even think it through, "i want to"
that is all it takes. his hoodie is gone, your shirt is pushed over your head, both of you naked before you realise it. when he slides inside you for the first time since the previous night, the sound he makes - low, broken, desperate - is enough to make your whole body clench around him.
you swear under your breath, hands flying to his shoulders, "fuck, chris”
he moves carefully at first, like he is afraid you’ll shatter. but when you roll your hips up to meet him, when your nails dig into his arms and you moan his name again, something in him cracks. the pace grows frantic. his forehead presses to yours, his lips parting against your cheek, both of you panting into each other but never kissing. never that.
you gasp encouragements, half-broken words tumbling out between moans, “yes, like that- don’t stop, feels so good-”
his thrusts turn messy as he groans your name, his hands tight on your hips, grounding himself in you. you come first, clinging to him, muffling the cry in his shoulder. he follows seconds later, burying his face in your neck, every shudder of his body betraying just how badly he’d needed it.
afterwards, you lie tangled together, his arm draped across your stomach, both of you catching your breath. you don’t say “this is different now”. you don’t say “i wanted this more than anything”
instead, you joke weakly into the quiet, “guess you’re getting plenty of practice" and he huffs a laugh, voice still wrecked, "yeah. and you’re… pretty stressed, huh?”
you smile into the dark, pretending your chest doesn’t ache with something too fragile to name. but you know you’ve opened the gates to something you are afraid of.
at first, it’s easy to pretend it’s still a ritual. friday nights. movies, food, then tangled sheets and bitten-back moans. but one friday bleeds into a saturday. saturday into a sunday. and suddenly it’s not just friday nights anymore. it’s any time.
a canceled brunch plan, rain pattering against the windows, both of you curled up under a blanket on the couch. the movie you’d put on for background noise forgotten when his hand wandered under the hem of your shorts. he’d said it absentmindedly, like he was asking about the weather:
“want me to help you relax?”
your body had reacted before your brain could even catch up, spreading your knees wider, letting him tug your shorts down. his mouth was on you seconds later, warm and hungry, his hoodie still on, his hair tickling your thighs as you muffled gasps into the pillow.
after, you dragged him into your bedroom, pushed him down on the bed, and tugged at his sweats. you’d told yourself it was fairness - his turn. nothing more. but the way his head tipped back, the sounds that left his throat when you wrapped your mouth around him… that had nothing to do with fairness and everything to do with need.
one day your first class was cancelled. chan showed up with coffee anyway, like he always did, grumbling about exams again. one second you were both sitting at your desk, textbooks spread out, and the next your chair scraped back against the wall as he slid to his knees in front of you.
“we can take a quick break", he’d whispered, fingers curling around your ankles, pushing your legs open.
you’d protested weakly at first, heat blooming in your cheeks - “chris, we’re supposed to study” - but the moment his mouth found you, all arguments dissolved. your hands ended up twisted in his hair, rocking against his tongue, muffling moans with your own wrist.
later, when you were bent over your desk, breathless, with him thrusting inside you while he tried not to groan too loud, you told yourself it was just stress relief. just practice. nothing more.
another night you’d been reading in bed when he texted, “can’t focus. can i come over?”. he didn’t bring books this time.
you didn’t even bother with the pretense of studying. he was on his back within minutes, you straddling his hips with all of your clothes already on the floor, kissing everywhere except his mouth. his neck, his chest, his shoulders - you left marks you didn’t mean to, marks you’d pray no one else would notice.
when he flipped you beneath him, pressing himself against you like he needed it to breathe, you gave in without hesitation. the headboard thumped the wall with every desperate shift of your hips, and you didn’t care.
after, you lay tangled together, your head on his chest. the steady thud of his heart filled your ears, too steady, too dangerous. you told yourself it was just a comfortable pillow. nothing more.
and yet - something fragile coils tighter inside you with every “practice session". because you’re happy. impossibly happy. every time he shows up, every time he touches you, every time his voice goes wrecked and low when he begs, “please, don’t stop”
but that happiness feels sharp-edged, ready to snap. because you know, deep down, what this really is. and you’re terrified to admit it.
so you don’t. you just keep touching, tasting, pretending. but never kissing, because that’s too intimate, and you keep telling yourselves it’s not that.
it’s supposed to be a normal night. just dinner out, because neither of you want to cook and the little restaurant by campus has become a go-to spot when you’re both too tired to care.
you’re laughing about something - chan’s terrible imitation of one of your professors - as you push the door open, the warm hum of voices and clinking cutlery spilling out into the street. but the second you step inside, you see it’s packed. every table full, students and locals crammed into the small space.
“guess everyone had the same idea", chan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“yeah", you sigh, already turning back towards the door, "we can just grab something else"
you’re halfway through the motion when a voice cuts through the noise:
“chan!”
you turn, and there she is - soojin. the kind of girl who always seems to have an audience, her laugh too loud, her smiles too sharp. she’s standing with a group of friends near the back, shrugging into her coat.
“we’re just leaving", she says, eyes flicking over to you before landing back on chan, her grin widening, "you and your girlfriend can take our table"
the word hits you like a slap. girlfriend. it shouldn’t. it’s just a word, a throwaway assumption. but for a split second, something warm flares in your chest - until chan reacts.
“oh, no-”, he blurts, almost panicked, "she’s not- we’re not-”
the denial is quick, sharp, like he has to get it out before the thought can even exist. and suddenly, that warm spark inside you twists into something else. an ache, low and unfamiliar. you force a smile, pretending it doesn’t sting.
“oh right", soojin drawls, clearly amused. her eyes narrow just slightly, and you don’t like the way she’s looking at him, "well, in that case…”, she tilts her head, casual but calculated, "what about tomorrow night? dinner? here?”
your stomach drops. chan blinks, startled, "uh-”
“just you and me", she adds quickly, too quickly, her friends exchanging knowing looks behind her.
you can feel yourself tensing, waiting for him to brush it off, to make an excuse, to laugh it away like he always does when he’s uncomfortable. but instead-
“i… yeah", he stammers, cheeks flushing, "sure"
something in your chest cracks.
“great", soojin beams, already giving him her number and tugging her friends towards the door, "tomorrow at seven. see you then"
and just like that, she’s gone. you stand frozen for a second, the noise of the restaurant rushing back in around you. chan clears his throat, awkward, and gestures towards the now-empty table.
“should we…?”
you nod stiffly and follow him, sliding into the booth across from him. the menu in front of you blurs, your thoughts spiraling.
you don’t understand the tightness in your chest, the way your stomach twists. it’s not like you’re together. not like you’ve ever pretended to be - except in those dark, quiet moments when your bodies move like they belong to each other. but that’s different. that’s just practice.
so why does it hurt to hear him agree to tomorrow night? why does the thought of him sitting across from soojin in this very restaurant make you feel… sick?
“they, uh… left some food on the table", chan says, trying to sound casual as he picks up the menu. his glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up nervously, "we should order before it gets busy again"
you hum in agreement, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. you can’t meet his gaze, not when that strange, sharp feeling is clawing at your chest.
you don’t talk about it. you don’t ask why he said yes. you just sit there, pretending everything is fine, laughing at his dumb jokes, eating your food like the word girlfriend hadn’t just shattered something inside you. like him agreeing to the date didn’t make your whole work shake. but all through dinner, you can’t shake the truth pressing down on you - you don’t like this. you don’t like it at all.
that night, sleep refuses to come.
you lie in your bed staring at the ceiling, sheets tangled around your legs, the soft hum of the city outside your window doing nothing to quiet your thoughts. every time you close your eyes, you see it again: soojin’s smile, the way she leaned in so casually, the quick, nervous way chan said yes.
your chest feels tight, like there’s a weight pressing down on it. it makes no sense - none. he’s your best friend. he doesn’t owe you anything. he can go on as many dates as he wants, kiss whoever he wants, sit in restaurants with whoever he wants. you should be happy for him. but instead you feel sick. jealous. fragile. the word hisses at you in the dark, unwelcome and undeniable.
you turn onto your side, clutching your pillow to your chest like it might hold you together. you try to tell yourself it’s not about him - it’s about what you’ll lose. the easy nights, the movie marathons, the stupid inside jokes, even the practice that’s gone so far past practice you can’t call it that anymore.
if he starts dating, if he likes her - really likes her - what happens to you?
a lump swells in your throat. you press your face into the pillow and will your thoughts to stop, but they keep circling, haunting you, until your eyes sting and your chest aches.
eventually, exhaustion pulls you under, but your dreams are restless. fragments of chan’s face, his hands, his laugh - then flashes of him sitting across from soojin, smiling at her the way he’s always smiled at you.
the next morning, you drag yourself out of bed feeling like you never slept at all. your reflection in the bathroom mirror startles you: eyes shadowed, mouth tight, skin pale. you splash water on your face, but it does nothing to wash away the heaviness pressing down on you.
class is torture. chan is there, like he always is, punctual, focused, scribbling notes like his life depends on it. nothing about him looks different, but you feel different. you can’t look at him without remembering last night. without hearing his quick, eager “yeah”
he leans towards you once, pointing something out in the professor’s slides, his shoulder brushing yours, his voice low and familiar. usually, it would make you smile. today it makes your stomach clench. you nod, force a small sound of agreement, and hope he doesn’t notice how stiff you feel.
the hours drag. every time he laughs you wonder if he’s thinking about tonight. if he’s already planning what to wear. you tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. but it does. it matters too much.
that night, the ache only deepens. you imagine him there, sitting across from soojin at the same table where you sat with him just twenty-four hours ago. maybe she’s leaning in, twirling her hair, making him laugh. maybe he’s nervous, fiddling with his chopsticks the way he always does when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
you hate how clearly you can see it. hate the way your chest tightens with every imagined detail. your dorm feels too quiet, too big. you curl up on your couch, knees to your chest, phone resting heavy in your palm. you could text him. ask how the date’s going. make a joke. remind him of you.
but your fingers don’t move. you don’t want to know. you’re not sure you could stand it if he answered. so you sit there in the quiet, staring at the dark screen, your chest aching with something you can’t name but can’t ignore.
you don’t have class tomorrow, but he’ll come over like he always does. it’s a friday. tomorrow, he’ll sit on your couch and smile like nothing’s changed. and you’ll have to look at him, and pretend you’re fine, and hope he doesn’t see that something inside you cracked the moment he said yes.
friday night starts the same. he shows up with food today - chicken and rice bowls from the place around the corner, the smell filling your dorm the second he walks in. you let him in with a smile that feels stretched too thin, but he doesn’t notice.
"thought we deserved something healthy", he jokes, holding up the bags, "exam brain food"
"i’ll believe it when i see you eat the vegetables", you shoot back automatically, the familiar rhythm of your banter grounding you for a second.
the table looks the same as always - takeout containers scattered, chopsticks clinking, him talking between bites about the exam he just sat through and how he’s sure he messed up one of yesterday’s essay questions. you laugh in the right places, nod along, but the entire time your mind keeps circling back to last night.
the empty space. the sound of your own dorm, too quiet without him. the sharp twist in your stomach every time you pictured him sitting across from soojin. you try to shake it off. it’s movie night. your night. you’re not going to ruin it by thinking about her. but when the food is gone and you’ve settled onto opposite ends of the couch, movie playing, the question slips out before you can stop it.
"so…", your voice is light, almost too light, and you pick at the hem of your blanket to avoid looking at him, "how was your big date?"
his head tilts towards you, curious, "why do you sound like my mom asking that?"
you roll your eyes, forcing a laugh, "i’m just wondering. i mean, i hope all this practice wasn’t wasted, you know? maybe you impressed her"
you mean it as a joke, but the words taste sour on your tongue. and when you finally glance at him, your chest tightens - because he looks almost embarrassed.
"we didn’t do anything", he says quietly, eyes flicking back to the screen, "not even a kiss"
the confession stuns you, "what?"
his lips twitch into a small smile, sheepish, "i’m still… me. shy. quiet. i need time. i can’t just- jump in like that with someone", he pauses, glancing at you, and shrugs, "you’re the only one i’ve been… like this with"
your heart squeezes so tight you can barely breathe. he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds - you know that. but still, the words settle deep inside you, warm and heavy, easing something that’s been wound tight since yesterday. the thought of him sitting across from soojin and not kissing her, not touching her - it soothes the sharpest edges of your jealousy.
but it doesn’t erase it. not completely. because he could. he could, any time he wanted. and the thought of that - the thought of losing what you have - still claws at you.
you must look too serious, because his brow furrows, "you okay?"
"yeah", you say quickly, too quickly, "just… tired. i think i’m catching a cold or something", you force a weak smile and curl deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chin, "don’t wanna get you sick, though. maybe i should just… lie down"
he doesn’t question it. doesn’t push. he just nods, turns his attention back to the movie, and lets you close your eyes.
but you’re not sleeping. you’re lying there, listening to the sound of the movie and the soft rustle of him shifting beside you, and your chest aches. because for the first time since that night - the night everything changed - it’s friday but you don’t touch.
no whispered excuses about practice. no breathless relief of stress. nothing but silence. and it terrifies you. terrifies you how much you miss it already. terrifies you how fragile this feels, like one wrong move will make the whole thing collapse.
a couple of weeks pass, and the night you pretended to fall asleep on the couch stays with you like a stone in your stomach. you keep replaying it, over and over - the first friday you didn’t touch him. the way he left without a hug, without the familiar heat of his hand brushing against yours as he walked out the door. the way your bed felt too big, too cold, when you lay awake until morning.
life goes on, of course. exams are officially behind you again, classes fall into their normal rhythm, coffee breaks between lectures become routine again. and chan is still there, always there. walking you to class, sharing his notes, laughing at your complaints about professors. you’re still inseparable - best friends, like always.
but it’s different. because you can’t stop thinking about what’s missing. the heat of his mouth between your thighs. the sound of him groaning as you stroked him. the way you used to fall back on the bed, wrecked and breathless, only to laugh about it later like it was just another study hack.
now, it’s silence where there used to be touches. space where there used to be tangled limbs. and every time he mentions soojin, that space grows wider.
"we went out again last night", he says one afternoon, when you’re sitting across from him in the library, "she really likes that little café near campus. says it reminds her of home"
you hum noncommittally, eyes glued to your laptop screen, but your stomach twists. he doesn’t notice it, he never does. and it’s not like he hides it from you - he talks about her openly, like he always tells you everything. and you let him, even though every word feels like a thread unraveling inside you. the worst part is when he looks at you with that shy smile, almost guilty, like he knows you’ll tease him.
"she kissed me yesterday", he admits one evening as you’re walking back from class.
you freeze for a split second, then force your face into something neutral, "oh? finally brave enough, huh?"
his ears turn pink, "it’s not like that", he mutters, scratching the back of his neck, "she kissed me first"
"and?", you ask, your voice a little too sharp, so you soften it with a laugh, "was it good?"
he shrugs, looking down at the pavement, "it was fine. i just… i don’t know. i still feel nervous about going further with her. i’m only comfortable with you"
the words hit you like a blow and a balm all at once. warmth rushes through you at the admission - ”only comfortable with you” - but it’s tangled with a sharp sting, because that comfort hasn’t meant anything in weeks. he hasn’t touched you. hasn’t asked you to touch him. hasn’t even hinted at it. not since that night when she asked him to go out with her the next day. the night when everything changed.
and you’re left wondering if that comfort is slipping away too. you tell yourself it’s fine, that it had to end sometime. but when you lie in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the phantom weight of him pressed against you, hear his voice rough with want. you wake up damp and aching, forced to relieve yourself while biting back moans into your pillow, pretending it doesn’t mean anything.
but it does. god, it does.
and every time you sit across from him while he talks about soojin - her laugh, her favourite songs, how she insists on splitting the bill - you feel the crack inside you deepen. you don’t want to name it jealousy. you don’t want to name it anything. but you’re so close to breaking you can feel the edges splintering. so you smile. you listen. you let him talk, because he looks happy.
and you keep swallowing down the ache in your chest, hoping it doesn’t spill out.
thursday nights aren’t anything special, not usually. sometimes you eat together, sometimes not. sometimes you study, sometimes you just scroll through your phones side by side in companionable silence. tonight, it’s takeout cartons balanced on the table and chan telling you a story about one of his professors with too much hand-waving for you to follow.
you laugh anyway, because he’s grinning, dimples flashing, eyes crinkling. and for a while, it feels normal again. not like the last few weeks of careful space and unspoken things. not like the knot in your chest that won’t go away. just… chan. your best friend.
when you’re both full, he pushes his chair back and stretches, arms over his head, "alright, i should get going. i’ve got an early start tomorrow"
you hum, already expecting to hear his follow up - “see you tomorrow night, movie night, the usual”, but it doesn’t come. instead he says, “oh, by the way. i’m not coming tomorrow"
the words hit so abruptly you blink at him, confused, "what?”
he rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, "yeah, um... soojin asked if i wanted to go out with her. nothing big, just… she wants to show me this little bookstore near the river, and then maybe grab food"
it feels like the air in your dorm shifts, grows heavier. your hand falls against the carton, "so you’re skipping friday night?”
he frowns, like he doesn’t understand why you sound so sharp, "just this once. it’s not a big deal"
not a big deal.
your throat tightens, "it is a big deal, chris. we’ve never missed one. not once. it’s our thing"
“come on", he sighs, dropping his arms to his sides, "don’t make it sound bigger than it is. i’ll see you saturday, or sunday. it’s just one night"
but your chest is already burning, the weeks of swallowed jealousy and silence bubbling up, "one night that you’d rather spend with her than me"
his brows knit together, "that’s not fair. i spend every day with you"
“until she calls", you snap, "then i get pushed aside. do you even hear yourself, chris? she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not official yet, she’s barely even anything, but suddenly she gets priority over me?”
his face hardens, the softness from earlier slipping away, "you’re twisting this. i’m not leaving you behind. i’m just… trying to get to know her"
“at my expense", you shoot back. your voice is shaking now, but you can’t stop, "do you know how it feels? to be replaced by someone who barely knows you? to watch you-,” you break off, swallowing the lump in your throat, "to watch you choose her over me?”
his jaw tightens, "you’re not being replaced"
“aren’t i?", your laugh is sharp, bitter, "because that’s what it feels like. and it hurts like hell that you don’t even care"
and then it happens.
his voice rises, louder than you’ve ever heard it, cracking with frustration, "well you’re not my girlfriend either, i don’t owe you anything!”
the words slam into the room, shattering everything in their path. silence. heavy, awful silence.
chan’s eyes widen the second they leave his mouth, like he wants to catch them midair and shove them back inside. but it’s too late. they hang between you, poisonous, ringing in your ears.
your stomach twists violently, heat flooding your face. your lips part, but nothing comes out. there’s nothing to say - because he’s right. you’re not his girlfriend. you’ve never been. and yet it feels like something inside you just broke in half.
“i-”, he starts, voice small, regretful, “fuck, no, that’s not- i didn’t mean”
you shake your head, holding up a trembling hand, “just… go. please”
“listen i-”
“chris”, your voice cracks, “go”
his face crumples, guilt written across every line, but he doesn’t argue. he just stays there, frozen for a moment, before nodding once and walking to the door. you don’t watch him leave. you stare at the half-empty takeout cartons on the desk, your vision blurring.
the door closes with a soft click, but it might as well be a slam. you stay frozen for a long time, staring at the dented cardboard boxes on your desk, his chopsticks still resting across the rim of his. the room feels hollow without him in it, too quiet. your throat burns. your hands shake.
“you’re not my girlfriend. i don’t owe you anything”
the words loop in your head, louder, harsher, until they’re all you can hear. you shove the cartons aside suddenly, the sharp movement toppling one onto its side, sauce bleeding across your table. you don’t care. you’re already stumbling towards your bed, collapsing onto it face-first, pressing your face into the pillow.
and then it breaks.
tears spill hot and fast, soaking the fabric beneath your cheek. you try to stifle the sounds, biting down hard, but they keep tearing out of you. your chest heaves, your whole body trembling like you’ve just run miles.
you don’t know if you’re crying because of what he said or because it was true. maybe both. you’re not his girlfriend. you’ve never been his girlfriend. you’ve always told yourself it was just practice, just stress relief, just… just anything except what it really was. but it mattered to you. it mattered so much you can hardly breathe.
your sobs ease after a while, but the ache stays. you curl onto your side, hugging your pillow tight, rocking a little like that might hold you together. the room is dark, but every corner feels sharp, threatening, filled with the ghost of him - his laugh echoing off the walls, the warmth of him beside you on the couch, the weight of his forehead pressed against yours as you both pretended it wasn’t more.
you grab your blanket and pull it over your head, like maybe hiding will shut the memories out. it doesn’t.
sleep comes late, if at all. every time you close your eyes, you see his face as he said it - hard, frustrated, but already regretful. you hear the scrape in his voice, the guilt in his silence. you toss. you turn. the pillow grows damp again.
by the time the first grey light of morning filters in through the blinds, you feel raw, hollowed out. your head throbs from crying, your eyes sting, your chest still hurts like it’s been cracked open.
you don’t move. not even when your phone buzzes once, then again, on the nightstand. you know it’s him. you can’t look. not yet. you just bury your face back into the pillow, clutch the blanket tighter, and let the silence press in.
it’s the first friday in years that you’ll spend without him and the thought alone makes you want to cry all over again.
you don’t go to class. you don’t even move, not really. you let yourself drift in and out of shallow sleep, never really resting, never really awake. one hour blurs into the next, the quiet hum of campus outside your window a distant reminder that life is still moving, even though you feel stuck, pinned under the weight of last night.
sometimes you think about getting up. about showering, brushing your teeth, doing anything productive. but then you remember the way he looked at you, the sound of his voice when he snapped, and it’s like a wave crashing over you - your stomach hollowing, your throat tightening - and you go limp all over again, curling deeper under the covers.
you tell yourself it’s fine. that skipping one day won’t matter. that you’ll be okay tomorrow. but the truth is, you don’t feel okay at all.
it’s not until the sun has started to dip, shadows stretching long across your floor, that hunger finally forces you up. your body feels heavy as you shuffle into the kitchen after cleaning yourself up, every step slow. you stand there blankly for a long moment before pulling something simple from the fridge - leftovers, cold, eaten mechanically without really tasting it.
it fills the hollow in your stomach but not the one in your chest.
you’re rinsing the dish in the sink when the sound comes: a knock at the door.
you freeze. your first thought is to ignore it, to pretend you’re not home. but then it comes again - insistent, uneven, like whoever’s out there can’t stand still.
you dry your hands on a towel, your heart pounding harder with each step towards the door. when you open it, you almost wish you hadn’t.
chan stands there, hoodie thrown on like he rushed over, hair messy, chest rising and falling too fast. his eyes dart up to yours, restless, guilty, determined all at once.
“we need to talk", he says, voice rough, like he hasn’t slept either.
you swallow, grip tightening on the doorframe. and then, after a long, shaky pause, you step back, letting him in. he steps inside and you shut the door behind him, the click of the lock sounding far too final in the silence.
chan hovers in your living room, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. his restlessness fills the room, makes the air feel heavier. you stay by the door a moment longer, needing the distance, before finally moving past him and sitting on the couch, arms crossing over your chest like armor.
“shouldn’t you be on your date?", you ask, the words sharper than you intended. your voice sounds foreign, thin from exhaustion and disuse.
he flinches, "i… didn’t go"
you lift your gaze at that, eyes narrowing, "why?”
“because of what happened last night", he admits, his voice quiet but urgent, "because i couldn’t just… go sit across from her like nothing happened after i- after what i said to you"
your chest aches, but you keep your expression flat, tired, "so what? you’re here to fix it with an apology and then everything’s fine again?”
“no, listen…i am sorry", he says quickly, stepping closer, "i didn’t mean it, i swear. i was angry and stupid and i hurt you, i know that, but-”
“chris", you cut him off, shaking your head, “i’m so tired"
he freezes, the word hanging between you.
you bury your face in your hands for a moment, trying to gather yourself, then drop them back to your lap. your whole body feels restless, vibrating with the weight of what you’ve been holding back for weeks but have been too scared to admit, even to yourself.
“i can’t keep doing this", you whisper, staring down at the floor, "pretending it doesn’t matter. pretending you can go on a date with soojin and i’ll be fine"
“i-”
“no, let me finish", your voice cracks, but you push through, "i don’t know when it happened. maybe before we started this… whatever it is. maybe during. maybe last week, maybe last night. i don’t know. all i know is…”, your chest heaves, the truth clawing its way out, “i’m in love with you, chris”
his breath stutters.
“and it’s killing me", you continue, tears burning your eyes, "because i don’t want to be selfish. i want you to be happy, even if that means it’s not with me. even if that means you’re with her, or someone else. but i can’t-”, your voice breaks fully now, raw and trembling, “i can’t keep it inside anymore. i can’t sit here and act like it’s nothing when it’s- when you’re- everything"
silence slams down after the words, your pulse thundering in your ears. your hands grip the blanket beneath you, knuckles white, because now it’s out there, laid bare between you, and you can’t take it back.
chan’s face is unreadable. shocked, maybe. stricken. his lips part, close again, then part once more like he’s searching for the right words but none will come. your chest feels hollow, like you’ve cracked yourself open and poured everything out at his feet.
you sit on the couch, knees drawn close, your confession still vibrating in the air like a struck chord. the room feels too quiet, too still, your breath the only sound as it hitches unevenly in your chest.
chan doesn’t stay standing. he doesn’t run, doesn’t retreat into silence. instead, he moves, slowly, like if he goes too fast he’ll spook you or shatter what’s left of the fragile space between you. he sinks down onto his knees in front of you, his hands pressed flat against his thighs, knuckles pale from how hard he’s gripping the fabric of his sweats.
“look at me", he says softly.
your eyes flicker up from the floor to him. he looks wrecked - hair falling into his face, mouth parted, eyes glistening like he’s been holding back his own storm.
“you think you’re the only one who’s been losing their mind?", his voice cracks halfway through, but he pushes forward, "you think you’re the only one lying awake at night replaying everything we’ve done? the only one who keeps… keeps hearing your voice, keeps seeing your face every time i close my eyes?”
your lips part, but no words come, so chan swallows hard and continues, "i don’t know when it started either. maybe that first friday when you let me stay until sunrise years ago. maybe the first time you laughed so hard you fell off the couch and i thought-”, his breath hitches, “i thought my chest was going to burst. maybe it was that first night you let me touch you and i realised how much i wanted to make you feel good, not just because it was practice, not just because you asked, but because it was you"
your vision blurs, tears threatening again.
he drags a hand down his face, shaky, then lets it fall uselessly against his knee, "i went out with soojin because i thought i didn’t stand a chance with you. you’re-”, he shakes his head, frustrated, “you’re everything. you’re smart and funny and way out of my league. and i thought if i could distract myself, if i could focus on someone else, maybe i could stop feeling like this. but i can’t. i couldn’t even kiss her without thinking about you. i couldn’t even sit across from her without wishing it was you, so i broke it off with her today”
your breath catches.
“i love you", he blurts, desperate now, "fuck, i love you so much it hurts. i don’t care when it started, i just know it’s real. it’s the only thing that feels real anymore"
the words hang there, raw and trembling. his knees press into the carpet, his shoulders bowed, but his eyes never leave yours. they’re shining, terrified, hopeful all at once. you sit frozen on the couch, heart hammering so hard you think it might shake the room apart. all you can do is stare at him, the boy who’s been your best friend, your study partner, your safe place - and now, your undoing.
your throat feels tight, like the words you want to say are all tangled up, caught between your chest and your lips. chan’s still on his knees in front of you, waiting, breathing heavy like each second you don’t respond is another stone added to the weight crushing him.
finally, you manage to whisper, “you… you love me?”
his mouth curves, shaky and vulnerable, not quite a smile but not denial either, "yeah", he admits, voice rough, "i do. i think i’ve been in love with you longer than i even knew what it was. i just-”, he shakes his head, biting down on his lip, “i never thought you’d feel the same. not in a million years"
you laugh, watery and broken, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, "are you kidding me? i thought i was the only one losing my mind. i thought i was pathetic for falling in love with my best friend, for wanting more when i should’ve been happy with… with what we were already doing"
“pathetic?", chan’s brows furrow, his whole body leaning closer like he can’t stand the thought, "you’re the most incredible person i’ve ever met. if anyone’s pathetic, it’s me, too scared to tell you, too busy pretending with someone else"
your chest aches at the honesty spilling out of him. you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees so you’re closer, just inches from his face, "i kept telling myself it was just practice. stress relief. that’s all it was supposed to be, right? but then you’d look at me and-”, your voice falters, breath trembling, “and it felt like more. every time"
his eyes soften, his lips parting as if to answer, but you beat him to it, "i hated hearing you went out with her. i hated it so much it scared me, because i realised just how deep i was. i wanted to be happy for you, but all i could think was… what if i lose you?”
chan exhales shakily, his hand lifting like he wants to touch you but hesitates in midair, "you’ll never lose me. never. i was so stupid thinking someone else could pull me away from you. i was with her, but i was thinking about you. it’s always been you"
you stare at him, the boy kneeling at your feet with his heart in his hands, and you can hardly believe it - after weeks of silence, jealousy, broken nights, he feels the same. your face tilts down towards his, slow, tentative. he mirrors you, leaning in until your foreheads brush together, soft and careful, both of you trembling from the weight of it all.
“so what happens now?", you whisper.
chan’s breath ghosts over your lips, warm and shaky, "whatever you want. as long as it’s with you"
his words linger in the air between you, fragile and powerful all at once, “whatever you want. as long as it’s with you”. your heart pounds so hard it almost hurts, your forehead still pressed to his. you can feel every shaky breath he takes, every tremor running through him. his hand hovers near your knee, not quite touching, waiting for something - permission, a sign, anything.
you whisper, voice trembling, “can i…?”
his eyes search yours, wide and dark, pupils blown, "yeah", he breathes, almost like a prayer, “please"
so you do. you close the tiny space left between you and press your mouth to his, soft and tentative, your lips barely brushing his. it’s nothing like you imagined and everything all at once. he lets out a broken sound, like he’s been holding it in for years, and his hand finally lands on your thigh, gripping like he’s scared you’ll disappear.
the kiss deepens slowly, your mouths molding together, learning each other in a way you never dared before. it’s messy, shaky, teeth knocking a little when you both lean in too fast, but it’s real. vulnerable. raw.
when you pull back for air, your chest heaves, and you whisper against his lips, “why does this feel scarier than everything else we’ve done?”
chan laughs softly, breathless, resting his forehead against yours again, "because it means more"
your stomach flips at the words. you kiss him again, harder this time, pouring weeks of longing and jealousy and aching love into it. his hands come up, cupping your face like he’s terrified of letting go, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
before you realise it, you’re straddling him on the floor, your knees bracketing his hips, the kiss growing hungrier, deeper. his hoodie bunches under your fingers as you tug at it, desperate to feel him closer.
“bed", he pants against your mouth, voice hoarse, "please"
you nod, heart racing, and let him lead you, stumbling a little as you keep kissing, unable to break apart for long. when you finally collapse onto your bed together, you’re both flushed, breathless, already needing each other with a burning force. but even as your hands roam, as your bodies press close, the kisses never stop now. mouths finding each other again and again, as if you’re both making up for all the times you held back.
when you finally slide down onto him, his head drops to your shoulder, groaning your name against your skin. you clutch at him, lips finding his jaw, his throat, his mouth again, each kiss an anchor. this time isn’t practice. it’s not stress relief. it’s love, raw and terrifying and blindingly real, spilling out of both of you as you move together.
the weight of chan’s body under yours feels different tonight. it isn’t just warmth or comfort - it’s him, solid and real, his hands trembling as they cradle your face like you’re something breakable. his lips are swollen already, from the way you’ve been kissing and kissing and kissing, unable to stop.
every brush of his mouth steals your breath. every soft gasp he lets out when you deepen the kiss goes straight to your chest, lodging there like it belongs. you never kissed before - you let him between your thighs, let him inside your body, but never this. never lips pressed, tongues sliding carefully, moaning into each other’s mouths.
and you both feel it. the difference. the weight. his thumb strokes your cheekbone, almost reverent, as though he’s memorising the shape of you. you break the kiss only to press another to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his throat, unable to stop tasting him.
“god", he whispers, breath hot against your skin, "i don’t… i don’t wanna stop kissing you"
“then don’t", you murmur, pulling him back in, swallowing the shaky sound he makes when your lips meet again.
it starts almost by accident, your body grinding down onto his, searching for more contact. his hoodie is gone, your shirt tossed aside, and then the rest of your clothes disappear, skin finally pressed to skin. when his hands slide down your sides to your hips, you feel his length straining against you, thick and hot against your skin. you gasp into his mouth, and the noise makes him twitch under you. he groans, muffled by your lips, and suddenly his hand is moving between your thighs, tentative but certain.
“can i?", he asks, breaking just enough to look at you.
your chest heaves, "please"
he slips his fingers inside you, slow and careful, like he’s terrified of doing something wrong. but when his fingertips finally brush your slick heat, both of you moan into the kiss, clutching at each other tighter.
you reach down too, wrapping your hand around him, hot and throbbing in your palm. he jerks against your touch, breaking the kiss with a strangled, “fuck-”, before crashing back into your mouth again, desperate, needy.
for a while, that’s all there is: his fingers stroking you, curling shallowly inside, your hand working him in time. the room filled with the wet sounds of your bodies and the messy, endless kisses that neither of you can seem to stop. you feel the edge building too fast, your thighs trembling as he finds a rhythm that makes your hips stutter against his hand. his moans break between kisses, head tilting back like he’s barely holding on when you stroke him just right.
“chris-”, you gasp against his lips, “wait. don’t- not yet"
he freezes, panic flashing across his face until you shake your head quickly, cupping his cheek, "i just… i want us to… together. not like before"
his relief shows in the way he breathes out, forehead resting against yours, "yeah. yeah, me too"
so you both slow down, touching each other softly now, exploring instead of rushing. he learns how you gasp when he drags his thumb in circles, how you shiver when he presses deeper. you learn the weight of him in your hand, the way his stomach tightens when you drag your fist down to the base, how his hips twitch when your thumb sweeps over the tip.
all the while, your mouths never separate for long. kisses, panting words, soft groans - they fill the spaces between touches. eventually, your hand slips away from him, and his from you, both of you trembling from holding back. you cup his face again, brushing your thumb across his swollen bottom lip.
“chris", you whisper, voice breaking with emotion.
his eyes meet yours, wide and vulnerable, and he nods, already knowing what you’re asking, "yeah", he breathes, pulling you down into another kiss, "inside. i want- i need-”
the rest of his words are lost to your mouth as you kiss him again, more desperate, already losing yourselves to each other. your body hovers over his, straddling him, both of you flushed and shaking, skin sticky from sweat and touch. you’ve lined yourself up already, your hand guiding him to your entrance, the head of his cock pressing hot and heavy against your folds.
chan’s breath stutters - you can feel it against your lips because you’re kissing again, neither of you able to stop. his hands grip your waist tight, almost bruising, but then he suddenly pulls back, breaking the kiss.
“wait", he pants, eyes wild, chest heaving.
your stomach twists in panic, but before you can speak he’s already shifting, gently rolling you onto your back. your head sinks into the pillow, your legs falling open for him without thought.
“i… i want to be the one", he murmurs, voice shaky but sure, "please. let me"
and god, the way he looks at you - reverent, desperate, like you’re the only thing in his world - makes your throat close. you nod, breathless, and pull him back down to kiss you.
his forehead presses to yours as he guides himself, the thick head nudging at your entrance. you gasp into his mouth, the stretch already making your body arch.
“fuck", he groans, the sound torn right from his chest, "you’re… so warm. so-”
he can’t even finish. he’s kissing you again, muffling his whimpers as he slowly sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. your nails dig into his back, your body trembling with the mix of sting and fullness and the overwhelming fact that it’s him. he stills, every muscle taut, forehead pressed to yours. his lips hover over yours, brushing but not quite kissing, both of you panting against each other’s mouths.
“you okay?", he whispers, his voice breaking.
“yeah", you breathe, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him closer, "please move, chris”
he pulls back carefully, then pushes in again, the slow roll of his hips making both of you moan into each other’s mouths. the kiss grows messier, wetter, broken by gasps and whimpers.
every thrust makes your body jolt, your nails dragging down his skin, your thighs squeezing him tighter. he keeps groaning against your lips, like he can’t believe this is real - like he’ll lose it if he stops kissing you even for a second.
“god, you feel-”, he pants, but swallows the rest of his words in another kiss.
your hips start to lift to meet his, chasing every thrust. the friction builds, faster now, both of you spiraling but clinging to each other like you’ll break apart otherwise.
“together", you gasp against his lips, "don’t- don’t stop-”
“yeah", he groans, kissing you harder, almost desperate, "together"
the pace grows frantic, his hips slamming into yours, your nails clawing at his shoulders. you’re both whimpering into each other’s mouths, kissing like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth.
then it hits, sharp and overwhelming - your orgasm tearing through you, your body clenching around him. you scream into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his desperate, broken kiss. he’s right there with you, his cock twitching, his groans muffled as he spills inside you, hips stuttering against yours. the weight of his release, the way his forehead presses to yours as he gasps your name into your lips - it’s too much.
you’re both shaking, clinging to each other, kissing through the aftershocks until you can’t breathe. your chest rises and falls against his, both of you still pressed skin to skin, tangled in heat and sweat and the remnants of everything that just happened. chan hasn’t moved from inside you yet, too overwhelmed to pull away, his weight a comfort as he rests on top of you, forehead still pressed to yours.
you’re kissing again, softer now - lingering, slow, little presses of lips against lips like neither of you can get enough. you can taste salt and breath and something rawer than anything you’ve shared before. your hands tremble as they slide over his back, fingers brushing every ridge of his spine, like you’re memorising him. he shudders under your touch, his own hands cupping your face like you’re breakable.
the room is quiet except for your breathing, the faint hum of the city outside. it feels like the world shrank down to this bed, to his mouth, his breath, his body joined with yours.
“chris”, you whisper, your voice hoarse, trembling.
he hums against your lips, kissing you again before pulling back just enough to see your face. his eyes are glassy, searching yours, like he’s terrified of what comes next.
“we can’t-”, you start, then stop, throat closing around the words, "we can’t pretend anymore"
he shakes his head quickly, desperate, "i don’t want to”, his voice cracks, raw with emotion, "i don’t want to pretend. not with you"
your chest tightens, the last of your walls crumbling, "i… i love you", you say again, the words spilling out like they’ve been sitting inside you forever, "i don’t know when it happened, before or during or after everything, but i do. i love you, chris”
he lets out a broken sound, almost a laugh, almost a sob. his hands cradle your face tighter, his lips trembling, "god, i love you too. i’ve been so fucking scared to say it, but i do. i love you so much it hurts"
the kiss that follows is messy, wet with both of your tears, but it’s perfect. it’s everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been terrified to admit.
he pulls back just far enough to look at you, to search your face like he’s memorising every line, "be with me", he whispers, voice cracking, "please. not just… not just this. not practice, not stress relief. i want you. all of you. be my girlfriend"
your throat aches, your chest too full, and you nod before he’s even finished speaking, "yes", you breathe, smiling through tears, "yes, of course. i’m yours"
the relief in his expression is staggering. his forehead presses back to yours, his lips finding yours again, softer, slower, filled with promise.
the rest of the night is tender, a haze of soft touches and quiet words. he finally slips out of you, both of you wincing at the loss, but he doesn’t go far. he pulls you against him instantly, wrapping his arms around you, keeping you pressed to his chest.
you lie tangled together, bare and vulnerable, whispering little nothings between kisses. your fingers trace his jaw, his lips, his hair. his hands draw idle circles on your back, like he’s grounding himself in the fact that you’re real, that you’re his.
neither of you talk about the future, about what this means tomorrow or next week. you don’t need to. for now, there’s only this - his arms around you, his lips brushing yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear.
bang chan taglist (if you want me to add you to my permanent taglist, ask in the comments): @angel-writes-skz-here @prettydumbandcrying @angelbbygrl @chrizzztopherbang @miksthesqueaks @renzurrs @siennamasila
When your best friend drags you to a club, your eyes meet a beautiful stranger across the room.
pairing: Chan x fem!reader
genre: one night stand, mostly just smut I'll be honest
rating: explicit, 18+, minors do not interact
word count: 4.7k
warnings: alcohol use (not drunk, just tipsy), prep? what prep? (sorry lol), both a little desperate, unprotected sex (don’t), kinda oral (m. receiving), dirty talk
You were beginning to regret agreeing with your best friend to go out tonight. A friend of a friend of hers was hosting a party at a local club, and she had insisted on bringing you with her. She reassured you, saying you would have fun, you don't go out enough anyway, you need to let loose. And now here you are, in a black dress that's way too short to be comfortable, being pushed up against by sweaty men with wandering hands, and definitely not enough alcohol in your system.
As you danced with your friend, trying to hear what she was mumbling over the loud music, you let your eyes wander to the men around you. Although you were not having a great time right now, you definitely would not complain about a cute guy to make out with before ditching your friend a little earlier than intended to go have a bath and an early night.
The guys in your immediate vicinity were not your type, too tight jeans, too many drinks, someone practically humping the air. Fighting a small wince at the last guy you turned to glance at some of the men standing away from the dance floor. Too flamboyant, too sloppy, some guy trying to hit on an entire group of 6 girls. Gross. Your eyes flitted past those you were uninterested in, quickly scanning a small group of three men, who at least from behind, didn't look as though they fit into any of the previous categories.
You turned back to your friend trying to continue the conversation before you flicked your eyes back over to the group, hoping at least one of them had turned so you could see their face. Looking up, you felt your heart skip a beat as the one closest to you had turned to scan the crowd. Pretty face, sloping nose, pouty lips. You almost jumped out of your skin when his gaze landed on yours, a small smirk appearing at the corner of his lips when you didn't break the contact.
You heard the music change, felt the atmosphere adjust, and unfortunately felt two small hands belonging to your best friend turning you to face her with excitement about these new developments. She held your hands and danced with you briefly before being pulled back by the strong hands of the man behind her. You used her quick distraction to take a glance back where the most beautiful man had been standing previously, only to be met with an empty space where he and his friends had been standing.
You felt disappointment wash over you, you hadn't expected much anyway, but at least being able to cast your eyes on him for most of the night before you went home to your bed would have been good enough. You make a gesture to your friend to grab her attention, motioning to your empty cup before making your way through the crowd to the busy bar area. You found a space, trying your best to grab the bartenders attention, but to no avail. Sighing, you were about to try again when you felt a warmth brush beside you, stopping to stand in the small compressed space beside you. His cologne enveloped your senses, making your head spin slightly before you were able to turn and look at him.
The man from across the room earlier was stood beside you, dark hair lightly grazing the sides of his face, looking even more exquisite up close. He had gotten the bartenders attention with practiced ease, which brought a subconscious sigh from your lips. He ordered his drink, and you prepared yourself to catch the bartenders attention after he was done, when he turned gently to you.
“...and whatever this beautiful lady would like as well.” A laugh bubbles up from you, shaking your head to tell him that it's okay.
“I insist, can’t have pretty girls buying their own drinks now can I?” His eyes finally catch yours, a softness to them that you weren't expecting. Your stomach flipped gently at his words, not used to having someone flirt with you so blatantly. But maybe that's the change you needed after the last 3 guys that had kept you guessing on whether they liked you or not. You ordered your drink of choice, turning to face him properly to thank him.
You could feel his gaze burning into your skin as you glanced back out at the dance floor, seeing your friend still dancing with the guy you had left her with. You felt him move slightly with you, eyes following yours.
“A friend of yours?” he asked, voice a little closer than you expected, the heat of his breath near the back of your neck making your eyes flutter shut briefly.
“Best friend,” you corrected, “She begged me to come tonight, this isn't usually my scene.”
His short laugh made you turn to look back at him with a questioning look on your face. He turned you in the other direction, pointing to his two friends he was standing with earlier.
“They made me come tonight too. They're holding my laptop hostage until tomorrow. Said I needed to ‘leave my comfort zone’ for a night.” His hand grazed yours as he pulled it back towards him, another butterfly sparking and flipping in your stomach.
You turn back to him just as your drinks were set down on the bar beside you. He picks them up, handing yours to you before he sticks his hand out more meaningfully.
“I’m Chan,” he introduces himself, a soft smile gracing his lips as your hand easily slides into his.
“Y/N.”
“Well Y/N, I hope I’ll see you around,” his larger hand gives yours a small squeeze before letting go, brushing past you before making his way back to his friends.
You let out a sigh as you watched his back retreating, how stupid could you be to let him walk away like that. You find your friend again in the crowd, now alone, asking you a million and one questions about ‘the really hot guy’ you were ‘basically eyefucking’ at the bar.
~
Your drink had run out about 15 minutes ago, your feet were beginning to ache in your heels, and you had finally seen that the line for the bathroom was no longer down and around 2 separate walls. You gave your friend's hands a quick squeeze, reassuring her that you would only be a minute, there was no need for her to go with you.
You weaved your way through the sweaty dancers, hopping over a spilt drink, and unbeknownst to you, past both of Chan’s friends before accidentally bumping into a girl beside them.
You looked up at her to quickly apologise, eyes accidentally panning to the guy she was chatting to. Chan.
Chan’s eyes darted from your face down over your figure and back up as you hurried past them, apologising again to the girl you bumped into. You made your way into the bathroom, your heart dropping slightly in disappointment of no cute guy to make out with tonight, preparing your short speech in your head to tell your friend that you were ready to go home when you went back out there.
You fixed your dress, adjusted your hair, and reapplied your now muted lipstick in the bathroom mirror before opening the door to leave. You took a deep breath in, a familiar scent of cologne tickled at the edges of your breath, causing you to look up at the baron area surrounding the bathroom.
Leaning against the wall in the small alcove, his hands in his pockets, stood Chan. Looking up from the ground when he heard the door click shut.
“Strike out?” you asked, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips when he let out a laugh.
“Nah, realised I’d already spoken to the most interesting girl here,” he responded, pushing off the wall and moving closer to you, your back now facing the wall opposite.
His voice lowered as he stepped closer, your back now hitting against the wall behind you. “And the hottest.”
You felt your eyes roll slightly at his reply, but you can't help the feeling that the alcohol and bad pick up lines spread across you.
“Oh?” you ask, eyebrows lifting, “And who would that be?”
He made eye contact with you now, a proper smirk adorning his handsome face. He leaned in closer now, his hand making its way to sit on your hip, the warmth of his breath fanning over the soft expanse of your neck.
“You,” he whispered in your ear, pressing a small kiss just under your ear that makes you bite back a whimper.
“What makes you think the sentiment is reciprocated?” you teased, feeling his breath hitch against your neck.
“Are you telling me that it's not? Because I can walk away right now if it isn't," he replied, taking his hand off your body, pulling his head back to look you in your eye, a soft glint of mischief glowing in them.
You groan lightly, pulling his strong hand back to your hip with one of yours, the other wrapping around his back to pull him in closer to you. “Dont even dare.”
You could feel the smirk on his lips as he kisses down your neck, sucking lightly when he gets to your collar bone. His hand moved with purpose from your hip to over your barely covered ass, squeezing and letting out a small moan that vibrated against your neck.
Your hand moved from his back up to his neck, running gently through his hair before pulling with more purpose, drawing his lips to yours finally.
The first kisses were gentle, soft, exploratory kisses, just testing the waters. The tender kisses then became rougher, pressing longer, before you felt a slightly reserved swipe of his tongue along your bottom lip, requesting access.
Your hands both made their way into his hair, his hands now similarly together but on your ass, giving a tight squeeze, making you let out a small gasp, allowing him full access to your mouth.
Your tongues danced hungrily, one of his hands making its way from your ass to the side of your neck, just holding you impossibly closer to him. You felt his teeth graze your bottom lip, a whimper making its way between them when you hear an interrupting cough come from beside you.
Chan let out a frustrated groan before pulling away from you reluctantly, looking at a guy you recognised earlier as one of his friends.
“What?” he spat with a hint of venom in his voice at the interruption.
The man beside you smirked, holding out a card that looked like it belonged to the hotel across the street, “Dude, get a room.” Before walking away back into the crowd.
Chan’s eyes looked back at you, the softness from earlier now overtaken by a deep desire, dark eyes somehow even darker, wordlessly asking you for confirmation.
You nodded your head slightly, the butterflies now really making an appearance in your stomach. He leant in and kissed you deeply, his hand now gentle as it cupped your face, the other tightening on your hip before pulling you through the crowd of dancers.
You made eye contact with your friend across the room, a smirk on her face as she pushed back against the guy she was dancing with, winking at your retreating body before mouthing a quick ‘be safe’.
You turned back to Chan when you felt the cold air of the night breeze tingle your bare arms and legs, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to the warmth of your body before walking with you across the road to the expensive hotel across from the club. He was thanking his lucky stars at Jisung not wanting to travel too far when drunk after the party was over.
He pulled you across the very fancy lobby, and pushed you gently into the already open elevator doors, pressing his floor number and the close door button quickly. As soon as he heard the doors begin to close his mouth was on yours, crowding you back against the mirrored wall, his hands moving fluidly down your body. One hand made it back to his clearly favourite place on your ass, the other taking hold of your hand and guiding it to the ever present hardening bulge in his jeans.
He let out a moan into your mouth when you pressed against him harder, his fingers beginning to graze underneath the hem of your dress on your thigh. You were both so caught up in each other that you didn't hear the light ding of the elevator stopping on a floor, the doors opening to reveal you both to an elderly couple standing with amused expressions on their faces.
You did however hear the soft cough from the man, breaking apart to see them coming to stand on the other side of the elevator, pressing their button with laughs on their lips.
Your faces burned red as Chan ripped away from you, apologising profusely as the doors reclosed. He moved to stand in the furthest corner from them, pulling you gently in front of him to hide his obviously hard bulge in his jeans. The silence between the four of you was now deafening, and you were both counting down the floors until you could get off.
The doors open gently, and you and Chan could not get out of there quick enough, turning to the couple and apologising one last time. The older lady’s response took you both by surprise.
“Don’t worry lovely, we were all young once,” a gentle elbow into the elderly man's side, whose ears you couldn't help but notice had turned as red as your faces had.
The elevator doors closed quickly after that, and you couldn't help but laugh hysterically when you and Chan finally made eye contact. He grabbed your hand gently, pulling you in the direction of his room down the corridor.
“Of course that would happen,” he says under his breath slightly, “First time in six months I have a pretty girl with me and the universe decides to cockblock me with grandma and grandpa.”
He scans his card and opens the door to his room, holding it open for you before shutting it behind him. You walk into the wide expanse of his fancy hotel room, the bed barely touched, a backpack sitting in the corner.
You turned back to face a slightly unsure Chan, “Six months huh? Maybe it's a good thing you were cockblocked in the elevator,” you said, pulling him close to you by the hem of his shirt, “Might have had you coming before we even reached the room.” You smirked as you pulled up on his shirt, pulling it off, revealing the hard lines of his stomach and hips, a barely audible moan leaving your lips at the sight of him.
An offended scoff leaves his lips, pulling your hips into his, making you feel his hard cock straining against his jeans. “I’m not that hard up to come in my pants just from you touching me.” Before any sort of response could come from you, his hand is reaching up behind your head to pull you into a searing kiss, no formalities, tongues meeting immediately and rough hands exploring your body.
His fingers make their way to the edge of your dress, and leave a small tap on your thigh, “Can I?” You whimper a yes into his kiss, his hands gripping the hem of your dress before pulling it over your head, revealing the dark lace underwear that you had put on earlier just to make yourself feel more confident.
“Fuck,” he whispered, standing back slightly to admire you, lace clinging to your breasts and hips, your heels just topping off the sinful package he had in front of him.
He pushed you back lightly by your hips so you fell on the bed, pulling your heels off, and making his way swiftly on top of you between your knees. His mouth was on yours as soon as he landed, his knee pushing its way between your legs. His hand reached up to squeeze at your lace covered breasts, fingers nimbly flicking over the hardening bud of your nipple. You let out a moan into his mouth as he reached around you to unclip your bra, letting it fall to reveal your breasts. As soon as they were free, he groaned and began kissing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts and to the underside of one, sucking harshly and leaving a darkening bruise in his wake.
His lips kissed up your breast to pull your nipple into his mouth, sucking and grazing his teeth gently against the hardening bud. This pulled a long moan from your lips, your hand settling gently on the back of his head, encouraging his mouth. His slightly rough fingers take over from his lips as they slowly make their way down your abdomen, placing a tender kiss on your hipbone, his teeth snapping at the string of your underwear there.
You shudder as he continues his kisses across your stomach, a moan leaving your mouth as he presses a singular kiss over the top of your clit. Using his hands, he peels down your underwear, a groan and an almost inaudible “Fuck” leaving his lips as he exposed your dripping core.
He lets out an amused chuckle and swipes his middle finger through your wetness before groaning around his finger as he tastes you. “Holy fuck angel, you taste so sweet.”
Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him back up your body, and his mouth to yours. A slight taste of yourself on his tongue before you push him onto his back on the bed. “My turn,” you say with a grin.
He lets out a moan, hands falling behind his head as you kiss down his neck, a quick, “Please don't leave marks,” comes from him in passing. You stop your kisses, leaning up to look at him questioningly. “Work,” is the only answer you receive, but you’re past the point of caring what type of work he did that meant he couldn't have hickies.
You continue to kiss down the hard planes of his stomach, feeling his cock twitch against his straining pants as you kiss just above the line of his belt. You palmed over him, finally properly feeling how fucking big he is, a small moan leaving your lips in anticipation.
You undid his belt buckle, feeling a light shiver make its way through Chan as you reached to undo his button, making quick work and freeing him from his dark underwear. He stands hard, slapping against his lower stomach, tip red with a small bead of precome beginning to drip down it.
You take the base in your hand, feeling the weight to him before giving him a few tester strokes, looking up to see his eyes fluttering shut and his hands begin to grip the pillow above his head. You press a kiss to his base when his hips automatically push up into your touch, moaning as you slowly start to kiss up his shaft, one of his hands moving to tangle into the hair at the back of your head, not pushing, just guiding. You press a kiss right underneath his tip, tongue peeking out and swiping his precome before he lets out a loud moan, pulling at your hair to pull you off him.
“Maybe another time, right now I need to be inside you.” He flips you onto your back again, before quickly taking off his remaining clothes. He made his way back to the bed, leaning in to kiss you as his hands are on your thighs, squeezing and moving them apart gently to accommodate himself between them. You felt the bluntness of his tip bump against your clit as he settled himself between your legs, you both moaning from the contact. He continues to kiss you, his cock heavy between you both, pressing at your core, pushing through your wetness and bumping your clit again with his tip, tingles making their way through your body.
He pulls back from your kiss slightly to make eye contact with you, one hand on himself guiding, the other now intertwined with yours beside your head as he begins to push himself into you. Once his tip was sheathed inside of you, his hand moved up to intertwine with your other hand by your head, watching your face for discomfort as he slowly pushed the rest of himself inside. He stretched you out so exquisitely on his cock that your legs began to squirm at the intrusion, walls fluttering around him as you get used to his size.
Your hands squeeze his when he finally stills, pressed into you to the hilt, whimpers leaving your mouth at how good you feel stretched around him.
“Fuck you’re tight,” he moans, leaning down to press closed mouth kisses to your lips and neck, his hips pushing into you further accidentally when you clenched down on him. “Fuck, sorry, god you feel good.”
You wiggled your hips up into him, “Please,” you whispered desperately, your eyes meeting his, a fierce desire clouding his.
“Please what baby?” he asked, smirk reappearing as he felt you clench around him at the petname.
All inhibitions had left you at this point, shame nowhere to be found. “Please move. Please fuck me.”
You didn't have to tell him twice, pulling back until only the tip remained before pushing back into you with long deep strokes. He leant down to catch your lips in a kiss, silencing the unstoppable moans. They moved down your jaw, sucking at your neck as he fucks into you, feeling you clench and squirm around his cock.
“You feel so good baby, stretched so well around my cock. I can feel you fluttering around me,” he groaned into your neck.
A moan flew from your lips at the unexpected dirty talk, feeling yourself clench down on him, your hand reaching around to his back, pulling him closer and scratching down it with your nails. Hopefully scratches are more allowed at his work than hickies.
At the feeling of the light pain from your nails you feel his hips falter and then speed up, the increased speed building the growing feeling in the pit of your stomach. His hands move to your hips now, his bruising touch holding you to the mattress as he fucks you hard and deep, as if hes been waiting to do this his whole life.
You can feel his thrusts getting a little desperate now, hard and deep, his mouth sucking marks into your neck as if he's trying to make sure you remember him tomorrow. Your hand moves down to your clit, rubbing small but quick circles over it as you feel the pressure building within you. You let out a moan at the contact, but quickly felt your hand being pushed away, only to be replaced by his thumb. A whimper falls from your lips at the contact, your hips bucking into his mid thrust, sending him even deeper into you than before. The growing feeling in your stomach increases tenfold at his touch.
“Please baby, I’m so close,” he whines, looking down at you, “Please come with me.”
His thrusts are deeper than before, angling himself to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars, his thumb unrelenting on your clit as you feel yourself coming to the edge. “I’m coming,” you moan, feeling the tension inside you break and wash over you.
He fucks you through your high, his hips snapping into yours until he finally stills as he reaches his release, his cock twitching inside of you as he lets out a low moan as he presses a kiss to your lips. His kiss grows sweeter as you feel him relax, pulling back from you as he slowly draws his hips back, you both moaning in slight overstimulation.
Looking down he groans as he sees his release beginning to leak from you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn't even think. I promise I’m clean. I can show you proof. And get you the morning after pill. God I’m stupid. Why can't I think with my brain and not my cock when I'm around a pretty girl.” He rambles on, his hands on his head, not giving you time to respond as he quickly spirals. He stops and looks up at you when he hears a soft laugh escape your lips.
“It’s not funny,” he whines, face fully falling into his hands now.
You sit up slightly now, your hand going to his arm in comfort, “It’s okay Chan. I promise. I believe you, and I’m also clean. I can prove it to you as well if you need me to. And all good, I’m on the pill. Never forgotten a day in my life, so please stop stressing yourself out. You’re good.” Your thumb rubs slow circles into his arm in reassurance.
He looks up at you from under his hands, grabbing your hand on his arm and pressing a kiss there, “You’re sure?”
“Sure.”
That's all he needs to hear before he's standing up and making his way to the bathroom. You hear the shower turn on and he's returned with a wet washcloth and a t-shirt for you to change into after your shower. He bumps your knees apart gently with his hands, cleaning you up with such care before helping you up and into the shower before joining you under the hot water.
He holds you carefully to his chest, pressing softer kisses than earlier down the marks on your neck, giggling a small ‘sorry, got carried away’, before he reaches for the soap and cloth to help you clean properly. He turned the shower off, patting you dry with a fluffy hotel towel before pulling his large t-shirt over your frame.
“I’m not really one for doing this sort of thing, doesn't quite feel right without cuddles afterwards,” he says, guiding you back to his bed, pulling back the tucked in bedsheets to let you slide into the soft bed, sliding in after you, pulling you into his chest and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.
You spend the early hours of the morning chatting about yourselves, about nonsense, a silly 21 question game that reveals he cant have hickies at work due to him working in the music industry, no additional information asked as you felt yourself being lulled into a gentle sleep against his chest.
You felt him pull you closer to his chest before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Goodnight Y/N.” he whispers before feeling his breathing evening out beneath you.
~
You feel yourself rouse as the world gets a little bit louder outside the window of the hotel room. You reach around blindly in the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. Indicating that Chan had been gone for a while at this point. Disappointed, you opened your eyes to see the empty hotel room, looking much more fancy with the day light peaking through the curtains.
Out of the corner of your eye you see your dress from last night folded delicately on the table, a plate with a croissant and a coffee sitting beside it. You got up from your comfy nest in the bed, ignoring the dull ache from between your legs when you see a note left under the plate.
I had a really good time. You don't know how much I hated having to leave you looking like that in my bed this morning. Call me? - Chan
A smile swept across your lips, rereading the note, fingers brushing over the phone number underneath it.
You pulled his t-shirt from your frame, putting your dress back on, getting ready to do the walk of shame through the lobby when you noticed one thing clearly missing from the pile and the rest of the room.
You laughed as you inputted his number into your phone as you walked down the corridor to the elevator, beginning to type a text to Chan.
I'm reading the asks/messages you sent me and I'm both laughing and swEaTiNg so HARD right now ALSDKFJLAK you guys please don't get your hopes up too high for the epilogue, I don't want to disappoint y'all 😭😭😭 it's really not gonna be that sad!!!
also, everyone is like "my theory is that eren's gonna_______" or "the reader is gonna ______" but no one talks about Pokopiku, or big brother Porco standing up for your sake, or how pieck is there ready to cut a bitch to protect your feelings, or how our CUTE SWEET SUMMER CHILD ARMIN WAS READY TO PUNCH EREN IN THE FACE or THE FACT THAT JEAN IS TRYING TO SPORT A MAN BUN I AM LIVID
also, imagine eren looking this fresh with his new hair:
and yes that is vernon from seventeen he's my k-pop version of rockstar eren all right
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: You and Jeongin have been friends since you were kids. Everyone knows that. All of Stray Kids know that. You’re just a pair of close childhood bffs. Nothing more. Right?
a.k.a the three times the members of skz were super oblivious, and the one time Jeongin had to spell it out for them
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 3.8k
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ includes: fluff, fem main character, use of Y/N, a lot of time jumps hopefully its not confusing lol, making out, unintentional voyeurism (dw everyone is weirded out), the skz members are annoying but lovable little twerps
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n: we’re back baby! i wrote this in just over a month and that seems long but its the quickest i’ve written in a while and IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF! editing and reading this made me lol a lot but i also feel that my writing is so surface level? (cut to me using 25537251 synonyms of ‘said’) if anyone has writing tips pls lmk!
also this fic was inspired by a list of ‘reverse tropes’ someone posted on tumblr so there will be more fics to come starring the other skz members! pls stay tuned! in order to not spoil the surprise the reverse trope will be stated at the very end hehe. hope you enjoy!
I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR FED INTO AI
Movie night with the rest of the boys was something you regularly joined in on, what with Jeongin always inviting you over.
In the dark living room, the television produced vibrant colours from fast cars and fiery explosions. You sat on the far end of the couch, cuddled up next to Jeongin, who sat in the middle. Chan, who’d fallen asleep twenty minutes in, took up the other end while Felix and Seungmin were sprawled out on the adjacent two-seater. Everyone watched in comfortable silence, with the occasional remark on the film’s unrealisticness thrown in.
Your head lay against Jeongin’s chest as his arm was slung around your shoulders, keeping you close. As the movie dwindled on, your eyelids grew heavier and your body instinctively curled itself around him even more — seeking his warmth.
A strong, icy gust of wind from the air conditioner swept through the room, and like a cat, you jolted awake; a shiver rippling across your skin.
Jeongin began rubbing your arm, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just really cold in here.”
He reached behind him to grab the blanket resting on the couch cushions, before standing up to shake it out and wrap the two of you up in it. As the soft, fluffy fabric encompassed you, you settled into Jeongin’s side once again, now with your legs draped across his lap and his arms around your torso.
“Get some rest,” he whispered in your ear. “I’ll wake you up when the movie’s over.”
With the familiar comfort of Jeongin’s body and the soft blanket wrapped around you, you let out a small hum as you finally drifted off to dreamland.
Felix noticed the tartan blanket being unravelled out of the corner of his eye. He watched as you and Jeongin evolved into a human burrito — smooth skin pressed against one another like two perfect puzzle pieces, your head tucked securely under Jeongin’s.
“Hey, Seungmin,” Felix whispered.
“Hmm?” the younger replied, eyes slowly tearing away from the television screen to look at his hyung.
The Australian subtly nudged his head towards the cuddled-up duo on the long couch; one now fast asleep and the other oblivious to their attention on him in the dark room.
“Look at them, they’re so cute together,” Felix smiled. “They’ve been so close lately. Have you noticed that?”
Seungmin nodded, “It’s like they’re super-glued together.”
“It’s amazing how comfortable they are with each other.”
A lull in the conversation led Felix to believe his teammate hadn’t heard his comment, but when he turned to look at the younger man, he could practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Well, they’ve both done and been through a lot together. I’m not surprised that they’re physically comfortable with each other.”
‘That’s true,’ Felix thought. Two people who’d been friends since they were toddlers and spent their years growing up together were bound to be close both emotionally and physically. It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jeongin to be side-by-side during group activities — arms pressed up against one another or legs playing a lazy game of footsie. Whispered inside jokes followed by hushed laughter and crinkled eye-smiles.
“But they’ve been more… touchy-feely recently, no?” Felix mused, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.
“They probably just missed each other a lot while we were on tour,” Seungmin shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV. Felix pondered the rationality for a second and realised that he had a point. Whenever Jeongin had a free moment to use his phone amidst the chaos of their schedule, there was a good chance he was communicating with you. Laughing at the memes you sent or being updated on your life in rushed video calls.
He took one last glance at the pair, perfectly content in each other’s arms despite the people around them, before settling back into the movie’s outlandish story.
The silence of the empty floor was disrupted by you and Jeongin stepping out of the elevator — heels clacking against the tiles and laughter filling the air. His hand rested at the bottom of your spine, the weight of his palm both a steady comfort and the creator of butterflies in your stomach. Your skin tingled despite being separated by your satin dress and his sturdy blazer across your shoulders.
As you reached your destination, you stepped aside to let Jeongin unlock the door. Standing behind him, you unashamedly drank in his back and shoulders; the fabric of his white button-up stretching across his body perfectly. You all but drooled at the sight of his forearms, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
The beep! of the electronic lock snapped you out of your daze, and you were met with Jeongin’s knowing smirk.
“You good there?”
Fearing the risqué words that might’ve come tumbling out of your mouth, you kept your lips sealed shut and nodded your head.
“After you,” he opened the door with a deep, butler-esque bow, eliciting a giggle from your lips.
The dorm you entered was much noisier than the quiet hallway outside.
Much noisier.
A loud chorus of welcomes greeted you as you walked in. Inside Chan and Jeongin’s usually calm dorm was a rowdy mess of takeaway containers, soda cans littering the floor, and the rest of the boys crowded in the living room, hollering and laughing at the television and one another. Chan, Minho and Seugmin lounged on the couch as the rest sat on the floor, their focus locked onto an intense game of Mario Kart.
“Hey guys! Welcome back,” Chan smiled.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Minho gestured to the mess around him with a lazy raise of his arm.
You and Jeongin laughed. “How’s game tournament night going?” you asked.
“Pretty good!” Chan beamed. “After we had dinner, the first game we played was UNO—”
“Which I won,” Minho interjected.
“Which Minho won, yes. You should’ve seen it. Whenever one of us was about to win, he’d put down a pick-up card and draw the game out even longer.”
“Bet he was hiding a bunch of plus-fours up his ass,” Seungmin drawled as he scrolled through his phone. Though met with laughter from the rest of the boys, he couldn’t escape the elder’s wrath as a pillow was swiftly chucked into his face.
Once he composed himself, Chan continued. “Then we played Twister, where Hyunjin was the final winner.”
The man in question let out a loud whoo! as his eyes and hands never left the race.
“And right now we’ve got our Mario Kart competition going on.”
“Who’s winning?” Jeongin asked.
“Me, of course,” Changbin puffed out his chest.
“Not for much longer!” came Felix. In a split second, a blue shell zipped through the air from Felix’s Toad and crash-landed on Changbin’s Baby Luigi in a fiery explosion. Changbin could do nothing but yell out in shock as his character flailed helplessly in the air and the rest of the drivers whizzed past him.
“Why’d you do that?” he whined.
Felix only giggled as the race continued, whilst Changbin was left pouting as he tried to catch up from second-to-last place.
“Do you guys wanna join? You can go head-to-head, and the winner will take on me and this race’s winner to determine the champ,” Chan explained.
“Thanks, but we already decided to hit the hay once we got back here,” you smiled apologetically.
“Which reminds me,” Jeongin said, “I need to get my room ready. Wait right here.” He patted your back and dashed down the hall, disappearing into his room.
“So what did you guys do tonight? You’re both dressed real fancy,” Minho commented, making space for you on the couch.
“Ooh! We went to this new Italian restaurant that I’ve been dying to go to. I’ve heard so many amazing reviews, and the menu looked heavenly, but they’re so popular that they’re booked out months in advance. Luckily, Innie was able to pull some strings and snag us a table for tonight!"
“Sounds like you had a good time,” Chan smiled.
“Absolutely! You should all try it, it’s to die for. Plus, Innie was such a gentleman, which made the whole night even sweeter.”
“Really? What did he do?”
“First, he showed up at my apartment with a huge bouquet of tulips — my favourite — as well as a beautiful silver bracelet,” you gushed as you lifted your right wrist, the dainty jewelery glimmering under the lights. “Then he drove us to the restaurant, and after dinner, he surprised me with a trip to this little gelato spot that I’ve loved for years. He was so charming the entire night; always opening doors for me, pulling out my chair, asking me how I’ve been. Plus, he paid for everything!”
“Damn, he did all that?” Jisung raised his eyebrows.
Hyunjin chuckled, “Who knew Jeongin was such a secret Romeo?”
“And a baller,” Changbin added.
“Yeah, he’s the best.” A shy smile and blush crept onto your face as you recalled the night’s events. Clips of Jeongin’s smile and melodic laughter played on loop like a movie in your head, as every steady touch from his soft hands was seared into your skin.
A loud cheer from Felix brought you back to reality. He jumped up and down like a little boy whilst the others groaned in defeat — the TV displaying Toad celebrating in his kart. It was at this time that Jeongin made his return to your side.
“The room’s all ready,” he said. You smiled and nodded, handing your purse over to him as you got up.
“You sure you don’t wanna join the rest of game night?” Chan asked. “We’re playing League of Legends after this.”
“You don't have to worry about losing. Felix has got that covered,” Seungmin smirked.
“Oi!” The man in question leapt onto the couch and grabbed Seungmin by the collar, shaking him back and forth with no true malice.
“No thanks, we’ve had a long night. You guys have fun!” Jeongin smiled and gently ushered you to his room — his hand on the small of your back. You waved goodbye as a choir of Goodnights sang you down the hall, only muffled by the door of Jeongin’s private sanctuary closing behind you.
“Well, aren’t they just the cutest darn thing you’ve ever seen?” Changbin remarked, a sly smile gracing his features.
“I still can’t believe he went out of his way to do all that,” Hyunjin admitted, plopping down onto the two-seater. “Seriously! This is the same Yang Jeongin who refuses our hugs and kisses.”
“But hyung,” Jisung piped up, “he only ever does stuff like that with her! Haven’t you guys noticed how he gets all sweet and caring when she’s involved? I mean, not that Innie’s an inconsiderate person, but he always goes above and beyond to do things for her.”
Minho shrugged, “They’re childhood best friends. What do you expect?”
“Yeah, he can be a real sweetie pie when he wants to be,” Chan mused. “It’s so nice of him to do this for her.”
“And she just got that promotion at work, right? That’s probably what they were celebrating,” Seungmin added. Everyone let out little comments of agreement all at once, before their voices died down again.
“Wait, but why is she sleeping over?” Hyunjin asked.
“Her apartment is almost an hour away from here. She probably didn’t want him driving so much this late at night,” Minho rationalised as another chorus of “oh yeah” and “that’s right” was emitted from the boys.
“Maybe we should do that more often,” Chan mumbled.
“Do what?”
“Take our friends out on special outings to celebrate them.”
“Hyunjinnie! Please go out with me!” Changbin threw himself on Hyunjin and puckered his lips, loud kissy noises filling the living room.
“Get off me, you big oaf.” Shoving the elder away, Changbin fell to the floor on his butt with a loud oof!
“That wasn’t a no!” he sang, to which Hyunjin merely rolled his eyes, and the rest of the team roared in laughter.
“God, where is it?” Chan muttered to himself as he craned his neck, searching under his bed. Sighing in frustration, he stood up and dusted off his sore knees. He groaned as he looked down at his phone screen and saw the pathetic 3% battery life glaring back at him.
He’d woken up a few hours earlier to see that it had only 15% remaining, but gave it no thought. He’d gone about his day as usual — breakfast, shower, and now work — without a care. It wasn’t until he unlocked his phone to send some files to himself that the measly 5% battery life reminded him that he needed to give it some more juice.
Unfortunately, his bloody phone charger was nowhere to be found.
He’d searched all the bags he regularly used. Throughout his room, the kitchen, the living room, and even his bathroom. But it had simply disappeared into thin air. He’d last seen it in the recording studio the day before. Maybe he’d left it there. Or was it the practice room?
Rubbing a hand over his face, he marched over to Jeongin’s room. He couldn’t let his phone die now! He was in the zone!
Rapping his knuckles on the door, he pushed it open without waiting for a response.
“Jeongin, can I borrow your char—”
To say Chan was taken aback by what he walked into was a gross understatement.
Jeongin was sitting on the bed, his back comforted by pillows against the headboard as you straddled him. His arms were around your torso, caging you in as if he was afraid you'd disappear, as your hands caressed his face.
And you were going. to. town.
Your lips were locked in a fierce battle, pressed against each other in a furious flurry of passion. Chan stood frozen in place as his poor eyes caught glimpses of your tongues exploring each other’s mouths. It was as if you were physically attempting to fuse into one being with how close you were — not a sliver of space separating your bodies and lips.
And don’t even ask him about the noises you two were making.
Dear, god.
The worst part was that you hadn’t even realised he’d walked in.
You were still going at it.
“Um…”
“Oh, fuck!” you shouted.
Chan’s gravelly voice caused you to jump away from Jeongin in shock, scrambling off the bed and standing there like a child that’d just been reprimanded. Horror flooded Jeongin’s eyes. Your faces mirrored one another as they flamed up with the heat of a thousand suns.
“Sorry, I- uh- I need to borrow a charger,” Chan awkwardly rubbed his neck. “I can’t find mine.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay, sure.” Jeongin stood up in a daze, and his head swivelled around the room. A few seconds passed before he was hit with a dose of clarity — bending down to retrieve the charger that was plugged in by his bedside table. In the meantime, you and Chan were avoiding eye contact as if it were the plague. You stared at your hands and began picking at your nails, whilst Chan had suddenly found the ceiling of Jeongin’s room rather appealing.
“Here you go,” Jeongin spluttered, thrusting the charger in Chan’s direction as he too kept his eyes trained on the floor.
Swiping it out of his hand, Chan muttered a curt thanks before bolting out of the room; the door slamming shut behind him. Sitting back down at his desk, he plugged his phone in and breathed a sigh of relief to see that it hadn’t died.
He tried to return his attention back to work, but it all eluded him as he stared at the too-bright monitor screen. The hard cushion of his armchair sweated against his palms, his body shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and a strong taste of vomit formed in the back of his throat.
As the moon took over for the sun, Chan found himself holed up in the recording studio with Changbin and Jisung, tinkering away at songs for their upcoming album. Hours of slaving over their computers, microphones, and keyboards finally came to a pause when Changbin’s glorious phone notification signalled the arrival of their dinner.
The younger two were locked in a heated discussion about some new video game as Chan quietly munched on his sandwich, his mind drifting back to the day’s events.
“Hey guys,” Chan said, catching Changbin and Jisung’s attention. “You won’t believe what happened today.”
Their puzzled yet intrigued expressions prompted him to continue. “I walked in on Jeongin and Y/N making out.”
“Whoa! Seriously!?” Jisung’s eyes and jaw fell wide open. The noodles between Changbin’s chopsticks were suspended halfway between the container and his mouth, his buff body now a rigid statue.
“Yeah! And it was so awkward because they didn’t notice me at first, so I had to stand there for a few seconds and watch them go at it.”
Jisung pulled a comically disgusted face, “Ew, pervert.”
“Trust me, I was horrified. It was like watching my own flesh and blood get it on.”
Changbin let out a loud gagging noise, “Okay, that’s enough. Please don't give us any descriptions."
“Why do you think they were making out?” Jisung tilted his head, akin to a confused puppy. A silence was shared between the three men as they thought hard.
“She must’ve been teaching him how to kiss. She’s always been a good friend like that,” Changbin commented.
“Right, right.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
The three sat in the silence of the newfound discovery for a little while longer.
“So like I was saying,” Jisung beamed, “the game’s skins customisation is insane! It’s so much better than…”
Eight tired bodies sat in the practice room, hunched over in a circle, digging into take-out boxes of aromatic food as sweat clung to their skin — a deserved reward after endless hours of tedious dance rehearsals.
“Hey, Jeongin,” Changbin garbled through mouthfuls of his bibimbap.
“Hrm?”
“Is Y/N single?”
Jeongin’s eyes widened. The noodles he’d been chewing sat unmoving in his mouth, rapidly losing their flavour. He repeated your name in a meek voice, filled with confusion.
“Yeah. Remember my high school friends who came to my birthday party? One of them wants to ask her out. They think she’s cute.”
The rest of the group wasn’t particularly concerned with the conversation at hand. Save for Changbin, they were too preoccupied with their swirling thoughts about the comeback, and the savoury goodness hitting their tongues.
The sounds of cutlery scraping against plastic containers and mouths wolfing down food filled the room.
There was a beat.
And then another.
And another.
Before Jeongin swallowed and finally opened his mouth.
“Y/N and I are dating.”
Seven heads whipped towards the youngest. Seven pairs of eyes bulged out of their skulls. Seven voices pierced through the air with cries of shock and disbelief.
“What?!”
“Dating?! You guys are together together?”
“How could you hide this from us?!”
“Since when?!”
“Why didn’t you tell us?!”
The barrage of questions only sent Jeongin spiralling deeper into confusion.
“We’ve been dating for six months. You guys never realised?”
A stunned silence fell over the group. The boys looked at one another, their faces filled with bewilderment.
“We thought you were just really comfortable together,” Felix squeaked.
“But- but you guys have seen us cuddling. She’s even slept in my bed at the dorm!” Jeongin’s head frantically turned from side to side, searching their faces for any hint of realisation.
Hyunjin shrugged his shoulders, “Best friends can do that too.”
“Jisung and I do it all the time,” Minho smirked.
Seungmin let out a loud snort as he began chortling with a mouth full of kimbap. Unfortunately for him, it quickly devolved into a coughing fit that had Felix patting his back and Jisung letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Last week, Chan hyung walked in on us making out!” Jeongin continued. “I was mortified!”
“YOU WHAT?!”
Everyone’s heads whipped towards their leader.
Chan blinked and raised his hands, “I’ll admit, that was the first time I suspected you guys were more than friends.”
“Seriously? Only then?”
“Well- I thought about it, but Jisung and Changbin convinced me otherwise!” Chan pointed a finger at the two, who sat side-by-side with wide eyes.
“You told them?!” Jeongin cried, at the same time that Felix, aghast, cried, “They knew too?!”
“I thought they were good friends!” Changbin defended himself.
“You idiot! What kind of friends make out?” Hyunjin shot back.
“I don’t know! Special ones?”
The practice room descended into chaos. Everyone began yelling at once; some trying to find out more info, some accusing others of withholding information, and some defending their naivety.
Shoving his container of food on the floor, Jeongin stood up with a huff. He clapped his hands twice, bringing everyone’s attention to him.
“Okay, since everyone was unaware, Y/N and I are dating. We are a couple and we love each other very much. We are definitely more than friends.” Jeongin’s palms sweated as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. A warm flush spread across his neck as he surveyed the group’s reactions, scanning their features for the most minute of changes. His stomach felt queasy, and he feared he might fall over at any moment.
But as the seconds passed, the faces of the members began to brighten — smiles emerging and teeth showing. A stream of congratulations flooded Jeongin’s senses, voices overlapping one another. Their earnest happiness alleviated his worries, and he sat back down, receiving pats on the back and aggressive hair ruffles in the process.
“Congrats, man!”
“I knew it would happen!”
“Aww, our Innie is a man now!”
“Alright, alright, everybody settle down,” Chan’s voice quelled the chaos, but only for a second. Jeongin moved to resume eating his noodles when a voice stopped him.
“So, Jeongin,” Hyunjin called out, “Y/N, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows as the rest of the group let out snickers.
“Have you been in love with her forever, and ever, and ever?” Changbin added with a teasing grin. Jeongin groaned and rubbed his face, now a bright, beet-red.
“I can’t believe it took you guys this long to get together,” Seungmin chimed in. “You sure you never kissed on the playground when you were kids?”
“Nah, that’s not Innie’s style,” Minho laughed. “I bet he gave her a flower and said something corny like ‘This means we’re going to get married.’”
Another chorus of laughter reverberated against the walls and Jeongin’s body crumpled into a ball. Whilst happy for their support, he wished he could magically disappear from the moment. Even if that meant crawling into the earth, or spontaneously exploding. Both at the same time, if possible.
Warnings: cussing; dirty talk; breast play; fingering; orgasm denial; cunnilingus; face-sitting; protected sex
Word count: 4.6k words
Summary: After years of being best friends, you and Jihoon share one night of completely sober, consensual sex—something you both swore wouldn’t change anything. But it does. Now you’re caught in the in-between, where neither of you knows how to talk about it, afraid that telling the truth might ruin the one thing you’re both trying to hold onto.
A/N: This is a follow-up to this story, which I fully intended to be a one-shot only. And then Woozi started ruining my life after that, so you can send your complaints to him. You don't need to read the first part, but there are some callbacks to that. So yeah. This is just something completely indulgent for me.
Maybe @roaminginthenights and I can cook up a third installment—where all patience has been drained from this man 🤣 Until then, enjoy!
Your phone pings with a DM from your match.
You tap the screen, hoping for something exciting–or at the very least, normal. Instead, your face twists in immediate disgust. Blocked, without hesitation.
"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," you grumble, tossing your phone across the couch.
Reactivating your dating profile was a mistake. Deep down, you knew it. But pretending nothing's changed was easier than facing the truth.
Except, everything has changed—since the night you slept with your best friend, Jihoon.
It wasn’t some drunken mistake. It was intentional. Clear-headed. Consensual. Mutually beneficial.
The memories are vivid: his fingers tracing your skin, the breath between you before that first kiss. And after, with your foreheads pressed together, neither of you wanting to be the first to let go.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A problem he helped you solve. Now it’s become a new problem you can’t stop thinking about.
Because Jihoon has raised the bar for everyone else. He didn’t mean to. He just showed you how it could be.
Sex with him wasn’t just sex. Every touch was unhurried and purposeful. It was the kind of experience that made you feel seen. Your body's needs weren't just being met, they were being understood. For once, he made you feel safe enough to let yourself sink into that space completely.
And now, every swipe on your phone feels pointless and hollow.
The truth is, nothing will ever come close to that night. Nothing. You're just not ready to admit it out loud.
You haven’t seen him in weeks—not because of anything dramatic, but just…life. Work. Deadlines. Obligations pulling you both in opposite directions.
The texts and calls never stopped. Neither did the inside jokes or snarky memes. The way his check-ins come in right as you're about to spiral from stress. He’s still your best friend, Jihoon–steady and comforting. But he’s also the guy who’s wrecked you in every which way. Both can be true.
He kept his word, honoring the boundaries you’d set. He didn’t push, much less think about leaning against the edge of that boundary, unless you asked.
And God, you’ve wanted to. Not just ask, but beg. Beg for him to cross it, jump over it. Completely obliterate it.
You’ve typed it out a hundred times, but you’ve also deleted it every time. Saying all this over the phone feels wrong, just like fast-forwarding to the ending you haven’t earned yet.
Words on a screen can’t express all this.
So here you are, fully dressed. Sitting on your couch, watching the minutes tick by, waiting for it to be a reasonable time to show up at Jihoon’s place. To watch sports, of all things.
Luckily, he's invited a few other friends. Built-in buffers, at least! Showing up too early means being alone with him. And the thought of it feels dangerous, despite looking forward to seeing him again.
Your phone buzzes. Thankfully, it’s not the dating app this time. You glance at the text notification and smile before you even read it.
Jihoon: Where are you? The game's about to start!
You: Still debating which top matches my pants, you lie.
Well… it’s half a lie. You tried on at least four outfits before settling on one that felt effortlessly cute, even though you're still second-guessing it.
Jihoon: You could show up in a garbage bag and still make it look hot.
You: Flattery won't make me move faster.
You laugh to yourself as you send off your response.
Jihoon: Bring them all. I’ll help you decide… but I can’t guarantee I won’t get distracted halfway through 😏
Warmth unfurls in your chest as you head toward the door. One last glance in the mirror. And you're off, with just enough mischief in you to match his.
************
The elevator dings on the seventh floor. You step out, clutching a box of Jihoon’s favorite cookies. Technically, you didn’t need to bring anything. Soonyoung had covered all the food and drinks after apparently losing a bet. Still, you feel weird showing up empty-handed.
Music and laughter seep through the seams of the door.
You knock once, then adjust your top. Which you’ve already checked in the elevator. Twice.
The door swings open, and there’s Jihoon standing there with a freshly bleached buzzcut.
You blink, caught off guard, and blurt out, “Wow. That’s… new.”
His smile switches to something slightly self-conscious. One arm lifts automatically, pulling you in for a hug.
His hoodie brushes your cheek, and that familiar mix of clean laundry and warm whiskey hits you like a punch to the gut. His body is solid, heat rolling off his chest, like your presence flipped some hidden switch inside him.
“Come on in. I’m glad you made it.”
“Oh, you know… just me and my walls this weekend,” you deadpan.
He glances at the box in your hands, clicks his tongue, and sighs dramatically. “I told you not to bring anything.”
“Unfortunately for you, my manners disagreed.” You press the box against his chest.
He spots the label and his face lights up instantly. “These are getting hidden. Immediately.”
“But I brought two dozen!” you reason, eyes wide.
“And sadly, still not enough to share,” he says dryly as he leads you into the kitchen.
You laugh, more at ease than you expected. Soonyoung and his girlfriend, Lia greet you. Jun waves from the couch, and a few other friends nod politely.
Jihoon nods at the counter filled with food. “Help yourself.” He then hides the cookies in one of the overhead cupboards.
You grab a plate, but your attention drifts back to his hair. “So,” you say, hand gesturing mid-air, “were you ever planning on mentioning this?”
His ears turn red. "Wasn't sure if it was selfie-worthy," he mutters, his hand sweeping over the strands. "Soonyoung's been making jokes about it. Is it that bad?”
Your fingers reach out before you can stop yourself. It’s softer than expected.
He steels himself, his breath catching.
“It’s different,” you say. “But good-different. I like it,” you finish with a sincere smile.
He breathes out a small, shy laugh. “Really?”
“Yeah! It looks badass.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Thanks.”
You catch yourself staring. His shoulders seem broader. Maybe they’ve always been like that, and the shorter cut is making them more noticeable? Or maybe it’s just you looking longer than you’re supposed to.
“So, you were just… chilling at home?”
You hesitate, then sigh in defeat. “That, and trying not to hurl my phone at the wall.”
He raises a brow, leans against the counter, and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay. Spill.”
You pull your phone from your pocket and hand it to him. His eyes drop to the screen, lips moving silently as he reads the message—the one that prompted you to immediately block the sender.
Do you like anal?
His brows lift, then his eyes flick to yours. “Well… do you?”
“Jihoon!” You shriek, snatching the phone back then swatting his shoulder.
He laughs, utterly unrepentant. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sure, you are,” you say sarcastically.
He shrugs. “Seems like a harmless question.”
“Yeah—but not as the first message.” You sigh, shoulders slumping. “It’s brutal out there,” you say, shaking your head. “I didn’t realize how bad it’s gotten.”
“Some people are just bold,” he quips.
“Some people are just douches. Is this really all that’s left?”
He tilts his head. “Maybe you’re just unlucky?” Then after a beat, “Or too picky.”
Clearly, not picky enough. “Or maybe I’m just looking for something I already found,” you mumble, your attention returning to the spread of food on the counter.
You don’t see the smile he’s fighting. His eyes flick toward the living room, then back, softening his voice. “You know, if you were feeling…some type of way, you could’ve just told me.”
His suggestion catches you off-guard. You inhale sharply before you turn to face him. “I…didn’t think this was that kind of friendship.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “This friendship can be whatever kind we want it to be.”
You glance down, fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I just… didn’t want it to seem like I was using you. Like that’s all I see you as.”
Jihoon’s expression shifts, but it’s unreadable to you. “Are you? Using me?”
You shake your head before the words even form. “No! God, no! You mean way more to me than that.”
He watches you, silent but expectant—waiting for you to elaborate on what more really means.
There’s a storm of thoughts surging in your head. Words you want to say so badly, but it all feels too raw, too exposed. What if he doesn’t feel the same? No, no, no. You didn’t plan for this conversation yet.
But it’s happening now. Whether you’re ready or not.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is—”
“MAKE THE FUCKING SHOT, YOU USELESS FUCK! GOD!!!”
You flinch at Soonyoung’s screams bellowing from the living room. Jihoon snorts, visibly annoyed but used to it.
“Guess he’s about to blow the over-under on this game again.” Then he turns back to you. “Sorry. You were saying?”
You open your mouth… then close it again. The moment's already slipped through your fingers.
“You know what, we’ll talk later.” you say, smiling tightly. “Let’s go watch the game.”
“Y-you sure?”
“Yeah. Go.” You nudge him back toward the others. But as he walks away, his eyes linger on you a moment longer.
Yes, you’ll say it. Just not yet. But soon.
*************
Your conversation might’ve been sidelined earlier, but Jihoon keeps sneaking glances during the game. Every so often, he finds an excuse to walk by—grabbing a drink, tossing a napkin, each trip lasting a little longer than the previous one.
Eventually, Lia catches on. “Do you want to switch seats with me?” she asks innocently, though the look she gives you says she suspects something.
You laugh nervously and push at Jihoon’s arm. “Don’t mind him! He’s just trying to get his steps in, right?” Then, when Lia looks away, your eyes flare wide at him, and through clenched teeth whisper, “Stop it.”
“Alright, alright…” He relents and finally retreats to the couch, but his eyes still find you again and again. You pretend not to notice, though a small part of you hopes he doesn’t stop.
The game ends in a buzzer-beater loss that sucks the energy from the room. One by one, people trickle out of Jihoon’s apartment, leaving behind crumpled cans, empty bottles, and half-eaten plates of pizza and wings scattered across every surface.
You and Jun stay behind to help clean up.
“I think that’s everything off the balcony,” Jun announces, dropping a couple of empty bottles into the bin.
“Thanks for coming, man,” Jihoon says as they exchange one of those bro-hug-backslap routines.
“Always a good time, bro.” He calls out to you and says goodbye. “Good seeing you!”
“See you around!” you wave at Jun as he steps out.
That leaves just you, Jihoon, and a pile of leftover wings.
“Should I put these in the same container?” you ask, already reaching for a zip bag from one of the kitchen drawers.
Jihoon calls over his shoulder, dragging a trash bag toward the door. “Nah, leave it. It’s late. Go home.”
You scrape the leftovers into a bag anyway and tuck it into the fridge before turning to the overflowing recycling bin.
“I’m almost done,” you say, tying the bag closed and lifting it. “Just have to—hey!”
Your hands collide when he tries to snatch the bag from you.
“I said, leave it,” he teases.
You clutch it tighter. “This is literally the last thing, then I’ll go home, I promise!”
“No, let go,” he says, attempting to keep a straight face.
“Or what?” You arch a brow.
He steps closer, his scent overwhelming you again. He drops his voice, narrowing his eyes at you. “Don’t test me.”
You hold your ground. The silence buzzes, with that same electricity you’ve been trying to ignore all night. Then his gaze drops to your mouth.
You take it as an opening, snatching the bag, and turning away triumphantly. “Hah!”
But you don’t make it far before his hands catch your waist, grounding you mid-stride. Your breath hitches at the contact.
“Told you not to test me.” His voice turns dangerously low.
You twist in his grip just enough to meet his gaze. “So what, you gonna wrestle me for it?”
The corner of his mouth quirk. “Do you want me to?” He’s teasing, but not really.
The flame in the base of your belly ignites. You let the bag fall to the floor with a quiet thud, suddenly forgotten.
“Okay, chill out,” you say, lightly, trying to cut through the tension. “Are you just salty about the game?”
Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. He pulls you in closer, his breath grazing your ear. “I’m not thinking about the game.”
Your stomach tightens. Every inch of space between you feels charged.
“Do you wanna stay over?” His offer is careful and sincere. No pressure, but no pretense, either.
“I thought you wanted me to go home?”
“I did,” he keeps his voice steady. “But now I changed my mind.”
It would be so easy to give in. To let the moment swallow you whole again. But something inside holds you back. Something more urgent than the ache pooling between your legs.
You take a breath, searching for the right place to begin. “I don’t want to kill the mood but… we need to talk.”
Jihoon steps back slightly, his hands loosening from your waist. “Sorry,” he says. “I got carried away.”
You catch his wrist before he can retreat further. “No, don’t.”
He regards you intently, waiting for what you'll say next.
“I think…” Your words are stuck behind nerves, but you push through. “I think I’m having a change of heart. About all this.” You motion vaguely between you.
A flicker of confusion crosses his face. “So you mean, you don’t want to—”
“No, no!” you say quickly. “I do. Believe me—I really, really do. And that’s the problem.”
His lips quirk in amusement.
You exhale, heart hammering beneath your chest. “I’m just…I’m just scared that this is headed towards something casual. Then eventually, nowhere. And before you know it, it’s nothing.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then his expression softens. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“But what if—?”
“It doesn’t have to be nothing.” He steps closer again, not crowding you, but just closing the distance. “You set boundaries, and I respected them. I still do. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
You search his face for any trace of sarcasm or deflection, the armor he usually wears when things start getting too deep. You see none of that. It is just him. Frank and open, as he's always been throughout your entire friendship.
“I didn’t know if you’d feel the same, so I gave you space. I focused on work. Tried to distract myself. But… none of it worked.”
The memory creeps in—waking up next to him, tangled in your sheets, his fingers gliding along the slope of your shoulder like he was memorizing a page he’d never get to read again. You told yourself it was a one-time thing. A fluke. Fun and harmless.
But the moment you parted ways that morning, you knew better. Something had shifted. From then on, seeing him as ‘just a friend’ felt like a lie you couldn’t keep telling yourself.
“I was scared to mess it up,” you admit. “You’re one of the good ones and I didn’t want to complicate what we have.”
“I think it’s a little too late for that,” he replies wryly.
You peer up at him, his smile is faint yet affectionate.
He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I just couldn’t forget any of it. Especially…” His thumb lingers beneath your lower lip. “The sounds you made. The way you felt. Tasted.” His voice drops with each word until it is barely a breath.
“Sounds like you needed a full memory reset,” you say, pulse racing.
Jihoon’s eyes lock with yours, his lips hovering near your mouth.
“Or maybe…” he counters, “I needed a refresher.”
Your eyes lock with his, and the hunger there is unmistakable. The smirk tugging at his lips tells you he knows you want this just as badly.
“Didn’t I tell you to quit staring at me like that?”
He tilts his head in mock innocence. “Oops. Guess I managed to block one thing from my memory.”
Your laugh tumbles out before you can stop it, with his following right after, melting some of the tension.
“So does this mean,” you ask quietly, “we can stop pretending?”
“I never pretended,” he says. “I was just waiting. Hoping you’d come around eventually.”
You smile, fingers reaching up to trace his jawline. “Guess I must have really tested your patience, huh?”
Distracted by your touch, he doesn’t answer right away. His hand flexes at your waist, eyes darkening again.
“Even now,” he murmurs, “you’re still testing it.”
You rest your palm on his chest, brushing your nose against his.
He curses under his breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Please,” he says, voice rough with restraint.
Your smile curves mischievously. Your fingers drift beneath his hoodie, skimming over the skin above his waistband.
“Please what?” you purr.
The groan he lets out is raw and tortured. There’s no posturing and his pride is out the window. If you told him to drop to his knees, he would.
“Jihoon?” you whisper, unsure if he’s still with you. You dart your tongue out and lick his bottom lip to reel him back.
His eyes snap open, pupils blown wide with arousal. His fingers dig into your hips, hard enough to bruise. The pain is delicious.
“Please... I need you. Let me fuck you,” he pleads.
A slow, cocky smile tugs at your lips—then you pull him in, kissing him hard.
Your kisses are frantic, teeth clashing. His hands slide up your back, pulling you close like he’s about to consume you. It’s messy. Addictive. Overwhelmed with want after holding back for so long.
He breaks away, trailing his lips down your jaw, your throat. You tilt your head, giving him more access.
He groans your name as he sucks at your pulse point. And God, hearing him say it like that? You’re done for.
Every filthy thought he’s tried to suppress—the sounds of your moans, the feel of your body, your taste—it’s all happening, now. In real time. And he’s ready to revel in every second of it.
Your hand slips past his waistband. Your fingers wrap around his cock, and begin to stroke. He freezes mid-kiss, moaning into your mouth.
With a low growl rumbling from his chest, he pulls your neck closer, kissing you harder. His hands roving over your body. You grind against the thick length straining under his pants, both of you dizzy with need.
You fumble with his bottoms, but he grabs your hands, tugging you toward his room. You both stumble on your way there, laughing.
You strip each other’s clothes off between kisses. He lowers you onto his bed, mouth hot against your neck. He slides down to the swell of your breasts, sucking bruises into the soft flesh as he slips your bottoms down your legs.
Your fingers rake over his scalp. You’re briefly caught off-guard by how different it feels now that his hair was much shorter. He moves up to kiss you again, and you push up on your elbows, trying to flip him over so you can be on top. But he rolls you onto your side instead, your back pulled firmly against his chest.
He spreads your thighs with ease, tucking it under his leg, and finds your cleft. His fingers massages your folds, keeping your mouth sealed with his own as he teases you mercilessly. You moan into his mouth as he slips two fingers inside, then drags them out slowly to coat you with your own slick.
“Is this what you want?”
Your jaw goes slack, and all you can manage is a whine.
“You like hearing me beg like that?”
You try to respond, but his fingers thrust in deep again, and your words fade into a gasp.
Then he pulls out again. And again.
Each time leaves you more frenzied, more desperate. He’s punishing you, and you’re loving every second of it.
“Don’t think. Just feel,” he whispers in your ear—the same words he used that first night, when he took his time, coaxing you gently toward your orgasm, savoring every moment it took to unravel you.
“Yes…keep going,” you pant.
It turns him on, how easily you come undone for him. You feel it in the way he holds you, attuned to every flinch, every hitch in your breath—chasing each reaction like a reward. Every touch spurs him on, to find what else will make you scream out his name.
“God, you’re so fucking wet. Why is that?” he teases.
“It’s you,” you breathe. “It’s always you.”
“You like it when I make you feel good?”
You nod, too consumed by pleasure to form words. He doesn’t let up—keeps dragging it out, keeping you teetering right on the edge, only to pull you back again and again, until it’s almost unbearable.
“Let me come. Please.”
He chuckles low, smug. “Since you asked so nicely…”
No more teasing. His rhythm shifts, fingers plunging faster, deeper—giving you exactly what you begged for.
“I’m close!”
“I know. I can feel it.”
Amazing, how that one night was enough for him to familiarize himself with how your body worked—which he’s happy to take full advantage of.
Finally, everything in you snaps. Your climax crashes over you in waves. You cry out hoarsely, clawing at the sheets as your body shudders.
You’ve barely caught your breath when he leans in your ear.
“You want me inside?”
In an instant, your whole body tenses again with need.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”
“Mm-mm,” he tuts. “I don’t think you’re ready for me yet.”
He pulls away and your core clenches at the emptiness. He stretches out lazily on the mattress, a hand reaching for you.
“I want you to sit on my face.”
You slow-blink. “What?” It’s not that you didn’t hear. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything.
“I know you heard me. C’mere.” He grabs your hand, pulling you toward him, sending another wave of arousal through you. You climb over him, thighs shaking. Slowly, you lower yourself onto his mouth.
The groan he lets out when his tongue finds your clit is diabolical.
“Jihoon—fuck—” You gasp, your body trembling from the pleasure. Within moments, you’re reaching for the headboard, steadying yourself.
He grips your legs tighter as he licks and sucks greedily. You rock your hips in slow, deliberate drags against his relentless mouth. Desperate for friction, moaning his name over and over.
His lips wrap around your clit again, and he sucks deeply. Your thighs tighten around his head.
“Oh my god—don’t stop…”
He doesn’t stop. He keeps at it until your release tears through you again. It’s a slower build than the first, but so much more intense. It shatters to pieces on a whole different level.
Legs shaking, you slide off him, collapsing at his side.
“Holy shit,” you choke out breathlessly.
“I could do that all day.” He wipes his mouth, still covered in your arousal, his cock painfully hard. He catches you staring at it.
“I’d very much like to return the favor.”
“You can repay me by coming all over my dick,” his voice strains. “I need to be inside you.”
When you nod, he reaches toward the nightstand, and grabs a foil packet.
“Lay back.”
You do as you’re told. He looms over you, settling between your thighs, one arm braced beside your head. His face hovers just above yours, and brushes his lips over your temple.
“So beautiful,” he whispers.
Warmth blooms in your chest. The kiss that follows is deep and slow. Reverent, even. His tongue brushing yours, gentle and coaxing.
He nudges your thighs open, then pushes into you—inch by inch, taking his time. You gasp, arching into him. Every thrust hitting you just right, combined with each slide of his lips makes you fall deeper.
“I missed this,” he groans, hooking your leg around his waist to get in deeper. “You ever touch yourself?”
Laughing softly, your cheeks flush. “What do you think?” You roll your hips to meet his thrusts.
He smirks, then pulls out. “This is better though.” And slams back hard into you. “Right?”
“Ah! Yes.”
He picks up the pace, each thrust turning rougher, more desperate. Your bodies crash together in a frenzy—kissing through gasps and moans, keen on chasing that final, blinding rush of pleasure.
“You feel so good. I’m gonna come so hard for you.”
You keep your eyes on him, cradling his jaw, your thumb brushing across his cheek. “Look at me,” you whisper.
And he does—eyes locking with yours, dark and desperate, like he’s hanging on by a thread.
“Come for me.”
Your words undo him. Within moments, he groans your name, hips stuttering as your walls tighten around him. You both cry out, clinging to each other as you unravel together.
For a while, you just lay there quietly—bodies spent, sweat-slicked. The only sound is your shared, uneven breaths and the steady thrum of your hearts still racing.
***********************
The sheets are a mess. Pillows kicked halfway off the bed. Your clothes dangle from the edge in the midst of the chaos. Traces of your post-sex haze still linger in the room, and neither of you is in any hurry to move.
You're lying on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, fighting to keep your eyes open.
Jihoon lies beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily stroking your bare spine. He’s got a smug, Cheshire-cat grin plastered on his face.
“So… dating still seem like a good idea to you?”
You hum into the pillow, cracking one eye open. “I don’t know if I can seriously commit to someone who can’t even manage to fully undress when we fuck,” you say dryly.
His laugh bursts from his belly, bouncing off his bedroom walls.
“Seriously, what is this?” You gesture at his shirt, still clinging to one shoulder like it gave up halfway through.
“What? I was lost in the moment,” he says between laughs. “And you pushed me to the brink!”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”
“You just had to stay and put the fucking chicken wings away!”
You look at him wryly. A beat of quiet stretches between you before it’s broken by soft, easy laughter, your bodies still buzzing with the aftermath.
You sigh, rolling onto your side. “You know you’ve officially ruined casual sex for me, right?”
He scoffs, grinning. “Oh, 100%. You’re done for. Spoiled for life. There’s no turning back after this.”
“Hmm…” You prop yourself up on one elbow, pretending to think. “Guess you’d better stick around, then.”
He brings his face closer, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “I plan to.”
Your heart aches in the best way. His lips find yours, and you surrender to the moment. He eases you down, arms drawing you close until your bodies meld again.
Whatever this is, it feels right—like the pull of gravity. And that’s not just a feeling. It’s science.
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kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity
❝ you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here. ❞
PAIRING ▸ kim mingyu x fem!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au
WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol consumption, rated m for mingyu, slow burn, he fell first but she fell harder but then he tripped and ate shit, probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written, mingyu and mc are both virgins, sexual content, sexual tension, protected and unprotected sex (i would not advise doing the latter), lots of teasing and banter, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, wall sex, couch sex, public sex, mingyu discovers what pasties are, soonyoung orders 20 connect fours, they are avid enjoyers of the barbie movies
SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn’t), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).
PLAYLIST ▸ perfect by one direction • spell by niki • fatal flaw by ellise • give me a kiss by lolo zouaï • step? by bibi
WORD COUNT ▸ 31,273 words
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ someone (fia) once told me i write too many college aus. i said yeah ur right. and i’m gonna do it again
“BIRDS AND BEES CANNOT PHYSICALLY FUCK.”
You sounded more distressed than informative while you were trying to reason with your longtime best friend, Kim Mingyu. He, on the other hand, appeared visibly worked up over this childish level of argument you two were having.
“It is a metaphor,” he said. “Everyone knows birds and bees aren’t screwing each other up in the trees.”
You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hours ago, you had fucked yourself over after Kwon Soonyoung had casually brought up the topic of body counts. After everyone in your friend group went around listing theirs (Soonyoung: 3; Jungwoo: 3; Minghao: 2; Vernon: 5), you accidentally blurted out that your body count actually existed—one, to be exact.
This was a problem because, to everyone’s prior knowledge, you were a virgin.
Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; PIV sex; riding; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie
Word count: 4.6k words
Summary: You’re frustrated because it takes you longer to reach an orgasm during sex. This has made you feel insecure, and you started to accept the fact you’d never meet someone patient enough to give you the attention you need. Your friend, Jihoon, casually offers a solution.
A/N: Idk. I slipped and fell onto my keyboard and all this horny word vomit spilled out. Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs 🤣
This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is.
Anyway! Here’s something filthy to end the year! 💜
It started innocently enough at Jihoon’s studio. You were sitting on his couch, venting about your dating life, and as always, he listened attentively just as you do when he shares his own experiences.
However, today’s visit was different. He’s letting you ramble on about a very specific topic.
“I feel like there’s an invisible time limit on foreplay.”
Jihoon’s chair creaks as he leans back, laughing at your incredulous claim. “No, there isn’t!”
“But I really think there is!” you argue. “My last date got visibly impatient, even though I...” you inhale through your teeth, “clearly asked him for more time down there. Instead, he just said, ‘It’s been five minutes, it’s my turn now.’” You huff in annoyance.
“Well, that sucks. Did you get rid of him?”
You grimace before replying. “Please don’t judge me. He was cute, so we still fucked. My vibrator finished the job,” you admit guiltily. “I blocked him on the app afterward though.”
He sighs, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “You shouldn’t compromise on your needs. If you want more time, say so and stick with it.”
You huffed wistfully. “I just take too long. I get all panicky when someone’s been down there for longer than 5 minutes.”
“You can’t rush pleasure,” he comments.
“I know that, but now, it makes me think—how long is too long before you come? Is there a play clock winding down on the field? Do I need to call out an audible?”
He doubles over again, laughing when you start using sports metaphors.
“How can some women summon an orgasm—” you snap your fingers, “just like that?”
His laughs subside, turning more serious now. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to other people. Everybody’s different.”
“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” you remark sarcastically.
He turns away to face his screen, adding more edits to a track he’s working on.
“I don’t know…” you mumble, shrugging in defeat. “I guess my vibrator and I are destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well reserve matching burial plots.”
Jihoon snorts. “You just haven’t found the right partner. A really patient one, I might add,” he says, half-joking.
You smack him on his bicep, and your hand stings from the unexpected firmness under his oversized shirt. Has his arm always been this solid? When was the last time you touched his bicep? Wait—why are you even thinking of his bicep?
You and Jihoon have been close friends since college, maintaining a purely platonic relationship—never a hint of romance or sexual tension between you. On rare nights out, you even act as each other’s wingman, helping one another find potential dates. You two simply click on a different level—easy and no complications.
He looked up from his mixing board, turning to you with a slight smirk. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I happen to be very patient.”
The lilt in his voice was unmistakable. It was the kind of tone he used when chatting up potential conquests on your nights out.
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t you dare use that Joey Tribbiani move on me.”
“It’s not a move.” He keeps his face serious, looking genuinely hurt by your comment. “You’re my friend. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says softly. “I’m just saying, if you ever wanted to try, I’m game.” He tilts his head, giving a casual shrug. “No judgment.”
You stare at him, stunned, as his offer hangs in the air. You try to laugh it off, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.
Was he seriously proposing that you two—nope! You refuse to go there. Jihoon is a great friend, and although you trust him, you’re not sure you’d be comfortable with the idea of...
You shake your head. You can’t even finish the thought. You glance at your watch for no reason at all.
“You know, I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Oh? I thought you wanted to grab dinner?” He’s surprised and confused at your sudden change of plans.
“It’s getting late.”
Truthfully, it wasn’t that late. You feel guilty lying to your friend, but you need to escape this conversation—and this situation—as quickly as possible.
“I just got a notification from work. I need to come in early, yada-yada…You know how it is.”
He looks disappointed but doesn’t push. You gather your things, slipping your puffer jacket on, despite the room feeling several degrees warmer.
“Alright. If you’re sure—”
“Yeah,” you cut him off. That came out more tersely than you initially intended. “I’m sure,” you add with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes to try and make up for it.
He rises from his seat when you do and moves in for a hug—just like he usually does. But this time, the hug feels different; you’re suddenly hyperaware of his touch, your skin tingling all over. You return his hug stiffly, without your usual warmth, then hurry out of his studio and immediately tear off your too-hot jacket.
That night, your dreams were filled with visions—his hands tracing paths across your skin, his dark head dipping between your thighs, his intense gaze meeting yours as you hovered on the edge of unbridled pleasure. The dream felt so vivid you could have sworn you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. It wasn’t until your alarm began blaring, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat, that reality came crashing back.
********************************************
A couple of days passed, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Jihoon. This wasn’t your usual “hope he remembered to eat lunch” thoughts or impulse to send him funny memes that popped up on your algorithm.
After your NSFW dream about him, you started noticing little things about him you’d never paid attention to before—the adorable way he’d scrunch up his nose while concentrating on work, how his muscles moved when he reached for something, or how the warm red studio lights perfectly highlighted his features.
You shake your head. It’s not that deep. Jihoon’s suggestion was only practical. There’s no reason to go down this rabbit hole.
Still, you can’t deny the growing curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You hadn’t expected his offer to affect you this way, but it does.
After days of avoiding him, you decide to invite him to dinner at your place. Maybe if you discussed this with him, the dreams and inappropriate thoughts would stop.
The moment he walks through your door, everything falls apart. You become hyper-aware of his every move. You catch yourself stealing glances when you think he isn’t looking, and you flinch whenever he gets too close.
Finally, he’s had enough.
“Okay,” he says firmly. “What’s with you? Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird,” you lie, your heart racing. You reach for your drink and take a hefty gulp.
“Have I said or done something? You’ve flaked on me the last couple of times I asked you to go out, you’ve left me on ‘read’ more than you’ve responded...”
You felt guilty for avoiding him, but you needed that space to sort out your thoughts. Though you wanted to have this conversation, you couldn’t find the right moment to broach the topic.
“Then you invite me over, barely talk—” he continues to rant.
“It’s... it’s really more of a me-problem,” you stammer.
“Just talk to me! I can take it.” He throws his hands up in frustration.
You inwardly groan, before finally coming clean. “Remember the last time we were at your studio? I was whining about...something.”
He squinted for a bit, then you could see the recognition slowly dawning in his eyes before lowering his voice. “You mean, how you take a long time to reach an orgasm?”
You shut your eyes, mortified when he articulates it. “Yes…”
“What about it?”
“It’s not exactly about that, but it’s more about what you said after. You know—your offer to help?”
His face visibly relaxes, prompting you to continue. “Okay.”
Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, but you push through. “Did you mean it, or were you just messing with me?”
He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, the corner of his lips quirking up. “The offer still stands, if you want it.”
You sit there chewing the inside of your cheek, feeling torn. Your brain tells you to be careful—fucking your best friend could make things weird. But your body has other ideas. The warmth pooling between your legs makes it harder to think straight.
“Are you considering it?” His voice is gentle, giving you space to choose.
You deflect, buying time to sort through your tumbling thoughts. “I’m curious... have you thought about this before? About us?”
“The idea has crossed my mind from time to time.”
His candor sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.
“What about you? Have you thought about us...doing things?”
You draw in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to be equally honest. “I never thought of us that way before you mentioned it. But now...” you trail off, unable to verbalize how his suggestion has shifted something between you.
He inches closer, but maintains enough distance to keep you comfortable. His expression grows serious, earnest. “Listen, I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. You’re one of my best friends, and that matters more to me than anything else. If I’m out of line, just say the word and we won’t talk about it ever again.” The sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes makes your heart ache. You’ve always known him to be considerate of your feelings.
“You weren’t out of line.” Hearing you say this was a huge relief to him. “But you can’t really un-ring that bell,” you add wryly.
You also couldn’t get past an earlier comment he made. “So…you’ve thought about us before?”
He takes a moment before answering. “Yeah. I mean, you’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?”
Your cheeks flush at his compliment.
Your best friend has always had this effortless way about him—you’ve seen firsthand how easily he charms people during your nights out together.
Your resolve crumbles, and honestly, you’re tired of fighting it. “How are you so chill about all this?”
He laughs. “It’s sex, not rocket science.”
You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Things won’t get weird afterward, will they?”
“Afterward? So...you’re saying you want to have sex? With me?” His eyebrows raise slightly.
You already knew the answer to that question the moment you asked him to come over. “I guess I do,” you say softly with a nervous smile, “for science?”
His sexy, throaty laugh echoes through the room.
********
You sit nervously on your couch facing each other. Since this is completely new territory for both of you, you know you need to take things slow and make sure you’re both comfortable. Gathering up the courage to agree to this experiment is the easy part, but actually getting into it?
“Just to be clear—this is a one-time thing, right?”
“Of course,” he confirms. “This is purely for educational purposes. And your pleasure.”
You scrunch your nose in protest. “That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange.” The idea of him seeing this as one-sided doesn’t sit right with you. “Shouldn’t this be mutually beneficial?”
“I never said I had to get something out of this. You want to experience an orgasm from foreplay alone, without mechanical assistance, right?”
You nod.
“Okay. So, let me focus on making that happen for you. You don’t need to think about anything else.”
You didn’t want to be selfish, but his offer was difficult to refuse.
“This is about you, not me,” he insists. His decision is firm and he wasn’t budging.
“Okay,” you relent. Fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt, you take in a deep breath and release it before muttering, “How should we do this...”
When Jihoon doesn’t immediately offer any suggestions, you think of the most natural way to start.
“Maybe we could start with kissing?”
“Right, good idea.” His voice wavers slightly, betraying that he’s just as nervous as you are despite his attempts to stay composed. Oddly, this puts you at ease—knowing you’re both on the same page, figuring this out as you go.
You both move in closer together, and time seems to slow as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut, then his lips meet yours. They’re exactly as you’d imagined—soft, warm, and unexpectedly gentle. The kiss starts tentatively, but as your lips find their rhythm, everything feels natural.
When you break apart for a moment, you can’t help but smile. “You’re a good kisser.” You barely finish the sentence before being drawn back to his lips.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he hums, and you can feel his smile against your lips as you both laugh, the sounds melting into your kisses.
Your kisses grow more intense, your mouth sucking on his top lip while his tongue traces delicately along yours, building a warmth that spreads through your entire body. You fist at his shirt, bunching the fabric between your knuckles, while his hand cradles your neck, his thumb gently stroking along your pulse point.
Gradually, his kisses move from your lips, following a path along the curve of your jawline, down to the slope of your neck. You can’t help but giggle at the sensation.
He instantly pulls back, a worried look on his face. “Sorry, are you not into that?”
“No, no—I mean—Yes, I am into it. I’m just a little bit ticklish there, that’s all,” you explain.
“Oh... okay. Do you want to keep going?”
You nod, and as he leans in for another kiss but pauses when you place a hand on his chest. “You know, I didn’t think I’d enjoy this because we’ve been friends for so long, but I have to admit that I like it.”
“Yeah?” A smirk plays across his lips. “Tell me what else you like.” He nips at your jawline. “Or show me.”
Desire spreads through you like wildfire. This was the point of no return. You take his hands and guide them under your shirt until they cup your breasts.
“What do you want me to do?” He murmurs through your lips.
“Play with them.”
His lips capture yours again as he squeezes your breast gently.
He eases you down onto the couch, his lips trailing from yours down your neck to your sternum. When he lifts your shirt to your chest, you feel constrained and pull it off completely, tossing it aside. He follows your lead, removing his own shirt.
His skilled fingers unhook your bra and takes a nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other, drawing a sharp breath from you.
You run your fingers through his hair as his kisses trace down your stomach, making your back arch at the sensation against your skin.
His hands glide down your sides until they reach your jeans, where he carefully undoes the button. You hook your fingers into your waistband and start pushing your bottoms down. He helps slide them off, his touch remaining gentle but with a hint of urgency as he pulls the fabric from your legs. As the last piece of clothing falls away, the cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shiver.
One of his hands pushed between your legs, making them fall open shamelessly. His other hand continued to massage your breasts, making them unbearably sensitive. You can’t believe how slick you’d gotten in a short span of time. To think he hadn’t done much to you yet, apart from kissing you and squeezing your tits.
His gaze traveled down your body, lingering where his fingertips teased your sensitive folds. His feather-light touches made your inner walls clench with need. This only heightened your arousal, making you squirm beneath him, silently begging for more.
He slid one finger carefully into you. Your eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by your friend, kneeling on the floor beside you. “Don’t think…just feel.” You keened as Jihoon pulled out and thrust gently back into you with two fingers. You couldn’t hold back a moan.
It’s probably been a few minutes now, you’re not sure as you’ve completely lost track of time. You blink furiously in a mild panic and stare down at him, still leisurely finger-fucking you. What he was doing felt so good, but you weren’t even halfway to your peak yet. By this point, other partners would be coming up for air, wanting you to return the favor or just ready to stick their cock in to get their fill.
“Relax...” he cooed, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh. Each deliberate dip and languid curl of his skilled fingers inside you made you wetter, gradually coaxing your muscles to yield. “It’s not a race,” he reassured you softly, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll keep going until you come.”
His words of encouragement sent waves of arousal coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.
“Kiss me,” you choked out, needing to feel his lips against yours. Without hesitation, he obliged, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep kiss that made you dizzy.
Your fingers clutched desperately at the edges of your cushions, knuckles turning white from your grip as you felt that familiar sensation between your legs. “Right there. Don’t stop,” you gasped between heavy breaths, your hips bucking against his steadily thrusting fingers. The pleasure was building to an unbearable level, making you feel like you might shatter to pieces if he didn’t push you over the edge soon.
He continued to whisper the filthiest things—words you’d never heard him say to you. They revealed previously unspoken fantasies that ignited your body and overwhelmed your senses. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if this was his usual bedroom talk. But that thought slipped away as his words and actions consumed you completely. Before you realized it, you were peaking.
“I want to see what you look like when you come,” he purred. “Do you look as pretty as you do right now?” Everything tightened in your core while he kept up his ministrations in a steady, unhurried rhythm.
“Oh fuck, I’m coming…”
“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you,” he urged.
You let out a strangled cry, your mind far beyond the depths of euphoria to care about being quiet or demure about this. He was mesmerized, unable to look away at the sheer pleasure that washed over you. Before you could even process what just happened, he’d already hooked your leg over the back of the couch and covered your cleft with his mouth.
He stroked your clit with his tongue, fluttering over it, building your hunger back up again. He teased your slick folds, taunting you with the promise of another orgasm—something you thought impossible to achieve so soon, yet your body responded eagerly. When his fingers pushed inside you at the same time, you had to bite your lip to stifle a scream.
You came again, your thighs trembling, tender muscles pulsing around his touch. His growl vibrated through you. You didn’t have the strength to push him away when he returned to your clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…but now you wanted more. You needed to feel him.
You manage to sit up and squeeze his shoulder to get his attention. He peers up at you from between your thighs.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Already?” He smiles, teasing you with painfully slow strokes of his fingers. “Pretty sure I can get another one out of you,” he says cockily.
“Lee Jihoon—I. Am asking you. To fuck. Me,” you punctuated. “Will you do it or not?”
He sits up, turning sheepish all of a sudden. “I, uhm…didn’t expect us to be doing this, so I didn’t bring any condoms.”
It’s not like he was some random guy. Although you appreciated his caution, you just wanted him inside you. “I trust you,” you tell him before pressing a kiss to him.
After he settles on the couch, you shift unsteadily to straddle his hips, pressing your bodies together. Reaching between you, you fumble with his jeans until he helps, lifting his hips in a fluid motion to pull them down just enough to free himself. Bracing yourself, you let him guide you as you slowly sink down onto him. Your lips part with an involuntary sigh that turns into a soft moan as he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.
When you begin to roll your hips, the friction sends sparks of pleasure through your core.
“Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he breathes out roughly, his fingers digging into your hips before worry suddenly crosses his face. His cheeks flush as he stammers, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
You giggle at his compliment, causing your muscles to clamp around his length. “I’m not mad at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel really good, too.”
“Yeah?” His brow quirks. “You like when I fuck you?”
“Yes,” you moan, dipping your head to his lips in another kiss as you find your rhythm together.
His hands roam your back, pulling you closer as you rock against him with increasing urgency. Before this, you’ve resigned yourself to never experiencing an orgasm from penetrative sex, and yet here was another brewing and there was nothing you could do but let it happen.
You gasp as his hand makes sudden contact with your ass, the unexpected sting making you freeze in place. You stare at him dumbfounded.
“What are you going to do about it?” he challenges. Before you can answer, his hand comes down again with another firm smack that rings through the room. “What?” The sound of provocation in his voice makes your pulse quicken.
You hover over him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer. Through gritted teeth, your voice emerges as a heated whisper. “Harder.”
“I thought so.” He smiles slyly before your lips crash in a fierce kiss that leaves you both breathless.
With a firm grip, he holds your hips still as he thrusts into you with deliberate, measured strokes. You clutch at him, the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Jihoon buries his face between your breasts, his rough groans reverberating against your flesh.
You whine helplessly, overwhelmed by the building pressure as the familiar coil of tension in your belly winds impossibly tight. Your thighs burn as you teeter on the edge of release.
“Yes...d-don’t...stop...hm...so close,” you pant.
He slows his movements to an agonizing pace, drawing out each thrust to drive you insane. He pulls out completely before sinking back into you with one deep thrust that makes you see stars. Your jaw drops, unintelligible sounds tumbling out your mouth as you come hard.
You hold onto him for dear life, your nails leaving a trail of crescent marks on his skin as he picks up the pace once again, his own rhythm becoming more erratic as he chases his own orgasm. A deep groan rumbles from his chest as your walls pulse and clench around him.
“I’m close,” he warns, his usually calm and collected face now twisted with agonizing need.
“Don’t pull out,” you manage to choke out between strained, ragged breaths.
“You…s-sure…?”
You nod eagerly. With your permission, he thrusts deeper and harder, making your neck loll in ecstasy. He draws you back into a rough, hungry kiss that muffles your shared moans as he reaches the end of his rope, his hips jerking against yours while he spurts inside.
Pressing your sweat-slicked forehead against his, you wait for your heart rate to return to normal. There’s no doubt in your mind—no previous partner could compare to Jihoon.
“Oh my fucking god,” you sigh. “We’ve been missing out all this time.”
He laughs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “It was worth the wait though!”
********
After a quick shower and a necessary trip to the pharmacy down the block, you and Jihoon return to your apartment with bags of late-night snacks. All that sexual activity had certainly worked up an appetite, and you found yourself craving something sweet. An ice cream waffle cone hit the spot for you.
“Are you okay?”
You smile, endeared at his worrying. “You know, you’ve asked me that same question multiple times now, and I’ll keep giving you the same answer—I’m fine. Great, actually!”
“I know, I know,” he responds sheepishly. “I just hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”
“Trust me, I don’t feel awkward about any of this at all,” you respond with complete sincerity before facing him to find out if he felt the same way you did. “Do you?”
He shakes his head, tilting the bag of Skittles into his mouth. “Nope,” he answers between chews. “To be honest, I thought that was fucking mind-blowing!”
You inhale sharply at his candid comment, nodding in agreement. “Same. Absolutely no complaints from me!”
He gets up from the couch, takes out a small box from the shopping bag to set it aside, and stuffs your discarded candy wrappers into it before heading to the kitchen to throw them away.
When he returns from the kitchen, your eyes linger on him. “Thanks, Jihoonie,” you whisper. “For…everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a wink before sinking back into the couch beside you.
This turned out to be the complete opposite of your initial fears. Not only did this one-off experiment exceed all your expectations, but it seems your friendship remained the same. Though you never would have guessed that your best friend would end up giving you the best orgasms of your life.
As you continue to enjoy your treat, you notice Jihoon’s eyes fixed on your tongue as it swirls around the chocolate ice cream. His dark eyes watching you with the same intensity as when you came undone with his touch earlier.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
You arched an eyebrow at him. “Quit staring at me like that,” you cautioned, though your tone suggested otherwise.
“Then don’t ever eat an ice cream cone in front of me,” he responds with a chuckle as he subtly adjusts himself beneath his pants.
You bite your lip, feeling a warmth between your legs again. “You know...” you clear your throat, reaching for the box of condoms he left on the coffee table, “I wonder if these things really live up to the ‘raw’ feel.”
He clicks his teeth dismissively before responding. “I think it’s false advertising.”
“You think so?”
He takes the box from you, examining the label. “I mean, we do have a perfect point of comparison,” he reasons, a smile ghosting his lips. “Should we find out?”
You stare at each other for a moment before breaking into grins and exclaiming in unison, “For science!”
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Thank you for reading!
Interaction/feedback is appreciated but *not* required. But just in case you feel comfortable enough to comment or just say hello, my inbox 📩 is open 💜💎
Pairing: Giyuu Tomioka x Fem!Reader
Summary: You take your best friend's virginity.
Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, Modern AU, College AU, friends to lovers, alcohol, eventual smut, blowjob, spitting, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie
Word Count: ~8k
Author Note: first time posting on here, be nice 😭🙏🏾
Despite your completely opposite personalities, Giyuu had been your closest friend for as long as you could remember. You were a natural extrovert, always surrounded by a lively crowd, while Giyuu preferred the quiet solace of his own company. But no matter how many people clamored for your attention, nothing and no one could ever come between you and Giyuu. You'd sooner let the world fall apart than let that happen.
High school had been a blur of late-night study sessions, stolen laughter, and quiet evenings spent cuddled together on one of your couches. Rumors about your relationship were inevitable—everyone assumed there was something deeper going on between you. But the whispers were usually silenced the moment you publicly introduced your latest boyfriend.
Giyuu never made any comments about your questionable love life. He listened patiently when you vented about breakups and bad dates, never offering judgment or unsolicited advice. And in return, you didn't comment on the fact that Giyuu had never been on a date at all—or shown any interest in changing that.
It wasn't until you were 16, during one of your usual late-night hangouts, that the two of you stumbled into a conversation neither of you had anticipated.
"You know," you began, sprawled across his bed, while he sat at his desk, textbooks and notes scattered around him. "If either of us are still virgins by the time we're 21, let's just lose it to each other."
His pen came to a halt mid-scratch on the page, and he looked up at you with wide eyes. A blush crept up his neck, but he couldn't hide the curiosity in his gaze. "What?"
You propped yourself up on your elbows, meeting his stare with a playful grin. "I'm serious. It's better than hooking up with some random person, isn't it? At least we know each other."
He looked back at his desk, his shoulders stiff. "That's... a crazy thing to promise."
You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before responding. "Why? I trust you."
There was a long pause as he contemplated your words. Then, without looking at you, he muttered, "fine, then."
You'd laughed as you brushed it off as a joke, even though deep down you and Giyuu both knew that it was a promise made in all seriousness.
Still, life moved on, and the pact slipped into the back of your mind. The following year, you ended up losing your virginity to a guy you'd been seeing for a few months.
Obviously, you told Giyuu. Just like you always did. He'd been the first person you confided in about your first kiss, your first period, the first to hear all your secrets and milestones before you even thought about telling your parents.
But this time, his reaction caught you off guard. Normally, Giyuu was calm, indifferent, unshaken by even your most outrageous stories. Yet, as you casually told him the news, he went completely cold. His usually soft features hardened and his responses became clipped and distant, like you'd done something to upset him.
"Are you... mad at me?" you'd asked, half-joking but undeniably uneasy. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.
"No," he replied flatly, jaw clenched as he avoided your gaze.
"You sure?" You pressed, searching his face for a crack in his armor.
"I'm fine," he said firmly, ending the conversation before it could go any further.
It was the first time you'd seen him so irritated with you, and it made you worry. Giyuu wasn't the type to get openly angry or frustrated—especially not with you.
He wouldn't tell you what was wrong, no matter how much you pushed. And eventually, you stopped trying to get answers. But from that day on, you made a silent vow to yourself: no more rambling to Giyuu about your romantic or sexual ventures. Some things were better left unsaid.
However, Giyuu's curiosity got the better of him one particular time: the night of your high school graduation.
"Why'd you break up with Shinazugawa?" he'd asked, adjusting his tie in the full-length mirror of your room.
You paused, giving him a surprised look through the reflection. “…Why're you asking that now? It’s been months.”
He shrugged, feigning indifference. “Curious, I guess." In truth, he was curious. You and Sanemi had lasted almost six months—longer than any of your previous relationships. He couldn’t help but wonder why you’d ended things when everything seemed to be going so well.
"Well," you sighed, patting your beauty blender against your cheek as you leaned closer to your vanity mirror. "Because of the way he talks about you." you explained, exasperated.
Giyuu blinked, his hands freezing mid-motion as he turned to look at you. "Huh?"
"He's fucking rude," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "I told him from the start that we couldn’t date unless he was okay with us being friends, and I wholeheartedly meant it. But the second I mentioned you? Instant attitude."
Giyuu's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "What did he say?"
"Doesn't matter," you muttered, waving him off. "The point is, he's a prick I should've never wasted any time with."
For a moment, he just stood there, watching you blend your makeup with practiced ease, your words settling over him like a warm blanket. You hadn't even seemed to think twice about it, choosing him over your boyfriend as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"...Thank you," he said quietly, his voice so soft you almost missed it.
You glanced at him through the mirror, catching the faint blush that dusted the tips of his ears. "Don't thank me," you replied with a soft smile. "You mean more to me than any of those dumb guys."
Giyuu rolled his eyes, trying to hide the fluttering in his chest as he tightened his tie with an unnecessary force. "And why do you only go for dumb guys?"
You frowned, picking up a tube of lipgloss. "The real question is why they're the only ones that approach me." Tilting your head, you gazed at him with a wistful look. "I wish they were more like you," you murmured.
You didn't notice the way his hands stilled again, nor the faint flush that crept up his cheeks. He cleared his throat, turning back to the mirror.
"They still wouldn't deserve you," he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
"Hm?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow as you looked over your shoulder.
"Nothing," he said quickly, reaching for his cap and gown spread out on your bed. "We're going to be late."
Smiling, you brushed off his odd behavior, setting down your lipgloss and grabbing your heels. "Fine, let's go."
But even as you walked out the door, Giyuu's thoughts lingered on your words.
I wish they were more like you.
━
The beginning of college brought with it a whirlwind of changes for both you and Giyuu. You attended the same school, so the two of you decided to save money and move into a cozy apartment together.
The apartment was small, but homey enough for the two of you. There was a shared bathroom between the two bedrooms, a cramped kitchen that you somehow made work, and a living room where you would often curl up on the couch after long days of classes or work.
Despite the small space, you quickly slipped into familiar patterns. Giyuu was a morning person, usually up before the sun, while you preferred to sleep in and stay out late. You'd often stumble out of your room in the late morning, finding him already making breakfast or buried in his textbooks.
You would both go about your routines, respecting each other's space, and somehow, it was like nothing had really changed. Giyuu was still the quiet, composed person you knew, and you were still the loud, energetic one.
But there was a subtle shift, a tension that started to build over time. You started to see Giyuu in.. a different way. You couldn't tell if it was because you'd finally stopped suppressing thoughts you'd always had, or if it was because you were watching him grow from a socially awkward teenager into a more gentle, confident adult.
There was an unspoken understanding between you that neither of you addressed directly, but the lines between friendship and something more began to blur the longer you lived together.
Giyuu's 21st birthday arrived with a mix of anticipation and excitement, and it was clear from the start that he didn't want much fuss about it.
You knew him too well by now, his preference for quiet evenings over anything resembling a party. But 21 was a big deal, and you weren't going to let it slip by unnoticed, no matter how much he grumbled about it.
The party was at your apartment, living room adorned with streamers and balloons, the tiny kitchen bursting with treats. You invited only a few of your mutual friends, knowing a crowd would make him squirm.
It was supposed to be low-key, and that's exactly how you pitched it to him. You bought a cake, a couple of cases of his favorite beer, and told him you were keeping it small.
As Giyuu searched through the playlist in the living room, you took the opportunity to slip away and get dressed in your room.
Your fingers fumbled with the delicate zipper of your silk black minidress, the fabric soft against your skin. Lace detailing adorned the bust, and you paired it with dainty gold jewelry.
"Yuu!" you called out, your voice slightly muffled as you struggled to zip up the dress.
An exasperated sigh escaped your lips when it caught halfway. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing your best friend standing in the doorway, a deep flush spread across his cheeks as his eyes roamed over your exposed back.
"Sorry, could you help me zip this up?" you asked, trying to suppress a smile.
"Oh, sure," he murmured, stepping closer to you.
"Thanks," you hummed, turning around and facing your mirror as he stood behind you. His fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully zipped up the dress, the warmth of his touch making you hold your breath for a moment. The silence hung between you two, both of you aware of the closeness.
Once he finished, he stepped back, his eyes lingering on your reflection in the mirror for a second longer than necessary. "You look nice."
You smiled at the compliment, turning to him as your gaze traveled down his outfit. It was simple—an oversized black graphic hoodie paired with dark blue baggy jeans. "So do you," you said, a playful glint in your eyes.
Giyuu ran a hand through his long hair, shyly averting his gaze. "You're leaving it down?" you asked, eyes narrowing as you took in the silkiness of his dark strands.
He shook his head and reached for a hairtie on his wrist. As he raised his arms to tie his hair into a low bun, you caught a glimpse of his toned torso before he turned to leave.
He glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he rolled his eyes at your playful pout. Opening the fridge, he pulled out a cold can of beer, the can crinkling as he cracked it open.
"Hey, Giyuu," you called, "You remember that deal we made? Junior year?" you asked, slowly making your way into the kitchen.
Giyuu's eyes widened ever so slightly, then he turned to you, masking his surprise with his usual stoic expression. "What deal?"
A sly smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned over the counter, rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers. "The one about our virginities," you added casually, making sure to glance up at him. You could already see the subtle flush creeping up his neck.
"Oh," he mumbled, his voice faltering as he quickly brought the beer can to his lips, taking a long sip to avoid your gaze. "That?"
"That," you echoed, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. You found what you were looking for and closed the drawer with a soft click, then turned to face him fully. "Is it still on?"
Giyuu took a step back, leaning against the counter, his gaze dropping to the floor as he shifted uneasily. You moved closer, feeling the tension between you two building with every inch you closed.
"Do you.. want it to be?" he whispered, his grip tightening around the can.
You nodded silently, your lips curving into a small smile. The air between you seemed to thicken, your presence commanding his full attention. "But, it's your call."
He gulped as you reached behind you, pulling out a shiny tiara—silver with blue gems that sparkled in the light. It glimmered as you placed it gently on his head, reading "BIRTHDAY GIRL".
His breath hitched as his eyes flickered down to meet yours. You could see the internal struggle in the slight tremble of his fingers, but there was a hunger in his eyes, a desire that mirrored your own.
Before Giyuu could respond, the door to your apartment suddenly burst open with an almost comical force.
"Shit— I didn't lock it—" you muttered, but the sentence was cut off by the loud voices of your friends Kyojuro and Tengen. They stormed into the kitchen with enthusiasm, greeting the birthday boy like they hadn't seen him in ages.
"Happy birthday, Tomioka!" Kyojuro exclaimed, his bright smile lighting up the room, while Tengen gave Giyuu a friendly hug.
A group of their friends followed, chatting and laughing, completely oblivious to the tension that had just existed between you two. You sighed, amused but a little frustrated by the timing, casting Giyuu a knowing glance. "Later," you mouthed, the promise clear, before turning your attention to the guests.
For now, whatever was brewing between you and Giyuu would have to wait. The music cranked up a notch, drinks began circulating, and the lively atmosphere of a party took over your apartment.
Parties had never been Giyuu's scene. The idea of being crammed into a hot, noisy space with a bunch of drunk strangers was more torturous than entertaining to him. The thought of anyone willingly signing up for such chaos baffled him.
Which was why, when he did attend a party, the night often ended with you holding his hair back while he dry-heaved over the toilet. It had become an unfortunate tradition, one you were determined to avoid tonight. After all, it was his birthday, and you wanted him to enjoy it.
You kept a subtle eye on him from the kitchen, monitoring his drink count like a hawk. Thankfully, Giyuu was nothing if not responsible, so you weren't too concerned.
Your lips curved into a soft smile as you watched him from across the room. He was standing near Mitsuri and Obanai, his usual reserved demeanor softened as he laughed at one of her jokes. College had done him good, coaxing him out of his shell and introducing him to people who clearly cared about him.
"Having fun?" Tengen's voice broke through your thoughts. He leaned casually against the counter beside you, his broad shoulders brushing yours as he gave you a grin.
"Of course I am," you replied, lifting your cup to your lips. The drink burned as it slid down your throat, a sensation you'd come to appreciate.
"I'm glad," he hummed, reaching for the bottle of Hennessy beside you. His hand brushed your waist as he gently nudged you aside, his touch lingering just long enough to make you uneasy. "I've missed you."
You stepped to the side, swirling the drink in your cup as you kept your gaze low. You knew exactly where this conversation was heading. "I thought we talked about this," you murmured, your tone quiet but firm.
Tengen wasn't one to back down so easily. His fingers found their way under your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his eyes. "I can't get enough of you," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a way that might've once made you falter.
You let out a sigh, glancing briefly toward the living room where Giyuu sat on the couch with Shinobu. His soft smile stirred something in you that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Turning back to Tengen, you said bluntly, "I told you. I have no interest in fucking you anymore."
His hand dropped to his side, though his composure remained intact, as if rejection was a game he'd learned to play long ago. A smirk played at his lips as he leaned casually against the counter, the bottle now in his hand. "You're into Tomioka, aren't you?" he asked, his tone casual.
You rolled your eyes, your patience wearing thin. "What's it to you?"
He tilted his head, his grin widening as if he'd just uncovered a secret. "You could have anyone you want. Why haven't you gone for him all these years?"
Your scoff was sharp as you turned away from him, irritation prickling at your skin. "None of your fucking business," you spat. Before Tengen could press further, you raised your voice, addressing the group. "Y'all down for Charades?"
Mitsuri clapped her hands excitedly. "Let's do teams! Losers take shots!"
Cheers rang throughout the living room, washing away the lingering tension from the kitchen. You slipped away from the conversation, taking a seat on the couch beside Kyojuro, grateful for the shift in energy.
Shinobu moved with precision, pouring shots into an assortment of glasses lined up on the coffee table. "Rules are simple," she declared, her tone almost too sweet to be trusted. "One minute per turn. If your team can't guess, you all drink."
Drunk Charades was a beloved tradition in your friend group, despite you and Giyuu's shared distaste for overindulgence. Somehow, though, it was always fun with this group.
Teams formed quickly: you, Obanai, and Kyojuro on one side, while Giyuu, Mitsuri, and Tengen joined forces on the other. Shinobu naturally declared herself gamemaster, already scribbling prompts down.
Giyuu went first, his cheeks tinged pink as the group chanted "Birthday boy!" when he stood. Shinobu handed him a slip of paper with a sly smile.
His brows furrowed as he read the prompt, glancing at her in clear confusion. She only shrugged, eyes fixed on the timer on her phone. "One minute starts now."
He hesitated, then raised his arms in a wide circle above his head. "Circle? Sun! Clock!" Mitsuri guessed eagerly, practically bouncing off the couch.
Giyuu's frown deepened as he repeated the motion with more emphasis. "It's clearly a halo," Tengen said smugly, giving Mitsuri a teasing glance.
Shinobu shook her head. "You have thirty seconds," she announced smoothly.
With an exasperated sigh, Giyuu dropped his arms and began walking in place, taking slow, exaggerated steps. Realization hit you instantly, but you stayed quiet, secretly enjoying the show.
"Uh... giant?" Tengen tilted his head, increasingly lost.
"Oh! Oh!" Mitsuri gasped, clasping her hands together. "Astronaut!" Giyuu's eyes lit up, nodding vigorously before repeating the large circle motion with renewed desperation.
"Planet? Space?" Tengen guessed again, brows furrowed deeply. He opened his mouth to speak just as the timer buzzed loudly.
"Moon," Shinobu announced with far too much delight. Mitsuri groaned but took her shot without complaint, followed by the rest of her team.
Before anyone could reset, Kyojuro shot to his feet, practically snatching the slip of paper from Shinobu's hand. His eyes scanned the prompt before gleaming with excitement.
"Your minute starts now," she announced, setting the timer with a knowing smirk.
Without hesitation, Kyojuro mimed sweeping your floor, pausing only to wipe imaginary sweat from his brow.
"Sweeping? Maid?" Obanai guessed, one brow arching as he crossed his arms skeptically.
He shook his head fervently, shifting tactics. He twirled in place, pretending to wear a ballgown. The"dance" was so dramatic that even Giyuu let out a quiet chuckle.
"Thirty seconds," Shinobu reminded, resting her chin in her hands.
With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Kyojuro dropped to one knee, pretending to slip on a shoe.
"What the fuck," Obanai muttered, utterly baffled.
You couldn't hold back a laugh. "Oh shit—Cinderella!"
"Correct," Shinobu confirmed, stopping the timer. "That one was too easy."
"That was ridiculous," Obanai muttered, but even he couldn't hide his faint amusement.
The game spiraled as the drinks began to take their toll, and the room descended into a blur of laughter, slurred accusations, and a few questionable rule changes. At one point, Tengen insisted that charades could "absolutely allow sound effects," sparking a hilariously heated debate that ended with everyone taking a shot "just because."
Shinobu and Giyuu somehow remained composed, though her smirk suggested she enjoyed the chaos she'd created. Meanwhile, Mitsuri and Kyojuro had surrendered to helpless fits of giggles, practically falling over each other as they struggled through increasingly ridiculous prompts.
The final round ended with Mitsuri acting as a ballerina, her body balanced perfectly as she performed a skilled pirouette, earning a standing ovation. You leaned back, your head resting gently against the couch as the group's laughter echoed through the room. The warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, blending perfectly with the hum of music playing in the background.
Without thinking, your gaze drifted across the room, finding Giyuu. The soft flush on his cheeks from the alcohol gave him an uncharacteristically vulnerable look, but his eyes were steady, their usual calm tinged with something you couldn't quite place.
Slowly, you tore your gaze from Giyuu, shifting your attention to Tengen as he stood, dragging a very unsteady Kyojuro up with him. "I should get this dumbass home," he grunted, looping an arm securely around the blonde's torso to keep him upright.
Obanai gave a curt nod, helping Mitsuri into her coat. "Same here." Turning to Giyuu, he muttered, "Happy birthday."
"Bye, Y/n! Bye, Tomioka!" Mitsuri chirped, her words slurring slightly as she waved enthusiastically, her bright smile as infectious as ever.
Giyuu nodded in acknowledgment, rising to his feet to see them off. Meanwhile, Shinobu had already started tidying up, gathering the shotglasses from the coffee table as you picked up stray papers and empty cans.
"This was really fun, Y/n," she said with a soft smile as she washed the glasses in the sink.
You glanced over with a small grin of your own. "Thanks. I'm glad Giyuu even let me throw him a party."
Giyuu, reentering the room just as you spoke, rolled his eyes. "I heard that."
"Good," you shot back, sticking your tongue out playfully as you balled up a paper towel and tossed it into the trash.
Shinobu giggled at the exchange, slipping into her shoes near the door. "Goodnight, you two," she said warmly before turning to Giyuu. "And happy birthday, Tomioka."
"Thanks," he replied softly, walking her to the door and locking it behind her as she left.
With the apartment now quiet, the stillness hung in the air as Giyuu leaned awkwardly against the wall, his gaze fixed on the floor. It was obvious he was waiting for you to address the unspoken tension between you—whatever the fuck you'd meant when you brought up that deal from junior year.
"Hey, Giyuu," you sighed, bringing a hand up to rub your temple, the weight of your earlier words pressing heavily on your chest.
He straightened slightly at the sound of your voice, his gaze meeting yours as he looked at you.
"I'm sorry if I made things weird by asking you that earlier," you murmured, your voice quieter now. "You probably want to lose your virginity to someone special, and I totally get that. I—" You paused, realizing how much you were rambling. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
Your lips parted to apologize, but the words caught in your throat when you noticed Giyuu had moved. He was in front of you, his tall frame close enough that you had to tilt your head upwards to meet his eyes.
His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "You are special."
Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat. "Not like that, Giyuu. I mean—"
Before you could finish, he took a step closer. "I want it to be with you," he interrupted, his voice firm.
The moment the words left his mouth, his eyes widened, shocked by his own confession.
You stared at him, your jaw slack, the weight of his admission rendering you momentarily speechless. "You do?" you finally managed, your voice almost a whisper.
He nodded, and a soft smile curved your lips. Wordlessly, you reached up, your arms draping loosely around his shoulders. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips and back again, darkened with need.
"Kiss me, Giyuu," you whispered, and that was all it took. His hands found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer. Your lips met in a heated kiss, his eagerness surprising you.
It slightly uncoordinated at first—hesitant movements revealing his lack of experience and the slight haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts. But you quickly took the lead, your fingers tangling in his soft hair as you deepened the kiss, tilting your head to guide him.
As your bodies pressed together, you pushed him gently, steering him backward until his back hit his bedroom door with a soft thud.
You broke the kiss for just a moment, both of you breathing heavily. His arms encircled your waist, holding you close as his eyes searched yours, running his tongue over his lips.
You couldn't stand the distance for long. Your lips met his again, more urgent this time, pouring every unspoken feeling into the kiss. He smiled against your mouth, his lips moving against yours in a way that sent warmth rushing through your entire body.
One of his hands left your waist, fumbling for the door handle. When it finally clicked open, he pulled you both inside, his other hand never letting go of you.
Your heart hammered against your ribcage as the door shut behind you with a quiet click. You couldn't believe what was happening—what you were doing.
You were about to have sex with your lifelong best friend.
The very thought made your head spin. No matter how many times you'd secretly imagined it, you never thought the night would actually come.
Giyuu, meanwhile, was a tangle of emotions. The sensation of your lips against his sent waves of desire coursing through him, but there was also a deep sense of nostalgia.
Because this wasn't the first time your lips had met his.
You probably didn't remember, but Giyuu never forgot. After your senior prom, he'd walked you to your doorstep. You'd gone as friends, and the evening had been fun, uncomplicated—until he parked in front of your house. Before getting out, you'd paused, turned toward him, and thanked him for being such a good friend. Then, you'd leaned over the console and kissed him softly on his lips.
A giddy smile lit your face as you rushed out of his black honda civic, leaving him stunned in the aftermath. You'd never mentioned it again, and neither had he, though he replayed it countless times in his mind. Funny how you had been his first everything.
When he reluctantly pulled away, his eyes remained closed for a moment longer, as if clinging to the warmth of your lips. When he finally opened them, they were half-lidded, adjusting to the soft, dim glow of his room.
Slowly, your hands trailed down his chest, your touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You gave him a gentle push, guiding him onto the bed. He sank into the mattress, his eyes glued to you as you swung a leg over to straddle his hips. His breathing grew uneven the moment you settled over his thighs, the feeling of you on top of him making his body tense.
"Giyuu," you murmured, your voice dripping with sultry warmth.
He swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he met your gaze.
"You really want this?" you asked, tilting your head as your fingers slid into his hair. You tugged the tie loose, letting the strands spill over your hands like silk.
His eyes fluttered shut briefly before reopening, his dark irises locking onto yours with a mix of nervousness and need. "Y/n, just—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Just.. keep kissing me. Please."
Without another word, you leaned down, capturing his lips with yours. As you shifted slightly, pressing against his growing erection, he gasped, and you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue slipping past his parted lips.
Your fingers tenderly cradled his face, your touch both firm and reassuring. One of his hands gripped your waist, while the other buried itself in your hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
As your hips shifted again, a low, breathy groan escaped him, reverberating through your chest. The sound sent a pulse of heat straight to your core, spurring you on. You let your hands trail down his chest, slipping under his hoodie to explore the hard lines of muscle beneath.
"Take it off," you whispered, sitting up to look down at him. His eyes were dark, lips swollen from your kisses. He moved up slightly, gripping the fabric of his hoodie and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The pale skin of his chest was exposed, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
He quickly tossed it elsewhere and returned his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him. A smile spread across your face at his obedience, admiring the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, your fingers grazing lightly over his skin. Leaning down, you pressed a trail of featherlight kisses along his collarbone, your lips brushing against his skin with a deliberate softness.
His fingertips dug into your sides as he hissed softly, his hips instinctively bucking against you. The friction drew a needy whine from your throat, your breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts. Lifting your head, you murmured, "You can touch me, y'know."
His chest rose and fell rapidly. "I am touching you," he panted, voice strained.
You shook your head, guiding his hands higher up your body until they rested just below your chest. "You can touch me more, Giyuu."
His eyes darkened with hunger as he sat up, pulling you snugly onto his lap, his back pressing against the headboard. His breath ghosted over your skin as his hands wrapped around your breasts, hesitating for only a moment before giving them an experimental squeeze.
"Is this.. okay?" he breathed, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your dress.
A wave of heat rushed through you, your heart pounding as you nodded. "Yeah." Your hands slid up his arms, steadying yourself. "Want it off?"
He couldn't resist a chance to see more of your body. "Yes," he breathed back.
Giyuu pushed you against him with one hand while the other found the zipper of your dress. He tugged it downwards, revealing the smooth expanse of your bare back. Your fingers gripped the hem of the dress as you pulled it off your body, silently grateful for your decision not to wear a bra.
Giyuu's eyes widened as they raked over your nearly naked form. "Fuck," he muttered, not knowing where to look. You watched him as he studied your body, from the curves of your breasts to the smoothness of your stomach, down to your hips covered only by black lace panties.
He felt like cumming from the sight alone, how the hell would he be able to fuck you?
Your lips met again, bare chests pressed together as your mouths moved in a heated, breathless rhythm. Giyuu's hands slid from your waist to grab at your ass, kneading the soft flesh as you whimpered into the kiss.
Your arms wrapped around his torso, savoring the warmth of his skin as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Rolling your hips against his, you felt him shudder. He broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, breath coming in uneven pants.
You pressed soft kisses along his neck, drawing a quiet, needy sound from his throat. Your hand trailed down between you, pressing against his erection, igniting a fire within him that he had never felt before.
As you sucked on a spot on his collarbone, you moved your hand up and down his length, gauging the size of it. Pulling back slightly, you slid off his lap, positioning yourself between his legs. He watched you, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. He already missed the warmth of your body pressed against his, but the anticipation of what was coming next had him captivated.
"Can I?" you asked softly, your fingers lingering over the zip of his jeans.
He quickly nodded, making you smirk at his eagerness. His bulge straining against the fabric was impossible to ignore, aching for release under your touch.
With impatient hands, you wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and tugging them down along with his boxers. Your breath caught as his cock was freed, standing proud against his abdomen. For a moment, all you could do was stare, your cheeks warming as you let out a shaky exhale. It was perfect.
You'd been with a lot of guys, but none of them even compared to Giyuu. His skin was soft, tip flushed a delicate pink that contrasted beautifully against the rest of him. The sight alone sent a pulse of heat through you, and you licked your lips, your gaze locked on him.
"Giyuu," you murmured, your hand wrapping firmly around him.
His whole body tensed, a shuddering gasp escaping as he bit down on his lip, trying and failing to muffle the sound.
"Have you ever gotten your dick sucked before?" you asked, your hand moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm along his length.
Giyuu shook his head, tilting it back as a shaky breath escaped him. He'd never been in this position before, especially not with you.
"Good," you smiled, leaning forward, letting a bead of saliva fall from your lips and onto his swollen tip. The sight alone had him whimpering, his hips twitching reflexively. The moisture slicked your hand, making every stroke smoother as you worked him over.
Then, you took him into your mouth, lips wrapping around his cock. Giyuu's reaction was immediate, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as his head fell back against the headboard. "Fuck—" he choked out, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.
You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, and his hips bucked involuntarily. The sudden thrust made you gag, and you pulled back, coughing slightly.
Giyuu's eyes shot open in panic. "Shit- I'm so sorry," he blurted out, I didn't m-"
"Shh," you hushed, placing a calming hand on his thigh. "It's okay," you reassured, your voice soft and steady. Your other hand resumed its slow, deliberate strokes, eyes locked on his. "You can hold me if that helps."
He hesitated for a moment before lifting a hand, fingers trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His thumb brushed a stray strand of hair from your eyes. You leaned into his palm briefly before lowering yourself again, your mouth returning to his dick.
You teased him, swirling your tongue around his sensitive head, savoring the soft, broken moans that spilled from his lips. His hand slid into your hair, not pushing, but simply holding on as if you were his lifeline.
"Y/n," he gasped, his voice strained and breathless. "I'm gonna—fuck—" His breaths came faster, his body trembling as he teetered on the edge. His cock twitched in your mouth, but just as he was about to lose control, you stopped, lifting your head up.
Giyuu let out a strangled groan, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. One hand dragged over his flushed face while the other remained fisted in the sheets.
"Sorry, Yuu," you cooed sweetly, crawling back onto his lap. Your hands cupped his flushed cheeks, guiding his gaze to yours. His wide, dazed eyes met your own, filled with unspoken desire. "I want us to cum together," you murmured, slowly pressing your lips to his.
He moaned into the kiss, the taste of himself mixing with your saliva as you tilted his head how you pleased. His hands roamed your back, tracing slow, deliberate paths along your skin. One hand slid lower, hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs.
You lifted slightly to let him pull them off entirely, tossing them aside. Together, you worked to rid him of the last of his clothing, his pants and underwear joining the growing pile on the floor. Now, with nothing between you, the heat of his body melded with yours.
You pressed your core against him, your wet folds sliding over his cock. A gasp escaped your lips as you began to roll your hips, his length gliding between your slickness, the head brushing your clit with each pass. Giyuu tilted his head back, nails digging into your hip as you continued your slow movements.
"D-don't we need a condom?" he stammered out, his voice shaky as his hands held you still.
"I'm on the pill," you assured, meeting Giyuu's gaze as he opened his eyes. "Plus, it feels better this way," you added.
Giyuu gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing at your words. "You trust me?" you asked softly, tilting your head as your lips brushed his.
"Of course," he replied without hesitation.
You hummed, your hand trailing down his body, fingers brushing over heated skin until they reached his straining cock. His breath hitched as you positioned yourself above him, guiding his tip to your slick entrance. "I'll go slow" you murmured, sinking down onto him.
Giyuu whimpered your name, his head falling back against the headboard, lips parted in a breathless moan. His grip on you tightened as his hips trembled beneath yours. You felt so good—too good—and he could barely think past the haze of lust clouding his mind.
"Fuck," you cursed, nails digging into his shoulders when he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that left you gasping. You dropped your head into the crook of his neck, overwhelmed by the sensation.
Slowly, you moved your hips up and down, Giyuu's soft moans spurring you on. There was the slight sting of feeling stretched at every movement, but the pain was almost welcomed.
His nails dug into the flesh of your ass, guiding you gently as you moved. When his tip grazed that perfect spot deep inside, a breathless moan escaped you, and your hips rolled instinctively, seeking more of that intoxicating pressure.
You sat up slightly, half-lidded eyes meeting his as you leaned in for a slow, lingering kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as his hips bucked up to meet your rhythm. His tongue tangled with yours, the kiss growing deeper, more desperate.
A low hum of pleasure vibrated against his mouth as your arms snaked around his shoulders, pressing yourself against him as you continued to move back and forth on his lap.
Breaking from the kiss, Giyuu trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Don't stop.. feels... so good," he choked out between breaths.
You whimpered, tilting your head back to give him better access as your legs locked around his waist. The pleasure was electric, each deep thrust sending bursts of stars behind your closed eyelids.
Giyuu's lips trailed lower, wrapping around your nipple as he sucked gently, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. Instinctively, you began to bounce harder on him, fingers tangling in his dark hair. He groaned, eyebrows knitting together as his tongue flicked over your sensitive bud, his nails pressing deeper into your skin.
Your legs began to tremble, overwhelmed by the increasing pleasure. Giyuu panted, guiding your hips as he rolled his own upward, grinding into you with deep, deliberate strokes. A desperate moan escaped both of your lips, and you couldn't help but cling closer to him, your grip tightening in his hair.
"Fuck," he moaned quietly, his glossy, dark eyes looking up at you in admiration and need. "Can I move?"
"Please," you whined.
Giyuu lifted you effortlessly, turning you over and laying you gently onto the soft mattress. His hands caressed your thighs as he hovered above you, his heated gaze tracing every curve of your body.
Using one arm to prop himself up, his hair fell like a curtain around you. "This okay?" he asked, running his tip between your folds to find your entrance once more.
"More than," you breathed, relaxing under his warm sheets and soft breaths.
You kept your gaze locked with each other's as he pushed himself inside, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. His eyes were lidded, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as a shaky breath escaped him, savoring the way your body held him so perfectly. You were so wet that he slid in with ease, allowing him to pull out before sliding back in.
For the first time, Giyuu understood why people craved this kind of intimacy. He'd never felt anything this good in his life. His lips found yours in a languid kiss, moving in sync with his gentle thrusts. Warmth bloomed in his chest, though he couldn't tell if it was from the physical pleasure or because it was you beneath him.
Despite it being his first time, every slow, deliberate thrust found your sweet spot, making you arch into him, fingers digging into his back. He groaned into your mouth, his hips stuttering against yours.
You hiked your legs higher up his torso, feeling him deeper inside you. Pulling away just enough to catch his breath, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he whispered breathless praises.
"Oh, fuck- Giyuu-" you moaned, your back arching in pleasure as he continued to thrust into you with increasing speed. Your nails dug into his skin, scraping red trails down his back as a wet, squelching noise resonated from where your bodies were connected.
With one well-placed thrust, your release hit you like a wave, body trembling as he fucked you through your orgasm. Giyuu lifted his head to watch you in awe as you twitched and writhed beneath him.
You gasped, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you felt his fingers against your clit, messily toying with the bundle of nerves. You panted and rolled your hips up against him, unable to hold back any longer as you squirted onto his hand and abdomen.
Giyuu's eyes shot open, feeling your slick warmth coating his skin, and before he knew it, he was cumming as well, his seed spurting out within your walls. He let out a whiny, cracked moan, his head dipping into your neck as he thrusted lazily inside you.
When he finished, he slowly pulled out, watching with wide pupils as his and your cum dripped from your quivering entrance. Panting, he laid down beside you, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close against his warm chest. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before burying his face in the top of your head.
"Don't thank me," you hummed softly, closing your eyes as you leaned closer to him. "I loved it."
You and Giyuu weren't dating—weren't in love. (At least, not openly.) Yet somehow, what had just happened between you was far from casual. No matter how many excuses you tried to make, friends don't make love to each other.
After a few moments of shared silence, catching your breath and grounding yourself, you sat up. A soft yawn escaped your lips as you stretched your arms over your head before slipping out of bed.
Reaching down, you grabbed your panties from the floor, pulling them back on as you made your way to Giyuu's dresser. The sound of shifting sheets caught your attention, and when you turned, you found him sitting up, brows drawn together in concern. "Aren't you staying?"
A warm smile spread across your lips as you pulled one of his t-shirts from the drawer and slipped it over your head. "Of course I am," you reassured him gently. "I'm just going to the bathroom."
True to your word, you returned a moment later to find him still in bed. He had pulled on his boxers but was otherwise the same—his eyes following your every move, lingering briefly on the faint red crescent marks now visible on your ass. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, his expression unreadable.
Climbing back into bed, you settled yourself on his lap, straddling him as his hands instinctively found your hips. "Giyuu," you started softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty, "is this.. a one-time thing?"
His lips pressed into a slight frown, and his brows furrowed as he considered your words. For a moment, his eyes flickered with an emotion you couldn't quite name—Worry? Hope? Fear? "Do you want it to be?" he asked cautiously, his voice low and hesitant.
You shook your head, your voice steady but shy as you answered, "No."
His surprise deepened, blue eyes searching yours for confirmation. Nervously, you lowered your gaze to his chest, tracing aimless patterns with your fingertips. "I've liked you for a while, Giyuu," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
He froze beneath you. "What?"
"Years," you confessed, forcing yourself to look up and meet his wide-eyed stare. "I've always known you weren't just a friend to me, but I didn't want to risk ruining what we had." You paused, swallowing hard. "But what we just did... friends don't do that."
His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out. Instead, his hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your face up to his as he leaned in. The kiss was tender, a quiet answer to your unspoken fears.
He shifted, rolling you beneath him, lips trailing a path from your mouth to your jawline, and down the curve of your neck, stopping just above the collar of his t-shirt.
When his gaze met yours again, the genuine smile lighting up his face made your heart flutter. His fingers laced with yours, while your other hand rested on his back, tracing the faint lines of the scratches you'd left there.
"I don't want this to be a one-time thing either," he said softly, his voice carrying a rare but unmistakable confidence. "I want to be yours... and for you to be mine."
A grin spread across your face at his words, and you tugged him down for another kiss, your heart hammering.
"Mhm," you hummed against his lips, "I'm yours, Giyuu."
━
Giyuu frowned deeply when he woke up to an empty bed, the lingering warmth on your side already faded.
His mind spiraled instantly. Did you regret last night? He gnawed on his lower lip, his chest tightening at the thought.
Turning onto his back, he exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. A grim scenario played out in his head—you'd be in the living room, already packing your things, deciding that sleeping together had been a mistake, that living together wasn't a good idea after all.
Running a hand down his face, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thought away. He was about to roll over and bury himself back under the sheets when a loud thud echoed from the kitchen.
He bolted upright, hastily pulling on a pair of sweatpants before heading toward the noise.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he found you crouched on the kitchen floor, a conflicted expression on your face while you picked up a fallen pancake griddle.
Your eyes widened when you noticed him standing in the doorway, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Oh... good morning, Giyuu," you mumbled shyly, glancing away.
He surveyed the scene, spotting the stool you must've used to reach the high shelf. Realization dawned on him. "What are you doing?" he asked, tilting his head.
You sighed, placing the griddle on the counter, still avoiding his gaze. "I wanted to make us breakfast..." you murmured, your tone a bit sheepish.
Giyuu exhaled a quiet laugh, the corners of his lips lifting into a fond smile. "You don't have to do that. We both know you can't cook." He teased, walking towards you.
"Screw you." You scoffed, crossing your arms with a frown. "I wanted to do something nice for you."
"You already have," he said softly, stepping closer. He gently took your wrist, turning you toward him. "How about I take you out? To thank you for everything."
Your eyes met his, getting lost in the warmth of his azure gaze before they flicked downward, landing on the faint bruises blooming on his neck—bruises you had left.
"Fine," you relented, leaning in just a bit. "But I'm paying."
Giyuu chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his embrace. "Like hell you are," he whispered, his lips brushing your temple. "You've done enough." He motioned around the room, where last night's decorations still hung throughout the apartment.
You smiled, your arms sliding around his bare waist as you rested your head against his chest. "I guess I can let you handle our first date."
He smirked down at you, pretty blue eyes twinkling with adoration. "Good," he murmured, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.
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✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader(she/her pronouns, referred to as a girl, gets dressed up by tsubaki and kotoha), reader gets their hair braided (no desc of texture) and puts on makeup, lore heavy reader backstory + personality, deliquent!reader, gap moe, best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, themes of insecurity, mutual pining,the use of she/her for tsubaki, jealousy, confessions, loss of virginity, creampies / unprotected sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering, 18+
✮ wc ; 13.9k (dont. don't say anything)
✮ a/n ; me when i completely lose my mind because i have a weekend off. whats wrong with me.
anyways. there's no major triggers for this but be forewarned reader is meant to be very rag-tag deliquent type. she has a strong personality and generally is not feminine. she is like a mangy street cat a bit. also if u want u should listen to easily by bruno major while reading.
✮ synopsis ; you've been quietly pining for umemiya for a little over ten years with no plans of confessing.
you did not have a plan for what you would do if umemiya confessed to you first.
Once a day, everyday - Umemiya will come into your store, pause, smile, and confess his love to you before going off on his own.
And once a day, everyday, you reject this confession with a soft huff telling him to quit being stupid before shooing him away.
It's become a ritual. A fixture in your daily routine that you're not allowed to ignore despite how hard you're trying.
He's been doing it for three months, more or less.
His reason for confessing everyday? Because he’s waiting on the day you confess back, of course. Which you've refused to do for the last few months and will continue to refuse for as long as you’ve got.
It's not because you don't like him, alright?
You've known Umemiya since middle school and you've liked him for about the same time. One of the core memories of your childhood is the day you met him, crying while sitting on a swing-set, after what felt like the worst day of your life.
( On the day you run away from home, you seriously consider not going back.
You don’t really know how long you sit there. People walk by but most of them move on quickly. It’s mid-day before anyone bothers to stop and ask you something.
"I've never seen you around before.” A strange looking boy approaches, friendly and unassuming but not entirely cheerful “Did you just move here?"
You keep quiet, closing your eyes and hoping your lack of response is enough to push him away. Your hope fizzles out when you hear the swing creak as he sits besides you.
"I'm Umemiya Hajime. I live close by." His voice is airy and causal. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day.”
"Fuck off," You reply bluntly, frowning. “I don’t need sympathy. Leave me the hell alone.”
He pauses before pushing himself slightly forward to barely swing.
“I couldn’t leave you alone while you’re sad,” He voices willfully. "It might make you feel better to talk about it."
In disbelief at his response, you finally look up and asses him properly. It doesn’t do much to change your initial unfavorable impression. White hair, blue eyes and a little taller than you. You’re definitely about the same age. All of that to say, there’s something weird about him that you can’t quite place.
Despite his manner and way of speaking though, you don’t actually think he’s that weak which makes his whole aura even more unnerving to you. His attempt at being non-threatening doesn’t work for him. He’s being a real try-hard about trying to make you comfortable…
Either way, he’s got an air about him that puts you on the defensive.
Talking to someone about it had never been much of any option, and somehow it pisses you off that he’s being so brazen about it.
Maybe if you tell him about, he’ll stop prying into your business. Or maybe you’re just looking for excuses to let off steam.
You don't care anymore. You wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve.
"I don't live here and I didn’t move. I ran away." You reply.
He keeps looking at you, curious, inquisitive and sympathetic.
"Why?"
"I broke a girls nose." You scowl. The words rise up in your throat like bile. Make you feel cornered. The wounds too fresh. "It—she bullied me for years for one. And I never fought back, it was all petty bullshit anyway and I didn't like getting calls home. I didn't care about that but she—it wasn't for nothing. She was causing trouble for Sensei."
Umemiya keeps to himself, humming in response to your troubles. Your voice breaks on your next sentence, chest tightening.
"It doesn't matter what she does to me but—" Your hands ball up at your first. Your throat feels thick, eyes suddenly watering as your chest throbs . "Anyway, I couldn’t let it go like normal."
He hums. "So you hit her?"
You shake your head, sniffling. "Not at first. Just told her to shut up. Said that she didn't know what she was talking about. She hit me first..." You screw your eyes shut, sighing. "...said she was gonna spread rumors about him just trying to get under my skin and be malicious,” You lean back slightly and look up towards the gray sky. “I punched her after that."
You realize he's looking at your bloodied knuckles, but he isn't making an expression that you can read easily. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to someone like this who wasn’t Tsukimori-sensei.
"Are you crying because you got in trouble?"
“Who cares about that?” You sigh “Sensei had to put his job on the line and take responsibility for me,” Your brow furrows in frustration. “He’s the one person I don’t want to cause trouble for,” You grip the iron chains of the swing set with a closed fist and finally admit what you’ve been avoiding to say out loud. “I don’t want him to hate me…”
The kid besides you smiles absently at your words. Half-way between listening and recalling something else, it seems like. You can’t help but wonder what the hell his deal is. You barely know him but you’re spilling your guts.
He speaks after a long while. "I don't think he sees it that way. I think you should try to talk to him about it."
You make a face, rejecting the idea. "What? No way."
Umemiya shrugs, smiling - though it doesn't quite meet his eyes.
"He sounds like he cares about you. If he knew your reasons, there's no way he would hold it against you. And it’s important to share your burdens with people who care for you." You look over and see him smiling somberly at the mulch beneath his shoes before returning back to what you’ve grown to know as his usual self. "Anyways, I think we should be friends. Tell me your name."
You sniffle again. What a weird guy. Well you say that but
You still give him your name.
"What a pretty name,"
When you tell him to shut up again, your new friend Umemiya just laughs.
And you find you feel just a little bit lighter.)
That night, Umemiya walked with you to take the last train and told you to come see him again with good news.
You aren't sure what compelled you to follow his advice. Maybe because he was the first person who sat down and listened to you about it other than Sensei himself.
Tsukimori-sensei was your school counselor and the only adult in your entire life that seemed to worry about. You didn't have any friends in middle school and you were a scary looking delinquent girl without a mother and a mostly absent father.
But Sensei was always incredible gentle to you and incredibly kind. And despite what rumors that girl tried to spread - he was never anything more than an important mentor.
It was fucking embarrassing crying in front of him but because you were honest - you got to keep in touch with him. He attended your middle school and high school graduation - supporting you as you started to sort your life out. Became the closest thing you ever really got to a parental figure.
Over time, you got close with Umemiya and developed strong loyalty to him. You attended an all-girls middle and high school the next town over - totaling one other friend in all six years of your remaining education. Lack of socialization meant that Umemiya somewhat became the very center of your existence.
It was easy to visit him thanks to parental neglect. You sort of melted into his life. Tsubaki once called you his guard dog as a half-joke, but there's some truth to the sentiment. Quick to defend, quick to heel, and always happy to see him.
You, like many people, owe Umemiya a lot. His meddling over the course of ten years gave you reason to push forward. He even encouraged you to try and attend school and not give up on living a half-decent life.
You've got a never-ending list of short-comings but being with him didn't make you hate yourself. It made you want to be better because you knew Umemiya would accept you for whoever you decided to be.
So despite your delinquency, you managed to graduate high school. Post-graduation, you attended a vocational culinary school and became a patisserie before moving to Furin for permanent residency. You opened a bakery and supply bread to Kotoha-chans diner.
You made something of your life mostly 'cause of Umemiya. He's not your only friend anymore but he's still your best. Even though you never really pictured things like dating or romance - in some way it only makes sense that it'd be that meddling, kind-hearted idiot that you end up falling for it.
Lovesickness aside, you respect Umemiya more than anyone in your personal life.
He’s stuck around with someone like you this long after all. That means a lot to you.
Somehow the two of you mesh well despite being totally opposite.
You decided as soon as you realized it sometime in high school that you'd keep your feelings a secret for the rest of your life. You had a strong resolve in your beliefs about the whole thing which made it easy. You hid 'em so well even Sakura's stupid accurate romance detector didn't uncover them.
When you picture Umemiya's future - it was easy to picture the kind of woman he would end up with. Another kind-hearted idiot like him, a social butterfly. Someone a little softer.
In any case it definitely was not you. You didn't need it to be. You've received so much from him already, you never entertained the idea. Plus, Umemiya has dated other people over the years, so in your head there was never any hope to cling onto.
For all reasons listed above, a requited romance is at the very bottom of your expectations.
That's why you've been in this fucking conundrum.
To say it was a complete shock to you when Umemiya openly confessed to you many months ago would be understatement of the goddamn century.
He confessed right on the last day of Spring, totally out of the blue.
(It’s a little unusual for Umemiya to call you at this hour. If it were anyone else, you’d be a little upset since you’ve gotta be up around four-am to get prepared for the day.
It’s him though so you’re particularly tolerant, yawning as you find Umemiya on a familiar swing-set, still wearing your PJ’s.
"Why am I out here in the middle of the night with you?"
Your words lack any real malice as you sit down. Umemiya remains totally quiet. It's unusual for him to not immediately go on a tangent upon seeing you.
"Oi. Earth to Hajime." You frown at him. "Did ya get beat up before coming here and scramble your brain? Give me the popsicle before it melts."
He looks over at you and chuckles as he hands you the bag from the convenience store. You ignore his odd behavior and open up said popsicle before it melts - carefully splitting it down the middle and giving him the bigger side before going to town on your own. He takes it from you but doesn't even bring it up to his mouth.
Weird.
"Did something... happen? Like seriously happen?" You take a long lick of your iced treat. It's melon flavored, your favorite. "Seeing you frown doesn't feel right. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."
He cracks a little smile at that. It makes you feel better. He shakes his head.
"Mm, nothing happened. I just have something I want to tell you."
You nod in understanding. "'kay. Take your time."
He blinks, surprised.
"Hm? Aren't you gonna scold me for wasting your time?"
"Nah. Whatever it is must be serious if it's making you all introspective or whatever. 's fine. Bring me coffee tomorrow and I'll forgive ya."
His lip twitches up. "I l really like that about you."
You feel yourself flush and wave a hand at him. "Ahh, shut up."
He pauses for a second then shakes his head. "Mm. It's more like I like everything about you, actually."
You twist your face in confusion. "What are you on about now?"
"That's what I came here to tell you." Umemiya says after a deep breath. He says it so casually you wonder if you're mishearing him - leaning back to look up at the stars. "I really, really like you. I just felt like I had to tell you that"
You stare at him in disbelief.
"Wha—huh?"
He doesn't even flinch as he repeats it.
"I like you."
"No the hell you don't."
He furrows his brow with a light laugh. "I just told you that I do, silly."
"But that's—" You don't say the word impossible. You really want too, but you know exactly how he would react if you did. You simply shake your head. "No, you don't."
"I thought you might respond like this so don't worry but how about you?" He shrugs then looks at you intently. "I thought you might like me too."
Your eyes go wide. Oh fuck.
You feel like a deer caught in headlights. You know you should be happy about this, deep down. That'd be the normal response.
But you just feel complicated as shit instead. Fuck does he mean? Umemiya.... likes you? There's just no way that's true. Not after all of this time. And how the fuck does he know you like him back when you've been keeping it in?
You can't bring yourself to look him in the face and lie. Your heart rises to your throat as you shakily stand to your feet.
"Stop...thinking whatever you've been thinking. I'm going home." You reply in complete panic.
The minute you say it, you turn on your heel so you don't have to look at his face. You don’t even want to know.
And before Umemiya can catch you and try to talk it out, you bolt.
What the fuck was that?)
For the last few months, you've been avoiding the topic of conversation as much as you humanly can.
The possibility of Umemiya even just accepting your feelings was already far beyond your imagination, but him returning them? Confessing first? That wasn't even in your realm of possibility.
Ever since then, you've been losing your mind trying to force your life and train of thought to go back to normal. You’ve done all of the math on it.
Realistically, you can't ignore him. Your lives are so mixed together it'd be impossible unless you went under protection and changed your name which you briefly considered. You thought of turning him down but you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to actually do it despite how good you are at keeping it in. Either way, your best option logistically is feigning ignorance and trying to keep the whole thing out of your mind entirely which should've been easy.
Tricking yourself into believing the whole thing was a dream? Lightwork.
Except. Except.
Umemiya just won't give up.
He confesses to you again every single day. Worse, he doesn't care whose around to hear him. No one in your friend group seems even the tiniest bit shocked by it which doesn't help the situation. You can't get used to it, can't get used to him being so fucking cheeky as he stops you midway through normal conversation to tell you he loves you.
He's persistent to a fault and while you've done well feigning immunity - you can't survive like this.
You've graduated to tell him to go away and treating the whole thing like some big joke.
But honestly?
You're avoiding having a proper conversation about it. Umemiya is especially keen in not letting you forget that. And determined to make you confess.
But you're not going to to let him sway you.
You've got principles, after all.
__
After you close up shop on Friday, you get dressed to attend a kickback with all of your friends.
It's a barbecue technically - commemorating the end of summer. Togame is really into grilling and in their weird domestic partnership, Chouji really enjoys hosting. They've done this once or twice a year ever since they started living together.
Once you've finished cleaning up the store, you take the train to Kotoha's place - mistakenly assuming you'd leave as soon as you got there. However you failed to realize that Tsubaki and Kotoha would be getting ready together.
You got jumped as soon as you walked through the door - so now you're wearing a different pair of clothes that Tsuabki got for you and waiting for them to finish getting you dressed up so you can leave.
Tsuabkino is inches from your face while Kotoha braids your hair. You feel itchy and exposed but with both of them here there's no way you're going to get out of wearing it.
"Can we just go?" You grumble, not enjoying the feeling of being poked and prodded.
"No," Tsubaki insists, frown making her expression pinch. "You have half an eyelash on. Sit still."
"He'll be happy to see you dressed up," Kotoha adds, trying to encourage you. You frown and look down.
"Whatever. I don't care about makin' him happy."
The both of them pause and stare at you until you fold under the pressure - screwing your eyes shut and making you flush.
“Such a blatant lie.”
Tsubaki giggles. “Right?”
Your face feels hot. "Ahhh, alright already. Shut up."
"Honest girls are much cuter," Tsubaki coos. You give her a half-assed glare.
"Don't you like Hajime? Why're you trying to set me up with him still?" You mumble. You always think they’d make a perfect pair.
"Of course I like him. He's my prince." She smiles at you. “But it’s a little different to how a certain someone loves him. And well, if you knew the way he looked at you…"
You frown, feeling hot all the way up to your ears as you ball your fists up and look down at your lap. "Whatever."
"You should stop trying to worm your way out of it," Kotoha adds, much less sweetly. "You know how he is. He couldn't give up on you for ten years like some idiot."
You blink. "Huh? But ten years would mean -"
Kotoha braids your hair even tighter making you wince. "I know. You're both stupid like that."
"Don't be mean, Kotoha-chan. And you, be a little more honest, okay?"
You sigh deeply.
"Ain't like anything is gonna happen either way. I already told you both I'm not accepting his confession,"
"Cause you're a huge wuss, yeah we know."
You elbow Kotoha lightly.
"Maybe nothing will," Tsubaki hums mischievously. "But it feels nice to dress up for him, right?"
You pretend the thought doesn't make your hear flutter.
Tsubaki does you the kindness of laughing lightly before moving on.
__
You arrive to the function an hour later than planned and stick mostly with Kotoha and Tsubaki until half way through the evening.
Loosening up with a few drinks, the three of you part ways to catch-up with different people. It's not rare you see them, but it's not often everyones schedules allow them to be in the same place.
Lucky for you, Umemiya does you the courtesy of not confessing during the first half of the night before food comes out.
(Though you do spit beer in his face after he calls you pretty, which he takes on the chin after cleaning up.)
After dinner, the function simmers down significantly. People quietly break off into groups and chat to each other into the late night. About that time people split whatever desserts they brought among guests.
You brought cookies and something specifically for Chouji and Togame as thanks for hosting.
Towards the end of the night, you find yourself sticking sort of close to Umemiya. Though he's having his own one-on-one conversation with Hiragi while sitting next to you , turned the other way.
You busy yourself catching up to Suo, Sakura and Nirei - all of whom you consider yourself close to.
Of them, you're the closest to Nirei which always surprises people.
The kids a total wimp but he helped you years ago study to graduate so you're a little closer to him than everyone else. He's a great guy though and you hang out alone sometimes too.
The conversations gone far left at this point in the evening.
Suo leans back against his chair and looks toward Sakura besides him with a lazy smile.
"Sakura-chan would make a great wife."
You snort listening to them bicker. Sakura grows beet red, throwing an empty beer can at Suo's head that he catches gracefully.
"Go die."
"What? You're good at domestic work and you have a cute side, Isn't that all you need?"
"Shut up. I'll kill you."
As Suo breaks out into laughs, Sugishita comes down from the kitchen just in time to catch the argument. He crinkles his nose up.
"Oh, Sugishita-kun. 'Sup."
He nods to your greeting as he leans against the wood railing of the outdoor deck.
"What the hell are you two talking about?"
'What? You mean about Sakura being a good wife?" Suo asks. Sugishita crinkles his nose.
"Don't phrase it so repugnantly but yeah I guess."
"We were talking about marriage 'cause I was complaining at work."
"What's happening at work?"
Nirei sighs as he lays it out again to Sugishita after having given the spiel to the three of you once.
"One of my superiors at work is a lot older than me and keeps bringing up marriage," Nirei explains woefully. "It's all he talks about. He thinks I'm seeing someone."
Sugishita frowns. "Eh? What gave him that impression?"
A good question you hadn't considered asking.
You raise your brow at Nirei who laughs awkwardly while he holds your gaze.
"You know that picture of us from highschool? When he came to the cafe at your school festival?"
You smile spitefully, crinkling your nose in faux distaste. "The one wear we wearing those stupid maid costumes?"
"Yup. That's the one. It's a good picture of us so I keep it on my desk and he saw it so..."
"You keep a picture of just the two of you on your desk? No wonder he got that impression.” Suo adds.
You sense Umemiya suddenly tense which you find weird. He's still talking to Hiragi though when you glance from the corner of your eye. You brush it off.
Nirei blushes, elbowing him.
"Shut up. I've got group pictures and stuff too. But he just singled out that one cause you know,"
You nod in understanding before it dawns on you. Your eyes widen. "Oh, shit? Does that old man think you're dating me?"
Nirei closes his eyes and sighs. "He won't even let me correct him."
You pause before breaking out into genuine laughter.
"Pfft, that's terrible." You reply sympathetically, taking a sip of your beer before giving a mischievous grin. "Maybe you can make it work for you though, eh? Tell 'em we got hitched forreal and then I'll call you on the phone and nag you to get home for dinner so you can leave earlier."
Nirei acts like he's touched making you laugh even harder. "You'd do that for me?"
You give him another toothy grin. "I'll even help you fake some wedding photos. We'll be accomplices." You lean back with a shrug. "You gotta wear the dress though."
Sugishita laughs at that. "You being a blushing bride is a little..."
You snort, shooting him a dirty look "Shut up."
"Deal. Not a bad plan honestly." Nirei says with a sigh. "Whatever gets me out of the office early."
"Even if that means being married to me?" You joke.
He smiles at you. "Aw, what do you mean? That's the best part."
You chuckle at him good-natuedly and the conversation quickly moves on.
The alcohol is starting to make you dizzy so you eventually tune out as the four of them talk, glancing at Umemiya from the corner of your eye.
You swear you catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking.
__
For the rest of the night, Umemiya is off.
No one else can tell. You know that because the atmosphere remains light until everyone leaves around two-am. There's no blips or tension, no awkward pauses.
But you know Umemiya. He's been real weird all night and it's bugging the shit out of you.
It's a well past two now, and you've just left the late night cab you took with him. Umemiya lives close so he's walking you home.
He's usually energetic after a get-together like that so his dead silence is weirding you out. You're pretty good at figuring his feelings out but for once you feel totally clueless.
It feels as if even the cicadas and crickets have gone to sleep. There's nothing bu the streetlights overhead and soft glow of the moon, coupled with the soft click of your shoes on the pavement. Occasionally, a car will pass by.
At one point, it becomes too much. There's still a few minutes until you're home.
You stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn around to look at him. Umemiya pauses, startled as he stops with you, and doesn't smile which only makes your concern worsen.
"Oi. What's up with you?"
"Hm?"
You cross your arms over your chest.
"Don't 'hm' me. You've been in a bad mood few for the last few hours. It's gonna bug me all night if I don't ask, so what's up?"
He stares at you.
"You noticed?"
"How could I not notice?"
"I was hiding it pretty well, I thought." He states more than asks, half-smile on his face.
"Yeah. But well," You shrug. "I'm always looking at you for better or for worse. So. What's wrong?"
He stares at you a long time before sighing, running his fingers through his hair. You've never seen him like this. You've seen him pissed off before, seen him mildly irritated - but never this... pouty? It's not like he's pissed.
He's quiet, taking a deep breath of cool night air before sliding his hands into his pockets and taking a good look at your face.
"Do you know that I like you?"
Your eyes widen as you blink wildly.
This is what he wants to talk about?
He pins you down with his stare, hands in his pockets and intense as ever.
"Don't even think about bolting this time, okay? I'm asking you seriously. Do you?"
Your eyes flicker down the concrete - feeling extremely uncomfortable and suddenly sweaty. You shrug, unsure of what else you could say or do.
"Hard not to know." You mumble. "You tell me everyday."
"But do you get it?"
Your frown deepens.
"Of course not. How could I possibly get something like that, stupid?"
He takes a deep breath. "But you like me, don't you?"
Panic sets in. If you could sink straight into the Earth you would.
"...Never said that."
He calls your name quietly. "Look at me, at least. Stop running away from me and just look."
You know you're being stubborn but you can't help it. You've kept it a secret for ten years and all of a sudden he wants you to tell him you like him? You've held it in for so long already and he's telling you not to run away.What other choice is there?
One wrong move move and everything will come crashing down inside of you. You can't even lie about it either.
Damn it.
"I won't look." Your voice is warbly and it makes you feel so pathetic you could die, tucking your chin petulantly "Don't wanna,"
Umemiya frowns at you.
"If you say you don't like me I'll let it go."
You remain very quiet and close your eyes tighter. He sighs softly, making your chest hurt.
After a minute, you muster up the courage to be dishonest - determined to drop it at all costs. You're slow as you pick your head up.
"I don't like you," You repeat slowly, carefully - trying not to stumble the words. "So quit it, alright?"
He laughs humorlessly and holds your gaze.
"That's the first time you've ever actually lied to me. You're terrible at it,"
"I'm not lying." You snap. Umemiya smiles somberly when he sees tears on the corners of your eyes. He steps closer to you. You freeze. When his hand reaches cups your cheek, you feel your legs lose all their strength and close your eyes. You're terrified to even look at him, not wanting him to see what you know is obvious on your face.
He wipes them as he tilts your face towards him slowly.
"Tell me, at least. If you're going to refuse me, don't I deserve to know why? Do you hate the idea of dating me that much?"
You shake your head. "Stupid. How would anyone hate that?"
"So I deserve to know why you're turning me down."
A long moment of silence draws you out of your feelings. You guess that's fair enough. Maybe this way he'll leave you alone - as long you're clear about your reasons. He’s the earnest type after all.
You manage to suck up all your tears and clear your throat enough to give him an explanation.
You step back a little from him, putting some distance between you as you stare down at the sidewalk.
"You know... I respect ya more than anyone else. You've always been someone I admire. And I uh, owe you a lot. So I only want the very best for you and all." You scratch your neck, taking a deep sigh. "For me... regardless of my feelings, I want you to be with someone who really fits, you know? Well put-together and everything. Someone that suits you better"
He pauses before frowning.
"Regardless of your feelings? Does that mean you were willingly pushing them aside?" He says distraught. "For how long?"
You shrug, trying to lighten the conversation. It’s too devastating otherwise. "About ten years, give or take."
The sheer distress in his face makes you want to keep talking, just he doesn’t look so disheartened. Like some explanation will clear things up.
"It ain't a bad thing, Hajime. You've given me a lot and I'm serious when I say I want the best for you. I love you, if that's what you wanna hear. I'm content just being besides you as your friend." You say with a shrug. "I can be kinda selfish but there's a limit to my greed,yknow."
He looks like he's in shock.
"Wanting someone to love you back isn't greedy or selfish."
You find you don't have anything to say with that, but hope he drops it for the time being.
Umemiya stares at you seriously. It makes your breath hitch meeting his eyes, blue with all the depth in the world. You feel like you can't pull yourself from his gaze.
"And there was never a possibility? Not once that I could've liked you? That I wanted to be with you?"
"It doesn't matter." You say. "And no, it never crossed my mind.."
"Stop saying it doesn't matter. Of course it matters. Your feelings matter the most so don't toss them aside so easily. Do you really believe that you're not right for me?"
You aren’t sure how to answer him.
"You think you're not good enough for me." He says with some realization more than asks.
It's the first time you see his face change. When you look up, he looks well and truly angry. The whole thing is confusing.
"I'm sorry," You say. It’s such a timid thing to say but you don’t know how else to fix.
"It's not—I just don't like hearing you talk about yourself like that. I don't like hearing someone I love get spoken about like that.”
You ignore the sentiment again and wait in the quiet. You always thought this would be an easier conversation to have but it hurts.
He sighs a bit, getting closer to you again. He’s less upset than before but there’s something else in his expression.
"You wanted to know why I was upset earlier right? It's because of you and Nirei-kun." He admits.
"What about him?"
"You talked about marrying him so casually. I overheard and it bothered me all night."
Your eyes go wide.
"I—it wasn't serious."
"I know that. I never thought I was that childish either but you being married to someone else as a joke." He laughs humorlessly. "I really hated it. That’s why I asked if you know how much I like you."
You feel frozen in place by his admission.
Umemiya steps towards you faster than you can muster up a counter for why he shouldn’t bother.
His arms around you feel sudden. His grip on you is so tight, like you could slip through his arms all at once if he loosens it. He smells like cologne and beer and summer but it's not unpleasant. He rests his chin on your head and lets out a deep breath.
Your chest is throbbing for different reasons now. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"If you won't be greedy, then you should at least let me be." He lets out a long, tense breath "At least let me have what I want."
You're stuck. Your mouth moves faster than your brain.
"Why me? And why now?"
Umemiya pulls away to stare down at you. You can't bring yourself to turn away from him.
"It was always you. I felt guilty... for wanting to you that way when you were a precious friend. Wanting to treat you delicately when you were strong and proud." He admits. Hearing him say that out loud embarrasses you to no end, “But it was those things that made me love you. Strong yet clumsy. Prideful yet honest. Awkward yet trying to be gentle. Loyal. And always considerate of everyone. Of me, when I was taking care of everyone else."
Your stomach feels like it's going to erupt. You're losing your resolve faster than you know how to mend it.
"Stop saying stuff like that."
Umemiya holds you tighter and shakes his head. "No. How else will I get you to change your mind?"
"I won't change my mind." You say stubbornly.
"I love you." He repeats.
You squirm.
"Stop it,"
"I want to be with you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you. I want to stay by your side forever. I want to do things with you and make you feel good. I want to make you smile. I want to grow old with you."
Your hearts fluttering. Fuck.
"Idiot. What are you saying? Let me go."
"It has to be you for me. I won't have anyone else no matter what you think. The person I love is you. I love you."
"Hajime." Your voice is shaking.
His drops down to a whisper.
“I can’t change how you think of yourself overnight but I can tell you that there’s no point in trying to push me away. Whether or not you accept me, we’ll never stop being side by side - so please stop fighting it.”
You put your hands on his chest, trying to push him away. “Stop it,”
"Please tell me it's okay to love you how I want too," He says, soft and doting while he crushes you in his arms. "And please love me in return."
You put your hands up to your misty eyes wanting to wipe them away as he melts through the rest of your resolve like it's nothing. It's hard not to be moved. You've been pretending for ten long years that you don't love him at all and he's declaring his love for you like it's the easiest, most sensible and sane thing in the world.
A kind-hearted, willful, meddling idiot. How you are you supposed to push him away when he's holding you this tight?
"Shit," You voice, huffing as your voice shakes. "Don’t be stupid, alright? If you’re so insistent, I wont let you back out if you meet someone else."
He laughs wetly.
"I already tried meeting other people, but it's still you. Always was."
He smiles above you. 6'2 with watery eyes with the look of pure relief like it's the best news he's ever heard in his life. It's too much for you. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if you're gonna die.
"Can I kiss you?" He asks.
Your eyes go wide as you look away, not wanting to look too eager. "That's..."
He makes another puppy-dog kinda face. "Please?"
You're embarrassed by how easy it makes you give in. "...Do whatever you want."
He laughs bright and warm as his hands slide up to cup your cheeks and kiss you with all the passion he can muster. It's intense, almost suffocating the way he slots his lips against yours and breathes you in. He doesn't let you up from it, doesn't part from you for a second even when he pulls away - noses brushing and stealing the air from your lungs.
It's your stupid first kiss and it's perfect - so perfect you wonder if you're going to wake up in a dream. He kisses you hard and makes you stand on your toes to chase his lips when he pulls back. Elated. Ecstatic when you grasp the front of his shirt and keep kissing him when he stops.
He pauses before littering your whole face with pecks even as you weakly protest, unable to stop frowning but feeling the happiest you've ever been.
There's so much longing in between you, you feel like you could die. You feel helpless.
"Can I come home with you?" He asks, once he stops - only holding your hand a short distance away. "I want more time together."
You feel your skin burn hot as you nod, all while trying not to read too much into it.
"Yeah."
__
You barely get to lock your door behind you before Umemiya crowds you in the door way.
His arms circle around your waist, chin resting against your shoulder.. Broad chest against your back, you try not to flounder as his warm voice caresses your ear.
You're going to die young if he keeps this up.
"I love you,"
You flush. "Enough already. And let me go so I can wash up."
"Do you need to sleep early? Thought you were closed tomorrow. Wanted to talk a little longer."
You pause.
"...Sleep?"
"Hm?"
You both freeze as the miscommunication dawns at the same time. You try to pull away from him as soon as you realize, skin burning hot. You're quick but Umemiya is quicker.
"Hajime." You say gravely. "If you don't let me go, I'm gonna kill you."
"No way," He laughs as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. "Is that why you let me in? Were you expecting something?"
"Shut up! Don't say anything, I swear I'll —"
"Don't be like that, baby. I'm not making fun of you. Hey, turn around. Look at me."
You're upset but you think the reason is more embarrassing then the feeling.
"Don't wanna,"
Umemiya laughs as he gently turns you around to face him. In your utter mortification, you can barely bring yourself to meet his gaze.
"Stop staring."
He doesn't.
"Do you normally invite guys in just 'cause they ask?"
"Wha—no! It's because it's you, stupid!"
He smiles in satisfaction.
"You shouldn't say yes so easily even if it is me. What if I took advantage of you?"
You think he's just being smug for the sake of it, which is pissing you off. You grab him by the front of his shirt.
"Fuck off. Maybe there's a reason I said yes."
He pauses before his eyes widen. You push your hand against his mouth before he blurt anything else out but he's quick to pry your hand away.
"Don't say it." You hiss.
"I was planning on taking my time. I cherish you and I want to make sure you know that. I'm just a little surprised you’re moving so quick when you were telling me not too long ago."
You can feel the tips of your ears growing hot, feeling even more self-conscious. "Whatever. If we're just going to sleep I still need to wash up."
He keeps his arms behind your back so you can’t move.
"Hey. Didn't say that. It's not like I don't want to do it with you. Just don't want you to regret anything."
You give him an flat look. "I was prepared to give you my virginity and you're worrying about that. Unless you're planning on backing out, there's no way I would."
"Your—" His jaw drops a little.
You drop your voice down just a little close as you grab his collar.
"If you get it, then hurry up and fuck me. Stupid Hajime."
He gives you the dopiest smile you've ever seen while your face grows increasingly hot, leaning to in to press a kiss to your lips. He brushes his nose with yours. Laughter from deep in his chest.
"Yes, ma'am."
__
Once you give Umemiya permission to have you, you get the feeling that there really is no going back from here.
You both know it. The tension in your bedroom is so thick you can barely breathe around it.
Umemiya lands gently onto your bed - sitting up as he holds you by your waist and pulls you over to him. You're so aware of his touch it makes your nerves feel they're on fire. You're not a total virgin - at least not enough to be feeling this worked up over someones hands lingering on your waist.
But they're Umemiya's hands—Hajime's hands, so you can't rationalize your thoughts of out it. His hands are strong and big, a little calloused and rough from the gardening and fighting. You can feel how much he adores you in a gesture so small it makes you concerned for your own heart thinking about how the rest of the night will go.
He invites you into his lap gently, so pleased by the way you go to him so willingly. You spread yourself over him with your knees on either side of his thighs. He's big - wide and broad.
Your barely hovering over his bulge as you lean your weight onto him. His hand barely brushes underneath your top, just barely touching the skin.
You shiver.
"Are you really sure this is what you want?" He asks. "I don't mind waiting as long as you need,"
You give him an bored look. "Not very convincing when you're makin' a face like that,"
He chuckles nervously. "That bad?"
You nod before adding a little bashfully. "Dunno if I mind, though."
He buries his fact against your chest all of a sudden making you jump.
"The hell?"
"You're so cute when you're honest like that," He mumbles into your chest, cheek pressed against your tits.
"Jeez, shut up. What're you talking about?"
Umemiya pulls back and leans forward - enough to breach the inches of space between you. Nose to nose, your eyes meet. A bated breath, you put your hand on his shoulders and work up the nerve to kiss him.
It's chaste. Mostly for you to break the ice otherwise you're sure you're gonna pussy out.
He smiles at you when you pull away.
"See what I mean? So cute," He hums, and leans in again. "Come on. Kiss me again."
Something about him is different when he tells you to kiss him. It's not smug or cheeky. But it's not casual either. Softness tinges his words, his touch - his whole demeanor screams like he loves you absolutely. It makes your heart rate pick up again, hands shaky as you try not to lose your nerve.
He's restraining himself though. How he intense he could be vs how soft and calm he is being. You know Umemiya like the back of your hand so you want him to do what he wants. It's hard to find your voice.
"You don't have to.." You cast your eyes down in embarrassment. "…hold back with me, either. I'm not some maiden."
He smiles at you a little. "You really do know me better than anyone, huh? I was keeping it together pretty well."
"Look I know I’m kinda difficult…I'm not real good with stuff like this either," You fidget with the collar of his shirt with your free hand. "But once I say yes I don’t back out. So don't worry about scaring me off or putting too much pressure on me or whatever. ...'s fine to just do what you feel like. I’m scared out of my mind but I wouldn’t do that to you,"
“Don’t know how long it’ll take but I’ll do my best to make you feel secure. Might take some time but we’ve got our whole lives.” You flush at the implication. He smiles a little. "Whatever I want seems like a lot to give, though."
"Well...depending on what, I'm might not be good at it,"
He shakes his head. "I don't want anything like that."
"What do you want then?"
"You." He says easily. Your stomach flips. "All of you. I just want to make you feel so good you can't stand it. Want to worship you top to bottom. There's not a single part of you I don't want."
You flush. "The hell... I meant like a blowjob or some shit."
He laughs. "I know. And I want that too, another time." He hums, taking a deep breath. "Right now I just want you to feel so good for me. Is that okay?"
You can't look at him. You can barely stand how bashful you're being, but you can't even play coy. Something in you is bursting at the seams.
You love him so much you don't recognize yourself, or your voice, or how you're acting. It makes you sick but you can’t do anything but go with it. "Yeah. 's okay, if it's what you want."
"It is," He says, leaning in. "All I've ever wanted."
You ignore the latter half of his comment as he finally goes to kiss you again.
He pulls your body close to him as you do. Until your chest to chest, arms wrapped around the span of his shoulders as you press your lips together soft and slow.
He slides a hand underneath your top, undoing the clasp of your bra. He lets his palm stay on the center of your back while you keep kissing - straps of your bra falling down your shoulder as he splays his fingers to feel more of your skin and hold you. Hugging you close to him, his other arm wraps around your torso. His forearms feels especially strong they way they hold you by the waist.
You're so close to him. Kissing him so deep, his tongue sliding against your lips. Something about the kiss is languid but the touch is so hot it makes your skin burn. You feel wrapped up in him, can't even tell whose heartbeat you're hearing.
More of your weight ends up in his lap as you feel your knees go weak. Something hard presses against your clothed cunt and you gasp a little into his mouth.
"Oh, shit." You mumble in surprise. Umemiya laughs.
"You're making me feel good." He hums.
Your face heats up. "I barely did anything."
"You just being on my lap is more than enough."
You make a face at him before rubbing yourself over the zipper of his jeans, slow and deliberate trying to get a feel for it. You hear him moan, nearly jumping out of your skin in surprise.
The way Umemiya moans is a lot for you to process. Breathy and a little low. It resonates through your whole body like a caress.
You make a few more tentative passes over his bulge, just to hear him do it again. Driven by your instinct more than anything, you lean into kiss at his jaw - making use of the limited experience you do have to try and draw more sounds from him.
"What're you thinking about?" He asks, still breathless. Maybe amused.
"Like the way you sound." You mumble in reply.
"I thought I told you I wanted to take care of you, hm?"
You frown. "So what? I can't touch you at all?"
He thinks on it. "You can touch me everywhere else and you can have your way with me later, if you want it. I don't wanna cum too fast."
"I'm just..."
He shakes his head. "You're underestimating me. I'm still a guy, you know? With a woman I love at that. There's no way I would make it through our first time if I didn't focus on you. Don't pout,"
Hearing him describe you in such an embarrassing way makes you flush. You roll your eyes half-heartedly. "Fine, whatever."
He smiles.
"Good girl. C'mere. Lay down."
You decide not to think about how effected the praise makes you as you comply.
Umemiya lays you down carefully, making sure you're comfortable before hovering over you. He looks a lot more imposing from this view - the dim lights of your room making his face seem more well-defined. Your nipples harden in arousal, peeking from underneath your shirt as he stares long and hard.
"You're so beautiful to me."
He leans down and presses a hot kiss to your jaw, just underneath your ear before slowly kissing down your neck. Open-mouthed kisses along delicate skin, tongue sliding over every patch he scrapes lightly with his teeth. You fidget underneath him, a dull throbbing between your legs. You try to figure out what to do with your hands but you’re too nervous.
He kisses your throat where it's extra sensitive and you bite back and involuntary noise.
"Don't hold your voice, please?"
"It's embarrassing,"
"It's not," He assures, bumping his forehead to your shoulder lightly. "I want to know what makes you feel good. Let me pay attention to you."
You frown but nod ultimately.
Umemiya isn't the first sexual encounter you've had in your life. You've done other things, but you've never really gone all the way with anyone. All of your other partners were mostly strangers - people mutually interested in using someone else to try and get off.
This is the first time anyone has taken this much time with you. A little kissing and groping, sometimes touching your chest.
No one's ever touched you like this, though.
His hands feel like they're all over your body no matter where they actually end up being. Makes your heartbeat rain drumming on a tin roof. Makes your stomach tingle, a heat in your calves and a prickly feeling on your back. Your whole being drowning with pure anticipation.
"Take this off for me." Umemiya mumbles. You nod, feeling absent as you wiggle yourself out of your tight little tee and toss it somewhere.
The air shifts again when you're naked. His eyes drink you in, tracing the soft lines and edges of your body. Looking over scars and stretchmarks with pure, blown out wanting that shoots lust straight into your veins.
You want him to fuck you so bad it's killing you but the very thought makes you feel so shy you could die.
"You're beautiful," Sounds dirty the way he says, makes it spill from his lips like wine tipping over a glasses edge. "Perfect. Every inch of you is so perfect."
He proves this to you by kissing you again. Running his hands over your skin. Up against curved sides and down against your arms, brushing the back of your biceps and forearms.
Infatuation in his touch ruins you. Makes your voice let out. You can't think of anyone whose treated you so preciously in your entire life and you find you don't resent it as much as you should.
(You find it feels so good to let someone touch you so kindly. A touch like you're being loved.)
Nonetheless it's embarrassing. Of course it is.
But it's so hard not to feel pulled in when you feel the way he kisses you. Draws a trail with his lips and tongue from jaw to shoulder blade - kissing down your biceps with his hands on your body, taking gentle inhales of your scent.
Anticipation makes your stomach tie in knots but finally he relents. Both hands squeeze the soft weight of your chest, palms brushing your hardened nipples.
"Fuck."
He laughs a little, heavy with want. "Yeah? Do you like being touched here?"
"Mm." Is the best reply you can get out.
He brushes against the tips with his fingers in a feather-light gesture, testing the waters before rubbing with a little more pressure. Your body jolts from the stimulation, wetness pooling and dampening your underwear. He leans in and takes one of your nipples into his mouth making another dull wave of lust wash through you.
And he makes sure to pay attention to both. It's just like him to be so attentive to some shit like that. Your spine arches as he sucks on your sensitive nipples, letting his tongue flick across them and giving into a sweet friction. You buck your hips up against instinctively, gripping onto the sheets as your sense of restlessness grows.
Your voice is whiny to your own ears but you can't calm down to save your life.
"You're taking too long," You huff. He laughs lightly, looking up at you from underneath his lashes.
"Don't be impatient." He tsks.
"It's enough already,"
He shakes his head. "Nope. Still got a long ways to go. Promise you'll have me when you're ready for it, so just try and focus on feeling good."
You make a frustrated sound. "It's embarrassing being the only one feeling good,"
He pauses before standing up on his knees. He takes his black t-shirt off in one swift go until his torso is bare, and undoes the top button of his pants. He gives you a little glance. "Better?"
There are too many layers of that to process in the moment it happens. You mumble. "A little,"
He beams. "Good. Now let me take good care of you,"
Sliding down lower, he kisses you from sternum to navel. Hands gripping at the softness of your sides, smoothing over the bare skin as he his thumb finds the waistband of your skirt. He glances up at you, silently seeking your permission. You nod back at him, watching him slide the short skirt away from your waist.
The sudden air feels cool against your skin. He presses his cheek against your belly, both hands on your hips..
"You're gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than I thought. I feel so lucky being able to touch you when you're this perfect.” He praises endlessly.
You cover your face with your arm.
"Ugh. Quit it. You're sayin' too much."
"Seeing you get so shy when I praise you a little is so cute." He trails his lips down further and further - just above your sex before stopping. "You're so cute."
He sits back, standing up and bending your legs slightly at the knee. You hold the position as you feel him massage your calve. Thumb drawing hard circles in the muscle, slowly working his way up to your knee. He kisses you afterwards trailing the same spot his hands were touching seconds ago before moving onto the other side.
There's nothing you can call it short of worship. The nagging feeling that it's undeserved is washed away each time Umemiya holds your gaze.
Devotion colors every touch no matter how small. And it’s so obvious, so prominent - it feels outright wrong to deny the fact it’s there.
You think the closest thing you can compare it too is the way Umemiya gardens. A patience as his fingers root through earth and soil, a kindness towards delicate things that makes even hours of work under the sun look beautiful and easy. His expression is what's most uncanny - what makes you you feel so hot.
An expression that says he loves doing it from the very bottom of his heart - not even a hint of apathy or complaint.
A face that says he loves every long, drawn out motion and actions of repetition all fro the very core of him.
Having it directed at making love to you so blatantly makes you more aroused than you know what to do with. You don't know how to let yourself be treated like the most cherished flower in Umemiya's garden - and you aren't so sure how you're meant to get used to it no matter how much it makes you feel...nice. You don’t have any other experience.
Which is why you're trying to be patient. Trying to be at least temporarily secure in whatever he sees in you that makes him worship every inch of you, memorizing all your ins and outs.
Umemiya places hot, wet kisses on your inner thigh before laying himself between your spread legs - breath barely hovering over your sex.
By the time he gets there, you feel utterly melted into your sheets. Your mind is hazy, impatient and wanting as strong hands secure your thighs. He's so close.
"I wanna eat you out. Is that okay?"
"If you don't do something soon I'm gonna kill you."
He laughs warmly. "I'll take that as a yes."
You pause. Umemiya waits.
"I didn't uh," You clear your throat. "Wasn't planning on getting laid so y'know. Haven't shaved in a while."
"Were you worried that I'd change my mind? I like it for the record. Feels natural." Umemiya says. "It's your body so there's nothing I would dislike about it."
"You're too much." You reply back in earnest. You cover your face with your arms. "So cheesy."
"I'm being serious." He says suddenly solemn with how sincere he is.
The sudden change is amusing. You pause before breaking into genuine giggles, unable to help yourself.
"You're really somethin', yknow that?"
He's quiet for a long time. Long enough for it to catch your attention, turning your gaze more clearly towards his face. Swiftly, he pushes himself up to catch your mouth in another kiss. It stuns you a bit, very different to all the rest. More teeth and tongue than lip.
"I like you," He murmurs, forehead to yours. "How can someone be so cute?"
"Would you quit embarrassing me and get on with it?"
He smiles. "As you wish,"
Umemiya settles back down between your legs after easing your panties off and putting your feet flat on the bed to give himself more access. You can barely look down at him doing it. His fingers brush the slick hairs back gentle as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy apart and look at you more intimately.
You can feel him. Feel his every breath and movement. He stares at you awestruck. "How is all of you so pretty? Even here it's such a beautiful color."
"Stop looking so much,"
He takes a breath, taking in your scent one more time before pressing a kiss to your clit. You make an attempt to squirm away from his grip as his finger dig into your thighs and hold you down. The strength of it knocks the wind out of you, forcing you into place. Umemiya pushes his tongue and gives you a long, tentative lick through the seam of your cunt.
Your whole body breaks out into shivers at the sensation. The warm weight of his tongue on your sex makes feels like an electric current through water - your toes curling as he makes the same few passes over and over. He collects your pooling arousal on the tip as he drags upwards and flicks your clit tentatively. You grind against his face instinctually, hips chasing the pleasure. Amused laughter vibrates against your core as you do, mumbling at you to be patient while he's still face deep in it.
You let out another pitchy whine before he finally stops teasing. He lays his tongue flat against your clit, cupping it lightly before drawing it around experimentally. He watches carefully as he plays around with pressure and angles - trying to see what makes you react the most. You can feel how closely he's watching you.
You cover your mouth with your hand when he does find it, your voice breaking off as he licks carefully right where you need. He smiles into your cunt as he toys with your with the sensitive bundle of nerves, pleased by the change in your reactions. The obvious pleasure he's making you feel.
Something blooms into your chest. You've never—
"You're—" You close your eyes, hands tangling in the sheets as you break out into a fever. "Ngh, never had someone l-lick me,"
He must've heard you because he seems to laser in his focus the minute you say it. He's lapping at your clit so deep, licking precisely and holding you with nose against your bush.
You reach down tentatively, pushing back the hair falling in his face and he gives you a look so lovesick you want to run away. The pressure changes gradually, more intensely.
It feels better somehow. Makes you feel restless. Your whole body curls in tight with want at the sensation of it, the lower expanse of your belly tensed. You're shaking as you drift closer to the edge, arousal upped by the wet sound of him sucking your clit.
"Hajime," You warn, spine starting to arch as you helplessly try to pull away from the intense sensation. It's not familiar to your body, so much so your mind can barely make sense of what's happening to it, "Cumming—c-cumming!"
Something in you goes undone as Umemiya keeps pace during your orgasm. All the tension inside of you suddenly comes loose - specks of white matter behind closed lids as you screw your eyes shut. Your back curves up into arch, your hips trembling, your insides pulsing. It comes running into you, crashing into your body as waves of pleasure drown out the noise in your head. He eats you out until you feel borderline hysterical.
You feel melted and reshaped by him - yanking him off when he continues to be insistent after you're too oversensitive. He laughs when you pull him away, resting against your thigh as you take worn out heaving breaths.
He kisses the inside of your knee as you calm down, bright smile on his features - painted pink with a slight flush. "You came. I'm so happy."
You look at him in shock. "You're a scary guy."
He pushes up to kiss your temple, voice soft. "Did I scare you?"
Your stomach flutters, tucking your chin. "You were intense, but I didn't... hate it or anything."
"Yeah?" He grins, pressing a few kisses to your cheek and face before whispering against your ear. "Then, is it okay to go farther?"
You nod silently. Umemiya smiles.
He stands up on his knees, pushing his hair back as your eyes are drawn to his pants. You reach out for the waistband of his pants unthinkingly, hooking your finger into it. "Isn't it stuffy?"
He blinks, frozen before rubbing a hand across his face. "Ah a bit, but it's fine."
"Take 'em off. Please?"
Umemiya looks unusually distressed by the request, but follows through without another word. You watch him undress - revealing the tight black fabric of his boxer briefs snug against his waist. Your eyes go wide as you see the outline of his cock - head still half hazy. You voice your unfiltered reaction.
"Your dick is so big,"
He laughs breathlessly. "Are you trying to stir me up? What's with you?" He pauses to lay down besides you. You turn to lay on your side and face him a little better. "You're being cute. I'm not used to seeing you so docile."
"Shaddup," You reply half-heartedly. Your body is still on fire but it knocked the wind of you to cum once already. "Your fault."
He grins, a hint of smugness as he laughs. "That's true."
"You gonna fuck me?"
"Mm, yeah. Gotta open you up first or it'll hurt."
"I've put stuff in before. Toys. Should be fine."
"Still wanna play it safe. It's your precious first time after all."
You make a face before pulling him into you, hugging him tight as your whole body breaks out in a shameful flush. "Then hurry up and do it already."
His arms slide underneath where your laying, holding you to him as he hikes one of your legs up. He slides his free hand in over your leg - his forearm holding your thigh. You press your face to his neck and shoulder - hiding your expression. "Guess I should huh? You were always impatient,"
You can barely tell him to shut up, the way your body waits for it. A warbled little noise leaves your mouth as he slides his middle finger through the sticky folds of your cunt - careful as it catches on your hole. Wet and so aroused, the first finger he puts in goes in completely smoothly with no real effort
Umemiya speaks low and soft as he holds you. "I don't know if I can get used to seeing you like this. I'm glad no one else but me ever wil You’re really all I think about lately," He catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth gently. Your head spins. "People misunderstand you because you're prickly, you know? For a long time, only I knew what it felt like to be liked by you. I liked that,"
"Why are you—mmgh,"
He slides another finger in carefully after the first one slides inside of you with no resistance. His voice is so hot against your skin, the low bass of it in your skull as he speaks so close to your ear.
"Don't get me wrong I'm happy seeing you with so many people surrounding you. But I was a little sad too. And it kept getting worse over the years until I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t figure out why for a long time and then it clicked,” Umemiya explains. You realize half way delirious this is his real confession. God, you’re gonna kill him. “Suddenly it was all I thought about. I wanted to be special to you. I wanted to monopolize you. It was my first time having thoughts like that,”
Another finger slides into you easily. Umemiyas fingers are so much bigger than yours. Thicker than they are long. The stretch is enough to make you gasp.
“Hajime—“
He curls them up, careful until he finds the spot he’s looking for. Your body reacts, another sensation of pressure as his middle finger rubs tenderly against your gspot. You weakly try to wiggle away as he holds you firm.
“I felt a little guilty, too. You’re my very best friend. You’re independent and diligent. Tough. But you know, when I saw you for those few months - all I could think about was how much I wanted to spoil you,” He whispers. Something in your body shifts the way touches you. Pushes in further and further - stretching until it’s easy for him to be inside. “Somehow everything I liked about you became so cute I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t help but want to dote on you over every little thing even though I knew better than anyone you didn’t need something like that.”
Your eyes well up but not necessarily from emotion. Totally overwhelmed. You don’t feel like you’re gonna cum but there’s something else that’s waiting and each time he thrusts his fingers into you it comes a little closer. Your voice is shaking.
“It—fuck, quit talking. Somethings gonna—“
His smile grows a little. It’s the first time it looks so hungry.
“I was happy in general when I realized you liked me too. Even when you were being stubborn, I liked the way you couldn’t turn me away. I liked how happy you looked talking to me as usual as if that alone was something so precious,” He hums, so focused and precise as he stretches you open on a third finger but never once losing his train of thought. Like saying all of these comes to him so easily it doesn’t matter. “I didn’t want to corner you. But it felt like I couldn’t rest until you were mine completely. Which is why I’m being so unfair to you. Why I’m so persistent. ”
Your voice breaks on a whine. “It’s gonna come out—“
“You make a pretty face when your heads filled with nothing but me. I don’t think it’s bad to wanna stay that way,” He hums, almost conversational as he presses a kiss to your skin. “Go on. Let go,”
Something hot sprays between your legs as Umemiya fucks you open on all three of his fingers.
A rush of warm liquid squirts onto your sheets as your legs shake wearily. Umemiya marvels at the mess. Your hands curl into fists, nails digging in your palms as he finally pulls them out - leaving you stretched, almost gaping.
You lay limp in soaked sheets as you pull away from Umemiya with a very weak glare.
He’s smiling at you, dopey and lovesick.
“Too much?”
Angrily, you smack at his bare chest over and over, trying to recover your pride.
“You’re insane. What’s,” You swallow thickly. “What’s with you.”
He shrugs. Wordless, he flips you onto your back again before hovering over top of you. Pressing his forehead to yours, he brushes your noses together and plants a tentative peck on your lips as if trying to gauge whether or not you’re upset. He melts when you kiss him back, smiling happily.
“Were you like this with your other girlfriends? No wonder they broke up with you,”
He laughs. “Mm, no? I was more of a gentleman.”
You break out into another exhausted fit of laughter.
“Pfft, yeah? Guess I’m pretty special,”
“Yeah. You are.” He kisses you again. “Wanna keep going or are you too tired? I don’t mind if we sleep.”
“Stupid. I said it already didn’t I? Hurry up and fuck me.”
“Okay, okay. Let me go get the condom from my wallet,”
You wrap your legs around his waist and stare up at him plainly as he tries to move, keeping him pinned in place. You’re frowning, brows furrowed with a hard glare. He stares at you.
“Did you want something else? Water?”
“Want you to fuck me,” You restate, arms reaching up to circle around his neck. “Just do it already.”
He pulls back to look at you seriously.
“Do you know what you’re asking?”
You flush. “Of course I do. Stupid. Are you trying to get me to say it out loud?”
“I might think I’m deluding myself otherwise.”
You sigh, looking at him flatly as you try to tamp down the part of you that’s screaming to be more tactful.
“Don’t bother with the condom, a-alright? Or pulling out,”
He looks like he’s experiencing the shock of his life. “But…”
“Stop being dumb or I’m never gonna have sex with you again.”
He nods suddenly solemn. “Fine. But,”
You give him another look that silences him. He sighs again, getting the message before kissing your cheek and pull back to sit up on his knees between your legs. Pulling his briefs down, his cock springs free. It looks a lot bigger than you saw underneath the fabric, weighed down from it’s own weight even though it stands up stiff. He opened you up with three but you wonder if it’ll be enough not to stretch you open.
You reach your hand out to touch it tentatively, feeling it’s weight and heft. He clears his throat but seems content to let you. The palms of your hands cup the shaft, feeling all the veins pulse. The tip is sticky with precum. You pull your hand away, another sudden wave of self consciousness overwhelming you.
Umemiya hovers over you again, placing he length of his cock against your pussy. You shift a little feeling it slide against you, hard and hot.
“Gonna put it in now, okay?”
Nodding, you put your legs up. You take a deep breath when the head pushes in, letting out an involuntary noise. You feel well-stretched but the thickness of his cock is still enough to make you feel it in your legs. Umemiya is focused above you, barely sliding the tip through your folds as you open up around him. The air feels punched out of your lungs on just the first inch.
His face is strained is he holds his hips steady, leaning down to tap your foreheads together. “Feeling okay?”
“Mm,” You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Fine. Feels different.”
“Different?”
“Yours is bigger than all the stuff I own,” You explain. “Feels hotter. Harder, too.”
You feel his cock twitch inside of you suddenly, shocking you. He smiles sheepishly.
“Gonna push in a little more, okay?”
You nod, watching as Umemiya so slowly presses his cock into you further. Enough that it doesn’t hurt when you take him, as much as it just feels like something is inside of you. You feel a warm sense of satisfaction at how full you feel. You feel like him like he’s in your stomach, taking up so much space. After a while of pushing, stopping, and going again - he finally bottoms out.
“You feel incredible,” He murmurs, half-smile on his face. Your stomach flutters. “It’s hard not to cum right away. Feels so good inside of you. I love you.”
You feel yourself twitch, frowning at the expression of delight Umemiya has. You put your hand against his fact to keep him away but he kisses your palm and moves it. Bottomed out, he grasps both hands and holds them - pinning them to the bed as you watch him wide-eyed.
“Think you’re used to it?” He hums, clasping your fingers together. “Is it okay if I move?”
You feel so damn bashful. “It’s okay.”
He kisses your forehead. “I’ll go slow.”
As promised, Umemiya pulls out carefully before pushing back into you. You’re so wet that it slides in without any real friction. It takes a few thrusts of him going slowly for your body to get adjusted to the sensation. After a few motions, though - it starts to feel different.
Starts to feel good. Really, really good.
“Oh,” Your eyes flutter open. “Shit. You c-can go faster.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, trying not to seem too eager.
When Umemiya picks up pace, you feel your the whole lower half of your body weaken all over again. Something in your legs, your spine go soft against the bed underneath, a sudden unusual arousal swelling. Somewhere in deeper as he cocks thrusts against your gspot, knocking against it with more force than before. The change in pace coupled with the visual of Umemiya over you, face drawn together in focus as he fucks you is too much. Split open on his cock, you can hear how wet you are each time he moves.
“Feels…” Your words come up empty. “’s so much.”
“Yeah? Is it too much for you, baby?”
You shake your head as your thoughts get increasingly cloudy. It’s like there’s nothing else your body can focus on. The way his cock drags against your sensitive, silken walls. The feeling of being full to empty and then full all over again. The way your pussy gets so much wetter each time he moves, sloppy and sucking him in so tight. You can feel your body want for him.
Umemiya lets go of your hands, sliding one between your bodies. Palm resting on your sex, he lets his brush against your clit. The difference it makes is significant, makes your eyes go wide. He smiles a little, hair falling in his face as he pushes it up with his free hand.
“That’s it,” He hums, contented to keep at it like this. “Feels good, right? Your holding onto me so tightly it’s hard for me to pull out even though you’re so wet.”
You make a whiny noise and wonder if other peoples first times feel this good or if you’re just outrageously lucky. You decide on the latter he fucks you faster and matches his thrusts with the movement of his fingers. You’re warm all over - skin scorching as your hands find his biceps and shoulders to cling onto.
Your voice is so whiny when you call out for him “You’re so deep, ngh.”
He laughs, deep and raspy. “Yeah? Tell me what you’re feeling,”
“It feels good when you’re in me.” You reply drunkenly. “Want it faster. Please,”
He complies with your request almost immediately. You cry out loud, physically incapable of holding the sound in as he gets to fucking you faster and harder. Your pussy is throbbing. Senselessly horny, you pull Umemiya closer to you as he fucks you and smash your lips together. You feel so good, so thoroughly fucked and completely out of it. He’s in you but you want him even closer, want the scent of his skin to mark you.
A second time your body builds up to that familiar feeling but it’s so much farther inside. An orgasm pulled right from your core. Stomach tied in knots as Umemiya fucks you hard, you wrap your legs around his waist and take him.
“That’s it. You’re so good. Cum on my cock, sweet girl. Let me feel it” He murmurs against your skin, holding you close. “You’re making me feel so good. So cute. Go ahead, it’s okay. Let me see how good I’m making you feel.”
Pliant to his request, you hold onto Umemiya for dear life as your body gives into second orgasm. Your nails dig into his biceps as the built up arousal gives way pleasure - and you cum hard with his cock sheathed all the way inside of you. All the wind gets stolen from your lungs as you press forward with another kiss, your whole body trembling violently as you let go.
Umemiya sweet talks you through without letting go once, only stopping to take a pause when you’ve fully ridden out your high.
You stare up at him in a daze as he takes a breather to kiss you, still hard as he’s bottomed out inside of you.
“You gonna cum soon?”
“Mm,” He nods. “Yeah I’m close. If I move, I will.”
“’s okay to cum in me,”
Umemiya laughs warmly. “I’m already about too. You’re not helping,”
You smile a bit as you hug him close to you and tell him again that it’s fine. Before long, he holds you too, whispering the same three words into your neck as he finally lets it out. It’s a weird feeling, thick white ropes of seed spilling into the deepest parts of you.
You don’t really hate it, though.
“I love you,” Umemiya repeats. Tired you don’t try to fight yourself.
“Love you too,”
__
The next morning, you’re stirred away by the sound of your front door unlocking and the sound of Kotoha’s voice echoing through your apartment.
You’re still half-way asleep, so it barely dawns on you that anything is off. Not cognizant enough to think twice, your body tries to go back to sleep.
Or it does until you hear a very loud shout coming from your kitchen that wakes you up with a start.
“No fucking way,”
You sit up suddenly, hearing faint conversation before the sound of steps barreling towards your door. You just barely manage to pull the sheets up over your chest before she comes storming through the door of your bedroom.
You watch her eyes scan your entire room, mentally collecting data before she finally lands on you. As your brain starts to load back in, your eyes go wide with horror at the look of pure scandal on her face.
Fuck. You were supposed to be having dinner with her and Tsubaki tonight. Usually you confirm with them in the mornings since your up. It’s not uncommon for her to drop in when you don’t reply to check in since you live close by.
Fuck.
“You—Oh, I have to text Tsubaki-chan, I can’t believe—“
Before she gets to finish her sentence, Umemiya appears behind her in your door way. The sight of him only adds fuel to the flame of your embarrassment. You went another round or two before bed last night and it looks like it too. Shirtless in sweats he left over a while ago, his biceps are covered in scratch and with a few hickies, he’s wearing his hair down with a cup of tea and a very apologetic smile.
You cover your face with your hands unsure of how to deal with the feeling of pure mortification.
Kotoha snaps a picture of your room that causes even more distress.
“If you don’t delete that right now, I’m gonna kill us both.”
“In your dreams.”
Umemiya laughs warmly. “Please don’t kill each other.”
He slides past Kotoha coming over to you. Bending down to kiss your forehead, he pulls the blanket up over you so you’re more well-covered. You give him an incredulous but Umemiya is unfazed - smiling as bright as ever.
“Good morning,”
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Kotoha says. She points at Umemiya. “You, go put on a shirt.”
“Fine, fine. Stay for breakfast,” Umemiya says with a smile. “It’ll be nice having it with my two favorite people.”
You make another face as Umemiya gives you a long, affectionate look before disappearing. She sighs as she looks at you, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I would ask if you’re gonna meet us for dinner but you don’t have a choice anymore so show up at seven. I’m gonna leave before that tactless idiot comes back. We’ll talk later.”
You nod in understanding. She turns to leave but then turns back with a genuine smile.
“And, well - congrats. He’s a tactless idiot but he does love you or whatever. Cherish each other,”
You flush, nodding your head. “Yeah…thanks.”
With that Kotoha leaves quickly. Umemiya returns still shirtless, pouting a little when he notices she’s gone.
“She left already?”
“Of course she did. I can’t believe you would invite her for breakfast.”
Umemiya shrugs. “No point being coy about it. I thought it’d be nice. I was looking for a shirt but I guess I don’t need one now,” He sits besides you on the bed, turning to face with a goofy smile. “Anyways, good morning.”
“You already said that.”
“You didn’t say it back,”
You frown. “G’morning,”
He smiles suddenly before grabbing you from underneath the blankets and sheets - pulling your naked body ontop of him as he grins. Sunlight pours through the window as he holds you to his chest, kissing the crown of your head before pressing his cheek into your hair.
“Mm, yeah. It’s a really good morning after all.”
“You’re stupid.”
“And you love me,”
You fail trying not to smile. Damn him. You're so happy it hurts. You roll your eyes.
summary: when your friend gifts you an appointment for a massage, he fails to mention one critical detail. luckily, it turns out to be a pleasant surprise with a very happy ending.
pairing: hyunjin x fem reader
genre: smut
word count: 8.3k
rating: mature (18+)
warnings & features: profanity; mentions of the reader having a menstrual cycle; graphic sexual content; the “massage with a happy ending” trope; fingering; risky workplace sex; dirty talk; unprotected sex; pullout method
author’s note: i really cannot believe this is as many words as it is because there is seriously no plot here. i hope you enjoy!
{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }
---
The cozy parlor smells nice, like powder and fresh linens.
The receptionist at the counter smiles. “Hello, good morning. Checking in?”
You smile back and approach them. “Hi, yes. I’m supposed to have an appointment at ten o’clock?”
You give them your name. They tap a few things on their screen and nod.
“All right, you are all checked in. If you want to have a seat, Hyunjin will be with you shortly.”
No sooner have you taken a seat and crossed your legs than the glass door behind the receptionist’s counter opens. Out steps a tall, thin man dressed head to toe in white. Thin, white short-sleeved shirt, loose-fitting white cotton pants, shiny white designer shoes. His blond hair is buzzed short. His ears are decorated with multiple golden piercings. His eyes are a deep brown, and there is a distinctly feline quality to his gaze.
He’s beautiful.
Of course Minho booked you a massage with the most beautiful masseur ever.
The man smiles brightly and says your name as a question. His voice is soft and rather pleasant. A lovely voice to match a handsome face. Of course.
You stand and manage to smile back. “That’s me. Hi.”
He extends his hand and you shake it. His skin is warm. Soft, too.
“Hi, I’m Hyunjin, nice to meet you. Please, come on back.”
He holds the door open and ushers you ahead of him. His hand grazes the center of your back, and your heart flutters for some reason.
“We’ll be in the last room on the right,” he says.
You walk down the short hallway and turn through the last door on the right with Hyunjin right behind you.
In your mind, you pictured a sterile white room. Instead, the walls are painted a beautiful shade of green with paintings of flowers and landscapes displayed upon them. There is a long counter along one wall with a round porcelain sink in the middle. Near the sink are a multitude of candles and small bottles and vials. Rolled towels are stuffed in the shelves beneath the counter. In the center of the room is the massage table, longer than it is wide. A white sheet is fitted on top of it. The smell of powder and fresh linen is stronger back here.
Hyunjin steps around you, and you catch the scent of him when the air moves. He smells of something rich and slightly sweet, like dark chocolate. He pulls a fluffy white towel out from under the counter and sets it on the edge of the massage table. Then he looks to you and smiles again. The groove of a dimple appears in his cheek.
“I’m going to step out for a few minutes,” he says. “I want you to undress entirely, please. Bra, underwear, everything. We don’t want to stain any of your clothing with the oils. Then I want you to lie face down on the table with the towel over you like it’s a blanket, please.”
You nod along to his instructions. When he is finished, you say, “Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves and gently shuts the door behind him.
You undress and pile your clothing on a nearby chair, sliding your shoes underneath it. Then you pick up the towel and shake it open before climbing onto the padded massage table and lying face down under your makeshift blanket.
It takes several minutes, but eventually there is a knock on the door. Hyunjin calls your name and asks, “Are you decent?”
“Yes. Come in,” you say, turning your head to see him enter.
He steps inside and closes the door again. You lock eyes for a second, then he moves to the counter. Music begins playing. A slow, relaxing piano melody. You hadn’t even noticed the speaker there. He also lifts one of the candles, but before he lights it, he turns back to you and asks, “Is it all right if I dim the overhead lights and light a few of the candles? They’re not scented.”
“Oh,” you say. “Uh, sure.”
He gives you a crooked grin. He really is incredibly beautiful. “It’s all right to say no,” he says.
“No, no. That sounds fine. Just seems kind of… I don’t know. Intimate, I guess. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Hyunjin’s face changes. His grin falls and his eyebrows dip in what appears to be confusion. “Is that not what you requested? When you made the appointment, I mean?” he asks.
You fidget with the sheet, plucking at an imaginary loose thread. “I didn’t set it up myself, actually,” you explain. “My friend did. As a gift.”
Hyunjin’s shoulders drop. It seems like realization is hitting him.
“Ah,” he says, turning all the way from the counter to face you fully. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I should have confirmed everything with you before I left the room.”
He steps over to a screen the size of an iPad mounted face-high on the wall by the door. He pulls something up on it and nods to himself. Then he looks back to you and explains, “Your friend booked you with me for the full deluxe package. That’s a two hour session which includes establishing relaxing ambiance—the candles, lighting, music, et cetera—the massage of course, use of any and as many essential oils as you wish, and a… a happy ending, if you’re familiar with the term.”
You nearly choke on the spit in your mouth. “O-Oh! Oh my god,” you stammer. “You mean…?”
“An orgasm, yes,” Hyunjin says. “To be clear. Which I should be and should have been from the start.”
Oh, you are going to fucking kill Minho when you see him. No wonder he had been so excited to give you this gift. He does like giving you things you would never buy for yourself, and this definitely fits into that category. Plus, the main reason he did this for you in the first place is because of the recent breakup you’ve gone through. ‘It’ll take your mind off it for a while.’ ‘You deserve to treat yourself.’
Full deluxe package, huh. That twisted fuck.
“No, you’re fine,” you tell Hyunjin, “it’s my friend who should have been clear from the start. Fucking prick.”
Hyunjin chuckles a little. “If you want to cancel, I totally understand. I’ll refund your friend.”
You chew on your lip in thought for a moment then ask, “You really offer that here?”
“Refunds?”
You laugh, loudly and genuinely. “No. You know what I mean.”
Hyunjin laughs too. “Yes, I get paid to massage people then make them come. Though not as many people book for that as you might think. You’d think they’d at least be curious, but I think they assume it’s a terrible joke. Anyway, I know this was a lot to spring on you. It’s all right to change your mind and decline. That goes for anything that happens in here this morning.”
You think for another moment. Another question comes to mind. “What if I had a partner?” you ask. “You wouldn’t offer this in that case, would you?”
Hyunjin consults the screen on the wall again, scrolling with the tip of his finger. He points to something and replies, “Your appointment form says you’re single, unless your friend lied about that.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, that’s correct. I was just curious.”
“Everything that happens here is private and confidential,” Hyunjin says, sort of dodging your original question at first, but then he adds, “but no. I wouldn’t offer this service to people in relationships. Unless they’ve lied on their appointment form, of course.”
“Huh. Well I guess that’s on them and not you then.”
Hyunjin gives a tight smile. “What other questions or concerns do you have?” he asks. He sounds patient and genuinely curious. You get the impression he is good at this. At his job.
“What if I was on my period?” you ask.
“We have tampons. Or if you wanted to put your underwear back on and wear a pad, we’d have to get you cleaned of all the oil first. I would also lay an extra towel beneath you.”
“So… you’d still do it?”
Hyunjin flashes an easier smile. “I would use gloves for sanitary purposes, but yes, I would. Are you on your period? Do I need to step out again or get you anything? Or would you prefer to reschedule?”
“No, no. I’m not. Just curious again.”
“These are good questions.” Again, he sounds genuine and kind.
Are you really willing to let this beautiful stranger give you an orgasm though? It wouldn’t be the first time, but this isn’t exactly a dating app hookup or picking someone up at the bar.
Still, if this is what his job entails and it is a totally normal occurrence for him, why not go along with it? What would it hurt?
You shake your head again. “I can’t think of anything else,” you say slowly. “And I… I’ll go with everything that was booked.”
“You sure? No hard feelings if you want to omit some things or reschedule or completely cancel. I promise.”
You swallow and nod. “I’m sure.”
Hyunjin flashes a brighter smile, bringing back the dimple in his cheek. You entertain the idea that he might actually be relieved by your answer, but surely that is not the case. This is work to him, and this is still a customer service type of job.
“All right. So, would you like me to dim the lights and light some candles?” he asks, easily picking up right where he left off.
“Sure. That would be nice.”
He does so quickly, lighting and placing the candles in various places around the room before dimming the overhead lights. You can still see him well enough to watch him move back to the counter and wash his hands at the sink. The faint light catches on the jewelry in his ears. After he dries his hands, he starts examining the bottles. He does not look at you when he speaks again.
“So, you’re booked for a full body massage. No pun intended,” he says, making you laugh. “But are there any specific areas you want me to focus on? And yes, you’re allowed to say something like your breasts or your glutes or your pelvis.”
Heat rises in your face. “No. Nowhere in particular,” you answer.
Hyunjin nods to himself and lifts a couple bottles. “Your form said no known allergies to any oils or lotions or skincare products in general. Is that correct?”
You sigh. “Yeah, that’s correct. Minho might be a prick but he knows me well.”
Hyunjin laughs again. You like that sound.
“All right, what about scent preferences? Dislikes?”
“Uh… what do you recommend? What’s your favorite?”
He looks at you. “Oh. Well, I like green tea and eucalyptus the most. Lavender is nice too, if you want to relax to the point of falling asleep, which a lot of people do. We also have rose oil, coconut, ginger, frankincense…”
“The green tea one sounds nice,” you decide.
“Good choice.”
Hyunjin sets both the bottles in his hands down and lifts another. He opens it and pours a healthy amount into his palm.
“These are all safe for even the most intimate areas,” he says, rubbing his hands together to warm and spread the oil, “but let me know if you feel any burning or unpleasantness at any time, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
He touches your arm that is closest to him. You automatically lift it because you think that will make his work easier, but he gently pushes it back down and says, “Just relax, please. No need to lift a finger. I’ll do all the work.”
Something in the way he says that has heat rushing south between your legs. How are you supposed to relax when you know what is waiting for you at the end? Maybe it would help if you didn’t stare at the handsome man touching your body the entire time, so you turn your face to fit it into the cutout in the table and mumble an apology to the floor.
“Don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin says, gliding a firm hand up your arm, coating it in the fragrant, pleasantly tingly oil. He starts making conversation by asking, “So what made your friend book this appointment for you? Work stress? Just for fun?”
It would be easy to answer with one of those choices, but he has been so kind, so you feel compelled to tell him the truth.
“I went through a… sort of a nasty breakup a few months ago. I’m getting over it, but I was pretty down about it for a while.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry to bring it up.”
Hyunjin kneads downward from your bicep to your wrist, then slots his fingers between yours to hold your hand and roll your wrist in a gentle circle. Somehow, that gesture feels every bit as intimate as if he was already touching between your legs.
“You’re fine,” you say.
He lets go of your hand and goes back to your bicep, repeating his earlier motions until he reaches your hand again. He rubs at your fingers, either intentionally or unintentionally popping a few of your knuckles in the process.
“We don’t have to talk at all, by the way,” Hyunjin says. “You can tell me to be quiet.”
You smile at the floor. “No, I… I like conversation. Better than sitting here in silence, I think.”
“Well, your emotional and mental comfort are as important to me as your physical comfort,” he says. His hand moves to your upper back between your shoulders, skirting along the edge of the towel. “Is it all right if I pull the towel down a bit? Just to the middle of your back for now.”
“Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”
He folds the towel back just as he said. The air is a little cool on your bare skin, but his warm hands are there to soothe that problem in no time. The oil feels pleasant as he smears it along your skin. The scent of green tea envelopes but does not overwhelm you. The song changes in the background to a different piano melody.
Hyunjin hums in thought as he prods your shoulders with his fingertips. “You have quite a bit of tension up here,” he says. “Do you sit at a desk all day for work?”
You nod against the table. “Yeah, actually. And I’ve been told my posture isn’t great.”
He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to lecture you or anything, I swear. I was just curious myself.”
A couple quiet minutes go by as he works the knots in your shoulders. You’re the one to speak up and carry on the conversation this time.
“So how did you get into this job?”
“Oh, a friend of a friend thought I’d be good at it. It sounded fun. I thought it would just be a temporary thing but then I was actually going to school for it, and then I was doing hundreds of hours of training and getting my whole license, so I guess this is my career now. I like it though. It’s interesting, you know. Unconventional. Can’t imagine doing something like sitting at a desk all day.”
You both laugh again. You did not realize your legs were tense, but you feel them relax as you sink just a little deeper into the cushioned table.
“I feel like it could make relationships awkward though,” you say, then immediately wish you hadn’t. That was probably too personal.
Hyunjin hums but does not pause his work for a second. He pushes his thumbs up and down along the upper part of your spine and says, “I went through a rough breakup a while ago myself because of my career. I told her it was just work and there are other jobs out there that involve touching people’s genitals, but that was a mistake. I mean, I know it’s not the same. There’s definitely a difference between what I do and what a cerologist does. I get that.”
“A cerologist?”
“Sorry. A wax specialist.”
“Ah. Right.”
He sighs heavily. “Anyway, I’ve been hesitant to get seriously involved with anyone since then.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” you say, shifting your weight a little. “It is just a job though.”
“Easy for someone who’s not my girlfriend to say,” Hyunjin jokes. The laughter in the room is more awkward this time. “Sorry,” he says after. “That was weird. I’m sorry.”
It takes more strength than it should, but you turn your face to look at him. He meets your eyes. The candlelight behind him gives his form a glowing outline. Coupled with his white clothing and golden hair, he looks positively radiant.
“It’s all right,” you say. “For whatever it’s worth, I think you’re really good at your job, Hyunjin.”
There are dimples in both his cheeks when he smiles this time. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”
You shrug. “It’s true.”
He holds eye contact with you for a few seconds longer before looking away. He inhales deeply and clears his throat. “Is it all right if I lower the towel again? Down to your lower back this time?”
“Trying to see my tattoo?” you tease.
He lets out that warm laugh. “If you have a tattoo anywhere on your body, I’ll probably see it, don’t worry. May I, though?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
He folds the towel further and sees nothing but naked skin. He laughs under his breath and turns back to the counter to pour more oil into his hands. It squelches when he rubs his hands together.
You wonder how much time has gone by already. He still has your lower back, your legs, then your entire front to do, you assume. And that’s before you even get to the grand finale.
When his hands smooth their way across the small of your back, your thoughts dissipate. Your breathing slows after a while, until a particular good press of his fingers on your lower spine elicits a moan from you.
“Sorry, I—” you start, then promptly shut your mouth. You should not have acknowledged the sound at all. That made it a hundred times weirder.
“No, don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin says again. “That’s a good thing. It lets me know it feels good, which is important, obviously. And the walls are soundproof, so don’t worry about that.”
You let out a tiny breath of laughter. “It feels really good,” you say honestly.
“The pressure is okay then?”
“You could go a little, uh, harder, actually.”
“No problem.”
He starts using the heels of his palms to rub outward from your spine to your sides, all the way from your lower back up to your shoulder blades. The oil is very slick, but his hands never slip or fumble in their movements. He does this over and over, moving up and down from the center outward. Another quiet moan comes straight from your throat.
“That’s it,” Hyunjin whispers. His voice is so soft you’re not even sure if he meant for you to hear that or not. A crazy part of you wonders if he ever gets hard during these sessions, but you’re definitely not saying that out loud.
After a while of Hyunjin maintaining a steady rhythm, you start to feel boneless, especially when he steps around the table to give your other side the same attention. He is probably running on auto-pilot mode by now, but your heart skips a few beats when he does the same hand-holding move on your other hand. If he notices the change in your breathing, he does not comment on it.
Eventually, Hyunjin says, “I’m going to move on to your legs now, if that’s all right.”
You hum in understanding. Your throat feels a little dry. Hyunjin carefully peels the towel off your legs and folds it upward. Only your butt remains covered at this point.
His touch feels softer when he lays his hands on the back of the thigh closest to him. For a second, it feels like his thumbs swipe back and forth with no real intention behind the movement, but then his hands glide all the way down to your ankles with the same pressure he was using on your back.
“Is the pressure still okay?” he asks.
“Y-Yeah.” You swallow through the scratchiness in your throat. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“Good.”
He squeezes down your leg repeatedly, as if he is trying to push all the tension downward and out through your foot. He keeps you in that boneless state, expertly working your muscles. After a while, you stop feeling embarrassed about your soft moans.
“Are your feet ticklish, or may I move on to those?” he asks. It feels like you have been floating, so it takes you a moment to register his words.
“I mean, they’ve never been especially ticklish?” you say. “Have at it.”
Hyunjin tickles his fingertips against the sole of your foot and laughs with you when you jerk it away. You turn your head to look at him. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the candlelight.
“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,” he says. Could he possibly be flirting with you?
You swallow again and say, “You better watch it, mister.”
His eyes glimmer when he nods. “I’ll behave, I promise. Permission to continue the professional way?”
“Granted,” you say, giving him a smile before turning your face back into the cutout.
He takes your foot in a firmer touch so as not to tickle you again, even accidentally. For some reason, this part of the massage feels the best yet. His fingers really know the exact ways to release the tension in your body. You knew he was good at his job.
He steps around the table again and switches to your other leg and foot. It seems like he is focusing longer on your inner thigh this time around. Your toes curl at the thought of his fingers moving just a little higher. Of course he notices.
“I know,” he says quietly. “Relax.”
Hyunjin’s touch lingers on your skin after he finishes with your other foot.
“Would you like me to do your glutes before we move on to your front?” he asks. His voice is not only low but also deeper now.
“Sure,” you say, your voice hardly more than a breath.
It takes a second before the towel lifts from your butt. Hyunjin sets it down on the back of your calves, out of his way. It takes another second before you feel his touch. He starts with your hips rather than going straight for your butt cheeks. He kneads them gently. It takes all your willpower to stay relaxed.
His thumbs eventually inch their way onto your butt while the rest of his fingers remain splayed over your hips. He presses his thumbs firmly up and outward over your cheeks. Soon he goes from using only his thumbs to using his entire hands. He easily draws more moans from you this way.
What you don’t expect to do is curse under your breath. A tiny but still audible: “Fuck.”
Hyunjin exhales hard. On one upward stroke, you could swear he gropes your flesh more than presses it, and you find you don’t mind that at all. You were wrong — this part feels the best so far.
You would have been more than happy for him to continue this part for hours, but you are reminded of the limited timeframe when he stops his movements.
He lifts the towel off your legs, but one of his hands is still resting on the small of your back when he asks, “Ready to flip over for me?”
As if you aren’t putty in his hands to mold as he pleases.
You start to turn over but you are still floating and boneless and your arms give out. Luckily your fall is all of an inch and does not hurt at all, but you are embarrassed by the fumble nonetheless.
Hyunjin curls an arm behind your back and says, “Here, lean against me. I’ll turn you over.”
“Sorry,” you say as you do as he asks. He is stronger than you expected him to be. He eases your body back into the center of the table like it’s nothing. The towel settles over you again from your collarbone to your toes. You pull your arms out from under it.
Hyunjin keeps his eyes on yours when you settle on your back. “Don’t be,” he says once again. He smiles that beautiful, dimpled smile. His fingers trail down your arm. “Still feeling good?” he asks.
You nod silently.
“Good. May I massage your chest?”
Only when he asks do you become aware of your hard nipples standing against the soft towel.
“Yes,” you say.
His eyes drop to your covered breasts. He peels the towel down, folding it down to your belly button. Then he turns to grab the bottle of oil again. He only adds a little more this time. He purses his lips as he reaches for your chest.
He starts just below your breasts and moves upward, cupping them gently—briefly—before pushing up further. The tips of his thumbs barely graze your nipples, but it’s enough to send a pulse of desire between your legs.
You hiss and bite your lip. You might have gotten comfortable with your moans, but now he can see your every facial expression, so it feels embarrassing again.
His hands lift away from your body and his eyes flick to your face in concern. “Did that hurt?” he asks.
“No, uh. The opposite actually.”
“Oh. Phew.” His face relaxes. “Do tell me if it does hurt though. I know this area can be very… tender.”
You nod and take a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.
“That’s it,” Hyunjin says gently. “Breathe. Relax. Enjoy my touch.”
You close your eyes. You don’t think you want to risk eye contact with him while he is doing this.
His hands return to your chest. He gently pushes your breasts up, then smooths over your collarbone, again and again. This part feels the most like fondling so far, but as he said, this can be a tender area, so he can’t exactly be as firm as with your back or your legs.
You sigh when his fingers ghost across your nipples again, lips parting ever so slightly. Hyunjin makes a soft noise as well. You crack an eyelid to look at him. He is focused on your chest with his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed again in concentration. He looks so handsome you can’t help but blink your eyes open the rest of the way.
He smooths his face over and smiles when he notices you watching him.
“How am I doing?” he asks. “Still feeling good?”
“You’re really good at this,” you say. You sound somewhat breathless, which surprises you because you haven’t even done anything to get that way.
“Thank you. May I move the towel down a bit?”
“Sure.”
He tugs it down below your belly button, still leaving your legs and crotch covered.
“Is your stomach ticklish at all?” he asks.
“No, not really.”
He does not pull the same flirty stunt with your stomach as he did with your feet. He simply goes straight back to work, running his hands gently down your sides and across your stomach. It feels more like rubbing than pushing or pressing, probably because of all your organs just below.
His fingers frequently brush the edge of the towel when they move downward. Sometimes they dip right below the towel and skim just above your pelvis, briefly at first, then lingering for longer and longer.
Your heart kicks up when you realize what is next. Is it that time already?
Hyunjin notices the change in your breathing. You lock eyes with him again.
“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. His lips hardly move. His eyes are molten chocolate.
He stops dipping his fingertips beneath the towel. It surprises you how much you wish he would continue. You think you’ll go crazy if he doesn’t continue. You have to be honest with him.
“I want to,” you say.
You expect him to move the towel away—or ask to move it away, as he’s been doing—but he merely pushes beneath it again, this time with his whole hand. The hand not beneath the towel curls gently around your shoulder at first, then behind your neck, as if he needs to hold you steady.
“Is this all right?” Hyunjin asks. He has not broken eye contact with you.
You are not sure if he is asking about the hand holding your neck or the one teasing along your inner thigh, but you are enjoying both of them, so you nod and say, “Yes.”
“It will never be too late to change your mind and tell me to stop, okay?” he says. His hand rubs against the crease where your crotch meets your leg. He holds you there too.
You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak clearly with words instead of moans.
“Try to relax,” he says. “Don’t undo all my hard work now.”
You giggle at his joke. He smiles down at you. His eyes still have not left yours.
“And tell me if the oil irritates you at all,” he reminds you.
With that, he cups your pussy whole. You both make a noise at the sensation. You can tell you were wet, even before the oil. He must feel it too, along with the heat of you radiating into his palm. You think you hear him swear under his breath, but he clears his throat immediately after and finally looks away from your face.
Hyunjin separates his fingers and drags them down each side of your slit, avoiding your clit and your hole. Your eyelashes flutter closed. Your legs twitch and one of your hands briefly balls into a fist on the table before you relax it again. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly through your mouth. Hyunjin lightly squeezes your neck.
“Very good,” he murmurs. His fingers slowly drag up the edges of your pussy, back down again. “Breathe. Relax. Let me do all the work.”
You lick your lips and keep your eyes closed, enjoying the steady rhythm he builds of gently rubbing you up and down, spreading the oil—and surely your own wetness—over your sensitive skin.
You nearly manage to relax again when the tip of his middle finger brushes the hood of your clit. Electricity forks throughout your entire body. Your eyelids scrunch tighter and your hips twitch against the table. Hyunjin does not say anything; he simply strums that fingertip over your clit every time his hand passes back and forth. His hand continues sweeping up and down a few more times before he rests it in place and uses that wicked fingertip to draw circles into your hardened clit.
“How’s the pressure?” he asks. His voice is low and deep again.
You let out a whimper before you can speak. “Good. S-So good, ah—”
“Should I go faster? Slower?”
“F-Faster, please.”
He does so immediately. Your hips buck an inch off the table at the rush of pleasure from the change of pace. Hyunjin chuckles under his breath, but again, he does not comment on your obvious lack of relaxation.
He does say your name, however, in that low, deep voice. “I want to make you feel so good,” he says.
You’re not sure if he says those words in that tone to all his clients, but you can’t follow that train of thought right now. A fresh wave of arousal takes you, shuddering through all the muscles he just massaged. The area beneath your backside feels wetter than before with the combination of oil and arousal beginning to pool there.
“Hyunjin,” you moan before you can stop yourself.
His breath catches in his throat. You look at him again and see his eyelids are heavy over his deep brown eyes. That glowing halo of candlelight is surrounding him again.
“Fuck,” he says, not loudly, but clearly this time. He bites his lip and skims his gaze down the length of your body before meeting your eyes again. “I swear I never say this to clients, but you are so fucking beautiful.”
You whimper again when his fingertip edges beneath the hood of your clit. When he shifts his weight, you notice the considerable tent in the front of his thin pants. You moan just from the sight of it. He notices that you have noticed his problem, but he does not remove either of his hands from your body to deal with it. Again, you wonder if this always happens, even if he does not call every client beautiful.
“Can I take the towel off you? Please?” he asks in a pleading tone.
You pull it off yourself and let it drop to the floor. Hyunjin immediately looks between your legs at your naked pussy in his hand and lets out a groan from so deep in his throat that you swear you have a tiny orgasm with the next flick of his finger.
He looks back to your face. His sharp cheeks are noticeably flushed. His sharp jawline flexes beneath his flawless skin.
“Tell me if I’m out of line,” he whispers.
You bend your knees and spread them apart, a clear invitation for him to keep going. He gets the message.
“Fuck, I’m going to make you come so hard,” he says. He adds his ring finger to the circles he is drawing on your sticky clit. It feels incredible, but you still feel horribly empty inside.
“Want your fingers in me, please,” you boldly murmur.
“Yeah? You want them inside you, beautiful?”
“Well, not just your fingers.”
You meant to keep that to yourself—you really did—but you must have said it out loud because Hyunjin sucks a breath through his teeth and stops drawing those maddening circles. His cock visibly bounces in his pants. You look up at his face. An almost pained expression crosses his sculpted features.
“I… can’t, I… I never…”
“Sorry,” you say, mortified, “forget I said that. I’m so sorry.”
“I want to,” Hyunjin says, quickly and earnestly. “Trust me, I really fucking want to. I just—my license… I can’t…”
You nod over and over. “I totally get it, I’m sorry. Please ignore me.”
The pained expression does not leave Hyunjin’s face. He bites his plump bottom lip again. His eyes drop in a straight line from your eyes to your mouth to your chest to your pussy and back up again. He dips his middle finger into your pussy, only up to his first knuckle. You automatically clench around it, trying to pull it deeper. It works. He slides his finger the rest of the way inside and curls it, drawing another moan from you. He adds his index finger and curls them both, then scissors them like he wants to work you open.
He breathes hard. He gives the back of your neck another tender squeeze then mutters, “Fuck it,” and moves that hand to the strings on the front of his pants to untie them.
Your heart races. You gasp when he pulls his dick out in front of you. The tip is rosy and thick. The wetness gathered at the slit looks delicious; your immediate thought is how badly you want to lick it up.
“This has to stay between us,” Hyunjin whispers, frantically tugging his pants down to his knees with one hand. His erection stands stiff in the open air.
“I know,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I swear.”
“Come here. Please…”
Hyunjin takes your hands and helps you scoot to the edge of the table in front of him. He stands between your legs and takes the back of your neck again, forehead propped against yours. You breathe hard and stare into his eyes until you notice movement below. You watch him take his cock in hand and guide the head right to your pussy. When he pushes inside, you both gasp over the tight, wet, smooth entry. He shoves his hips forward, easily bottoming out in one stroke.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders. Hyunjin stares at your face and tries to breathe calmly through his nose, but you are not making it easy for him with the way your warm pussy is repeatedly clenching around his throbbing dick.
“Tell me when I can—”
“Please.”
He starts rolling his hips into you. Gently at first, then with more desperation. Your head rocks back and you moan toward the ceiling at the rise of pleasure. He keeps his grip behind your neck, not letting you fall backward. His other hand has a firm hold of your ass cheek, keeping you steady against his frantic thrusts. His dick rubs against almost every sensitive part of you. You shift your hips a little; it’s enough to angle his tip into that perfect spot.
“Oh fuck, right there, right there,” you pant, bringing your head around to press it back to his forehead and look into his eyes again.
Hyunjin moans and holds you tighter, pounding that spot again and again and again.
You notice him staring at your lips, so you tilt your face and lean in. He meets you in a kiss far more gentle than expected for the way the table is creaking beneath you. He ends it too quickly for your liking, studies your face for a second, then he kisses you again, much deeper this time. As soon as you feel his tongue prod against your lips, you part them and let it swarm into your mouth. His tongue tastes of mint and sugar and he moans so prettily into your mouth. He’s perfect.
You voice your pleasure into the tender kisses. “Yes, yes, fuck, Hyunjin, yes—”
Hyunjin pulls away from the kisses with a low groan. He nearly pulls out of your pussy too, to your great dismay. His hips come to a shaky stop with just the tip of his cock left inside you.
“Sorry, I just need a minute,” he says, breathless and smiling sheepishly. “You’re so tight and you sound so hot and it’s… it’s been a while for me.”
“Take your time,” you say. You’re not sure how much time is left in your session, but you won’t complain if he wants to prolong something he shouldn’t be doing in the first place, and you certainly don’t mind being told how tight and hot you are.
Hyunjin’s fingers massage the back of your neck. He pulls you into another tender kiss. You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his smooth skin, and feel his cockhead twitch inside you. He begins moving his hips again, but he only fucks you with his fat tip now. You whine and whimper because it isn’t enough.
“What about my ‘happy ending’?” you tease, pouting against his lips.
Hyunjin laughs and kisses you again, tongue briefly curling against yours, before answering, “I know, don’t worry. I’m still going to make you come so hard, especially now that it’ll be on my dick.”
He says that but he has the audacity to pull all the way out of you. Before you can protest, he takes your hands again.
“Here,” he says, tugging your hands. “Let’s turn you around.”
You slide off the table. He holds your waist in a strong arm to keep your oily feet from slipping on the floor.
Hyunjin turns you around and bends you over the massage table. He whips off his shirt and follows you, draping his warm body over yours. His wet cock throbs against your ass cheek.
“Is this all right?”
“It’s good, Hyunjin, please…”
He takes your hip in one hand and puts himself back inside you with the other. You moan at the stretch, the friction, the raw pleasure.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. Once he is secure enough inside you, he lets go of himself and runs that hand up the length of your spine. “I want to hear all your moans, pretty girl. Let me know how good it feels.”
When he bottoms out this time, he does not give you a moment to adjust; he builds up a relentless pace right away. It takes him a second to find the right angle in this position, but he eventually hits that spot inside you again that has you seeing stars. He hits it over and over, keeping you right there on the end of his pounding cock.
“Fuck—yes—Hyunjin, yes!”
“That’s it, baby, fuck, just like that. You’re so fucking hot, oh my god.”
The hand that is not holding you steady at the hip is making its way all over your body, the body he has had his hands on all morning. He holds the back of your neck again for a while, holding you down to take everything he gives you. He wraps it around your front, pawing back and forth between your heaving breasts, giving each of your nipples a few good pinches. He trails it down your stomach to stuff it between your legs where he finds your clit again. He pinches it the way he pinched your nipples, just to hear you squeal. Then he resumes drawing the circles that started this all.
Hyunjin gets you to come in only a few minutes with his talented fingers. He is like a man possessed, a man with something to prove with how quickly he unravels you.
“Hyunjin, fuck, I’m coming, I’m—” you gasp, though he surely feels it for himself.
He groans and folds himself over you, face pressed to your back, writhing and bucking with you through your orgasm. His hips do not stop bouncing against your backside. He keeps grinding his cock deep inside you, slamming his heavy balls against you. His fingers do not stop playing with your sensitive clit.
He eases the pressure of those fingers once the force of your orgasm wanes, but he never stops completely. His cock throbs hard between your silky, sensitive walls, but he manages to withhold his own orgasm.
“There we go—mmm, fuck—yeah, that’s it,” he says, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your slick, sweaty skin. “So fucking good. That’s just the first one, baby.”
You push yourself up onto your palms against the table, elbows wobbling just like your knees in the aftershocks of your intense climax. Hyunjin moves with you, leaning back to stand straight. He moves a hand against your collarbone to pull you into his chest. You turn your head. He is already there, ready to meet you in a kiss that leaves you even dizzier.
He already alluded to more, but now he asks, “Can you do another one for me, or are you satisfied?”
“You didn’t come yet, did you?” you ask in return.
He exhales a breath of laughter. “No. If you come again, I will. I won’t be able to hold out twice. But that’s not what I asked, pretty girl.”
“Then I’m not satisfied yet,” you say, grinning and kissing his smooth, pink cheek.
Hyunjin chuckles. “All right. Let me turn you back around then. I want to see your face when you come around me this time.”
He has to pull out again to sit you back on the table, which is tragic, but the sight of his veiny cock glistening in a layer of your juices is worth it. You reach for it, letting the weight of it simply rest in your palm for a second before taking proper hold of it in a loose fist. Hyunjin groans and wraps his hand around yours, guiding it up and down his length. The skin is smooth and velvety soft but stretched tight over his solid length and girth.
You only give him half a dozen guided strokes before he pries your hand away.
“I bet you’re pretty good with your hands too, huh baby,” he says, caging you in his arms by planting his hands beside you on the table. “I wish we had more time for you to demonstrate.”
You nearly forgot about the time constraint. You nod and spread your legs. Hyunjin grabs you under one of your knees to help hold you open and also tug you closer to him. He takes his cock and smacks the tip against your clit a few times, still taking the time to rile you up just a little more before sinking back inside you.
“God, this pussy,” he grunts. The grip he has under your knee tightens. His other hand returns to your ass, practically yanking you the rest of the way onto his cock. “It wraps around me perfectly.”
He fucks you again, deep and hard. The table starts creaking again. You hold each other close as he works you both to your highs. He has his face in your neck, kissing and licking and nibbling at your skin. You try to do the same, but all his neck receives in return is a babble of breathless nonsense drawn from your lips with every firm thrust.
His fingers slip their way between your legs again, feeling where his cock is moving in and out of your pussy. His thumb presses against your swollen clit and you lose a bit of your mind. He pulls his face out of your neck to look at you again.
“You first, baby, fuck,” Hyunjin pants. His sweet breath tickles your face. “Please come for me again. Let me feel it again. Let me see it this time, hm? Let me hear how good it feels to come all—over—my fucking—dick.”
“Oh fuck, Hyunjin, don’t stop, don’t stop, please,” you say, moaning it over and over again until your orgasm takes you. You go rigid and then boneless in a different way, trembling through the waves of your second climax.
Hyunjin groans triumphantly and watches it all. “That’s it, that’s it. Fuck yes, that’s so good, baby, oh, yes—”
He fucks you through your orgasm as long as he can but his own quickly catches up to him. He pulls out at the last second and frantically jerks his cock. His cum shoots out in long streaks, landing all over the place — your stomach, your thighs, the table, the floor. Part of your lust-addled brain hoped he would lose himself completely and come inside you, but the sensible part of you is relieved he didn’t.
He squeezes the last few drops out of his tip and lets go of his cock. It hangs heavy between his legs, flushed and spent. Your pussy is in a similar state; aching in the best way, swollen and throbbing after a thorough fucking. You think you can feel your heartbeat in it.
Hyunjin is as out of breath as you are but he reaches for you and claims your lips in another kiss. When he pulls away, you become aware of just how oily and sticky and sweaty you both are.
“Holy fuck,” you giggle, making him giggle too.
“Yeah. ‘Holy fuck’ is right.”
He clears the rasp in his throat but does not say anything else for a little while. He rests his forehead against yours while you both float back down to earth, waiting for your breathing to settle and your heartbeats to calm. One of his thumbs traces mindless circles into your hip. You absently massage the prickly hairs at the nape of his neck.
Finally, Hyunjin takes a deep breath and straightens. He fixes his pants and pulls his shirt back on. You watch him walk to the other side of the table and pick the towel off the floor. He helps get you cleaned up as best he can. You know you will still walk out of here smelling like green tea and sweat and maybe even his cum, which you help wipe off the floor. He tells you not to fuss over the cum stain on the sheet since he will have to strip it and sanitize the table anyway.
The feeling of his skin on yours lingers even after you have both been wiped and patted and dried off. Hyunjin gently takes your hands and meets your eyes again.
“I hope I—um—” he starts, then swallows and tries again. “I swear I don’t do that with clients. Ever.”
“I believe you,” you say. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“I hope I didn’t mess anything up,” he goes on, “because it kind of felt like there was something between us, even before the sex. Unless I’m mistaken?”
Your heart flutters. “No, I… I agree,” you say, the hint of a smile tugging your lips. “Maybe I’ll make an appointment myself next time.”
Hyunjin laughs. “Well I was hoping I could give you my personal number. Maybe take you out on a date sometime. Then you’d never have to make an appointment again.”
“Oh! Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
“You’ll have to thank your friend for me for booking you this appointment though,” he jokes.
You burst out laughing because you forgot Minho is the reason you are here in the first place.
“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to thank him earlier,” you say, making Hyunjin laugh again, “but yeah, I guess I will now.”
You smile at him. Hyunjin cups your face in his hands for another kiss before he lets you get dressed, puts his number in your phone, then walks you back to the waiting room. He bids you goodbye with a gleam in his eye that makes your heart flutter once again.
You hope this is the start of something happy and new.
requested by @yongbbokkie: if possible, can I have Sunshine!Felix with the prompt/s: ❛ i'm waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you. ❜ and ❛ do whatever you want with me, i'm yours. ❜
((maybe it's a pining from afar situation and something puts them in close quarters and Felix just can't help himself anymore))
read on ao3
pairing: lee felix/reader
content info: werewolf!au. friends2lovers. miscommunication and misunderstandings followed by resolution and smut. mentions of reader being in a past abusive relationship though the circumstances are not detailed. not omegaverse just werewolves but mentions of rut cycles and slightly different physiology.
this is, um, the wettest thing i've ever written. there is no other word for it. so much come, masturbating (reader walks in on felix), pervy masturbating using reader's stuff lol, massive breeding kink, multiple rounds, scenting, possessiveness, throat-grabbing, biting, pussy eating, squirting, dirty talk. did i mention come.
word count: 15800 words.
(hope it makes up for the delay hehe)
masterlist.
part of the valentine’s day stories series.
credit to prompts. requests are closed.
enjoy <3
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For a few moments, Felix is yours. There is no awkwardness, no reluctance, just dancing, just friendship.
The club is packed so tightly, the lights and music as roaring as lightning and thunder. The extra stimulation overwhelms the senses, even werewolf senses. He doesn’t think and neither do you. You just dance, finding each other in the bouncing circle of your half-drunk friend group. He smiles and you take his hand, letting him pull you across the dance floor and into his arms.
You’ve missed this smile. You’ve missed these arms.
Sure, Felix is still your best friend and he is never truly far. The distance is not literal, just emotional, and that is so much worse.
Ever since his werewolf genes kicked in, ever since a pack took him in, things have just been… different.
Right now, you can pretend nothing has changed. You are far away from ivory moons waning over woodlands, of werewolf packs and supernatural powers. His senses are diluted here, overpowered by so many moving bodies and so much wild noise.
Felix smiles, that wonderful big smile that crinkles his eyes so sweetly. Lights flash over him, his blonde hair nearly glowing, his freckles like stars. He’s your best friend again. All yours for a few precious moments.
He’s bigger than he was, you think, with a bit of a flush, as you dance closer to him, his arms circling your body. Or maybe I just never noticed before.
Felix is not very tall, but he is not small either, lean and athletic and confident in every inch of his body. It feels like he is everywhere. Every time a strobe light flashes over him, he seems a little closer. You breathe in his cologne, subtler than it used to be because his sense of smell is so powerful now, but still recognizable.
You are definitely not a werewolf, but you are captivated by that smell. Something oak, woodsy, masculine but pretty. So very Felix. You want to bathe in that smell, luxuriate in him. You spent so many nights curled into his side, sharing his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, that you associate that scent with everything good, safe, and home.
His hands dance up your sides very softly, his breath puffing across your cheek as you dance and dance. One song pours into the next. You lose track of time. In forgetting the world, you forget yourself. You slide your arms around his shoulders and press close to him.
You used to hug him like this so easily, but you have hardly touched him at all the last few months. Felix could never be cruel to anyone so he has not outright rejected your usual closeness, but it is obvious that your touch now makes him uncomfortable. The last thing you ever, ever want to do is hurt Felix. So you have followed his lead. Every time he accidentally pulls a face – a displeased twitch of his nose, an upset furrow of his brow – you have backed away.
It’s just the werewolf senses, you keep telling yourself. He’s more sensitive now, that’s all.
He still hugs the others. The werewolf boys love rough-housing, in fact, tumbling all over each other constantly.
That’s different. Yes, very different than this, right here, right now, his hands sliding down your sides – slowly, like he is memorizing the shape of your waist. He squeezes your hips and it fills you with heat. His hot face touches yours, cheek to cheek. The music is pounding, a frantic sound, but you are slow dancing, keeping to the rhythm of your heartbeats where they beat against each other.
You slide a hand up the back of his neck, into his long blonde hair. You feel the shudder move through his whole body. It makes your legs feel weak, realizing the effect you have on him. It seems impossible, especially with how much he has pushed you away, but there is no way he is shivering for any other reason. He cannot possibly be cold. The club is packed and, besides, he is not human. He runs hot.
So hot. He radiates it, burning where your bodies press together. Felix has always been the sunshine that keeps you warm, but this is a different heat. You know better than to succumb to it, knowing this moment will pass, but right now it is so easy to cling to him, to breathe him in, to feel like the world is just you and him.
The real world soon returns. It’s getting late so your friends call it a night.
“We’ll drop you off, yeah?” Chan says to you. Felix lives with him and the other wolves now. They all have their own apartments but they live in the same high-rise. You live a few blocks down, close, but not quite belonging.
“I don’t mind walking,” you say.
You do not want to intrude and you do not want to make Felix uncomfortable. He doesn’t even know Chan is offering you a ride because he standing so far away.
Felix is looking at his phone, slouched against the car while everyone organizes themselves. He is wearing a leather jacket, a white shirt, blue jeans, his long hair falling into his face. You want to brush it back, feel it between your fingers. You want to lift his face and see his smile.
But he doesn’t look at you. Now that you are outside, now that the heat has dissipated and the cold breeze carries your bland, dull, human scent, now that he can remember you are not special and not like him – now, he is someone else, and you are too, and it is cold and dreary and miserable.
“What?” Chan says. He is such a good pack leader and a good friend, but it makes him utterly oblivious to little dramas like this. “You’re not walking by yourself this late at night, don’t be crazy. Come on.”
The pack leader does not take no for an answer. Even though you are not in the pack, being human, there is no refusing Bang Chan. He grabs you by the wrist and drags you to his car.
Jeongin is in the front seat. Seungmin takes a back corner before Felix can lift his head, before he even knows you will be in the car too.
Felix looks tense when realizes he is trapped with you. Whether he takes the middle seat or the other corner, you will be beside him. If standing together outside is so intolerable, then being in a car is going to be torturous.
“I can walk,” you say to him.
“What?” He shakes his head. When he smiles, it is not his usual smile, not something real. You know the difference. His proper smile brightens you but this smile makes your heart sink. “Of course not,” he says. “C’mon. It’s late. Let’s get home, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, but he is already gone, taking all sense of home with him.
You take the middle seat. Felix rolls his window down and leans towards it. His eyes are closed the entire journey, the wind blowing across his tired face.
Seungmin is also a werewolf but he does not seem bothered by your human scent. Jeongin and Chan, the other packmates, likewise seem indifferent, chatting about everything and nothing, totally unperturbed. And you must cross paths with many werewolves during the day, but no one ever seems bothered by you.
Felix is the only werewolf who seems to have a problem with your scent. You do not know what it is that affects him so deeply. You have tried changing soaps and shampoos but nothing seems to help. It must be something natural to your human body. Humans do not smell like werewolves in general. Werewolves release pheromones that humans cannot smell, and it is important in forging interpersonal dynamics. That includes romance. Werewolves mate for life. You know they find their true mates through smell as much as the other senses. They are biologically wired to pursue their perfect match based on all those senses.
You are not a werewolf. You can never be his true mate. In the few months since he fully and rapidly developed his werewolf senses, Felix has withdrawn from you even though he promised it would never separate you.
You used to talk about what would happen if his werewolf genes activated. He comes from a family of werewolves but the gene lays dormant in certain carriers. Most werewolves develop in puberty if they develop at all. Some people never develop their wolven senses or powers. A minority, like Felix, are triggered by something in adulthood and succumb all at once.
It was always a possibility, however minute, but he promised things would stay the same. He said you were his person, that best friend did not even suffice as a word to describe your love.
You’re my world, you know, he said one night, speaking with the sort of earnest sincerity that only Felix could, his deep voice rumbling in your ear as you cuddled into him.
You wanted to say it back but you were hurting at the time. You ended a bad relationship a year earlier. It took your tender heart far too long to realize how badly your ex-boyfriend was treating you. When Felix found out the details, he was furious, though he kept it down around you. You had never seen your best friend so emotional. He became even more protective in the aftermath.
He showed you, time and time again, what real love is supposed to be. It doesn’t rush or demand, it doesn’t manipulate or coerce, and it doesn’t ask you to be small. He would hold you all night if that’s what you needed. He would make you laugh and let you cry.
You slowly realized true love had been in front of you, all this time, begging to be seen.
At least, you thought so. After such a bad relationship, you were taking it slow, and Felix never rushed you. You thought, maybe, one day…
But just when you were ready, everything changed. The werewolf gene unexpectedly activated. Felix was admitted to a wolven hospital and underwent his first transformation under a full moon. When he came home, he was different. Sure, he was still Felix, with his long dyed hair and his many freckles and his sun-kissed skin, but his brown eyes were so very different when he looked at you.
If he looked at you, which he avoids these days.
“Home sweet home,” Chan says, parking the car outside your apartment building.
Felix wastes no time getting out of the vehicle, practically spilling onto the sidewalk in his haste. He holds the door for you but averts his gaze.
You thank Chan, say good night to the other boys, then you shuffle across the seat and step out of the car. Felix still does not look at you, pretending he is distracted with something across the street.
You are a little tipsy, your emotions easily riled. You want to say good night so it will finally prompt him to look at you, but you are suddenly very choked up. Thoughtlessly, you touch his arm instead.
He flinches. It feels worse than a slap.
You do not look at him again, hurrying to the building before he can see the tears in your eyes.
Miraculously, you hold them in until you reach your apartment. You are one foot in the doorway when the tears spill, all the emotions you’ve suppressed over the last few months finally flooding free. The door falls closed with a slam and the whole world collapses under you.
You drop right there, knees pulled up to your chest and face buried in your hands.
You spent so many nights like this, crying all alone until you worked up the courage to tell Felix about your bad relationship. He was immediately understanding. It was so foolish to fear he would ever judge you. He put an arm around you and held you all night.
He is the person you want to call when you are hurting. It is agonizing to be without him. He is the one person you need and the one person you cannot call right now.
You let yourself feel sorry and miserable. When the tears have subsided and you are slouched against your door, empty and tired, you make a decision to end this. You have spent too much of your life collapsed on the floor and crying on your lonesome. You refuse to do it again.
As horrible as it is, you need to distance yourself from Felix. This slow deterioration of your relationship is excruciating. If he decides to reach out, you will be there, but you simply cannot continue to compromise yourself.
You somehow manage to wash up and get in bed. You sleep through the morning and rise late, delaying the inevitable a little longer by scrolling on your phone. Felix used to be the first text of the day but there is nothing from him. You would usually message anyway but today you put your phone aside and get out of bed.
So much of Felix is in your apartment. Borrowed hoodies, games, books, and so much more. Items are littered everywhere from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen and back. It takes an hour and you are not sure you find everything because he is so inextricably woven into your living space. You do not even see it anymore because it – because he – is always there.
You fill a cardboard box. Your plan is to walk the couple blocks to the high-rise and return it with a vague explanation. You are not sure what to say. Perhaps it is best to opt for brevity. After all, this is not a break-up because you are not a couple.
No, you think, staring at the full box with watery eyes, this is worse.
You make it a few steps out your door before you drop the box. It is way, way too heavy for you to carry two feet, never mind two city blocks. Already panting with exertion, you stare at the box taking up a huge slab of the narrow corridor.
You really don’t want to ask him to come get it, nor do you want to make multiple trips. You are scared that if you give him the opportunity, he will try and reassure you that nothing is wrong and you don’t need to do this. You’ll believe him in the moment, but then it will start all over again.
Like ripping off a bandage, it has to go all at once. It’s time to heal.
You push the box, budging it down the corridor inch by slow inch. You reach the elevator and press the call button. You calculate the logistics of pushing and shoving the box for two blocks, mostly concerned the cardboard will rip if it snags on something outside.
Lost in thought, you don’t see a person in the elevator and accidentally shove the box at him. He yelps, a loud cry of surprise as he jumps aside. It makes you leap out of your skin, shooting upright to look at him.
Some of your despondency leaves at the friendly face of your neighbour.
“Changbin!” you say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there.”
“Hey now,” he says, winking, his handsome face plastered with a grin, “I’m not that short.”
“No, of course not,” you say, laughing along with him.
Changbin is a werewolf as well. There are a lot of packs on this side of town because the large national park is nearby. The wolves like to use the expansive forest when the full moon cycle swings around.
“Moving out?” he asks with an eyebrow quirk.
“Ah,” you say. “Not quite.”
You explain your predicament, that the box belongs to a friend and you need to somehow reach his apartment building two blocks away. Changbin, ever the charmer and ever the helper, immediately offers his aid.
“Oh, you don’t have to—” you start, but he has already swung the big box into his arms.
Werewolves do have supernatural strength. Changbin looks strong, with big biceps and a stocky frame, never mind the supernatural enhancement. He doesn’t even break a sweat. The box might as well be empty for all the difference it makes to him.
He is kind enough to walk two blocks to the high-rise. You chat on the way and find the conversation flows easily. You also can’t help but notice he has no problem with your scent. It really is just Felix who seems so repulsed.
You ring the buzzer for Felix’s apartment but there is no answer. You try a couple more times, embarrassed because Changbin is waiting. Fortunately, he is very non-plussed, humming to himself while you ring the buzzer.
After a few tries, you ring Chan instead. He answers promptly and you explain the bare bones of the situation, that you have a box for Felix and you would appreciate if he could pass it along. Chan agrees, of course.
Maybe it is for the best. You can leave the box with Chan and not even have to confront Felix at all.
Chan buzzes you into the building. Changbin walks you to the elevator where he puts the box down. You thank him profusely but he waves it off and states he was happy to help.
It looks like he wants to say something more, looking at you while he rubs the back of his neck. In the end, he says he will see you around and departs.
You exhale. The worst of your nerves have dissipated since Felix is not even home. You have been the one instigating your interactions the last few months so you figure if you just quietly step back, he won’t even notice.
It pains you to admit it, that you could disappear from his life and he would just… not care. You stuff those feelings down, down, down for now. You prepare a friendly smile for Chan so he doesn’t ask too many questions.
When you reach the pack floor, you give the box a good shove into the corridor. Chan lives directly across from the elevator so you don’t have far to go.
Except there are voices in the corridor. You turn towards the sound.
An awful chill freezes in your blood, your whole body going rigid at what you see.
Felix is home. He is standing in his open doorway, half-dressed in a pair of jeans and nothing more. His long hair looks more dishevelled than usual, like someone has been running their fingers through it.
Someone. He is talking to a young woman. You don’t know her too well, simply that she is the only female werewolf in Chan’s small pack. She is wearing more clothes than Felix but still very casual in shorts and a t-shirt, barefoot like this is her home. You suppose it is, much more her home than yours.
She belongs. You do not.
Her and Felix are standing close while they converse. So close. They speak to each other in hushed tones, her expression tender and sympathetic while Felix winces in seeming pain. The details of their conversation are inarticulate at a distance but their voices are nonetheless audible.
Your scent reaches Felix first. He straightens so fast it would be comical under any other circumstances.
Nothing is funny right now. You feel like a complete and utter fool, standing in his corridor with a box of his things like he cares about them at all. He has already moved on. You were in denial, a stupid little human girl still clinging desperately to old memories.
“I better go,” the woman says. She leans up and kisses Felix on the cheek, gives him a little wink and mumbles something only he can hear. She turns and walks into the apartment next door, giving you a genuinely friendly wave. She has always been polite to you and you have no reason to dislike her. You can only wave back pathetically.
Your hand slaps your side when she disappears into her apartment. You and Felix look at each other.
He looks guilty. Sweat dots his hairline, streaks his bare chest, and his face is flushed. It is very obvious what he has been doing all morning.
The thought of such a fantasy was once tantalizing. The sight of him, like this, would make you dizzy. You remember the last time he casually took off his shirt, the swoop of desire that moved inside you, a sensation you did not even know you could still feel after your bad relationship.
Now that swoop is just nausea. There is no pleasure in it at all.
You are completely mortified.
“Hey,” Felix says. His deep voice breaks on a high-pitched twinge. He clears his throat. “Um,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it even more. He can’t seem to bring himself to meet your gaze, eyes darting all over the corridor but never you.
You curl your fingers, nails pressing hard into your palm.
“Look,” he says, clearing his throat again. “We need to talk about—”
You don’t want to hear it. You can’t hear it. You are hurt and embarrassed and devastated. Why couldn’t he just tell you he wanted to pursue a werewolf? It makes sense, biologically, and you can hardly fault him for the desire. Honesty would have hurt but not like this. Now you have to suffer the rejection of the only man you ever truly loved and suffer the fact you were not even worth a conversation.
It is too late to talk.
“It’s fine, Felix,” you say. All your messy, menial scripts crumble in your mind. Emotion takes over, bitterness and pain and irritation. “I brought you your things,” you say, pointing to the box. His eyes dart there for the first time, brow furrowing. “If I find anymore, I’ll give them to Chan. He’ll pass them along.”
“Um, what?” He looks from the box to you.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you say, blinking back tears. Your feelings come out in fragments, word after word with little coherency. “After everything I went through last year – I just – this is too much. The werewolf thing – I just – I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t have you in my life like this. Thank you for your friendship. The memories will always be important to me. But it’s for the best we don’t see each other again.”
You had not planned on so much finality, but that was before. Now you need to leave. If you stay here another second, you are going to fall apart.
“Good luck with everything,” you say.
You turn to leave but he says your name. You suck in a breath, wait a beat, and slowly turn back around.
Felix walks partway down the hallway, his whole face screwed up with pain and confusion. His mouth is moving but no words are coming out. Finally he closes his eyes and shakes his head, slamming a hand into his hair.
“Hold on,” he says. “Hold on, I – what are you talking about? You – you don’t want to be friends? How can – You can’t—” That deep voice breaks again, fracturing with emotion.
A part of you knows that you are being too harsh, letting your own emotions dominate your words. Another part of you is too heartbroken to care.
“It’s for the best,” you say weakly, your voice barely more than a breath of a sound. “Really.”
“For the best?” he asks, voice pitching up again. He has not looked at you so intensely for so long. “How can you say that to me?”
Much to your horror, he starts crying first. His tears seem to catch him by surprise too, his expression puckering as he tries to stop it. A hand flies up, covering his eyes. He shakes his head rapidly.
“Felix,” you whisper.
“For the best?” he repeats. He drops his hand and takes a shuddering breath.
You avert your gaze. You can’t stand to look at his eyes so full of tears, his face so strained with hurt.
“Did something happen?” he asks, taking a few more steps towards you. “Was it – was it me? You said – the werewolf thing – Did I do something? Please, please tell me.”
He doesn’t even realize how much he has withdrawn from you. He is bad at controlling his face, as evidenced now, so he probably has no idea how blatant his repulsion has been. Maybe he thought he was being subtle. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t care, that you were just his friend and you would be content to relegate yourself to the sidelines of his life. Maybe that is all your fault after all.
If you were a better friend, you would have coped with his new feelings. You would have been happy for him. If you were a better friend, maybe he would have told you sooner.
“You deserve a better friend than me,” you say.
He looks at you like you are completely crazy, his head tilted, his eyes narrowing.
“What?” he asks. “Where is this coming from? Please, I don’t understand. You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”
“I already told you,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I just can’t do this anymore. Our lives are heading in different directions and I – I – I just need to go. I want to go. Please.”
You have known Felix all your life. You were children together, hapless youths on a playground that immediately loved each other with the easy, thoughtless affection of childhood.
He reminds you of that child now, innocently standing in the corridor with his arms hanging limp at his sides and so much bewilderment on his freckled face.
“You want to go?” he repeats, voice low, soft.
You nod. After a second, he nods back, bottom lip still quivering. A fresh stream of tears spill over his eyes. He hiccups on a sob, turning away and covering his face.
“Fine,” he says, speaking between shaky breaths. “Go. I can’t – I can’t keep you here if you want to go.”
“Thank you,” you say softly. The elevator is still waiting when you press the call button. You step onto it and say, “Good bye, Felix.”
As the doors close, you hear another choking sob. You name is lost in the sound.
The door closes.
-
The regret is instantaneous. You stare at your phone for hours and even debate returning to his apartment, but in the end you do nothing.
You replay every moment, from seeing him with the other werewolf to his confusion and your departure. It was a long, long walk home, tears streaming down your face as your mind went back even further, remembering every moment of your friendship.
How could this have happened? You and Felix have always been open with each other. He was the first person you confided in about your bad relationship and he immediately did everything to save you from it. But when it was the other way around, when the werewolf gene activated, he turned away from your friendship. You poured your heart out to him, trusting he would catch it and keep it safe, but he did not feel the same way.
Secrets, confusion, heartbreak. It plays on a loop in your mind.
It is the middle of the night when you get a text. He has not messaged in a while, not in a substantial way. If you scroll back on your phone, you can see the disintegration of communication, the days when he would send message after message with any and every thought slowly petering down to brief replies and a vague acknowledgement at the very best.
This message is more. You can hear his voice when you read it, can picture those dark eyes.
Tell me this isn’t real. Please.
You feel sick. You are angry at him for being the one to withdraw only to suddenly turn on his heel. You are angry at yourself for reacting so drastically and immaturely. Mostly, you are just sad.
If I did something, I’m sorry, he writes. I’ll never stop being sorry. I’ll fix it. I’ll keep my distance. Just don’t say I can never see you again.
You type a reply, then delete it, then repeat.
You say nothing. Every time you try, you see him and her in that corridor, you see him flinching from your touch, you see him recoiling at your scent. It twists and tangles with memories of warm nights and tender smiles. You wipe your tears and remember when he did it for you, his thumb so gently sweeping your cheek. He used to touch you like you were precious to him. Now he flinches from your touch.
He does not text the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. You are not sure if it is better or worse.
After about a week, he messages again, stating, I miss you.
You are at your work desk but he immediately seizes your full attention, as he always has.
You stare at your phone. You take a breath. You have had a few days to decompress, to let the wound bleed. It is still sore to the touch.
You write, I miss you too.
You do not check your phone for a while, listening to the relentless buzz as he sends eager message after eager message. It feels like the old days for a minute, but slows to a stop when you do not reply. You read them back later, his pleading, his sweetness. It makes you spiral, on the one hand wanting to take it all back, but on the other hand picturing his flinch, his disgust, knowing it is only a matter of time before your heart breaks again.
You do not reply. He takes the hint and gives you a few more days, then he messages, I still have your stuff in my place too, you know?
I know, is all you say. I have more of your stuff too.
As predicted, you have been finding his things all over the apartment. Even things which are technically yours are still stamped with his memory. He helped you move into this place after the break-up. He took you shopping and paid for so many things to get you back on your feet. Everything from blankets to cushions to plates make you think of him. This was just a room before he made it a home. Without him, it is just a room again.
There are a couple days of silence, then some of his packmates start messaging you. You don’t think he is sending them after you, as Felix would never manipulate or coerce you like that. They reach out of their own volition, curious because they have not seen you in a while. But it is all so overwhelming, so you throw your phone under a pillow and go for a walk.
That is when you run into Changbin again. His smile is charming as ever when he strikes up a friendly conversation.
“I was wondering,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, not-so-inadvertently flexing his big bicep when he does, “I was going to ask a couple weeks ago, when I helped you with that box – ah, I was kicking myself after because I didn’t see you for a while. But – I thought we had a nice conversation. Maybe you and me could do something.”
“Do something,” you repeat. It sounds like he is asking you out which is a little perplexing, because he is a werewolf and you are a human. Surely nothing serious can come of it. You used to think it was possible, as there are plenty of movies and romance novels to prove it, but your personal experience has led you to other conclusions.
“A date,” he clarifies, grinning that handsome smile. “You and me. My treat. No pressure. I just think you’re clever and, ah, very beautiful, and I want to know you better.”
A polite rejection is on the tip of your tongue. You are not in any emotional state to try dating someone right now. But you think of Felix and that woman in the corridor, and you think of your phone buzzing, and you think of another long, lonely night stewing in it all.
Changbin must be looking for something casual anyway. A werewolf would not truly settle down with a human. Maybe this is a good opportunity to put yourself out there.
“Sure,” you say. “I’d like that.”
Changbin takes you out a few days later. You actually do enjoy yourself. He is very charming and it is easy to talk to him, plus the date itself is very fun. He takes you out for food then to an arcade, flopping at every game in a hilarious spectacle.
“I’m a werewolf,” he complains later. “I’m strong! Those games were rigged.”
You giggle, wrapping yourself up in the jacket he leant you. You are walking back to the apartment building, the warm evening giving way to a cool night as you make the trek. It is enjoyable until you reach the building, at which point you start to panic. Does he expect to be invited into your apartment? Does he expect… more? The thought leaves you dizzy and not in a good way. Changbin is so very handsome and so very likable. Going out with him showed you that you can enjoy yourself without the crutch of a lifelong friendship.
You don’t need Felix.
But you still want him.
You try to go back and find the moment it all went wrong, try to picture a different ending, but it feels impossible. A foolish fantasy from a girl still clinging to the dying dredges of hope and affection. There is a wonderful, handsome man at your side, a werewolf at that, and your mind is somewhere else.
Changbin remarks on it, politely but nonetheless curiously. He gives you a penetrating look, like he knows something is wrong and there is no use lying.
You sigh.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I just… I recently broke-up with a friend.”
“With a friend?” he asks, eyebrows jumping with surprise. “What kind of friend?”
“A close one, very close,” you say. “We’ve known each other forever, you see. He’s the most wonderful person I have ever known. He’s good to everyone, open-hearted, kind, warm. I have truly never known a better man. He just makes every room a little brighter when he’s in it. You would like him, I think. Everyone does. He’s a werewolf but the transformation only happened for the first time this year. Since then…” You sniffle. “Things have been different. Werewolves are biologically wired to be with other werewolves and form packs… I think my human status just started affecting him negatively.”
“Biology,” Changbin says like it is a foreign word. He looks at you with a cocked eyebrow. “It exists, yeah, but werewolves still have hearts, you know? It’s nice finding other werewolves so you aren’t alone, but it isn’t necessary. Love is complicated.”
That does give you pause for a moment. A logical part of you knows it is true, that plenty of werewolves make relationships work with humans, but that is almost harder to accept. If it’s just biological, then it cannot be helped. But if it’s a choice—
“So he isn’t biologically wired to hate me now that he’s a werewolf,” you say miserably. “It’s just something he chose to do.”
“Now, I didn’t say that,” Changbin says. “But, if that is what happened, he’s an idiot. If you were that obviously in love with me, ah, I wouldn’t let you go that easy.”
“I’m not in love with him…” The lie tumbles without an ounce of confidence. Changbin just gives you an amused look. Embarrassed, you drop your gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” you say. “He doesn’t feel the same way. Believe me, I know how he’s been looking at me, or how he won’t. That’s why I walked away. I was holding onto a friendship that once was and a fantasy that will never be. It’s time to be reasonable.”
“Ah, I don’t think love is very reasonable,” he says. “But you should stay true to yourself and do what’s right. And, in the mean time, if you need a friend…”
You exchange smiles. A weight lifts off your shoulder as Changbin changes the subject to friendship between you.
“I would like a friend,” you say. “Thank you, Changbin.”
“Ah, it’s been fun. But give me back my jacket,” he teases. “Since we’re friends I don’t need to impress you. I’m cold.”
“I thought werewolves run hot,” you say, laughing. You shrug off the coat and hand it to him.
“Eh, a little bit, maybe more than humans. But the blood really only gets hot during a rut cycle,” he says.
It is a casual statement. He is too preoccupied with zipping up his jacket to notice you get a little flustered.
You know a bit about ruts, namely that werewolves have a cycle which span a few days every month. It’s a fertility and reproduction thing, pushing developed werewolves to find mates and, well, mate them. It is a common part of the werewolf lifestyle so it is fair for Changbin to so casually mention it.
It is not because of Changbin that you feel flustered. You are thinking about Felix that night at the club, how burning hot he was compared to everyone else. Now that you think of it, not even Chan felt so hot when he grabbed your wrist, nor Seungmin beside you in the car. Felix, though, was radiating heat. Was he starting a rut cycle? Perhaps that explains why he was so hot and sweaty the next day during your confrontation.
You remember the other werewolf in the corridor. Your heart sinks again. Was she helping him through his rut? Then again, she left the second you arrived. Why were they even in the hallway? If she was spending his rut with him, surely they would have been inside together, not yapping in the hallway...
“You look worried,” Changbin says.
You are gnawing your bottom lip, eyes darting around as you contemplate that day. At his words, you blink to attention, doing your best to shake the anxiety.
“It’s nothing,” you say. “I’m just confused about so many things right now.”
“You know, if this guy really is so great and wonderful – and I think he is, if someone like you loves him so much – then he will probably be happy to answer your questions so you don’t feel so confused.”
“Ugh.” You slap a hand over your eyes and shake your head. “Why do you have to be so decent and mentally competent and right?”
“Jutdae,” he says, then flexes an arm and squeezes a bicep through the jacket. “And lots of protein.”
You laugh again. With a few more words of thanks and a promise to catch up again soon, you give him one final good night hug. He says he might meet up with some friends so you part ways, Changbin strolling while you head inside.
You look at your phone, considering his words as you ride the elevator to your floor. Changbin is right. Giving Felix the silent treatment is not helping you or him. Even though the conversation will probably be uncomfortable in so many ways, you should talk to him. It might not repair anything, but at least you will have closure. That wound cannot heal so long as it is still bleeding and festering.
You are drafting a text message in your head when you step off the elevator.
Then you lift your eyes and stumble to a stop.
Felix is sitting outside your apartment door. He is wearing jeans and a blue flannel, a denim jacket on top of that. A habitual joke is on the tip of your tongue, seeing him so decked out in his favourite colour. It disappears at the morose look on his face.
His long blonde hair is down around his shoulders, neglected black roots peeking at the crown of his head. He looks a little wan and very tired, his head lolled to the side.
He scents you before he sees you, eyes fluttering closed for a second, then he looks at you.
He really looks at you.
Felix always has such a softness in his gaze, but this look is searing. It moves through you, a forceful heat twining its way around your insides. It holds you in captivated thrall as he stands, one black boot thumping against the ground with the force of his push as he straightens himself out.
That piercing looks crinkles as more of your scent registers to him. His face twists with revulsion, except it is even more severe than usual. It is so disturbed that it makes you think his past expressions were not disgust at all, because this face is so terrorized by whatever he smells.
“Where were you?” he asks.
You have been staring at each other in silence for so long that his voice reverberates loudly in the corridor. It makes you jump as the smoothness of his deep voice pours into you. It’s only been a few weeks since you last heard him speak, but somehow you forgot how profoundly that voice could affect you, especially when he drops it so deliberately.
“Out,” you say. You are so flustered that your body goes into defense mode, your tone sharp when you say, “I don’t need your permission for that.”
That softens the slash of his gaze. He shakes his head.
“No,” he says softly. “Of course not. I’m sorry.”
His apology is so sincere, eyes searching yours for something beyond the surface. You feel like he is speaking to you without words, somehow conveying a lifetime of love in the way he looks at you, saying, it’s me.
You soften too, in every way, your voice and your posture, your heart and everything inside you. So soft and malleable, all that heat expanding in every direction until you can imagine yourself radiating it like he did. It feels so inappropriate to be aroused when there is so much drama between you, when a serious conversation needs to be had. But he is looking at you so intensely, colours of emotions playing across his face. A shaking breath draws your gaze to his lips.
He says your name. It feels like a touch. You feel dizzy again, this time in a very good way, despite yourself.
You hear his sharp intake of breath as you step a little closer. Your scent is affecting him. It makes him do a double-take, looking at you up and down without any subtlety. It is blatant, searching. For lack of a better word, predatory, a wolf on the prowl, scenting something it wants, maybe needs. Your skirt is long, sweeping past your knees, but you feel like he can see past it somehow.
His eyes, low on your body, flick up to your face. Your knees knock. That hungry look twists into something repulsed again, his brow furrowing. It darkens his whole face.
Of course. He is disgusted with you and your boring human scent and he always has been. You cannot give into hopeful delusions.
“What are you doing here?” you ask in your most casual tone, striding up to him like you are unaffected by his presence.
He steps to the side, staring while you fumble around in your purse for your keys.
“I wanted to talk,” he says.
You stare into your bag, rifling through mint wrappers and lipsticks and bus tickets. You can feel his eyes, practically burning a hole in the side of your head. You want to be chill, want to laugh and tell him he’s acting weird, to knock it off. You want to be indifferent, remind him there is a distance between you now and his staring is not appropriate.
Then he puts a hand on the door, near your head. He moves around you, undeniably scenting you as he goes. His other hand comes around the other side, caging you between him and the door. Your back is to him but you can still feel his gaze, shivering when he breathes you in.
You swallow, cringing at the wave of arousal that moves through you when his nose brushes the back of your neck.
Werewolf instincts, you remind yourself, trying to find the resolve to snap him out of it, except that’s not what you want. You want him to press right against you and put his mouth on your neck, to taste everything he is scenting.
Until you remember he hates the scent. So much so, he makes a guttural noise that sounds like a growl, rumbling at the base of his throat.
You expect him to flinch and move away. You imagine him shaking his head as he abandons his efforts to reconcile because you’re just not worth it.
You are not expecting him to say, “Why do you smell like another werewolf?”
“What?” you say. “I – I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” he says, taking another deep breath. “It’s all over you. Who is he?”
Oh, you have been wearing Changbin’s jacket for the last half-hour. You did not notice any smell but you are not a werewolf. To Felix, you must be utterly smothered in it. You wonder if it smells like a sex pheromone, given Changbin was taking you on a date, maybe permeating a desire your human senses did not notice.
Whatever it is, it has Felix riled in a way you have never seen before. He has been very careful to hold himself in check around you. The worst of his werewolf symptoms have been hidden from the start. It is part of why you are so hurt, that he would not trust you with it.
Now it overrides his good sense. His nose swipes the back of your neck again, his fingers curling against the door where his hands sit.
“He’s just a friend,” you say.
“A friend,” he repeats. “He doesn’t smell like a friend.”
“Well, he is,” you say. All your desire, heartbreak, and desperation swell inside you, bursting like a firework, hot and crackling. With a pounding heart, you turn around to face him, intent on confrontation when you snap, “Why would that even matter to you?”
You look into his eyes. He is so close, arms around you, that woodsy scent enveloping you. It feels like coming home, falling into his gaze, letting the heat wash over you as he stares back. There is something animalistic about his intensity, a predator with its hackles raised, sights set and hunger striking.
“Felix,” you whisper, voice heavy with a thousand questions that never manifest.
One hand leaves the door. He grabs the back of your neck, not roughly, not cruelly, but with an undoubted and irrevocable command. It makes another firework burst inside you. You gasp.
That gasp is interrupted when he dives in without any hesitation, his mouth thoroughly claiming yours in a hot, desperate kiss.
Whenever you dared to fantasize a kiss with Felix, it was always soft, a little brief, giving it time to grow. You never imagined so much heat overwhelming you all at once, that his mouth would be so ravishing. You didn’t even know a kiss could move through your whole body, that when he puts his tongue in your mouth it would feel like he is already fucking you, your body throbbing with want.
It is not just werewolf instinct because you react too. You drop your purse on the floor and put your hands on him, one on his chest and the other his neck, clinging to him like he clings to you. He takes it as invitation, his other hand leaving the door to hold your waist. His grip is powerful, but despite the supernatural strength it does not hurt. No, Felix would never hurt you. Oh, it was so stupid to think he ever would.
He makes a sound that has you whimpering in turn, the low grunt pressing at your most vulnerable places. The kiss is open-mouthed, hot and wet and messy.
He walks you back that final step, pressing you to the door. He cups the back of your head so you don’t hit it.
You grab the collar of his denim jacket and yank on it, pulling him even closer. You are completely delirious with him. Everything that has happened and everything that will happen is wholly unimportant as he slots his whole body along yours.
His leg pushes between your thighs, his hips pinning you to the door. The thought would have you terrified a year ago, but now it just feels right. Of course it feels right, because this is Felix, who has seen you at your most vulnerable and healed you, who has caught you every time you fall. He will always fix what hurts. He will always take care of you.
Your body knows it, begging for him, hips rearing towards him. It presses his thigh against the juncture between your legs, makes it so your flimsy skirt doesn’t matter at all. You are not thinking when you start to rock against him.
You forgot your body could feel so much pleasure.
“Oh, fuck—” he says, his already deep voice somehow even lower as he curses.
You squeak as he holds you against the door, deliberately rocking his thigh between yours with more pressure and speed than you could manage. It makes a torrent of mortifying sounds spill past your lips, but he gathers them all up lovingly, tastes them on his tongue as he chases down your gasping breath. Every little mewl, every breath, every squeaking hiccup is swallowed up by him.
“Come for me, please,” he whispers, roughly. It sounds like begging despite how much physical power he has over you. It would scare if it was someone else, but that supernatural strength doesn’t matter because it bends to you, waiting for your permission.
You just barely remember you are in the corridor. You hope no one chooses now to step out of their apartment. You wonder if the other werewolves on the floor can scent whatever pheromones Felix must be giving off.
It doesn’t matter. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you can’t stop it. You’re going to come on him, just like this, fully clothed but so wet that you can feel it gushing as he grinds his thigh against you.
You grab onto his belt, feeling the curve of his bulge just below your palm. It makes his breath stutter and it makes you surrender. Your body seizes and your pussy throbs as you come, a strangled cry in your throat while rocking desperately against him.
It settles slowly, the world coming back in increments. You are breathing hard, clinging to each other, bodies still pressed so tightly together. You can feel his heart beating hard and fast. It keeps rhythm with the lingering thrum below.
So much for conversation. Grinding all over Felix in a semi-public space was not in the plan at all.
“Oh my god,” you say, voice breaking as you are hit with realization. You push at him and he goes obediently.
“Fuck,” he says, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. He runs his hands through his hair, shakes out the length of it while breathing erratically.
Your heart is still pounding. You put your hand over your chest like that will calm it down.
Felix looks at you.
You recognize this look.
This look – this is the face you have been mistaking for disgust. Now that you have seen him truly reviled, snarling at Changbin’s scent on your body, you realize it is not disgust, not at all. It’s pain, a wincing, cringing desperation as he fights to keep everything inside him.
It is barely contained right now, his chest still heaving, his fly still bulging, hands shaking at his sides as he stares at you with open need.
“Oh my god,” you say again. You lean against the door for support, closing your eyes to try and make sense of the world. You see the events of the last month play out, the months before that, going back further and further until you shake your head to clear your mind. “I just—” You open your eyes, meet his anxious gaze. “Just give me some time,” you say. “I – I need to think – I’m so—”
“It’s okay,” he says, hands out to placate you, but careful not to touch you. He forces himself to smile despite his own emotional tumult. Sweat breaks out on his hairline. “Take your time, I – I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to—I just wanted to talk—I—”
“I know,” you say. “I know.”
He nods sharply, clearing his throat as he turns awkwardly to the side. He points vaguely behind him, stutters something like, “I’ll go, um, I’ll just—”
He turns on his heel and walks away, taking the corner to the stairwell so fast that you blink and he is gone.
You can hear him bounding down the stairs. You stand there, listening until he is too far to hear.
With every limb shaking, you pick up your purse and finally fish out your keys. You manage to turn the key in the lock and step inside before you crumple to your knees.
This time your thoughts are a very different whirlwind, just as confused and just as emotional, but so conquered by sensation that you find yourself just sitting there, touching your lips, thinking of him.
There is a lot to think about.
-
You realize you have been wrong about so many things. You and Felix should have spoken a long time ago. You have both been skirting each other, tentatively regarding the other, worried you might hurt them. It resulted in you both getting hurt anyway.
You are so, so scared of making that hurt worse. It makes you hesitate.
A day goes by. Felix respects your space. On the second day, when you contemplate reaching out for a conversation – a real conversation – your phone buzzes.
You are surprised to see that it is Bang Chan.
Hey, he writes. I need to talk to you right now. It’s about Felix.
Your heart-rate shoots through the roof, terror obliterating every other emotion.
Is he okay? you write. What happened??
Look, I’m just gonna say it, Chan writes. Felix is in rut. You know what that is?
Yes, you say.
At first, you are relieved he is not hurt and it is something so mundane. Then you are flustered as you recall the other night. You remember the heat between you, the way you came on his body and the way he begged for it. Even now, you are more aroused than embarrassed, shivering as you remember the way he looked at you.
Right, Chan says. Look I promise I’m not asking you to sleep with him or something. I wouldn’t do that. You have no responsibility for anything. But you also gotta know that dumb kid is in love with you, right? Like… insane in love. Like… won’t let anyone else see him or help him even though he’s a new werewolf, hasn’t had that many ruts, and it hasn’t even been a whole month since the last one.
You watch as each text appears, your adrenaline building with every word. The phone shakes in your tight grip.
Didn’t someone help him with his last rut? You ask. I saw her at his apartment.
What??? Chan answers quickly. No. I sent her over to see if he needed anything, because he kept telling me to fuck off because I was telling him to call you. I’m telling him again but he still won’t listen. You know he thinks he’s a monster right?
You are still reeling from the revelation that he and the girl were not an item at all, that they were truly just having a conversation. He was flushed and sweaty because he was in rut, not because he spent all morning with her. You were the one racing to conclusions, not even giving him a chance to explain. You remember him stepping towards you, asking to speak, but you cut him off before he could. You assumed he just wanted to reject you.
Chan says Felix is in love you. Is it possible that after a conversation with another wolf, he was gathering the courage to tell you, only for you to say you never wanted to see him again?
Now you read the last message and your heart sinks, a painfully heavy weight in your gut.
A monster? you write. What do you mean?
That doesn’t even make sense. Felix is the kindest, most loving man you know. Assuming werewolves are monstrous is such a medieval thought that it never occurred to you for a second that he would feel that way.
Yeah, Chan says. Look, he never told me the details because he said it wasn’t his story to tell, but he told me that you went through something really hard and that was why he didn’t want to stress you out with the werewolf thing. It can be pretty intense, especially at the start, and especially when you’re already an adult. He spent his whole life thinking he was one thing only for everything to change really quickly. He was really scared of coming on too strong and losing you because of it.
You made his worst fears come true, you realize, numb as you stare at the screen.
You know Felix, Chan writes, He’d rather just suffer alone than have someone else feel it too. I told him to trust you more, that you would want to help, but there’s no getting through to him when he’s like that. I love the guy but he can be kinda stubborn.
You both have a stubborn streak. The last month of drama attests to that.
What do you want me to do? you ask. You have more answers but you feel just as lost as before, maybe even more.
Can you just talk to him please? Chan says. He holed himself up in his apartment and he won’t let anyone in. He stopped answering my messages too. Ruts are a Molotov cocktail of hormones. They’re intense even if you’re experienced and he isn’t. I just don’t want him to get hurt and not do anything about it because he doesn’t want to bother anyone.
You remember Felix in that corridor, arms hanging limp at his sides, looking at you with so much hurt and sorrow. Despite that, he didn’t pressure you to stay. He listened. He let you go because he thought you wanted that. He stood by himself in that corridor, crying over a box of his things that he thought had a home with you.
Tears blur your vision. You have to rub your eyes before answering Chan.
I’ll go to him, you write. I don’t want him hurt either.
I know you don’t, Chan says. You have a spare key to his place?
Yes.
Good, Chan says. He’s not answering his door so you’re gonna need it. Give the guy a smack for me, hey?
His joke makes you laugh, though it is strained. You give yourself a second to compose yourself then you are on your feet. You are in a loose house dress and tights, face bare and hair undone, but you do not waste another second. You know you can be yourself around Felix no matter what. You wish he understood the feeling was reciprocated.
This time, instead of running away, you run to him. This time, you will make him understand.
-
The two city blocks pass in a blur. You have never moved so fast in all your life, bumping into slow stragglers as you barrel down the street.
By the time you step off the elevator on his floor, you are warm and out of breath. You wipe a little perspiration off your forehead as you approach.
You were so frantic in your determination to arrive, there was no time for nerves to materialize. They strike all at once, twisting anxiously as you knock. You wait a minute but he doesn’t answer, just like Chan predicted.
You take a steadying breath and put the key in the lock. Hand over your heart, you push open the door and step into the apartment.
It does not look any different from the last time you were here. Even your slippers are still by the door. You disregard them now, stepping out of your shoes and venturing forward with a nervous little patter.
If you were a werewolf, maybe you would have scented a change in the air, but it smells and feels familiar. The apartment is very still, maybe a little warmer than usual, sunlight streaming through the windows.
You finally hear a sound. You leave the small foyer and make a very clumsy entrance into the room.
You can hardly blame yourself for stumbling. Felix is sitting on the couch in nothing but a pair of jeans. It looks like the same blue jeans from the other night. Yes, in fact, you are sure they are because you can see the faintest streak on his thigh. You were embarrassed to find you were so wet that it came through your panties and skirt. You wondered if it got on him.
You certainly have an answer now.
Felix is touching himself. He is slouched back on the couch, his bare chest damp with sweat, his knees spread apart. His jeans are pulled open and it looks roughly torn, the zipper snapped off the fly. His hand is wrapped around his cock. One of your t-shirts is clutched tightly in the other hand. He is holding it against his face, covering his eyes, mouth, and nose. He is clearly chasing the scent, knuckles whitening with how tightly he grips it.
His abdomen clenches as he approaches a climax. You watch as he quickly wraps the t-shirt around his cock, fucking the material. His eyes are closed, head thrown back.
You snap to the realization that he has no idea you’re here, so overwhelmed with your scent from the shirt.
You quickly cover your eyes with both hands and yelp his name.
His reply is a startled yelp as well. You peek at him through your fingers, watching as he frantically stuffs the t-shirt between the couch cushions. He tries to stand at the same time, fighting to close his pants over an uncooperative erection that does not seem to be going down.
“Fuck, sorry, I – hold on, fuck – I can explain—” he stammers.
“Um, me too,” you say.
He can’t get his pants closed but he gets himself tucked back inside. He keeps a grip on the fly with one hand, the other running through his long hair.
Then he is standing there, flushed and out of breath. You slowly lower your fingers from your face.
There is a moment of silence, both of you startled. After a bit of staring, he cracks a nervous smile. You tentatively return it.
His brow smooths out, his dimple poking into his cheek. He chuckles first, then you laugh, then you are laughing together. It feels good, letting out all the ridiculous tension.
“Why, uhh, why are you here?” he finally asks.
“Um, Chan texted,” you say.
“Oh, for the love of—” He cuts off his own tirade, shaking his head and exhaling heavily.
You twist your hands together, fingers budging in a nervous fidget.
“Um, he told me… he told me…” You forget your precise words because Felix meets your eyes, holding your gaze in his. You lose yourself in the depth of his dark eyes. You think your heart is beating loud enough to hear.
You look away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare. Your eyes stray to the couch, to your t-shirt poking out between the cushions. You are startled by a jolt between your legs, like a lightning bolt of arousal, the previous scene suddenly resonating with clarity.
“I—” You almost choke on your words, so much nervousness, so much fear, so much need in your voice. You meet his searching eyes, stepping forward as if compelled by them. “I thought my scent disgusted you.”
He blinks back at you, your words taking a moment to settle. Then he furrows his brow and tilts his head. A bit of hair falls forward and he tucks it back.
“Uhhhh, what?” he asks. “Dis—disgusted me? You thought—” He looks back at the couch too. He is very flushed, his rut no doubt keeping him suspended on a perpetual edge, and his ears darken with a richer tinge of red. “Um. No.” He laughs at the ridiculousness, looking at you with wide, blinking eyes. “I, uh, I definitely don’t – I think you – I mean—”
“Um, yes,” you say, clasping your hands together again. You rock a little on the balls of your feet. “Yes. I can see that, um, I think you’re not disgusted.”
“No,” it comes out on a breath. His eyes drop from your face down your body. You look so simple, but he looks at you like no one has ever been more beautiful. “No, I’m not disgusted. Why did you think that?”
“You, um, you make faces sometimes,” you say. It sounds so petty and silly to say out loud, but it’s time to get it all out there. “And you’ve been so distant, Felix. I thought that maybe, now that you’re a werewolf, you didn’t want anything more to do with me.”
His face scrunches up with bewilderment.
“Nothing – nothing to do with you?” he asks, voice breaking where it pitches up. It would usually make you laugh, but now is not the time as you stare back, all your insecurities and vulnerabilities on display. He does not laugh at them either, taking a small step towards you with a tender look on his face. “I could never feel that way,” he says. “You’re my whole world. I – I’ve told you that. You’re my – you’re my person.”
“Chan said you felt like a monster,” you say softly. “I wish you would have told me how you felt. I could have told you that you aren’t a monster, not at all. You’re my person too, you know.”
He exhales, shoulders deflating. He rubs the bridge of his nose, thinking of something to say. Eventually he shakes his head and drops his hand.
“I didn’t want to be a burden,” he says. “You’ve been through so much. I couldn’t – I couldn’t ask you to take care of me too.”
“Felix,” you say, throat cloying with emotion. You take a step closer as well. “Felix, you’re not a burden. I wanted so badly to take care of you. I – I love you.”
The word love resonates like thunder. It pierces the air, leaves a ringing aftermath.
“You – you love me,” Felix says, like the words are incomprehensible. “As a – as a friend – or?” He tries to look disinterested but completely fails, staring at you with all that intensity again.
You combat the instinct to make yourself small, to hide your vulnerabilities, to retreat into denial and just smile prettily. You hold his gaze. When you smile, it is honest and affectionate.
“I love you, Felix,” you say. “As more than a friend. As everything.”
“Oh,” he says. His hand goes back into his hair, untucking it from behind his ear just to tuck it back again. His eyes dart everywhere like he is replaying the scene and scanning it for answers. He blinks at you. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” you say, with a small laugh.
“But you – you never wanted to see me again,” he says, then lifts his brows, expression all at once understanding. “Because you thought I didn’t want you. Oh my god. I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m not the brightest either,” you tease.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, closing the distance yet again with another step. He forgets the state of his clothes and lets go of his pants, too wrapped up in his words to notice the startled drop of your eyes. Not much is exposed, just the shape of his hips and a stubborn bulge, but it still leaves you sweating.
“Look,” he says. “I – I can’t just say I love you.” Before your heart can sink, he continues frantically, “Because it’s not enough. I do, I do love you. The werewolf gene activated for you. The doctors asked if I had been in any dangerous situations that might have triggered it and I said no. They – they said it sometimes activates in peril, when you feel the need to protect yourself. That’s what happened to me. Except it wasn’t because I wanted to protect myself. I wanted to protect you.”
“Me?” you say in a small voice, like you can hardly believe it.
“Yes,” he says, smiling, both hands moving as he talks. “I felt so helpless, watching the way you were hurting. I wanted to protect you. I never wanted to see you suffering again. I tried to be calm around you but pushing it down just made the feeling more desperate. My wolf, it’s like my heart. It’s just an animal, you know? And it only understands loyalty and love. And the first time I changed, I didn’t think like a person, no, but I thought of you all the same. They could barely keep me contained in that hospital. I just wanted to run to you. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe. Staying away from you… it’s been killing me.”
“Me too,” you say, so filled to brim with emotion you think you might burst. “Oh, Felix, me too.”
A laugh spills out of him, more of a release than humour. You take another step towards each other, this time close enough to clasp hands between you.
“I wish you would have told me,” you say. “But it’s my fault too. I know I’m still recovering in some ways. I’m quick to think little of myself. But I shouldn’t put you in the role of the mean voices in my head. I’m sorry too. So, so sorry.”
“How could you think I’d ever be disgusted with you?” he asks in a low voice.
When he cups your cheek, a shiver moves down your spine. You straighten, leaning into his touch, looking at him with wanting eyes. He swallows hard, staring back.
“It was silly,” you say. “I even thought you were seeing someone else. That werewolf lady in your pack. I thought maybe you wanted a werewolf mate and I wouldn’t be enough.”
“That’s crazy,” he says. “You’re my everything.”
“And you’re mine,” you say.
You touch his arm, just the lightest caress of your fingertips. His skin is so hot it makes you gasp. Your cool fingers must be a balm because his eyes close and a little sigh parts his lips.
“Uh,” he breathes, eyes still closed. “Sorry for what you, uh, saw, coming in— I promise I don’t usually – ruts are just—”
You step a little closer. You can feel his breath on your cheek when he breathes in and out.
His hands drop to his sides as you lean in and kiss his neck. It is just a chaste touch but it makes his eyes fly open. He looks at you and you swear his eyes have never been so dark.
“You want me,” he says. When you nod, he releases another deep breath, a massive exhale of relief. “Ruts are… intense,” he says.
“Mm,” is your gentle reply. Your eyes run down his bare skin, fingers itching to touch. You meet his gaze. “But it’s you, right?”
Some romances depict ruts as an out of control haze. Though Felix is certainly more intense, it is your best friend’s familiar eyes locked on yours. You realize it actually makes him the vulnerable one, all his desires so blatant, his needs on the surface, unable to hide them for a second. You understand why he held back, especially while you were in recovery. There is so much of him.
But that is what you love. You can never have enough.
“Yes,” he says.
His deep voice is so rough that it makes you whimper. His hand jumps at the sound, settles on the back of your neck like it did yesterday. Anticipation tingles from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, every inch of your body aware of him, desperate for him.
“Yes,” he says again, staring at your mouth. “Yes, it’s me.”
Your breath catches when he squeezes your nape. In the back of your mind, you recall all those little courtship rituals of werewolves, the instincts that manifest between them and their mate. A gentle squeeze of the nape is a request for your submission, for you to put your trust in his strength and his affection.
You do, utterly. You rest your hands on his waist, your cool palms against his hot skin, making his eyes flash with hunger.
“What are you waiting for?” you ask, his mouth so close, kissing a tantalizing promise.
He smiles that real smile, eyes crinkling sweetly, sunshine radiating with all that heat.
“I told you, ruts can be intense,” he says. “I’m waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you.”
“You have it,” you say. Your eyes drop to his chest and you run your hand from his collarbone all the way down to his abdomen, watching the muscles tense under the caress of your fingers.
You smile at him, swiping at his hot skin with your fingertips as you step back. He lets you go, hands dropping to his sides. He moves when you do, like his whole body is tethered to yours, magnetized to your core. Each step you take, he follows with a fixated prowl.
“Do whatever you want with me,” you say, peeling down a strap of your dress. “I’m yours.”
His steps gain speed, his smile brightening. In a matter of seconds, he is chasing you into his bedroom, laughing behind your trail of giggles as you scamper ahead of him.
He catches you around the waist inside the bedroom, pulling your backside into his front. The straps of your dress are both lowered and you hold it to your chest with your hand, heart pounding from excitement and the little chase.
You make a sweet sound when his nose swipes your neck. You tip your head, offering more skin. It is a good thing his grip is so strong, because you tremble when he exhales, breath caressing your skin. He gathers your dress in his hands, plucking the fabric out of your grip. He pushes it down your body and it puddles on the floor.
“Felix,” you say on a sigh when he kisses the back of your neck while working his fingers under your bra. You help remove it, dropping it onto the floor. You rock back against him when he touches you. He uses both hands to cup your breasts and squeeze.
“Can’t believe you thought I was disgusted,” he says. “Like I didn’t spend my whole last rut in here thinking about you.”
“Y-you did?” you ask, with a little whimper, because his open jeans are not doing much to shield him and you can feel how hard he is against you.
“Yes,” he says, a hand coming up to circle your throat, gripping it possessively as he puts his teeth in your neck. It makes you jump in his arms, body shaking.
He holds you tight against him, the denim of his pants rough through the thin fabric of your tights.
“I’m sorry for all that,” you rasp. “I must have made it so hard for you.”
“Mm,” he says, grinning against your neck. “You made it very hard.”
“Pfft.” You slap a hand over your mouth when laughing. “That was a terrible joke.”
“Mm. True though.”
You squeak when he nudges you forward, so close to the bed that you stumble right onto it. He climbs up behind you, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back.
“At first, I was just sad,” he says.
He leans back to grab something off his bedside table. You admire the length of his body as he does, the low-slung jeans, the sheen of sweat across his chest, and his subtle, slender musculature.
You meet his gaze when he comes back. He is kneeling over you, a cocky grin on his face. He gathers his hair and ties it with the band he just grabbed.
“Then I really thought about it,” he says. “Mm, yeah, thought about hunting you down.” He straddles your thigh, his hands planting on either side of your head. “I’d find you and I’d remind where you belong.” He leans down, kissing along your jaw. “With me. Under me. Moaning my name. Forgetting about everything else.”
“Did you—” You start but gasp, his mouth on your throat, biting, sucking, licking. You arch your back, leaning into his mouth as he works his way down your body. “Did you… like with my shirt… when I saw you before…”
“What? Did I get off to your scent?” he asks. “Yes.” His hand follows his mouth, fingers curling into the band of your tights. “I told myself I shouldn’t. The last few ruts I managed. It wasn’t fun, mostly too hot, but I got by. But – you weren’t coming back, were you? You left so many pretty things here that made me think of you…”
He abruptly kneels upright. He uses both hands to grab the waistband of your tights.
“Found one of your cardigans,” he says. “Soft, like you. Put it on my pillow and fucked my hand like I wanted to fuck you.”
He rips your tights open with little effort, tearing right down to the thigh.
“Put it on my face,” he says. “Tasted it. Like I wanted to taste you.”
You moan for him, threading your fingers through his hair as he gets between your legs and opens his mouth on your pussy. He licks right through the material of your panties, like he doesn’t care at all, tormenting you with the obstruction until it is soaked through. You say his name over and over, your thighs already shaking just from warming up.
“Mmm.” He pushes himself up again, his mouth wet, tongue sweeping over his lips. He grabs your panties by the waistband and tugs them down.
By now, his jeans have slid down his hips. He is so hard, beading at the tip, as wet for you as you are for him. You watch as he uses your panties to quickly jerk his cock, gathering the wetness at the tip, then tossing them over his shoulder.
He falls back on top of you, face between your legs, licking you with nothing in his way.
“Wanted to find you,” he says between teasing kitten licks, looking up at you, smirking with the flick of his tongue. “Wanted to make you come so hard – mm, fuck you so good…” He slips two fingers inside you. Even though it has been some time, they move with no hindrance, your pussy so wet that he sinks right in.
“Yeah,” he says, momentarily going cross-eyed with his face so close to your pussy, watching his fingers move in and out of you. He grins when you clench around him. “Show you we were meant to be,” he says. “Just like this.” He licks you again, fingers moving so quickly that it sounds as obscenely wet as it feels. “Wolf or not. Knew you were mine. Was gonna make sure you know too.”
“Ohh,” you say, tugging at the blankets beneath you. “Who are you and what have you done with my sunshine Felix?”
He laughs, a low chuckle, the vibrations moving in your pussy.
“Mm, I’m right here, sweetheart,” he says. “Right… here…”
Then his mouth is occupied, little licks replaced with broad strokes of his tongue, then a repeating pattern that has you swelling and gushing on his tongue. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, head thrown back as you squirt all over his thrusting fingers.
“That’s it,” he says, kissing your wet thighs.
While you are recovering, he grabs you and moves you. He arranges you neatly in the middle of the bed, making sure you are comfortable. Then he lets down his hair and removes his jeans.
“Felix,” you say, though it is generous to describe your voice as anything but a needy whimper.
He runs his hands up and down your trembling thighs, coaxing you open with murmurs of sweet nothings. You let him in, stringing your arms around his neck as he fits his hips between your legs and leans over you. You feel the head of his cock against your pussy, still throbbing with aftershocks. You are clenching around nothing, needing him, so ready you could scream.
You don’t scream, but sigh, like you are relieved when he gets inside you, like this is what you have been missing all along.
He takes his time despite the fever of his rut. Maybe because of it. His senses are so heightened, the pleasure felt so strongly. He groans, eyes closed, putting his face in your neck and breathing deeply as he slowly rocks into you.
“What were you thinking,” he murmurs, lips moving on your throat, “Trying to run away from me?”
“I’m – I’m sorry,” you say, interrupted with a hiccupping little uh-uh when he rolls his hips and you feel him deeper, harder, faster.
“You thought I wanted someone else?” he asks. “Impossible.”
Your eyes are closed, head thrown back. He grabs your chin and pulls your face to him, says, “Look at me. Right now.”
You do, blinking your eyes open. His thumb rubs your bottom lip and you open your mouth. You don’t even need to think, instantly accepting the intrusion of the digit, sucking on it while holding his gaze.
It would have terrified you a year ago, with anyone else, losing yourself to instinct like that, opening yourself up so willingly. With Felix, it feels right, it feels good.
“It’s you and me,” he says. “You understand that?”
You nod, humming affirmatively around his thumb. It rubs over your tongue, opens your mouth a little more. You want to close your eyes with every rolling thrust into you, but he tugs your face back to him when you try.
“You’re my mate,” he says. “Just you. It’s always – always been you.” He groans on the second always, picking up some speed, making you whine against his fingers.
He is so hot, clearly in the grips of his rut fever, but you cling to him, accepting everything he has to offer.
“Gonna be mine,” he says. “That’s right, yeah?” You nod frantically. “Yeah. Gonna put a ring on your finger. You’re gonna be so good to me, aren’t you? Gonna let me take care of you. Gonna be my mate. Gonna have my children. You and me. Home. Oh, yes, sweetheart, that’s it—”
You clench so tightly at the mention of children. It catches you off guard, your body’s visceral and immediate response, faster than your brain compute can why. You have told Felix you want children one day, in the future, back when you were just friends and it was an abstract thought. Thinking of a home with him, having his children, making a whole life together, being bound so completely …
“Fuck,” you say, his thumb sliding out of your mouth. He cups your face to keep it locked on him, your lips brushing each other.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
You do, though you are so close that you barely see him. It feels like he is everywhere, everything, around you and inside you. You melt when he kisses you, stealing your breath as he claims you so completely. You kiss back, messy and haphazard, all heat and wetness, but it feels good.
“C-can’t get pregnant,” you say with a pout, a bit delirious from getting fucked, letting the words roll thoughtlessly off your tongue. “B-birth control.”
“I know,” he says. He moves a little, gets up so he can hold your hips and pull you onto his cock with every thrust. “I’m stronger,” he says, just as deliriously, watching where his cock moves inside you. “Yeah. Gonna fill you up so much, it’ll happen anyway. It can’t stop me.”
He holds your hips, keeps you in place. He thrusts into you deeply and says, “You’re mine,” and thrusts again, “You’re mine,” and thrusts again, “You’re mine,” and comes inside you.
It is not quite like all the werewolf pornography, with exaggerated knots on preposterously sized cocks, but werewolf physiology is still a little different than human. That difference is exacerbated on a rut. You feel it as he comes, the way he swells and gets harder, just enough that you feel your fullest as he releases. Pushing at you walls, stretching you around him, making you his without question.
He doesn’t really soften after, the rut sustaining him, but the swelling goes down. Even then, not entirely, as you feel a sharper burn when he pulls out of you. The flicker of pain is oddly tantalizing, a biting sensation on top of so many others. It ripples through you, makes you moan.
Your whole body is twitching, eyes closed as you come back to yourself.
You look up at Felix. His eyes are between your legs, his hand running up your thigh. You feel his thumb spread your pussy open, feel his release spilling out of you. That is the other different element; with a werewolf, there is a lot more of everything.
Though you know your birth control will function regardless, when you feel all that inside you… for a moment, you believe he might be strong enough to overpower it.
It makes you giddy, pleasure moving through your body. He smiles at you, all sunshine and sweetness. Then he takes control of your hips and puts himself back inside you. The refractory period on a rut is virtually nonexistent on the peak day, which is usually the second day, which is today.
“You okay?” he asks, rocking into you slowly even though he fits so easily now, your body made to take him.
You nod, sliding your hands over his shoulders. You scratch across his back then up in his hair, making him grunt and close his eyes. He leans down and kisses you, continuing to fuck you until you are making all those sweet sounds again.
“Good?” he asks, kissing your jaw, your neck.
“Good,” you say.
“Not too much?” he checks.
“Mm, no,” you say. You give him a teasing smile. “Not enough actually.”
“Oh, really?” He laughs, eyes big with playful incredulity. “Should I growl and bite more?” He makes a playful snarl like the werewolves in all the erotica.
It makes you laugh. You can’t remember the last time you laughed while having sex, but it feels so good, just as good as all the hot, desperate stuff.
“Hmm, maybe not,” he says, laughing too. “Maybe all the making-a-bitch stuff is a bit much, hm?”
It seems you will learn more about yourself than him over this rut, because that also makes you clench involuntarily. He blinks with surprise, mouth in a soft ‘o’ as he looks down at you. He laughs just a little at the look on your face, a low chuckle as his grin widens.
You cover your mouth, blinking innocently up at him.
“Oh shit,” he says. “I see.”
You pout when he pulls out of you, but there is little time to feel bereft because he flips you over onto your front. Your face lands in the pillows, then he yanks you down the bed.
Oh, it feels filthy suddenly, because the new angle opens you up and you can feel come dripping out of you. It catches his eye too, because he puts his fingers there and stuffs it back inside you.
With little effort, he gets you back under him, pushes down your shoulders and lifts up your hips. You feel him at your entrance again, pushing the tip past the rim.
“Is that it?” he asks, dropping his voice so low yet sounding so sweet. “You want me to make you my bitch, baby?”
He slams home, holding your hips up while pounding into you with relentless measure. You grab a pillow to hold, yelping and whining into it as he fucks you with wild abandon.
For a few seconds, you succumb to that single-minded animalistic pursuit, and you really do believe he can put a baby in you. You start babbling the desire – begging for it, asking him to fill you up.
“Please, please, please,” you say, gasping.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, draping himself over your back, not stopping his hips for a second. “I got you. I’ll give you a baby. So good for me. Made to take it from me, yeah, baby?”
You know you are going to come again, his angle and precision too much to withstand. Sure enough, you are coming all over his cock in a matter of seconds, squeezing him into another orgasm too.
He kneels behind you, throws his head back while coming. Then he grinds inside you like he is trying to get it as deep as possible.
“Oh, Felix,” you say, whimpering when he pulls out, still hard, the burn less this time because you are so filthy wet that he slides so easily. You can feel his release gush out of you, his fingers chasing it, pushing back into you.
He rubs at you until you are rocking your hips and coming on his fingers. It is so much stimulation that your eyes water and your nose starts to sniffle.
He rolls you over and cups your face. You open your mouth instinctively, tilting your head to expose your neck. He looks at you like he can’t really believe you are exist and that you are here.
“Wow,” he says. The hand on your face slides so he can put his thumb back in your mouth, letting you suck on it like it is giving you life. He clenches his jaw, makes a rough sound, presses down on your needy tongue. “Next time,” he says, while starting to put his cock back into you, “Your mouth. And my mouth. You’re gonna sit on my face for hours. I’m gonna take care of you. Oh—”
He is halfway inside you when you reach up, putting your hands on his chest. He stops immediately, pulling out, taking back his hands, looking at you with a concerned tilt to his head.
“Will you lay on your back?” you ask, voice hoarse.
He blinks, like for a second he doesn’t understand words, but then he obeys. His hair is in absolute disarray, a veritable lion’s mane. He rakes it back, smooths it down as best he can. He never takes his eyes off you, watching as you sit up, as you climb on top of him, as you put him back inside you and set a slower pace.
“My turn,” you say, smiling. “I want to take care of you too.”
He smiles, putting his hands on your hips but not guiding them. He lets you take the lead, moving on top of him, finding all the ways to make him moan and close his eyes and twitch inside you.
You make him come twice that way. After the second time, he finally starts to soften enough that you can take a break.
You lay down beside him, squeaking with surprise when you press down on your belly and a little more come gushes out of you. You look at each other, his face the picture of total innocence despite his hand in it. You swat his chest, rolling onto your side and putting your head on his chest.
He laughs, putting his arm around you, stroking your back.
“You know I do mean it,” he says, looking down at you. “I want everything with you.”
“Me too,” you say. You kiss his chest, then his neck, under his jaw, making him sigh contently. “I love you, Felix. Everything about you, wolf and all.”
“I love you too,” he says, pressing you close, kissing your forehead.
There is a long moment of content silence. He strokes your back, up and down, lulling you to a dozy state. It is too early to sleep and, besides, the sheets need changing before that – even though you suspect they will just be dirtied again.
You are contemplating these sweet mundane nothings when he says, “You’re in the pack, you know. As my mate. That makes you one of us.”
“Does it?” you ask.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m telling you this, because you’re a packmate and Chan is leader, but you’re my mate, so you have to take my side and tell him to fuck off when he tries to say I told you so.”
You laugh, shaking your head and playfully rolling your eyes.
“Sounds good,” you say. “Hmm, I might go have a shower before… the next… round…”
You do not have to look down to know that he is hard already, his blinking gaze revealing all. You giggle together and kiss again.
“All right, fair enough,” you say, eyes closed, exposing your neck obediently when he cups your nape. You press against him, moaning softly when he scents your neck then sucks a bruising kiss there. “It can wait,” you say, smiling. “We’ve been waiting for this long enough.”
“Mm,” he says, already slipping back into his feverish need. He grabs you and pulls you back on top of him.
There is not much talking for a while, but there is some laughter and plenty of smiles, and for the first time in a long time, you are looking forward to everything that follows after.
✮ tags ; afab!reader + fem!reader, reader is so painfully dense / naive, ambiguous relationships, friends to ???, somewhat unrelieved sexual tension, sex toys, guided masturbation kinda, kissing, groping, nipples play, squirting, dialogue heavy, vaguely post canon, petnames (kame-chan and jo-chan for togame, baby for reader) 18+
✮ wc ; 6.4k (you have got to be fucking with me)
✮ a/n ; the one fic i wont be mad if you ask for part two on lolol. title from a mac miller song (my favorite mac miller song) that reminds me of a lot of characters but i felt really fit this fic.
go listen to it. his best track. also this like... mega got away from me. togame sorry for blueballing you.
✮ synopsis ; your only goal is to have a half-way decent orgasm. togame, as your best friend, is determined to help you reach it.
"So," Togame leans back into your bed. "You bought a vibrator and... can't use it? Because you keep psyching yourself out?"
"Yeah," You sigh with your head hung low. "Paid good money for it and it's collecting dust in my drawer. I'm miserable."
Togame smiles a little from where he's laid across the width of your bed, back propped up against the wall slightly with his legs hanging off one edge. You kick his side lightly as he fails to contain his amusement.
"Do you enjoy seeing me suffer, huh? You take amusement in my pain, you bastard?"
"Pfft," He snickers, turning a little to face you better. "It's kinda hard not too. Just seems..."
"You think it's stupid," You frown. He scratches his jaw.
"I wouldn't say that. A little silly but—"
"Which is another word for stupid," You point out. He shakes his head.
"The connotations different. Stupid would mean I'm insulting you. I don't think it's stupid. Ridiculous, maybe." And then he laughs to himself like a jackass. "No... I take it back. It's definitely ridiculous."
"You asshole. I should kick you out of my house."
He smiles knowingly, lazy and bemused. "You're not gonna,"
Smug bastard. You groan in defeat. "But I should."
He doesn't reply, brushing you off as easy as ever. "Sorry. Just not sure what exactly you want me to do with that information."
You throw your hands up in the air. "I dunno? Fucking help me. Offer solutions. Use whats left of your brain after getting the shit beat out of you as a teenager. Something."
"Now who's being an asshole." He quips. You frown.
"I'm sorry," You say easily. Togame smiles softly though you miss it while you're looking away. "But...ugh."
"Got such a way with words." He hums sarcastically before sobering a touch. He's scrolling through his phone not entirely paying attenion. "I don't really get why you're askin' me. Don't you have better candidates for this conversation?"
You give him a long-suffering look. "No. Unfortunately I live here, so the answer is not really. I can't talk to Kotoha or Tsubaki about this. We talk about guys and stuff but it's usually pretty PG."
"So I'm your stand in for a girl best friend?"
You tilt your head. "Huh? No. You're just my best friend. I would bitch to you about this either way."
He stares at you for a long while before scrubbing a hand down his face. You can't understand his sudden reaction, watching in confusion as he takes a deep breath.
"Right. Right, I'm your best friend." Togame mutters mostly to himself, sighing before going back to his usual demeanor. He rubs his under his eye. "Really dunno what you're asking for. You can whine however much you want, though."
"I'm not whining," You pause before sighing again. "Okay. Maybe I am whining, like, a little. But you would too if you were me, okay? I want to..." You make a face, the words suddenly feeling clumsy on your lips. You're not even doing anything and you're getting all weird about it. "I just wanna...cum."
Togame pauses. He sits up, sort of suddenly after that and finally has the decency to take off his boots. He scoots to the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor to do it, and you can't see his face when he speaks again. You don't think twice about it.
"Have you not? Like... ever?"
"Huh? No, I have but it's not really satisfying. It doesn't scratch the itch for me, you know? That's what the toy was for."
Togame takes another minute or two of silence as he takes off his boots. You wonder if it always takes him so long to take them off. Seems inconvenient.
He goes back to laying down, leaning on the wall with his legs spread out. "What kinda toy is it anyway?
"Oh, it's—" You stop in the middle of your sentence, brow furrowing. "Wait. Should I be telling you this?"
"Are you suddenly gaining self-awareness? Little late for that." He smiles.
"That's true," You reply, relaxing again with your arms crossed. "Nothing complicated. A rabbit vibrator, but the kinda expensive ones."
"How much?"
"Twelve-thousand yen. I got it on sale too,"
"No wonder you're so peeved you can't use it," Togame comments evenly. "A lot of money to be collecting dust. You even take it out the box?"
You deflate all over again. "Yeah. Charged it. Cleaned it too. But I put it back."
"Lemme see,"
"Huh? Oh, okay. Sure."
You don't bother asking why Togame wants to see your sex toy. It doesn't occur to you that there'd be any reasons outside of plain curiosity which you can understand. Togame dated a girl long-term so he knows some things, but you figure any girl with a decent boyfriend wouldn't need to make the same use of toys as you do. It'd make sense he's never seen one up close and personal.
You scoot to the edge of the bed and lean slightly as you open the side drawer and pull the toy out where it sits in nice, cardboard package. You pass it off to Togame before sitting back comfortably against your headboard.
He sits the box in his lap and stares at it for a long while.
You wonder if this is weird.
It doesn't bother you much either way, but it it is...
Odd, just how long Togame stares at it. He undoes the top of the folded box, pulling it back to reveal the soft, baby blue vibrator. It's six inches long and curved, with a soft rubber attachment to stimulate your clit and angle for your g-spot at the same time. Made with a high quality velveteen silicone. It has a lot of settings, and does the sort of rumbly vibrations you know feel good as opposed to the mechanical buzz of cheaper kinds.
Completely unused, Togame holds in his hands for a while, grabbing it by the ends. He doesn't touch it in a way that's weird. More like he assesses it. Measures it. You don't know for what though.
"It's cute."
"Huh?"
"The vibrator, I mean." Togame comments, putting it back in the box. His expression is unreadable. Something simmers under the surface of his neutral face but you can't place what exactly. "It's a cute color and the little pointed part here is cute."
You place a hand on your chest and close your eyes in sincerity. "Thank you. I also think I have excellent aesthetic taste."
Another pause. Brief but not.
"Do you want help using it?"
"Wha—"
"The vibrator," Togame clarifies before you get through the rest of your sentence. "Do you want me to help you use it?"
Your mind blanks. Your mouth moves faster than you can.
"...In what way?"
Togame remains steady. "Getting you comfortable and putting in you. As far as solutions go, it's the best I've got."
...Huh?
"Wouldn't that be awkward for you?"
"Is it awkward for you?" Togame replies back.
You stop to consider the question then shake your head.
"I mean...It's you. I trust you and I'm grateful but this..." You furrow your brow and look towards him. "Can you really do something like that with me? Just to help me?"
"Yeah." He replies. The words come so easily to him you're startled. Was he always this casual? You guess in a way but still. It's surprising. "It's the most direct route to solve your problem, I think. Once you've done it once with someone else, you'll definitely be able to do it alone right?"
You reason about this and find it's a somewhat optimal solution. You can't figure out the exact source of your unease about all of it, though it's there. You can't figure out Togame either. You appreciate how much he seems to want to help you but it doesn't make your worries go away.
You frown a little deeper.
"You're thinking about it too hard." Togame interjects. His tone is warm and easy.
"You're not thinking about it hard enough," You respond back. "What are you trying to do anyway? To help."
"Scratch the itch for you. Just think of it like that."
"Does that do anything for you?"
He dodges the question. "Don't worry about me. I'm offering. Promise it's fine."
You frown with your legs crossed, staring at the empty space of the bed. "...I g-guess it's fine? I can't think of a reason to say no."
"You don't mind doing this with me? Or is it because you're okay with anyone?"
You shake your head.
"What are you saying? Of course it's because you're the one asking. I trust you."
He smiles genuinely at that, eyes closed in what seems like relief. "I just wanted to make sure."
Togame opens his eyes again and casts them your way. Your breathing feels shallow under the weighted glance. He sits up a little more and shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, placing it on the pillow next to you. He feels broader without the layer of fabric over his torso, white shirt stretching over his frame as he sits on the bed on his knees.
"Lay down. Get comfortable."
You nod, adjusting the pillows and things and trying not to feel self-conscious or get cold feet. It speaks to your desperation that you're taking this help so willingly and from your long time best friend no less. In the back of your head, you do feel a little strange.
Togame is just being a good friend, that's what you tell yourself. You believe it too.
He hovers above you first. You tilt your head to look at him, the short gap of space between you feeling particularly small while also being miles wide. Your stomach flutters as Togame's eyes fix on your lips.
He leans forward and presses his mouth to yours. It's chaste. You wonder if you look even half as surprised as you feel.
"What was that for?"
"Breaking the ice."
You mumble. "Oh..."
Togame kisses you again that time, and then one more time before speaking up. "You're so naive."
"Huh? No I'm not,"
He brushes you off again that time before sitting up again. He sits between your legs where you have them spread. You have no idea what he's thinking or why he's doing this.
Unlike most people, you usually do have a good read on what Togame is feeling. He's upfront most of the time, despite his posturing seeming wishy-washy. It's a little weird to feel so out of bounds around him, like he purposely has his guard up. You wonder if that guard is for you, or for him. Is he uncomfortable somehow? Is he trying not to hurt your feelings by not being interested? You're not really expecting that.
But if that were the case, there's no reason he would help you this way.
Before you get too entranced in your thoughts, Togame snaps you out of them.
"How do you normally do this?"
You blink and look up.
"Do what?"
"Get off," Togame answers. Your eyes meet and you find yourself wanting to look away. "You said it was unsatisfying so I thought it'd be better if we started there,"
"Uhm," You feel embarrassed trying to talk about this. You're not sure why. It's not something you'd feel self-conscious outside this specific context but Togame just seems more... intense then usual. Like he's being serious about your silly problem. "D-depends? Sometimes I watch porn or listen to audios or read. Not always."
"Got it. How do you touch yourself then?"
He looks expectant. You turn your head to look away from him. The minutes tick by.
"Uhm... just rubbing my c-clit usually. I have uhm, other toys I'll use sometimes too but I need to touch my clit to get off." You wonder if these are too many details. Togame is listening to it so carefully. "Uhm. If i-its too sensitive I'll touch over my clothes too. Sometimes I cum like that."
His face shifts. It lingers long enough for you to notice but not enough for you to process what it was. He's back to his usual self so quickly you wonder if you've made the entire thing up.
"Right. I think I know what your problem is,"
You feel a little relieved at that. "Really?"
He pauses before smiling a little with a friendly nod that reminds you of how you were when you were kids, a face that's unexpectedly kind. "Really."
You look at him expectantly.
"I think you're not building up to it enough." Togame comments, smoothly. You blink at him. "You're a girl, you know? Can't jump straight into it, you need to stimulate yourself more first and relax. You're so focused on cumming it backfires. I'll help you."
"How...?"
"I'll help you relax and help you figure out what you like. Don't think about it too hard and focus on feeling good."
"You really don't have to do this for me," You mumble. He smiles at you.
"C'mon. You just said I was your best friend right? I don't mind, so chill out and let me help."
"Okay," You nod, bright eyed. "Okay....thank you."
He makes a face at you before nodding. "Uh-huh. Of course."
Togame hovers above you with lazy smile. You close your eyes on instinct as you feel your lips press together. His lips are softer than you thought they'd be. A hand cups the back of your neck and brings you closer to him. The weight of his body makes you self-conscious about his proximity. You can smell the scent of his skin, feel his presence surround you as he kisses you soft to start.
The shift in the air surrounding you is gradual in a way that reminds you so much of Togame. He's not intense at the beginning, never is really is - but then his hand goes to hold your knees and pull your legs up. His tongue slips against the closed seam of your lips until they part, until he touches yours and you have to reconfigure how you breathe. He's so good at kissing you it makes you wonder if he's kissed you before and you can't remember. But then it feels good and you're reminded—
If it felt this good there's no way you would've forgotten it.
When you pull away for air to breathe, or start to stumble through a question on how this is helping - Togame shuts you up. It takes it happening twice for you realize it's deliberate. Every time he kisses you a little deeper, and the last time he slips his tongue in so far you'd think he's trying to eat you whole.
You're wet. You're unsure if you're allowed to feel guilty about it, or if you're even meant too. Anyone would be turned on getting kissed like this. You're really unsure about all of this but you're fine because it's Togame. There's no way he'd do anything bad to you or for you.
He's over protective in general, though he's rarely frank about it.
(If you were any less clueless, you'd would know that most times Togame is doing his best to protect from himself. Most times, he feels like the biggest danger to you)
Togame pulls away from your lips when you moan a little. You feel embarrassed at the state your left in and how he looks at you. Picking you apart in his mind but not with ill intent. Like he wants to know every thread of your want.
Again, you think he's going to tease you. Light but still teasing.
"Does that feel good?"
It's a serious question. It stuns you. Just a little. His hand on the back of neck feels hot. You notice the way his thumb caresses your nape and try not to stutter.
"Uh..y-yeah." You reply, trying not to look stupid. "I like kissing. Uhm. In general."
He doesn't react to that, nods in a way you find curt in comparison to how passionately he was kissing you just moments ago. "It'll help you relax." And then, a little softly. "If you want to kiss again and we're not already, ask."
An odd request but you acquiesce with another soft noise.
"Do you feel a little warmed up?"
His eyes are so strangely shaded in this light. You open your mouth to the awkward confession. "Oh... nn. I'm... y-yeah. I'm wet already."
"From kissing?"
You give him a sheepish look. Togame responds with another kiss that makes you feel like you're being driven into a corner. This one is hot and heavy, doesn't build up but starts with an almost oppressive air. He nips at you, teeth tugging at your lips and licking in earnest to your mouth. Long and deep until your brain feels melty, your thoughts swimming and clouded. Longing for touch and release. Arousal threads through the fibers of your muscles, makes you feel wound up tight - a serpents coil. You clench your thighs on instinct at the worsening wetness.
Your mouth feels swollen and bitten when you pull away again and Togame looks a little more like you're used to him looking. An underlying sense of smug self-satisfactions on his face as he looks down at you, not outweighed by his genuine ease.
A look on his face like he likes your company. You find him comforting in how easy it is to see.
"Is it okay to touch you in other places?"
"Uhm. Anywhere above the belt is fine, I think."
"Makes sense,"
He leans up and slides both hands underneath your hoodie. You're not really prepared for... this. You don't know if you can call it sex or not but whatever it is, you weren't intending for it to happening.
"You're not wearing a shirt," His hands feel so big on your waist. Big and calloused, split skin scarred over from fighting. "A bra?"
"A sports bra."
"Right."
He slides your hoodie up over your torso until it's bare and takes your sports bra along with it in one go. Your tits fall from them with a soft swish with how quick he does it, the light bounce making your skin grown hot. Togame hovers above you as he eyes them, palms just underneath but not touching.
"Stop looking so hard."
He brushes past that. "They're nice."
"Shut up," You say for the first time. Togame smiles slightly.
"Not a nice way to talk to someone who's helping you," He says sarcastically. You pout but refuse to apologize. He remains unbothered then goes back to being alarmingly serious. "Do you play with them?"
"H-huh? When I masturbate? Not really. I've never thought too."
"Why's that?"
You shrug. "The guys I dated used to touch them but it mostly felt weird, not good. Never thought of trying on my own."
He gives you a looking asking for permission. You nod. This really does not feel normal but the arousal clouding your brain is a lot louder than your sense of shame.
Togame's hands slide up your sides until he's cupping the roundness of your chest. His thumbs hover against hardened nipples, constrained in the touch. It's different than how other guys have done it for you. He's paying attention to that bit most, and he's going about it softly. Pushing the hardened bud with a light flick that sends a jolt of shock through your body.
He's quick to notice your reaction, green eyes flickering up before doing it again. You squirm, stretching your legs and shifting as another tick of arousal goes through your whole body. Your clit is starting to throb so much it hurts. If it were you, you would've started touching yourself a long while ago. As soon as you felt yourself get wet.
Togame is taking his time, though. And you're feeling it so much it's a little shameful for you. He does it again, touching your nipples - both side at the same time. Your body is pushing for more.
You've managed to keep the noise down but you're pushed over your usual limits. A moan spills from your lips as you push up into his touch. "That's good, huh? Just needed it a little softer and more focused."
You try not to be any more embarrassing. Wouldn't anyone feel weird over this?
He's the most important person in your entire life, and he's seeing you like this. Not judging you, just remaining even and consistent. Teasing you but not enough to make you upset. He's being so careful. Is this the kind of boyfriend he is? You think that must make him popular, so then... why does it never work out? He's never dated anyone longer than a year.
But he's being so sweet to you despite not dating. He's always kind but this is different. You can't imagine who would see this part of him and break up.
You try not to think about any of this but the only other thing you can focus on is him rubbing your nipples and how nice it feels. The moan of his name is pitchy, sounds foreign to your own ears with how high and broken it is.
"Kame-chan," Your voice is warbly when you ask. You just want to stop thinking. "Kiss?"
He pauses. You think he's going to deny you at first.
"Fuck. That ain't fair, you know?"
You don't know what he means, but he complies and kisses you open mouthed as he plays with your tits. Rubs and flicks them just the way you like. It feels so good. You've never felt anything like it before. Your tummy flutters, honeyed lust dripping down your inner thighs.
Your body moves on it's own, your hands carding through his hair as arousal starts to pool. Your panties feels soaked and sticky, through the fabric. You shift again trying to relieve the feeling, brain scrambled by Togame's touch.
You're so horny you can't make sense of anything. Your body is a relentless echo of your wants and needs - demanding attention. His attention, specifically. Need curls up in your chest.
Between kisses you confess this to Togame, who you trust now more than ever despite feeling so incredibly vulnerable. How could you not go with it when he's taking such good care of you?
"Wanna cum so bad," You mutter, sloppy between kisses. Togame takes in a deep breath as he pulls away.
"You think you're worked up enough for it?"
You see through him instantly even in your haze. "Don't be mean to me, you jerk."
"Caught me, huh? Okay, okay. How do you normally do this?"
"Do what?"
"Fuck yourself with something,."
The words send heat sparking against your spine. You tuck your face against his jacket where it's laying besides you and huff. It smells like him. "Ngh. Usually finger myself a little first."
"Got a good idea then." He hums. The sound of his voice, low and smooth, makes you feel comforted. "I'll lay next to you and help keep you distracted while you open yourself up, yeah? Nothing below the belt 'n all. And when you're already I'll put in for you and turn it on."
You sniff. "Okay."
He smiles at you, pulling his hands and body away from you before laying besides you instead. He lets you rest your head against his arm and shoulders - sneaking the rest of his arm around and underneath you, squeezing one of your tits. He presses your body into him and gropes around the bed for the box with your toy, grabbing it from inside before shoving it away.
Up close, you can feel his muscles even better than you could. You wonder how someone so relaxed could be this built but try not to let it burden your brain. He smells so nice. Did he always? You feel too horny to remember, but you like it.
You can feel him glancing down at you, amused.
"Comfy?" Togame's voice vibrates through your whole body.
"Uh-huh."
"If you turn your head towards me I can kiss you and touch you. Keep your mind occupied a bit."
"Oh. That makes sense."
"It does right? Go ahead and start."
You think you should tell him not to watch. Keeps his eyes for himself. But the focus of his gaze makes you burn so much hotter you don't bother. He's already seen so much, anyway.
You shimmy out of your sweat pants until they're down at your ankles revealing your panties. Baby blue printed boyshorts, fabric soaked until they look a nearly new navy shade. You feel his laughter less than you hear it, turning your head to glare at him. He smiles a little at you.
"Those are cute too," Togame comments. You can hear his voice so clearly like this you think you'll collapse if you pay too much attention to it. "Too bad you made 'em all messy."
You swallow a sound, too horny to protest. He stops you before you can take your panties off.
"Didn't you say you normally touch over the fabric when you're sensitive? Do that."
"But—"
"Just trust me," He promises. He kisses your hair. Your heart thuds when he does it. It's an innocent gesture. "It'll make it more satisfying, okay?"
Your shaky as you spread yourself a little wider and slip your hand down between your legs. All the desire you're holding starts to unwind as your middle finger slides over the soaked seam of your cotton panties. They're cuter than normal, printed with florals and lace trimmed. Absolutely drenched in your arousal. You rub a small circle into your clit and your whole body breaks out into shivers, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.
You could cum like this. Just from this. But you want something more, something better so you force yourself to go slow.
"It's messy," Togame hums, nonchalant. "You get easier than I thought you would. Are you going slow so you don't cum right away?"
"Don't point it out, aah,"
"You should cum if you want too," Togame suggests.
"No," You whine. "Wanna cum with the toy."
"Wanna cum with a cock inside you, ya mean? A silicone one but still. Not enough to just touch yourself, you need something more, is that it?"
He says the words so casually, so lightly. Almost friedly despite how filthy they are. There's no malice in them.
Spoken like high praise or affection. The kind you'd show a kitten,.
"Kame—"
"Didn't know your had such a need pussy. No wonder it's hard to cum all by yourself, huh?"
"Stop being mean," You gasp. "I'll cum,"
He laughs at that. It's genuine and bright.
"Too much for ya, huh? S'okay. Take these off now. Finger yourself. Make sure you get all that mess you made so we can use on your toy. It'll hurt if it's dry going in."
You feel blindsided by just how much Togame is talking. He's been so quiet, so brief and unreadable. He feels like his usual self too much, to your complete detriment. His voice is teasing, yet warm and sweet. He smells good and he's pressing you all against his chest. Your fingers tremble as you slide your panties down to your ankles same as before. You end up shimmying the rest of your clothes off.
You're so aroused it's easy to get the first finger in. Your hole twitches, the entrance pleasurable as slowly ease your middle finger down to knuckle. You til your head towards Togame as you get adjusted to the intrusion easily from how wet you are, pouting your lips. He gives into the kiss right away, warm tongue and soft lips familiar to you now. You ease yourself into the pace of his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as you slowly open yourself on second finger.
"I want it so bad," You mumble. He laughs against your mouth.
"I can tell. Can barely string a sentence together. You want to cum huh?"
"Uh-huh."
"What a naughty pussy. You're trembling from just fingering yourself. Won't you cum right away if I put in you at once? I'll have to go slowly," Togame explains. He speaks the filth so naturally. "Take my time so you're stretched nicely and not scared anymore. I'll turn the vibrator on after it's already inside so you can't run away from it. You can cum to your hearts content, then."
"I'm still scared," You admit. You're just so horny you're unsure of what else to do. He leans down to kiss you again, nose brushing against yours intimately.
"Don't be scared. Just focus on stretching so you're not so tight. I'll praise you if you take it in easily."
Your voice gives once you manage to get a third in. Togame doesn't stop kissing you, barely giving you enough air to breathe. He plays with your chest with his free hand, and holds the toy with the other.
A string of spit connects you. Your thighs are aching, body burning hot as you look at him directly.
"Wanna cum," You slur your words, speaking in short sentences. Togame grins a little.
"Take your fingers out and show them to me."
Your stomach flips but you comply with the request. Your face burns from how soaked they are.
"Good. Rub them on the toy now. Get it as sticky as you can."
Your heart is pounding is loud in your ears as you clumsily coat your new toy with your own mess. You watch it gain a fresh shine, baby blue turning reflective as you push it against and between your fingers until all of it's coated as best you can.
"That's it, good. Spread your legs now. Gonna put it in. Want me to kiss you?"
You nod sheepishly and close your eyes. Togame laughs warmly before kissing you again.
Your whole body throbs in anticipation for it. A muscular forearm and hand slip between your legs as you spread yourself open, your feet flat on the bed for easier access. Togame forces his tongue into your open mouth, kissing you wet and hard as he tweaks your nipples. You feel pleasantly suffocated from the pressure before gasping into his mouth.
The swollen silicone head of your toy stretches your pussy more than you thought it would. You've never had a toy with angles so the sensations are all new. You can feel it so well inside of you, you can barely keep your composure long enough to stop moaning as just the tip slides in. Togame swallows each noise from your mouth. His kisses feel almost ferocious now when they were so composed before, free hand cupping your jaw from one side.
He fucks it in slowly, rocking the toy by its handle slowly until you get used to it - giving you moments between to adjust. You can feel it bottom out inside of you, the head pressing so precise on your swollen gspot you could cum from bucking your hips. Your sensitivity is over the top. Every touch and and tease and bump makes your cunt clench and throb.
The blunt end of the rubber attachment presses against your needy little clit. Togame moves the toy a little, fucking you with it slightly again. Barely. It still nearly makes you cum.
You feel like he's edging you. Anymore than this, you think you'll go crazy.
"Kame-chan." Your voice is beyond wrecked, throat as one of your hands reaches to cling desperately to his short sleeves. You fist it, teary. "Jo, turn it on please. Make me cum. Wanna cum so bad, 'm so close, please, please. C'mon."
"Turning it on, baby. Easy."
The word baby makes your body melt.
A slight click sounds as Togame turns on the vibrator.
Your whole body lurches at the sudden change. Togame pins you with his own, keeps his hands steady and the toy inside of you without skipping a beat. The soft whirr of the first setting completely unravels you. It feels like every nerve in your body is being pulled apart, electricity through a frayed copper wire. The muscles in your body aching with anticipation after so many dissatisfying orgasms clench tight as your body prepares itself for something so vast your mind can't process it at all. Your hands fist at your sides, clutching the sheets as you get close to cumming.
You're thrashing from the sensation. It's so much, too much - you've never felt anything like it before. You feel full and euphoric and your head is spinning. It feels so good it terrifies you, makes you clench up hard in how unbearably unrelenting it is. There's no pace, no where to escape from. The vibrations are strong but not overwhelming to the point you can't feel them.
You're so senstive all over your body and it's touching you in two places.
Your spine starts to curl into an arch, hips stuttering and twisting as you feel it rushing over your consciousness. Fuck, you've wanted this for so long. It's exactly the high you've been chasing after on your own for so many months it's making your brain feel like like mush. Animal instinct forces your hips up, bucking against Togame's hand where he holds the toy. You're fucking yourself on it. You can hear him laugh as he moves to meet you ruts.
You feel like you're losing your fucking mind.
"G-gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't, I can't, I can't. Feels so good, Ican't."
He leans in and gets close to your ear, tongue caressing the lobe before biting it soft.
"Yes you can. You want it so bad don't you? Wanna cum all over this cock so bad you've been aching for it. I know you want it, I can see it. Look how much your moving your hips." His voice is shaking, hands flicking your nipples messy and harsh as he speaks. "Look what a mess you're making. You're leaking everywhere. You want it badly right? Don't think about it and cum. Cum as much as you want. Cum for me,"
The last words are the ones to snap the thread inside of you.
Your brain bluescreens as your body seizes before finally, finally giving you the orgasm you've been chasing. You smash your lips against Togame's as your spine arches off the bed, thrashing in place. Something in you undoes - and you feel a wet rush spray from between your legs at the same time your orgasm hits. Your mind feels completely and utterly blanked. Your body is in total rapture, uncontrollable pleasure fucking your brain until you're stupid and slack jawed. It feels so good, so so good. You didn't know anything could ever feel that good in your life. It's scary.
You feel like you could get addicted. Your high rides out for much longer than ever before. In between sloppy kisses, you say the same words over and over and over. Togame grips you close to him as you do.
"Jo," You mutter. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—feels so fffucking good, fuck. I can't, I can't. Off, off. 's too much, I'll pee."
Instead of turning it off, he turns the vibration up by one. Your eyes fly open as you gasp, words rushed. Panicked.
"I can't," You swear, looking at him for mercy. His face is flushed. "I can't, Jo-chan, I'll cum again, I'll—"
"Cum." He says, demands - voice rougher than you've heard it all night. "I know you can. Cum,"
On demand practically, your legs seize up and you cum again a second time in near succession. You feel so fucking incredible you think you're going to die.
"Fuck!"
You squirt again, body nearly giving out as more short spurts soak your sheets and mattress. Your pussy is pulsing in the after math, trembling and clenching so violently. You whine loudly as Togame stops the vibration and pulls the toy out, shivering as it catches on your tight hole before coming out of it with a soft pop.
Your legs are twitching.
Even though Togame has no more reason to kiss you he does. And even though you're well past the point of needing to kiss him back, you do more affectionately than any time prior.
"You made me feel so good it's freaking me out." You admit, shaking uncontrollably.
Togame pauses before breaking out into genuine laughter. He kisses your head, arm wrapping around your shoulders until you're hugged against him.
"You were so sexy like that."
You blink at him, face flushed.
"Sexy?"
"I was really hard seeing you cum," He says, casually looking down. "I didn't know you could be cute and ask for kisses. You're usually more—"
You put a hand over his mouth.
"Whatever you're gonna say shut up,"
He just smiles, cheek against your hair. "I'm glad you got to feel good."
"What about you?" You mumble, feeling your heart pick up just asking. "Are you still hard? I feel like I should pay you back somehow,"
He looks at you seriously. "Do you know what you're implying?"
You fold a little but nod anyway. "Yeah."
"Do you really? The monk thing is a joke, you know. If you offer something like that, I won't be able to stop."
"It's fine," You say confidently before adding, much quieter. "I r-really want to do... it with you."
Togame pauses before kissing you deeply. Your whole body feels molded to him now.
"Damn it." He looks down at you, black hair sticking to his skin. You wanna feel his undercut with your hands in his hair. "You know this ain't normal between friends, right?"
"Uhm, yeah? I figured."
"Don't go around getting help from anyone."
You shake your head. "It's only 'cause it's you."
He scrubs a hand over his face and laughs. "You don't need to stir me up anymore. I'm already hard enough. Can't keep my composure at all."
You tilt your head in confusion. Togame just sighs.
"Don't worry about it." He says, shaking his head. "How soon can I get my thanks?"
Your eyes widen as you clench again. "Uhm. Now, if you want it."
He grins a little lazy, eyes swimming with adoration.
"I do," He hums, laying back as you get up from where you've been laying. "Come over here and let me touch you properly then."
"Is that what you really want?"
You climb ontop of him, bare naked almost as your hoodie falls back down over your torse. Togame slides the fabric up and gives you a meaningful look.
warnings: oral (f. receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ face sitting! ⋆ almost getting caught ⋆ not established!relationship ⋆ thigh!kink (chan is huuungry in this fic)
summary: he’s been ignoring you, only leaving you to wonder what exactly you have done to make him so quiet and one night you just have enough of it as much as he had enough of trying to keep himself away from you
author’s note: so happy for everyone that saw skz in milan and london! (not jealous at all)
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You have noticed it first at the practice room last week. How jumpy he was. Overly sweaty from only warming up before the practice, stretching his arms over his head with a long sigh. You watched him from one of the couches in the room — how he kept wiping the palms of hands over his sweatpants, scrunching the material between his fingers. How he kept running a hand through his messy curls, before putting his baseball hat back on, only to mess up his hair again. His tongue licked at his bottom lip, little chapped, tasting his own sweat that kept running down his forehead, but he didn’t looked thirsty — at least for water.
And you definitely weren’t the only one to notice his unusual behavior. Minho kept a careful eye on him, not saying anything, but as he would catch your eye, you could see the small concern in them. As time passed by that day, you stopped scrolling through your phone as every time you would look down, you heard the guys sighing what sounded like in defeat. You put your phone down, just catching as Chan stumbled over his own foot and it seemed like by the reaction of the other guys, this was the thing they were so annoyed about. They don’t usually get like this, getting annoyed about someone’s mistakes and as you look up it wasn’t even that.
Everyone looked at Chan in confusion, asking him if everything was okay. Him, like the good leader he was, brushed them off, saying he was just maybe getting rusty and then saying he again didn’t sleep that well. Everyone seemed to believe him, but something wasn’t just adding up. For just a small glimpse of his eyes on your figure told you that somewhat it wasn’t truly it. But you didn’t know that all of this was because of you.
The second time that this weird behavior of his appeared was in the middle of recording. You came in, carrying drinks for everyone and as weirdly as it sounded, you could just feel him staring into the back of your head when you gave Seungmin his drink. You huffed under your breath from the way his glare made you feel so small, smoothing down your skirt, before walking up to him and Changbin who sat next to him.
You smiled at the other who at least not like his friend mirrored your expression as you put his drink down. From the spot you were standing you leaned over the back of Changbin’s chair, arm stretched out with his drink, but it was like your hand had frozen over it at that moment. Chan with his thumb between his lips, bit at his nail as he burned holes into your exposed legs. You caught a glimpse of how his eyes became darker in the few seconds. He looked up, brown eyes falling on your waist where your soft tummy was slightly spilling over your skirt, from the corner of his eye catching the way your hand slightly began to shook, before finally glancing at you through his lashes. You have never seen him look like that, he almost looked like he was angry with you, but before you could even question your own thoughts, he took his drink from your slightly shaking hand, giving you a small ‘thanks’, his attention again everywhere, but you.
Soon the thought of him being angry with you became the only relevant thing to you. He didn’t talk to you for whatever reason. You two got along well, always so open with each other, but suddenly you felt like you were strangers again. He didn’t acknowledge your presence whatsoever and that hurt you. For the past few days your mind was occupied with him only, also wondering what possibly you could’ve done so wrong to make him act this way.
You thought back at the night you spend over at the dorms. Maybe you did something that day? However you can’t think of anything. Maybe it was the thing of you trying to get the guys to stay that day at home, as it was so hot outside, plans of going out to the park completely forgotten by then. They agreed with you, happily, laying on the cold ground in light clothes, fan on maximum, all of you completely basking in the cold air. No, that wasn’t it. He also agreed with your idea. He was laying down under the couch while you took every inch of it for yourself. The guys hated the idea of their skin sticking into the material, so they let you have it, like the gentlemen they are.
No…you really have no idea, why he is like this and that made you even more mad.
You couldn’t take it anymore. The constant guilt and sadness rising in your chest. Every time he looked away from you made you sick. Maybe, it is because you have been hanging around a lot more lately as it was the beginning of summer. Maybe, he is just bothered by your nonstop presence…The past few days the others kept their eyes on both of you, shocking you by keeping their mouths shut. Suddenly they didn’t have anything to say. You and Chan are great friends and seeing you two ignoring each other like that — well, it was only one sided anyway, made them realize that they probably shouldn’t mess with whatever this thing between you two is.
You also did exactly that. You waited for him to say something, do anything, but he didn’t. You stayed quiet, but it was slowly killing you. He was starting to drive you crazy from his constant short glances, not being able, for whatever reason, to fully look at you. So, you decided to finally make him.
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Your hand formed into a fist, for a second raised in the air, before finally knocking on the door. You bite at your lip, chewing it, tasting your strawberry chapstick on your tongue. The breath you took was already stuck in your throat, choking you as the door flings immediately open. You somewhere in your mind hoped he would greet you, but you are more thankful for the vibrant smile sent your way from the freckled boy, standing in front of you.
“Hey, Y/N.” Felix greets you, tugging you quickly into a small hug, making you stumble from his strong pull.
You sigh shortly into his shoulder. “Hi, Lixie.” You pull away from him, exchanging a small knowing look with each other, before he lead you inside the dorm.
You told the freckled blonde everything. From the way you felt absolutely clueless of what to do, to the way this whole situation made you feel. You realized through your words that needed so badly to be spoken, how much time you were actually spending with him before this whole situation. It was such a normal thing to be at each other’s sides that you have never noticed that maybe it was too much for him. Chan is kind. He never said anything hurtful ever to you, but maybe he should. Felix listened to your every word, weighting them, looking carefully over your expressive face. That also, even when you were laying your heart out, was kind of a little suspicious. He did listened always, yes, but something is telling you that he just knew something you don’t…
You didn’t question him as he for the matter decided for you to come the next day to their dorm where everyone would be present. No way for him to avoid you at that matter as you all will spend your time watching something in the living room. However as you walk through the hallway to glance into said room, everyone turn their heads…everyone expect him — because he wasn’t even there.
Everyone’s greetings died hallway as they notice your expression. “Where’s Chan?” You wondered out loud, fidgeting slightly under their gazes as they all briefly share a look.
“He’s in his bedroom.”
You sigh, so quietly that it wasn’t even heard over the television. A hand falls on to your shoulder next, making you look up at the blonde who frowns at your own expression. “I’ll go get him.”
“No.” You say, rather firmly as the sadness and disappointment slowly melts into anger, pulling away from Felix who just blinks at your answer. “I’ll go.” He simply nods, seeing that there is no way for either of them to tell you otherwise, silently watching you make your way to Chan’s bedroom. You held your head high, looking confident in your steps, determined to finally hold your ground, but as soon as you turn the corner your back meets the hallway wall with a big shaky sigh.
You play with the fabric of your skirt, pulling and tugging so roughly that you hear the fabric tearing from your movements. Your eyes glare holes into the closed door to his bedroom at the end of the hallway, the only source of light being the soft hue of his blue led lights coming from the bottom of the door. You know that you shouldn’t bother him when he is in his room, probably working on another song or something, but the rule was no working when there is a movie night. Also, most importantly, you are really starting to feel the adrenaline rushing in. How he can just ignore you like that? Don’t you at least deserve an explanation?
Soon enough, you are standing right before the door. Hand almost shaking as you knock on it few times. You don’t even know why you are suddenly so nervous. You hope that the reason why he become so distant isn’t something too complicated. A grunt comes out from behind the closed door and you don’t even say anything that it is you, maybe because you just know he would again just avoid you.
You came into the room, closing the door behind you and silently playing for a moment with the lock as your eyes fall on to Chan. He sat at his table, headphones on, back turned to you, but after a moment of just not hearing anything, he finally looks at you. Immediately his eyes seem to flicker with that emotion again as he glanced you over.
“Hey…” He trails off, quietly, almost like he mumbled it to himself mostly.
“Hey.” You say back, swallowing the lump in your throat, watching as he again turns away from you. Even from your position at the door, holding the handle, like you would just walk out at any moment, you could feel how tense his shoulders were. You thought that you were stubborn, hardheaded, but you for sure were proved otherwise by the man before you. It anger you even more, the silent treatment he put you in is slowly drowning you. “Are you coming? The guys already started the movie without us.” You continued, hands falling to your sides to fumble with the hem of your skirt again.
You watch him nod at your statement, almost like shrugging you off, the frown on your face deepening at that. “Yeah, sure just give me a moment I’ll be there.” Chan, says, nonchalantly, his attention on the screen of his open laptop.
The pout on your lips slowly turns into sneer as you just stood there for a moment looking at him. Can’t he just say something already? Like at least acknowledge your presence, not making you feel like air. “What did I do?” You say, arms crossing over your chest.
He humms then, just that. The fact that he still kept ignoring you, makes you stump over to him with heavy sigh, pulling one side of his headphones from his ear, your rough movements, making him yelp. His hand flies to the top of his ear that is slowly turning red, frowning at the small sting. He looks up at you with big eyes, lips parted. At least now he is finally looking at you.
“What did I do?” You question him again, arms still hugging your chest, like forming some sort of shield around yourself.
His eyes widened for a split second. He knows what you are talking about. “…..what?” Comes out from his lips, eyes almost burning holes on your face, unblinking.
You at his stare and weird behavior become for a second embarrassed by your sudden outburst, seeing him so collected and calm. But you were sure you weren’t imagining things, something seriously was wrong. With him or with you? You still don’t know. You have the right to be upset as he even now, keeps avoiding you in some way, it is like he was looking through you, eyes completely unfocused, but hard.
You sigh through your nose, your hard face softening as you again feel the guilt creeping up to you. “It seems like I did something.”
“No, you didn’t do anything.” He almost said robotically, fast, like he was scared he would suddenly say something completely different, but that is exactly what you want. He is still holding back.
Your face falls at his words. “Do you think I didn’t notice you ignoring me?” He at that, looks away from you, eyes flickering down to stare at your exposed legs. He stayed silent at your words, watching his knuckles turn white from how much he is gripping the armrests. “Chan, just tell me what I did, because I honestly have no idea…”
Sighing, you can’t fight the frown forming on your face. You watch him close his eyes, mirroring your sigh, but that is the only thing he did. You have never realize that your presence bothered him so much. Are you really that annoying? Maybe if you didn’t always require his company almost everywhere you go, this whole situation wouldn’t even happened. His awful silence gave away so much, the pull at his eyebrows and rigid breathing. You already said enough, you think and he in return didn’t, so you just got the feeling that he doesn’t want you here anymore.
You fight back tears of anger mostly, twirling around to maybe lock yourself in the bathroom for a while to calm down, but you weren’t even able to take a step further as you suddenly hear his mumble.
“You’re so stupid…”
Your head immediately whips around, startling him by the anger radiating from you. “Excuse me?” You almost spit out, emotions on the edge. You can’t believe that he just said that to you, ready to throw some insults back, but his frantic movements stop you.
His eyes snap wide open, twirling in his chair to face you, throwing his arms in the air. “No! Not you, it’s me…” He at that places his hands over his face, his next words being muffled. “Oh, fuck, I’m not mad at you or anything. Can we just forget it?”
You want to laugh in disbelief at his words. You for these past few days felt horrible and now he just expects you to forget it? You are seeing red, but you still try to keep your voice down, aware of the other people still present. “No?” You say incredulously, chest rising wildly. “You’ve been so weird, I want to know why…” I deserve it, you wanted to say. His face falls, fingers pressing into his eyelids as a broken noise falls from his mouth. He looked troubled and you are becoming even more concern about what this is truly about. You are scared, thinking the most horrible things imaginable.
“I can’t–“ Chan says firstly to himself, before pulling his hands away from his face to look at you. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why?” You almost whisper, eyes trailing over his reddish eyes and you hope those aren’t tears reflecting in them.
“You will hate me.”
That was his simple answer. Even now you do not hate him. How could you possibly? There isn’t truly a situation in mind that could make you hate him. It was such strong emotion and feeling it towards him, would make you hate yourself mostly. You were angry with him. The way he keeps ignoring, makes you feel so unwanted, but seeing him like this makes all the anger melt away as there was only concern left behind. You shake your head at his words, again finding it difficult to be truly be angry with him as he looked as broken as you felt inside. “Trust me, nothing could propably make me angrier…” You say, wholeheartedly, trying to ease this invisible tension between you two.
Chan look at you with a look that told you; we will see. He again glanced away from you, playing with the rings on his fingers, before sighing in defeat. “….you remember the time you spend the night when there was that killing heat?”
“Yeah?” You said, shrugging and coming closer to him. You do remembered it and you are becoming really curious about what he will say next as you also thought about that day as the solution to this problem.
As you took a step closer to him, towering over him as he still sat in his chair, his head snaps away from you again. The rough moment made him twirl away from you slightly, watching him bite his lip. “Fuck…I can’t even look at you–“
Now you do laugh in disbelief, hands flying in the air before they slap against your thighs. “Why not?” He doesn’t answer again and from your own outburst you don’t even see the way he scrunches up the material of his shorts. “God dammit, Christopher–“
He briefly stills at the sound of his name, before a gasp rings in the air. It came from him as he felt your hand at the back of the headrest, your pretty nails briefly scratching his skull. A shiver runs down his spine, eyes wide when you turn him around to face you. He immediately panics at that, his hands that were digging into the armrests flying to push you away, but they only hover as his eyes again fall on to your legs. “Please just stay there…” He watches your face crunch up in hurt, but he simply couldn’t catch his breath by the way your body is so close to his. “Stay there!”
Your own eyes widened, stilling in your spot a few inches away from him. The thing that makes you snap out from your thoughts is the way his chest kept rising up and down, you are getting a little scared that he in any moment would just smother. Your head tilts down, the hands on either side of his head, falling back to your sides. As they touched the skin of your legs, he almost jumps as your hand grazes over his, still stretched out one. “Chan?” You call out him, watching his frozen body slowly melt at the sound of his name falling from your lips.
He keeps his eyes dead set on your legs, arms still in air, you almost want to laugh at his silly position. “So you remember that night, right?” He asked, voice serious.
You wonder again what exactly happened that made him like this. “Yeah…” The way you knew that this day is somehow relevant, but still not knowing fully what you did, makes you take in a shaky breath.
“God…I can’t get it out of my head–“ You watch his hands form into fists, cheeks on fire slightly from the way he basically growls. “Your – you were wearing those goddamn short, if you can even call them that and I fucking tried to look away…but it only became worst when you started to only wear these skirts..and, and — fuck, I’m so sorry, I c-can’t – this is so wrong.”
Your mouth is left open, the more he talked the more he looked at you and for the first time you wish he didn’t, because he was looking at you in such way that it made you subconsciously rub your thighs together. He however did noticed, his last words coming out choked at the way the meat of your thighs rubbed together. Chan is ready to just stand up and leave, not being able to control himself anymore.
You immediately stop him, hands flying to his shoulders, pressing him back down. “Hey!” You raise your voice at him, but both of you can hear the way you also choke over such a simple word. “I don’t understand…” You kind of did, but you need to hear more, because you can’t take any more subtle words, though those words that left him so far, made you almost fall on to your knees.
His eyes glossed over and not from what you think. Chan doesn’t know what exactly happened that day. He thought, knew, you were attractive, but he never had such vile thoughts running through his mind about you. Maybe it was the way, you looked that day on the couch. Skin glistening, the sweat making your perfume smell so intoxicating. Your hair was sticking to your skin, frown on your features, chewing your bottom lip. It also didn’t help him keep his sanity the way your legs looked from his view. He didn’t know why he did choose this position. He didn’t know at that moment if he should feel blessed or just be completely begging for mercy to get the image of your yummy thighs from his head. The way you layed there, completely exhausted, not even seeing the way your shorts rolled right up to your hips — this is it.
Your legs, your fucking thighs were the thing that made him go so distant. He for a while kept it to himself, because how could he talk about such thing with anyone? He felt dirty every time he thought back at the way your thighs looked. He wanted to just fucking bite them every time you would walk pass him, because like if you knew, you started to wear dresses and skirts…After few days when everyone seem to notice his change of behavior, he told Felix. To his shock, he only laughed, saying that it was so silly of him to be like that just because of your thighs. But they weren’t any thighs…they were yours and also Felix told him that day how he wasn’t the only one thinking about you like that. He couldn’t help the jealousy rising in his chest as he listened to the words his band members kept saying about you, but who could he judge. He probably was the worst out of all of them.
“I started to ignore you, not because of something you did, but it was because of me…I felt always like such a fucking pervert, looking at you, but I can’t help it…they look so fucking good — I don’t want to ruin anything between us…”
You do feel weight being drop from your shoulders as well as also the rumbling in your lower tummy. He looked so on the edge right now that you kind of found something amusing about it. He thought that maybe you will be absolutely mad, freaked out about his weird behavior, but it made the most pleasant feeling warm up your insides. “So, you were just ignoring, because you are horny?” Your voice held a teasing tone, swaying on your feet, feeling giddy inside.
His eyes widened at that. “No! Well…don’t say it like that…” Chan trails off, feeling his ears get red, face flaming hot. His eyes travel back to you as you suddenly take a step closer to him, knees almost touching.
He looked like deer caught in headlights from the way your droopy eyes gaze down at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. He just knows you are not even doing it on purpose. “What exactly made you so hot all over?” You wonder out loud.
The question makes him swallow nervously, realizing that the tension in the room is slowly forming into something completely different from the way you firstly step inside his room. He immediately flicker his eyes down, already giving you the answer. “…your thighs…I like your thighs…”
You tstked, basking in the way he started to become so shy and bashful. “That’s it? Tell me what else Chris.”
He again almost jumps out of his seat, but it only makes him touch his knees with your lower thighs, shocking him all over. “That’s it, I swear! I really only thought about your thighs and…” Chan curse himself for continuing after that as he saw you raise an eyebrow in question. Do you even know the effect you have on him? He probably looked pathetic, but he really doesn’t care as you tilt your head, fanning your pretty eyelashes at him. “And how they would look spilling over my fingers…”
You suck in breath, fingers brushing over his as you stumble over thin air. His gaze turns dark at the way you almost cower. You can feel your own cheeks heating up, suddenly becoming shy under his gaze. It was the same look as the one he gave you back in the studio, now you know what it means. You could feel how his gaze changed the whole vibe of the room and you are now the one becoming bashful. “That’s it?“ You mumble, bottom lip pouting from the way you don’t even have the confidence to fully speak.
“No…there’s so much more.” He licks his lips, catching how your eyes follow the movement of his tongue. “But it would be better if I show you instead?”
“Chan…” You say his name, breathless.
He sighs heavily, eyes going everywhere, all over you. “Just say yes or no, because i think I’m going to go fucking crazy otherwise.”
You shiver at his voice, the deepness vibrating your whole body. “Yes!” You almost shout and before you could even finish answering, he pulls you by your waist to his body.
His pretty fingers dig into the dip of your waist, letting you see that you could still pull away, but you only pull yourself closer to him. You let yourself fall into his lap, bottom half resting on his legs. Before you could even do anything else, he held you there, a little away from his chest so he could still look into your eyes. How did you never notice the hunger he held for you? It was completely written in his eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon. “Can I kiss you?” He says, chest bumping subtly with yours from his heavy breathing. You again want to laugh at such question, pulling the back of his head to yours closer instead. Your lips touch with gentleness for a few seconds, his lips so pillowy you can’t wait for him to kiss every inch of your body. As you pull away from each other, you give each other a long look, before one of his hands on your waist comes to weave in your hair, tugging at the root.
You gasp at the sudden roughness, letting him push his lips to your pulse, it jumping under his touch. You already probably look like a total wreck and it didn’t help the fact that just by a small tilt of your hips you could feel his hard-on. He sighs with you, kissing, licking at your neck, sending shivers all over your body. When he feels your sudden shift of your hips, something comes over him. The way his friends talked about you, made his grip tighten around your hair, pulling out a whimper from you.
He doesn’t ignore that noise, making the feeling even better with his kisses on the left side of your neck. You moan when you feel him sucking at your skin, melting into his touch even more. He start to nip at you, soaking you up in his spit from how wild he is making out with your neck. You can’t even breathe from the way he presses himself into you, making your own hand tighten around his head, him letting out a brutal groan that came from the back of his throat.
It makes him stop for a moment and you took the opportunity to pull him to your mouth. His lips felt puffy, so delicious, making you delirious from his taste alone. His tongue clashed over yours, letting your mouth open for him to just fuck you with it, as he is completely messy with it. You don’t even care about your mixed spit falling onto your shirt, but you do react when he pulls away from you urgently.
“Sit on my face.”
“What–“ You can’t even answer as he slaps his hands on your thighs, massaging roughly the fat between his fingers. “Chan I don’t know…I have never done it – I don’t want to hurt you.” You say, also breathless, freezing when the tip of his fingers almost touched your clothed core.
“I don’t care, fucking choke me with these thighs to dead, I really don’t fucking care–“
“Okay!” You answer, head snapping back to the door to his bedroom, suddenly remembering that you are in fact not the only people in the dorm right now. Your small concern melts away when you’re suddenly hoist up.
You yelp, gasp rather loudly, your hand flying to grasp his shoulders as he grip the underside of your thighs. You are shocked about how easily he just lift you up, not missing the cheeky grin on his face. You melt momentarily at the sight of his strong arms bulging, veins so prominent, you could probably spend the whole night just biting at them. He also can’t help himself getting even more hard and impatient at the thought of finally having you.
He turns around swiftly, not even giving you a warning as he throws you on his bed. You again let out a startled sound, body completely emerging into the soft mattress, bed springs screeching wildly when he falls on top of you. Your small complaint is silenced by his lips on your own, biting immediately at your bottom lip. You are already having a hard time controlling your own desires, hips jumping up and when they just softly touch his, you moan into him.
He breathes you in, heavy breaths mixing with yours, lowering himself to fully graze his cock over your cunt. The sounds you are making are really getting into his head, pushing into you just right, precum ruining his shorts. “Fuck–“ You whimper, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, nails scratching at his lower stomach. His mind was basically all over the place, but when you wrap your godforsaken legs around him, sqeeezing his hips, he sits up. You jump a little from how quick the movement is, ready to question him if you did something wrong, but you are only left confused when he falls backwards into his pillow. How can someone look this good from that angle…
“Come here-“ You are already climbing up his body by then, sitting down on his lap like before, but from this position you could feel even more. You can’t help, but press yourself harder on his clothed cock. You drool at the feeling, eyes closing to fully savour the feeling.
He sucks in breath from your smooth movements, letting you hump your pretty little clit over him as he again gets lost in your body. Chan hopes you know how good you are looking right now. Face scrunch up, hair messy from his fingers, hands pulling at his shirt like it is the only hold of sanity you have left. He bit his bottom lip, hands again traveling up your legs, peeking from your soft pink skirt and as he lifts it up a little by accident…he comes across your same colored silk panties. He will fucking cum in his pants if he doesn’t have you on his face right now.
You are pulled from your blissful state as Chan pulls you closer to him, lifting you up slightly with his strength. Your eyes open, looking into his, again glistening under your hungry gaze. “Please, sit on my face.”
You gasp softly again, but you can’t stop the desire spreading across your face. “Are you sure?” Your hand caressed his features, thumb going over the bridge of his nose, making his eyes close for a second. He for an answer pulls you again closer, making you sit up. “Wait – let me just-“ You make a move to get up from him, but he immediately grabs you tightly in his grasp.
You wanted to maybe pull down your skirt for him to get a better access to your leaking cunt, but he possibly couldn’t miss the opportunity of having you like this. Still in that pretty skirt and matching panties, like you almost knew this was going to happened. The thought of you just wearing the same thing after, juices and his spit coating your thighs, silently hoping that the guys would be able to smell him on you, made his cock jump in his shorts. “Keep it on, all…” He says, voice deep, almost not being able to hear him from the way he is already so drunk on you.
You shiver then, shuffling finally up his body, stopping at his chest, chin just grazing the inside of your thigh. “Just stop me if you can’t breathe.” He could smell your scent from here, no way he will miss the opportunity of being choked to death by your weight on his nose. He actually also never done it before, he only got the idea when you came into the picture and he can’t thought of anyone else doing it to him.
Your fingers touch briefly his as you lift up your skirt to your waist, waiting for him to shuffle down. You gasp at the sight of his face so close to your pussy, as he only groans in response from the way he could see the wet patch on your underwear growing. His hands play with the meat of your thighs, the softness, making him turn his head to suck at the skin. You moan quietly, still aware that you two are not alone, but you just can’t help yourself from moaning again as he sucks on the inside of your thigh. You could already see the purple blotches forming, not even mad when he does the same with the other. It tickled slightly, a giggle falling from your lips, hand immediately going to your mouth to silent your laugh.
However he only melts at that sound, a grin becoming prominent on his lips and you could feel it against your skin. You are just so cute and adorable, but he had to shock you by lowering you finally to his lips. No sound though leaves you, only mouth hanging open when his tongue licks a long stripe up your clothed pussy. You curse, legs trembling slightly from the way he just started to make out with your center.
You could feel his saliva smearing all over you or maybe it was your juices? Chan is already going dizzy from your tanginess, cursing himself for not talking to you sooner. He for second pulls away from you, licking at his lips, not missing anything you are giving him. A sigh leaves him when his eyes trail over the visible outline of your pussy.
“Please-“ You whimper, hips rolling slightly in the air and he almost came right there from that. The idea of you riding his face is the only thing he can think of right now, so he just pushes your ruined panties to the side, showing his mouth into your soaking cunt.
You yelp again, hand shooting to grip at his hair but it only makes you fall forward, basically squishing your whole bottom half into him. You immediately try to sit up, but he only pulls you further down. His tongue is everywhere. You are absolutely wrecked, teeth biting at your tongue to silence yourself, because how good is he?
You have never been eaten out like this before. The angle made his nose graze your clit just right and you don’t even have the strength to pull yourself up, concern about him breathing flying out the window. However Chan really doesn’t seem to care, happy you are the only thing he is breathing in. The way you just try to move away from the intense feeling, made his own hips jump. The grip he has on your legs, will propably make bruises later, but it actually made the feeling even better.
You think you are almost crying from the pleasure, drooling when his tongue breaches you and he shivers at your raw taste — delicious like a Michelin star meal. Your back arches at that, pushing yourself even harder against him. The shift makes him moan into you, pulling himself away from you for a moment, but you could still feel him working you up. “Ride my face-“ You gasp and whimper when his hand gives your right cheek a nasty slap, making you jump, clit hitting the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, baby…just like that – good girl.”
He isn’t holding you up anymore, just laying there as you shift nervously. The cuteness like you are, you are still slightly shy with your movements. It is honestly endearing, but right now he just wants you to suffocate him. He basically shoves you down on his face, one hand playing with your asscheek and the other gripping at your leg.
You feel sweat dripping down your forehead, whimpering. Chan helps you with your movements, before you finally start riding his face on your own, just like he wanted. He only groans into you, the sound vibrating around your clit, his lips wrapping around it. When he suck at it, pulling your inner labia into his mouth, you almost cum right there. Your hand comes down to caress his soft curls, completely opposite from your wild movements. You look down, eyes glossy, but not missing the hungry look he gives you in return.
You could already feel your lower belly rumbling in the very familiar feeling, completely lost in the moment. His pretty nose, which you always complimented, rubs against you in the most delicious way. Your mind is fuzzy, mouth hanging open when you start to feel the ecstasy, but then a loud unexpected noice startles you, making you jump.
“Are you guys okay in there?”
Your eyes fly wide open, falling on to equally frightened Chan. Your breathing is heavy, quietly trying to catch your breath with him, before he slightly lifts you up to answer Han. “All good!” He answers, voice raspy.
You look at him in confusion when he suddenly grabs you by your waist, giving you a small peak at his drenched face. You don’t even have time to apologize for the mess you did, head still fuzzy from your ruined orgasm, when he flings you up in the air and making you fall onto your back.
Your surprise gasp is unheard by his overly loud voice, like he just knew you would do that. “We’ll be right there-“ You don’t miss the cheeky grin on his lips, watching him kiss your pubic bone, before wrapping your legs around his head. “Just have to finish something…” He mumbles and at that he flattens his tongue, pressing it right at your puffy clit. Your hand quickly flies to your lips, crying out into your skin when he wildly moves his head side to side, almost missing Han’s answer.
“Okay! Just don’t eat each other.“
Oh, for sure…
You don’t even care that he could probably still hear your loud cry of pleasure as Chan basically devours you. Your legs start to tremble, back arching, a hand holding your bottom half down. You are losing your mind about how good he is, fingers tugging at his hair as he only suck harder. “I’m gonna cum – fuuuuck” He at your words, pulls his mouth lower, again shoving his tongue into your cunt.
“Cum babygirl, I want it.” Chan growls, head tilting up so your clit hits his nose again. Even if the position is starting to hurt, he will never complain about that pain ever, because the image of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, was definitely worth it.
Your whole body trembles, legs pressing his head even closer to you as the rope snaps. You don’t even hear yourself anymore, letting your lips open wide, moaning wildly in pleasure. You could feel yourself leaking all over his face. The high doesn’t even stop, because he doesn’t stop. You feel tear run down your face, sitting up, gasping as his only quickened is movements.
You almost want to scream at the burning feeling, hole fluttering around his tongue. “Please stop — I’m gonna cum again!” He only looks up at you, so innocently you can’t stop your hips tilting up to his face. As the second peak starts to approach your hand, falls to his, squeezing it, nails scratching his skin as the immense pleasure hits you again, now even more intense as you didn’t even have time to clam your body from the first. You see completely white, ears ringing as you fall back down in exhaustion, just letting him lick your cream all up, whole body shaking. Your heart beats wildly inside your chest, body slumping tiredly into the sheets. You don’t even feel him pulling away from your red, puffy pussy, neither him falling next to you.
When you feel a hand touching your cheek softly, moving away the wet strands of hair from your face, your eye peaks open slightly. You sighs in bliss, a drunk smile stretching across your lips at the look he gives you. “You, okay?” What kind of question is even that? You feel like you had out of body experience, still feeling the lingering burning sensation.
“Yeah.” You say, voice little, maybe from your screaming. You really don’t even care anymore about the guys hearing you as Chan gives you the most loving, soft kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, looking up at him, eyes tracing over the wetness coating his face. You are sure that every time you will look at him from now on, you will see him under you eating your cunt like there’s no tomorrow. Definitely one of the best memories you have of him.
You grin again, pulling yourself up, only slumping right back with a huff. Chan laughs at you, cooing, pulling you against him instead. You could feel how his own heart is jumping as your head hits his chest and you can’t help smiling further. “You know, you’re not the only one kind of obsessed.” You say, at his silence looking up at him.
He humms in question, brows furrowed, ignoring the sudden loud noises, like cheering, coming from the living room as you are the only thing he will ever put his attention into from now on.
♡ Synopsis: With your terrible history of boyfriends during high school, you swore off love and vowed to get through university without a relationship. Things are great: you’re in your junior year, in an uncomplicated arrangement with a friend with benefits, and living in a nice sharehouse with two amazing roommates. But things begin to change once you meet Lee Minho, a student in your new class who vows to change your perspective on love.
♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, eventual smut, light angst, pining, jealousy, strangers to friends to lovers, friends with benefits
♡ CW: Swearing, sexual themes and discussions, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking
♡ Word count: 16.4k
♡ A/N: This is a three-part story because I can’t shut up. The second part will be posted sometime next week, and I’ll link it here. I’ve been writing all my life and have written for maaaany fandoms, but being on Tumblr as an active reader of SKZ fics made me want to write for them. So, yeah, guess this is what I’m doing now.
part II →
You are woken up by Hyunjin shifting beside you on the bed. He groans, arm reaching to mess with your already closed curtains. You chuckle.
“You know, the curtains won’t close any more than that.”
“I keep telling you your bed is in a terrible position,” He grumbles as you turn to face him with a smile. “Who thought placing a bed right under a window would be a good idea? Mornings are fucking hell here.”
You shrug. “Well, it’s not my house so I didn’t exactly have a say in that matter.”
“I told you a million times I could help you move it.”
“And I told you a million times Mrs. Choi doesn’t like for us to mess with her furniture,” You explain, turning under the sheets so you could face him before bringing your fingers up to pinch his cheek. Hyunjin scrunches his nose. “Speaking of which, you need to leave. You know her rule: no—”
“No boyfriends spending more than two days at the house,” He interrupted you with an eye roll. “I’m not your boyfriend, though, so that rule shouldn’t apply.” He shrugs.
Hyunjin has been one of your best friends since you first met over two years ago. It was Hyunjin’s first college party and one of the many times your housemates had dragged you along on a night out. His friends had dared him to try and chat you up, arguing it would be hilarious to see him get turned down by an older girl. What they hadn’t expected, however, was for Hyunjin’s clumsy attempt at flirting to be so endearing to you; his pink cheeks and bowl-cut hair made him look like a helpless kid despite his height towering over you. Before you knew it, you had spent the entirety of the party talking to him about everything and anything, only stopping once your housemate Eunha emerged from inside the house to drag you home with her as she desperately tried to dodge a rather insistent guy’s advances. After that day, you and Hyunjin became almost inseparable.
You can’t quite pinpoint when you began hooking up. It was meaningless in the best sense of the word. It was simply something that had happened. All you can remember is that Jisung had recently bleached Hyunjin’s hair after yet another dare from his friend. It had started with cuddles, which turned to kisses, which turned to touches, until you eventually slept together for the first time sometime last year after an excruciatingly stressful exam period. It had never once gotten weird between the two of you; the line was always clear: you were just friends who hooked up due to convenience. Everybody had needs and stress and shit complicating their lives, and fucking your best friend was far more practical and safe than going out to look for a random hook-up whenever you needed it.
You find yourself smiling at Hyunjin once again. His now long black hair fell in his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head.
“Yes, you’re not my boyfriend, but how am I supposed to explain what we are to a little old lady?”
“Doesn’t she always say she’s super modern?” Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you with a chuckle. “Maybe she’d like a situationship of her own and you’re depriving her of that by keeping this knowledge to yourself.”
You roll your eyes at his words, attempting to push him off your bed. “Why did you sleep here, anyway?”
Hyunjin sits up on the bed, a pout on his full lips. “I had a shitty date. I was sad and lonely. Glad to know you were paying attention to my story.”
“Hyune,” You sigh, ‘When you tell me said story while fucking me, can I really be blamed for not remembering anything?”
Hyunjin flicks your forehead lightly. “Yes, you can. At this point, it’s like our thing to vent about bad dates during sex,” He argues before getting up from your bed, finding his shirt, which had somehow been thrown over your study desk.
“You mean it’s your thing,” Correcting him, you get up as well, turning to fix up your sheets. “I don’t even go on dates and you know that. The only thing I vent to you about is how awful academic life is.”
Once you turned to face him again, Hyunjin was busy messily tying his hair. His brows promptly furrowed as he took in your words. “Remind me why you literally never leave the house again?”
“Just don’t want to get distracted. Getting my degree is more important than getting a boyfriend.” You lie with a shrug.
Your history with relationships was something you kept secret from everyone you met after high school. You feel embarrassed, as if it was all somehow your fault. After five failed relationships where you had been the one to be broken up with or cheated on, you began to accept that maybe the problem really was you. Maybe something about you makes men want to yell at and cheat on you. Perhaps you are just bound to be a distraction until they find someone better.
Which is why you don’t date.
Would anyone go through the hassle of reading a long, tedious book if they already knew about the bad ending?
Hyunjin rolls his eyes at your answer, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your degree isn’t going to keep you company when you’re eighty and alone.”
“Well, my degree isn’t going to wake up one day and suddenly decide to leave me either,” you refute, earning an annoyed groan from your friend as you walk past him to leave your room.
“You literally never have fun, though. All you do is go to class, work, and study. You should at least pick up a new hobby,” Hyunjin insists as he follows you, walking into the kitchen-living room area. “Go out more, stop avoiding college parties like the plague before it’s too late to experience the joys of watching your friend throw up on some random person’s couch.”
You make a face at the offers, grabbing your mug from the cupboard. “Why would I want to see that? Besides, I have hobbies.”
“I meant a social hobby. Sitting in your room watching fucking iceberg videos isn’t sociable,” He explains, and you let out an aggrieved gasp. Your iceberg videos were educational and entertaining, thank you very much. Behind you, your housemate’s bedroom door opens, and you turn to watch as she stumbles out of her room, looking half-awake. “Soojung, don’t you think she should get a new hobby?” Hyunjin addresses the blonde girl, who stares daggers at him.
“If I say yes, will you two stop speaking so loud?”
Hyunjin slams one hand on the kitchen counter, his other pointing a finger at you. “See, she said yes. You’re outnumbered, now you have to stop spending all your free time holed up inside your room.”
Soojung groans, stepping into the kitchen and shoving Hyunjin to the side. “He’s annoying, but he is kind of right,” she mumbles.
Truthfully, you did feel bad about having essentially wasted three years at university by actively avoiding parties and invitations any chance you got. The only parties you did attend, however, only served as an irritating reminder as to why you shouldn’t put yourself in those situations. Parties and bars only meant desperate college boys. Desperate for sex, for attention, for a potential relationship. For someone’s heart to break. You had met Hyunjin at a party, for fuck’s sake. Who knows just how south things between you two could’ve gone if he had become interested in you romantically?
But, as much as you hate to admit it, Hyunjin is right. Your life is essentially an endless loop of studying and working. You only socialize when your roommates are home, when your few friends come over, and when you and Hyunjin hook up. But you aren’t ready to step out of your comfortable bubble of avoidance, so you settle for the best thing you can think of.
As Hyunjin rummages through your fridge like he lived there and Soojung stirs her coffee blankly, you loudly set your mug down on the counter. “An elective course,” you announce.
The both of them turn to face you with the same puzzled expression.
“The fuck?” Hyunjin questions, and you roll your eyes.
“I’ll take an elective,” you explain matter-of-factly, “The university offers a lot of great courses in things I’m actually interested in. It’ll be a way for me to get out of the house without having to watch a friend of mine puke on a couch or whatever atrocity it is that you said.”
Hyunjin slams the fridge door closed, earning a scolding scream from Soojung, and walks over to where you’re standing. He pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “You’re such a fucking nerd, what the fuck, but I’m so glad your hermit life is coming to an end.”
The elective course you choose is Japanese. It’s a language you’ve always been interested in learning, and while you know the class is merely introductory, you figure it will be fun to learn some phrases and expressions. You might even find yourself wanting to learn more in the future, and you’ll undoubtedly be glad you took this class during university.
Even if that means having to endure Hyunjin calling you a weeb.
You are able to begin attending classes a week after signing up; the lessons lining up with your work schedule to a T. The professor explained that, since you had joined the course late, you would likely need some guidance with phrases and words the class had already been taught. You didn’t mind, actually feeling excited in the morning despite your boring routine classes since you knew you would be doing something new you enjoyed in the afternoon instead of simply killing time around your house until it was time for you to work.
You walk into your first class ten minutes late, mentally cursing Eunha for being so good at telling stories about her weirdly entertaining life that it made it physically difficult for you to drag yourself away from her. You mouth a brief apology to your professor before scanning the room and scurrying over to the only available seat.
You sit down in haste so as to not disrupt the class any further, swinging your bag over your chair and accidentally knocking over your seatmate’s water bottle all over his side of the desk. Luckily, the bottle lands on the soft surface of his notebook, barely making any noise. Unluckily, said bottle had been filled with coffee, staining his notes a faded brown color. You silently gasp, instinctively reaching out your hands to fruitlessly try and dry the pages that are now sticking to each other.
“I am so sorry, what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you continue to inspect his notebook frantically. “I’ll buy you a new notebook and another cup of coffee as soon as class ends, I promise,” You whisper to him, your eyes boring holes into the stained pages as you watch the bitter liquid slowly dissolve some of the black ink. At this point, you’re rambling out of nervousness, but you can’t seem to stop, adding, “Hell, I’m so angry at myself for what I did I’d bind you a new notebook and brew you some fresh coffee myself.”
You mentally berate yourself for your word vomit. It was just your luck that you would make someone hate your guts on the first day you attended a class.
After what feels like minutes of silence from him, you are prepared for the imminent burst of rage bound to come your way, the guy’s wrath more than likely stirring inside him as he sits beside you and watches as you foolishly shake the piece of paper, hoping it will miraculously return to its untainted state.
However, what you aren’t prepared for is the small burst of laughter that leaves your seatmate’s lips; it’s quiet, but you’re close enough to him to be able to hear it.
You furrow your brows, finally mustering the courage to look up at him for the first time.
“Did you…” You trail off. You feel a strange sensation inside your chest as your eyes meet his. It was something you had never felt before, a small burst of a fluttering that briskly washed over you before disappearing just as quickly. Like a pinwheel was placed inside of you and a strong wind had suddenly started blowing. You shake your head, returning to the matter at hand. You are probably just experiencing some anxiety due to what has happened, you argue mentally. “Did you just laugh at me?”
As you finally take him in properly, the guy before you looks as dazed as you felt just now, courtesy of your minor panic attack; his lips agape and his round eyes blinking while his dark pupils are fixed on you. You two remain that way for a few seconds in an impromptu staring contest that causes the peculiar feeling to bloom inside your chest once again.
When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “You… offered to bind a notebook for a stranger,” His lips twitch into a grin. “It was a little funny.”
You open your mouth but promptly close it, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make you appear like more of an idiot than you already do. You sigh. “Sorry,” you mumble, your voice low as well. “I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I’m—”
“You two, on the back,” your professor calls out in a louder voice, however still keeping her calm demeanor. You and your seatmate turn to look at her. “I’m going to teach a few new phrases useful for traveling now. How about you two talk after class? This is actually quite perfect. Minho is one of my best students, so he could help you catch up to where we are.” She offers the two of you a small smile, and you feel your cheeks burn.
This class wasn’t mandatory, and you didn’t need it to get your degree. It is still a class, nonetheless. Ever since high school, you’ve always hated people who disrespect their professors by brazenly talking or sleeping during class.
“I’m sorry, professor,” You muttered. Beside you, your seatmate — Minho, as he was just called — scoots closer to you and whispers something you don’t understand under his breath. You look at him, confused. He chuckles, and you feel his breath on your cheek. It makes the odd fluttering return.
“Gomenasai,” He repeats more clearly, his voice louder, “It’s ‘I’m sorry’ in Japanese.” He offers you a smile, and you soak in just how good-looking he is. Ever since you first raised your head to look at him — when the pinwheel inside your chest rapidly spun and unexplainedly made you feel nervous — you knew he was a handsome guy, but his soft smile and calm eyes made him look even more annoyingly pretty.
Before you’re able to do it yourself, your professor speaks again and pulls you out of your trance.
“In this case, Sumimasen would be a bit more appropriate,” she corrects Minho, who clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath. The woman chuckles at his reaction. “It’s okay. This is also something you can explain to Y/N after class.”
As the class went on, you couldn’t help but notice how Minho didn’t take any notes. Your mind latched onto how you ruined his notebook and how it was your fault that he couldn’t properly study during today’s class, so you couldn’t find the courage to offer him some paper so he could take notes.
After almost an hour of unrelenting guilt swallowing you up slowly, you place your hand on Minho’s shoulder as soon as the professor announces class is over after assigning the students a small written assignment.
“We could talk outside? If you want,” you offer him, feeling the now-familiar nervousness come back, making your mouth speak faster than your brain can even think to rationalize, “There’s a bench I really like outside this building. It’s a good spot. There’s a nice shade, and it’s secluded enough that people don’t bother me when I’m studying. Or googling how to bind a notebook.”
Minho lets out a brief chuckle. “Okay. I would love to talk on your favorite bench.”
You blink at him. “I don’t have a favorite bench.”
“Hm, it sure sounded like it. You listed some good attributes of that bench,” He argues, a grin etched onto his lips.
“I told you I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”
He raises an eyebrow at your words. “You’re nervous?”
“Of course I am. I never bound a notebook before.”
Minho lets out a hearty laugh this time, his head thrown back and his eyes turning into crescent moons before he shakes his head. He picks his notebook off the table, showing you the crinkly light brown-tinted pages. “It’s dry now. I actually kind of like it, gave the pages a sort of vintage vibe. You don’t have to bind me a new notebook,” He reassures you, placing the small book into his bag. “As much as I would love to see how that would turn out.”
And just like that, your nervousness fades away. You smile at Minho, asking that he follow you over to your favorite bench.
The two of you talked for almost two hours. During that time, Minho helped you catch up with the vocabulary and phrases you had missed in class. When you asked him how he was able to know so much off the top of his head, his lips curled into a crooked grin as he sheepishly told you that he had been taking Japanese lessons since he was in high school. He explained that because he procrastinated signing up for an elective course, the advanced class was full by the time he got to it, so he decided to go for the introductory one instead. You chuckled and questioned why he would choose to spend his time on a course when he already knew everything being taught. He shrugged and explained that it was nice to have at least one class in which he didn’t have to try and that the fact that it made him feel smart also helped.
Not even your shift at work was able to make your conversation stop flowing, as Minho offered to walk with you to the coffee shop upon realizing it was near his apartment.
That was one of the many coincidences and things in common you found to have with each other that day.
It started with ordinary things like the fact that Minho had three cats back home just like you and how he had been collecting plushies since he was a child, while you had started your own collection as soon as you had access to money of your own. Or how your favorite authors were Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë — Minho swore you would die if you saw the special edition books he had back at home.
Then, it became a bit more amusing as you found out that Minho had worked at a convenience store chain when he first finished high school, and it was the same one you worked at for your first job after starting university. And you both had worked there for exactly a year and two months before quitting. You then told him about how you ended up attending this university after your top three choices turned you down, and his choices were the same as yours. And just like you, he also got rejected by his top three options, which led him to attend the same university as you.
You two couldn’t hide your bewilderment, eyes widening and lips bursting into laughter as these linked facts kept spilling out during your conversation. It was strange, you thought, but in a comforting way. It was almost as if you two had been living weirdly similar lives, all while having no clue about the other’s existence.
The two of you approach the small coffee shop while talking about your degrees. You try your best not to bore Minho with your ‘existential crisis-inducing psychology talks,’ as Hyunjin always put it, and you mostly listen to him as he talks about programming. He tells you that his dream is to develop cozy games that people can jump into without much thought, simply to relax. He says he knows how stressful life is and that people sometimes need something they can mindlessly do to get their minds off of shit. You resonate with it more than you care to admit, as cozy idle games are one of your favorite things to do while locked inside your room.
“So I do these freelancing gigs to make money but I’m actually set to start my first quote-unquote real job in two weeks,” he beams as you two stop in front of the coffee shop. Minho’s eyes lit up the moment he started speaking about his degree, and although you didn’t understand most of the terms he used, it is always endearing to watch someone talk about something they’re so passionate about. “There’s this guy who’s graduating soon who recruited me and a friend for a project he’s working on, so it’s not technically a job and we’ll work in his living room. I’ll still get some money and the chance to actually develop something, though, so it’s better than nothing.”
You smile at him. “If you like programming as much as your words led me to believe, I’m sure it won’t even feel like a job.”
Minho’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and he scratched his head. “Sorry, I talked your ear off about shit you don’t even understand.”
“I think everybody likes to hear people talk about things they like,” you assure him, “It was a good talk. I still can’t believe we have so many things in common. It was kind of funny how they kept coming up.”
Minho chuckles, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Guess the universe is giving us signs that we should be friends.”
“It seems like it.”
That day, you work with a persistent smile engraved on your lips. You can’t remember the last time you felt so good about meeting someone new. Despite your awkward first encounter, you found that talking to Minho was as easy as talking to an old childhood friend. It felt refreshing. The last friend you made was Hyunjin — whom you were so grateful to now for pushing you out of your comfort zone — and after that, you had unknowingly closed yourself off.
Minho had managed to open up your mind to the idea of letting someone in almost comically fast. And you loved that.
It’s been a month since you’ve been attending Japanese classes, and your studying sessions with Minho — which always turned into long conversations on what now had really become your favorite bench — were a weekly appointment, much like having him walk with you to work twice a week.
Today, however, Minho stopped you with a hand on your shoulder as you made your way toward your usual spot. When he asked you if you would like to study at his favorite bakery today instead, his eyes rapidly blinking as he looked at you through his bangs which had grown to slightly cover his eyes since you met him, you just couldn’t say no. He stammered as he promised that the place was even closer than the one where you worked, so you wouldn’t be late for your shift.
You smiled at his apparent nervousness, finding it endearing. You knew all too well how stressed you felt when offering something new or initiating plans with a new friend, and Minho seemed to be the same.
“Good thing you made this offer today, on my day off,” you bumped shoulders with him. “It’s almost like you knew.”
You begin walking, and Minho gently pushes you to the side so that he’s the one walking on the edge of the side of the sidewalk. You shoot him a questioning look, and he blinks at you again.
“Sorry, force of habit,” he chuckles, “My mom taught me a guy shouldn’t let a girl walk on the street side. I know it’s old-fashioned and probably made me seem like an ancient guy who wouldn’t let his wife work or something. Sorry.”
You shake your head. “No, it’s kind of sweet. I never had anyone do that with me.”
You feel the pinwheel twirl inside your chest again.
The two of you approach a familiar building together. You furrow your eyebrows as you take in the floral curtains on the windows and the pretty font adorning the store sign of your favorite bakery. You think about how it would be nice if you two came here on another day. Maybe you could use that opportunity to finally introduce Minho to your other friends.
You only realize Minho has stopped walking when he calls out your name. When you turn around, he’s standing in front of the bakery with a smile.
“This is the place.” He points toward the white door with a nod as you return to where he’s standing.
No fucking way.
“This is your favorite bakery?” You ask, although it is a stupid question. Minho nods. You play with the strap of your bag. “Okay, this is starting to sound ridiculous, but I swear I’m not lying. This is my favorite bakery, too.”
Minho’s eyes widen at your words, and his lips curl into a smile again. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I will not,” You chuckle.
Minho opens the door and the two of you walk inside, the familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods bringing back great memories you made in this place. You often come here with your two roommates; it’s close enough to both your house and university that you can skip out on taking the bus, the atmosphere is always relaxing and comforting, not to mention the delicious cakes they sell. You smile to yourself as you remember Eunha scuffing down far too many slices of their chocolate cake after a nasty breakup a couple of months ago, tears streaming down her face so violently that the poor little old man who owns the shop appeared to check up on her.
“Their lemon cake is my favorite.”
“The lemon cake is what made me—”
You and Minho speak concurrently, with you unable to even finish your sentence before you both freeze for a couple of seconds in front of the only small table available at the crowded shop.
He’s the first one to move, pulling out his chair a bit awkwardly. “We should…” He trails off before clearing his throat as you sit down before him. “Should really make a written list of things we weirdly have in common.”
“At this point, I think it’d be easier if we made one of what we don’t have in common.”
You two settle for the obvious choice of two pieces of lemon cake with a cup of coffee for him and a glass of cola for you. Minho almost looked offended when you informed him that you hate coffee, wondering out loud why you even worked at a coffee shop before ensuring he could change your mind with just the five amazing facts about coffee he thought about off the top of his head. You shrugged him off with a grin. You couldn’t deny the irony of being a barista and having to make endless cups of a drink you despised daily, but you were sure Minho could never change your mind about coffee.
You two talked about your improvement in Japanese in the last month until the waiter returned with your order. Minho insists you’re a natural and could be on his level in a couple of years if you tried, but you roll your eyes at his compliments. You’ve never been naturally good at anything. That wasn’t about to change now.
“You know,” Minho begins once the waiter steps away from your table, looking around the coffee shop. People slowly started to leave as it got later in the day; the place was now much quieter, and the atmosphere even more cozy. “I used to think I would meet somebody in a place like this.”
“Like, in a romantic sense?”
Minho hums, still looking out to his side. You notice his side profile is really pretty, and you have to hide your smile by sipping your drink.
When he returns his gaze to you, he’s the one smiling. “Yes, in a romantic sense. Like being destined to meet someone.”
“Look at you, a hopeless romantic,” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. You never thought of Minho as someone like that. He seemed rather methodical, always following a routine and too engrossed in his codes to be preoccupied with something like love.
Minho furrowed his brows. “Why the eye roll?”
“I just don’t believe in that stuff,” you shrug with a small smile, “Stuff like destiny, soulmates, love…” You trail off, taking your spoon and poking the slice of cake in front of you. “Love has the awful tendency of being bad.”
Of course, you once believed all those things. Doesn’t everybody? But love has shown you time and time again that those are things reserved only for some people. And, clearly, you are not one of them. So why believe in it?
“It’s the most amazing thing in life,” Minho’s voice almost startled you as you were so deeply entranced in your thoughts.
You don’t lift your head to answer him, instead drawing mindless shapes on the icing on top of your cake.
“What is?”
“Love,” He replies in a soft voice. When you finally look at him, you’re surprised to find Minho’s deep eyes already looking at you, a small smile adorning his lips. “Love is the most amazing thing in life.”
You freeze.
You tear your eyes away from him, gaze focusing on the plate in front of you again.
You were careful with your rules. No parties, no bars, no talking to your male co-workers unless absolutely necessary, and no male friends unless they were in a relationship or proved beyond a reasonable doubt to only be interested in you platonically — which was what Minho was. So, why did him bringing up love make you feel so nervous?
Under the table, you unwittingly bounce your leg. This was stupid. Minho has been your friend for a month now; you see each other twice a week, and you talk for hours, always so comfortable around each other in a way that is still so new to you. He has never flirted with you or treated you in any way that led you to believe that he wanted anything more than to be your friend. You will not let your foolish trauma ruin what was proving to be an amazing friendship. He was simply sharing his thoughts on a topic. That’s all love was: a conversation topic.
You force out a chuckle as you snap yourself out of your senseless panic and look up at Minho once more. “We can just agree to disagree?”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, something you can’t quite pinpoint swimming in his deep eyes as he looks at you. Instead of breaking the silence, he scoops up a piece of cake with his spoon and raises it like a glass. You shake your head with a giggle as you realize what he’s doing, toasting your spoons together at the center of the table before you both eat your spoonfuls of cake.
“You know,” He speaks as soon as he’s done eating, his eyes having never left yours. “Love can never be bad. I don’t think so, at least. It never makes anything worse. It can only ever make things better.”
You hum and shift in your seat, lowering your gaze toward the table. The truth is, you hate talking about love. That — coupled with your shame regarding your past relationships — is the reason why you never indulge in this type of conversation, even with your own mother. But years of swallowing down your thoughts and opinions whenever the subject was brought up only caused a buildup of emotions in your throat. So much so that you only realized you were talking once you were midway through a sentence.
“Love can make so many things worse,” you affirmed, your eyes following the polka-dot pattern on the tablecloth, “Losing someone is bad enough, but put love into that equation, and it just worsens tenfold.”
Minho nods. “By that logic, you can say that having someone by your side is always good, but if it’s someone you love, it makes it better tenfold, right?”
You let out a chuckle as you realize you two could go back and forth about that subject for ages.
But it felt good to finally speak out your feelings on the matter, so you continue, “Love can’t be that great if people can so easily fall out of it and for so many different but equally stupid reasons. You’re suddenly not attractive to them anymore, or you have different opinions, or they love picking fights but hate it when it’s the other way around…” You trail off, swallowing down a lump in your throat as you speak out of experience. But Minho didn’t need to know that. You lift your eyes. “Not to mention falling in love with a new person all while supposedly already being in love with someone.”
“That’s not genuine love,” Minho shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows, as if it was his first time hearing of such things happening. “Real love is unconditional and understanding. Real love makes the person you love beautiful simply because they’re them. Real love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself as well.” His expression softens, and his eyes lock onto yours. “And real love makes it so that you can only see the one you love. You can’t possibly fall in love with someone else if you’re truly already in love.”
You gnaw on your bottom lip, nodding slowly. You hate the fact that part of you is desperate to believe that what Minho said was true. And you hate it even more that an even bigger part has already dismissed every single word that left his lips.
Desperate to shift the subject from Reasons Why My Exes Left Me — which only leaves you feeling sad and pathetic — back to Love Is Amazing, you decide to try and lighten the mood.
“Okay, but then explain to me how love is so great when you can just have sex with anyone, and it feels the same either way?” You question him with a teasing grin on your face. Minho shakes his head with a smile and eats another bite of his cake. You continue, “Be it a stranger at a party you met ten minutes ago or the love of your life, sex will always be sex. Therefore, you’re wrong, mister Love-Makes-Everything-Better.”
Minho chuckles around his mug, eyes closing as he almost spits out his coffee. His eyes are like crescent moons when he looks at you again, clearly amused by your words. “Well, yeah, of course, sex will always feel good no matter who you’re doing it with. It’s sex, and sex feels good,” He shrugs dismissively. “But sex with love is different. You aren’t just fucking, just fulfilling your own desires selfishly. Love makes sex better because you feel good simply by making the person who’s so important to you feel good. It makes you want to melt into the other person and become one with them because close isn’t close enough when you’re in love.
“Touching them feels like a gift, like heaven. Tasting them feels like heaven. Hearing their voice in their most blissful state feels like heaven. The trust and connection you feel in that moment is heaven, and that’s only possible through love. You can have sex with anyone, but you can only make love to someone you love, and those are two different things. That’s how love makes sex better. Therefore, I’m not wrong.”
As you take in Minho’s words, spoken so casually, like it was common knowledge, they leave you speechless. You watch him as he smiles triumphantly when he realizes you aren’t going to refute him — because you can’t refute him.
You berate yourself mentally as you notice the familiar feeling of arousal wash over you as you repeat his words inside your head. Not because it was Minho who said those things, but simply because that kind of sex sounded so good. Good in a way you had never once experienced before. Like heaven, as he had put it.
Your experience with sex has always been simply about fulfilling desires. You thought that was all there was to it.
Until now.
And even so, with your ex-boyfriends, it was always unbalanced. Ninety percent about their pleasure and only ten percent about yours. The first time you had a guy go down on you was the first time you had sex with Hyunjin, and by that point, you had already had five boyfriends. It felt weird when it happened, and you remember Hyunjin whining about how you didn’t have to ask him every five minutes if he was really okay with doing that. It had always been different with him, the good kind of different. He had never been selfish during sex; if anything, Hyunjin was too much of a giver, sometimes forgetting about his own pleasure in order to focus on yours. You thought that was the best sex you could ever have.
Until now.
Because, even with Hyunjin, there was never a genuine connection. It never felt like a gift to touch him and have him touch you. It was never anything more than sex, more than something you both did because it felt good and it was easy. He slept in your bed, and he cuddled you until morning came, but it had never once felt anything close to what Minho described.
You can’t help but wonder if Minho has ever experienced that. You desperately want to ask him, but you two aren’t close enough for that yet.
You also can’t help but wonder why you spend the rest of the evening raging a war against yourself as your mind is consumed with thoughts of what it would be like to experience that kind of sex with him.
It’s late in the night on the following Saturday, and your phone incessantly vibrating under your pillow rudely demands your attention just as you’re about to fall asleep. You squint your eyes as you type in your password. You sigh as you see Hyunjin’s name on your screen because of course it’s him.
Hyune: I’m outside open the door
Hyune: please open the door? quick?
Hyune: mrs. choi is gonna kill me if I use the intercom pls I don’t wanna die
Hyune: I’m in my pajamas do you know how humiliating this is
Hyune: and I’m highkey pissed off
Hyune: I WILL sleep on the bench outside your house if you don’t let me in and then I’ll die and who’s gonna live with the guilt?
Hyune: you
Hyune: OPENM TEH DOOR
You roll your eyes at his dramatic texts, stepping out of the comfort of your bed and padding across the floor as quietly as possible so as not to wake up your roommates. You open your front door and speed past the hallway and Mrs. Choi’s home, reaching the outside door in record time. It’s something you’ve done more times than you care to admit in order to let Hyunjin into your house. Your tenant was a sweet woman, insistent that she was modern and understanding of ‘young people’, but she despised people coming into your home any later than midnight.
You step outside, finding Hyunjin pacing back and forth like a creep in front of your house. True to his words, he stood in his checkered pajama pants and a black t-shirt. His hair was in a ponytail, the strands messily sticking out everywhere like he had tossed and turned in bed before coming here.
“You look like shit,” you speak up, causing him to jump and let out a gasp. You chuckle as he scowls at you, climbing the few steps to reach the door.
“I had a fight with Mingyu,” he grumbles as you two walk toward your front door. “He told me I spilled paint on his favorite shirt, which is fucking impossible since I don’t even paint anywhere near his shit.”
“I mean, you are a messy painter.”
Hyunjin shoots you a look as you close your front door behind you. You take off your shoes and walk toward your bedroom in silence. This was routine. Hyunjin knew the rules: no knocking on the outside door, no buzzing the intercom, no shouting from outside, keep your voice down in the hallway, no talking until you reach your bedroom. It was all automatic at this point.
His voice is louder when he speaks again inside your locked bedroom. “First of all, I am not a messy painter. The paint is messy, not me. Second of all, if Mingyu wasn’t a fucking idiot, maybe he wouldn’t leave his favorite shirt on the floor of the living room right by my art corner,” Hyunjin huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “If that’s how he treats his favorite shirt, I feel bad for his girlfriend.”
You let out a chuckle, which is cut short by him pulling you into his arms. “Hyunjin, that analogy makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does. You treat your favorite shirt like shit, you treat your girlfriend like shit,” he states matter-of-factly before pulling you into a kiss.
This was routine. It was all automatic at this point.
Hyunjin kisses you like he’s angry. Because he is, and that’s one of the reasons why you two do this. You let out your frustrations during sex. You complain, and you let off steam until you both feel okay again. It’s been this way for a year and some months now, and you never once thought anything of it. It was beneficial for you both, so why change or question it?
But that was before your talk with Minho. Before you were awoken to the truth that you’d been having meaningless sex your whole life.
When you’re pulled away from your thoughts, you’re already laid in your bed with Hyunjin hovering over you. His lips and hands wander through your body as he mumbles things you can’t quite understand; you can only make out your name and Mingyu’s mixed with curses. You try to bring yourself back to the moment, bringing your legs to wrap around Hyunjin’s waist and bring him closer to you.
He stops kissing your neck and yanks his shirt over his head, his hair untying in the process and falling on his face like a curtain. You giggle and try to fix it with your fingers. Hyunjin pouts.
“Don’t you think I’m right?”
You frown and hope he can’t see your confused expression in the dim lighting. You truly weren’t paying any attention to what he had been saying, too engrossed in your thoughts and too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Hyunjin’s tendency to tell you about his frustrations during sex always left you a bit puzzled, but it was also oddly sweet. It was like he trusted you so deeply as a friend that he believed he could share anything with you, no matter the time.
So you nod, lightly pulling at his hair. “Of course you’re right.”
He hums and buries his head on your chest, grinding his hips into your clothed core. “Of course I’m right,” he mumbles under his breath.
Everything is a blur after that, your mind insistent on repeating Minho’s words like an annoying echo. When Hyunjin’s tongue fucked you hastily, and he murmured something about you tasting so good, all you could hear was Minho’s voice telling you how tasting the person you love feels like heaven. When Hyunjin pushed his cock into you, his hands gripping your thighs and head buried in your neck, all you could think about was how this sex paled in comparison to what you could’ve been having — what you could have already had — if only you weren’t so damn unlovable.
You knew that Minho didn’t intend to make you feel bad with his words. They weren’t targeted at you. But that didn’t stop your mind from sabotaging and putting yourself down. It was one of your biggest talents, after all.
Your body was present and responsive the entire time; you moaned because it felt good, and you kissed Hyunjin because you wanted to. But you were mentally somewhere else.
And the worst thing is, you’re a hundred percent sure Hyunjin doesn’t even notice it.
Because this wasn’t love. This was only sex.
And this was all you had ever known.
Time flies by faster than your brain can comprehend; before you know it, another month goes by. You only managed to go to your favorite bakery with Minho one more time before your work hours were changed, your shift now starting a mere thirty minutes after your Japanese class ends. He still walked you to work twice a week, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t upset you to have to let go of your weekly talks.
Minho also became busier due to his own job. With so little time to see each other face to face outside of class, most of your talks took place over text. He talked about his job with so much adoration it made you a little jealous; his partners were now simply friends he worked with, and his joy over finally being able to create a cozy game made it so that he pushed himself over his limit, often sleeping on his friend’s couch after working until four a.m. and getting through the next day on excessive amounts of coffee.
That was how you two came up with the idea of Minho dropping by the café where you work to pick up coffee for him and his friends. He would drop by at least twice every day, his friend’s house — which also served as their office — only one bus stop away.
The first time Minho came by, he had his wallet and phone in one hand, a sharpie and a block of sticky notes in the other. You eyed him curiously as he scribbled on the piece of paper while your co-worker prepared his coffee. When he was done, he stuck the note to the monitor in front of you on the counter. You furrowed your brows as your eyes shifted from the Japanese words on the bright yellow note back to Minho’s smug face. You were certainly grateful he at least had the courtesy of including the romanization of whatever he had written down. Not that it helped you in any way.
“Since our studying sessions after class were rudely taken from us, this is your extra homework. It’s all words we already learned. You just gotta think a little bit, and you’ll figure it out. You’re smart, I know you can do it,” He assured you.
Expect you weren’t that smart and ended up giving up by the time you got home that night. The piece of paper was no longer sticky on the border due to you carrying it around all day, boring holes into it as if that would magically give you the answer. You snapped a picture of it as you got ready for bed and sent it to Minho, begging him to put you out of your misery and simply give you the answer. ‘I want to drink coffee,’ he replied. You slapped your hand over your forehead with so much force you were sure the entire house had heard you. He was right; you did learn that in class. Curse the Japanese language for being so difficult.
After that, it became a routine. You waited expectantly for Minho’s visits daily, but you are extra excited today. It’s a Friday, and your birthday is tomorrow. After much pestering from Eunha, you agreed to have a small gathering at your house. It only made sense to invite Minho; he’s become one of your closest friends in the two months you’ve known him, after all.
As he walks into the coffee shop, sticky notes and sharpie in hand, you chuckle to yourself. You two chat about the development of his game, with Minho kindly using layman’s terms when explaining it to you. He also tells you about how one of his friends got so frustrated with a code that he threw his phone at a wall before immediately regretting it and crying on the floor next to Minho’s desk. Before you can get worried, he assures you that it’s just an ordinary day at the office, and the three of them end up laughing everything off at the end of the day.
After taking his order, you watch as he begins writing down your homework for the day on the small piece of paper in his hand. As you look around the coffee shop, most tables are empty, and the sun is starting to set outside the glass doors.
“You wanna come over this Saturday?” You ask Minho, who looks up at you before adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. That was one thing you learned about Minho since he began coming over: he wears glasses. Not every day, but enough times for you to notice how good he looks with them. But friends find each other attractive all the time, you justify it. “You never came over to my house, and my roommates really want to meet you. Plus, it’s my birthday tomorrow.”
Minho’s eyes widen. “Your birthday? And you save that information to the end?”
“It’s not a big deal. I usually never even celebrate.” You shrug lightly. You’ve never been big on birthdays, as you just don’t see the reason why it’s supposed to feel different from any other day of the year. “But my roommate pestered me to do something this year, so I agreed to have a party.”
Minho shifts on his feet. “I… really hate parties…” He trails off.
“It’s not a party party. I promise!” You hold up your pinky finger. “It’s more of a get-together, just my roommates and my only two other friends. And, you…” You trail off, “If you come.”
Minho blinks his eyes a couple of times before tearing the piece of paper he was writing on from the pad and crumpling it in his hand. He quickly jots down something new and sticks it to your forehead.
“Minho!” You scold him, to which he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling. You advert your gaze from him as your persistent thoughts regarding how unfairly pretty Minho is begin to flood your brain once again. You take the note and analyze it:
はい (Hai)
You smile as you understand the word, looking up at him.
“I’d love to come to your birthday party,” He beams. “Thank you for inviting me.”
To say Minho is nervous would be an understatement.
He gets out of his car twice, ready to march back inside his friend’s apartment like a coward and pretend that nothing happened both times. Only when he thinks back to how you smiled at him when he agreed to your invitation does he find the courage to start the car and drive to your house. He’d noticed for a while now how much he likes you. But it was when he agreed with the idea of going to the café you worked at to pick up coffee that it truly dawned on him that he really liked you. Minho hated taking the bus, he hated doing anything other than zoning out on the couch during his breaks, he hated bustling shops, and he hated how his co-workers both managed to have such intricate coffee orders.
Yet he agreed to that idea, even suggesting he drop by two times a day.
He noticed he’d felt a familiar small whirlpool inside his chest whenever he was with you, when he heard you talk about something you liked or saw you smile. He’s also noticed that this tiny whirlpool has been growing bigger and bigger the more he’s been around you.
But that doesn’t scare him. Minho loves love. He loves to be in love, to love someone, and to make that person feel loved. It’s his favorite thing about life. If he was honest, he missed it so much he didn’t know how he was able to live without it.
Just down the block from your house, he parks his car and gathers his phone and his present for you — clearly clumsily wrapped, even with his co-workers’ help. He feels another wave of nervousness wash over him as he approaches the house; he’s an hour late and needs to mentally prepare to socialize with people he’s never met before. Minho chuckles as he realizes a silly party makes him more nervous than the prospect of possibly falling in love.
You open the door almost as soon as he rings the intercom, and he walks down the hallway into your house door; the crooked box he’s been holding makes his hands sweat. The first thing he notices as you open the door is your styled hair with a big white bow on the back, looking much prettier than the ugly bow he and his friends managed to stick on top of his present. He smiles at the sight and scratches his ear in a futile attempt to stop them from turning red.
God, he really liked you, didn’t he?
“Thank you for coming,” you tell him with a smile. Minho notices the quiet music playing inside the house, the simple decorations, and the cake on top of the kitchen counter. He mentally sighs in relief. This truly wasn’t anything like a big party. “You’re wearing your glasses again,” you point out as Minho walks inside and removes his shoes. He subconsciously reaches his left hand to touch his wire-rimmed glasses that sit on his nose bridge. He grimaces and curses at his friend for making him stay later than he was supposed to today.
“I had no time to go home and change,” He apologizes, fingers now toying with the stupid bow on top of the box. “I usually wear contacts, but they make my eyes dry if I stare at the computer for too long, so I just… wear my glasses at work…” Minho trails off, suddenly feeling stupid, his eyes looking anywhere but toward you.
You chuckle, lightly touching his glasses for a second before moving away again. “You always come to the coffee shop wearing them, and I think you look really good,” you assured him. His eyes quickly met yours, only for you to advert your gaze this time. “You should wear them more often.”
Minho only hums, lightly nodding his head. He feels stupid all over again as the image of himself throwing his contact lenses down the drain crosses his mind.
Clearing his throat, he finally hands you your gift. You giggle at the mismatched wrapping paper and poor excuse of a bow, which makes Minho let out a chuckle and murmur an apology. You open the box, and your eyes light up when you spot the stuffed bunny you have been raving about since you two met. It was the only animal missing from your collection, but you couldn’t find the right time to save up money to buy it. Minho didn’t need to ask if you liked it as he watched your smile grow bigger as you looked at the brown bunny.
“Come, I gotta put him in my bed now,” you beamed and took Minho’s hand in yours, leading him to the living room. There, five people sat on the couch and on the floor. Minho furrows his brows as he takes in a head of light brown hair covered by a familiar beanie. “These are my friends. Eunha’s the girl with short hair on the floor, and Soojung’s the one with blonde hair next to her. They’re also my roommates,” You point at them as you speak. “That’s Jisung sitting next to Soojung; he’s also her boyfriend. And then Hyunjin, with the long hair, sitting next to Chan on the couch. Everyone, this is Minho from my Japanese class.”
With that, you pad off to your room with your bunny in tow. As Chan finally turns to look at Minho, his shocked expression mirrors his. They stare at each other for a while before Chan finally breaks the silence.
“What the fuck, that’s my co-worker.”
Minho narrows his eyes. “So this is why you had to leave an hour earlier today?”
As you come out of your room, you chuckle. “Chan is your co-worker?” You ask Minho, “I can’t believe this. He’s been our friend for longer than I’ve known you. He came like a package deal when Jisung began dating Soojung.”
“Damn, dude, you hate me so much you never talked about me to your friend?” Chan gasped, a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”
Minho rolls his eyes but is unable to stop a small grin from forming on his lips as the entire living room erupts in laughter. “Of course I talked about you. I talked about you and Seungmin all the time. It’s just I…” Minho shifts on his feet, shrugging. “I never said your names.”
More laughter seeps out of the group of people, including Chan, and Minho finds himself laughing along this time, shaking his head at his own stupidity.
He sits beside Chan on the couch while Hyunjin heads to the kitchen with you. He quickly asks him how he came to be friends with you in the first place. Chan explains that he’s been in a class with Jisung for almost two years, and the boy had always pestered him about ‘old people’ needing to hang out with people their age. That’s how he ended up meeting Soojung as soon as she became Jisung’s girlfriend. You and Eunha were an inevitable addition, seeing as you were not only roommates but also great friends.
You offer Minho a beer, which he declines. As much as he wanted to, no beer was worth having to take the bus back home. He silently sips his cola as he watches your group of friends chat. You end up sitting beside him on the couch, your friend Hyunjin to your right.
Minho finds that he missed getting together with people like this and didn’t even realize it. His only friends were left behind back at home, and although they were less than an hour away by bus, their busy lives prevented them from meeting in person. Minho’s favorite memories from his teenage years were having his friends over and just doing nothing for hours, talking about stupid shit until their stomachs hurt from laughing. Eating takeout on the couch with Chan and Seungmin after work came close, but they were always too tired and too stressed to entertain the idea of making jokes. Those were times when Minho realized he had really become an adult.
Jisung’s loud voice suddenly booms through the living room and startles an already drunk-looking Eunha, who murmurs something about the younger boy giving her a heart attack one day.
“I’m bored,” he grumbles, draping his body over Soojung. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”
Soojung rolls her eyes at him, flicking his forehead. “Are you a teenager?”
Jisung pouts, sitting up straight once more. “We’re in university. University students play this fucking game all the time,” he states matter-of-factly. “Don’t make me regret falling for an older woman.”
“Jisung, I’m only three years older than you, I’m not—”
“Don’t make me call you noona.”
Soojung inhales deeply before turning to face the people sitting on the couch, placing one of the empty beer bottles scattered around her feet on top of the coffee table. “Let’s play spin the bottle. But let’s do dares instead of kissing, that’s too boring.”
Jisung beams, cuddling close to her like a needy child. Minho chuckles at the sight.
Eunha scoots closer to the couple so the group is seated in a circle around the coffee table, half of them on the couch and half on the floor. Minho never had the chance to play spin the bottle, which seemed to be such a staple game of one’s teenage years. By the time his friends were off sneaking into clubs and drinking behind their parents’ backs, he was already in a committed relationship and well aware of the fact that he didn’t enjoy parties.
It seems silly, but he’s glad he won’t live past his youth without experiencing such a trivial thing.
Soojung spins the bottle, and the neck stops facing Chan while the bottom faces Jisung.
“Take your shirt off,” Jisung waves a finger at Chan, who looks somewhat disoriented. Minho chuckles under his breath just as you do the same. You two face each other and let out a hearty laugh, your arm coming to rest on his bicep before retrieving back to your lap faster than Minho hoped it would.
Soojung squishes Jisung’s cheeks and places a small kiss on his lips. “You’re such a fucking chaotic bisexual,” she giggles, “Y’know, Chan, Jisung has had the biggest crush on you since you two first met.”
Chan shakes his head with a stifled laugh and proceeds to remove his shirt, neatly placing it on his lap.
Jisung is next to spin the bottle, this time landing on Soojung, who you dare to show her most embarrassing text. After showing the group a string of texts showing raunchy screenshots of a manhwa she’d been reading at that time, all sent to one of her class group chats which included some professors, she lets out a heavy sigh and orders Eunha to spin the bottle before any questions can be asked.
This time, the neck faces you while the bottom faces Eunha herself. With a smile, the short-haired girl dares you to kiss Minho.
He feels his smile drop at the very second the words leave her lips. This was not what he had in mind for tonight.
“What?” You sputter, “Why?”
Eunha shrugs, adjusting herself so she’s seated upright and staring right at you. “Well, he’s the only one here who would be actually fun to see you kiss. Jisung and Soojung are okay with each other hooking up with other people, so that’s no fun,” she explains, using her fingers to list her reasons, “I’m not into girls, so that’s no fun for me. Hyunjin is too obvious. We all already know Chan, so it would also be boring. Minho is like fresh meat. That is fun.”
Minho’s brain begins finding a suitable excuse for why you two can’t kiss, because he’s certain you have no interest in doing it. Not only are you friends, but your reaction didn’t exactly exude excitement at the prospect of kissing him. Just as he’s ready to lie through his teeth, you turn to him and place your hand on his shoulder, a touch so soft he’s barely able to feel it through the fabric of his shirt.
“Is this okay with you?” You ask him, the tone of your voice so sweet Minho feels like it melts his every thought until his brain is nothing but a sugary pool filled with only you. So he nods because god, yes, this is okay with him.
You gingerly place your right hand on his cheek, bringing your faces closer until your lips press together. The whirlpool inside his chest spins fast, like a vortex dragging every sense of his body toward you and only you.
You remain still for a few seconds, Minho’s eyes opening slightly to search for any sign of regret on your face. Before he can even properly look at you, your lips begin to move against his — gently and carefully, like you’re not sure if this is what he wants. Minho deepens the kiss and hesitates three times before committing to placing his left hand on your waist. The giggles around the two of you nothing but a muffled murmur to him. He presses another kiss to your lips, his body shifting until he is all but caging you against the back of the couch. But just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you push him back with a smile, Minho chasing after your lips.
He blinks a couple of times, eyes zoning into your smudged red lipstick. He subconsciously bites his own bottom lip, wondering if any of the color transferred to him. The surrounding murmurs bring Minho back to the moment this time, awkwardly clearing his throat before lifting himself off of you and sitting upright on the couch. He tunes out every comment regarding the kiss to the best of his abilities, focusing his energy on slowing down his heart rate. When he catches you giggling while looking at him, your arm touching his bicep yet again, he nods, grabbing his cola bottle from the floor and taking a sip.
Minho can’t remember the last time kissing someone got him so worked up. He entered a long-term relationship at such a young age that he’s only now realizing how unaccustomed he is to kissing someone new, to the rush that comes with having your lips pressing against the ones of someone you like. It was exhilarating and a bit terrifying all at the same time. He was awkward, unsure where to put his hands, uncertain if you were enjoying yourself. He was also greedy, wanting the moment to last for much longer than it had.
This had cemented the fact that he does, in fact, really like you.
After kissing you, the whirlpool living in his heart had now fully transformed into a tiny hurricane — with great chances of growing even bigger.
Minho only notices the game has continued upon hearing your voice complaining beside him. He watches as Soojung shrugs.
“It’s the only thing I could think of, sorry.”
“But why?” Hyunjin asks, placing his cup on the coffee table. “It’s a stupid dare.”
The blonde girl scoffs. “No, it’s not. I’ve had to basically live with you two for the past year, and it’s common knowledge how easily you get a boner for her.”
“Not true,” Hyunjin retorts, although it sounds more like a question than an affirmation.
Eunha blurts out, “You once got a boner watching her stir a cake mix.”
Hyunjin opens and closes his mouth before groaning, pulling you into his lap by the waist. You apologize to him quietly, to which Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.
Minho feels as if he’s intruding on something private.
You sit on Hyunjin’s knees, almost falling off his lap as you clearly try to keep some distance between the two of you. Hyunjin clicks his tongue and pulls you closer to him until your back is pressed up against his chest. He whispers something in your ear, to which you lightly slap his arm as his lips upturn into a grin.
Minho is definitely intruding on something private.
At some point, you turn so you’re sitting across Hyunjin’s lap, your body now facing Minho. He can’t help but watch with dark eyes as the younger boy’s hands wander through your body; playing with the buttons on your blouse, squeezing your thighs, and caressing your skin a little too close to the hem of your skirt. He furrows his brows as he tries to understand your relationship with Hyunjin, seeing as you’re obviously not put off by his hands on your body.
Minho is so transfixed by the sight and his racing thoughts that he only realizes the game has ended when someone taps his shoulder from behind the couch. When he looks back, Chan is holding a cigarette and motioning towards the stairs that lead to the house’s terrace.
In the chilly open space above the house, they sit on a bench behind a tall vertical planter. Minho wonders who tends to the garden as he observes the various flowers, as well as some vegetables and herbs scattered around him. The terrace is small; the garden taking up all the space, an old wooden railing that overlooks the quiet street the only other thing in his sight.
He and Chan chat about school and work, as they often do nowadays. After Chan recently broke up with his girlfriend, Minho found that his friend had become much more closed off, so the list of subjects they would talk about became minimal. Chan bites his thumb before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He chuckles when he mentions being scared of graduating next year. Minho bumps his shoulder with him, arguing that being in his situation is worse. He admits that he regrets starting university late and that being in his first year when he should already be in his third is discouraging. Chan dismisses his worries, reminding him of how Minho is often the one to fix broken codes and come up with ideas for their game whenever Seungmin gets stuck.
“A degree is just a piece of paper,” Chan says, throwing his cigarette butt at a nearby trashcan. “You’re already a fantastic programmer, Minho.”
“You’re just saying that because I saved your ass today.”
Chan shrugs. “You’ve saved my ass basically every day since we started working together.” After a beat of silence, he asks, “Why did you start uni so late, anyway? You never told me.”
Minho hums, digging his brain for a way to sum up the entire story. “It’s complicated—”
He’s interrupted by footsteps on the stairs leading to the terrace. A loud giggle echoes through the open space before you and Hyunjin step into their field of vision. The long-haired boy holds you from behind, and you two stagger toward the railing.
“Wish everyone would go home already so I could just fuck you,” Hyunjin whines as he turns your body around so you’re facing him. Minho almost chokes on nothing at those words, and Chan stifles a laugh with his hand. He curses the small space as they’re able to so clearly hear everything you’re saying.
You playfully kick Hyunjin’s shin. “Don’t say it like that, Hyune, what the fuck.”
“It’s true, though,” Hyunjin continues, pressing you against the railing. He towers over you, so the only thing Minho can see from where he’s seated is your white skirt floating in the wind behind the tall boy. “I had a stressful, terrible, awful, dreadful week. All I kept thinking about was coming over and relaxing with you.”
“See, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so awful.”
Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “There’s nothing awful about fucking. I know how much you like it, don’t act so coy.”
Minho watches as your hands clench around Hyunjin’s gray shirt, pulling him closer and kissing him softly, much like you had done to him a few moments before.
Minho presses his lips into a thin line. He connects every dot available to him inside his head and suddenly feels pathetic.
Hyunjin being too obvious of a choice for you to kiss, his hands all over your body, his words about fucking you, the way you kissed him like it was a habit.
If you had a boyfriend, why did you agree to kiss him?
The words swarm Minho’s brain. He vaguely recalls you and Hyunjin eventually walking out of the terrace. Chan starts a one-sided conversation about one of his classes, with Minho humming after every couple of sentences to appear like he’d been listening when his head is too busy wondering how to feel about everything.
Minho recalls Eunha walking up the stairs and shouting for the two of them to come downstairs to sing you happy birthday. He recalls Hyunjin’s hands wandering through your body throughout the song, his lips pressing small kisses on your face and lips as you smiled. He recalls feeling confused, stressed, jealous, and pathetic.
Minho is only truly back to the present moment once Chan’s voice bids him a loud goodbye, and the door slamming behind him makes his senses finally return to him. As he looks around, he notices that the only people left in the living room are Jisung, Hyunjin, and you. Beside him on the couch, Hyunjin stretches with a loud groan.
“I’m gonna take a shower. D’you have any of my clothes in your room?”
You sigh from where you’re sitting on the floor, resting against the television stand. “Of course, I do. You’re always living shit behind, you’re like our third roommate at this point.”
Hyunjin chuckles, walking over to give you a small peck on the lips before disappearing into your room. Minho gnaws on his bottom lip with a bitter smile as he realizes Hyunjin will sleep over at your house. The ugly feelings return as he remembers his thoughts about you these past few weeks when he unknowingly cultivated too big of a crush on you. Even on his way here tonight, when he had chuckled to himself at his lack of nervousness in the face of potential love.
Love.
Minho can’t help but wonder why your view of love is so negative when you’re in a relationship. And, at the same time, he doesn’t dare to think about it for too long, fully aware that his foolish affection-filled brain will come up with a myriad of reasons — all where your boyfriend is the sole culprit for your distaste — and Minho knows better than to let those thoughts linger for too long inside his mind. He knows himself all too well, knows only awful shit would come out of assuming things about your relationship; the urge to beat Hyunjin senseless for being a shitty boyfriend and making you think that way about love being the worst of them.
“I’m too drunk to go back to my dorm,” Jisung suddenly speaks, his eyes glazed over as he stares ahead. “Gonna crash here tonight, too.”
Minho takes that as his cue to leave.
You walk him outside, a small smile on your face the entire time. He feels guilty not being able to reciprocate the gesture. As you tell him goodbye, thanking him for coming, you pull him into a hug. You hadn’t hugged much since you met, and Minho foolishly wants to draw you closer to him, to feel your body pressed against his just as it was pressed against Hyunjin most of the night. But he can’t do that.
“Are you okay to walk back by yourself?” You ask him as you pull away.
Minho nods, forcing out a small smile. “My car is parked just down the block.”
“That’s why you didn’t drink!” You exclaim with a giggle, “I forget that most people our age already drive. My anxiety didn’t allow me the chance to even try and get a license, so I just accepted my fate of taking the bus.”
“I could drive you…” Minho trails off. There he goes again, being pathetic. “If I have the time… You can give me a call and I’d be happy to drive you anywhere.”
You smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another embrace. Minho smiles genuinely as he buries his head in your hair.
The drive back home has Minho feeling stupid all over again as he thinks about how you’re probably in bed with Hyunjin by now. The whirlpool is back inside his chest, but it isn’t good or welcome this time. It’s agonizing and painful.
Love had never been painful. Love had never been bad.
But he had never experienced love toward someone who already loved somebody else. Although you brazenly state that you don’t believe in it, you must feel some type of love toward Hyunjin if you’re willing to be his girlfriend.
As he silently drives home, Minho finds himself agreeing with you.
Maybe love can be bad, after all.
Minho feels stupid.
This has become a constant in his life.
He had always thought of himself as a logical person. Programming had taught him that everything is predictable and fixable if you work on it hard enough. A broken code? It may take him six hours of staring at the computer to figure out it was nothing but a missing semicolon, but he will get there in the end. It was annoying and frustrating, but it was always something easily fixed.
He thought love was like that. It had always been like that with him.
Until he fell for you.
Minho was coming to terms with the fact that maybe love and programming were nothing alike. Love isn’t predictable. Loving someone who is already in love with someone else isn’t easily fixed. He can’t backspace and delete your boyfriend from the equation.
It’s been a little over six months since you two first met. Minho has consistently gone to the café you work at every day, and you two still had endless talks over text messages. You talk about everything and anything, from silly things like sharing pictures of both your growing plushie collections or your love of that particular coffee shop’s lemon cake to more serious topics like how Minho learned how to cook when he was twelve so his mom wouldn’t have to do it by herself, and now his roommates take advantage of that, or how sad you are that next year you will have to leave the house you’ve grown to love so much.
But, whether it is in person or through text, you still avoid the topic of love. You don’t ever bring up Hyunjin unless he’s part of a story you were already telling, and Minho feels his heart heavy as he slowly allows himself to imagine what it could be that led you to hate love so much.
He desperately wants to ask you, know your reasons, and make sure you’re happy with your boyfriend. But he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and doesn’t know how to go about it without scaring you. So he never does anything, like a coward.
Minho finds himself coming over to your sharehouse on most weekends since summer break ended. Your countless get-togethers at that house have become a hard-to-break habit. Hyunjin, Jisung, and your roommates are always assured to be there, with Chan joining whenever he isn’t overwhelmed with work or school, which was rare.
Minho had always been a hopeless romantic, always doing things for love that people repeatedly warned would result in regret. This time, it was forgoing visiting his parents and friends back home just to spend most of his summer with you. Despite not being able to pursue you in the way he truly wanted to, Minho still wanted to be your friend. You were still a fantastic person he loved to have around; that didn’t change simply because you had a boyfriend. Although he could feel a bit of his heart cracking every time he had to see you, all while knowing he couldn’t do anything about his feelings for you.
He couldn’t change your perspective of love if he weren’t allowed to love you.
In all the time he spent at your house during summer break, he ended up becoming good friends with Jisung, as you tended to stick next to Hyunjin most of the time. Minho didn’t mind it; he is your boyfriend, after all. At least, that’s what he repeats to himself every night he comes over like a mantra as he almost masochistically forces himself to watch how Hyunjin kisses your lips and caresses your skin or how you play with his hair and snuggle with him on the couch. He also endures the countless nights he’s left your house knowing all too well that Hyunjin would be spending the night with you in a way that Minho can only ever dream about.
Tonight, in particular, Hyunjin seemed to be all over you like bees on honey, buzzing around you everywhere you went, his hands never leaving your body as he pulled you closer to him every time you even slightly pulled away. Because god forbid your bodies not be touching in some way for even a split second. Before he knows it, Minho is downing his third bottle of beer of the night.
From where he’s sitting on the couch, Minho rolls his eyes as discreetly as he can while he watches Hyunjin pull you to sit on his lap on the floor as you all get ready to play a game of cards. He gnaws on his lower lip because he knows he’s being petty and borderline childish. You’re Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Of course he’s all over you, of course he wants to be close to you, of course he wants you on his lap. Minho concludes with a bitter chuckle that he is, indeed, pathetic when it comes to you.
He gulps down more of the awful-tasting cheap beer.
The night comes to a close after far too many rounds of Cards Against Humanity, with Jisung winning more than half of them. His ethics and morals fly out the window the moment the cards are handed to him, as he manages to create the most absurdly offensive phrases known to men every single time. Minho found himself groaning and yelling at the younger boy as the alcohol took over his system. He doesn’t know how much of it was simply his annoyance at Hyunjin clinging to you like a koala throughout the entire game disguised as competitiveness.
He doesn’t think he’d like to know either.
Like every night he comes over, Minho is the last person to go home. He has to call an Uber, far too buzzed to want to sit at a bus stop all alone at this time of night. He hadn’t even noticed how he kept downing his drinks until he felt the familiar buzz of inebriation wash over his body a while before the game ended. Although slamming his fist into the coffee table with a whine about how he had only been given lame cards should’ve been a sign.
As he waits outside your house by the fence, he suddenly hears the door shut behind him and your voice calling out to him. He smiles at the faint slur of your speech and the way you drag out the last syllable of his name like you always did when you were a bit drunk.
“I told you to wait for me!” You reprimand, opening the gate to stand next to him. “Look how lonely you look here all by yourself.”
Minho just shrugs with a smile, shaking his head. He did wait. He waited almost half an hour after announcing he should leave as you disappeared into your room with Hyunjin. He was still waiting, in fact, only mindlessly scrolling on his phone for the past ten minutes instead of finding a ride as he hoped you would come outside when you saw he wasn’t in the living room anymore.
You poke his shoulder, bringing his attention away from his phone to your smiling face.
“Tonight was fun, wasn’t it? Especially that last round when Hyunjin won after being tied with Jisung for the whole game,” you grinned, “Seeing Jisung make a whole damn case about how much better his card was really made my night. Think that’s the first time I’ve seen him act like a law student since I met him.”
Minho chuckles, bringing his attention back to his phone. Seeing your smile and how your eyes light up while you talk about something you like brought back the whirlpool inside his chest, which wasn’t a pleasant feeling any longer. It made him glum to think how a once beautiful feeling had turned into nothing but discomfort simply because he was lovelorn.
He hums. “You must be proud to have your boyfriend put an end to Jisung’s annoying winning streak.”
“What do you mean?”
Minho looks up from his phone, eyes wandering through your puzzled face. He furrows his brows for a second. Maybe you’re both drunker than he’d thought.
“I mean, it must’ve been nice to see Hyunjin win after Jisung basically made us all want to quit the game,” he explains, watching as your expression turns from confusion into shock before you let out a loud laugh.
Minho’s eyes widen, worried your laughter might wake up your neighbors. He gently shushes you, his arm grabbing your shoulder, but your smiling face only makes his lips stretch out into a grin. He suppresses a giggle as you catch your breath, shaking your head.
Minho smiles at you so fondly he’s certain he looks like an idiot. “What’s so funny?”
“Hyunjin isn’t my boyfriend,” you explain like it’s obvious. “We’re just friends. I thought you knew that.”
Minho only then realizes he had never once heard you refer to Hyunjin as a boyfriend, nor had any of the people around you. But his assumptions weren’t so ill-judged, either. You two acted like a couple. It wasn’t so absurd to assume that you were one.
He finds himself staring at your amused face for a few seconds before forcing himself to turn his attention back to his phone.
You acted like a couple, but you were just friends. Minho groaned mentally.
“So, you’re like friends with benefits?”
“Yeah… I don’t particularly believe in love anymore, Minho. I thought you knew that from our talk a while ago,” You chuckle, shifting on your feet. “Hyunjin is one of my best friends. We just hook up ‘cause it’s convenient.”
Minho hums, his fingers ghosting over his phone screen. “Sounds like you’re running away from love.”
He blinks a couple of times as he takes in his own words. He would have never said such a thing if it hadn’t been for the liquid courage flowing through his veins.
You shrug, moving to sit on the white bench just outside the house. “Well, yeah, that is what I’m doing. Love hasn’t been kind to me at all. I have no interest in going after it, only to be hurt again. It’s a movie I’ve watched before and I hated the ending every time.”
Minho bites the inside of his cheek, finally clicking the button to find a ride, his thumb pressing on his phone screen more forcefully than he intended. He felt angry. You didn’t deserve to settle for a friend with benefits due to convenience. Had you wanted to be in that situation, it was your every right to do so, but you were in it out of fear of being hurt.
He felt sad. He wished you didn’t equate your past experiences with love to everything it could be. Bad experiences in love were possible for everyone — even for him, who used to believe unwaveringly that love could never be hurtful — but that didn’t mean it was all there was to it. Minho desperately wanted to show you that. The good side of love, the side that made him put it above everything else in his life on so many occasions, the side that made him crave it even now when it hurt more than it felt good.
And, strangely, Minho felt relieved. It was a small percentage of the chart of current emotions he was experiencing, but prevalent nonetheless. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he felt happy Hyunjin wasn’t your boyfriend and, most importantly, that you weren’t stuck in an unhappy or toxic relationship, as he had so often feared.
His ride arrives, and he’s overcome with a wave of courage. Minho would much rather live with regret than with a constant ‘what if’.
Shoving his phone inside his pocket, he offers his hand to you, who looks up at him curiously from where you’re sitting on the bench before taking his hand. Minho pulls you to your feet and hugs you. With his hand on your waist, he pulls your body closer to him, finally holding you tightly the way he’s always wanted to do. He presses a kiss to your head, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering, “I’m gonna change your mind.”
He feels your body shake with a chuckle, but he only tightens his hold on you.
“What?”
“About love, I’m gonna change your mind,” He answers matter-of-factly, “You deserve to feel love without being afraid.”
Minho pulls back from the embrace just enough to see your face, and he’s surprised to find you smiling up at him. He smiles back.
“I will change your mind.”
Minho had just dropped you off at your house, ready to drive around aimlessly until he absolutely had to go back to his dorm, when Seungmin texted him.
Kim Seungmin: hey my sister’s engagement dinner is tonight
Kim Seungmin: and i might have fucked up something in the code i was working on so now there’s a chance that you fish 100 rare fish at once 🤪
Kim Seungmin: pls pls do me a solid and fix it before chan sees it and kills me?
Kim Seungmin: love you hyung 💚
Minho initially groaned at the messages, thinking of the many ways in which he could murder Seungmin and get away with it. But, ultimately, he didn’t want to go back to his dorm anyway, so he gladly turned his car around. If he was lucky, this would take hours and he would have a valid excuse to crash in Chan’s cramped living room.
He punches the code to the front door and his friend greets him with a puzzled expression.
“I forgot to do the, uh, troubleshooting for this week,” Minho blurts out. It’s the first lie he can come up with, and he hopes it’s convincing enough. Chan nods slowly. Seungmin might have saved him from having to endure his roommates on a Saturday night, but he still owes him.
“It’s all good,” Chan says with a sigh, “I’m most likely gonna pull an all-nighter designing these new characters. Anyway, how did you waste your time today?”
Minho has been taking you on what he likes to call Subtle Dates for a month now.
Chan affectionately calls them Waste of Time Dates.
Minho rolls his eyes, sitting down on his own desk. “We went to Han River and walked around till sundown, then watched the Banpo Bridge water show.”
Days like today were rare, so Minho was happy. Most weekends, it seemed as if the whole world was conspiring against anything he planned with you.
“Oh, how romantic of you,” Chan gasps, feigning amazement. “Did you at least kiss her this time?”
“You know I can’t just kiss her like that. I know she’d freak out if I tried to do anything romantic with her,” Minho taps his fingers on his desk, knowing he sounds ridiculous. But he has a plan. He just hopes this plan actually works out soon. “I don’t mind being patient.”
He hears Chan scoff. “So, you took her on another one-sided date and then drove her home so Hyunjin can fuck her?”
Minho’s fingers stop tapping on his desk, his hand coming down to slam on it before he can stop himself. He lets out a heavy sigh, and Chan mumbles an apology. But, the truth is, he knows his friend is right. Just last weekend, Minho dropped you off straight into Hyunjin’s arms, the younger boy waiting for you to come back in front of your house.
And Hyunjin wasn’t the only inconvenience that rendered it almost impossible for the two of you to spend time together. Minho had to cut most of your dates short due to Chan calling him about something urgent that only he could fix at work, or you canceled altogether because your roommate was upset and you didn’t have the heart to leave her alone like that. There were also times when Minho was too tired to even go out at all, like on the day of his birthday, which resulted in you coming over to Chan’s apartment and eating cheap takeout food with him and his two friends.
Minho found himself dealing with countless bumps in the road when it came to finding a way into your heart.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Chan says hesitantly, “You clearly like her a lot.”
Minho repeatedly opens and closes the code he’s supposed to fix. He sighs. “I like her more than a lot, and I don’t even know when that happened.”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” His friend explains, his face disappearing behind his own computer screen. “I just can’t see what will change if you go on dates with her when she doesn’t even know they’re dates and if she’s just gonna go home and have sex with someone else. I don’t get it. What difference does it make?”
He can hear Chan scoffing, although he tries to disguise it by clearing his throat. Minho shakes his head.
“It makes all the difference because that’s not love. I wanna show her what love is, and that it isn’t always bad. I promised her that I would.”
Chan sighs, sliding his chair toward the mini-fridge by the couch. “Agree to disagree?” He asks, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it in Minho’s direction. He grabs it mid-air, just before it hits him in the face, and clicks his tongue.
“Agree to disagree.”
Minho plugs his headphones into the computer, drowning out the noise of Chan’s pen sliding across his iPad with his brown noise playlist. But he can’t drown out the obstinate thought ringing inside his head, screaming at him that Chan is right.
Taking you out on dates — which you don’t even know are dates — doesn’t really make a difference if you’re just going to go back to your convenience with Hyunjin at the end of the day. If you think you’re just friends going out together, and you go back home at night to the comfort of sex without the love you’ve been running away from for so long, what Minho is doing truly is useless.
It’s just like when he argues with Seungmin through their codes, screaming at the younger boy in all caps about something that’s broken, even though he knows he’s going to be the one who will end up having to fix it.
Minho’s fingers come to a halt on the keyboard.
Closing his work, he opens up Google and finds the first flight he can to Japan. Almost as if he’s on autopilot, and his brain is completely shut off. He books the flight and the cheapest hotel he can find, using almost all the money he’s saved up to move out of his hell of a dorm. It might be the most idiotic thing he has ever done in his life, but he’s so in love it hurts him. And he loves love, and love with you — the thought of that alone has his heart beating at his throat. He doesn’t want to keep on with these futile attempts at trying to make you see that love is good and that, maybe, love can be good with him.
The truth is, he feels scared. Maybe even more scared than you do. He is terrified of knowing the answer, of finding out that maybe he could change your mind about love but that it would simply lead you to someone else’s arms and he would have to endure the pain of unrequited love until it inevitably faded away with time.
Minho would gladly live with that pain if it meant you were happy.
But he needed to know.
He adjusted his glasses — a childhood nervous habit that returned after he started wearing them more often since you complimented him months ago — and retrieved his phone from his backpack.
He typed and deleted more times than he’d like to admit.
Me: Hey, it’s late sorry
Me: Just wanted to know if you’d be up for a trip to Japan?
Me: In two weeks
Me: For study purposes
Me: We’d finally have the chance to use what we learned in class lol
Me: Chan was supposed to go with me but he has a family thing so he can’t anymore
Me: Everything’s already paid for and he said he doesn’t mind if you go in his place
Me: Lmk what you think
Minho’s fingers typed as his brain came up with excuses and lies, sending more messages than he needed to. He couldn’t tell you he booked a whole damn trip with you just to see if maybe, possibly, you have feelings for him too.
He all but throws his phone across his table after turning on Do Not Disturb. He’ll need to muster up the courage before reading your answer, and having his phone buzz for anything that wasn’t your reply would just be torturous. He felt stupid, would feel even more so if you turned down his invitation. He almost doesn’t want you to answer, wants to pretend he never even sent anything.
Because it was stupid.
But love is stupid, and he is in love.
Worst-case scenario, he’s stuck with Chan in Japan for a weekend while he laughs at him.
Best-case scenario, he spends a weekend with you in Japan. No letting you go back to another man at the end of the day, no more hiding that he is taking you out on dates, no more distractions, no more inconveniences of your daily lives.
Minho opens the code he was working on again, quickly typing out:
summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.
genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)
warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.
a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)
winter falls masterlist.
You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.
First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.
Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.
And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.
A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.
You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.
It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.
“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.
You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.
Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.
“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.
Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.
Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.
You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.
And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.
Two weeks ago.
“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.
“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”
You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.
“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.
What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?
“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”
Deny, deny, deny.
“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.
“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”
You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.
❁ ❁ ❁
Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.
“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.
You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.
As he is doing now. Looking at you.
“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.
“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”
“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.
“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.
“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.
“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.
Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.
“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”
“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”
Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.
Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.
❁ ❁ ❁
Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.
You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.
What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.
You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.
You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.
And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.
But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.
“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.
“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?
“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”
“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”
Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.
You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?
You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.
You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.
And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.
“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.
“What next?”
“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.
“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.
“How are you surviving without me?”
“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.
You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.
“They’re for Yn.”
Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”
It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.
But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.
“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”
“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.
His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.
“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.
Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.
“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.
Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”
“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”
“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”
“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”
“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.
“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”
“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.
The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”
“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”
The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.
“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.
“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”
“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.
“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.
“Yes.”
“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.
“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.
“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”
“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.
“Well, run faster!”
“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.
“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure
“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.
“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”
“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.
“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”
“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.
“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.
“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.
“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”
You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”
You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.
“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.
“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.
“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.
“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”
“I understand.”
Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.
And Hyunjin loves winter.
He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.
❁ ❁ ❁
Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.
You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.
“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”
“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.
“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.
You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.
“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.
“And the cupcake?”
“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”
“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”
“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.
“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.
The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.
“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”
Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.
“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.
“In my free time.”
“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.
“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.
It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.
Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.
Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”
“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”
“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you
“I want it to stop hurting.”
“It will, with time.”
Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.
“Do you promise me?”
His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.
“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”
“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.
“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.
“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”
“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”
“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.
“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.
“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.
The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.
Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.
“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.
“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.
“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.
“As do mine.”
A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.
“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”
“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”
“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”
You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”
He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.
“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”
“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”
“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.
“It's my job,” he grins lightly.
“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”
“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”
A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.
“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”
Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.
Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.
Five days later.
hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?
yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?
hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu
if you say no i’ll freeze to death..
hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ
“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.
“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.
“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.
“You’ll see.”
Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.
“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.
“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.
“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”
Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.
“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”
You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.
“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.
“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.
The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.
And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.
But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.
“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.
“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.
Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.
“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”
“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.
“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”
You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”
“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”
Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”
“Hyunjin!”
“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”
“I'm not coming!”
But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.
“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”
“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.
Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.
“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”
“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.
“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.
“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.
“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”
“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”
You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.
You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.
“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.
Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.
He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.
“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.
“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.
You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.
❁ ❁ ❁
Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.
Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.
And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.
And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.
But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.
But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.
You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.
You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.
You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.
So, you want to say thank you.
You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.
“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.
“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.
“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.
“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.
“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.
“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.
“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.
“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.
“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.
“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.
“It's beautiful.”
“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.
“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.
“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.
Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.
“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.
You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.
You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.
“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.
“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.
“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.
“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”
Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.
“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.
“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.
“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.
Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”
You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.
You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.
It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.
“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.
“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.
“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.
“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”
It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.
“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”
“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”
“Neither did you.”
Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?
“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”
You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.
“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.
“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”
“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”
A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”
“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”
He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”
“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.
“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”
“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”
You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.
He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.
A week later.
hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you
You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.
You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.
It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.
hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch
You giggle, shaking your head before replying.
yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t
hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ
but i finished the song
wanna hear?
Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.
“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.
“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.
“I know. We are so lame.”
“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.
Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.
“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”
“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”
“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.
Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.
In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.
Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.
The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.
Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.
I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.
You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.
The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.
You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.
So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.
You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.
So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.
The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.
You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.
For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.
How could he love you?
How could you not love him?
“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.
“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.
“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.
It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.
“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”
“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”
His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.
“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.
“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.
“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“Is it good?”
“It's everything to me.”
“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”
“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.
The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.
❁ ❁ ❁
It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.
On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.
On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.
But then, there’s a knock on his door.
His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.
“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.
“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.
He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.
“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.
You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.
“Hi, my Yn.”
“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.
“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.
“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.
“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.
“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?
“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.
His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.
You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.
“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.
“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.
He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.
“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.
He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.
And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.
He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.
