mal

21 i read too much carat

[kisssan]

pairing﹢choi san x fem!reader genre﹢smut. non-idol!au, reader is a pornstar, san has a porn addiction. there will be jungkook x reader moments. strangers to lovers, mutual pining (he fell first and harder), hurt/comfort, usage of toys, masturbation, virgin!san + first time with experienced!reader, slight submissive-leaning soft dom!san, praise kink, body worship, cunnilingus, overstimulation, cowgirl/riding, missionary (heavy focus on eye contact), multiple orgasms, marking, creampie, usage of petnames (angel, princess, doll, baby), aftercare. synopsis﹢do you think pornstars have feelings… or only the ability to fake pleasure? she sells fantasies to millions, he’s addicted to the screen she lives on, and the man beside her on set knows her better than anyone. but when san meets the woman behind the camera, he realizes the one thing she’s never faked is how badly she wants to be loved. word count﹢19.2k

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at the mere mention of your name, you can cause havoc among young couples.

when girls film those trendy videos where they say the first name of a famous person and their boyfriend has to respond with the last name, most guys answer a little too quickly, and they try to laugh it off right after, already scrambling to downplay it before their girlfriends start asking questions, making them dig their own graves every time.

you’re a celebrity among the younger crowd — a famous pornstar, to be exact. a beautiful twenty-three-year-old woman with a body sculpted to sinful perfection and a face so soft it could pass for angelic if you covered your eyes with a blindfold and ignored what you do for a living. the comments about you come in all flavors: that you’re a whore, another slut on the streets, your parents must be ashamed of the “career” their daughter chose, and that you’re good for nothing except taking men into your mouth or spreading your legs on camera.

you’ve heard and know it all. sometimes the hate piles up more than usual, but at the end of the day, who’s counting the money? certainly not the ones typing paragraphs about morality from behind phone screens, while their husbands hide your videos behind a thousand folders in their computers.

and it’s not just the hate you receive, because you have loyal fans. not including the perverted old men who flood your inbox with desperate fantasies, and not the kids who are far too young to know your name but somehow still do. no, the ones you appreciate are the men your age, maybe a little older… one of those fans was SAN.

a mere nobody, a man who has memorized your body over the pixels in hd quality. he knows the exact way your mouth curves before you laugh, how your fingers drag down skin like you’re begging your co-star to slow down, even though he knows, from interviews and behind-the-scenes clips, that you prefer it rough. he also knows the pitch of your voice when you whisper something filthy into the camera, the slight tremble right before a whine replaces a moan.

he watches you in the dark, phone brightness turned down, volume low enough that the only real sound in the room is his own uneven breathing. his muffled noises are swallowed by his pillow until the screen times out, and the sticky evidence of his excitement is embarrassingly obvious, covering both his hand and phone.

every time, he swears it’s the last video and the last time he loses control so easily. he carries a lot of shame about his obsession. it’s like a stain invisible to everyone else. no one would ever suspect that the sweet, polite, and caring boy, who holds doors open for women and remembers every one of his friends’ birthdays, has a porn addiction… nothing about him gives it away.

a virgin who knows far too much in theory and absolutely nothing in practice.

he’s only four years older than you, not a big gap at all. you entered the industry two years ago and climbed fast, your name spreading across platforms like wildfire. he remembers the first video he saw of you, thinking you looked different from the others. something about you fooling the public that you are fragile, but you like to be in control.

past the fantasy of dating, like every other man who convinces himself with endless delusions that maybe he has a chance with you. how many times has he imagined what it would be like to date someone like you? so charming, and devastatingly beautiful, fully aware of the effect you have on people, he knows he’d be wrapped around your finger without resistance.

the times when he got home from work or the gym, the first thing he did to unwind was play one of your videos. it didn’t matter if it was old content or something uploaded an hour ago; he just wanted to see and hear you. sometimes he’d end up stalking your instagram instead, scrolling through every post and highlight, checking whatever other socials you had linked.

some of his favorite videos were the ones where you worked with your very famous co-star — jeon jeongguk, more known professionally as jungkook. the two of you moved in perfect sync, as if there was no script at all, everything was pure and raw instinct. then there were the moments when kim mingyu joined in for a threesome.

the three of you filmed together so often that people started calling you the golden trio. the chemistry was immaculate, hot in a way that looked effortless. it made san think you had a certain type: men who took care of their bodies and appearance, men who were confident and charming, having no problem with women being slightly dominant. he’d once read somewhere that you didn’t film with just anyone. he didn’t even know if it was possible to have that kind of creative control in your industry, but the thought stuck with him.

hidden in a box under his bed, buried beneath random clutter just in case, was a pocket pussy. he wasn’t taking any risks, definitely didn’t want teasing from his friends, especially not from wooyoung. so that was his dirty little secret, something he reached for when his own hand stopped being enough.

and lately, nothing was enough. he was sexually frustrated, but he didn’t have the heart to download a dating app or flirt with some random girl when mingi invited him to a party, because he didn’t want just anyone, he wanted you. no matter how impossible it was, even if it made him feel pathetic, like a loser blinded by his own addiction.

during the day, he was a bartender making coffees, teas, sugary drinks and whatnot, smiling at customers like he didn’t have a single improper thought in his head. at night, he was just another pervert who had never felt the touch of a woman. it wasn’t that he was disgusting; he wasn’t one of those men. but when he got obsessed with something, it was nearly impossible for him to let go. it reminded him of yunho and his cigarette addiction, and how he’d tried quitting so many times. once, he’d even managed five months, which was a record, then one party ruined it all, and he was back to smoking like he’d never stopped.

san understood that kind of weakness more than he wanted to admit, and now he can’t stop staring at a girl who looks a lot like you.

she’s wearing sunglasses, an oversized hoodie and baggy clothes, dressed like it’s the middle of a hip-hop dance lesson, every piece of clothing clearly designer. it’s something about the structure of her face, her hair as well. it was styled differently, yes, but still unmistakably similar.

“medium chocolate ice cream shake with extra whipped cream, large iced americano and three cookies, please.” that voice is rather familiar, sweet and honeyed, slightly raspy, like someone who’s spent all night screaming… he's sure he has heard it somewhere before.

“for here or to go?” he asks, offering a soft smile as he types the order into the computer behind the bar. he looks at her, waiting for an answer.

“to go,” she lowers her head slightly to rummage through her bag, and her sunglasses slightly slip down her nose for him to see. “i’ll pay with a card.”

no. there’s no fucking way. it has to be a coincidence, right? people look alike all the time, complete strangers with similar features, a doppelganger perhaps. but he knows your eyes and the exact color, down to the shape, and the subtle crease when you smile.

his gaze drops to her hands: this is the same damn nail set that you have, and how does he know? from your instagram story three days ago. the red catseye effect that shimmered under the light, he remembers staring at that photo longer than he should have.

he doesn’t even realize she’s speaking to him, asking if she can tap the card for the payment. he blinks, shakes his head quickly, heat rushing to his face.

“uh, yeah, yeah– i’m sorry. it’s ready,” he gestures to the payment terminal, and a few seconds later, the transaction is approved. “whose name should it be under?”

“yone.”

oh, this can't be just a coincidence anymore. yone, huh? like your favorite character from league of legends, the game he also plays because of you. there are figurines in the background of your streams, one of them a funko pop sitting right in front of your pc, and he remembers because he is observant. his eyes widen for half a second before he forces himself back into composure.

there’s no way this isn’t you… it has to be, there’s no other logical explanation that makes sense.

“okay, it’ll be ready in a few minutes. you can sit down while you wait,” he says, handing over the receipt with the order number. she smiles softly as she takes it, stepping aside so the next customer can order. but from the corner of his eye, he notices she doesn’t sit, just lingers by the pastry case, leaning forward slightly to read the labels.

“excuse me, can i have one– actually, two pieces of that chocolate cake?”

that’s when she lifts her sunglasses, and… damn it, it’s really you.

san would swear on everything he owns. he stares again, shock flickering across his face before he remembers he’s at work, and cannot lose his mind right now or act insane, no matter how badly he wants to.

“yes, of course. to go as well?” he asks, already opening the case and preparing two small boxes. you nod once, slipping your glasses back on like nothing happened. your order is ready, he tells you the total for the cake, but instead of waiting for change, you hand him cash, more than necessary.

“keep the change~ have a nice day.”

and just like that, you’re gone. no time for him to say goodbye, process, or hand back what is, frankly, an absurd amount of money for two slices of cake. the door shuts behind you, and now he has to stand there behind the cashier, pretending he didn’t just serve his dream girl at his workplace. your name is trending on every site he pretends he doesn’t know, and you were just standing in front of him, not framed in perfect lighting or following any scripts.

he doesn’t know what’s worse — that you look even better in person, or that he knows exactly how you sound when you moan.

you slip back into the van with the bag in hand, kicking the door shut behind you. the space is cool and quiet, tinted windows shielding you from curious eyes. you peel off your hoodie, then remove the sunglasses, before a voice hums from the other seat.

“took you long enough, bunny. is it that packed at this time of the day?”

“no, gukkie.” you grin, digging through the bag, you hand him his iced americano and a slice of cake. “the cashier couldn’t stop staring, i think he recognized me… so i lifted my sunglasses a little to tease him.”

you continue, leaning back, a little intrigued maybe, “but he was actually so fucking fine, like that uniform shirt was tight on him, god, the biceps, i swear i want him to–”

jungkook shoves a cookie into your mouth before you can finish. “even on your period, you’re freaky,” he mutters, flashing that wide bunny grin. you roll your eyes, biting into the chocolate chip dough, “what? let a girl simp. and he was sweet, too, didn’t panic or anything, just… stared.”

the engine starts again, the van pulling into traffic, jungkook’s private drive, of course, comfortable enough to nap in between schedules. this week is quiet for you, because you have no shoots or productions, and even if there were, he’d probably cancel them anyway. your co-star always gets a little protective when you’re not feeling your best or during that time of the month. he is not your boyfriend, not exactly; it’s platonic, maybe more of a physical attraction than a romantic one.

“should’ve gotten his number,” you sigh, glancing out the window. “he was really pretty.”

“you’ve got half the industry lined up already,” jungkook replies, taking a sip of his drink and stretching his legs out. “wonwoo, taehyung, baekhyun, yeonjun… you’re not exactly short on options.”

“i know,” you tap your fingers against your thigh, not even glancing at your friend, observing the slowly moving cars instead, “but… i don’t know, something about cashier guy felt different.”

jungkook snorts softly, grabbing a sweet treat from the bag, “different how?”

you smile to yourself, thinking about wide eyes and trembling restraint behind his polite smile. how his longer black hair fell into his chocolate brown eyes, the dimples that appeared when he flashed a smile, and his insane body proportions.

“like he’s the type who pretends he’s innocent,” you murmur, taking yet another bite, thinking about san, the name you read on the badge clipped to his apron, “but really isn’t.”

and somewhere in the café, a bartender is still trying to convince himself he was in fact not dreaming about this. he needed a five-minute break, even though he didn't smoke, he thought he needed a cigarette. his heart was beating like crazy, it was probably going to jump out at any moment and make him go into cardiac arrest… he was hoping to maybe see you again.

a week later, he heard the same voice with the same order, even though he wasn't serving at the cash register. back turned while finishing a drink, the sound of you makes him glance over his shoulder. there you were with a new outfit, hair done again, your nails the same, and the sunglasses were still perched on your nose. this time, you were wearing tights, a short skirt, some designer shoes. you were also wearing some kind of t-shirt, it was a man's and certainly not yours. he felt a little stupid, but there was no reason to be jealous; since you are constantly surrounded by men after all.

you’re waiting by the pastries again. he wipes his hands, tosses a towel over his shoulder, and slips out from behind the display case, giving himself a minute or two from making yet another matcha latte, watching you on your phone, texting someone maybe, until he cleared his throat, "anything else for you?"

“oh, yeah. can i have a piece of the oreo cake and…” you glanced around quickly, making sure no one was paying attention, before lowering your voice to a whisper, “…your number?”

instead of waiting for an answer, you press a small folded note into his hand over the counter, and he unfolds it once you step back.

(name) xxx-xxxx-xxx i know you know who i am, but i think you’re really cute <3 would you like to go on a date with me? and also something dropping at 21:00, make sure to check it out, xoxo

he raised an eyebrow as he read it, then looked back at you, lifting your sunglasses to wink at him.

“you can think about it.”

oh, he would think about it, he absolutely would. the moment you said goodbye and blew him a kiss, he was counting down the seconds until he could clock out and go home.

it was a hell of a shift. maybe because he was waiting for it to end, which only made time drag slower, thinking about you didn’t help either. the way you’d casually handed him your number. surely it wasn’t some kind of scam, no one pretending to be you, right?

back home, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. the girl he practically considered a goddess had walked into the café where he worked. out of all the cafés in the entire seoul, you chose this one. sure, it was part of a well-developed chain, he never expected a pornstar to buy sweet treats somewhere so… normal. then again, you were human, sometimes cheaper was better. and, not to brag, but their lattes and cakes were easily top ten.

watching the clock obsessively until it struck 21:00. true to your word, a twenty-minute video dropped, featuring kim taehyung as your hot professor.

he clicked on it immediately, greeted with your angelic beauty in that skimpy academic outfit. sinful under the disguise of innocence, and when the scene of your professor bending you over his desk, that was when san finally gave in and reached for the pocket pussy in the box under his bed. goodness, you were so fucking hot.

the way your ass and tits bounced with every thrust of taehyung’s cock abusing your tight cunt, and you sounded so breathy, needy, very much angelic. was this what heaven sounded like?

matching his pace to the video, hips snapping forward, you were close, he was close, and when you came on screen, body trembling beneath your professor, san followed right after — groaning, spilling into the toy, listening to your cries echo from his laptop speakers.

“f-fuck…” his breathing came out ragged, and his clean hand draped over his face before sliding back through his hair, pushing it away from his damp forehead. it was hot, feeding his delusions, but it wasn’t enough to feed the actual hunger he had for you, not for someone who wanted the real thing.

after he calmed down, he grabbed a towel to clean himself up and pulled his pants back up, mind racing, switching on and off. should he text you? he wasn’t a coward, but you weren’t messing with him, were you? you had sounded genuinely interested, but it felt like a one-in-a-million chance that someone like you would even glance at someone like him.

grabbing his phone, no time to waste, and to miss such an opportunity? he would be a damn fool, because there might not be a second time.

hi, i’m san. from the café.

you received it instantly, been waiting all day for him, even mid-fuck with jungkook when your phone lit up next to your head as you grabbed it. your eyes widened, excitement replacing pleasure in an instant. “oh my god, gukk!”

he smirked down at you, thinking you were praising him, until you gasped, “cashier guy texted me, oh fuck right there–” that made him slow down a little, unhappy that something like that interrupts him, and stops you from paying attention to him.

“check it later,” he muttered, voice low, as he thrust into you to the point of the skin slapping being louder than your moans, “not when i’m inside you.”

unfortunately, the session with jungkook ends faster than usual. he can feel you’re no longer fully with him, your excitement redirected elsewhere. even though he finishes inside you, with his body still hovering over yours, you barely react. you’re already slipping out from under him, rolling onto your stomach with a little dreamy sigh.

mind you, he’s still caging you in with his strong arms from above, one inked in a full tattoo sleeve, and just like that, you’re ignoring him? he would do anything to make you feel good, and you’re lying there, flushed and glowing, suddenly giddy over some random man.

his cum slowly leaks out of you, dripping onto the towel you’d thrown beneath earlier. he shifts slightly, peeking over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of your screen. you and the cashier guy are already texting.

jealousy doesn’t even begin to cover it — he hates competition, hates being second, but can he really act possessive over someone who isn’t his? friends with benefits, colleagues, no strings attached; however, it’s too late to pretend he doesn’t care.

he leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, then another, trailing down to your spine. you let out a soft whimper, thighs squeezing together at the lingering sensitivity, the sticky warmth between them making you shift.

“wanna shower with me?” he murmurs, hands sliding to your waist, fingers squeezing gently while his thumbs brush over the soft curve of your ass.

“no, you go first… i don’t exactly trust you after the last time i joined you,” you laugh at the memory. the shower sex had been insane, amazing enough to spark ideas for future content, but you’d barely been able to walk afterward, your entire body aching. “don’t use up all the hot water, though.”

and just like that, you’re back on your phone, naked in his bed, texting someone else.

jungkook watches you for a moment longer before pushing himself off the mattress. irritated and disappointed, but this is what he signed up for the second he got involved with you.

you, meanwhile, are deep in conversation with san. the messages are playful and teasing, curious questions here and there, subtle flirting that grows bolder with every reply. at one point, you send him a photo. nothing too explicit, showing some skin, the angle leaves very little to the imagination.

san is absolutely losing his goddamn mind. he can’t even sit still, pacing around his apartment, phone clutched in his hand, a wide smile stretching across his face. he looks insane, giggling under his breath, rereading your messages like a lovestruck teenager. what started as texting at ten turned into eleven, then midnight, then two in the morning. you even took your phone into the bathroom, telling him it was the fastest shower you’d ever taken.

every notification feels like a spark under his skin, an arrow cupid aimed at his heart. he imagines you smiling at your screen the way he is now. the idea that you’re choosing to spend your night talking to him makes him feel special, as he debates for a full five minutes before finally typing it out.

are you free this saturday? it’s my day off. i’d love to take you out.

it’s soon, too soon, maybe, but it feels right, stupidly and terrifyingly right. he’s so pumped he might cry from happiness. adrenaline hums through his veins, his fingers twitching as he waits for the little typing bubble to appear.

meanwhile, jungkook has you tucked into him, your back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“bunny, go to sleep already… we have filming tomorrow,” he murmurs against your neck, lips brushing your skin in a slow, lingering kiss. you giggle, fingers still flying over your screen. “i will, i promise… i’m just checking if i have anything on saturday.”

“mmm, you don’t,” he answers for you, making you pause. “how do you know?”

“because it’s your day off. and sunday, me and gyu are taking you shopping. remember?”

oh, right. the annual sunday shopping trip, which means saturday is completely free for san.

“right, right… okay then, the weekend i’m off work, but i will be going on dates!” you chirp, a little too brightly, as his arm tightens at the plural of the word date.

“you and cashier guy finally meeting properly?”

“yeah, he just asked me. now i have to figure out what outfit to wear…”

“he’s probably seen you naked,” jungkook mutters, gently biting your shoulder. “don’t think it’ll matter.”

there’s something beneath the teasing tone; alas, you are too tired to overanalyze it. he yawns, pressing his face into your hair. “can you please put the phone down? let’s sleep.”

you hum in agreement, because cranky jungkook is not fun to deal with. so you type quickly:

yes. i’d love to.

then another message.

but goodnight now, sweet dreams💜

you set the phone on the nightstand and snuggle deeper into jungkook’s warmth. he kisses the top of your head, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.

“night, bunny.”

“night, gukkie.” and before you know it you are in dreamland, hoping to see a certain someone there.

san, on the other hand, is wide awake. re-reads your messages at least twenty times. he lies on his bed staring at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest, grin refusing to fade. he secured a date, an actual date, with his celebrity crush and favorite actress… okay, porn actress, but that still counts, it absolutely does.

he doesn’t know to laugh or cry; he really doesn’t. all he wants to tell someone so badly, scream it from his balcony, call a friend and brag, but he can’t. because what if they mock him? what if they tell him he’s delusional? that it’s a prank? a scam? that a woman like you wouldn’t actually want to go out with someone like him?

still… you’ve been texting him for hours. you flirted, sending some pictures that are close to nudes, and most importantly, you said yes.

on his day off, four days from now, he won’t be watching you on a screen; he’ll be sitting across from you, hearing you laugh and smile in real time, getting to know you outside the flashing lights. for once, he won’t be just another viewer; he’ll be the one spending time with you.

he is grateful to everything divine, to the universe, and to his boss for hiring him for this job.

saturday arrived faster than he was ready for.

the days leading up to it had your quick ten-minute visits to the café, lingering by the counter just to see him; the nonstop texting that stretched into late-night calls; the way you’d insisted on meeting somewhere private, and because he respects you far too much to risk your privacy, you both agreed to meet somewhere discreet.

san chose a restaurant that’s far more expensive than anything he’d usually consider. it would probably swallow up a ridiculous portion of his savings. he doesn’t care because you were worth it.

he got there early, paced once outside before forcing himself to stand still, bouquet hidden awkwardly behind his back. he kept checking his reflection in the glass, smoothing his hair, adjusting his jacket.

then you appeared, and he forgot how to function.

you were wearing purple, he had mentioned it was his favorite, and you were popping like a flower in the same color: the dress was short, lilac leaning toward soft lavender, hugging your figure in a way that made his head spin. over it, a light cream ribbed cardigan softened the look, making you seem smaller somehow, sweeter. your shoulder bag matched perfectly, strappy purple heels clicking gently against the pavement as you walked toward him.

you didn’t look like a pornstar — you looked like an ordinary woman in her twenties.

without the sunglasses or the perfect camera angles and dramatic makeup, he noticed how little you were wearing now, enough to highlight your features, lipstick accentuating your smile. makeup or not, camera or not, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

you kept getting closer, that smile growing wider, and he could feel heat rushing up his neck, his ears burning, cheeks flushed as if he had a fever, yeah, maybe because he is lovesick.

“sannie~” the way you said it nearly knocked him out. you slipped your phone into your purse, stopping right in front of him. “i’m sorry if you waited long! traffic was awful.”

get a grip, san. say something normal, don’t freak out. you don’t sound like the woman he’s heard moaning through speakers. you don’t carry yourself like the characters you play. the contrast hits him all at once; it makes him realize how much of what he’s consumed has been performance.

“don’t worry, i just got here,” he lied quickly. he’d been waiting, but you had warned him traffic might slow you down. “oh, uhm…” he cleared his throat, glancing away briefly before bringing the bouquet from behind his back. “this is for you.”

the flowers were carefully arranged, your favorites. the ones you once mentioned absentmindedly in a voice message at three in the morning, thinking he probably wouldn’t remember, but he did. and now he watches your face carefully, nerves creeping back in, hoping, praying, that he got it right.

he held them out with slightly trembling hands, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were. how good you smelled, gosh, your eyes looked even prettier up close.

for a split second, you just stared at him, and your expression softened in a way that made his stomach flip from anxiety. before he could react, you rose onto your tiptoes. the kiss was gentle, your lips brushing his cheek, quick enough to be innocent, long enough to leave him stunned.

when you pulled back, you were smiling again. “thank you,” he stood there, dizzy, heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. “shall we?” you asked, nodding toward the entrance. inside, a quiet corner had been reserved just for the two of you.

it doesn’t even feel like a first date.

you’re laughing, eating, leaning closer over the table as if you’ve known each other for years. you look so pretty, it almost hurts to look at you for too long, and for a moment, all the dirty thoughts disappear.

he doesn’t see you like that right now — not as a body to devour. he never truly saw you as just a piece of meat. yes, he’s a man. the urge to have you, to taste you, to fuck you crosses his mind sometimes. that’s normal, but before any of that, he’s a gentleman, because tonight, he just wants to know you.

“you would not believe the behind-the-scenes drama,” you whispered dramatically, leaning forward as if sharing state secrets. “people think it’s all glamorous, but half the time it’s just us arguing about lighting or someone stealing someone else’s protein bars.”

you’re telling him something funny from work, little things the audience would never know. you talk about your two closest friends, jungkook and mingyu, describing them as kind, dependable, and a little chaotic. you tell him about your life before all of this: how you dropped out of university because it simply wasn’t for you. after all, a piece of paper means nothing if you can’t prove your skills. you mention the struggles you’ve had at home, not diving too deep, but he understands there’s more to you than what the camera shows.

you keep talking, barely pausing for breath, and he listens to every single word. he catches the small details with the way your eyes soften when you mention being a kid, how you have a cat named pawy who lives with your grandparents. you didn’t filter yourself, you just… talked, and he felt honored that you were comfortable enough to do that with him.

then suddenly, you stop mid-sentence, blinking as if you’ve just realized something.

“oh my god, i’m sorry,” you say quickly, a little flustered. “i didn’t mean to talk so much. i–i want to hear about you, too.”

did he win the lottery? a girl like you, sitting across from him, apologizing for being too open. he sets his chopsticks down, covering his mouth politely as he finishes chewing before answering.

“it’s okay, really. i don’t mind,” he says softly. “i actually prefer listening.” pausing and thinking hard. “nothing exciting. i learned taekwondo when i was younger, stuck with it for years, and… i have a cat too, her name’s byeol.”

you leaned forward again, chin resting on your palm, encouraging him with soft nods. and he kept talking about moving to the city from his small town, the cafe and how he liked simple things. you listened the way he had listened to you, and for the first time in a long while, you realize you genuinely like the man sitting across from you. not for the thrill of being bent over, but you like him so much that you’re already imagining your cats meeting.

the conversation stretches until the restaurant begins to quiet down, and it’s time to leave. of course, he pays. it makes his wallet ache a little, but watching you smile, especially when you happily dig into dessert, clearly having a sweet tooth, makes it worth every won.

now, standing outside together, he hesitates about what exactly to do. should he call you a taxi? walk you home? you mentioned you live about thirty minutes away, so a walk might be nice.

walking beneath the moonlight, the sky clear and glowing above you, everything feels strangely perfect. the night air is cool, the streets are quiet, and you’re still talking, hands moving as you describe your next short film. something with mingyu playing a single dad who fucks the babysitter.

“young dilfs sell a lot these days,” you joke lightly. he huffs out a quiet laugh, hands tucked into his coat pockets, listening to everything you have to say. then your steps slow slightly. “am i making you uncomfortable? i mean… you know what i do and–” you press your lips together. “i’m sorry. i’ll stop talking about it.”

that makes him stop walking altogether. you take a few more steps before realizing he isn’t beside you anymore. when you turn around, he’s just standing there, looking at you. uncomfortable? him? the man who watches you through a screen like you were his guilty pleasure.

“you’re not making me uncomfortable,” he says, stepping closer. “i’m actually glad you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about that stuff.”

you search his face, trying to see whether he’s just being polite.

“i don’t want you to think i’m… i don’t know, that i’m too much,” you admit quietly. “or that this is all i am.”

“i don’t think like that,” he says without hesitation. “your job doesn’t define you. i don’t see you as less, and i don’t see you as just… that.” he swallows, a little shy but sincere. “i think you are a wonderful person. you have goals and dreams, and i'm sure you will achieve them.”

your shoulders relax at that, cheeks heating at the comment, resuming your pace beside him, offering a soft thank you. you explain that you don’t usually talk about work on dates, but with him, it feels natural. you feel so at peace to the point you don't even care. it's like he's bringing out the child in you, the part that was suppressed and silenced, now can't stop shining and rambling.

before you realize it, you’ve reached your apartment complex. he’s still holding the bouquet. “these are yours,” he says softly, finally handing them to you. you take them carefully, smiling up at him, and then you rise onto your tiptoes again. your lips brush his in a gentle kiss.

“thank you, san,” you murmur when you pull back. “i had a really great time. i hope we can go out again.”

he’s completely smitten. you kissed him. it was just a small peck, but it sends his entire brain into shutdown. his first kiss, ever. his lips part slightly in shock, eyes wide, and you can’t help but notice. a tiny smile curves your mouth before you lean in once more, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, longer this time, making his knees feel weak.

“text me when you get home, okay?” you whisper. “goodnight, san. and thank you so much again for tonight.”

before he can gather a proper response, you’re stepping back, offering him one last smile before disappearing inside the building. the door closes, and he’s left standing there, staring at it.

how is he supposed to just go home now, when all he wants is to stay a little longer?

after that night, things don’t slow down; if anything, they speed up. seeing san becomes something you look forward to between shoots, meetings, and the chaos of your schedule.

the second date is at the aquarium. you insist on sunglasses and, unfortunately, a very styled and perfectly placed wig, just in case. the last thing you need is a mother recognizing you and causing a scene in front of her kid. you don’t want whispers or comments; you just want to watch the fish in peace.

when you stand in front of the giant glass tank, blue light reflecting across your face, he finds himself staring at you more than the sea creatures. you press closer to his side when a group of teenagers passes by, and without thinking, his hand settles at your lower back, and it doesn't move from there all day… maybe it did to hold your hand when he sensed how stressed you become around that many people.

the third date is a disaster, because it rains. not the romantic kind you see in movies. it’s heavy and restlessness, your carefully planned picnic is canceled, the park is muddy and miserable. you pout for a second before laughing it off.

“we’re cursed,” you joke over the phone, before he speaks. “or… you could come over to my place? i’ll pick you up.”

you agree, and it turns out to be simple. takeout containers on his small table, a show neither of you really pays attention to. you curl up under his blanket like you’ve done it a hundred times before, head pressed on his shoulder, nothing dramatic happens, but it makes you want more.

the fourth date is unexpectedly adorable. a clay class, your fingers get messy, and you end up laughing more than actually sculpting anything useful. san concentrates so hard it’s almost funny, tongue poking slightly against his cheek as he tries to shape something decent. and for that, you have a new vase as a gift, now you finally have a place to put your lego flowers. afterward, he accompanies you to the nail salon. your schedule is packed, and the only free day you have is the one with the appointment. instead of canceling, you drag him along.

“you pick,” you tell him, holding out the sample colors.

“me?” he blinks at shades and hues he has never seen.

“yes, you.”

he chooses a light shade of purple. you never thought you’d like the color this much, but lately it’s everywhere — your dresses, your nails, small details you don’t even consciously plan.

by the fifth date, something stirs inside you, and you don’t know if it’s the butterflies.

texts aren’t enough anymore, calls don’t satisfy you, not even the men you work with: men who know exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan on cue, they can’t distract you from how much you want san.

he’s good-looking, gentle, caring, kind, emotionally intelligent, and observant. he remembers the smallest details, he makes you laugh without trying too hard. he feels like your safe place, your prince charming waiting to find the princess with the missing glassy heel.

jungkook notices the change in you. he’s sprawled across your couch one evening, wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts. you’re curled up at the other end, dressed in his oversized t-shirt, your bare legs tucked beneath you. he finds that strange. you’re into another man now, have real feelings for him, yet you’re still fucking with your co-star whenever it’s convenient. you're weird, but you must be confused. a lollipop tucked into his cheek as he watches you zone out, smiling faintly at your phone.

“cashier guy’s been on your mind a lot lately, huh?” he says, and you don’t even look up at first.

“cashier guy has a name, and it’s san.”

the correction is immediate, and you sound a little offended. he hums, watching you more carefully now. he didn't say anything for the next few minutes, just trying to enjoy the taste of the strawberry and not think about you so much in ways he shouldn't.

but it wasn’t easy, since he was your first —  the one glued to your side in this industry, your partner on set, your comfort after long days, knowing your habits, your moods, somewhere along the way, liking you became… love. he’s never really allowed himself to name it. what could he even do with it? feelings don’t bend just because you want them to. he can’t force yours, or rewrite them, make you look at him the way you clearly look at san.

now he needed something stronger than the taste of a sweet lollipop.

he pushes himself up and heads toward the balcony, grabbing a cigarette from the pack he keeps hidden in his jacket. the night air is cold, as he exhales smoke into the dark. every now and then, he glances back inside through the glass door. you’re still smiling… that soft, glowing smile you didn’t have a few months ago.

he hates losing, but what he hates more is seeing you unhappy, and right now, he can’t ignore that. exhaling slowly, letting the smoke leave his body along with some of the tension. maybe this is what compromise feels like: loving someone sometimes means stepping aside.

finishing the cigarette slowly, stubbing it out in the ashtray before returning inside. for a moment, he just stands there, watching you. then he walks over, sits beside you, and gently pulls the phone from your hands.

“jungkook, what–”

“i think it’s time we talk about a few things.”

you blink at him, confused. he looks serious, your phone still in his grip. when you reach for it, he lifts it just out of reach.

“relax,” he sighs, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he ruffles your hair with his free hand. “i just want to talk about you and san. you know… making sure everything’s okay. don’t want you grumpy on set.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “i’m not grumpy.”

“you wouldn’t know if you were,” he shoots back lightly, but you settle back against the couch, smiling at yourself, cheeks heating up from thinking about san.

“it’s been… really good,” you admit after a second. “like, really good and i just can’t put it into words. we’ve been seeing each other for… almost two months now?”

“almost two months, eh?” he repeats quietly. you nod, fingers twisting the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “he’s just… different, and doesn’t treat me like–” you stop, searching for the right word. “like some fantasy or fixation, he treats me like a human being.”

and you keep talking about him, sometimes you even stop to think, blushing, words escape your vocabulary. you can't even look your colleague in the eye because you're suddenly shy. jungkook sees it by the way you shine more lately. the softness in your voice when you talk about san. you’ve become gentler somehow, more affectionate, more openly feminine in a way that isn’t staged: you’re in love.

“if you want to be with him,” jungkook says quietly, “don’t wait for some perfect moment, there isn’t one. just say it.”

you look at him. “say what?”

“the three magical words.” you are a little shocked by how suddenly he said it, “but,” he adds, leaning back, “be careful, you never really know, he’s still a man.”

there’s no bitterness in his tone, no jealousy or negativity. that’s him being honest and protective, watching out for you and always having your back. and in that moment, jungkook lets you go, at least in his mind. his heart will take longer, that much he knows.

but for now, he leans back into the couch, nudging your knee with his.

“wanna play mario kart?”

you smile, getting up for the nintendo switch. “only if you don't sulk when you lose~”

san’s nervous about having you at his place again.

it’s not like you haven’t been here multiple times already. tonight his kitchen is a complete mess. flour dusts the counter, there’s some on your cheek, he wipes it off. you’re trying to recreate his café’s chocolate cake: the one you ordered the very first time you walked in and unknowingly changed his life. at least, you’re trying. san is already mentally preparing himself to gently take the bowl from your hands before you accidentally ruin it.

this is the sixth date, though you have lost count due to your busy schedule. two and a half months have passed since you started going out, it's like a magician snapped their fingers, making everything happen so quickly... well, not quite everything, you're not together yet.

he’s standing behind you now, hands resting on your waist, as he leans in slightly, peeking over your shoulder as you measure out cocoa powder. it's really sweet, and he doesn't think about the ingredients in the cake. “mhm… you’re doing well,” he murmurs, giving you a light squeeze. in reality, he’s watching closely to make sure you don’t mix up the salt and sugar. “okay,” he adds by gently, clearing his throat. “i think that’s enough, let me handle it.”

and now you’re here, wearing his hoodie and a pair of shorts, legs bare, sitting comfortably on his kitchen counter while he finishes preparing the cake like you haven’t completely wrecked him.

san is a total loser — a virgin, a porn-addicted, chronically online, king-of-losers virgin.

he still wonders how you haven't found sex tapes, movies, magazines, posters of you, or the toy he uses to pretend to be you, and you have no idea, probably assuming he’s your average guy with enough screen time. when you asked him why he had a projector in his bedroom, his answer was feeling nostalgic about disney movies out of nowhere. you don't know, but you suspect he had at least one or two ex-girlfriends, someone must have fallen for him at some point, right? he’s good-looking and polite, but he’s never talked about past relationships, nor have you, because the topic never came up.

you don’t know you were his first kiss, or that when you leaned up on your tiptoes that night outside your apartment, his brain completely shut off, and you definitely don’t know that you might be his first love.

love.

it’s a heavy word, one that has too much weight on the tip of his tongue, but his heart already knows what his mind does not. he can’t even look at other women anymore. actresses, celebrities, idols, faces he once scrolled through mindlessly now blur together, since he doesn’t care about them, he doesn’t want them… he wants you.

“sannie,” you hum, watching him move. “do you go to the gym a lot?”

he nearly drops the whisk. “h-huh?”

“your arms,” you say sweetly, tilting your head. “they don’t just look like that for no reason. is it for health or… aesthetics?”

“uh– i wanted to get in shape, so when i can i go, yeah.”

you are still on the counter, your clean hand sliding up his arm before giving it an experimental squeeze. his muscles tense automatically under your touch. you squeeze again, genuinely impressed. don’t even get started on his broad back, stretching the fabric of his t-shirt every time he moves. you let your fingers trail down his arm, curious and teasing without even trying.

meanwhile, his brain is screaming because he’s so down bad it’s embarrassing.

the cake goes into the oven. he wipes his hands on a towel, trying to act normal, due to you standing too close and smelling like his cologne. out of nowhere, you kiss him. soft at first, he tastes cocoa on your lips. his hands automatically brace on either side of you as he’s between your legs now. your fingers slide into his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp, and his entire spine lights up.

your thighs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. fuck, he has a boner, a very obvious one. he prays you don’t notice, unfortunately, you do. he thinks you've probably felt more boners than he's ever jerked off. you pull back just slightly, lips swollen, that teasing smile curving your mouth, the one he’s seen a million times on a screen, but this time it’s for him.

“sannie?”

“hmm?”

“do you want to… you know?”

he’s fantasized about this more times than he should. in his head, he’s confident and experienced, but in reality? he’s a virgin with a racing heart and no idea if he’s ready to be the man you deserve in that way. so like the absolute loser he is, he leans in and kisses you again instead of answering. deeper this time, slowly to buy time. your lips move together, breath mingling, hands wandering but not crossing that invisible line.

for now, making out feels safer than risking everything.

a few days before the seventh date, during his break at the café, san found himself lingering by the back entrance. he wasn’t even a smoker, but he’d just taken the trash out and decided to sit on the narrow staircase, enjoying a few quiet minutes alone, as he scrolled through his phone, smiling softly at your messages.

you’re at work too, busy filming with yeonjun, warning him that the project would take more time and focus, that replies might be slow. still, you sent him little things whenever you could, such as short voice notes, silly tiktoks, edits of cute kittens captioned “me and u,” or random clips you found funny.

he replies to every single one, so caught up in typing and reacting to each video as if it were the highlight of his day that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching. the soft scrape of heavy soles against asphalt, the faint clink of chains, and the sound stopped right in front of him.

still looking down, so he didn’t immediately see the large black combat boots planted a few inches away. slowly lifting his head to see… jeon jungkook standing there in broad daylight looking like a rockstar, a lollipop tucked between his lips. no sunglasses, with no attempt to hide, pulling the sweet treat from his mouth, tilting his head slightly.

“you got a minute?”

san’s first thought was irrational and immediate, heart jumped straight into his throat: this is it. i’m about to get beaten up, blackmailed, thrown in the dumpster behind my own workplace.

what was the golden boy doing behind a random café in the middle of the day… and why does he look so calm about it? but he couldn’t show fear, especially not in front of someone like him: this is your closest friend, your co-star, the man who had you first.

san nodded slowly, sliding his phone into the pocket of his apron as he started to rise, jungkook waved his tattooed hand lazily. “no need to get up. relax.”

and then he sat down beside him. manspreading casually, forearms resting on his thighs, skin showing through his ripped jeans, the lollipop returned to his mouth, tongue pressing it lightly against his teeth. silence stretches between them. it was awkward, because san had no idea what to say. after a moment, jungkook pulled the candy out again, tucked it neatly into its wrapper, and slid it into his pocket. he pulled out a cigarette pack instead, tapping one free and holding it between his lips.

“want one?” he asked, words slightly muffled as he offered the pack.

“thanks, but i don’t smoke.”

“ah, i see.”

the lighter flicked, smoke curled upward, followed by another pause, then casually, as if they were discussing the weather or why the dinosaurs went extinct, the older spoke. “so, you’re the guy.”

“i– i guess…”

“you serious?”

direct question with no aggression behind it. not hostile, but not exactly friendly either, just assessing and testing the man you talked non-stop about during late-night dinners, shopping sprees and any second of the day. jungkook isn't here to nag or threaten; he was just curious to see what kind of person the cashier guy was.

“i wouldn’t be doing this if i wasn’t.”

“yeah?” the smoker asked, raising his pierced eyebrow, “serious like a fan, or something else?”

san swallowed before continuing, words still trying to form themselves to explain properly, to prove himself.

“i don’t see her like… like she’s not just what’s on screen. she’s–” he stopped himself, exhaling. “(name)’s funny, and kind. she remembers little things and gets excited over silly stuff. she sends me cat videos even when extremely busy because she doesn’t want me to feel ignored.”

his voice softened without him realizing, literal heart in his eyes as he spoke so fondly of you.

“i just… i like being around her, even when we’re not doing anything and she deserves to be treated like any other girl in the world, so i’m trying my very best to make her feel cherished.”

jungkook took a slow drag from his cigarette, smoke filling his lungs before he let it spill out in a hazy stream.

“you are in love with her, hm?” he asked bluntly, and goosebumps appeared on san’s skin, and it wasn't from him only wearing a shirt or the fact that they were in the shade, but the silence was answer enough.

jungkook saw the way his cheeks turned red, fingers curled slightly against his knees, smudging the apron. you are definitely not a fan’s obsession, or some shallow fixation, maybe a dirty little secret, but his energy itself didn't reek of lust.

smirking faintly, smoke slipping from his mouth as he leaned back. “she acts tough, but she’s softer than she lets people think.” 

“yeah, i know,” san chuckled, a little nervously. somehow, they were finding a rhythm, an understanding point beyond awkwardness.

“if you hurt her in any way, i will find you.” this is a real threat now, but then jungkook nudged him lightly with his elbow. “chill, if i wanted to beat you up, i would have done that already.”

he takes one final drag, then drops the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot. walking away, as he glances back briefly. yeah, this guy isn’t just obsessed, he’s in love.

“oh, before i forget,” jungkook turns around, rummaging through his pocket before coming closer to take san’s hand and giving him something in his palm. to which san was more than confused, looking down because what he gave him was a condom, in a purple wrapper. “handle with care~”

the golden boy kept walking as if nothing happened. did san just get approved to date you… or accidentally got cast in a porn shoot?

people say that seven is a lucky number. there are seven wonders of the world, seven colors in the rainbow, and when someone feels blissfully happy, they say they’re in seventh heaven. seven also happens to be san’s birth month. tonight is the seventh date, and it’s the first time he’s officially coming over to your place with the intention of staying.

he becomes hyperaware the second he steps into your bedroom. he’s seen this room before, obviously, but now that he’s actually here, it feels different, rather strange. on a bed where people have fucked you countless times on camera, he’s currently sitting on the edge of it, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs. the mattress is soft, memory foam, and the bed itself is spacious; he assumes you must sleep like a princess.

his eyes wander around the room while he tries to act normal. your pc setup sits neatly against the wall, surrounded by figures of different game characters. there are albums from your favorite artists stacked beside them, a few posters decorating the walls, and his gaze lingers on the small vase sitting on your shelf, the one he made for you. lego flowers bloom out of it in bright plastic colors, cute.

you change right in front of him without thinking twice. your pajamas are simple: an oversized shirt he gave you the last time you stayed at his place, hanging loosely over your body, and nothing but your panties underneath. for someone who has seen you naked more times than he could count, san still shies away, suddenly very interested in his own fingers as he fidgets with them.

all he’s wearing is gray sweatpants and a compressed black shirt. earlier you had waited for him at his place while he showered after hitting the gym, and then he drove the two of you here.

“sannie, don’t be shy now… it’s not like you don’t know what i do,” you tease lightly, moving toward your desk, grabbing the micellar water to clean the makeup from your face. settling into your chair, you prop up the small mirror and soak a cotton pad. your back faces him, but you can still see him through the reflection. he’s still looking around the room, lips pressed together like he’s trying not to say something.

“i’ve meant to ask,” you continue lightly, wiping at the corner of your eye, “do you have a favorite video of mine? surely you have one. i think a fan favorite is the jungkook brat-taming one… i’m not sure, though.”

truthfully, you’re not even sure if it’s okay to talk about your work since… you don’t really know what else to talk about. that’s the most interesting thing about you, isn’t it? the porn, the thing people know you for. sometimes you bring it up just so the conversation doesn’t fall flat. just so he doesn’t lose interest, because a part of you is scared he might.

“oh… yeah, that video did blow up,” san says, nodding slowly. he blinks a few times, carefully keeping his face neutral. even though it’s a fan favorite, it was never really his thing. he always liked the softer vibes, the romantic, almost vanilla moments more than anything else. he’s a romantic guy, after all. “i’m not really that familiar,” he adds quickly. “i mean, i know who you are, but i’m not… really into that kind of stuff.”

lies, bunch of lies, a whole pile of them.

he doesn’t even know why he’s saying it. maybe to avoid looking like the complete loser he feels like, or maybe to make himself seem different from all the other guys who simp for you online. perhaps it’s pride, some stupid masculine instinct that refuses to admit how many nights he spent watching you, even though he’s not like the others, at least… not entirely.

everyone else fell for the actress — he fell in love with the woman behind the scenes.

“san,” your chair spins around slowly until you’re facing him. “why are you lying to me?”

your face is bare now, stripped clean of makeup just like the question you’ve asked. no foundation to soften or cover, and you already know the answer. you knew from the moment you first met him, using yone as your pseudonym. very few of your fans know you switch between names from different games. sometimes you’re yoru, other times you’re tifa, maybe ada when you feel like a resident in the evil, but yone is the one you use the most.

you looked him in the eyes, but he looked away, and you noticed how he was breathing; that tight t-shirt wasn't helping him much, his fingers were curled into nervous fists against his thighs, and one of his legs kept bouncing slightly.

“i am not lying,” he said, and the voice of an inexperienced liar will always crack a little, but then you actually feel bad, somehow used, even if you work in an environment where your body is what you offer, this is about your heart. the person you trusted, who you swore was different. 

"you sure aren’t. is that why i found a picture of me in a bikini among your cookbooks? oh, or a magazine with me on the cover of last month's playboy issue between your playstation games?"

the own goal had been scored long ago; it was just the referee who had a delayed reaction.

“(name), i–” “you what?” and here you stood up from your chair, angry and offended, with slightly teary eyes, because you felt really humiliated, “what else do you have to tell me? i bet all your friends probably know by now, maybe you posted a picture of me on reddit. did you leak my number, or are you still waiting for that?"

“please, (name), listen to me,” san gets up, taking a step toward you. “this isn’t what it looks li–”

“not what it looks like?” you cut him off, your voice rising. “i was stupid enough to think someone like me could be wanted for something other than my body.”

the words leave your mouth, and the second they do, they hurt, because part of you believes them. san looks like you’ve just struck him across the face.

“that’s not…” he starts, but you’re already spiraling. the man stands there helplessly for a moment, his hands lift awkwardly, unsure where they’re supposed to go: your shoulders, your arms, pulling you into a hug, or just holding you still. he doesn’t know; he just knows he hates the look on your face. “(name), please, i’d never… it’s just–”

“what, san?” your voice cracking now, anger and hurt mixing within, making your lower lip tremble, “why did you even–”

“because i love you.”

the room goes completely still. you stop mid-sentence, mouth parting slightly. your eyes widen as you stare at him, your nails digging into your palms. san looks terrified, just as shocked as you are. the confession tore itself out of him without permission; it just happened, maybe it really does happen when you least expect it.

“i love you, and i didn’t want you to think i was just another guy watching your videos and getting off to you,” he admits, voice softening so did his eyes, “i didn’t want you to think that’s all you were to me, because you’re not.”

“you… love me?” you whisper, and san nods slowly. his hands finally reach for yours, hesitant at first, like he expects you to pull away. when you don’t, his fingers slide between yours, holding on carefully as you let him. two idiots standing in the middle of the bedroom, hearts pounding, neither of you quite sure how things got this far.

“i’m sorry i lied and hid things from you, and i promise you, i don’t watch those videos anymore, not like that,” his thumb brushes over your knuckles in soothing circles, “to me you’re…” he exhales, searching for the words, his gaze flickers downward for a moment before snapping back up, “...you’re everything. my dream girl. someone i want to take out on dates, fall asleep next to, and wake up with. someone i want to call my girlfriend, and so much more.”

“san…”

he is clearly realizing what he just admitted, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, his grip tightens a little.

“and yeah, maybe it drives me insane knowing other people get to see you in such light, because they don’t know you,” he says. “they don’t get the version of you that gets angry when you don’t get your daily dose of sugar, or analyzes the entire discography of some singer. they neither see your smile when you win a game, nor see how you drool while sleeping in my arms, when you are truly relaxed.”

san exhales slowly, trying to get control of himself, but it’s obvious he’s failing. his voice drops lower,  “honestly…” he admits, almost under his breath, “being in this room right now is kind of torture.”

his eyes flick down your body again — your bare legs, the thin panties, the oversized shirt that belongs to him, then back to your face. your beautiful face and those lovely sparkling eyes that shouldn't have tears of anger or frustration, but of happiness, and he will make sure to bring the light in them again. so far, he is succeeding.

“i’ve seen you naked a hundred times… but this is the first time you’re actually standing this close to me.”

you’re the one who moves first without even thinking twice. your hands are untangled from his, going to tighten in his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss that completely knocks the breath out of him. san freezes for half a second before he melts into it, his hands finally finding your waist as he clumsily kisses you back.

the kiss is messy, weeks of tension snapping all at once. he stumbles back a step when you push him, still kissing him, your bodies colliding until the back of his knees hit the mattress, making the bed dip as he falls onto it, and you follow immediately, landing on top of him. the movement makes him gasp softly against your mouth. for someone who’s watched you on a screen countless times, the reality of you straddling him feels almost like an illusion.

your lips part from his slowly. when he looks up at you, slightly dazed, you’re smirking. your fingers slide onto his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath.

"do you want to fuck a pornstar?"

you straddle him, hips grinding slowly, as if you aren’t fully aware of what you’re doing to him. san’s hands are on your waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of the shirt you’re wearing, as he just looks up at you: your hair falls around your face as you lean down again, lips brushing his, teasing, barely giving him a real kiss before pulling away.

smiling like you already know the answer, thinking you’ve won, as your hips grind down once more, and you dip your head again to kiss him…

“do you want to fuck a virgin?”

the words land quietly between your mouths, making you freeze on the spot. your body goes rigid on top of him, the movement stopping so suddenly as your lips part slightly, eyes blinking as if you’re not sure you heard him right.

“what?”

but san doesn’t repeat it; he just watches the surprise slowly spread across your face. the shock and the confusion, how your body tenses, and that’s when he moves. his hands tighten around your waist, and suddenly the world flips. the mattress dips beneath your back as he rolls you over, the breath leaving your lungs in a quiet gasp as you land against the sheets.

your hair spills across the pillow, heart hammering from how sudden the action was, and now he’s above you. san braces his arms on either side of your head, caging you in, his body settling between your legs. your eyes flicker between his face and his arms, the muscles in his biceps flexing from the way he’s holding himself above you.

“a virgin?” you finally whisper, san tilts his head slightly, studying your every tiny reaction. there’s a faint smirk tugging at his mouth now, but his eyes look different.

not like the men you’ve been with before. definitely not like the ones on set, or the ones who look at you like you’re something to consume. there’s something that’s not lust… something that makes you feel the butterflies in your stomach, maybe it’s love?

“san…” your voice drops, because wait, does that mean… your eyes widen a little more. “don’t tell me that means i’m–”

he hums softly, his shoulders lift slightly in a casual shrug, but the way he’s looking at you says everything. you stare at him, brain racing and going in outer space to think about everything you know about him, or thought you knew: no girlfriends, more so no stories about exes. the way he used to get shy sometimes when you kissed him out of nowhere as well… the way he was hesitant not to go beyond making out.

because san learned how to kiss from kissing you, he never talked about exes because there weren’t any. leaning down slightly, cutting you off before you can finish the thought.

“what is it, baby?” the word hits you harder than the flip onto the bed. baby. your face warms instantly, as the smirk on his face grows just a little as he watches the rare sight of you being utterly speechless. “what happened? a minute ago, you were so confident.”

your hands clutch the fabric of his shirt as your brain struggles to catch up.

“mm, so,” he hums again, gaze drifting briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes once more. “still want to do it?”

he is the first man to ever get you into a state like this.

not mingyu with his size kink, not taehyung when he used to kiss his way down on you, and definitely not jungkook when he pinned your wrists above your head like it was nothing. none of them, even scripted, could do that. yet san, who claims he’s a virgin, is the one who has you breathless beneath him. you are used to being desired physically, but not emotionally. 

he knows you from the outside. he had time to learn that much, the expressions you make, the way you laugh, the little habits you don’t even realize you have. now he’s looking at you like he’s about to learn the rest of it from the inside. leaning down and pressing a soft peck to your lips. your hands immediately move to the hem of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you start to remove it. san notices, chuckling, 

“my girl is impatient?”

the words make your hands pause halfway up his torso. my girl. oh… oh god. the simple praise hits you harder than anything else tonight. you’re the one freezing, fingers still tangled in the cotton of his shirt, and why are you nervous?

you, the woman people call the sex symbol of the century. you, who has done things on camera that make strangers lose their minds, here you are staring up at him like you forgot how to talk to a man or form a proper thought.

“what? you don’t like it?” his brow lifts slightly, and your silence makes his smile grow a little more mischievous. you like pet names, that’s for sure, and this is his first time using one. he wanted to see what you liked and what you didn't.

“princess.” he says softly, and your stomach flips.

“angel.” your throat feels dry.

“doll.” you swear he could call you the worst things imaginable, like a whore or a good-for-nothing cumdump, and you’d still melt under that voice.

“stop distracting me,” you mumble, because you were supposed to be the one to make him flustered and lose his mind.

“i’m distracting you?” you tug his shirt up and over his head; it falls somewhere beside the bed. you’ve seen his body before, you know he’s toned and takes great care of his appearance, broad through the shoulders, arms stronger than they look when he’s casually making coffee or mixing cake batter in the kitchen. his skin is warm beneath your hands as you slide them over his chest, and heat rushes through it, almost making you dizzy.

you are wet and desperate already, and for the first time in your life, the feeling almost makes you feel like you’re the inexperienced one, as if you’re the virgin. the adorable and shy boy you met is still somewhere inside him. he’s just… stepping outside his comfort zone tonight. your fingers trail across his chest again before sliding up around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

your lips meet his in a rather slow and intense kiss. san exhales softly against your mouth. your hands wander over his back, exploring, your manicured nails digging in, learning the shape of him, the way he’s been learning you. 

he didn’t want to rush it, but neither of you had the patience for that. forcing himself to slow down as he slid lower along your body, his hands dragging your t-shirt up inch by inch as he moved. the fabric gathered at your ribs, then higher, until it was bunched at your chest.

your head tipped back immediately, back arched, palms pressing against his shoulders, nails digging slightly into warm skin. his eyes lifted to yours, soft but daring.

“show me who you are,” there was something almost pleading in his gaze, something hungry but reverent at the same time. you understood instantly what he meant, even before his lips brushed warm air over your exposed stomach, whispering, “pornstar.” 

then he pulled the shirt over your head completely and tossed it aside. now you were laid bare for him, almost naked, if not for the damp lace clinging to your hips. san stared for a moment when his mouth found your skin. he kissed down your body, open-mouthed and warm, leaving a wet trail of heat until he reached your chest. his lips wrapped around one breast while his hand closed around the other, squeezing, as if he’d been waiting forever to have you like this.

you gasped, hips shifting, your fingers tangled into his hair while he sucked and licked like he’d been doing this his entire life.

“s–san…” your voice came out breathless, as he hummed. “do you… know how to leave hickeys?”

he paused, his mouth lifted from you, eyes flicking up.

“don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“i don’t care, i will call sick… i want you in and on my body.”

that was all the permission he needed. then he leaned back down with his mouth latched onto your skin again — your chest, collarbone, neck, careful at first, then harder. your skin flushed under his mouth, blooming into deep shades of red he clearly approved of.

he might be a virgin, but he wasn’t clueless. san had watched enough tutorials, read enough things, paid attention to enough details to know exactly what he was doing. late-night curiosity, and you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat. just because he hadn’t slept with anyone didn’t mean he was innocent, because mentally he was a whore.

and you wanted the evidence. you wanted the marks, the proof pressed into your skin. tomorrow those women colleagues of yours at work will see, maybe they’d realize you were more than the filthy comments online and the overly good reviews, more than the way your male co-stars bragged about spoiling you.

you are more than your looks and a body on a screen.

your breathing grew heavier by the second. your hands didn’t know what to do: grabbing his shoulders, sliding down his back, nails digging into the muscle there hard enough that next time he went to the gym, someone might ask if he fought a feral lynx.

but you couldn’t help it, could you now? he was everywhere with his mouth, his hands, the heat of his body pressing into yours…

“ah!” the sound burst from you when his teeth suddenly sank into your shoulder, enough to sting. you’d been bitten before. yeonjun had a habit of it when things got heated; however, the pressure of san’s bite, the slow drag of his teeth against your skin, and the way his tongue soothed the spot right after. it hurt, and somehow felt too good at the same time.

the bite pulls a sound from you that sits somewhere between pain and pleasure, making you jolt before melting into heat. he soothes it immediately with his tongue, and the second he feels you not pulling away, his confidence grows. he lingers there for a moment, watching your face, studying the way your expression and breathing change, and realizes you liked it. only then does he start moving down your body again, giving you time to recover… or so you think. you can already see the faint bruises blooming across your chest and shoulders, a few scattered lower on your stomach, and for a second, you worry about what must be happening to your neck. well… that’s a problem for tomorrow.

he moves, you tense a little, and of course, he notices. the subtle shift in your muscles doesn’t stop him; it only pushes him further. his lips keep trailing downward, kissing slowly along until his face is hovering just above the lace of your panties, and then he looks up at you from down there. the sight alone makes heat rush to your cheeks. you think he’ll use his hands, maybe hook his fingers into the fabric and slide them down as anyone else would, but… he doesn’t.

using his teeth, slowly gripping the waistband between them by giving a teasing tug, the lace stretching as he pulls it down inch by inch, his hands only joining in when his index fingers slip beneath the sides to help guide the fabric lower. the delicate material strains, stretching tight between his fingers before the sound finally breaks the quiet with a soft stretch, then a rip. you freeze when you hear it, he just stares at the ruined lace in his hands… and then looks back up at you. a sheepish, almost sweet smile spreads across his face. 

“my next paycheck will cover that.”

setting the ruined lace aside like it doesn’t matter at all, because right now it clearly doesn’t. when his attention returns to you, he looks like he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. his expression softens with something dangerously close to awe, like every part of you is somehow prettier now that he’s seeing it with his own eyes instead of through a screen. is this really what a wet and pretty pussy looks like in real life?

he can’t stop staring, and the intensity of it makes you suddenly shy again. you, the pornstar, feeling shy. naked in a way you never expected, exposed under the weight of his gaze, almost wanting to close your legs just to hide. he doesn’t let you. strong hands settle on your thighs, holding them open just enough so he can keep looking, letting himself enjoy the view before he completely loses control. and god, he’s jealous. jealous of jungkook, jealous of mingyu, jealous of anyone who has ever gotten to see you like this face to face… or face to cunt, if he’s being honest.

“san, please…” your voice comes out softer than you meant it to, breath catching somewhere in your chest. “just… start slow, use your tongue first to explore.”

you start to guide him, words meant to tell him what to do, but he barely needs them. you could probably stay silent, and he’d still know. he’s a fan, after all. the obsessed and attentive kind, also the pretty one. why lie to ourselves? he might be some kind of creep, but pretty privilege is a real thing.

the truth is, he’s learned more than enough from watching mingyu alone — the way that man eats anything put in front of him like it’s the last meal on earth. absolutely feral, and apparently a very good teacher… of course, for purely scientific purposes. besides, you’re even more beautiful up close than the camera ever showed. no one ever talked about how tender you are here. videos never showed this part, probably because everything there is scripted, exaggerated, and forced into angles that sell the fantasy.

“don’t worry, princess,” he murmurs when he finally lifts himself closer to you again, warm breath hovering there. “you’ll enjoy it as much as i will.”

if you’re not relaxed, you’re not going to come, and right now your body is too aware of every place he’s yet to touch. so you force yourself to let go of the tension, sinking back against the mattress, trusting him. the funny thing is, san thought he’d be nervous when this moment finally happened. thought he’d freeze, hesitate, panic.

instead… his body just knows what to do.

and you know what they say before dinner, thank you for the meal. his hands slide beneath you, lifting your hips so he can support your back better, positioning you exactly where he wants you. then his tongue finally moves. slow at first, smooth and deliberate, pushing forward with careful strokes like he’s testing you, exploring this new territory.

san can’t quite believe he’s actually doing it, can’t believe you taste this sweet, and this real. your breathing turns heavier, surprised at how gentle he is and what he’s about to do next. he speeds up just a little after that, growing bolder, saliva gathering so everything becomes slicker, wetter, and messier in the best way. he isn’t rushing though, not at all. he’s paying attention to every reaction your body gives him. his nails aren’t long, but his fingers dig slightly into your thighs to hold you steady, and that alone pulls a soft moan from you.

“angel, if i do something you like…” pausing to lift his head to glance up at you again before that devilish little smile spreads across his mouth. “tell me.”

then he dives back in, dragging his tongue up your slit before sealing his mouth around you, sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk. the wet sounds are shameless now, muffled only by his low groans as he presses closer. god, he’s only just started. you don’t even know what turns you on more — the feeling of his mouth buried between your legs, lapping and tasting like he’s starving for it, or the fact that your soon-to-be boyfriend, the shy virgin you thought you knew, somehow knows exactly what he’s doing.

your thighs clamp around his head as your body reacts harder with every flick of his tongue. each movement draws another whine from you, louder than the last, your chest rising and falling as your fingers thread through his silky black hair. you tug, not to pull him away, no, the opposite. you push him deeper, forcing him closer.

“t-that’s it, s-sannie…” your voice shakes as you breathe it out.

you’re divine like this: strings of saliva stretch from his lower lip to your folds when he lifts his mouth enough to breathe, his nose brushing against you while his tongue circles back again. he moans into you, the vibration sending another jolt through your body. he’s completely drunk on you now, lost in the taste and the sounds you’re making for him. his hips start grinding against the mattress without him even realizing it, desperate and messy, while his tongue moves faster. maybe it’s because you’re praising him, the way you sound when you say his name, or maybe it’s because this moment he’d imagined too many times is finally real, and his ego is feeding on every gasp you give him.

somewhere along the way, he relaxes completely. the nervous thoughts about whether he’d be good enough disappear the second you start moaning his name. after that, the pace only picks up.

“san, san, san, san–”

you chant it breathlessly, but he barely hears you anymore. he’s too focused, too lost in the rhythm of it, too busy devouring you with his mouth and tongue like he never wants to stop. breathing is becoming difficult for him, too; his chest rises faster as he keeps going.

but he doesn’t care, why would he? this is exactly where he wants to be.

tongue licking a filthy stripe from your clit down to your fluttering hole, he had never tasted anything so intoxicating in his life. greedy slurping sounds fill the room as his face stays buried between your thighs, and honestly don’t mind him or his sudden urge to commit every possible sin as he nudges and prods at your sensitive bundle of nerves. please excuse this gentleman for the mouthfuls of saliva drenching your pussylips and dribbling down onto your bedsheets while he eats you like a man starved for years, licking deep and slow before dragging his tongue back up again just to feel you shudder.

“ah– fuck, san… please, ‘m gonna–” you sob, your hands gripping his scalp, fingers tangling in his hair as your thighs tremble helplessly under his grip. he’s relentless, licking you so obscenely that tears prick the corners of your eyes, your cries getting louder with every sloppy flick of his tongue. you try to guide him through it, voice shaking as you gasp, “s-slower… no– wait, right there… fuck, sannie keep doing that, don’t stop… use your tongue like that– oh god…” and he listens, of course he does, drinking in every instruction like gospel.

“i can’t– fuck i’m gonna– san, please f-fuck…” your voice breaks into a helpless whimper as he keeps devouring you, keeps groaning into your pussy like he’s starving and you’re the only meal he’s ever been allowed to have. you’re shaking now, sobbing his name, legs barely holding you steady while he feasts like a man obsessed, like every sound you make is pushing him further into madness. his hips start grinding against the mattress beneath him without him even realizing it, chasing something through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, desperate and needy while his tongue keeps working you open.

you feel your orgasm rushing closer and closer, your gummy walls clenching tightly around his tongue as he pushes it deeper, and you grind against his mouth while the pleasure crashes through you in hot waves. he groans underneath you when it hits, the sound vibrating straight through your body as your essence spills into his mouth, and he swallows greedily, gulping it down like he’s afraid to waste even a single drop. if this is heaven, then god help him because he never wants to leave — buried between your legs, drunk on your sweetness, licking his lips after just to chase the last lingering taste of you.

and the craziest part is that he doesn’t stop. even after you come, even after your body trembles and tries to pull away, he keeps lapping at you again and again like he can’t get enough, tongue dragging slow circles that make you jolt from the oversensitivity until you finally have to tug his hair hard just to pull him back. somewhere beneath you, he’s still grinding against the mattress, grey sweatpants definitely have dark stains spreading across the fabric, while he pants against your thigh like someone who’s completely lost his mind.

you can’t believe that the same boy who once got shy handing you his hoodie, just ate you out like he hadn’t seen food in years. as time had frozen for him and suddenly started moving again all at once. believe it or not, he’s twenty-seven years old, and yeah, he might have missed a lot along the way… but somehow, waiting this long made the moment even better. maybe things like this really do happen when you least expect them.

then he kisses his way back up your body, slow and unhurried, and when his mouth finally reaches yours, you taste yourself on his lips, like sugar on his tongue, your body is so sweet. he kisses you again, savoring it, doesn’t want the flavor to disappear. the moment lingers long enough for something strange to happen inside your head. flashes of memory, comparisons you didn’t ask for.

jungkook, mingyu, yeonjun… men who had touched you before, on and off set. men who knew how to make you feel good. but san, especially like this, completely pussy drunk and dazed, is nothing like them. there’s something different in the way he looks at you, love and lust at the same time. your hands move, sliding over his chest, down his stomach, until your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants and tug them lower.

you recover slowly from the climax and notice his state. the moment your eyes meet again, you feel something twist in your chest because you have never seen anyone look at you like that before. that alone almost makes you want to cry again. you don’t even know exactly what the feeling is: there are too many emotions tangled together, things you don’t have names for yet because you’ve never experienced them before. but somehow you’re experiencing them now.

san still looks starstruck, a little dazed, his skin flushed and his body hot like a man on fire. somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers jungkook pressing that condom into his hand earlier, but the thought fades almost immediately. fuck that. he waited too long for this moment, waited too long to have a girl with him, to prove to himself that he could love and be loved, that he wouldn’t die a virgin. and then you speak, still breathless but smiling softly at him, telling him that even though you’re amazed by what he just did down there, now it’s your turn.

"let me show you how good i can be… i’m nothing like those videos, please sannie…"

and he knows that. he knows you’re nothing like those videos, because he knows porn sells delusions to perverted gooners like him and countless others. he is so in love with you, he realizes it again right there, clear and undeniable. the way you’re looking at him with those glossy eyes, your lips swollen and slightly wet, your voice soft when you say his name… it’s enough to make his heart pound like crazy. part of him already wants to put a ring on your finger just for looking at him like that.

“doll,” he murmurs, his hands hovering before gently lacing his fingers with yours. your skin brushes his and you realize how hot he feels, almost burning under your touch. well… he really is one fine-looking man, and you will absolutely suck him some other time. he’s not the only one with a big appetite. “i’m all yours.”

no need to be told twice. you hook his pants down properly this time, pushing the fabric past his hips as you lean forward to kiss his chest, then lower to his stomach, taking your time inspecting and exploring his body. the position changes as he lies back while you move lower, until both his boxers and sweatpants are pushed away in one go. your hand wraps around him slowly, stroking him while your lips press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, tongue flicking out just enough to taste. you keep eye contact the entire time. breathy moans echo through the room, his lips parting as he whispers your name under his breath before squeezing his eyes shut from the pleasure. the thought that he’s actually going to be inside you tonight makes his head spin. it will be nothing like the stupid toy he used before.

you climb back up, straddling him, the tip brushing against your already wet and puffy folds. slowly and carefully, you begin lowering yourself down. and when you start taking him inside, your mind makes the comparison again. san reminds you a little of jungkook — but thicker, fuller… honestly perfect. you’ve taken plenty of men before, enough that your body knows how to adjust easily, but this feels different somehow. as you sink down on him, you’re doing this for him just as much as for yourself. and yet something about it feels strange. sex has always just been… work, something physical. but with san you suddenly realize the difference: before, you were fucking. with him, this might actually be lovemaking.

now that he’s beneath you with you fully seated on him, san looks absolutely feral again… and a little submissive too, letting you guide the pace and show him how it’s done. he doesn’t mind that you’re the more experienced one, not when the feeling of your velvety walls hugging him so tightly almost makes his brain shut down. it feels like you were made for him, like your body knows exactly how to hold him.

the wet sloshing sound of your cunt moving around his length fills the room as you start to move, and he swears he can feel the deepest parts of you gripping him. is this what it feels like to touch someone’s soul? the sensation is almost too much, and a helpless whimper slips from his mouth as his hands finally move, settling on your waist to steady you. though honestly… he thinks he’s the one who might need more support. because the heat building in his body is unbearable, burning hot, and he’s not sure how long he’ll actually last like this.

with your hands pressing down on san’s broad chest, his breath uneven, eyes wide in a way that made you want to chuckle at how adorable he is right now.

“relax for me,” your murmur, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “just watch.”

for a moment you stay still like that, straddling him, feeling the heat of his body beneath yours, adjusting to his size. grip tighten slightly on your hips, and he swallows, adam apple bopping,  “you’re… actually going to–”

“mm,” humming softly, leaning forward to peck his lips. “i told you i would show you.”

his gaze flickers downward for a second before snapping back to your face, ears turning red, and then you finally begin to move.

pushing yourself up and down, you thrust his thick cock in and out of you while his fingers dig lightly into your flesh, helping guide the glide of your hips. every time you rise he slips halfway out, and every time you drop again your pussy swallows him whole, greedy and warm, your walls fluttering around his length like they don’t want to let him go. the sensation sends sparks straight up his spine, his cock already too sensitive from everything you did to it before and now you’re taking him raw like this, riding him like he has no chance of surviving.

you bite your lower lip as your own moans begin climbing higher, losing yourself in the rhythm of it, just as san loses himself in you. he tries to match the rocking of your hips with small thrusts of his own, clumsy at first but eager, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder with every movement. anticipation coils tight in his stomach, he slows you down with a firm grip on your hips so that he can look at you properly. his eyes wander helplessly: from your face twisted in pleasure, to the way your breasts bounce with each movement, then lower to where your bodies meet, watching the way you take him inside you.

"you feel so good, baby… so damn good, ahh~ you look so beautiful." his voice breaks halfway through, licking his lips as his body trembles under you, the sight alone nearly too much for him to handle. his fingers press harder into your hips, almost bruising as he steadies you while you grind and roll your hips again, snapping them forward in a way that makes him gasp. he’s completely obsessed with the way your body moves on top of him, the way your cunt grips him every time you sink down. “keep going like that… yeah, just like that, princess… use me as you wish.”

his praise spills out nonstop, voice low and wrecked as he stares at you like he’s hypnotized, whispering things under his breath that barely make sense anymore. you are too cockdrunk to process anything properly. isn’t he one extremely lucky bastard? he’s actually fucking a pornstar, and not just any pornstar in the world… it’s you.

you ride him faster, san’s hips start moving too once your weight settles on him properly, confidence growing quickly now that he understands the rhythm. he thrusts up into you in small, desperate movements, helping meet you halfway. a fast learner, what can he say?

you want to scream about how fucking good he feels inside you, the way he fits and fills you so perfectly… wait, filling? your thoughts stumble for a second because the feeling changes suddenly. heat spreads through him and his hips jerk under you, a broken sound leaving his throat before he even realizes what’s happening — he’s already coming.

eyes flutter shut as his head falls back against the pillow. his hands tighten around your waist as his body tenses, warmth spilling inside you in thick pulses while he groans helplessly beneath you. it’s messy, sudden, and more so completely unplanned. his first time losing control like that, and it hits him harder than he ever imagined.

but instead of stopping, the new sensation makes you gasp too. the way he throbs inside you, the way your body clenches around him, it sends another sharp wave of pleasure straight through you. your hips stutter but don’t stop, grinding down on him again as you chase that rising heat inside your own body.

“f-fuck, san– ” your voice cracks as your movements grow uneven, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. you weren’t expecting it, the way hitting that spot suddenly sends sparks shooting through you, but now that you’ve found it your body refuses to let go, chasing your own high.

san whimpers, still sensitive and shaking as he watches you ride it out on top of him, eyes half-lidded and completely dazed. his hands slide up your waist, afraid you might collapse, holding you while you tremble over him. and when your body finally tips over the edge, a broken sob leaves your lips as the pleasure crashes through you, tears slipping free while your hips slow against his. he can only stare up at you, breathless and overwhelmed, still can’t believe that just happened.

he doesn't want the distance between you anymore.

slowly, his large hands slide from your waist to your shoulders, guiding you down as he bottoms out for a bit with a soft, breathless grunt. he shifts his weight, rolling you onto your back against the tangled sheets. looming over you, his frame silhouetted by the dim light, looking at you as if you are the only thing in the world that holds any light, maybe because you are his angel.

"you're so beautiful," his voice is stripped of its usual gentleness. "i can't... i can't look away from you."

he leans down, his lips trailing hot, lingering kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck. he breathes you in, a shaky sigh escaping him. then, one of his hands finds yours, pinning them to the pillow above your head. the dominance is just him saying i have you, and i’m never letting go.

"look at me, angel." he commands softly, and when your eyes meet his, you see the man who is normally quiet and yielding now taking charge because he worships the ground you walk on. "i want to see your face when i’m inside you. no cameras and no acting. just you you and me, okay?"

as he enters you again, the pace is different now. it’s slow and intentional. he grinds his hips against yours with a firm pressure that makes your toes curl. every thrust is accompanied by a praise that vibrates against your skin.

"that's it, baby... take all of me," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the back of your hand where he has it pinned. "you're so perfect. the way you feel around me... it’s like you were made for this."

he begins to move faster, the softness breaking as his grip on your wrists tightens slightly as he hovers over you, his eyes never leaving yours. watching every flinch and gasp, every arch of your back with a look of adoration.

"i love you," the words falling from his lips like a prayer, a confession meant only for you to hear, a blessing perhaps. he repeats it, over and over, punctuating each deep, rhythmic push. "i love you, i love you so much. you're mine to kiss, hold and love."

the pleasure is different this time — it’s heavy and soul-aching. an intimacy that makes your heart feel too big for your chest. as you reach for that peak again, san doesn't let you drift away. he leans down, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

"good girl... just like that. give it all to me," his body tensing as he nears his own limit again. "i’ve got you, yeah?"

when the final wave crashes over both of you, it’s a total eclipse of the senses. he collapses into you, his weight a comforting pressure, his face hidden in your hair as he gasps for air. keeping your hands pinned for a few seconds longer, before softening and pulling you into his chest, holding you so close you can feel the frantic, matching thrum of your hearts.

it’s grounding. the way he holds you and looks at you, eyes swimming with a devotion so pure it hurts to witness. he stays buried inside, and a sob finally breaks from your throat. 

“san– please,” you gasp, eyes opening to gaze at him. “i need you… please.”

you want him to reach the parts of you that have been numb for years. you want him to touch your soul until the performative version of you is burned away entirely. but as he moves, the tears start falling in earnest. they track down your cheeks, soaking everything, and you find yourself unable to form a coherent sentence.

san freezes instantly, his hands shaking as he releases you to cup your face.

“hey, hey... baby, look at me,” he whispers, his voice tender. “did i hurt you? i’m sorry, i’m so sorry– i’ll stop, we can stop right now.”

he starts to pull back, his face pale with worry, but you let out a distressed sound, your legs hooking around his waist to lock him in place. you pull his hand back to your mouth, kissing his palm while the tears blur your vision.

“no, don’t... don’t stop,” you choke out, your voice small and trembling. “don’t leave. it’s just... it’s too much. i’ve never… san, nobody has ever looked at me like this. nobody has ever touched me like this” when you look up at him, your heart exposed and bleeding. “i’m not used to this. i keep thinking i’m going to wake up and you’ll realize i’m just... i’m not worth this. you’re too good for someone like me.”

san’s expression shatters. he doesn't pull away this time; he sinks back into you, even deeper than before, a slow, possessive slide that makes your eyes roll back.

“(name), don’t say that,” he murmurs against your lips, “i don’t care about what anyone else sees. i see you, so please… let me take care of you. let me show you how much i love you.”

he begins to move again, but it’s more intense now, driven by a need to soothe your doubts with his body. every thrust is a silent promise, every low groan of your name is a tether back to reality. he worships every inch of skin he can reach, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and heat.

“you’re mine,” his hands sliding under your back to arch you up, meeting him stroke for stroke. “every part of you… let me all the way in.”

you’re left breathless, stunned by the realization that this isn’t a scene and there’s no director to yell cut. it’s just san, and the way he’s loving you is so profound it leaves you lovesick, your heart racing with a dizzying, permanent kind of hunger for the man who finally made you feel whole.

you both lost all sense of time, couldn't say if it’s been two hours or five. you are lost in the rhythm of him, an endless cycle of heat and surrender that has left your mind blissfully blank. you don’t even know how many times your vision has gone white as san’s name was dragged out of your throat in a desperate plea. every time you thought you were empty, he found a way to fill you again — not just with his body, but with that terrifying kind of gut-wrenching devotion.

he’s come inside you so many times now that you feel heavy with him, stuffed to the brim. usually, your professional self would be calculating the cleanup, the detachment and they payment. but with san, you find yourself praying it stays. you want to keep the warmth of him inside you for as long as humanly possible, a secret mark of how thoroughly he has claimed you. wanting to keep every drop of him trapped and carry the weight of his love like a secret for as long as he’ll allow it. 

another wave starts to build by the way his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your shoulder while his hands pin your wrists back again. it’s a dizzying mix of his natural gentleness and this new hunger you triggered.

“san, please... i can’t– i’m going to cum again,” you sob, your hips stuttering upward to meet his. your fingers are digging into the muscle of his forearms as he drives into you again, his pace bordering on frantic now. 

“baby, look at me and don’t close your eyes.” the honesty in his voice is the reason to pull the trigger. “i love you, i love you so much.”

your body clenching around him so tightly it forces a strangled groan from his lungs. you’re drowning in the sensation of him, of being adored so completely it hurts. as your climax ripples through you, san let’s out a low cry, his own body stiffening as he hits his limit one last time, pouring everything he has left into you.

the silence that is broken only by the sound of two hearts trying to find a shared rhythm. he doesn't pull away. instead he collapses against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, wrapping his strong arms around you. he stays buried deep inside you, refusing to let the contact break. for a while, you just stay like this. his breath is warm against your skin, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, because he is so worried, and so intensely kind, it makes your chest ache.

“are you... are you okay?” he whispers, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "i... i didn't mean to go so long. i just couldn't stop. i've never felt... like that. i didn't hurt you, did i?" 

you try to find your voice, but your throat is tight with a fresh wave of emotion. you just shake your head, playing with his hands, breathing in the scent of him. "no, san. it was... perfect. i've never been loved like that before."

he stays quiet for a moment, one hand tracing the curve of your hip. "i want to do this right," he says softly, "i know... i've read that you’re supposed to go to the bathroom, right? and i can get you water, or a towel, or... tell me what you need. i want to take care of you. just tell me what to do."

you feel a laugh bubble up in your chest, because this man, your man, is so worried about doing everything "by the book”. he’s so earnest and focused on your well-being that he’s willing to break this perfect, post-coital haze just to be sure he’s taking care of you right.

"shhh," you turn around slightly and press a finger to his lips to quiet his rambling heart. "i'll manage, sannie. we'll shower together in a little while. but right now... don't move."

you shift closer, tangling your legs with his, feeling the messy, warm reality of your shared intimacy between your thighs. for the first time in your life, you don't feel the urge to run or to clean the slate. you just want to exist here, naked and vulnerable in the arms of a man who sees the person behind the persona.

"just stay here," you whisper against his heartbeat, san sighs and tucks your head under his chin. "just stay with me."

his arms tighten around you, his kiss landing softly on the top of your head. “i’m not going anywhere.” because you were always the person he was waiting to find and spend his life with.

san watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, the weight of the moment settling over him like a prayer. he’d spent his life in the quiet corners of that café, a spectator to other people’s stories, never imagining he’d be the protagonist of one this intense.

how did i get here? he thinks back to the cafe, to the way he used to keep his head down, content to live his life in the margins. he was just a man who made coffee and stayed out of the way; he wasn't supposed to be the one holding a woman like you. a spectator to other people’s stories, never imagining he’d be the protagonist of one this intense. 

out of everyone who knows her name, everyone who looks at her and sees a dream... she chose me. she chose the man who just wanted to know if she liked the cake they made. 

you are the most beautiful, chaotic, and unexpected thing to ever break the false narrative. he’s aware of his own lack of experience, of how much bigger your world is than his, but you chose him. you looked past the fan he feared he was and saw a man worth loving. you gave him a chance to see the girl behind the camera, and in return, he showed you a side of yourself you’d forgotten existed. 

he leans to press one more lingering kiss into the crown of your head, with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

twenty-seven years waiting for his life to actually begin. he had spent so long wondering if he was missing something, if he was unlovable and not worth loving. but now he knows the answer. every lonely shift at the café, every shy hesitation, and every year spent alone had simply been leading him to you — it was worth the wait.

wooyoung, mingi, and yunho were sprawled across san’s living room, completely absorbed in the new game that had dropped a couple days ago. empty snack wrappers were scattered across the coffee table, mingi hunched forward on the couch while wooyoung kept yelling at the screen every time he missed a move.

“bro, that was your fault!” wooyoung groaned, shoving yunho’s shoulder rather exaggeratedly.

“how was that my fault?” yunho shot back, as he mashed the buttons on his controller. “you ran straight into the enemy!”

before wooyoung could argue back, the front door suddenly clicked open. the sound of the door closing followed, then the soft rustling of clothes and the unmistakable thud of someone slipping their shoes off by the entrance. three heads slowly turned toward san, then toward the hallway, then back to san.

“san…” wooyoung said slowly, eyes narrowing. “you locked the door, right?”

“yeah,” san didn’t even look up from his controller. “but my girlfriend probably finished work early.”

there was a full second of silence before they realized what he just said.

“girlfriend!?”

three voices exploded at the same time, loud enough to probably wake the neighbors. all of them snapped toward san with identical wide eyes and open mouths as someone had just announced the world was going to end tomorrow.

“yeah?” 

“yeah?” wooyoung shot up from the couch like he’d been electrocuted. “what do you mean by yeah?”

“oh, didn’t i tell you?” glancing over at them like he was going to remind them of something they already knew. “our eighth month anniversary is next week.”

“no the fuck you did not!” wooyoung shouted, mouth wide open because his own best friend, the man who he has a matching tattoo, hid such a thing. “the hell do you mean eight months?! choi san, what the actual fuck?”

“eight months?” yunho looked equally horrified.

“eight months!” wooyoung yelled again, pointing aggressively at san like he was presenting evidence in court. “you’ve been dating someone for that long and you just… forgot to mention it?”

mingi let out a dramatic sigh from the couch. “and to think i bet money he’d die single…” he muttered, staring down at the floor while mentally calculating his losses. “damn it. that’s fifty bucks to seonghwa.”

“hey!” san immediately smacked him on the shoulder.

“but it’s true!” mingi complained, rubbing his arm. “you’ve been single since forever!”

yunho, meanwhile, was still processing this life-altering revelation. he leaned back in the armchair, absentmindedly flipping his lighter open and closed while squinting at san.

“but seriously, why didn’t you tell us?”

“i just… wanted to see if it would work out first,” san shrugged, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “she did too since she’s really busy, always traveling and working, so it’s kinda complicated sometimes, and–”

“hi sannie, and hey boys!” your voice cut through the room as you walked in, making all three of them instinctively turn to greet you. “oh, hey–” and then immediately froze.

you popped into the living room from behind the couch with bright energy, leaning over the backrest and wrapping your arms around san’s chest from behind. he leaned back into you while you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“did jungkook drive you here?” your boyfriend asked, turning his head slightly toward you.

“yeah, mingyu was with us too. he even bought me lunch, so don’t worry, i already ate.”

the room went completely silent; three brains malfunctioned at once. jungkook? mingyu? as in the jeon jungkook and kim mingyu? the ridiculously famous, internet-breaking, industry-dominating pornstars?

yunho’s lighter stopped mid-click, mingi’s sunglasses were about to fall from his nose, wooyoung looked like his soul had temporarily left his body, because the person casually hugging san right now…was you.

one of the most recognizable adult actresses on the planet. half their twitter feeds were clips of you, the internet, and they thirsted over you, and you were currently hugging their best friend and being affectionate… is that san’s gap sweater you are wearing?

you noticed the staring immediately. it wasn’t exactly new; people stared at you everywhere, but this one had a different weight to it. this was probably the first time your relationship with san had become… publicly known, and apparently in front of his closest friends.

mingi leaned toward yunho and whispered, “am i hallucinating?”

yunho whispered back, “i don’t think so.”

wooyoung suddenly grabbed mingi’s arm.

“pinch me.” mingi pinched him, very hard. “ow, that hurt.”

you smiled sweetly, clearly amused by the meltdown happening in front of you.

“i can give you autographs later if you want,” you said, stretching your arms above your head. “but right now i’m exhausted, so i’m gonna nap.” you leaned down to kiss san’s cheek again, then glancing at the three statues in the room. “please don’t be noisy, okay?”

and with that, you slipped away down the hallway toward the bedroom. the door closed softly, and silence filled the apartment. three heads slowly turned toward san, their expressions looked like they had just witnessed the eighth wonder of the world, then in perfect unison:

“you are dating (name) (last name)!!?”

san sighed, closing his eyes and lips tight, throwing his head back against the cushion.

“and that’s exactly why i didn’t want to tell you.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AKA CHOI SAN ♡

hi, if you made it all the way to this very end, thank you. but i also need you to know that this is officially my last ateez fanfic, and the end of @kisssan as well. i hope you enjoyed the story. i won't be logging back in to read comments, reply, or see likes. this account is going silent, and i'm not coming back. thank you for everything, take care and don't forget to show support for the authors who give their all to give you something to enjoy.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

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[malsmoony]

been a LONG time since i’ve read a good ateez smut 10/10

[malsmoony]

i’m gonna be petty but idc yolo!!!

my ex best friend is on here and they make nct text fics and shit like that (no shade i’m a nctzen) but okay so long story short we were friends for almost a decade and literally on 127 day she decided she didn’t want to be friends anymore WITH NO REASONING AT ALL MIND YOU. just thought i would let you guys know before interacting.

also if she sees this it’s glad to see that you still use your phone and hiding behind it at your grown age. grow up and text me back and also give me all of my things back please and thank you!!

anyways rant over 🫰

[sailorsoons]

The Jester (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jester!Jeonghan x Princess!Reader SUMMARY: You've spent your entire life hiding behind the mask of a princess, forced to perform perfection at every moment. There is a single person who see's beyond your mask, but you see beyond his too - and you don't think the jester is as harmless as everyone thinks. WC: 6,244 AU: Royalty, Implied Magical AU GENRE: Smut RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Mild mentions of what's proper/what's not in a royal society, reader being frustrated and having repressed feelings of desire and arousal, sexually explicit content featuring vaginal fingering, some mild dirty talk, mild biting, mild exhibitionism (hooking up where anyone could find them), the use of pet names (love / good girl), Jeonghan being a bit of a menace, some magical ambiguity at the end re: Jeonghan, he's kinda a weird lil guy in this I don't know how to explain it, he's implied to be dangerous but he doesn't do anything necessarily scary on paper. A/N: This is for my milestone request for @gimmegoodname! And part 8348934 of Hali doesn't know how to keep to a reasonable request word count :) Thank you jesus for landing on Jester and Jeonghan - this actually is not at all what I originally intended to write but fuck it we ball because the other idea would have taken me aprox 40k words lmfao AN 2: This is not beta read so I’m sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!

MAIN M. LIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT

ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.

The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.

You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.

A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.

You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.

You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.

The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.

Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.

A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-

No. 

You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.

For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.

Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."

"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.

The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.

Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.

You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.

Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.

"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."

You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.

Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger. 

"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”

Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.

When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.

"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."

Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.

"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."

You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.

"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."

You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."

A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.

"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.

"You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."

Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.

"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.

The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus. 

"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."

You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.

As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.

"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"

"You see nothing, jester."

"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.

Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze. 

"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"

You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.

"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."

Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.

"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.

Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.

"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."

Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.

When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?

"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."

When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.

You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.

Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.

The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.

You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.

Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.

Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-

"Running away, Your Highness?"

You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.

"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."

You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.

"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."

"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”

His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."

The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.

"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.

"It's not?"

He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."

"You don't know anything about me."

He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

"I already proved that isn't true, love."

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."

"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"

"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."

Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."

Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."

The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.

"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."

"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."

You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.

"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"

You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.

It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.

He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"

His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.

"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."

“I can’t.”

"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.

His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.

"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."

His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.

"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"

You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand. 

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."

His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.

He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.

It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.

"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."

He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.

"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"

The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree. 

"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."

His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.

"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.

"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."

His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.

"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."

"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."

"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."

His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.

Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.

Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.

"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."

Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.

You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.

When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.

"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.

You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.

"No," you admit. "No regrets."

Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.

"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.

Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."

You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."

"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."

The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.

He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.

"You thought it yourself earlier, didn’t you?" he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip sharply. "I'm a wolf in fools' clothing."

[malsmoony]

THIS IS WHAT THE FANS WANT TO SEE!

[cherrygkoo]

정국 - GREASE | oneshot

the one where you bring your bike in for a noise that keeps returning, and discover the only thing getting properly tuned is you.

pairing: mechanic!jungkook x fem!reader

genre: no strings sex au, 2000s socal erotica, porn with plot, angst, smut (mdni!)

word count: 10,011

warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, protected sex, orgasms denied, dirty talk, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, bratty sub reader acts tough, mechanic/client power imbalance, pining, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, grinding, hair pulling, hickies/marking, missionary, doggy style, cum on body, spitting, early 2000s aesthetic, socal setting, reader rides a motorcycle!, jungkook is left handed bc why not, surfer!jungkook, phone book meet-cute, mirror play, grease kink

a/n: hi pretties! I've had this story drafted for a while and finally finally finally finished it up! currently obsessed with biker jungkook so I thought why not write something with this baddie vibe. also I have dark&wild on repeat and it's sooo west coast coded, hence the 2000s socal aesthetic for the story. my next post will be part 2 for what happens in vegas, for those of you that are interested in reading it! well I hope you enjoy reading this and don't forget to heart and reblog ⋆. 𐙚 ˚<3

The phone book page is soft with humidity, yellow edges curling where you've gripped it too hard. You started with the full-page ads, the ones with motorcycles silhouetted against sunsets and 24-hour towing promises, but they're all the way out in Riverside or asking questions you don't want to answer about make and model. So you went to the small print, the entries that are just names and numbers, and found him third from the bottom in a column of locksmiths and septic tank services.

JK MOTOR REPAIR. No address listed, but the exchange is local.

You memorized the directions he gave you over the phone, repeating them back while standing in your kitchen with the cordless pressed to your ear, certain you're going to end up in someone's backyard being murdered. But the street is real, the building is real, a narrow storefront wedged between a check-cashing place and a store that sells quinceañera dresses in neon pink and electric blue. The garage door is open when you pull up, late afternoon sun cutting hard shadows across the concrete.

You kill the engine. The bike ticks cooling, and you sit there a second longer than you need to, watching the interior.

The shop is deeper than it looks from the street, a tunnel of tool chests and hanging parts and a hydraulic lift that hasn't been raised in a while. There's a radio playing somewhere, something you don't recognize, guitar and a man's voice that sounds like it's coming through a wall. You can smell oil, the particular sweet rot of gasoline that means someone spilled it and cleaned it up but not really.

"Help you?"

You didn't see him. He's in the shadow near the back, bent over something on a workbench that catches the light in pieces. He doesn't straighten up all the way, just enough to look at you, and you see grease on his forearms where he's pushed his sleeves up, and a streak across his jaw you suspect he doesn't know about.

"Phone book," you say, which is not an answer. "I called. About the steering."

He comes toward you then, wiping his hands on a rag that doesn't look like it's helping. He's younger than you expected from his voice, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six, with hair pushed back from his face, an arm full of tattoos, and the kind of tan that comes from being outside at the wrong hours. He looks at your bike, not at you, and you feel the strange relief of being assessed as a mechanical problem first.

"Bring it in."

You wheel it up the slight incline, the concrete uneven where years of tires have worn channels. He meets you at the bench and takes the handlebars without asking, straddling the seat to test the weight, and you watch his thighs spread against the leather, the shift of his shoulders as he turns the front fork back and forth.

"Gritty," he says.

"That's the word."

"Only when you steer?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think so. It's hard to tell when you're actually riding it."

He makes a small sound, not quite agreement, and keeps working the handlebars. The motion is rhythmic, hypnotic, his body rocking with the resistance. You can hear it now, the catch in the steering column, a grinding that isn't quite mechanical failure but isn't right either.

"How long's it been doing this?"

"A week. Maybe two."

He looks up at you then, direct, and you see that his eyes are very dark, and that he has a small scar through his left eyebrow that breaks the hair into two distinct sections.

"You ride it every day?"

"Most days."

"And you waited two weeks."

"I was busy."

"Busy."

"Yes."

He goes back to the bike, but you think you see something shift in his mouth, not quite a smile. He releases the handlebars and steps back, and you miss the motion of him immediately, the way he made your machine into something he was touching with intention.

"I can look at it. Leave it overnight."

You hadn't planned on that. You look around the shop, the single window in the back that's probably an office, the door that probably leads to an alley or nowhere. You think about being without your bike, about coming back tomorrow, about the fact that you don't know his name and he hasn't asked for yours.

"Is that necessary?"

"Not if you want to keep hearing that noise."

You watch him watch you, his expression patient in a way that feels practiced, like he's used to people deciding whether to trust him. The radio has moved on to something else, slower, a woman singing about wanting someone who's bad for her.

"I can wait," you say. "If it's something you can do now."

He looks at the bike, then at the street outside where the light is starting to turn gold, the long shadows of palm trees you can't see but know are there, everywhere in this city, marking the hours.

"Hour till I close," he says. "I can look. But I'm not stopping if you change your mind."

"I won't."

He nods, once, and reaches for a tool on the bench, some kind of wrench you don't recognize. "There's a chair. Or you can stand there. Your choice."

You stay standing. You tell yourself it's because the chair looks like it was salvaged from a dentist's office in the seventies, cracked vinyl and exposed springs, but really it's because you want to see his hands on your bike, the way he moves around it, the way he knows exactly where to touch.

He works in silence for a while, the radio filling the space. You learn things about him without meaning to: he's left-handed, he has a habit of holding screws in his mouth when he needs both hands, he doesn't wear a watch but checks the time on a clock you can't see, somewhere in the back. When he finally speaks again, you startle.

"You found me in the phone book."

"Yeah."

"Nobody uses the phone book."

"I do."

He looks up at you, the screw still between his teeth, and you see that thing in his mouth again, not quite a smile, something more knowing.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me? Big ad, three pages back. Mike's Cycle. They do free estimates."

You feel your face heat, the specific embarrassment of being caught in a choice you can't fully explain. "You were closer."

"To where?"

"Home."

He takes the screw from his mouth and turns back to the bike, but you know he's filed the information away, that he's thinking about where you live now, mapping it, probably knowing the neighborhoods better than you do.

"You're lucky," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Could've been worse than gritty steering. Could've been your brakes."

"I check my brakes."

"Course you do."

He says it like he doesn't believe you, like he's teasing you, and you feel the strange urge to prove yourself, to list the maintenance you do, the way you know your own machine. But he's moving again, rolling the bike onto a stand, and you watch the shift of his shoulders under his thin t-shirt, the way his jeans hang low on his hips, the dark line of a waistband you can see when he reaches up for something.

The sun is lower now, cutting across the floor in a band of orange light that catches dust and makes it look like something intentional, like stage lighting. You're aware of your own breathing, of the fact that you haven't moved in several minutes, of the way he hasn't asked you to leave or offered you anything to drink or done any of the things that would have made this feel like a normal transaction between strangers.

"What's your name?" you ask.

He doesn't answer right away. He's bent over the front fork, his face close to the metal, and you can see him listening to something, feeling for something with his fingers that you can't see.

"Jungkook," he says finally, like he's deciding to give it to you. "Shop's mine."

"Just you?"

"Just me."

You wait for him to ask your name in return, but he doesn't. He keeps working, and you keep watching, and the hour he promised stretches longer in the golden light, the radio playing songs you don't know, the city outside moving toward evening without you.

⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡

It's been nine days. You counted, though you won't admit that to anyone, not even to yourself in the quiet of your apartment where the number sits like something shameful. You told yourself you were giving it a week to make sure the repair held, that you weren't being the kind of customer who hovers, who doubts. But you knew the truth on day three, when you took a long route home just to pass the street, when you slowed at the intersection and saw the garage door closed, the neon OPEN sign unlit, and felt something like disappointment settle in your chest.

You told yourself the noise was back on day five. It wasn't, not really, but you convinced yourself you heard something, a faint catch in the steering that hadn't been there before, or had always been there, or you were imagining. You rode anyway, to work, to the store, to your friend's apartment in Echo Park where you drank cheap wine on her fire escape and didn't mention the mechanic once, not his name, not his shop, not the way he'd looked at you like he was waiting for you to reveal your real reason for being there.

Day six you almost went. You got dressed to go, stood in front of your bathroom mirror with your keys in your hand, and realized you had no pretext. The bike ran fine. Better than fine, smoother than it had in months, the steering clean and responsive in a way that made you think he hadn't just fixed the problem but improved something, tuned something you hadn't asked for. You put the keys down. You told yourself you were being ridiculous.

But now it's day nine, and you're pulling up to the same narrow storefront, and the gritty sound is real this time, unmistakable, a grinding that matches the rhythm of your heartbeat as you kill the engine. You're not sure if you're relieved or terrified that you have a legitimate reason to be here.

The garage door is open. The radio is playing, louder than before, something with drums that you can feel in your sternum before you even step inside. He's in the same spot, bent over the same workbench, but he looks up before you can announce yourself, like he heard you over the music, or like he's been listening for the sound of your bike.

"Back," he says. Not a question.

"The noise," you say, and your voice sounds wrong, too high, defensive. "It's back."

He straightens up, wipes his hands on the same rag, though you can't tell if it's the same rag from nine days ago or if he has a stack of them, all equally useless. He doesn't move toward you right away. He looks at your bike, then at you, and you feel the weight of his attention like a hand on your throat.

"Riding it hard?"

"No. Normal."

"Normal for you."

"Yes."

He crosses the space between you, and you smell him before he touches the bike, oil and soap and something underneath that might be sweat, the particular salt of a body that's been working in heat. He's wearing a different shirt, you notice, black this time - the sleeves pushed up to the same place on his forearms, revealing his tattoos. The scar through his eyebrow catches the light when he angles his head to look at your front fork.

"Same sound?"

"Yeah. I think. It sounds the same."

"You think."

"It sounds the same," you repeat, firmer, and he makes that small sound again, not quite agreement, something that might be amusement or might be skepticism. He straddles the bike the way he did before, thighs spreading, and you watch the fabric of his jeans pull tight across his hips. He works the handlebars back and forth, listening, and you listen too, but all you can hear is the radio and your own breathing and the faint scrape of his boots on the concrete.

"I don't hear it," he says.

"It's there. It was there this morning."

He looks up at you, his hands still on the grips, his body still angled over your machine. "This morning."

"On my way to work."

"Where's work?"

You tell him, the name of the street, the building, and you see him place it mentally, the map of the city he carries in his head. He nods, once, like the information confirms something for him.

"Road's rough there. Potholes."

"Not that rough."

"Could've knocked something loose."

"It was fine when you fixed it."

He stands up, steps back from the bike, and you feel the loss of him like a physical thing, the space where his body was suddenly empty and cold. "I can look," he says. "But I'm not finding what I can't hear."

You nod, though you want to argue, want to insist, want to make him understand that you heard it, that you're not making this up, that you're not here for reasons you can't name. He moves to his tool chest, opens a drawer with a sound of metal on metal, and you watch him select something, a wrench or a driver, you're still learning the names.

"Nine days," he says, not looking at you.

"What?"

"Nine days. Most people, something comes back, they're here the next day. Suspicious, angry. You waited nine days."

"I was busy."

"Busy," he repeats, and now you know he's mocking you, the same word you used before, the same excuse. He comes back to the bike and crouches down, his face level with the front wheel, and you see the shift of muscle in his back, the way his shirt pulls up slightly from his jeans, a strip of skin you shouldn't be looking at.

"Or maybe," he says, his voice coming from somewhere near the axle, "you wanted to make sure it was real. The noise. Before you brought it back."

Your mouth goes dry. You open it to deny it, to laugh, to say something about customer service and warranty work, but nothing comes out. He stays crouched, his hands moving over the bike with a familiarity that makes you jealous, and you realize you're holding your breath.

He stands up suddenly, too close, and you step back, your shoulder blades hitting the edge of his workbench. He doesn't move away. He looks at you with those dark eyes, the scar bisecting his eyebrow, and you see something there you didn't see before, a heat that matches the heat in your own chest.

"Or maybe," he says, softer now, almost gentle, "you just wanted to see if I'd remember you."

You should say something. You should step away, should reassert the distance between customer and mechanic, between stranger and stranger. But his hand is on the bench beside your hip, his body angled to trap you without touching you, and you can smell him again, closer now, the oil and the salt and something else, something clean underneath, soap or shampoo or the faint chemical bite of the shop itself.

"I remembered," you say, and your voice is barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Your name. Jungkook."

Something shifts in his face, the almost-smile becoming real, small and sharp and directed at you alone. "You looked it up?"

"No. I just... remembered."

He leans in, not much, just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating from his skin after hours of work. "Most people don't," he says. "Remember. They come in, they pay, they forget my face before they're out the door."

"I'm not most people."

"No," he agrees. "You're not."

The radio moves to a different song, slower, something with a bass line that vibrates in your chest. You realize your hands are gripping the edge of the bench behind you, white-knuckled, and you force them to relax. He notices, his eyes flicking down, and when he looks back up there's a question in his face, or permission, or both.

"You want me to find the noise?" he asks.

"I want you to find it."

"Even if it's not there?"

"Especially if it's not there."

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and you see him decide something, see the shift in his shoulders as he steps back, puts space between you that feels like a wound. He turns back to the bike, but the energy has changed, charged, and you know he felt it too, the thing that passed between you, the acknowledgment that this is no longer about the machine.

"Hour," he says, the same promise as before. "Maybe less, if I'm not being careful."

"Be careful," you say, and you don't mean the bike.

He looks back at you, and this time the smile is wider, knowing, and you feel it in your stomach, low and hot. "Careful," he repeats. "That's not what I thought you wanted."

You don't answer. You don't have to. He goes back to work, but differently now, his movements slower, more deliberate, and you watch him the way you did before, but without the pretense of casual interest. You watch the flex of his hands, the shift of his weight, the way he looks up at you every few minutes like he's checking to make sure you're still there, still watching, still wanting.

The sun moves across the floor, the same orange light, the same dust made beautiful. You don't sit in the chair. You don't look at your phone. You stand where you are, pressed against his workbench, and you wait for him to find what you're both pretending is broken, or to admit that some things can't be fixed with tools, that some noises only stop when you stop listening for them, when you let yourself hear something else instead.

He works for twenty minutes, maybe thirty, and the shop grows darker as the sun sets, the radio playing songs you don't know, songs that feel like they belong to this moment, to the two of you alone in this space with the door open to the cooling evening. He stands up finally, wipes his hands on the rag, and comes toward you, and you see in his face that he hasn't found anything, that he knew he wouldn't, that this was always going to end with the two of you standing too close, breathing the same air, waiting to see who moves first.

"Couldn't find it," he says.

"It was there."

"Maybe." He stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Or maybe you just wanted to come back."

"Maybe."

"You could've said."

"So could you."

He laughs, a short sound, surprised. "What was I supposed to say? Hey, customer with the mysterious bike problem, you free for dinner?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not good at that. Asking."

"I noticed."

"But I'm good at other things."

You feel your pulse in your throat, your wrists, everywhere. "Yeah?"

"Finding problems," he says, but his voice is low, intimate, and you know he doesn't mean the bike. "Fixing things. Being patient. Waiting for people to figure out what they want."

"And if they already know?"

He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, warm and faintly metallic. "Then they should say."

"I want-" you start, but he interrupts you, not with words, with his hand on your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, and you stop breathing entirely.

"Not here," he says. "Not like this. You come back tomorrow. Come back when the shop is closed, when there's no pretending, when you can say what you want without an audience."

"Tomorrow," you repeat, and it sounds like a promise, like a threat, like the only word you know how to say.

He steps back, releases you, and you feel the air rush in where his hand was, cold and empty. He goes to the bench, writes something on a scrap of paper, and holds it out to you. An address, you realize, not the shop, a street you don't recognize in a neighborhood you don't know.

"Seven," he says. "Or don't come. Your choice."

You take the paper. You fold it into your pocket without looking at it again. You know you won't lose it, won't forget, won't convince yourself this didn't happen. You meet his eyes, and you see the uncertainty there, the vulnerability he didn't mean to show you, and it makes you brave.

"I'll be there," you say.

He nods, once, and turns back to your bike, rolling it off the stand, checking the tire pressure with a gauge you didn't see him pick up. "Ride careful," he says, not looking at you. "That noise you heard. Might be nothing. Might be something important. Hard to tell from the outside."

You understand what he's telling you. You understand that he's talking about himself, about the two of you, about the risk of wanting something you're not sure you can name. You swing your leg over the seat, start the engine, feel the familiar vibration between your thighs that will never feel the same now that you've imagined his hands there, his weight, his mouth.

You pull away from the shop without looking back, but you feel him watching you go, feel his eyes on your back until you turn the corner and lose him in the gathering dark. The address is burning in your pocket. The noise, you realize, is gone, has been gone since you arrived, was probably never there at all. You don't care. You'll be back tomorrow. You'll be back every day, if that's what it takes, until there's no pretense left, until he touches you for real, until the only gritty sound is the two of you breathing together in the dark.

⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡

You don't go to the address.

Not because you're scared. Because you don't chase. Because he gave you his time and his location and the expectation that you'd show, grateful, eager, and something in you resists that shape, that story. You want him, but you want him on different terms.

So you go to the beach. It's Saturday, late afternoon, the light turning gold and pink, and you tell yourself it's for the air, the space, the cold shock of the Pacific. You don't admit that you chose this beach because it's close to the neighborhood he mentioned.

You park. You walk down in your boots because you didn't plan this, and you stand at the waterline watching the last surfers. You're not thinking about him. You're not.

Then you see him.

Walking up from the water with a board under his arm, no wetsuit, just board shorts and a rash guard, and you know the way he moves before you see his face. The economy of it. The way he carries his weight like he owns whatever ground he's standing on.

He stops when he sees you. Twenty feet away, water dripping from his hair, and you watch him process it, the coincidence that isn't one. Something shifts in his face. Not tenderness. Something sharper.

"You didn't come," he says.

"Did you want me to?"

"Seven o'clock. I waited."

"Sounds like you wanted me to."

He sets down his board and walks toward you with that same unhurried pace. Stops close. Too close. Close enough that you can smell the salt on him, the ocean, the faint residue of wax on his skin.

"You're here now," he says.

"Coincidence."

"Bullshit."

You smile. "You don't believe in coincidence?"

"I believe in you looking up my neighborhood and picking the closest beach." He tilts his head, studying you. "I believe in you wanting to run into me without admitting you were looking."

"And if I was?"

"Then you should've just come to the shop." He steps closer, close enough that you have to tilt your head back. "Saved yourself the trouble."

"Where's the fun in that?"

He laughs, short and surprised. "Fun. That's what this is?"

"Isn't it?"

He steps closer still, close enough that his chest almost brushes yours. "I thought you were scared," he says, soft, mocking. "Too much wanting. Too dangerous."

"I changed my mind."

"Or you just like the chase better when you think you're the one doing it."

You feel the heat of him, the sun-warmed skin, the cold water still evaporating off his shoulders. "You're wet," you say.

"Ocean does that."

"Cold?"

"Warm enough."

"You should dry off."

He raises an eyebrow, the scar catching the last light. "You offering to help?"

"I'm offering to watch."

He stares at you for a long moment. Then he reaches down, grabs the bottom of his rash guard, and pulls it over his head in one motion.

You watch. You don't pretend not to. His chest is tan, defined, the muscle of someone who works with his body. There's a smattering of hair, darker than on his head, trailing down to his shorts, and you follow it with your eyes.

"Better?" he asks.

"Getting there."

He drops the shirt on his board. Stands there in nothing but the shorts, the wind picking up, cold against his wet skin, and you see the goosebumps rise on his arms and you want to warm them, want to put your mouth on his shoulder and feel him shiver.

"You always this forward?" he asks.

"Only when I know what I want."

"And what do you want?"

You look at him, at the mouth that has said your name zero times, at the hands that fixed your bike with a familiarity you envied. "I want you to stop pretending you don't know why I'm here."

"And why are you here?"

"Same reason you waited at seven." You step closer, close enough that your mouth is near his ear. "Same reason you're standing there freezing and hard and waiting for me to notice."

Something flickers in his eyes. "Hard," he repeats.

"Aren't you?"

He doesn't answer. He steps toward you, close again, and his hand comes up to your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, rough with calluses. "You're playing a game," he says.

"So are you."

"What's the prize?"

You lean in, your mouth near his ear. "Whoever breaks first."

His hand tightens, not painful, just present. "And if I don't break?"

"Then you win." You pull back, meet his eyes. "But you don't get to fuck me."

He stares at you. Then he laughs, sharp and surprised. "You're cold," he says.

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering."

"It's the wind."

"Or it's me."

"Could be."

His other hand comes up, rests on your waist, heavy through your jacket. "I could warm you up," he says.

"Could you?"

"Find somewhere private. Somewhere with heat." He leans in, his breath warm against your cold skin. "See how long you last before you're begging."

You pull back, meet his eyes, and you see the challenge there. You smile, slow and deliberate, and you put your hand on his chest, feel the muscle jump under your palm. "You think I'd beg?"

"I think you'd love it."

"And if I don't?"

He shrugs, the motion shifting the muscle under your hand. "Then I lose. But at least I'd have you naked."

You stare at him. He stares back, patient, waiting for you to decide, to break, to give him the satisfaction. The wind picks up, colder now, and you feel your nipples harden against your jacket, and you know he notices, know his eyes flick down and back up, know he's cataloging every reaction.

"Not tonight," you say.

He raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"I don't fuck on first dates."

"This a date?"

"Isn't it?"

He laughs again, softer this time. "Next time, then."

"Next time?"

"You come to the shop. Real problem this time, no pretending." He steps back, releases you, and you feel the cold rush in where his hands were. "I'll fix it. Then I'll fix you."

"Big talk."

"I'll back it up."

He grabs his shirt, his board, and walks toward the parking lot without looking back. You watch him go, the shape of him in the dying light, and you feel the wanting like a physical thing, the game unresolved, the prize still in play.

⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡

It's been six days. You know because you counted, not because you care, not because you keep replaying the beach in your head, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he walked away like he knew you'd follow.

You don't follow. You don't go to the shop. You ride your bike and you feel the wanting every time you grip the handlebars, every time you pass a street that might lead to his neighborhood, and you resist, you resist, you resist.

But now there's a noise.

Not the old noise, the one you invented. Something new. A whine in the engine that climbs with the RPMs, a vibration you can feel in your thighs that wasn't there before, that shouldn't be there, that makes you think of metal grinding against metal, of something about to give.

You ignore it for a day. You tell yourself it's nothing, paranoia, your mind playing tricks because you want an excuse. But it gets worse, louder, and by the second morning you know you're not making this up, know it in the way the bike feels wrong beneath you, the way it resists when you lean into turns.

You pull up to the shop at four in the afternoon, the garage door open, the radio playing something with bass you can feel in your chest. He's in the back, bent over a workbench, and he looks up when you kill the engine, and you see him register you, the bike, the expression on your face.

"Back," he says. Not a question.

"There's a noise."

"Different noise?"

"Different noise."

He wipes his hands on a rag and walks toward you, and you watch him move, the same economy, the same certainty, and you feel it in your stomach, the wanting you thought you'd finished with.

He stops by your bike, doesn't touch it yet, looks at you instead. "Six days," he says.

"Yeah."

"No beach."

"You didn't invite me."

He smiles, small and sharp. "Didn't want to seem eager."

"And now?"

He looks at your bike, then back at you. "Now you came to me."

"With a real problem this time."

"That so?"

"Listen," you say, and you start the engine, let it idle, and you see him hear it, the whine, the vibration, his head tilting.

He kills the engine. He straddles the bike, thighs spreading, and you watch him work the throttle, listening, feeling, and you feel the absurdity of it, the way your body responds to him on your machine.

"Engine mount," he says finally. "Loose. Could've gone another week, maybe two. Then real damage."

"So I came in time."

"You came." He looks up at you, and you see something in his eyes, heat and amusement. "Lucky for you I'm not busy."

"Lucky for me."

He stands up, steps close, too close, the bike between you. "Hour to fix," he says. "Maybe less if I rush."

"Don't rush."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I want to watch," you say. "Like before."

"That so?"

"That so."

He holds your gaze. Then he smiles, the real one, hungry. "Chair's still there," he says. "Or you can stand. Your choice."

You stay standing. He goes back to your bike, selects tools, and you watch his forearms flex, remember those hands on your jaw, the roughness of his calluses.

"Six days," he says, not looking up.

"Yeah."

"You think about me?"

"Do you want me to say yes?"

"I want you to say whatever's true."

"Yes," you say. "I thought about you."

"Doing what?"

"Riding my bike. Working. Sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Not much."

He looks up, and you see the satisfaction in his face, male and uncomplicated. "Me neither," he says.

"That so?"

"That so." He goes back to the bike, tightening something. "Kept thinking about your mouth," he says, casual. "The way you looked at me when I took my shirt off. Like you wanted to bite."

"I wanted to do more than bite."

He pauses, the wrench still in his hand. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He stands up, steps around the bike, close enough that you can smell him, oil and soap and the faint salt still in his hair. "I could stop working," he says. "Lock the door. Take you in the back."

"And my bike?"

"Fuck your bike."

You laugh, surprised. "You said an hour."

"I said maybe less." He steps closer, his hand coming to your waist. "I could make you wait. Make you watch me work. See how desperate you get."

"And if I'm not desperate?"

He smiles, sharp. "Then I'll have to try harder."

He goes back to the bike, and you watch him work, and the minutes stretch, and you feel the wanting build like a physical thing. At five thirty, he stands up. Rolls the bike off the stand, tests the throttle. The engine sounds clean, smooth, the noise gone.

"Done," he says.

"That fast?"

"That fast." He looks at you, the heat banked but present. "You pay at the counter. Cash or card."

"That's it?"

"That's the job."

You stare at him. He stares back, patient, waiting for you to make the move. You feel the urge to step forward, to put your hands on him, to make him stop pretending.

But you don't. You reach for your wallet, pull out cash. You hand it to him, and his fingers brush yours, deliberate, and you feel the spark of it.

"Receipt?" he asks.

"Keep it."

He folds the bills, puts them in his pocket, and he walks toward the big garage door, and you think he's going to open it, let you leave. But he stops. He pulls the door down, the metal screeching, and the shop goes dim.

He turns back to you. "Door's locked," he says. "Owner's strict, but he makes exceptions."

"Exceptions?"

"For customers who can't wait."

You feel your pulse everywhere. "And if I can wait?"

He smiles, the game cracking open. "Then you wait," he says. "But I'm closing in fifteen minutes either way. Your choice."

You look at him, the grease on his hands, the sweat on his neck. "I can wait," you say.

He nods, once, and he walks back to his workbench, picks up a tool, keeps working on something that doesn't need working on. You watch him, and the minutes stretch, and you feel the wanting build like the noise in your engine, like something about to break.

At six, he puts down the tool. Turns off the radio. The silence is heavy, expectant, and he looks at you across the dim shop.

He pulls the door down, metal screeching, and the shop goes dim except for the single bulb over his workbench and the red glow of the exit sign. He turns back to you, and you see the shift in him, the game dissolving into something hungrier, more direct.

"Still here," he says.

"Still here."

He crosses the space between you in three strides, and his hands are on your jaw, his mouth on yours, rough and claiming. You taste salt on his lips, the ocean still on his skin, and you arch into him, wanting more, wanting everything he's been holding back.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Take this off," he says, tugging at your jacket.

You shrug out of it, let it fall to the concrete floor. He watches you, his eyes dark, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He reaches out, runs his hands down your sides, over your shirt, and you shiver under the roughness of his palms, the calluses catching on the fabric.

"And this," he says, fingers finding the hem of your shirt.

You lift your arms, let him pull it over your head. The air is cool against your skin, and you feel your nipples harden, feel him notice, his eyes dropping to your chest and staying there.

"Fuck," he breathes, and there's reverence in it, hunger, the sound of a man seeing something he's been imagining. He reaches out, cups you through your bra, and you gasp at the pressure, the heat of his palms through the thin fabric.

"These," he says, squeezing, testing the weight of you in his hands. "I've been thinking about these."

"Yeah?"

"Every night since you walked into my shop." He thumbs over your nipples, and you feel the jolt of it straight to your core, your knees weakening. "Wondering what color they are. How they'd feel in my mouth."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He reaches behind you, unclasps your bra with practiced efficiency, and pulls it off, drops it on top of your jacket. He looks at you, really looks, and you see him swallow, see the muscle in his jaw jump.

"Perfect," he says, and then his hands are on you, skin to skin, and you moan at the contact, the roughness of his palms, the grease that's still on his fingers from working. He doesn't care, or he likes it, you can't tell, because he's squeezing, kneading, spreading his fingers to capture as much of you as he can.

"Look at you," he murmurs, and he pushes your breasts together, creates cleavage with his palms, and you look down, see the smear of grease he's leaving on your skin, the dark marks of his work against your pale skin. "Marked you already."

"More," you breathe, and he smiles, sharp and knowing.

He lowers his head, takes one nipple into his mouth, and you cry out at the wet heat of it, the way he sucks, the way his tongue circles and flicks. He switches to the other, gives it the same attention, and you're holding his head, your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him to devour you.

He pulls back, looks up at you with dark eyes, his mouth wet. "You like that?"

"You know I do."

"Good." He stands up, and before you can protest, he's lifting you, his hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feel the hard line of him through his jeans, through your own. "We're not done."

He carries you to your bike, still sitting on the stand where he left it, and he sets you down on the seat, your back against the tank. He positions you, spreads your legs wide around the machine, and you feel the leather of the seat against your bare skin, the vibration of the engine still warm beneath you.

"Stay there," he commands, and you do, watching as he walks around to the front of the bike, to the handlebars, to the mirrors.

He adjusts them, angles them until he can see you, and you realize what he's doing, understand the view he has from where he stands. He looks at you in the mirror, meets your eyes, and you see the satisfaction in his face.

"Look," he says. "Don't look at me. Look at yourself."

You turn your head, look into the mirror, and you see yourself, naked from the waist up, your breasts heavy and marked with his grease, your nipples hard and wet from his mouth. You look wrecked already, and he's barely started.

He steps behind you, out of sight, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and then they're on your breasts again, lifting, squeezing, and you watch in the mirror, watch him play with you, watch your own face as he pinches your nipples, rolls them between his fingers.

"Fuck," you whisper, and you see yourself say it, see your mouth open, your eyes half-closed.

"Watch," he commands, his voice low in your ear, and you do, you watch his hands work you, watch him push your breasts together, create cleavage that he then fucks with his fingers, sliding them between, the motion you want from him elsewhere. "You see how good you look? How fucking pretty you are like this?"

"Please," you breathe, not sure what you're asking for, just knowing you need more.

"Please what?"

"Touch me. Actually touch me."

"I am touching you." He pinches your nipples hard, and you cry out, arch your back, push yourself into his hands. "I'm touching you exactly how I want to. And you're going to watch. You're going to see what I see when I look at you."

He keeps working you, his hands rough and sure, and you watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of yourself, by the way you respond to him, the way your body moves without your permission. He's hard against your back, you can feel him, and you grind against him, wanting friction, wanting more.

"Greedy," he murmurs, but he doesn't stop you, just keeps playing with your breasts, his fingers slick now with more than grease, with your own arousal, with the wetness he's drawing from you just from this.

"Need you," you gasp, and you feel him smile against your neck, feel his teeth graze your shoulder.

"You'll get me," he says. "When I'm ready. When I've had my fill of looking at you like this."

He keeps you there, straddling your own bike, watching in the mirror as he plays with your tits, marks you with his grease, makes you watch yourself come apart just from his hands on your breasts. 

He holds you through the aftershocks, his hands still cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples until you whimper and push at his wrists. He laughs, low and satisfied, and finally releases you, but only to slide his hands down your sides, grip your hips, hold you steady on the bike.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your neck, and you feel his breath, hot and damp. "Already coming apart and I haven't even started."

"You started," you manage, your voice wrecked.

He doesn't answer. He presses his mouth to your throat, open and wet, and you feel his teeth, the scrape of his stubble, and then he's sucking, hard, marking you where your pulse beats frantic beneath the skin. You gasp, arching into it, offering yourself to his mouth, and he takes it, moves lower, finds the hollow above your collarbone and leaves another bruise there, dark and claiming.

"Everyone's going to know," he says between presses of his lips, between bites that make you shiver and clutch at his forearms. "Everyone's going to see what I did to you."

"Good," you breathe, and he laughs again, pleased, and keeps working down your shoulder, your chest, back up to your throat where he sucks another mark, higher this time, visible above any shirt you own.

He spends time on your breasts again, not gentle now, sucking your nipples until they're swollen and aching, leaving hickies in the soft skin above, below, branding you with his mouth everywhere he can reach. You watch in the mirror, can't stop watching, your body marked and mottled with him, his dark hair against your pale skin, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.

When he finally lifts his head, your chest is a map of him, grease and spit and bite marks, and he looks at his work with dark, satisfied eyes.

"Up," he commands, and his hands are under your arms, lifting you off the bike like you weigh nothing.

Your legs are shaky, unsteady, and he holds you until you find your balance, then steps back. He looks at you, at the mess he's made of you, and his jaw tightens, his hand going to the front of his jeans to adjust himself, the outline of him straining against the denim.

"Strip," he says.

You stare at him. "You first."

He shakes his head, slow, deliberate. "You. I want to look at you. I want to see what I've been imagining."

You hold his gaze for a long moment, the challenge in it, the power he's taking and you're giving. Then you reach for the button of your own jeans, pop it open, slide the zipper down. You push them over your hips, let them fall, step out of them and your boots together, standing there in nothing but your underwear, your skin flushed and marked and his.

"All of it," he says, his voice rough.

You hook your thumbs in your waistband, pull your panties down, let them fall. You're naked in his shop, surrounded by tools and grease and the smell of gasoline, and you feel more exposed than you ever have, more seen.

He looks at you, his eyes traveling down your body like a touch, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, lower. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and you see his hands twitch at his sides, the restraint costing him.

"Beautiful," he says, and the word sounds like worship, like prayer. "Fucking beautiful."

He steps toward you, and you think he's going to touch you, finally, but he doesn't. He drops to his knees in front of you, still fully dressed, his jeans dark with oil in places, his shirt hanging loose, and he looks up at you from below, and the angle of it, the submission in his posture while his eyes stay dominant and hungry, makes your breath catch.

He puts his hands on your hips, gentle now, reverent, and he presses his face to your stomach, inhales, groans like you're something sacred. He kisses you there, soft, open-mouthed, and you feel his stubble against your skin, the heat of his breath, and you sway, your hands finding his hair, holding on.

"Stay standing," he murmurs against your hip, and then he's moving lower, kissing down your pelvis, your thigh, skipping where you want him most, teasing, building. He nudges your legs apart, and you widen your stance, exposed and vulnerable and trusting him to hold you up.

He looks up at you again, his eyes dark and endless, and he kisses the inside of your thigh, high, close enough that you feel his breath, feel the promise of it. "Going to worship you," he says, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Going to take my time. Going to make you forget your name."

He lowers his mouth finally, licks a slow stripe through you, and your head falls back, your hands tightening in his hair, and he groans against you, the sound of a man who has found his religion, who plans to pray at your altar until you're both ruined for anything else.

He groans against you, the vibration traveling through your core, and you feel his hands grip your thighs, spread you wider. He lifts one of your legs, guides your foot onto the bike's foot peg, opening you completely to him, and you balance there, one leg braced high, the other trembling on the concrete floor, exposed and vulnerable and his.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin, and you look down, see him kneeling between your thighs, his dark hair messy from your hands, his eyes fixed on you with single-minded hunger. "Perfect. Fucking perfect."

He dives back in, and this time there's no teasing, no building. His tongue finds your clit, circles it, sucks it between his lips, and you cry out, your hips bucking, but he holds you steady, his hands iron on your thighs, controlling your movement, your pleasure, everything.

He eats you like he's starving, like he's been waiting for this, for you, his mouth relentless, his tongue working you in patterns that make your vision blur. You feel the wetness of him, the roughness of his stubble, the sheer filthy intimacy of his face buried between your legs, and you grip his hair harder, pulling, guiding, desperate for more.

Then his hand moves, his fingers finding your entrance, and he slides one inside you, slow and thick, while his tongue keeps working your clit, and you moan, long and broken, your leg on the bike shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

"Good?" he asks against you, the word muffled, and you can only nod, gasping, your head thrown back.

He adds another finger, stretching you, and starts to fuck you with them, hard and deep, curling to find the spot that makes you see stars, while his mouth never stops, never relents. The combination of it, the wet heat of his tongue, the thick pressure of his fingers, the way he's holding you open, using you, worshipping you with his mouth and his hands, builds you fast, too fast, your orgasm gathering like a storm at your center.

You feel it coming, the edge approaching, your body tensing, your breath hitching, and you tug at his hair, warn him, "I'm going to-"

He pulls back instantly, his fingers stilling inside you, his mouth leaving you, and you cry out at the loss, at the sudden emptiness, your hips chasing his face, desperate for the friction, the pressure, anything.

"Not yet," he says, his voice rough, his chin wet with you, his eyes dark and wild. "Not until I say."

"Please," you beg, shameless, your body throbbing, your leg shaking on the bike. "Please, I need-"

"I know what you need." He leans in, presses a soft, cruel kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers still buried inside you, motionless, keeping you full but unsatisfied. "And you're going to wait for it."

He waits until your breathing slows, until the edge recedes, just barely, and then he starts again. His mouth returns to your clit, softer now, teasing, and his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate, dragging against your walls, finding every sensitive spot, building you back up with agonizing patience.

You moan, your hands finding your own breasts, pinching your nipples, trying to give yourself what he's denying you, and he looks up, sees you touching yourself, and his eyes darken, his rhythm faltering for just a moment.

"That's it," he murmurs against you, the vibration making you shiver. "Touch yourself. Show me what you like."

You roll your nipples between your fingers, arch your back, and he watches you, his tongue working you in slow, devastating circles, his fingers fucking you harder now, deeper, and you feel the edge approaching again, faster this time, your body desperate for the release he's withholding.

"Please," you gasp, "please, let me, I can't-"

He pulls back again, his fingers stilling, his mouth leaving you, and you sob, actual tears pricking your eyes, your body on fire, your core aching with unfulfilled need.

"Not yet," he repeats, and his voice is gentler now, almost tender, but the command is absolute. "One more time. Let me feel you get there again. Let me taste how desperate you are."

He waits, kissing your thighs, your hips, your stomach, his fingers still inside you, stretching you, reminding you of what he can give you, what he's choosing to withhold. When your breathing slows, when the edge retreats just enough, he starts again.

This time he's merciless, his tongue flicking your clit in rapid, relentless strokes, his fingers fucking you hard and fast, curling to press against your g-spot with every thrust, and you scream, your voice echoing off the concrete walls, your body trembling, your vision going white at the edges.

You feel it building, unstoppable this time, your orgasm inevitable, your body beyond his control, beyond your own, and you warn him, "I'm going to come, I can't stop, please-"

He pulls back a third time, his fingers withdrawing completely, his mouth leaving you, and you collapse against the bike, sobbing, your body shaking, your core throbbing with denied pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

"Please," you whimper, broken, "please, I need you, please-"

He stands up, finally, his face wet with you, his eyes wild, and he looks at you, spread and wrecked and his, and he smiles, slow and predatory and full of promise.

"Now," he says, "you're ready for me."

You push yourself off the bike, your legs still shaking, and you reach for him, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He lets you, raises his arms, and you pull it over his head, revealing his chest, his stomach, the defined muscle of his shoulders. You toss it aside and your hands are on him immediately, greedy, mapping the heat of his skin, the faint scars, the dark hair trailing down to his jeans.

He watches you, patient now, letting you take, and you unbutton his jeans, pull the zipper down, and push them over his hips, his briefs with them, and he steps out, kicks them aside, and he's naked in front of you, hard and heavy and perfect.

You reach for him, wrap your hand around his length, and he hisses, his head falling back, his hips bucking into your touch. He's hot, thick, and you stroke him once, twice, watching his face, the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes close.

Then his hand is in your hair, gripping tight, pulling your head back, and you gasp, your mouth opening, and he spits into it, hot and filthy and claiming, and you moan, swallowing, tasting him, and he groans, watching you, his grip in your hair unforgiving.

"Fuck," he breathes, and he pulls you toward him, his mouth crashing into yours, his tongue sweeping in, tasting himself, tasting you, and you melt against him, your bodies pressed together, skin to skin, his hardness trapped between your stomachs.

He pulls back, his hand still fisted in your hair, and he walks you backward, guiding you, and you stumble, follow, your legs weak, your body throbbing with need. He backs you up to the workbench, the same one where you watched him work, where you imagined his hands on you, and he lifts you onto it, the metal cold against your bare skin, and spreads your legs, steps between them.

He looks at you, spread out on his workbench, naked and marked and his, and he groans, his hand finding himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes dark and endless.

"Condom," he manages, and he reaches past you, fumbles in a drawer, pulls one out, tears it open with his teeth. You watch him roll it on, your breath shallow, your body aching, and then he's there, pressing against your entrance, and he meets your eyes.

"Look at me," he commands, and you do, and he pushes into you, slow and thick and perfect, and you cry out, your head falling back, but his hand is in your hair again, pulling you back, forcing your eyes to his.

"Look at me," he repeats, and you do, you watch him as he fills you, as he bottoms out, as he holds there, throbbing inside you, and you feel complete, stretched, owned.

He starts to move, slow at first, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him closer, and he groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath hot and fast.

"So tight," he murmurs, "so fucking perfect," and he speeds up, his hips snapping, the workbench creaking beneath you, and you moan, your nails digging into his back, your body climbing again, the denied orgasms making you sensitive, desperate.

He fucks you like that, missionary on his workbench, his eyes locked on yours, his hand still in your hair, controlling you, using you, and you feel it building again, inevitable, and you beg him, "Please, please, let me come, I can't-"

"Not yet," he grits out, his jaw tight, his rhythm faltering, and he pulls out, leaves you empty and aching, and you sob, but he's already turning you, flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back, and you scramble onto your knees, your cheek pressed to the cold metal, your hands gripping the far edge.

He enters you from behind, deep and hard, and you scream, your back arching, and he groans, his hands on your hips, gripping tight, and he starts to fuck you, brutal and relentless, the sound of skin on skin filling the shop, your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bench.

He reaches around, finds your clit, rubs it in rough, desperate circles, and you cry out, your body shaking, your orgasm looming, and he feels it, feels you tightening around him, and he pulls his hand away, slows his strokes, denies you again.

"Please," you whimper, your voice broken, "please, please, I need to come, please-"

He pulls out, and you sob, but he's already moving, pulling you off the bench, turning you around, and he lifts you, his hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he presses you against the wall, the concrete cold against your back, and he enters you again, holding you up, your weight on him, and you feel him deep, so deep, hitting places he hadn't before.

He fucks you against the wall, his hands gripping your ass, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, leaving more marks, and you hold on, your nails in his shoulders, your head thrown back, and you feel it building, unstoppable, your body beyond his control, beyond your own.

"Now," he growls against your ear, "come for me now," and he reaches between you, finds your clit, rubs it hard and fast, and you explode, your orgasm crashing through you, your scream echoing off the walls, your body convulsing around him, and he keeps fucking you, keeps rubbing you, drawing it out, making you come and come until you're sobbing, limp against him.

He slows, still hard inside you, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours. You feel him throbbing, feel how close he is, how he's holding back, and you tighten around him, wanting to draw it out, wanting to feel him lose control.

But he pulls out, sets you down, your legs barely holding you, and you stumble, catch yourself on the workbench, and he looks at you, dark and wild and commanding.

"On your knees," he says, his voice rough.

You drop, the concrete hard against your knees, and you look up at him, his length inches from your face, heavy and wet and perfect. You reach for him, want to taste him, want to take him into your mouth and finish him there, but he catches your wrist, stops you, his grip firm.

You look up, confused, desperate, and he smiles, slow and cruel and full of promise.

"Maybe next time, princess," he says, and he takes himself in hand, strokes once, twice, his eyes locked on yours, on your face, on your body marked and naked and his.

He comes with a groan, his head falling back, his spend hot across your breasts, your nipples, your throat, marking you one final time, and you watch him, watch the pleasure wash over him, the way his jaw tightens, his muscles clench.

He looks down at you, at his mess on your skin, and he smiles, satisfied, sated, already planning.

"Next time," he repeats, and you know there will be one.

You don't even need to break your bike.

[malsmoony]

oh my god. this definitely came out of my subconscious jesus christ

[n9mgi]

street thing kim namjoon x reader

producer! namjoon x fem non-celeb! reader

summary: on the side of a sunburnt los angeles road, you with a broken down car meet a man you can't stop thinking about. he's older, composed, impossibly charming, and far too experienced to be looking at you the way he does. you're used to immature love that never knew how to hold you properly. but with him, everything is different.

themes: age gap (reader is 24, namjoon is 33), los angeles in the 2000s, smut, fluff, famous producer x non!celebrity reader, reader doesn't know who he is, confident joon yum, mainly readers pov w/ brief joon's pov, he's whipped, brief texting, tension, established relationship, strangers to lovers, teasing, they go on dates, joon is a gentleman, relationship building, joon is so dom and a lil possessive, nicknames, porn with lots of plot, eventual love confession

warnings: sexual themes, explicit & descriptive smut MINORS DNI 18+ (hard dom! joon omffghdj, slight age kink & size kink, slightly semi-public sex(?? in his studio :3), unprotected sex, soo much praise/dirty talk, edging/teasing, fingering, oral f, cowgirl, missionary, slight choking if u squint, creampie)

word count: 18k.. whoops

inspired by arirang joon because he's just too fine

♬ ₊˚. street thing - aaliyah

it was a late, blazing july afternoon with the kind of california heat that sticks to everything.

your beater car had just given up on you in the worst possible place it could—pulled over on the stretch of a busy road with no shade, just heat shimmering off the black asphalt and distant palm trees that don't feel helpful at all.

you already tried the obvious things. ignition, gas, trying it all again like it might change something.

it never did.

you leaned back against the passenger door of your car letting out a frustrated breath, hair sticking to your neck as you watched cars pass by with the soft sound of your hazards blinking in the background.

of course it's today. of course it's here.

that was when you suddenly heard the low hum of an engine slow down beside you. a sleek, black bmw—expensive, but not loud about it. it pulled in front of your car, and for a second you think the car is just stopping briefly.

that was before the driver door opened.

he steps out like he’s not in a rush to be anywhere else.

tall—noticeably so, he moves towards you easily, like he’s used to taking up space without ever forcing it.

sunglasses sit low on his nose, shielding his eyes, but not enough to hide the way his attention lands exactly on you. his shirt is simple—lightweight, slightly open at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. nothing flashy.

but it fits him too well. everything about him does.

dark jeans, clean shoes, watch on his wrist that you can't recognize but can tell is expensive. you notice all of him in the mere seconds he takes to walk over to you, the feeling hitting you all at once.

dear god, he was fine. the kind that made you straighten up a little bit without realizing; running a quick hand through your hair and fixing your jewelry.

he walks toward the front of your car, unhurried, one hand sliding briefly into his pocket before resting against the hood of your car.

up close, it’s worse.

sharper features than you expected. clean, but not overly polished. there’s something slightly worn in about him—like experience and maturity that sits on him well.

“everything alright?” he asks, voice is low and steady.

you blink for a second longer than necessary before responding. why does he look like that... helping me with my car?

"uh-" you stammer before clearing your throat. "it's- it's dead."

"yeah..." he says, eyes examining your car closer. "i can see that."

you nod and suddenly there's a pause, small but noticeable.

he comes around the side of your car, closing the distance between you to look inside of the window. you fumble while taking a few steps back as he looks at your dashboard then back at you, suddenly flustered by his presence.

"you got jumper cables?" he asks.

you simply shook your head.

"didn't think so," he says simply.

he walks back to his car, and you stand there feeling so helpless in the hot sun as he turns his car around to face yours in a swift manner, opening the door casually before coming around to his trunk like he's done this plenty of times.

when he comes back with the cables, he quickly slides his sunglasses in a way you almost miss a glimpse of his whole face.

you assumed it was because of the sun. but little did you know, it wasn't.

because before he walked back to his car, he had looked at you a little too closely. it wasn't some polite, quick glance. it was one that lasted a second too long.

he noticed everything about you.

the way your top fits—not overly revealing, but just enough to catch his attention without trying. the fabric light, slightly clinging from the heat. your skirt—shorter than it probably needed to be, riding just a little higher from the way you shifted against your car door.

his gaze dropped, brief, controlled—then came back up. your legs, your hands, the thin bracelet at your wrist. rings that don’t match perfectly but somehow work. jewelry that feels personal to you.

he takes note of that. of course he does.

then, your face. slightly flush from the heat, skin warm toned and sun-kissed. there's something effortless about you, like you spent more time living in the sun than hiding from it.

your expression—somewhere between annoyed and trying not to be. and your eyes, focused on him, but not softened. not entirely impressed by him, but more appreciative.

and when he closed his trunk, he forgets to look away. so he pulls his sunglasses back over, quick and casual. like it's nothing.

and not because of the sunlight, but because he was looking at you a little too openly. and he knew it.

he arrives at your car and connects everything smoothly, no hesitation and big hands steady. it was unfairly attractive.

“so,” he says, glancing up while he works, “you live out here or just enjoying the scenic breakdown experience?”

a smile pulls at your mouth despite yourself. “neither. i was just trying to get home.”

“mm.” he clicks something into place. “dangerous thing to try in LA.”

that gets a small laugh out of you, softer now and less defensive.

when the car finally sputters back to life, you visibly relax. he steps back, wiping his hands lightly. “there you go."

you should've just said thank you and left. but something in you doesn't act immediately. because now that the problem was gone, the silence between you two felt different now.

“so how do i… repay you?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious.

he tilts his head slightly. "you don’t.” a beat passes. "just don't break down in the worst place possible next time."

you rolled your eyes a little, a smirk tugging at your lips. "no promises."

that earns a small smile from him. he steps back toward his car, then pauses like he’s deciding something.

“i’m—” he starts, then stops himself, like he’s choosing not to introduce himself the usual way. "i’ll see you around.”

"yeah... thank you."

and you watch him get back into his car, driving away and getting lost in the sea of los angeles traffic as you realized two things;

you didn't get his name, and you would likely never see him again.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

one week later

he's just getting off the phone when it happens.

“yeah, send it over tonight,” he says, already half-distracted. “i"ll listen then.”

a pause. “mm. yeah. i got it.” he ends the call before the other person finishes their last sentence.

he slips his phone into his pocket, stepping onto the sidewalk, the afternoon sun hitting just right—warm, a little blinding, the kind of los angeles light that makes everything look softer than it is.

but he's not really paying attention at first.

he's thinking about work. about a track that still isn’t sitting right. about whether he even wants to go to the next session he has lined up.

and then—he sees you.

just down the block, wired headphones plugged into your ears as you walk towards a small coffee shop.

it takes him half a second too long for him to register it. he slows before stopping in his place on the scorching sidewalk just to be sure.

same walk. same unintentional confidence—like you're not trying to be noticed, which somehow makes you stand out more. your outfit catches his attention again without effort. something light, slightly different from the first time he saw you, but still you.

skirt again—of course. not the same one, but same idea.

he notices that. he notices everything.

you push the door open to the shop before disappearing inside. and for a second—he considers just letting you go, letting the roadside interaction stay that way, a one time street kind of thing that didn't need to turn into anything else.

he exhaled quietly before shaking his head, "yeah, no." he changed his direction subtly like he was always going that way.

by the time he reaches the door, he's already composed again. no rush or urgency in him, just the same steady stride he always carried around.

inside the cafe, it’s quieter than the street. low music, soft conversations, and the smell of coffee swirled in the air.

he scans the space once and it doesn't take long for him to find you, standing near the counter, slightly turned away, looking up at the menu like you're stuck deciding between the same two things.

he watches you for a second. not long, but enough. and suddenly, there's that feeling again rising up in his chest.

he steps into line behind you—close enough to matter, not close enough to be obvious. he lets the moment build naturally. of course he does. he lets you stay unaware just a second longer.

then, as you shift your weight and turn slightly back—he steps forward at the exact right time. light contact, your shoulder to his chest. just enough to capture your attention.

"oh, sorry—" you say automatically before looking up. it took a moment for you to process that the same, gorgeous man who jumped your car last week was the one currently blocking your vision.

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s just as surprised. “well,” he says, calm, almost amused, “this is becoming a pattern.”

you blinked. "you... helped me with my car."

"i did," he agrees. "and now apparently i'm following you around LA."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "are you?"

he puts a hand over his chest, mock offended but calm. “i prefer ‘running into you repeatedly by tragic coincidence.’”

that earns a laugh from you, the first real one between you. the barista calls you next in line, and he trails behind you like you're a couple ordering together. his presence alone makes your heart thump against your chest.

the barista takes your order and before you can even unzip your purse to pay, you already see a large hand coming from behind you, inserting a card in the machine.

the barista hands the man behind you the receipt and you turn around abruptly, tilting your head up to fully face him as you both drift away from the register. "i can pay for myself," you said.

"i know," he says simply.

"i was supposed to pay," you corrected as you picked up your freshly made coffee order.

"why?" he asked genuinely, tilting his head to match the angle of yours. it sent a light pink blush up your cheeks.

you look at him like the answer is obvious. "because you jumped my car."

his eyebrows pulled together. "that was like five minutes of my time." you all but blinked, suddenly at a loss of words under the intense gaze of this mysterious, confident man.

he begins to walk towards a table and you follow him, still protesting under your breath. "that doesn't mean you get to—"

“get to what?” he glances back at you, sunglasses now off, and it’s worse without them in a way—more direct, more readable. more of his perfectly chiseled face exposed to you. “buy you coffee?”

you open your mouth, then close it. because the way he said it made it sound ridiculous to argue.

you both end up choosing a table by the window. endless blue, moving slowly under the late afternoon sun. a few people pass by on bikes, others walking along the sidewalk with iced coffees in hand, like time moves differently here.

not sat too close to him, not too far—just enough space that it could still be casual if either of you decided to pretend it was.

“so, what do you do?” you ask finally, wrapping your hands around the cup.

he leans back slightly in his chair. “music.”

“that’s vague.”

“it's intentional.”

you give him a look. “oh, so you’re mysterious.”

“i’m tired,” he corrects lightly, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. “there’s a difference.”

that makes you smile. “what, like a band?” you press.

“no,” he says. “behind the scenes.”

“oh.” you tilt your head. “like a manager?”

he pauses for a moment. "something like that."

it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. you nod like you accept that answer, but the curiosity doesn't go away.

“and you?” he asks.

you almost laugh. “i don’t do music.”

“didn’t say you did.”

“i mean…” you gesture vaguely. “nothing like that. i work. i live on the edge of LA where nothing interesting happens.”

his gaze holds on you a second longer than necessary. "that’s not true,” he says.

you frown slightly. “you don’t even know me.”

“i know you broke down on the side of a road in peak heat and didn’t immediately panic,” he says. “that tells me something.”

"like what?" "that you're stubborn," he replies calmly.

you lean forward a little, eyes analyzing his expression. "that's not a compliment."

“it can be,” he says. “depends who it’s about.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and him slip into easy conversation—half started stories, simple questions, the kind of conversation that doesn't feel like you're trying too hard.

you're mid-sentence, explaining something about where you live—how everything feels slower out there—when he interrupts you, but gently. “how old are you?”

you pause, caught off guard. “that’s random.”

“it’s relevant,” he says, like that should be obvious.

“to what?”

he lifts his cup slightly, studying you over the rim for a second before answering. “to how seriously i should be taking you.”

your eyebrows lift immediately. “excuse me?”

there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “i’m kidding,” he says, calm, unbothered. “mostly.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile. “twenty four.”

he nods once, like he expected that. “yeah,” he murmurs.

“yeah what?” you press.

“nothing,” he says, setting his cup down. “it makes sense.”

“that’s so annoying,” you say. “you don’t get to say that and not explain.”

“i just did.”

“no, you didn’t.”

he leans back slightly, relaxed, completely comfortable letting you be a little frustrated. “you carry yourself younger at times,” he says. “but not in a bad way.”

you narrow your eyes. “that still feels like an insult.”

“it’s not,” he says, softer now. “it’s honest.”

you look at him for a second longer than you mean to. “okay,” you say quietly. “then how old are you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he’s deciding how much to give. “what do you think?” he asks.

you study him now, more deliberately. he doesn’t look older, not really. no obvious lines, no tiredness. and of course, he looks put together in a way most guys your age aren’t.

“twenty-seven,” you say finally. “maybe twenty-eight.”

he lets out a soft laugh—low, almost under his breath.

you frown immediately. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly with amusement.

“no, what?”

“you’re off,” he says.

“by how much?”

he pauses, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “enough.”

“that’s not an answer,” you says leaning forward closer now.

“it is,” he replies calmly. “just not one you like.”

you stare at him, half-annoyed, half-curious. “you’re not going to tell me?”

“not yet.”

your eyes narrow. “why?”

he meets your gaze fully this time. “because i want to see if it changes anything for you.”

you lean back slightly, thrown off in a way you don't show completely. “why would it?” you ask.

he shrugs after a small pause. he glances down at your cup. “you drink your coffee too slow, by the way.”

your mouth falls open a little as the moment quickly softens again. “oh my god.”

“just saying.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re still here,” he points out lightly.

the conversation drifts again after that, easier now. you talk more without meaning to—little things, fragments of your life. he listens in a way that feels attentive, but not invasive. like he’s not collecting information, just understanding your pace.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you both drift toward the door without really deciding to. the conversation doesn’t end—it just slows, like both of you are aware it has to, eventually.

outside, the afternoon has softened. the heat isn’t as sharp anymore, but it’s still there, hanging in the air between you.

you shift your weight slightly, glancing down the street, then back at him. “this was…” you start, then stop, like you don't want to overdefine it. he watches you, gazed fixed on you patiently.

“unexpected,” you continue on.

he nods once. “yeah.”

“i still owe you,” you say.

he glances down at you. “you don’t.”

“i do.”

“you don’t,” he repeats, softer but final. but after a small beat, “if it makes you feel better, you can get the next one.”

you narrows your eyes. “there’s going to be a next one?”

he paused again, but only for a fraction of a second too long before he shrugged slightly like it was nothing. "if you break down again, i might start thinking it's planned."

you rolled your eyes, but a smile pulled helplessly at your lips. as you stepped out into the light of the sun, you realized two things at once. this man still hadn't told you who he is or his name, and that you somehow already agreed to see him again.

"let me see your phone," he said lowly, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes once again. it wasn't really a question.

and so you reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone, and without asking—he takes your hand gently, turning your palm slightly towards his. the faintest brush of his fingers sent an unexpected warmth up your arm in a way you couldn't ignore.

he picked up your phone that now seemed so small in his hands, typing something quickly before handing your phone back. you looked down at your screen, squinty slightly from the sun.

his name. a number.

joon 213-555-0010

when you look back up at him, he's already watching you—unreadable in a way that sent a pink flush throughout your cheeks.

"joon," you said, like you needed to say his name out loud. like you knew it was just a nickname.

he simply nodded, something small like a smile tugging at his lips from the sound of you hearing his name. "yeah."

he paused, low eyes peering above his sunglasses as he looked at you closely. "you gonna tell me yours?" he asked lowly, the baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

so you told him, and he repeated it a few times under his breath like he had to let it sink on his tongue. "y/n," he said finally, voice quieter than usual. "pretty name for a pretty girl."

your eyes couldn't help but widely slightly at his bold words, the pink on your face turning into a deep red.

a small pause filled the air before you swallowed, trying your best to lock in your confidence in front of this man. "you didn't ask for my number," you said.

"i know."

"that's a little backwards."

"not really."

you titled your head. "why?"

he took a step back, giving you just a little more space. "because now it's your choice."

you study him for a second, like you're trying to figure out if this is some kind of game. some kind of reality tv show where they prank you with some hot mysterious man. but it didn't feel like one.

"and if i don't text you?" you ask.

a small pause before he shrugged easily. "then i'll assume you didn't want to." but his tone didn't have any pressure or persuasion in it.

"confident," you mutter.

"selective," he corrected.

you almost rolled your eyes—but you don't quite let it happen. he glances past you for a second, like he's remembering that he actually has somewhere to be. then, they quickly averted back to you.

"if you do," he continues, quieter now. "don't over think it."

you let a small laugh. "too late."

that earns a small smile from him, dimples tugging at his cheeks in a way you noticed immediately. "i figured."

another pause before he steps back swiftly, like he's deciding that he couldn't stay any longer than necessary—even if he wanted to. "i'll see you around," he says, for the second time.

before you can respond, he's already turning and stepping away, suddenly gone in the same effortless and casual way he arrived.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

that night, you tell yourself you're not going to think about him.

and you failed immediately.

you failed when you went to dinner with your friends, when you did chores around your house; in the shower and when you laid in your own bed that night—the bed that was supposed to make your thoughts go away. it was the small things at first.

the way he didn’t rush anything. the way he answered questions without really answering them. the way he looked at you like he already understood something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

and as the night continued on, the bigger things settled in your brain, making heat shamefully pool between your legs.

he didn't ask for your number. he didn't try to lock you in. instead, he just left his number with you.

who is he?

your phone sat next to you with the screen dark and off, but it felt louder than anything else in the room. you fell into a cycle of picking it up and putting it back down.

finally, you picked it up again, finding his contact. you flipped it shut, sucking in a sharp breath at the thought of messaging him. you found your thumbs typing, deleting, then typing something again.

you exhale softly, leaning back against your pillow trying your hardest not to overthink it, his voice replaying in the back of your head.

he wasn't some typical guy—you could tell in the way he carried himself. he walked casually, but with assurance. he dressed with stride, but still managed to blend in. he talked with confidence, and every line was coated with experience.

so now, it wasn't just about texting him. it's about what it would mean if you did. because somehow, after one roadside encounter and a cup of coffee—you already wanted more than you should have.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's drive back was quiet. not because he wanted it to be—but because nothing else fit how he felt at the moment.

not even any of his music.

he had driven these streets thousands of times. the same turns, the same streets, the same palm trees. usually his mind is somewhere else entirely—work, mixes, deadlines, people who expect things from him.

but not tonight. because tonight, it kept circling back to you.

it all kept replaying in his head—the way you looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. he noticed the way you didn't try too hard. you didn't perform like everyone else in LA.

you didn't know what he is, who he is, or what kind of world he's involved in.

that was the part that was stuck in namjoon's head so deeply. because most people that meet him are already adjusted to him—already well aware, careful with their words and their tones, their intentions.

but you certainly weren't.

because you argued with him. you rolled your eyes and called him annoying. and you meant all of it.

a faint smile pulled at his mouth as he came to a stop at a red light. "twenty-seven," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and laughing slightly.

but still, you didn't hesitate.

he pulls into his place, kills the engine, but doesn’t get out right away. he glances at his phone, sitting in the center console of his car, dark and quiet.

but he doesn't reach for it. because namjoon was a patient man—he always had been. in work, in life, in everything that mattered.

once he gets inside his spacious, sleek home, he dropped his keys on the counter, running a hand through his hair, exhaling.

namjoon had been with plenty of women before. older, younger—in his world and outside of it. he always knows how it goes. he knows how to keep it light and uncomplicated.

but this didn't feel like that. because it felt like something that could get complicated. but instead of pushing it away like he normally would, he leaned into it. just a little.

an hour passes. then two.

namjoon tells himself he's not checking his phone. but it turns out to be a lie, because throughout night—he checks it without picking it up. glancing every time he walks past, like it might light up if he looks long enough. but it doesn't.

he tells himself to relax, that you have a life or that you might not be interested at all. but still—he wonders what you're up to. if you're thinking about him the way he's thinking about you. if you're overanalyzing that moment outside of the coffee shop.

suddenly, his phone buzzed. he doesn't look right away. he just looked at it before reading the unsaved number, no name attached. he picks it up and opens it almost immediately.

unknown: do you always leave girls with this much pressure or am i just special?

he lets out a quiet breath—half a laugh of amusement, half something else. there you finally were, exactly the way he had anticipated. he begins to type before he stops and quickly deletes it.

he leans back against the counter, thinking—not about what to say, but about how much he should give. because namjoon didn't want to rush this. he didn't want to come on too strong.

but he couldn't pretend that he was unaffected either, because he most certainly couldn't even if he wanted to. not with you.

he types again, this time sending it.

him: i was starting to think you wouldn't.

he watches the screen for a second longer than necessary, saving your contact before setting his phone down. it wasn't far, but it was just enough. because now, you know that he was waiting too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you exhale softy, rolling onto your back with a smile that couldn't help but tug at your lips.

you: oh so you were waiting

a pause settled on the screen before the typing bubble popped up again.

joon: i was curious

you: that sounds like a more mysterious way of saying waiting

joon: you can call it whatever makes you feel better

and now, you definitely smiled at that. because he was already doing that thing again—side stepping without hesitation.

you: you're too difficult to read

joon: you're trying too hard then

you: i think you're just confusing

joon: only for you sweetheart

you actually laugh out loud at that, shaking your head and ignoring the way the nickname made pink tint your cheeks.

you: wow so is this how you talk to every girl you buy coffee for?

his reply comes faster this time.

joon: i don't buy anyone coffee

you: good answer

joon: an honest one what are you doing right now?

you glanced around your room like he could somehow see.

you: nothing important

joon: doesn’t sound convincing

you: i could say the same about you

joon: i’m working

you: doing your very mysterious job?

joon: still stuck on that?

you: a little

joon: you'll figure it out eventually

you bit your lip slightly, thinking of an answer.

you: you're very sure i'm going to stick around long enough to figure it out

joon: aren't you?

your heart does that annoying little jump again, and you don't answer right away. and he doesn't send anything else. instead, he waits. three minutes later;

you: maybe

joon: that's a start

another painfully long beat passes before your cellphone vibrates again.

joon: you busy tomorrow night?

you stare at the message, blinking twice to make sure you read it right. but somehow, half of you wasn't surprised. you were practically waiting in a way you couldn't admit. but the other half was incredibly in shock.

you started to type.. deleted it.. then typed again.

you: depends what are you planning?

joon: something better than coffee

you smiled immediately, even though you tried not to.

you: that's a little confident

joon: doesn't seem like you hate it

you: i don't

joon: good

a pause settled on the screen again.

joon: 8?

you exhaled slowly, the reality creeping in as you stared at the screen. you were really going to go on a date with this man. the same, confident and attractive man that had jumped your car and saved your day. the same man who's age and job you couldn't quite detect.

you: okay

joon: i'll pick you up don't overthink it

you rolled your eyes, smiling.

you: too late

joon: i know

and just like that, with one text conversation, it definitely was more than just a street thing.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you almost regret saying yes the moment you hear a car pull up outside, engine rumbling lowly outside your apartment window.

not because you didn't want to go, of course. but because now, it's real.

you check yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the bumps in your hair and coating your lips with gloss one last time. simple, but intentional. something that said you tried... but didn't try too hard.

your phone buzzed.

joon: i'm outside

when you step out, you see the car first. the same sleek and clean car that had pulled over in front of you on that busy highway engulfed in heat.

then him.

leaning slightly agains the driver's side door, towering over the car with his sleeves pushed up, looking like he's only been there for a minute—but completely settled anyway. he wore a costly-looking dress shirt, glimmering chain around his neck and a sparkling watch wrapped around his built arm. you swallowed hard.

his eyes flick up from the ground immediately when he notices you. and for a second, he just looks at you. completely, unashamedly taking you in with his eyes slowly.

"yeah..." he says lowly, dragging his lips ever so quickly along his lips as you approached him, heels clicking beneath you. "you're going to be a problem tonight."

you couldn't ignore the heat that sent down your spine, but you simply peered up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently. "aren't i always?"

"i haven't seen you always," he replied.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile pulled at your lips anyway. then, he stepped back, opening the door for you. you don't the miss the way he does it without hesitation. and when you sit inside, you don't miss the way his gaze burns into you before closing your door.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive was easy, music low in the background, city lights coming to life as the sun started to dip below the horizon.

namjoon doesn't fill every silence—and somehow it makes it easier for you to talk.

"so where are you taking me?" you ask eventually.

"you'll see," he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested between you.

"that's not helpful."

"it's not supposed to be."

you shook your head, smiling out the window. he pulls up to a restaurant that sits right by everything—the beach, the water, and the city. it was definitely upscale, but nothing intimidating.

inside, the lighting is warm yet dim, swift music playing and low conversations humming.

you were seated quickly. no waiting or confusion. you didn't quite realize the line of people who were standing for a table, and how you and him were able to breeze right past it.

when you arrive to your seat, it's right in front of the window, city lights and palm trees stretching on the glass in front of you. he pulls your seat out for you, helping you take off your coat and placing it along your chair.

after you place your orders, the conversation flows faster this time. less guarded, and more natural.

"so," he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. "what do you actually do?"

you sigh softly, like you already know the answer isn't impressive, even compared to his incredibly vague one. "i’m a waitress," you say. "nothing exciting."

he watches you for a second. "you keep saying that."

"because it's true."

"or because you think it's supposed to be."

that made you pause. "it's not exactly... impressive," you admitted.

he shrugs lightly. "most things that are don't matter."

you let out a small breath, like you didn’t expect that answer. “you always talk like that?” you ask.

“like what?”

“like you know something i don’t.”

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. “sometimes i do.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and namjoon are laughing a few minutes later—about something small and stupid—and it feels easy. too easy.

the song currently playing comes to an end and the music shifts. a different song comes on—smooth, familiar, something that's even playing everywhere recently.

you perked up immediately. "oh my god, i love this song."

he stills ever so slightly. it's quick and barely noticeable, but there's a flicker of something across his face. he glances down at the table, then back up at you. "yeah?" he asks, casual.

"yeah," you nod, smiling. "it's so good."

he hums in response, leaning back in his seat like it's just background noise. "not bad."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "not bad?" he shrugs. "it's alright."

you laugh. "you're impossible."

and he doesn't argue. but there's a faint smirk but he doesn't fully hide this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the dinner stretches longer than you expected. because neither of you seem to be in a rush to end it.

by the time the check comes, you reach for it instinctively. because at the cafe, he said he would let you get it this time.

but he's faster. of course he is.

"you don't have to—" you start.

"i know."

"that's not fair," you protest.

"it doesn't have to be," he said.

you sigh, but you're already smiling again.

as he hands the card over, the server pauses. "sorry," the server says, almost hesitant. "are you... are you—namjoon—"

namjoon already knows what's coming. he exhales softly, not annoyed at all, just used to it. "yeah," he says with a polite smile. you blinked.

"sorry- i thought so. i didn't want to assume."

he gives a small, reassuring nod.

"do you think i could-" the server gestures awkwardly. "just like, a quick autograph? my brother and i are huge fans."

you completely froze.

fan?

huge?

he doesn't make it a big deal. "yeah, no problem," he says, like it was normal. like this happens all the time. because it does.

he signs something quickly, hands it back with a polite smile.

"thank you—i appreciate it. you two have a great night," the server said before walking off.

silence settled between you for the brief a second. you were completely staring at him now, trying to control your facial expressions as you processed what just happened.

"you didn't tell me that happens to you," you said.

"i didn't think it mattered," he replied casually.

"well," you said slowly. "what exactly do you do?"

there it was. the question he definitely couldn't avoid this time. he leans back slightly, studying your expression. it was curious, but not intimidated or totally impressed. just curious.

"i told you," he said. "music."

you shook your head. "no, you said behind the scenes."

he huffed a small breath, close to a laugh before he paused. "i produce," he said finally. it was simple and direct—no bragging or boasting.

you blink again. "like... that song?"

a beat passes for a small moment before he nods once. "yeah."

and now, the air between you shifted. because now you knew; he wasn't just some guy who stopped to help you on the side of the road.

and somehow, it almost made things worse. because now, you had to figure out why he's here... with you.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the air outside feels cooler than before. or maybe it’s just because of the way everything shifted inside.

namjoon pushes the door open for you, stepping slightly to the side to let you walk out first—but as you pass, his hand settles lightly at the small of your back.

guiding. not grabbing or lingering too long. just there, resting on your back. it's subtle, but you can feel the intention seeping through you, especially in the way it instantly sends a shiver up your back.

your steps slow for half a second—not enough for him to comment on, but enough for you to notice yourself.

but he notices too.

you both walk a few steps in the parking lot in silence. it wasn't awkward, it was just both of you recollecting the entire night—including who he really was.

“so,” you say finally, glancing over at him, tone light like nothing’s changed, “you’re kind of a big deal, namjoon.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “no.”

“that guy literally asked you for an autograph.”

“that happens sometimes.”

you narrow your eyes. “that’s not normal.”

“it is for me,” he says simply. it wasn't cocky or defensive, just the honest truth. it should've been intimidating. but you didn't let it land that way.

you shrugged slightly. "okay. but that still doesn't mean i'm impressed."

there's a pause before he looks at you—really looks this time. and something shifts in his eyes, subtle but sharper. more interested and intrigued by the young woman standing before him.

"good," he said lowly.

you blinked. "good?"

“i’d be a little concerned if you were.”

your lips press together slightly, trying not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

you both reach his car, but neither of you move to get in right away. he leans back against it slightly, arms relaxed and eyes fixed on you.

you cross your arms again. not closed off, just grounding yourself under his gaze. "so you just... make songs people know?"

"sometimes," he said with a shrug.

"ugh, that's such a non-answer."

his lips fought a smile at your remark. "it's an accurate one."

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. "you're so annoying."

"but you keep talking to me," he points out.

you finally glance up at him fully, and for a second, the eye contact lingers for a moment too long. it causes you to look away first, pink tinting your cheeks.

and namjoon notices everything.

the way you're holding eye contact a little less now. the way you're slightly more aware of yourself. the way you're trying not to let it change anything. but it doesn’t turn him off—it only pulls him in more.

“you got quiet,” he says.

“i didn’t.”

“you did.”

you look away for a second, then back at him. “i’m just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate. “nothing,” you say.

he tilts his head slightly, unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. instead, he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you, but enough to spark the energy in the space between you even more.

“you’re doing that thing,” he comments quietly, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

your brows knit. “what thing?”

“trying to act like nothing changed.”

your stomach flips—annoyingly and immediate. “because nothing did,” you said.

a pause fills the air. he studies your face, like he’s deciding whether to call it out further. “alright,” he says finally.

you exhale softly. “you’re not going to say anything else?”

“i don’t need to.”

“that’s so—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

he watches you, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth now. “say it,” he murmurs.

you look at him, trying not to react to the way his voice dropped slightly. “it’s just… a lot,” you admit.

your answer was too honest for your liking, yet he didn't laugh or dismiss it. "yeah," he said quietly. "it can be."

a beat passed. "but i'm still the same guy you had coffee with," he said softly. and those words land, harder than anything else he's said.

you study him for a second, searching for something—ego, arrogance, anything that would make this easier to categorize.

but you don’t find it. instead, you're only able to find that same calm, steady version of him. the one who stopped his car for you. the one who let you decide whether to text him. the one who didn’t even bother to impress you.

“…okay,” you say finally. and you mean it.

there was a small shift in the air between you, the tension softening— but not totally disappearing.

“so,” he says, pushing off the car slightly, “you still letting me drive you home?”

you raise an eyebrow. “do i have a choice?”

“you always have a choice,” he said. a beat passes. "but i’d prefer if you said yes," he confessed playfully.

you huffs out a quiet laugh. “you’re very subtle.”

“i try.”

and for the second time that night, namjoon opens the passenger door for you. and this time, when you got in, it felt different; reality swirling around you and settling into your head.

the drive back was quieter than the one there. it wasn't awkward or empty—just filled with unspoken words and incredibly thick tension.

his gaze was fixed on the road, but you couldn't ignore the way you caught him glancing over at you multiple times in the corner of your eye. the music is low, humming softly through the speakers before another song comes on.

you glance over at the console, then over at him. "did you make this one too?" you ask, half teasing.

he doesn't look at you right away, a smirk pulling at his lips, leaving a sharp shadow along his jaw. "maybe."

you roll your eyes, fully smiling now. "you're never going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"not all at once, pretty girl."

there it is again. not just the nickname that sent heat through your spine and in between your legs—but that confident, indirect promise of you sticking around long enough to unlock every thing about him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're looking out the window, surrounded by the kind of silence that makes everything feel more noticeable. but you're not really seeing or looking at anything, because you're too aware.

too aware of namjoon. the way he drives—one veiny hand on the wheel, relaxed but precise. the way the scent of his expensive cologne and shampoo made your knees weaken. the way he continues to glance over every now and then, quick, like he’s checking something without making it obvious.

you shift slightly in your seat every time he does.

suddenly, his hand moves from the wheel for just a second—resting briefly against the center console as he adjusts his grip. but through that movement, his large fingers brush lightly against your thigh.

he dragged them ever so softly on your thigh for what felt like forever—but only lasted two seconds—before moving his hand back to the center console. his fingers were barely there, not lingering or deliberate enough to call out. but it wasn't exactly accidental enough to ignore either.

your breath catches for just a second, but he doesn't react or apologize. he doesn't even look at you, and somehow that makes it worse.

you swallow hard, turning your head slightly towards the window again. but now you're even more hyper-aware of the space between you. your heart was doing something very annoying again, and you knew it.

he knew it.

he slows the car as you reach your place, parking smoothly before killing the engine. and just like that, everything went still.

neither of you moved right away. you looked down at your hands, then back up like you were about to say something. but you didn't.

he simply watches you for a second, less teasing in his eyes and more focus. he took in every inch of you, sitting so still and pretty in his car. looking at him like he was still the same guy who jumped your car, not like he was a guy who made every hit song. "you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you keep saying that."

"because you keep doing it."

you glance at him. this time, you don't look away immediately. "i'm just thinking."

"dangerous," he murmurs, pulling a small smile from you.

you reach for the door handle. "thanks for dinner," you say, like you're trying to keep it normal.

"yeah," he replies with a soft smile.

you open the door, stepping out thinking that the night is wrapped up. that he'll pull away and let you go. but then, you hear his door open too.

he rounds the front of the car, meeting you halfway up the short path to your door. he took his time not rushing—because he never did.

when you stop in front of your door, you turn to face him. and suddenly, it's close. closer than it's been all night. there wasn't a table, a center console, or any distractions now. just him, towering over you and filling your entire vision with nothing but him. his musky cologne quickly filled your nostrils, throwing your mind off balance.

"you don't have to walk me up," you say quietly, close to a whisper.

"i know," he says. but he doesn't step back.

a long pause fills the air, stretching long enough for the tension to feel intentional. his gaze drops briefly, to your lips—then back up to your eyes.

your breath catches again, softer now. but you were too close for namjoon to not notice it. "are you always this—" you start, then stop.

"this what?" he asks lowly, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the mere sight of you fumbling with your words in front of him.

you shake your head slightly. "i don't even know."

a faint smile pulls at his mouth. "good." he took another step closer, not enough to trap you, but enough for the warmth of his body to wrap around you.

then, his hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he does it carefully, like he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away. but you didn't.

"you're overthinking again," he murmurs, low eyes scanning every inch of your face.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "you keep saying that like it helps."

"it does," he suggests casually.

"how?"

he leans in barely. he doesn't completely close the distance between you, but it was enough to send a bolt of warmth down your body. "because you're still here."

you tilt your head up just a little, before he leans in just a sliver more. and for a second, the moment is right there, sitting heavy in the little distance there was between you.

and then, he stops. just barely, coming to a small still when you could practically feel his breath on you. just enough that it didn't happen.

your eyes flicker across his face, confused, a little breathless. he watches your reaction carefully, low eyes trained onto your every movement.

and suddenly, there's that faint smirk again—but it's softer; barely there and more restrained than usual in a way you almost didn't catch.

"goodnight, doll," he said lowly. "sleep well."

like nothing had almost just happened.

he steps back, ripping the thick air that had just sat between you like a third person. breaking it and leaving you there standing with it.

“you’re—” you start, but you don't even know what to call him.

he tilts his head slightly, licking his lips and averting his gaze down you one last time. “what?”

you exhale half-laugh and half-frustration. “annoying.”

he smiles, dimples pulling at his cheeks. “i know," he says, before turning around and walking back to his car.

from the doorstep, you watch him get in, turn on the engine, and leave. leaving you there with more thoughts than your racing heart could keep up with and a miserable dampness in your panties.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's place is quiet again. too quiet.

he tosses his keys down, walks a few steps in, then stops—like his body forgot what he was about to do.

because his mind was entirely somewhere else.

it was still at your door. still immersed into that moment.

he leans back against his kitchen counter, exhaling. he's replaying everything now, like dinner—the way you didn't switch up when you found out what he did. you weren't suddenly impressed or started asking the wrong questions.

you stayed the same. maybe you were a little quieter, a tad bit more aware. but you didn't completely fold.

that absolutely sat under namjoon's skin now. he was completely enamored by you, and didn't want to pull a girl like you into his chaotic world. didn't want you to adjust to him because of who he was, like most people did.

but you didn't. you just took it in, and kept going. you stayed exactly the same—you still called him annoying and told him he wasn't impressive.

he looks at his phone sitting a few feet away. he already gave you control once. he let you decide whether or not to text him, to decide if it was going to go anywhere or not.

but he wasn't going to do that tonight.

him: you always look at people like that or was that just for me?

he sets the phone down, but not far. because you've consumed every inch of his mind again without even trying to. he thinks about the your eyes dropped to his lips, the way you didn't pull away.

his jaw tightened slightly. he knew he was in trouble.

his phone lit up again.

her: like what?

he lets out a quiet breath, a smile pulling at his lips. the way you played it off, like you always did, made him only want more. made him think that maybe he should've kissed you right then and there—should've forgot about being a man and taking his time with you and—

he slowly took in a deep breath through his nose, dragging a hand across his face.

him: like you were about to do something you'd regret

her: don't know if i'd call it regret

namjoon liked that a little too much, licking his lips and leaning back. because now, he knows you felt it too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days and several text conversations later, namjoon sends you a text on a night he knows you're not working. no question or explanation, just;

joon: be ready at 7

when he picks you up, the air already shifts when you walk outside. it was in the way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't hiding it at all anymore. he takes his time, eyes trailing from your shoes, to the way your skirt falls, the jewelry at your wrist, to your face.

"you always dress like this, doll?" he asks lowly, stepping closer to you.

you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way the name made your brain feel like mush. "like what?"

"like you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked that."

your lips pressed together slightly, trying not to smile. "maybe i did."

a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "yeah," he agreed. "i think you did."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the driver is longer, along the coast again. his tinted windows are cracked, music low with the sky fading into the darkest blue that only happens by the water.

you and namjoon talk, but it's far from that careful, first date way. the conversation flowed between you easily. you interrupted each other, went off on tangents. doubled back to things you both said earlier. like you both have done this together longer than you actually had.

when you arrive, the place is even more secluded than last time. a quiet overlook with soft lights and the ocean extending endlessly in front of you. the sound of waves clashed below in a way that was steady and grounding.

it felt private, like the rest of the world didn't exist here.

you and namjoon sit closer this time without question. dinner stretches and the conversation flows. you don't even discuss all the big things, but it's the way you talk about the small ones that makes it feel different.

you tell him about what hobbies you have, about your job—how it's routine, how people underestimate it, and how sometimes you feel stuck. and he doesn't brush it off or give you empty encouragement like most people did.

"you're not stuck," he corrected you firmly.

you scoff every is slightly. "that's easy for you to say."

"it's not about me," he replies softly. "you just need to find what you want."

you pout slightly in a way that makes his heart falter. "and you have?"

he pauses for half a second. "yeah." that same confidence remained in his tone, and for a second it felt like he might have been talking about something else.

at some point, his hand settles at the back of your chair. but this time, it stays. it wasn't touching you directly, but it was close enough to make you aware of it. aware of him.

you shift slightly and his slender fingers brush at your shoulders. they rest there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back. his warmth and his actions sent an unbearable heat between your legs.

after dinner, you both step away from the table, walking along the edge of the overlook. the night air is cooler now, ocean breeze slipping through you. you and him walk a little closer than before, shoulders lightly brushing with every few steps.

you wrapped your arms around you slightly, and his jacket is already around your shoulders before you can say anything.

you glance back at him, stopping in your steps to look at him properly. "you know... you're very sure of yourself."

"that bothers you?"

"no," you admit honestly. "it's just—different."

he pauses for a small moment. "from what you're used to?" he asks.

you nod slightly. he studies you for a second. "you're trying to figure out how old i am again."

your eyes widen slightly. "i'm not—"

"you are."

you exhale. "okay, maybe a little."

he lets your confession sit in the air before he nods slightly toward a couple walking past you two—a generation older than you, quieter, and settled. "you think i'm closer to them, or closer to you?" he asks.

you look back at the couple, then back at him. you really look at him, thinking about the way he carries himself. the way he speaks. the way he doesn't rush anything.

your expression shifts. "...okay," you say slowly. "how old are you?"

he pauses for longer than just a few seconds. "thirty-three," he answers finally.

you can't help but blink. once. twice. "...really?"

"yeah."

you study him again, like the answer didn't quite align with what you were seeing. "you don't look thirty-three."

"i know," he answered casually.

"that's kind of unfair," you said playfully.

he smiled softly. "i've heard that."

a quiet beat passes as namjoon watches you carefully, curiously watching your expression.

you shrug slightly. "okay."

he tilts his head. "that's all?"

"what?" you ask. "were you expecting something else?"

"most people... adjust," he stated.

you look at him deeply, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "well i'm not most people."

he steps closer, lightly closing the space between you. his scent filled your head once again, making your breath catch.

"yeah," he said lowly. "i noticed."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

later, when you leave the restaurant together, you don't rush out. you never do.

namjoon walks slightly behind you first as you both headed towards the entrance, one hand finding its way onto the small of your back. it became natural now, something you didn't react to—externally, at least.

his hand was there, guiding you carefully down the steps.

two hostesses near the front glance up. then they glance at namjoon. then to you, then back at him.

a quick look exchanged between them followed by a few whispers and positive smiles. he catches it immediately. of course he does.

namjoon doesn’t look directly at them—he doesn’t acknowledge it—but there’s the faintest change in his expression. then his hand presses just slightly firmer at your back.

a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. not to show off. just to keep you close—and slightly focus the attention on you.

you don't notice the whispers, but you do notice the presence of his hand grow warmer. "what?" you ask, glancing back at him.

"nothing," he says easily.

the lights from the restaurant glowed behind you, the cool night air and a soft breeze coming off the water hitting you all at once.

there's a small set of marble steps leading down towards the parking area. you start down them without thinking—mind entirely captured by namjoon—and suddenly your heel catches slightly.

it's quick—barely a stumble, but it's enough to throw you off balance slightly. his large hands instantly find their way to your waist firmly, tightening his grip and steadying you before you could even process anything.

"careful, baby," he murmurs, low and close. the name slipping out like it had always belonged there.

you freeze for half a second, breath catching slightly before you steady yourself, hand instinctively brushing against his arm.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly, beginning to continue a careful ascend down the steps and ignoring the heat on your cheeks.

namjoon however, doesn't move his hands right away. they linger on your waist a second longer than necessary, making sure you're fully balanced. "i know," he says calmly.

you look up at him, trying to play it off. "you don't have to—"

"i know," he cuts in softly.

and when you reach the bottom of the steps, his hand doesn't leave your back. it stays there, steady, guiding you towards his car like you're already part of his space.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive back is quiet, the low vibration of the music and the city lights and palm trees flickering past practically lulling you to sleep.

and namjoon's presence, of course.

his large hand rested on the wheel, the other on the center console. close enough. by the minute, you swear it continues to get closer.

"tell me about him," namjoon says suddenly, the deep baritone of his voice making your thighs press together slightly.

you frown slightly from confusion. "about who?"

"your ex."

it catches you off guard. "...why?"

he shrugs lightly, sharp eyes still on the road. "i'm curious."

you hesitate before sighing. "he was..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word. "lazy."

half a second passed. "immature," you added. "didn't really pay attention to me unless it was convenient."

and as you talk, namjoon's jaw tightens slightly. it's subtle and controlled in a way you don't notice, but it's there.

"he just-" you shook your head slightly, looking out the window. "i don't know. it felt like I was always asking for the bare minimum."

for a long second, silence fills the car. namjoon's fingers tap once against the console. then, they shift. his hand moves unhurriedly, eventually finding its way to rest against your thigh, making a sharp bolt of warmth shoot down your body.

"yeah," he says finally, voice low and rough. "that sounds about right."

you glance at him. "what does that mean?"

he paused for a second. "guys your age," he continues, calm but edged with something sharper now. "they don't know what to do with a woman like you."

your stomach flips in a way that is impossible to ignore. "and you do?" you ask teasingly, trying to keep your tone steady.

his thumb shifts slightly against your thigh slightly. butterflies erupted in your stomach and your thighs shifted in a way you couldn't help, trying to disregard the heat between your legs.

"i wouldn't ignore you," he says simply.

the air in car seems to shift as you swallow hard, glancing out the window before looking back at him. "you barely know me."

"i know enough," he answers.

your breath catches slightly. namjoon's hand stays sat on your thigh steadily, like he knows exactly what it's doing to you.

"and i definitely wouldn't have you asking for anything," he adds. his words land deeper than they should, etching themselves into the back of your mind without asking.

you let out a quiet, almost nervous laugh. "you're very confident."

"i'm honest," he says. he pauses for a moment. then, his voice drops just a little—"big difference."

you look at him again, thoroughly scanning his face this time. "you always talk like that?" you ask.

"only when i mean it."

another silence settles between you, this time sitting thick; heavy with everything both of you haven't said. his hand finally shifts, but not away from you. it only slides higher along your thigh before settling again.

"relax, doll," he murmurs softly, voice low and deep.

you exhale slowly, trying to steady yourself. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?"

you shake your head slightly. "you know exactly what."

a faint smirk pulls at his lips. "yeah," he answers. "i do."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the rest of the drive feels too short.

namjoon pulls to your curb, parking swiftly with one hand before cutting the engine. silence fills the space, neither of you reaching for the door immediately.

you look down at your hands, then back up, like you're about to say something—but the words don't come as easily now. because everything, from the restaurant, the drive is still sitting in between you. his hand, his voice. doll.

"you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you make it hard not to."

he stills ever so slightly, like your words had pulled something out of him. "do i?" he asks.

you look at him, holding his intense gaze this time. "yeah."

he pauses for longer than normal, eventually moving his hand before his mouth. he starts slow—not to your thigh this time—but higher. his fingers lift, brushing lightly along your jaw. just the tips, tracing the line like he needed to memorize it.

your breath catches immediately, peering up at him through your eyelashes as you seemingly couldn't look away from his face. he tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction closely.

"you always look like this when you're thinking?" he murmurs.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "like what?"

his thumb lingers beneath just beneath your chin for just a second. then it shifts slightly, guiding your face just enough so that you're looking directly at him and nothing else.

"like you're trying to figure out if this is a good idea," he says.

your heart practically stumbles. because he absolutely was right. "and?" you ask quietly.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. but this one was softer, like it was more certainty than teasing. "i think you already decided," he murmurs. his gaze drops briefly, down to your lips, then back up again. this time, he doesn't even try to hide it.

"you're dangerous, you know that?" you say, barely above a whisper.

he leans in slightly, his scent taking over your lungs. "yeah?"

your breath is uneven now. "yeah."

his gaze drifts again, over your face, slower this time. fully taking you in. "you still thinking about the age thing?" he asks.

"no," you respond, holding the burning eye contact.

he studies you for half a second, like he's deciding if you're telling the truth. then, he exhales quietly, almost amusedly. "yeah," he says. "didn't think you would."

his hand lifts from your chin before resting lightly at your waist, thumb pressing just slightly before easing.

"probably better for you," he adds, voicer lower now, teasing but grounded in something real and deep, "if you didn't get used to someone like me."

your stomach flips instantly. "who says i'm getting used to you?" you shoot back, trying to play it off.

a smile tugs at his lips. "doll," he murmurs, softer and closer, the warmth of his breath hitting your neck. "you're already here."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days later, namjoon sends you an address located in the corner of a private street in LA telling you to meet him there. telling you that he wanted to show you something.

a building tucked slightly off the main road, close enough to the water that the air already feels different when you step out of the car.

you hesitate for a half a second before going in. not nervous, but just a little too aware of what you were walking into. with a few instructed taps on the door buzzer, you were let in.

inside, the hallway light is dim, soft lights lining the walls that were decorated with award cases, album posters, and framed vinyls. the floors were sleek and bass echoed through the walls.

you followed the sound the sound down the hallway, until you find a studio door that's slightly open. the gold plate on it reading, "kim namjoon" then below it, "head executive producer."

you exhale softly, heart slightly stopping at that and swallowing a little too hard before you push it gently, and that's when you see him.

sitting at the main console, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting near the soundboard. one hand adjusting a dial, the other resting against his chin like he's listening too closely.

he was so immersed that he hadn't noticed you yet.

the room was lowly lit—colored LEDS instead of overhead lights, the glow from the equipment reflecting softly against his face.

and there's something about him like this—focused, quiet, and completely in his element—that hits differently, making your stomach twist into a knot.

his sleeves are pushed up again, glistening watch catching the light as he moves his hand. a chain rests below his collar, barely visible, but sparkling in the light.

everything about him is so simple, but it fits him all too well. you don't mean to stare, but you definitely do.

and then, like he felt it—namjoon finally glances up. your eyes immediately meet, and you swear you felt a spark flash through your body.

for a split second, he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, gaze taking you in deliberately.

then, he licks his lips so lightly you almost don't catch it. "you just going to stand there," he says, voice low and soft. "or are you coming in?"

you blink, snapping out of your trance slightly. "i-i didn't want to interrupt."

"you didn't," he replies easily. but his eyes linger on you for a second longer, almost like he knew you were watching him.

you step inside, softly closing the door behind you. the white lighting from the hallway had disappeared now, fully engulfing you into his world—his studio, his creative space—the place where he made every hit even possible. the big room suddenly felt smaller now, more private.

you look around, taking it all in. the walls are boarded with soundproof panels, and large speakers are placed around the sleek equipment. there's two chairs, a beanbag, and couch with folders of music sheets and lyrics scattered on the floor and on counter tops. "this is... really nice."

"mm," he hums, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs slightly. "it works."

you glance at him. "you say everything like that."

"like what?"

"like it's not a big deal."

a faint smirk. "it's not."

you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. he gestures towards the seat next to him. "come here." it wasn't a question.

you walk over, sitting beside him—closer than expected, immediately greeted by his warmth and the musk of his cologne.

he turns towards the console, grabbing a pair of high-end headphones. "listen to this," he says. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before carefully placing them over your head.

music plays—smooth and layered. it had no lyrics, but it was already catchy. you hummed in delight. "it's really good," you said softly, gently taking the headphones off.

"i know," he replies casually.

you laugh. "you're insufferable."

he glances at you, a smirk forming. "you're still here though."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

after a few minutes of namjoon showing you some buttons, he glances at you. "you want to try something?" you look at him, a bit hesitant. "like what?"

he shifts slightly, turning your chair just enough so that your angled more towards the board. "come on," he says, nodding towards the controls. "i'll show you."

"...i feel like i'm going to mess something up," you say.

"you won't."

"how do you know?" he leans in slightly, his breath hitting your neck ever so slightly. "because i'm right here."

your stomach flips again. he reaches around you slightly, one hand bracing lightly against the edge of the console near you, the other guiding your hand toward a dial.

“turn this,” he says, voice lower now, near your ear.

you try to focus. you really do. but namjoon is close. too close. his warmth spilling all over you, hitting you in all the places that made your thighs pull closer together.

you turn the dial slowly—and immediately the sound distorts in a ridiculous way. you both pause.

"...was that supposed to happen?" you ask.

he stares at the board for a second before a short laugh escapes him, dimples tugging at his cheeks. "no," he says.

you burst out laughing. "i told you!"

he shakes his head with another laugh, reaching forward to fix it, his arm brushing yours again. "you didn't break it," he says. "relax."

"i definitely did something."

"you did," he replies with a smile. "just not what i said."

you laugh again, softer this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're standing now, not sitting anymore.

because namjoon told you to.

“stand here,” he said, guiding you lightly by the waist until you were in front of the soundboard. no asking, just placing you there. you stiffened under his touch that sent a light shock through you.

"relax, doll," he murmurs behind you. the deep baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

you exhale slowly, trying to focus on the board in front of you—but it's hard when you can feel him right behind you. he steps in closer, practically pressing you together.

one hand reaches around you, bracing against the console. the other finds yours, fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grip on one of the controls. "not like that," he says, low. "too quick."

"i'm not doing anything fast," you defend weakly, trying your best to sound steady.

you hear a quiet, almost amused exhale behind you. "yeah?" he murmurs deeply.

his chest brushes lightly against your back as he leans in closer, guiding your hand again—slower this time. "you rush when you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous."

"mm," he hums, unconvinced. his hand tightens slightly over yours, turning the dial with you. the sound shifts, smoother this time. "like that," he says.

but he doesn't move away, not even a little bit. you swallow, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact. his hand over yours, his chest behind you, his voice vibrating your ear. and you definitely tried to ignore something hard resting against your ass.

"you do this with everyone?" you ask.

"no," he answered simply.

at to that, your heart stumbled. his hand left yours, but only came to settle at your waist, firm and steady. in his grip he turned you slightly—not fully, but enough to turn your attention away from the board and onto him. "you're distracted again," he murmured.

you let out a soft breath. "you keep saying that like it's my fault."

a smirk pulls at his lips, one that you can practically hear in his voice. "doll," he says lowly, "you haven't been focused since you walked in."

your stomach flips as you turn your head slightly, giving just enough space to look back at him—but it's a mistake. because he's already looking at you, his face much closer than expected and barely any space left between you now.

"you always get like this?" he asks softly.

"like what?"

his gaze drops slowly, then back up again. "quiet." he pauses. "...when you feel something."

your breath catches. "you act like you know me," you say.

"i do," he replies casually. those words shouldn't hit you as hard as they do, but they do anyway—causing your heart to leap.

he shifts you fully this time, making you fully face him as his large hands still rested at your waist, thumbs pressing in ever so slightly.

"or maybe," he adds, voice quieter now. "you're just not used to someone who pays attention."

your chest rises slowly. "and you do?"

"to you?" he asks quietly, something flickering across his eyes. "of course i do."

a small pause. "i wouldn't ignore you," he mutters in your ear, breath hot down your neck in a way that makes your hairs stand up. his hand tightens slightly against you. "not like they did."

his words land, striking the base of your heart deeply. "and i definitely wouldn't have you guessing where you stand."

your breath is uneven now, but you can't seem to look away. "confident," you murmur.

"experienced," he corrects simply. his voice and his head dips lower just slightly—"difference is...i know how to treat a woman like you properly."

and suddenly the last thread holding you steady is already gone. you exhale softy, almost a laugh, but not quite. "you always talk like this?"

"only when i mean it."

silence fills the space around you, heavy and close. one of his hands lifts from your waist slowly before coming to your jaw and tracing along it deliberately, just like he did before.

his thumb sits at your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. it takes everything in you for your knees to not buckle right then and there, taking in his low, piercing gaze.

"you keep looking at me like that," you whisper.

"like what, hm?" he asks, voice low as he tilts his head lower, leaving little space between your noses. you felt like your whole world was spinning, trying to ground yourself properly without clinging onto him.

"like you're about to do something."

he pauses for a split second, licking his lips while his eyes practically swirled with darkness. then—low and certain—"i am."

and this time, namjoon doesn't stop himself. he leans in, fully closing the last bit of distance between you, crashing his lips onto yours. it's immediate—but not rushed. he kisses you slow, deep, like he's been holding it back for too long and finally had decided he was done.

you respond quickly, completely melting under the contact and moving your lips into his. your breath catches against his, one hand instinctively finding one of his big arms, while the other gripped on his shirt to steady yourself— because it hits you all at once.

the way he pulls you closer against him, one of his hands firmly settled at your waist while the other holds your head possessively, gently tilting your head at an angle that allowed him to kiss you deeper.

you lean into him without thinking—and he feels it, of course. he hooks his fingers around the belt loop of your denim skirt, pulling you even closer. the kiss deepens—but it isn't overwhelming. it's certain, like he wanted to take his time with his lips against yours.

your fingers tightened against him, causing him to exhale quietly against your lips, like he had been waiting for that exact response from you.

when you both pull back, you barely move an inch. foreheads close, breath uneven, and neither of you pulling away. his hands remain at your waist, yours still on him.

and after a second of catching your breath—namjoon leans in again. not because he's testing it anymore, but because he wants it—no, he needs it again. and you seem to meet him there just as fast.

his lips capture yours for the second time that night, practically taking your breath with him. your thighs press together slightly as you kiss him back, your hand sliding higher along his arm, gripping his bicep and pulling him closer without even realizing it.

his grip tightens slightly. "don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he murmurs quietly against your lips, voice rough.

the kiss suddenly shifts, not messy or rushed—but hungry. namjoon's hand slid shamelessly down your waist and onto your ass, sliding up and down its curve like it was already his.

that pulled a gasp out of you, and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. you allow him, opening your mouth more to let him further explore it with his tongue. your lips practically molded together, saliva mixing as he swirled his tongue around yours.

"look at you..." he mutters, barely pulling back, his thumb brushing your jaw again. "so responsive."

your stomach flips more times than you can count. "don't—" you start, breath uneven, but you can't even finish the sentence before you feel dampness between your legs.

"don't what, baby?" he asks lowly, smirking faintly against your lips. "don't notice you?" he kisses you again before you can answer. his hand slides up from your ass, up your waist to your side—slower and more deliberate, before settling it there again, like he's grounding you there with him.

your grip on him tightens, deepening the kiss without intending to. "doll..." he murmurs, quietly now like it's a warning.

but he doesn't stop, and you most certainly don't want him to. all of a sudden namjoon is moving, guiding you back without breaking the kiss, step by step, until the back of your legs hit the couch.

you exhale softly in surprise—before you're sitting and he is too, pulling you with him. now, you find yourself on his lap—straddled on top of him with his hands firmly gripping your thighs and with everything much closer.

your hands find his broad shoulders, this time holding onto him like you desperately need to steady yourself, leaning into him once more. and namjoon notices, like he always does.

a low exhale leaves him, almost like a quiet laugh. "not pulling away anymore, are you, baby?" he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw slowly while his big palms drag up and down your thighs.

his plush lips trace the line of your jaw, littering soft kisses and your head tilts slightly to give him space without even thinking about it. "good," he praises quietly against your skin, lips trailing their way down your neck.

as he presses soft kisses along your neck, one of his hands presses a little firmer into your thigh, keeping you against him as the other rested gently at your neck—not enough to put pressure—but enough for your mind to go blank and make your thighs noticeably shift.

your breath hitches just above him, and his other hand soothes slowly against your thigh to steady you. "you have no idea..." he murmurs, lightly digging his teeth into your skin, making you shudder. "how hard i was trying to take my time with you."

your fingers tighten against him, struggling to ignore the unbearable ache in your core. "then why aren't you?" you manage softly, voice weaker than usual, knowing you didn't want that.

he paused for a moment, the warmth of his breath tingling down your neck and through your spine. his voice comes lower this time, but steadier. "because you stopped me from wanting to."

he pulls back just enough to look at you again, dark and low eyes trailing every inch of your face. his hand comes up, brushing your hair behind your ear slowly, slower than before.

"you're trouble, princess," he says lowly, another nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. "but i like it."

your breath is still uneven, your heart racing faster than your mind—but you don't look away. "good," you murmur.

namjoon's jaw tightens slightly at that—not in frustration, but in complete restraint. what's left of it, at least.

his hand that rested along your neck slid up, tilting your chin upwards with his thumb once again, making sure that you were really looking at him. "you sure about this, doll?" he asks lowly.

you nod without hesitation. "yes."

a small pause fills the thick, small space between you, but his smoldering gaze doesn't leave yours. his gentle hold on your jaw tightens ever so slightly—not to harm you, but to ground you into the moment. "you understand...i'm not the kind of man you forget after this."

your breath catches, but you don't pull back. "i know," you say softly, holding his gaze.

his hands return to your waist, firmer this time, pulling you just slightly closer to him—close enough that space barely existed anymore. "yeah..." he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly along your skin. "then stay with me."

you nearly shuddered from his words, the warmth of his body on yours surrounding you and making your skin tingle. "i will," you nearly whispered, praying that he couldn't feel the dampness between your legs at the thought of never leaving his side.

"good," he grunted in your ear, hot breath spilling down your neck. he pulled back just slightly before closing the space between you once again, tilting your head with his thumb and pulling your lips in with his unhurriedly.

you immediately softened into him as you moved your lips together, your chest immediately becoming flush against his and practically folding underneath his touch. his hands left your waist, finding their grip lower and onto your ass, holding you steadily against him while his tongue explored you once more.

his lips left yours to litter your neck with kisses—sloppy and open-mouthed this time, sucking harder and marking a trail of red marks down to your collarbone. you whimpered with every suck, thighs noticeably shifting against his legs.

namjoon's slender fingers found their way underneath your top, sliding it up slowly—like he was waiting for you to stop him—but you never did. you only complied, lifting your arms up. and in one swift motion, your top was off, and his lips already found themselves on your cleavage.

"so beautiful, baby," he murmured into your skin, tongue lightly lapping against the mark he had just made on top of your breast.

suddenly you felt his big palms on your waist once again before he manhandled you—lifting you up and lying you gently across the couch before his large figure quickly filled your vision and filling up your entire view.

all you could see in the ambient light of his studio was his broad shoulders, his low, piercing eyes, and glimmering chain now hanging in front of your face before he captured your lips again. you practically moaned into it, fingers gripping tightly into his shirt like you needed more.

"fuck," he murmured against you between kisses, intertwining his long fingers with yours, dragging your palm deliberately up his chest. your hands moved before your mind, tugging him closer by his shirt and immediately fumbling with the buttons.

he smirked, large hands moving to help you take it off. once he tossed it somewhere in the room, your hands danced around his body greedily, trailing over his abs, from his chiseled chest and to his swell back.

"should be taking you to my house like a fuckin' man. should fuck you in my bed slow 'n proper. but i've lost my patience with you, doll," he breathed lowly, licking his lips with hunger.

you could only bring yourself to whimper, as namjoon's big palm creeped around your thigh, trailing every so slowly inwards before stopping. your legs couldn't help but twitch helplessly underneath his touch, causing him to let out an amused breath of air.

"but you don't want that, do you?" he asked lowly in your ear, the desire in his voice making your core ache with unbearable need. his hands trailed closer to your heat, dragging his fingers leisurely against your inner thigh.

you shook your head desperately, but that wasn't enough for him. his fingers hooked around your skirt. "wanna hear you use that pretty mouth of yours, baby."

"i—yes—" you blurted breathlessly, struggling to find the words. "i want it—want you. here, joonie. right now."

his cock strained even harder against his pants. "good girl," he muttered before pulling your skirt down. when it was disregarded, namjoon's hands found your thighs again and you suddenly felt his long fingers trace against slowly against your sopping heat barely shielded by your lacy thong, sending a shiver down your entire body.

"wet for me already and i haven't even started with you," he smirked, finally hooking your panties to the side and letting your soaking core be hit by the cold air. your thighs instinctively went to clamp shut, but he quickly stopped them with his big hands.

"so sensitive, doll," he murmured, placing one big thumb just above your clit while the other fingers outlined your inner thigh. "guys your age don't take their time like this, do they?"

you shook your head immediately, whining out before his fingers glided up slowly against your wetness, his index finger swiping in between your folds. his thumb rubbed your clit in a long circle, pulling out a desperate whine out of your mouth.

finally, he pushed one long finger in between your folds, sliding into your hole that sucked him in, your wetness gushing his fingers. you whined loudly as he dragged it along your walls before plunging back in.

namjoon closed the distance between your faces, capturing your lips in with his and sucking on your bottom lip as he inserted another finger, thrusting into you at a steady pace while his thumb remained on your clit.

when he pulled away, it was only to align his face at your entrance. his hand firmly gripped onto your thighs, holding you in place. his fingers slowed inside of you as his nose came close to your core, the warmth of his breath directly hitting your pussy and making you twitch underneath him.

a small smirk pulled at his lips before he poked his tongue out, licking a light, gentle stripe against your folds. "mm, taste so sweet, baby." you reacted immediately, thighs clenching around his head in a way he enjoyed a bit too much, his free hand wrapping around your leg firmly as he lapped delicately at your entrance.

you moaned his name, legs finally relaxing under his grip as he took his time with soaking your taste on his tongue. namjoon couldn't help but smirk against your folds, his plump lips completely enveloping your pussy into his mouth and sucking your wetness in hungrily.

it wasn't long before you felt his tongue greedily prying through your entrance, crying out in breathless moans. his two fingers stretched open your walls to allow more room for him to explore you with his tongue.

namjoon was absolutely driving you over the edge—his tongue plunged through your tight walls like no other, slender fingers stroking your insides while his thumb massaged your clit vigorously. he ate at you like he had starved for this—your back immediately curving off of the couch as you felt unbearable pressure twine into your stomach.

"that's it, doll," he cooed against your folds, his nose sitting on top of your clit. then, his voice dropped lower—"cum for me."

and so you did—completely letting go as your first orgasm tore through you like lightning. your legs shook around namjoon's head, his free hand rubbing against your thigh gently while his two fingers slowed inside of you. his tongue moved against your folds slowly, taking in every last drop of your release between his lips.

when your body was finally at ease from the state of euphoria he took you to, namjoon trailed kisses from your stomach and up, his hands gently caressing your sides.

"look at you taking me so good," he murmured between kisses, lips on yours now. "think you're ready for my cock, hm, baby?"

you nodded quickly, practically squirming beneath him. "yes joon—need it so bad." your fingers found his belt loop—his large hands finding yours immediately, helping you take off his pants entirely.

it was then when you saw the largest imprint strained tightly against his boxers, making you swallow hard without even realizing. his fingers looped around the hem, taking them off in a swift motion as he stood up.

his cock sprung out in front of you—thick, long, and angry with pre-cum glistening at the end. you sat up straight, jaw slightly slack without even realizing. namjoon's lips fought a smirk as he hovered over you, large shoulders swell and thick member curving up.

his low eyes looked down at you, clouded with darkness. he wrapped his large hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking slightly while taking in the sight of you in front of him.

"fuck," he grunted, "don't got any condoms, baby." "it's okay, joon," you replied softly.

"you sure, doll?" he asked, tracing his fingers lightly against your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him fully.

you nodded. "wanna feel all of you," you said almost shyly.

"have no clue what you're doing to me," he responded lowly, almost to himself. then namjoon leaned down, grabbing your hips and lifting you up swiftly. you yelped in surprise as he sat down, bringing you back on top of his lap. only this time, you were skin to skin, your arousal miserably smearing onto his legs.

but he didn't seem to care. his large hands rubbed softly down your sides as he licked his lips. "you're so small, baby," he muttered in your ear, his thumb pressing into the side of your hip. "might break you."

"that's okay," you whispered, peering up at him with big, needy eyes.

"yeah?" he asked darkly, like your response had just snapped the last bit of restraint left in him. he held onto your hips firmly as he pulled you up, aligning your entrance with his cock. "gonna ruin you then, baby."

your hands gripped onto his broad shoulders immediately to steady yourself, his fat tip pushing through your folds and breaking into your tight entrance. you moaned out in a mix of pleasure and pain, feeling every inch of his width pushing slowly into your walls as you sunk down fully on his lap.

his grasp on you became tighter as he guided you further down, hissing in pleasure as he split you open widely with his cock. your eyes shut tight as your inner thighs kissed his. slowly, the tip of his member found the back of your walls, your head throwing back from the overwhelming stretch.

namjoon held you against him firmly, allow you to fully adjust to his length before he captured your lips into a kiss. "it's okay, doll," he murmured against you. "you're taking me so well."

after a minute of soft, warm coos in your ear—namjoon began to slide you up and down his vast length slowly with his large hands, emitting a loud whine from your lips. soon, he picked his pace, his cock repeatedly kissing the deepest part of your hole. "good baby... that's it," he praised lowly.

your head was filled with nothing but the thought of you, him, and his fat cock curving up inside of you and exploring your walls. he took you to a pure state of euphoria as he thrusted up in you. his hold was firm on you as he bounced you up and down his cock.

your eyes fluttered at your view, melting under his piercing gaze— his jaw tightened in pleasure and concentration, low eyes scanning your fucked-out expression hungrily. you nearly screamed in pleasure.

"such a good girl for me," he grunted in your ear, one large palm trailing up your sides before resting along your neck. his fingers wrapped around it slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to apply pressure that made your mind dizzy and your pussy clench his member tightly.

his other hand came firmer around your waist before suddenly you were moving—your head being guided back down on the couch while your body was being manhandled by namjoon while he kept his cock buried deep inside of you. one hand settled beside your head while the other remained grazing your throat lightly.

once you both fully adjusted to the new position, namjoon continued to thrust in you, roaming your pussy at an entirely new angle. your wetness gushed around his cock sloppily, filling the room with lewd slapping noises. "you fit around me so well, doll," he muttered breathlessly, breath shooting down your spine as he littered messy kisses along your neck.

his hand traveled from your throat down to your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing it softly. you were a moaning mess beneath him as he fucked you relentlessly now, tip slapping messily against the spongiest part of your walls, making your mind go blank.

his palm found its way around your thigh, lifting it above his shoulder. he closed the distance between you two, cock greedily marking a place inside your hole in a way no one had ever done before as his chest pressed against yours.

he rutted his length inside of you, making your eyes roll back and the couch move back and forth with every movement. "gonna fill you up tonight, doll. gonna make you mine," he murmured. "what do you think, baby?"

you could only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his cock buried so deeply inside of you. "nuh uh," namjoon ticked lowly, his thrusts becoming brutal. "wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby."

"mmph—yes~ make me yours, joon," you whined breathlessly.

you cried out—heat coiling unbearably in your stomach, pure bliss clouding your mind as namjoon picked up his pace, feeling your walls hugging him in tightly. "yeah... right where you belong baby," he muttered. "taking me so good like this."

your second orgasm of the night hit you even harder this time—ripping through you like a monstrous ocean wave. he fucked you through your high, your legs shaking violently against him; release spilling all over his cock as you moaned out his name breathlessly.

"that's it, baby," he grunted lowly as he made his final, slower thrusts, burying himself inside you as deep as possible before releasing his hot seed into your walls. "come on my dick, pretty girl."

your vision was practically filled with stars as your body became limp under his grasp. he milked his cock deep in your walls before he pulled out with a sharp hiss, laying down beside you—lengthy body half on the couch and half off of it.

you both laid there next to each other breathless, chests moving up and down in sync as you processed what had just happened.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the studio is quiet again.

it wasn't completely silent—just the low hum of equipment filling the room with one of his tracks still looping quietly in the background.

clothes half-on, curled against him on the couch with his large arm around your waist, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting you drift away.

for awhile, neither of you say anything. namjoon's fingers moved slowly against your side, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns into your skin. the movement only grounded you into him more.

then finally, a low exhale left namjoon's lips. "c'mere," he murmurs softly, even though you were already pressed against him. his big hands slid higher along your back, pulling you in even closer anyway until your head was resting properly against his chest.

it only made your cheeks flush a bright red—the moment feeling possessive in a way that was ever so gentle. like he just needed to make sure you were still there. now, you can hear his heartbeat. it thumps steadily now against his large chest.

"you okay?" he asks quietly.

you nod against him. "yeah," you reply softly.

then his lips brush lightly against the top of your head, placing a soft kiss that lingers. "good," he murmurs.

something about the way he said it made warmth spread through your chest again. his hand settles at your waist once more, thumb brushing lightly beneath the fabric of your top. "you still overthinking?" he asks after a minute.

you let out a small laugh against his chest. "maybe a little."

a quiet hum leaves him. "don't."

you tilt your head slightly to look at him. his expression is softer now. his gaze still intense—because he always looks intense when looking at you—but softer. "you regret it?" he asks gently.

you shook your head immediately. "no," you replied, meaning it with everything in your chest.

at your words, something in namjoon's expressions shifts. it wasn't surprise, it was only something deeper. his hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek.

"good," he says again, quieter this time. then, like his confidence had just made a return—"would've been a problem if you did."

you laugh softly, cheeks warming again. "you're crazy, joon."

"for you?" he murmurs. "starting to think maybe."

your stomach flips all over again. namjoon studies you for a second, gaze moving slowly across your face like he's memorizing it. like he still can't believe that you're here. with him, and in his arms.

his hand slides along your thigh gently. this time, it isn't teasing. instead, it feels familiar and warm. "come back to my place," he says quietly.

you hesitate for maybe half a second, but only because your heart is racing faster than your mind. his thumb brushes lightly against your leg. "you don't have to leave, doll," he murmurs.

"you sure?" you ask quietly. because in your past, once guys were done, they were done with your presence for the night—or even forever.

"of course," he says. then, a faint smile touches his mouth, voice dropping a little. "i'm not doing being around you."

and it only seemed that you weren't exactly done being around him either.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

two months later, being with namjoon feels easy. and it wasn't because he was simple. it was the exact opposite.

he's still intense, but still composed. he still walks through every room like he owns it without needing attention from anyone in it. but with you? he's soft in all the places it matters.

namjoon becomes part of your life so naturally it almost scares you sometimes.

mornings tangled up in his expensive sheets while sunlight pours through the massive windows of his house that overlooks the city. his large hand resting on your waist while he scrolls through emails lazily with the other. his bright smile on display every time he made you laugh or blush.

in his free time, he'd show up to your work with your favorite dinner meal. sometimes, he'd sit at a table in your section and order food just to be able to talk to you any chance you'd get.

afternoons where he pulls you into his lap while he's working on music. he'd barely let you sit more than a foot away from him before he was already touching you again somehow.

his fingers through your hair, your legs draped over his. his mouth against your temple when he quietly tells someone important over the phone that he'll "call back later."

and of course, he spoils you constantly. it wasn't in a loud way either. it was more like taking care of you and putting a smile on your face had just become his instinct.

he buys you things you casually mention liking once. he leaves designer bags on the bed like it's nothing. he'd get annoyed when you'd check price tags. he would sneakily place things in your basket at sephora as he trailed behind you, filling it up with everything you simply picked up and looked at.

you even tried to avoid going shopping with him sometimes because you never happened to pay for anything again.

"doll," he murmured one night, pulling your back against his chest, wrapping his large arms around you while you stared at a pair of brand new, christian louboutin red bottoms that he bought you. "if you like them, they're yours. stop thinking so hard."

and god, he hated it when you worked too much. he hated it even more when work stressed you out.

"you should call out," he tells you one morning, voice rough from sleep while you're leaving his bed for work.

you laugh softly. "some of us have to work, joonie."

his buff arms loop around your waist, pulling you back into the mattress effortlessly. "i know," he murmurs against your neck, nuzzling his nose into your warmth. "that's the problem."

eventually, namjoon starts saying it more seriously.

"quit," he says.

you look at him like he's insane every time. "be serious, joon."

"i am serious."

his hands slide along your thighs as you stand between his knees while he sits at the edge of the bed, looking up at you with that same, calm certainty he’s always had.

“i’ll give you whatever you need,” he says simply. “why are you stressing yourself out when you don’t have to?”

and the craziest part of it all to you, was that he meant it entirely. it wasn't because he wanted control—it was because taking care of you pulled at his dimples and his heart more than anything else ever had.

somewhere along the way, you became each other's favorite part of life. people notice too and eventually, the internet catches on.

a photo of you two start surfacing of you leaving restaurant in west hollywood, his hand firm at the small of your back. then, photos of him opening the door for you. and photos of him looking at you instead of the camera.

one set of paparazzi pictures blow up incredibly fast—you climbing into his car while he stands beside you in sunglasses and all black. one hand casually resting against the roof above your head, the other firm on your thigh as you settled into the seat.

neither of you comment on it, not publicly at least. but namjoon doesn't hide you either. because if anything—he loved being seen with you.

you noticed it in the small moments. the way his hand settled on your thigh more confidently when people recognized him on a date. the way he pulled you closer when cameras appeared. the way he looks almost amused by attention instead of irritated.

it was like he was always thinking, yeah, she's with me.

namjoon flexed you more than the music plaques on his wall or the collection of sleek cars in his driveway.

because throughout his entire career, no success, no hit record, or no amount of money—had ever made him look at proud as you do sitting beside him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

4 months later~

the city outside namjoon's windows is glowing gold and white beneath the dark sky, soft music playing quietly somewhere in his giant house.

you're curled against him on the couch in one of his hoodies. legs across his lap while he scrolls lazily through something on his phone with one hand resting absentmindedly along your thighs.

you both had been like this all evening. quiet and comfortable; surrounded by the kind of silence that only exists when two people know everything about each other completely.

honestly, it could scare you a little. because somewhere along these four months, you and namjoon had stopped feeling temporary. it stopped feeling like some kind of whirlwind or fling.

instead, it just started feeling right. it just felt like you and him and nothing else completely belonged.

you looked over at him. observed the sharp line of his jaw that was softened by the warm lighting. the expensive watch sitting around his wrist. the reading glasses he only wore at home that sat low on his nose while he checked emails.

the realization hit you about a month ago so hard and your chest had felt tight ever since. you were completely, undeniably, and utterly in love with him. but now, you couldn't seem to hold it in anymore.

"you're staring again."

your heart jumps slightly. namjoon doesn't even look up from his phone when he says it. you roll your eyes. "you're obsessed with yourself."

a smirk touches his lips. "no," he murmurs calmly, finally looking over at you. "just obsessed with you."

you look away before he can see your flushed face, but of course he already noticed it. because there simply wasn't a thing he didn't notice about you. his phone turned off immediately. "hey," he said gently.

your eyes lift back to his. immediately his expression changes into something softer, but more serious. his hands slide up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you a little closer across the couch until you're practically in his lap. "what's going on in that head, hm?" he asks.

"nothing."

"liar."

the words are gentle, affectionate in a way. you laugh softly, but it comes out nervous. he catches that too. one hand comes up, brushing lightly along your jaw. "talk to me, doll."

you swallow. your voice comes out quietly—"what if... i love you more than you love me?"

the room goes completely still. namjoon stares at you for seconds that stretch far too long, like you had just said something completely. unbelievable.

his brows pulled together. "baby," he says softly, confused, "what?"

your heart pounds instantly at the name. you try to laugh it off, suddenly embarrassed now. "i don't know, i just—"

"no," he cuts in, hands tightening gently at your waist. they weren't harsh, but it was enough to stop you from spiraling away. "no, don't do that."

you looked back at him. and the way he was looking at you now—god. like this mattered. like you mattered.

"you really think you're ahead of me here?" he asks quietly, eyes boring into yours.

your breath catches as namjoon shifts closer, forehead resting lighting against yours. "i've been in love with you for a while now," he admitted softly.

for a second, you felt like you actually stopped breathing. his thumb brushed slowly against your cheek. "you just took longer to realize it."

a shaky laugh leaves you instantly, eyes burning now. namjoon smiles softly at that, an expression you only ever get to see.

"i love you," he says again, quieter this time. but it was certain, as if it were the most obvious thing it the world.

and suddenly every fear you had—about the age gap, about his fame, about his feelings for you—had totally disappeared. because this man—this calm, confident, impossible man—loves you so deeply that he didn't even hesitate to say it.

your eyes fluttered in disbelief, laughing away the butterflies in your stomach. "i love you too."

the smile that breaks across is face is small, but almost disbelieving. but it was unquestionably proud, like he had just won something prized. after that, he kissed you slowly. he enveloped your lips with his tenderly, soaking in all of your warmth beneath him.

"there you are," he murmurs softly. like you were always meant to end up here with him.

and somewhere between the side of the road and his arms, your little street thing had become everything.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a/n : hope u guys loved this as much as i do eee! sorry there was so much relationship building... this is the longest bts fic i've made (on this app at least) omg..but joon is actually so sexy i could die.

could see this turning into a small series bc they’re lowk otp!! hehe :3 but who knows...

love u guys sm <3

[malsmoony]

holy fucking shit. absolutely. give me 15 more immediately.

[milk-moonbunnies]

Playing House [Seokmin x reader]

synopsis: Going raw for the first time? DK doesn't stand a chance.

requested: AMANI IM BEGGING for breeding kink with any member of seventeen.

warnings: mdni, 18+, pwp, dubcon, unprotected, dirty talk, mating press, dk is down bad, so are you, dk big, dk strong, pussdrunk, multiple orgasm, threats/promises of impreg, breeding kink unlocked, dk crashes out, he talks you through it? yeah?, little descriptions of the idea of the reader being preg, etc.

wc: 1.2k+

[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]

Lee Seokmin doesn't know he has a breeding kink until he pushes his cock inside you, raw, for the first time.

He visibly shudders, squeezing his eyes shut as he fails to take a full breath after. You're so warm, so wet, and taking all of him so deep inside that his mouth actually waters. And when he blinks his eyes open, it only gets worse for him. Harder, maybe would be the better word. His cock twitches, rubbing against your gummy walls, and your mouth parts in awe as he looks down at you.

You're so pretty underneath him.

You're lying on your back, staring up at him with glossy lips and starry eyes, and fuck, your walls are gripping him so tightly he doesn't want to leave.

But then you start squirming, giving him the signal to start moving, and he does. He would do anything for you - and you gasp just as much as you did when he bullied his way inside as you do when he pushes his hips back. He slides back until the tip of his thick cock remains inside your drooling cunt before he surges forward. The bed creaks, your pretty tits bounce, and the mushroom-shaped head of his cock kisses your cervix in greeting, making both of you groan in unison.

It's like a flip is switched for Dokyeom. His vision whitens, his cock twitches, splurting a few gooey wads of precum along your cervix, and he can only think about cumming inside. Filling you to the brim with his seed until you're round and it sticks. The image of you, a mess, dripping with him, makes a deep groan slip from the back of his throat, and he's hitching your leg higher onto his hip to press even deeper into your weeping cunt.

The pretty noises you make rise in pitch when he does, and Seokmin's lips curve up into a lovesick grin. "So pretty, you're so pretty." His thrusts grow in strength, just like his grip on your hips does. He jostles you, pulling you back every time his hips push you up on the bed, and his tongue licks his lips with a newfound hunger for more.

Sweat begins to line his forehead, the muscles in his back straining as he gives, and gives, and gives. You're making it harder for him to leave your pretty pussy, soaking him with your sweet slick as you chant his name like a prayer. Your nails claw into the bedsheet underneath you, trying to grip onto anything, something, until they dig into his back as he brings you closer to the edge.

Your stomach flexes, your thighs twitching with a pleasurable hum, and Dokyeom can't look away from where he's connected to you. Your sweet pussy is slobbering all over his cock, coating it in a shiny sheen that makes each thrust slippier, and effectively makes DK more pussydrunk after each snap of his hips. "You're makin' it harder for me to leave, Baby." He confesses with a gasp, his pupils blown, and his jaw clenching as you whimper back in response.

The familiar heat swirls low in your abdomen, the telltale sign that you're going to cum, and it's got Dokyeom sliding his hands down from your hips and under your thighs, pushing your plush legs up until your knees bend. This position makes your mouth drop, your tongue lewdly sticking out as the mating press keeps you trapped under his strong arms. The position is squeezing the air from your lungs as he carves a deeper path inside you, his cock dragging over all the sweet spots inside your sopping cunt like you were truly made just for him.

And maybe you are. Because the idea of you just like this, dumb on his cock, can only get better if he gets you pregnant. The way your body would change, your tummy soft and round, and your pretty tits full as he makes you feel so good - the idea of you glowing and carrying his child - fuck, his eyes roll and you're falling apart underneath him with a wail.

Your pussy pulses around his shaft, trying to milk him, and it's the cause of the final thread of his sanity snapping. His teeth grit, his fingers dig into the fat of your thighs as he fucks you through your orgasm, his hips pounding you into the mattress with one goal in mind. "Fuck, you're so perfect - I'm gonna cum inside your pretty pussy, okay? Need you to take - fuck - need you to take it all, okay?"

His eyes swirl, and the filthy squelches of your pussy taking his cock to the hilt resonate louder in the room as his words begin to slur.

"So good for me, you're gonna be so good for me." He huffs, and your pussy flutters at the praise, your orgasm subsiding only to be brought back up as he blabbers, drunk off the idea that he's going to breed you. "M'gonna cum and stuff you full of my seed, Baby. And then I'm gonna do it again, and again - you'll let me, right? Let me breed your sweet pussy until it takes." Your pussy squeezes him tighter, and a baffled, delirious laugh bubbles from his lips, his smile growing more lovesick as he slips a hand down your stomach and to where you two were connected between your thighs.

Your orgasm had made it wet and sticky, your sweet slick dripping down to his balls as he fucked you with determination. He finds your puffy clit with ease and begins thumbing your little nub to get you over the edge again. His thrusts were growing erratic, and he wanted you to cum one more time before he did.

"That's it, Baby. Need you to cum one more time for me, okay? M'gonna have you nice n' wet for when I cum inside."

And just like he wants, you cum, crying out so beautifully as your eyes roll back because of him. He coos happily, rubbing sloppy hearts into your clit and giving you praise until it is his turn to shiver in ecstasy.

When he cums, he cums a lot. Rope after rope of his gooey seed spills from his thick tip, and your pussy flutters in waves as he paints your gummy walls white with a low groan from his chest. His head drops as he feels his cock jerk, and his eyelashes flutter as he presses his hips flush against your ass, making sure not to waste a drop of his seed as he keeps you in a dirty mating press.

It feels like forever when he finally moves a couple of inches from your drooling cunt. Your puffy folds are swollen, gripping onto his cock even in the aftershocks, and Dokyeom can see his cum threatening to escape - so he pushes forward, earning another sweet moan from you. "Can't let it go to waste, Baby." He licks his lips and spreads your legs wider, giving you shallow thrusts as he fucks his cum back in deeper. "Think I need to fuck you again, gotta make sure it takes, mamas."

Any response you might have for him gets silenced when your glossy eyes blink up at him, only to see him still focusing on your pretty pussy stretched around his cock. It's then that you realize he's still hard, sliding in and out at a delicious slow rate that makes you feel everything. Every vein running down his shaft, every kiss his tip gives your soft cervix, and the slosh of his cum stirring inside you.

"Yeah, this pussy just needs to be bred, Baby. Tell me, do you want a boy or a girl?"

대박 - you made it to the end!

Tell me about it. (Silent Readers kill)

my bts mstrlst - svt mstrlst

[malsmoony]

me currently

also me realizing i’ve reblogged more dk fics than of my own bias… OH WELL 😼

[seungkw1]

vinyl, punk rock, and a little bit of love — yjh

💿🎧 playlist

PAIRING: campus DJ!jeonghan x f!reader GENRE: friends to lovers, college au, 2000s au WC: 16,816 WARNINGS: weed/alcohol consumption, discussion of mental illness, bit o jealousy, angst, idiots in love, semi-public sex but like barely, dry humping, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms, petnames (baby), cum swallowing, lots of whimpering u already know!!!!!, jun cameo and he's real weird again!! (/pos), i made up a bunch of terrible fake band names enjoy A/N: written for @studiosvt's First Time Caller collab! be sure to check out all the other banger fics on the masterlist! i had a blast writing this, loser emo boi jeonghan was not something i knew i needed but i fear i am now in love with him. btw, this fic is set in 2003! peak era for this genre of music if u ask me :) shoutout to the homie @haologram for beta reading, u da best fr ily <3

SYNOPSIS: You met Jeonghan freshman year of college — he seemed a bit strange at first, shy and a bit elusive, but you two instantly became friends when you bonded over your love of alternative music and record stores. You wouldn't necessarily call him your best friend, but as friendships and relationships came and went over the years, Jeonghan was always a constant in your life. It's junior year now, and you're trying to convince him to apply for the open DJ position at the campus radio station. WFVC 90.5 is known for being the hotspot for underground punk music, and with Jeonghan majoring in communications studies you know it's the perfect role for him. He gets the job, and you figure you'd be seeing a lot less of him now that he's busy working the late night shift at the station. But it's quite the opposite — you're spending more time with Jeonghan than ever before, and you start to realize there might be something more than friendship on the horizon for you two.

[ONE]

Filtered sunlight beaming through the treetops hits your eyes as you step out into the quad, making you squint in the sudden brightness that starkly contrasts the dim interior of the Literature Hall you were just in. The air is crisp — not yet chilly, but fresh and invigorating, a tell-tale sign of fall being right around the corner. The quad is buzzing with life, students chattering as they stroll to class, bikes zipping past you on the sidewalk, every bench and shaded spot under a tree occupied with people laughing, reading, relaxing. You leisurely make your way over to your usual spot, but as you approach the small oak near the Communications Building you see two girls you don't recognize sitting in the grass beneath its low branches. Puzzled, you look around, but then you spot a familiar lanky figure standing outside the Comms building. His back is turned to you, so all you can see is the mess of long dark hair upon his head, but the baggy flannel shirt and the black backpack adorned with various pins and patches slung over one shoulder are a dead giveaway. As you head in his direction, you see he appears to be staring straight ahead at a lamppost.

"Hey dork, I was looking for you," you call out playfully as you walk toward him, but he doesn't seem to hear you. Getting closer, you spot the pair of headphones on his head, the wire plugged into the portable CD player in his hand — the loud, raucous sounds of Linkin Park blaring in his ears tinnily resonating through the air from halfway across the sidewalk. When you get within arm's reach you tug on the handle of his backpack. He nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around and yanking the headphones off his head with a startled expression on his face. When he sees it's you, he relaxes, but not without majorly rolling his eyes.

"Jesus, you fucking scared me," he sighs. He lifts the CD player in his hand and pauses the song, the banging melody ringing through the foam-covered headphones ceasing.

"Sorry," you apologize, but a wide grin spreads on your face. "I didn't think you'd react that much. What are you doing, anyway?" you ask, looking over to the lamppost.

"Nothing," he says quickly, but a flier with bold text catches your eye.

Do you like punk music? Do you like radio? WFVC 90.5 is HIRING for a DJ position! No experience necessary, Communications majors preferred. APPLY NOW at the station (Comms Building 2nd Floor)

"Oh my god, Jeonghan this is perfect!" you exclaim, but your friend shakes his head.

"I was just looking."

"Dude, you HAVE to apply. This is literally your dream job!"

Jeonghan frowns. "I doubt they would hire me."

"What the hell are you talking about? You're exactly the person they're looking for," you tell him. And it's true — Foxville College's singular radio station may be a local joint, but it's famous across all of Wisconsin for being the station for underground grunge, punk, and alternative rock. You've been listening to it since you were a kid, and its where your love of the genres originated. Jeonghan happens to share the exact same music taste — it's how you became friends in the first place back in Freshman year.

"Hey!" Jeonghan calls after you as you both exit the same building. You had just came from the same class, Intro to Poetry, but it's the very first day of school, so he doesn't know your name. But he saw your notebook fall out of your half-open backpack, and you didn't notice it.

He picks up the small, black leather notebook and quickly zips after you. "Excuse me," he tries again, but you're wearing headphones. Your music is loud, and familiar. He taps on your shoulder, startling you slightly.

"Hi, sorry," Jeonghan tells you as you turn to face him, shifting the headphones off one ear so you can hear. "You dropped this." You look at his hands as he extends the notebook to you.

"Oh! That is mine," you remark, taking your headphones off fully now and pausing your music.

"Yeah, your backpack was open."

You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, the bag is half-unzipped.

"Whoops," you tell him with a lighthearted laugh, taking the notebook and putting it back in the bag, making sure to close it all the way this time. "Well, thank you, I appreciate it," you say with a friendly smile. You go to put your headphones back on and walk away, but before you can do so he points at your portable CD player.

"Are you listening to Green Day?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah! I am!" you reply excitedly. "It's the Dookie album, one of my faves."

"That album is so good," he agrees with a smile. "I don't mean this in a rude way or anything," he says shyly. "But you I wouldn't have guessed you'd be into punk music."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," you say with a laugh. "I don't particularly dress very edgy or anything. Maybe I should start dressing the part."

"Wear whatever you want," he responds with a shrug. "The most punk rock thing you can do is be yourself."

"That's very true," you grin back at him. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"I'm Jeonghan," he replies with a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you."

And so you and Jeonghan quickly became friends. He's a pretty quiet guy, very much the opposite of your bubbly, sociable self; but despite your differences you get along well. He's also pretty much the only person you know who likes the same type of music as you, so you definitely share a close bond over that.

"Besides," you say to Jeonghan. "You really should get a job anyway."

"Hey!" he pouts. "Are you calling me broke?"

"Yes. Because you are."

The left corner of his mouth lifts slightly, giving you a half-grin. "So are you, moron."

You playfully give him a light punch in the arm. "Takes one to know one."

"I'll think about it," he concedes.

"You better. If not then I'll submit the application for you."

"Pretty sure that's not allowed," he replies, raising a brow at you.

"Like that's gonna stop me," you inform him.

"Unfortunately, I believe that," he chuckles, rolling his eyes again. "Anyway, c'mon," he says to as he starts walking off. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oh god, what have you done now?" you pretend to complain as you follow after him.

"No no, you're gonna like this one," he grins. "I promise."

"Okay, well now I know where we're going," you say as Jeonghan turns onto Harton Street. The street boasts a Dead End sign, and it's path is winding. You can't see much past the trees, but you know there is only one reason to come down this way.

"I was here over the weekend," you inform him. "I don't need to buy anything else."

"Oh please, like you'd pass up the opportunity to get some new vinyl," he grins.

"Dude, I'm already living off ramen."

"Just trust me."

"Okaaay," you reply, feigning skepticism. "If you say so."

The tires of Jeonghan's 1991 Mercury Tracer crunch as he turns off the main road onto a white gravel drive. A humble building comes into view, its exterior painted pastel yellow with a giant sign reading TURNPIKE RECORDS in a large, swirling font that looks straight out of the 1970s. A neon sign resides in the window, flickering slightly but advertising that the shop is open. There's only one other car in the small lot: a pristine, hot red Chevy Camaro also straight out of the 70s, belonging to the shop's owner.

Jeonghan parks the car and the two of you head into the store. The front door squeaks as you open it, an assortment of small bronze bells hanging above the door ringing out to announce your entry. The familiar, slightly-musty scent of the used record store fills your nose as you walk down the three steps taking you to the shop floor. Aside from the natural light from the window, the place is pretty dim, lit mainly by a couple of bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and a variety of glowing lava lamps of all shapes, sizes, and colors placed throughout the room. Nearly every inch of wall is covered in a hodge-podge of framed posters and photographs, giving the whole place a chaotic but vibrant feel. Without a doubt, this is your favorite spot in town.

"I wonder if they have the new Muse album yet," you comment, meandering through the empty shop over to the Rock section.

"Not yet," Jeonghan replies as he starts flipping through a nearby discount bin. "I checked already."

You hear a faint swoosh come from behind you. You turn around to see a tall, heavily-tattooed man carrying a large box emerging from the thick velvet curtain that leads to the back of the store — none other than the shop's owner, Tripp. He's in his mid-40s, bald except for a long goatee on his chin, and he has more earrings than you can even count.

"Hey hey, I thought I heard my favorite customers out here!" Tripp says cheerfully when he sees you and Jeonghan. He sets the box on top of the counter, brushing his hands off and coming out to greet you on the floor.

"Oh please, you say that to everyone," you grin at the man.

"Definitely not," he shakes his head. "Besides, between the both of you you guys are keeping me in business. Speaking of," he says as he suddenly snaps and points at you. "I got something for ya."

He quickly returns to the counter and retrieves something from the shelves beneath the register. He walks back to you and hands you an album, light gray in color. You flip it over, and your jaw drops. It's a Japanese edition of Led Zeppelin IV — your favorite album of all time.

"Your friend told me you've been looking for this one," he tells you, nodding his head in Jeonghan's direction. "He convinced me to set it aside for you."

"Wow, that's so nice thank you!!" you tell Tripp excitedly. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it. It's already paid for."

"What?!"

You look over at Jeonghan, but he just smiles back at you sheepishly.

"What the hell, thank you," you grin at him. "You did not have to do that though."

"Actually, I did," Jeonghan admits. "Tripp made me."

Tripp lets out a hearty laugh. "Well regardless, I'm glad it's in the hands of someone I know will really appreciate it."

"Let me pay you back," you say to Jeonghan as Tripp returns to restocking, but he just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it, really," he tells you warmly.

"Okay, fine. But you're gonna come over and listen to this with me," you insist, poking him in the chest. "We can smoke and I'll order pizza."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Sounds like a deal to me," he grins.

brrrrrrr

brrrrrrr

The dull trill of the phone rings in your ear as you wait for the call to connect. You've only hit the bong once, but your head already feels like you're floating in the clouds. You mindlessly twirl the cord around your index finger, and you're halfway zoned out by the time the other line picks up.

"Arthur's Pizzeria," a cheerful voice suddenly speaks into your ear. "How can I help you?"

"Yeah hi!" you blurt out in your mildly startled state. "Can I order one large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese for delivery?"

"You got it! What's the address?"

"22 Elmwood Street, Unit 201."

"Great! It'll be about 20 minutes."

With a click you set the handset back onto the hook, returning to the living room. Your roommate won't be back until later, so you two have the place to yourselves — perfect for getting high and lazing around without judgment. Jeonghan sits on the couch, sinking into the cushions already and staring off into space. It takes him a moment to register that you're back; when he notices you, he tries to sit up, but the effort required for it currently seems monumental.

"Pizza ordered?" he asks, peering at you through lazy eyelids.

"Yup," you reply as you plop onto the other end of the couch. "Be here in 20."

"Sweet," he grins. You reach for the bong, grabbing the lighter next to it and lighting a bit more of the bowl. After a decently fat rip and a few solid coughs, you extend it out to Jeonghan.

"Man, I'm so high already," he groans, but he takes the colorful swirled glass from your hand anyway. "Where'd you get this grass?"

"Got it from Joshua," you reply, lifting your feet up onto the couch and tucking them beside you.

"Oh," Jeonghan replies, giving you a look as he exhales a cloud of smoke and hands the bong back over.

"What's your deal with Joshua?" you question, raising your brow at him.

"What? Nothing," he says quickly. "We should open a window."

He gets to his feet and walks across the room, lifting the nearest window up as far as it will go. It's a nice evening — the crisp air from earlier has gotten cooler, but it feels delightful as it begins to drift into the apartment in the light breeze.

"I know you don't like him," you continue, not letting Jeonghan ignore your question. "But I've never known why."

"I never said I didn't like him," he denies, flopping back onto the couch.

"You didn't have to," you point out. "Your face says it all."

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. "Curse my expressive nature. Anyway, I dunno, he just always seems like he's trying to make a move on you."

"Oh, he's like that with everyone," you reply matter-of-factly.

"Right."

"He is," you affirm. "And besides, so what if he was?"

"Huh?" Jeonghan pipes up, seemingly surprised by your question. "Oh, I just mean… I just don't trust guys who are always talking to girls that. Seems sleazy."

"No, really," you reiterate. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay," he concedes skeptically. "If you say so."

"Should we play some Zeppelin?" you ask, getting up to go grab the record. Jeonghan's face lights up.

"Fuck yeah," he grins.

You put the album on, the signature bold, heavy sounds of the band greeting your ears as you crank up the volume. As you sit there listening, you finish off the bowl with Jeonghan, the air of your apartment now completely overtaken by smoke despite the open window.

"When's that damn pizza gonna get here?" he mumbles, but before you can even respond you hear a knock coming from the front door.

"Whoa, you summoned it," you giggle, rising to your feet a bit too quickly and stumbling slightly on your way over to the door. You answer, having a quick conversation with the usual delivery boy before paying and scurrying back over to the couch, the heavenly smell of hot, greasy pepperoni pizza joining the weed aroma in the room. You don't even bother with plates, instead simply picking up the slices and shoveling them directly into your hungry mouths. The conversation remains paused for a few minutes; you zone out, letting yourself get lost in the music, but eventually your conversation with Jeonghan earlier pops back into your head.

"You really should apply to that DJ job," you say, turning to him, but he just shrugs.

"Eh, I don't think I'd get it."

"Not with that attitude you won't."

"You always say that," he rolls his eyes.

"It's true!" you insist. "Jeonghan, come on. This is basically your dream job, and you're literally the perfect guy for it. Just apply and see what happens!"

"Maybe, I dunno."

"Besides," you add. "You need the money to fund your poor spending habits."

"Hey!" he balks. "I do not have poor spending habits."

You pick up the vinyl sleeve, tapping the little yellow sticker on the cover with a messy $40 scribbled on it in black ink.

"Yeah, you do."

He groans, letting his head fall back into the couch. "You're so annoying," he says to you with a grin.

"Takes one to know one," you tease back. He grabs the nearest throw pillow, lobbing it at you and hitting you in the arm.

"Okay, I probably earned that," you admit with a laugh.

The current song ends, the gentle guitar strums of "Stairway to Heaven" filling your ears as the iconic song begins.

"Oh shit, shut up," you tell Jeonghan, launching the pillow right back at him. He jumps slightly as the unexpected pillow hits him in the chest with a soft thump. "I fucking love this song."

He is about to tell you that duh, everybody with a brain loves this song — but your eyes are closed already, bobbing your head slightly to the beat, clearly already lost in it; so he just shakes his head, chuckling silently to himself.

The both of you feel like you're drifting to a higher plane as the song progresses, fully immersed in the grand crescendo you've both heard so many times yet have never tired of. When it ends, your eyes flutter open again, finding Jeonghan fully sunk into the other end of the couch. You start to wonder if he actually fell asleep, but then he lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at you.

"You know how some people say a hot dog is a sandwich?" he asks. You stare at him for a moment, trying to comprehend in your inebriated state what it was he just said.

"Who the fuck says that?" you inquire once you finally process his question.

"I dunno. People."

"Stupid people, maybe."

"I mean, yeah," he agrees. "But like… do you think pizza is a sandwich?"

You stare at him for a moment. "What?"

"I don't know, it's got bread and cheese and meat and tomatoes, right? Those things go on sandwiches."

"You're high as shit, dumbass," you tell him.

"Okay, well watch this!" He reaches over to the pizza box and picks up a new slice. Turning to show it to you, he slowly folds it in half. "See? That's a sandwich!"

"Oh shut the fuck up," you reply, but you can't help but laugh.

Jeonghan munches on his pizza-sandwich while you reach for your stash, refilling the bowl and lighting up again. When he finishes, you hand the bong over.

"Not like either of us needs it, but whatever man," you say with a pleased grin.

With heavy, banging drum beats, the last song on the album begins to play. This one has always been Jeonghan's favorite, you recall despite being astronomically faded. You glance over at him, finding him staring out the open window into the now-dark night. Certainly not out of the ordinary, but something about him in this moment seems… sad, almost. He notices you watching him, but he seems to have become self-conscious, averting your gaze.

"What's on your mind?"

Jeonghan continues staring out the window, but he lets out a small sigh.

"Do you ever think about how big the universe is?" he asks. "And then it makes you realize how small and meaningless we really are?"

You pause for a minute, considering the gravity of his question.

"No, not really," you finally answer gently. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers instinctively; but after thinking about it for a moment, he adds: "But sometimes I wonder if I'm not."

"In what way?"

"Just… the whole entire world feels impossibly huge, yet Earth is just a tiny pale blue dot compared to the whole galaxy. In the grand scheme of things, we're nothing. Nothing we do matters."

"I don't think that's true at all."

Jeonghan finally looks over to you, staring at you curiously.

"But how? How can anything have any meaning if we are so tiny?"

"I think that makes everything all that much more meaningful," you reply. "Like… the universe is so huge and vast and yet here we are, chillin' together, existing at just the right time to eat pizza and listen to Zepp. I just think that's a really nice thought."

"Hmm," he mumbles, opening his mouth to say something else — but his words never come. At this point he is so physically relaxed that he seems fused to the couch.

"You're fuckin' blasted, dude," you giggle, reaching over and shaking him playfully.

"Am nottttt," he pouts, but moments later he starts giggling too. "Okay, fine, I am. But, I guess I've just never thought of it that way before."

The album ends, the room falling silent. You get up, casually shuffling over to your ever-growing collection of records that is now taking up the entire corner of the small living room.

"What next?" you ask Jeonghan over your shoulder.

"Surprise me."

You peruse through your titles, not sure exactly what you're looking for; but then one catches your eye.

"Ooh, got it," you say with a grin. You replace the vinyl on the turntable and set the needle in position, the sounds of Dookie by Green Day playing aloud in the room, making Jeonghan smile too.

[TWO]

You stroll through the library, exiting the stacks to make your way to your next class. On your way out, you're surprised to spot Jeonghan, sitting alone at one of the tables. Unexpected — as he usually spends most of his free time out in the quad or in the Comms Building's study space; if he's in the library, it's usually just to take a nap. He has a book on the desk beside him, but it's closed, and he instead seems to be intensely focused on a piece of paper, brow furrowed and deep in thought. You walk over to him, but he doesn't notice you approaching. As you near the desk you can see the word APPLICATION in bold font at the top of the paper.

"Yay, you're doing it!!" you say to him as you appear beside him, shaking him by the shoulder excitedly and making him nearly fly out of his seat.

"Jesus Christ you have got to stop sneaking up on me!" he yelps quietly, but it still earns him a glare from a nearby librarian. She raises her finger to her lips, shushing the two of you before going back to re-shelving books. You sit down in the chair next to him, scooting in close enough so you can whisper.

"This is so exciting!" you tell him in a hushed voice, but he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm not even sure if I'm gonna turn it in," he admits.

"What? Dude, you're halfway there, just finish and go turn it in!"

"I don't know," he frowns. "They're probably just gonna laugh at me."

You raise your brow at him. "Why on earth would you think they'd do that?"

"Most people do," he shrugs.

"Well, even if they do — which they won't — who cares?" you question. "Just follow your dreams, don't let other people get in the way."

The librarian turns around again, her displeased glare telling you you're still being too loud for her liking.

"C'mon," you say to Jeonghan. "Finish up your application and let's get out of here."

He quickly fills out the rest of the form and you ditch the library together. Jeonghan is done with classes for the day, but he accompanies you across the quad to your next class.

"What are you up to tonight?" he asks. He kicks a pebble along the sidewalk as he walks; you watch his dingy old converse scuff against the ground as he does, noticing the small hole forming in the toe of his right shoe.

"I'm getting dinner with Mark," you reply casually. You see his face drop slightly out of the corner of your eye.

"Basketball team Mark?"

"Yep! We have History of Feminist Literature together, though he's a Economics major so he's just taking it for an elective."

"Hm," Jeonghan says out loud without meaning to.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just hardly ever go on dates, that's all."

"Oh, it's not a date," you say plainly, but you see him roll his eyes. "It's not!!" you insist. "We're just friends."

"I doubt he sees it that way."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because dudes only think with their dicks."

"Are you speaking from experience?" you inquire teasingly.

"This is not about me," he mutters, looking mildly embarrassed as he avoids eye contact. Luckily for him, you've arrived at the Literature Hall, giving him an excuse to change the subject.

"Hope you have a good class," he tells you warmly.

"Thanks," you reply with a smile. "Now you go turn in that job application or I'm going to kick your ass."

"I will," he laughs.

"Pinky promise?" you ask, extending your hand. He chuckles, but he connects pinkies with you.

"I promise."

"Good!" you tell him with a grin. "See ya later!"

"See ya," he smiles back.

You unlock your front door quietly, trying not to make noise and wake up your roommate considering how late it is by now. But as you enter the apartment you see her sitting at the computer, back turned to you as she is absorbed in whatever is on the screen.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd still be up," you say as you shut the door and kick your shoes off.

"Oh hey," Mina replies as she turns around to greet you. She lifts her wrist to peer at her watch. "Damn, I didn't realize how late it was."

"What are you doing on the computer?" you inquire, walking over to the desk out of curiosity.

"It's this new MySpace website Irene told me about," she replies, turning back around and double-clicking on something. "It's so sick, I've been here all night making my profile."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of that," you tell her as you watch her scroll through her profile. "Seems pretty cool."

"You should make one!" she tells you. "I can add you to my Top 8 friends."

"Oh, maybe. I'm still getting used to this whole Internet thing, honestly," you laugh.

"Soooo," Mina starts, shutting down the computer and heading into the kitchen. "How was your date with Mark?"

"It wasn't a date," you tell her. "I don't know why everyone keeps saying that."

"Okay, whatever," she responds, browsing through the snack cabinet for a minute before deciding on the bag of Cheeto Puffs. "How was your not-date?"

"It was… good."

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"No, it was!" you assure her. "It's just that… I don't know, he kinda just talked about basketball the whole time."

"Ugh. Typical guy shit," Mina rolls her eyes.

"He's really nice, though…" you say, though you're not sure if you're trying to convince her or yourself more.

"Nice enough to go on a second date — sorry, not-date with?" she raises her brow at you.

"Well, I don't know about that…"

You sigh, feeling a bit dejected suddenly. It's not like you're trying to date or anything, but you can't deny that it would be kinda nice to have at least a little bit more success.

"Maybe I should just give up on dating," you grimace.

Mina pops another Cheeto in her mouth. "I mean, I don't know why you bother. You basically already have a BF."

"What?" you ask, puzzled. "No I don't?"

"C'mon, you're literally hanging out with what's-his-name all the time. The metalhead."

"Jeonghan?? He's not into metal."

"Okay, whatever noise it is you guys listen to."

"It's called punk, and it's cool."

"Riiight."

"Anyway, he's just my friend," you tell her. Her lips curve into a slight grin, and she gives you a look.

"Sure he is."

"I can be friends with dudes!"

"Dudes only think with their dicks," she retorts, echoing Jeonghan's exact words from earlier.

"He's not like that," you assure her.

"Well that's rare, if true. Maybe you should date him."

You roll your eyes, but you're tired. Mina means well, but you don't really feel like having this conversation right now. Luckily, she's already putting her snack away, and then heads off to her room.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight!"

You too head off to bed, but as you brush your teeth you start to think about what Mina said. What if Jeonghan does see me as more than a friend? you wonder to yourself. After all, he did say the exact same thing earlier, too. You don't think he meant it in that way, but now you're beginning to second-guess your intuition…

You go straight to bed, deciding not to think about it anymore tonight.

[THREE]

You have some time between classes, so you take up residence in your usual spot in the quad, sitting on the ground reclined against your usual tree. Fall is officially here now, and it's a bit cold out, but you're perfectly comfortable in your thick sweater and windbreaker. Out of the corner of your eye, you suddenly see something in the distance charging directly at you. Looking up from your book, you see Jeonghan, forgoing the sidewalks and sprinting across the grass straight toward you, waving and flailing his arms like a maniac.

"You look like a psychopath," you call to him as he approaches.

"I got it!!!"

"Got wha— wait, the DJ job?!" you perk up excitedly.

"YES!!"

He plops down on the ground next to you, out of breath from running, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Holy shit, congrats!!" you tell him enthusiastically. "See, I told you you'd get it!"

"I can't believe I almost ripped up the application and threw it in the trash."

"Jeonghan!" you blurt out, hitting him playfully in the arm, but he just shakes his head and laughs.

"I didn't though! You made me pinky promise."

"This is amazing! When do you start?"

"Tonight, actually," he answers. "Unfortunately, I'm stuck on the late night shift since I'm a newbie — 10pm–4am."

"Oh, yikes," you reply concernedly, but he shrugs it off.

"It's fine," he smiles. "I don't sleep anyway."

"Damn, I guess I'm never gonna see you again," you say jokingly, but an unexpected wave of sadness washes over you as your own words sink in.

"No way," he shakes his head resolutely. "We're still gonna hang out. I'll find a way to make it happen."

A fluttering sensation hits your stomach. You hang out with Jeonghan all the time, so you're not sure why you'd have this reaction. But something about the way he said it — "I'll find a way"— feels… different. But, regardless, you're just glad you're still going to be able to see your friend.

"What are you doing until then?" you inquire.

"I was just gonna go grab a bite at the dining hall and then go nap in the library."

"Wanna go to Jacq's instead?" you ask. "My treat."

Jeonghan's face lights up. "Hell yeah," he grins. "That sounds like a way better idea."

The low hum of neon lights buzzes gently through the tune of the usual rotation of 1960s hits as you and Jeonghan sit in the corner booth, chatting and giggling over your meal. Jacqueline's Diner is an old-fashioned joint, and the majority of its clientele is over the age of 60 — but the food is cheap, greasy, and delicious, so the two of you are practically regulars. Jeonghan ordered his usual, chicken tenders and a Cherry Coke float; you opted for a grilled cheese and chocolate milkshake, and you ordered a basket of fries to share.

"You heard about this MySpace?" Jeonghan asks, dipping three large, salty fries in ketchup and shoving them all into his mouth at once.

"Oh yeah," you say, picking the maraschino cherry off the top of the whipped cream and eating it one bite. "Mina's on there, she told me about it. Seems pretty cool."

"I think it sounds lame," he shrugs indifferently.

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, the whole Top 8 friends is kinda weird. Just sounds like one big popularity contest if you ask me."

"Yeah, I guess so," you agree.

"Besides, I don't even have eight friends."

"Oh shut up," you retort. "That's not true!"

"It's okay," Jeonghan chuckles. "I'm just not the kind of guy who has a lot of friends."

"We'll I'd put you in my Top 8," you tell him, but he rolls his eyes. "It's true, I would!"

"C'mon, y/n," he laughs. "You have so many friends."

"Mmm, not really," you reply. "Not ones I hang out with on the regular, anyway. It's mostly you and Mina these days."

"Well, thanks for hanging out with me," he says sheepishly.

"You say that like it's a charity case," you tease him. "I hang out with you because I like you, moron."

Jeonghan says nothing, sipping on his float instead, but the big grin creeping across his face is undeniable.

"So," you ask after a bite of grilled cheese. "Are you excited?"

"For the job?"

"No, for Christmas," you reply jokingly. "Yes, the job!!"

"I guess so," he shrugs. "Mostly I'm just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because what if I'm bad at it and they fire me?"

"Jeonghan, that is not going to happen."

"But I don't know what I'm doing!" he frowns.

"Dude, nobody knows what they're doing when they start a new job," you remind him. "Besides, they're going to train you! You'll learn the ropes in no time."

"What if I don't?"

"I find that hard to believe. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Hannie. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"Easier said than done," he replies lightheartedly, but his lack of confidence still shows.

"Why is that?" you inquire.

He thinks for a moment. "I don't know," he eventually answers. "Sometimes it just feels like there's a little voice in my head telling me I suck at everything and that I should just give up."

"I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm okay, I promise," he smiles softly at you. "Sorry for being sad so much."

"You don't have to apologize for that," you tell him firmly. "You're my friend and I'm here for you no matter what."

A couple remaining fries sit at the bottom of the basket, calling to you from the red-and-white checkered paper lining. You reach for them, but Jeonghan does too, your hands colliding over the table.

"Ope, sorry," he says timidly, retracting his hand. "You can have it."

"No, you take it," you insist, sliding the basket toward him. "You've got a long night ahead of you, you need the fuel. Speaking of, want another float?"

"No, it's oka—"

But you're already signaling to the waitress across the restaurant, pointing to Jeonghan's empty glass.

"I don't know why I asked," you tell him. "I already knew the answer."

The waitress quickly brings him a refill in a fresh glass, complete with his usual order of an extra cherry on top.

"Thanks, y/n," he smiles. "You're the best."

After you finish your meal and pay, Jeonghan drives you home. He pulls up next to the curb outside your apartment, putting the car into park and turning to face you.

"Thanks again for dinner," he smiles.

"Of course," you smile back. "I got ya. And I'll make sure to tune into WFVC tonight!"

Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm going to be on the air just yet. I think I gotta be less of a noob first."

"Well, I'll be thinking of you anyway," you tell him with a nod. He drops his head slightly, trying to hide his face behind his long hair.

"Besides, I wanna support the station — and maybe I'll find some new bands I like." You playfully give him a punch him in the arm. "Jut remember to relax, you're gonna crush it."

"I'll do my best," he promises.

"Good!" you nod, opening the passenger door and hopping out of the car. "Later skater," you smile at him, giving him a wave before shutting the door. He waves back, watching you walk toward your building, waiting until you've made it safely inside before shifting the car into gear and driving off.

[FOUR]

Jeonghan stands in the hallway, staring at the windowless, red door in front of him. He pulls a crumpled sticky note out of his jacket pocket, flattening it to reveal C-302 written in smudged pen. Looking up, he triple-checks the room number on the small metal plaque next to the door, but just as the first two times, it still reads C-302. The dozens of band stickers all over the door, some that look like they have been there for decades, are also a dead giveaway — this is it: the campus radio station. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then reaches for the door handle.

As the door swings open, a small, hectic room comes into view. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every bit of wall, overflowing with endless stacks of CD cases; the rest of the room is crammed full of all sorts of audio and mixing equipment — some he recognizes, some he doesn't — and it seems that every bit of exposed surface is covered in show posters and even more band stickers. A too-small desk pushed against the far wall houses two computers, and at one of them sits a tough-looking man with a ponytail, seemingly older than himself, but not by much — perhaps a graduate student. The man peers up as Jeonghan enters the room.

"Hi, I'm Jeonghan," he says timidly. "I'm the new student employee, I was told to meet here at 9:45—"

"Yes, hello!" the man says cheerfully, hopping out of his seat and strutting across the room to give Jeonghan a very firm handshake. "I'm A.J., I'm the one running this joint for the most part — aside from Professor Sampson, of course. You're in undergrad, yeah?"

"Yes," Jeonghan replies politely, relieved that the man doesn't have the tough-guy demeanor he initially expected. "I'm a Junior."

"Awesome, well welcome to the team bro! Johnny's almost wrapped in the booth, and then you're on," he says, pointing his thumb back at the small window in the far wall; Jeonghan tries to peer through it, but all he can see is the top of the current DJ's head, clad with chunky headphones. "But don't worry — tonight I'll be showing you the ropes, so you just have to follow my lead. Cool?"

"Yeah, cool," Jeonghan nods in agreement.

"Excellent! Well, for starters, obviously we want to keep the volume to a minimum so there's no background noises when we're on air, but the soundproofing in the booth is good enough that you can talk at a regular volume out here and nobody's gonna hear ya. Just no screaming or anything crazy. As you can see over here," he says, pointing to the packed shelves. "We have quite a number of CDs on file. Now, I assume you're familiar with the station's catalogue?" Jeonghan nods, and A.J. continues. "Good. So you know we don't play anything that's even remotely popular — and if it's ever been on the radio, forget it. Most of our inventory is underground artists, garage bands, et cetera; the purpose of this station is to put a spotlight on new or small groups, show them some love and appreciation. So unless you're big into the local scene, you probably won't have heard of most of these bands."

Jeonghan skims over the nearest shelf, sure enough finding nothing familiar. Instead he finds jewel cases boasting all sorts of unheard-of band names — plunk!, Blister, Pisswizard, The Underwater Grandmas, and Groob, to name a few.

"Anyway, few ground rules. First, if the ON AIR sign is lit, you are live. Don't go saying anything you don't want hundreds of strangers to hear. Second, keep up with the queue, but also clean up after yourself. Don't leave loose CDs laying around, and make sure they go back into their actual cases — makes everyone's jobs easier."

Jeonghan nods attentively, trying not to seem nervous, but he feels like he's not doing a very good job. A.J. seems to notice too, but he claps Jeonghan on the shoulder and gives him a grin.

"Third, and this one's the most important if you ask me: just have fun. As long as you're doing a good job, just be yourself. Nothin' to stress over, I promise."

Jeonghan hears the booth door swing open; peering over A.J.'s shoulder, he sees a tall, dark-haired student stepping out into the main room.

"Ope, looks like we're on," A.J. says to him. "Johnny, this is Jeonghan, our new night shift guy."

Johnny walks over, shaking Jeonghan's hand enthusiastically. "Welcome! Nice to meet you, bro!"

"Thanks," Jeonghan replies, slightly intimidated by how friendly everyone is being, but he smiles politely at his new coworkers.

"Catch you guys 'round!" Johnny says as he takes off, giving the other two men a cheerful salute.

"Alright, the queue will be running for another 10 minutes or so," A.J. says as he enters the booth, pointing at the unlit ON AIR sign. "So in the meantime I can show you the basics…"

As promised, A.J. gives him the rundown, going over the master audio mixer controls, how to queue up songs, how to check the logs to see what's already been played, and a few different generic scripts for radio announcements.

"Like I said, you won't be talking on air just yet. But it's good for practice — and the more you practice the more natural it'll feel," he assures him. "Alright, we're coming up on the end of the queue. Grab some discs from that stack over there — doesn't matter which ones, really — and get them ready, I'll make the announcement." He places the bulky headphones on, pulling the mic in front of him and waiting for the song's outro begin to fade. He signals to Jeonghan as he goes live, the ON AIR sign lighting up bright red above their heads.

"That was 'Bitchcraft' by the Lipstick Dollz, and you're listening to WFVC 90.5 — the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll," A.J. speaks effortlessly into the mic. "Coming up next for you this hour, we've got some more Doomcock, a few from Spaceshuttle, and The Mary Jane Planes with their newest track, "Reefer Renegade" — only here on WFVC 90.5. Don't you dare touch that fuckin' tuner!"

The ON AIR sign shuts off, its red glow disappearing as the next song begins to play.

"See? Pretty easy," A.J. grins.

"Damn, that sounds so cool when you do it," Jeonghan tells him shyly.

"Don't sweat it, man. You'll get the hang of it in no time!"

Jeonghan isn't so sure, but he tries not to let the negative thoughts win. A.J. has him running the broadcast mixer, learning how to fade in and out and how to balance everything just right. He picks up on it faster than he expected, and the rest of the late-night shift seems to fly by. The job isn't the most exciting thing, but it's fun and interesting — and Jeonghan finds he enjoys even the monotony of mindlessly shelving CDs back into their places. But it seems that as soon as there's a lull in the job, you pop into his mind. By the time it's the middle of the night, he's certain you must have gone to bed by now — but he wonders if you were actually listening earlier. Did she like the music? he muses. Did she think of me at all?

He doesn't know the answer, but he really hopes you did.

The next day, Jeonghan doesn't show up to class.

You don't actually have any classes with him this semester, but after your Advanced Creative Writing class you always meet him in the quad underneath the usual tree. He's usually there first, so you waited for him for about 10 minutes — but he never showed.

Fortunately, his apartment is within walking distance from campus, so you make your way there. You knock on his door, but no response. You try again, a bit louder; after a few moments you hear footsteps from within the unit, shuffling their way toward the front door. The door swings open, revealing a messy-haired Jeonghan wearing pajamas, looking very much like you just woke him up.

"Have you been sleeping all day??" you ask with a grin.

"I guess so," he answers, placing his hand over his mouth as he yawns. "What time even is it?"

"3:23pm," you read from your wristwatch.

"Holy shit," he grumbles. "I slept through everything."

"You must've been exhausted," you point out. "Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to make sure you were alive."

"No, no — don't apologize," he shakes his head. "Here, come on in," he says as he swings the door open, traipsing back into the apartment. "I'll make us some coffee."

You follow your sleepy friend into his kitchen, where he locates a bag of coffee grounds and starts to brew a fresh pot.

"Soooo," you say eagerly, sitting down at the kitchen table. It's stacked with books, CDs, piles of mail, and one very ripe-looking banana sitting atop a toppled box of Lucky Charms — but you're able to clear off enough space for two coffee mugs. "How was it? Tell me everything!"

"It was actually really good!" he responds enthusiastically, leaning against the counter. The warm aroma of hot coffee drifts across the room as the dark liquid begins to drip into the carafe. "Nothing particularly exciting, since I was just training. But it's all super cool, I think I'm really going to like it."

You haven't seen Jeonghan this excited about something since he scored tickets to the blink-182 concert last summer. He's become one of your closest friends, so you know that he's generally a bit of a melancholy guy — but seeing him so passionate about something really warms your heart. Happiness is a good look on him, you think to yourself.

"What's that look for?" he inquires, raising his brow at you.

"Nothing! I'm just really excited for you," you smile at him. "I was listening last night, you know."

His face lights up. "You were?" he asks eagerly The pot begins to sputter as the coffee finishes brewing; he grabs two mugs, filling them with the beverage: one cup black, for himself, and one with a tablespoon of sugar, for you.

"Of course! I said I was going to, didn't I?"

"You did," he smiles, bringing the mugs to the table and setting yours in front of you. You take a sip — it's piping hot, but it's delicious. "Didja hear any new songs you liked?"

"Yeah, I really liked all of it! There was one band called something weird that I enjoyed, I think it was 'Beenis'?"

Jeonghan laughs. "Yeah, I recall seeing a Beenis in the mix. Hey, speaking of new bands…"

He gets up, fetching his backpack and pulling a slightly-bent bright yellow piece of paper from it. He hands it to you, and you see that it's a flier for a show down at Dizzy's Tavern, a local dive bar known for it's cheap beer and loud, live rock music. The two bands listed are Fuckwagon and The Flagstaff Arizonas — names you've certainly never heard of before, but then again you're not too acquainted with the local music scene.

"My boss told me about this show tonight, apparently Fuckwagon are a pretty well-known name around the station. Said they're always bringing in new demos and singles for us to play," he explains. "I don't work tonight, and I don't know what you're up to, but I thought maybe we could go check it out."

"I'm down! I have nothing else going on today, and that sounds fun!"

"Sweet," Jeonghan replies casually, trying to contain his excitement, but his face is positively beaming. "I'll pick you up at 7:45, then?"

"Sounds like a plan," you grin back at him.

[FIVE]

Dizzy's Tavern is, for lack of better words, a shithole. As you step through the front door you are immediately hit with a wall of cigarette smoke that is somehow both stale and fresh. It's dark inside, the only source of lighting being the red lights above the bar and neon signs of various beer brands hanging around the walls; despite the dim environment, the dinginess of the establishment is still glaringly obvious. The place is a decent size, but it's packed — there are people of all ages, most of whom seem to be clad in leather jackets, and many with hair dyed unnatural colors or a multitude of piercings. The vibe of the place certainly screams punk.

"Holy shit, it's crowded," you remark to Jeonghan as you both shuffle into the crowded bar area.

"We don't have to stay if it's too much—" he quickly offers.

"No, it's okay!" you assure him. "I just think this will be more fun once I have a drink or two in me," you say lightheartedly.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks, grabbing onto your arm gently as you meander through the throng of bodies as not to get separated.

"Jack and Coke," you answer. He raises a brow at you.

"Oh so we're drinking drinking tonight," he smirks.

"Hey, you get whatever you want," you tell him, poking him in the chest. "You don't have to drink just because of me."

"Maybe I want to."

"Okay, just be careful though. I know how much of a lightweight you are."

"Hey!" he protests.

"Well, you are! Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right," he concedes with a smile. "As usual."

He finally gets the bartender's attention, ordering a Jack and Coke for the both of you. You sip it as you make your way through the crowd, holding onto Jeonghan as you head toward the small stage at the back of the bar. The band isn't on yet; according to the flier they should be on any minute now, but you have a feeling that being precisely punctual perhaps isn't very punk rock.

"Let's hang out here," you say, spotting a tiny, unoccupied high-top table off to the side. It's less crowded over here, and not too close to the stage. "I'm sure we will be able to hear just fine."

You're in the middle of a very non-serious debate about Halloween costumes when you spot a familiar face emerging from the nearby hall that leads to the bathrooms. It's Joshua, your weed dealer, and you unintentionally make eye contact with him. His face lights up with recognition, and he waves at you, heading in your direction. Jeonghan looks over his shoulder, doing a poor job of hiding his grimace when he realizes who it is.

"Hey hey!" Joshua says cheerfully as he approaches your table. "What's up you guys?"

"Hi Joshua!" you tell him cheerfully. "We're here to see the show," you explain, nudging your head toward the still-empty stage. You want to ask him what exactly he's doing here, considering that this doesn't seem to be his scene in the slightest, but you figure that might be a bit rude.

"Oh, cool!" he nods eagerly. "Hey, by the way," he says, leaning in to the both of you. "I got some new school supplies coming my way soon, if you catch my drift." He winks at Jeonghan, nudging him playfully with his elbow. "I'll make sure to save the good stuff for you."

Jeonghan stands there frozen with awkwardness at Joshua's directness. "Um," he finally manages to reply. "Yeah, uh, that sounds cool. Thanks."

"Awesome!" Joshua smiles at him sweetly. Turning back to you, he gives you a casual salute.

"Well, I gotta bounce," he excuses himself. "Catch you guys on the flip side."

Once he's out of earshot, you turn to Jeonghan, giving him a knowing look.

"Told you," you tease. "He's like that with everyone."

"Okay, okay, fine," he huffs, raising his hands defeatedly, but a smile spreads across his face. "I believe you now."

Several minutes later, the band finally comes out on stage, eliciting drunken cheering and whooping from the crowd of bar-goers.

"What the fuck is up!!!" the lead singer screams into the microphone. "We're Fuckwagon, and here's some fucking music!"

A screeching guitar riff begins, joined momentarily by crashing drums and a bassline that somehow already seems out of sync with the song. The lead singer appears to be playing the shrill guitar, and the bass player also has a mic; they start singing in tandem — sort of. You're not sure if the sounds coming from either of them can even be considered singing, but they proceed regardless, wailing into the mics as the drummer is already flailing crazily at the drum set. You nod your head to the beat as best you can; turning to Jeonghan, you see he also wears a stunned expression, staring blankly at the raucous scene on the stage.

"Is this the same song or a new one?" you ask him a few minutes later, leaning in to speak into his ear.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugs. He tosses back the rest of his drink, picking up your empty glass as well. "Want another one?"

"Yeah, definitely."

He returns a few minutes later with two fresh Jack and Cokes in hand. The lead singer has somehow already taken his shirt off, revealing a plethora of tattoos that you personally would consider hideous. You and Jeonghan down the drinks fast — unintentionally, but anything to make the music more tolerable. There seems to be no distinction from one song to the next, the night going by in a non-stop cacophony of hard, grungy rock sounds. You don't pay too much attention to the music though, instead talking and laughing with Jeonghan the whole time.

"That's not even the weirdest part," Jeonghan continues his story, resting his elbow on your shoulder as he leans in close to your face. "The next week, I get home and the apartment is filled with boxes of potatoes. Turns out, Jun had built a potato cannon, and he thought he had placed an order for a hundred potatoes — but he had accidentally ordered a hundred ten-pound bags."

"Oh my god," you laugh in disbelief. "How did he not notice, wasn't it expensive??"

"I have genuinely no idea," Jeonghan shakes his head, also laughing. "He just does things like that sometimes."

"I think he has to be the strangest guy I've ever met," you respond. "I can't believe you live with him."

"Hey, he's a great roommate. He's clean, quiet, and half the time he's not even there — off doing god knows what."

"And that was our last song!!!" the lead singer screams into the mic over the drummer continuing his solo despite the song having ended. "Goodnight motherfuckaaaas!!!"

The band exits the stage, the next band already setting up their instruments.

"Thank god," you say to Jeonghan, who is all but fully leaning on you at this point. You pick his drink up off the table, finishing it off before he can drink any more; he doesn't seem to notice.

"You think the next band will be any better?" he asks you, his face mere inches from yours, heavy eyelids blinking slowly in his drunken state.

"There's no way they can possibly be worse than that."

You were wrong. Despite it being harsh and grating, the first band at least had upbeat rock music; the new band consists of six people, one of whom plays the trumpet, and all of whom barely fit on the stage — and their music is dull, drawn-out, and extremely repetitive. You're not sure if lead singer is drunk or if he just sounds like he is, but either way, it's borderline insufferable.

You turn to Jeonghan, about to suggest you call it a night, but he clearly has the exact same thought.

"Should we… leave?"

"Yeeaaaah," you nod eagerly in agreement. "We should leave."

It's even colder now as you step out of the bar, but despite the chilly autumn wind the fresh, smoke-free air feels delightful.

"So," Jeonghan asks as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He drove you to the bar, but neither one of you seem to recall that detail — but you're both too drunk to drive, anyway. "What did you think of… that?"

"I think it sucked shit," you reply honestly. Jeonghan bursts out laughing, making you start giggling too.

"Yeah, that was pretty terrible," he agrees. "Sorry I dragged you to this."

"Don't be!" you insist. "I still had a good time."

"Good," Jeonghan replies, a smile lighting up his face. "I did too."

Though your apartment is further than his, he walks you home first. The alcohol in your system has kept you warm all night, but the cold nighttime breeze is starting to get to you. You shiver, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands and tucking them into you as you cross your arms to try and stay warm.

"Here," Jeonghan tells you as soon as he notices, immediately taking his jacket off.

"No, I'll be fine—" you start, but he's already wrapping it around your shoulders. The jacket is warm, both from its thick leather and Jeonghan's body heat. You accept it graciously, slipping your arms into the baggy sleeves and zipping it all the way up.

"Thanks," you tell him sincerely. "You're the best."

In the dim orange-y glow of the incandescent streetlamps it's hard to tell, but Jeonghan blushes, his face turning even pinker than the alcohol made him.

You arrive outside your apartment a few minutes later.

"Well, goodnight," Jeonghan smiles at you. To his surprise, you suddenly throw your arms around him, leaning your head against his shoulder as you hug him. He tenses up slightly as his inebriated brain tries to process what's happening, but slowly he wraps his arms around you too, sinking into your embrace. It only lasts a few seconds, but the moment simultaneously feels hours long and also over way too fast.

"Goodnight," you reply as you let go, waving as you turn toward the sidewalk to head home. "Get home safe, okay?"

"I will," he nods softly. He watches until you've made it inside, then turns to head back to his own apartment, wondering if you knew that you just completely flipped his world upside down.

[SIX]

You wake up the next day uncomfortably hot.

Prying your eyes open, you see that you're in your living room. Apparently, you were too tired to make it all the way to your bedroom, so you just crashed on the couch, still wearing your shoes and Jeonghan's jacket. Your arm feels like lead as you try to lift it, peering at your watch: 12:16pm.

"Holy shit," you grumble as you hoist yourself up into a sitting position, your head pounding with a killer hangover. A few seconds later, Mina walks into the room.

"Jesus Christ, you're a mess," she tells you bluntly. "What the hell did you do last night?"

"Um, went to a shitty bar and saw a shitty band," you answer, rubbing your aching eyes. "Scratch that — two shitty bands."

"With your boyfriend, I assume?" she asks, glancing at the oversized leather jacket with its many pins and buttons.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mumble through a yawn, shimmying out of the jacket and neatly placing on the armrest next to you.

"Well, you knew who I was talking about without me even saying his name, soooo…"

"Shut uppp," you groan, flopping your tired head onto the back of the couch. With a pleased grin, she heads into the kitchen. You close your eyes, nodding off again, but soon you start to smell fresh coffee, and hear the sound of a sizzling skillet. A few minutes later, Mina returns, carrying a large mug of steaming coffee and a plate of fried eggs and pancakes.

"Here, eat," she says firmly, setting the plate and mug in front of you on the coffee table.

"Thanks, Mina," you smile at her.

After devouring your breakfast, you hop in the shower, standing there under the hot stream of water for far too long — but, you feel a million times better afterward. You toss on some sweats and decide to work on some homework from your bed. After a surprisingly productive afternoon, make your way back to the kitchen to find some dinner. On your way there, you pass by the couch, spotting Jeonghan's jacket still laying there. You feel bad that you didn't remember to give it back last night — after all, this is quite literally his only jacket. You're figure you should just take it over to him after you eat dinner. But, you're pretty sure he mentioned that he was working tonight; and since it's getting late and campus is a closer walk for you anyway, you figure you'll just try and drop it off at the station.

Your walk to campus is eerily empty. You've never seen this few people around, but it is Saturday night, after all. Most people are probably either at home or partying off-campus by this point. You approach the Comms building, suddenly worried that the door might be locked at this hour; but its swings right open when you pull it, and you let yourself inside. You've only had a couple classes in this building before, so you're not familiar with its layout, and you realize you have no idea where the radio station is actually located. You're about to start wandering down the halls in a random direction when you spot a directory by the staircase. The station appears to be on the top floor, so you head up the stairs.

There's no signage for the station, but you figure the bright red door with all the stickers all over it is probably the one you need. You knock at the door quietly, just now realizing that maybe this was a bad idea and that you shouldn't be here. You consider turning around and leaving before you can bother anybody, but then the door swings open. A tough-looking man with long hair and a beard pokes his head out.

"Hi, so sorry to bother you," you tell him apologetically. "But I was wondering if Jeonghan was working tonight? I just wanted to drop off his jacket."

"Oh!" the man replies with a smile, looking suddenly much less intimidating. "Yeah, he's here, come on in!"

You're not sure what exactly you thought a college radio station that plays punk music would look like, but this place seems to fit the bill. You don't see Jeonghan, but then the man points his thumb back to the small window in the far wall.

"He's in the booth right now, but I'll go grab him once we cut to commercial," he tells you. "I'm A.J., by the way," he adds, extending his hand to you.

"Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Oh, so you're y/n!" A.J. responds amicably. "I've heard all about you.""

"Oh," you reply, feeling your face turn hot suddenly. "Really?"

"Yeah, Jeonghan talks about you all the time. All good things, though, I promise," he smiles. "Hey, I gotta go fax something real quick — just hang out in here for a sec, I'll be right back."

He exits the room, and you walk over to the window, peering into the booth. There's a lot of equipment in the way, but you spot the back of Jeonghan's head, clad with headphones and bobbing his head to whatever must be playing on the radio right now. You can't see his face, but you get the sense that he really is enjoying the job.

A.J. returns in a couple minutes. He waits outside the booth door, glancing at the lit-up ON AIR sign overhead.

"I'll go grab him as soon we're not on air," he tells you. Sure enough, it shuts off a few seconds later, and he slips into the booth. Watching through the window, you see Jeonghan turn around to greet his boss; A.J. points to you through the window, and Jeonghan turns, his face lighting up when he sees it's you.

"Hey!" he says cheerfully as he comes out to greet you. "What are you doing here?"

"Just returning your jacket I accidentally stole from you," you say, extending the garment to him.

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, taking the jacket from you. "I didn't even realize until I was almost home, I was wondering why I was so cold."

"Sorry," you smile apologetically.

"Don't even worry about it," he smiles back at you. "Thanks for bringing it to me, you didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did. I know for a fact that you don't own any other jackets," you tease.

"Okay, you got me there," he grins.

"How's the job going?" you ask.

"It's great!" he answers with more enthusiasm than you're used to from him. "I'm can officially run the show and be on air by myself now, no more supervision required."

"That's so cool," you beam at him. "You seem like you're really liking it so far."

"Yeah," he nods. "I definitely am."

"Well, I should let you get back to work now," you tell him. "Hope you have a good rest of your shift."

"Thanks, y/n," Jeonghan smiles warmly. "See ya later."

The end credits to Law & Order: Special Victims Unit begin to play as you lay on the couch, eating potato chips straight from the bag. It's not particularly the most exciting Saturday night you could be having, but you're enjoying the relaxing night in. You're not really in the mood to keep watching TV, so you grab the remote and shut it off. Mina isn't home yet, so you figure you'd take this opportunity to play your music out loud without wearing headphones. You get up and shuffle over to the boombox perched on the bookshelf, turning it on; it's tuned to the local pop station — clearly Mina used it last. You enjoy this station too, but your mind flashed back to Jeonghan in the booth. Maybe I'll hear him on the air, you think to yourself excitedly. You change the tuner to 90.5 and are greeted by the heavy tune of an unfamiliar but grungy-sounding song.

Plopping back on the couch you reach for your bag of chips again — but over the crinkling of the bag as you stick your hand in it, a very familiar voice comes through on the radio.

"You're listening to WFVC 90.5, the hottest place for underground punk and badass rock n' roll. The track you just heard was "Beautiful Monster" by Meatglove, one of their earliest and most iconic releases. Up next — we've got some Death Day Party for you, as well as a classic from Wunderguts; but first, some local flavor from Z-41 with their newest track "Hell Highway."

You're a bit taken aback by the confidence and air which he delivered his spiel. You can tell he's still getting used to it, but you swear you've never heard him sound so self-assured. The crashing drums of the next song begin; you're getting a bit sleepy, but you're comfy — so you end up laying on the couch for another hour or so, zoned out as you enjoy the music. You're halfway asleep when Mina returns home, so out of it that you don't even hear her come in; but you do hear Jeonghan's voice over the speakers, making you smile as your eyes start to drift close.

"I assume that's your boyfriend on the radio?"

Your eyes shoot open again at the sudden sound of Mina's voice. Looking up, you see her looming above you as she stands beside the armrest.

"I didn't even hear you come in," you tell her, rubbing your tired eyes.

"Yeah, I can tell," she teases. "You wouldn't be swooning and gushing over him like that if you knew I was here."

"I was not," you roll your eyes. "I was like half-asleep."

"Mhmm. Well, I'm going right to bed — goodnight!"

And with that, you're alone with the radio again.

While the commercials play, an idea pops into your head. You remember Jeonghan making an off-hand comment about how the station does take requests — it's just that hardly anyone ever calls them in. You consider for a minute, and then decide, fuck it.

You get up again, quietly heading over to the landline. You're don't actually know the number, so you flip through the phone book, perusing the thin yellow pages for the station. Eventually, you spot it: Foxville College Communications Department, WFVC 90.5 — 555-1004.

You dial the number, the line ringing as you wait for it to connect. You realize you're not even sure what exactly it is you planned to request, considering that the station only plays underground stuff. Anything you would normally request on the radio is off the table.

Before you can think of something, the line picks up.

"WFVC 90.5, we have a caller live on the air," you hear Jeonghan answer the call. "Hi there, whatcha calling for?"

Your stomach drops a bit — you weren't expecting him to actually pick up live on the air. You're not a shy person, but the thought that a bunch of random strangers can hear you right now does make you at least a little bit nervous.

"Hi!" you say cheerfully, careful not to be to so loud as to wake Mina. "Um, I was hoping I could call in a request."

"Of course you can!" he answers. You were wondering if Jeonghan would recognize your voice, but the slight pause and the upward shift in his voice tells you he definitely does. "What are you looking for?"

Thinking on the fly, you say the first thing that pops into your head.

"Well, I don't actually have a specific song in mind," you reply. " Can you play me something upbeat and happy? A song I'd play if I was just chilling with my friend or something."

"I sure can," Jeonghan responds, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice. "What's your name?" he remembers to ask at the last second — of course, he already knows, but he makes sure he sticks to the script.

"Y/n," you tell him.

"Well, y/n, thanks for calling in — we appreciate ya. Got a special one just for you coming up right now: this one's called 'Heart Attack', by good friends of the station, Fever Baby — right here on WFVC 90.5!"

The call ends, the flat tone humming in your ear. You put the receiver back, heading back into the living room. You're not entirely sure how radio requests work, but you assume there's some sort of slight delay. Sure enough, right as you return the end of your call plays, followed by a light and rhythmic guitar strumming — the song he chose for you. You sit down as you listen, the melody picking up with a bright atmosphere. The song is exactly the vibe you were looking for, and you like it a lot. Turns out the band has a female lead too, something you always love, especially in this genre of music. You must've said that once a long time ago, in some off-hand comment, but Jeonghan remembered. That's the thing about Jeonghan, though — he always does.

[SEVEN]

The semester passes by, days getting shorter and temperatures getting lower as the final weeks of fall come to a close. School has kept you plenty busy, with midterms and papers taking up the majority of your time. You haven't been able to have as much of a social life as you would like, which isn't particularly unusual for this time of year; but Jeonghan especially has been busy — late nights at the station have caused his sleep schedule to shift significantly, rendering your schedules largely incompatible. You miss him, and you really hope you can find a way to hang out with him soon.

You're sitting in your apartment studying one night when the phone rings. The phone doesn't have caller ID, but you expect it's one of Mina's friends calling, as she likes to chat on the phone more often than you do. She's not home right now, so you could easily just let it go to voicemail, but something in you feels the urge to answer.

"Hello?" you answer as you pick up, grabbing the nearby stack of sticky notes and a pen in case you need to take a message.

"Hey y/n," you hear Jeonghan say softly through the line.

"Hannie!" you say, surprised but excited to be hearing his voice. "How's it going? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"I know, I've been so busy," he concurs. "I'm tired as hell, but I'm okay. How are you?"

"Same, I'm exhausted but I'm getting by. How's the DJ life treating you?"

"It's good!" he answers eagerly. "I mean, that's why I'm so tired. But in a way it also kinda gives me an energy boost. I know that probably sounds crazy…"

"Not at all," you smile. "That means you really like it! I'm so glad it ended up being a great fit for you."

"Me too," he agrees. "I've been so happy lately. Except for the fact that we haven't hung out like, at all. That part sucks."

"We gotta find some time to hang," you say assertively.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling," he replies. "The Comms Department is having this social thing on Friday night. I wasn't really planning to go, but guests are allowed if you'd wanna come with me. There's gonna be free food."

"Hell yeah, I'm always down for free food," you grin — though, you're much more excited about getting to see Jeonghan finally.

"Cool! It starts at 7, I'll drop by your place around then and we can walk to campus together."

"Sounds good," you say excitedly. "Is this like, a formal event?"

"Um, I don't think so? But like, maybe a little?"

"I'll dress up at least a little, then," you tell him. "I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed."

"Good idea, I'll do the same. Well, I gotta head to work in a few minutes, so I gotta go."

"Have a good shift!" you tell him. "See ya on Friday."

"See ya then, y/n."

Friday afternoon you start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear to the social later. You have a few hours until you need to be ready, but you figured you'd give yourself a little extra time to make yourself look at least a little bit nice. It's been a while since you've had an excuse to dress up anyway, so what the hell, why not.

Nothing is particularly catching your eye as you flip through the hangers, until you get to the end and spot a brand new skirt you had completely forgotten about. You pull it out to look at it; it's a black pinstripe pleated mini skirt, brandishing a built-in belt, and it still has the tags on. A bit on the casual side, but you figure if you pair it with a nice sweater and tights that don't have any holes in them the outfit will look just the right amount of sophisticated for the occasion.

Digging through your dresser drawer, you take a look at your sweaters. Most are a bit too tattered, and about half of them are just sweatshirts featuring a band logo, but you do find a deep maroon sweater that you rarely wear. You lay it on your bed above the skirt and grab a pair of tights to lay out as well; all put together, it actually looks pretty nice.

You throw your outfit on and spend a little bit longer than usual putting makeup on, adding some shimmery eyeshadow and some tinted lip gloss to your usual routine of eyeliner and mascara. When you're done styling your hair, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. It's not that you usually look bad, but you definitely tend to dress more on the casual side, so you're pleasantly surprised by how put-together you look right now. Turns out, a little extra effort can go a long way.

You're reading your book a couple hours later when you hear a light knocking at your door. Hopping up off the couch you flutter over to answer it, opening the door to reveal Jeonghan looking the fanciest you've ever seen him. He's still in his leather jacket, of course — but underneath he wears a maroon button-down shirt and crisp black dress pants, and you've never seen his long hair so neat and styled.

"Holy shit, since when do you own dress pants?" you ask with a playful smirk.

"Hey, shut up," he pouts. "I know they look stupid."

"They do not!" you insist. "You look really nice, Jeonghan. I've just never seen you so dressed up. And we even matched on accident!" you chuckle.

"Looks like we did," he smiles. "You look really nice as well," he says, staring at your outfit for a moment but quickly averting his gaze. You typically wear clothes that are at least a little bit baggy, but this sweater fits you snugly, its thin knit fabric accentuating your every curve very flatteringly. Jeonghan tries not to think about it.

"Thanks! Here, let me put my shoes on and then we can bounce."

He steps inside as you grab your Doc Martens, leaning down to slip your feet into them and tighten the laces. Your back is to him as you bend over, and while your skirt isn't super short it does ride up a bit in the process, your thighs on full display through the sheer black tights. He ogles you as you tie the boots up, feeling his face grow hot. He knows you don't notice, but he forces himself to turn away before you do, prying his eyes off of you, but it's too late.

"Um, I'm gonna go pee real quick," he tells you, scurrying off to your bathroom.

"Okie dokie," you reply.

Jeonghan doesn't actually have to pee, but he locks himself in the bathroom anyway. He stares at himself in the mirror, still thrown off by how different he looks all cleaned up.

"Get it together man," he grumbles to himself.

A couple minutes later he returns.

"Ready?" you ask, grabbing your coat.

"Yep!" he says with a smile.

The walk to campus is cold, but there's no wind, so it's surprisingly pleasant. On your way there it begins to snow, huge flakes falling gently through the air and starting to accumulate on the ground. You arrive to the Comms Building, brushing the snow off your jacket before you step through its doors to the warm interior.

"You've got some in your hair, too," Jeonghan points out. You ruffle your hair lightly, shaking the snow off.

"So do you," you tell him, reaching up and brushing your fingers across his hair, brushing the stark white snow out of his long, dark locks. Jeonghan freezes up slightly, grateful that his cheeks are already pink from the cold so you can't see him blushing like an idiot.

"Thanks," he says softly.

You make your way to the end of the hall, where two doors propped open lead you into the event space. Immediately you see that despite your efforts, you are both still noticeably underdressed.

"Welp," he mumbles to you quietly. "Guess I didn't get the memo that this was actually fancy."

"It's okay," you reply reassuringly. "We still look nice." And it's true, but amongst all the suits and heels you still feel a bit out of place.

You make your way over to the food table together, grabbing plates and piling them high with the assortment of hors d'oeuvres on display. It earns you a few judgmental glares from a group of older adults standing nearby, but you're both broke college kids, so you don't really give a fuck.

"Let's go over there," Jeonghan says after you each grab a glass of wine, nudging his head toward the back of the room. You meander through the groups of professors and whomever else standing around and chatting, claiming the two chairs in the corner.

"So, what exactly is this event supposed to be again?" you ask him as you pop a fancy cracker with cheese on it into your mouth.

"Um, I don't actually know," he admits as he sips at wine, glancing around the room. "I thought it was for students and professors to meet each other, but I don't think any of these people are actually students…"

You look around too, and he seems to be right. Everyone is significantly older and distinguished-looking — very clearly not undergraduates.

"Oops," you say, trying not to smile too big. "Does that mean we just walked in here and stole their food?"

A grin starts to spread across his face. "Um, yeah. Looks like it."

He starts to giggle out loud, prompting you to subtly whack him in the leg.

"Shhh, people are gonna notice!" you whisper, but you feel the urge to start laughing too. A voice rings out over the speaker system as somebody starts talking into a microphone. The attendees all turn and face the small stage, where a woman in a sequined navy dress starts to speak.

"Should we go?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, definitely," you reply, tossing back the rest of your wine. "But let's grab some more food on the way out."

Jeonghan grins. "I like the way you think."

After piling the small plastic plates with as much food as you possibly can and grabbing another glass of wine each, you sneak out the back door of the room, quickly making your way towards the building's exit.

"Holy shit," Jeonghan laughs as you burst through the door returning you to the quad. "That was awesome."

"I love to steal free food," you giggle. The falling snow has picked up, blustering around calmly but shrouding everything in a sea of white. "C'mon," you say to him, zipping off toward your usual spot under the small oak tree. "Let's go over here."

You stand together beneath the branches, accepting their humble offering of any sort of cover as you scarf down the rest of the food on your plates.

"I guess we also technically stole these wine glasses," Jeonghan comments as he stares at the remaining red liquid in the bowl. "I didn't even realize they were real."

"Me neither," you say, finishing your drink. "Whoops."

Hors d'oeuvres and wine now gone, you toss the plates in a nearby trashcan, leaving the glasses sitting on the steps to the Comms Building and zooming off before somebody catches you. When you get off campus you slow your pace, strolling casually down the block through the deluge of snow.

"Maybe I should've driven," Jeonghan chuckles. "But also who wants to drive in this weather."

"True," you smile. "But I don't mind the snow. It's nice."

"Me neither."

You chat the whole walk home, taking and laughing about anything and everything and nothing at all. By the time you make it to your building, your cheeks hurt — not only from the cold but from smiling nonstop the whole night.

"Tonight was really fun — even if it wasn't what we expected," you say, turning to face Jeonghan.

"Same here," he smiles softly. "I'm glad I finally got to see you."

"Me too," you beam back. You're thinking about inviting him up, maybe to smoke a J or something, when suddenly his lips are on yours.

Your whole body freezes. His lips are soft, the kiss is sweet, but you were not prepared for it. Quickly he pulls his face back, his eyes widening with fear like a deer in the headlights.

"Sorry," he stammers, then takes off.

"Wait!" you call out after him. "Jeonghan!" But he's gone in the blink of an eye, running off down the street into the snowy night.

[EIGHT]

Almost an entire week passes, and you don't see or hear from Jeonghan once.

You tried calling him, but you just kept getting Jun, who seemed to be confused but didn't ask any questions. You tried to meet him after several of his classes, but he either wasn't there or managed to completely evade you. You even tried e-mailing him, but as you expected, no response.

So you gave up for the time being. You knew he wasn't going to avoid you forever, that eventually he would come back. But damn, you hated waiting for it.

It's now Thursday night. Six nights have gone by, and still radio silence from Jeonghan. You're not even upset with him, you just want to talk to him. There's too many questions swimming around in your brain right now — you can hardly think about anything else.

Why did you kiss me?

Why did you run away?

Why have you been so scared to talk to me?

Do you love me?

The living room boom box softly plays the local classic rock channel as you lay at the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking too much. For reasons you can't explain, you suddenly get up and go change the tuner to 90.5. You lay back down, unsure what exactly the point of that was, but also you don't really care. You're not even sure if Jeonghan is working tonight, and even if he is it's too early for him to be on — but the radio station is enough to remind you of him. You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, blinking them away quickly.

The DJ eventually comes back on the air; as expected, it's not Jeonghan, but that doesn't make you any less sad about the whole situation. The next song that comes on sounds vaguely familiar, and awful; it occurs to you about two minutes into the song that this sounds like that terrible band you saw at that bar — Fuckwagon or whatever. The one you saw with Jeonghan.

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks. Unable to shut them down, you just let them flow, softly sobbing into the couch.

This is so fucking stupid, you tell yourself. I'm crying to a Fuckwagon song right now. You let out a laugh through your tears, in disbelief of how utterly stupid this scenario is. After crying for a few more minutes, you eventually calm back down. Your mind is a bit clearer now, and you come to the realization that there's nothing stopping you from marching over there right this instant and putting an end to this nonsense.

Fifteen minutes later, you're standing outside Jeonghan's apartment. All that's left is to knock, but now that you're here that part feels daunting. You take a deep breath, slowly raising your hand to the door, then you knock. It comes out a bit more aggressive than you meant it, but you hope that means he'll hear you right away. You hear footsteps trodding toward the door, and then it opens.

"Oh, hi y/n," Jun greets you. He looks frazzled, like you just woke him from a thousand-year slumber.

"Hey, Jun. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," you tell him apologetically.

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," he replies nonchalantly. You're about to ask him what the hell he was doing then, but you decide some questions don't need to be answered. Besides, that's not why you're here.

"Is Jeonghan here?" you cut to the chase. "I was hoping to talk to him."

"Sorry, no," he shakes his head. "You just missed him — he left for work about ten minutes ago."

"Dammit," you mutter.

"Has he still not talked to you since he kissed you?"

You look up at Jun, a perplexed expression coloring your face. "You know about that?"

"Yes," he replies matter-of-factly. "He came home right after that and was freaking out about it. He wasn't exactly very coherent, but through his ramblings I got the general picture."

"Did he say why he was freaking out?" you try.

"He was scared that it was a mistake, that he fucked it all up."

"Fucked what all up?" you ask, furrowing your brow. "Our friendship?"

Jun lets out a gentle sigh. "So you didn't know, then," he says softly. "Jeonghan is in love with you, y/n. Has been since the day he met you."

You make it to campus in record time, speed-walking as fast as you can, zooming across the quad directly toward the Comms Building. You're out of breath as you enter, groaning as you spot the three flights of stairs you now have to climb. But you move quickly anyway, your body seemingly unable to slow down for anything.

This time you don't even bother knocking on the red door. You fling it open, expected to have to come up with some sort of explanation on the fly with his boss, but you are greeted by an empty office. The door slowly closes behind you as you walk over to the booth window. Peering in, sure enough you can see the top of his head as he sits at the broadcast mixer. The ON AIR sign above you is lit; you wait for the red light to shut off, then you knock on the booth door. Jeonghan turns around slowly, looking confused, but then he sees you standing outside the window. His eyes widen, and he leaps out out of his chair, bolting to the door and swinging it open.

"What are you doing here??" he asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, but we have to talk."

"Nobody else is here tonight," he replies. "Here, come inside."

He shuts the door behind you as you enter, but as soon as he does you grab him by the arm and spin him around to face you.

"What the—"

"Why did you run away?"

"I—" He pauses for a moment. "That's… not what I thought you were going to ask," he admits.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I just thought you were going to ask me why I kissed you first."

"Okay," you reply. "Then why did you kiss me?"

Jeonghan sighs, dropping his head slightly; but a moment later he lifts it again, looking you directly in the eyes.

"I kissed you because I love you, y/n. I ran away because I was scared you didn't love me back, and I wasn't prepared to face that reality."

His gaze is locked onto yours so intensely that you feel like you might burst into flames. He looks like he's experiencing every emotion at once, anxiously waiting for you to say something, anything. But you don't know what to say, so you do what only feels right — you throw your arms around him, pulling him into your embrace.

He gasps softly as you squeeze him tight, burying your face into his chest; you can feel the accelerating pace of his heart, thumping against your cheek. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, leaning his head on top of yours.

"I love you too," you say softly. "I didn't realize it for a while — but it's so obvious to me now."

He kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back as you nuzzle your face deeper into his sweater.

"That's the best news I've ever heard."

You could stay here in his embrace indefinitely, but eventually you lift your head, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Kiss me — but for real this time."

Slowly, Jeonghan grabs your face with both hands, eyeing you hungrily before pulling you into a kiss. This time it's slow, sweet; you slip your hands around his waist, clinging to him as you savor it. Your heart pounds in your chest as your lips tug at each other, refusing to let go, pressing your body into his and pushing him up against the door. A soft, involuntarily moan emanates from his throat, and you feel the stiff, growing bulge in his pants against your stomach.

Eventually your lips part, lingering near each other as he presses his forehead into yours.

"Holy shit," he mutters. "I can't believe this is really happening."

He drops his hands from their grasp on your head, unzipping your coat and taking it off of you; tossing it on a nearby desk, he hurriedly slips his hands around your waist, kneading at the soft flesh and holding your body tightly against him. He feels slightly embarrassed by how quickly he got a full-fledged boner, but he's too aroused to care — besides, judging by the burning desire in your eyes, you're feeling the exact same thing right now.

"You're perfect," he tells you, cracking a smile and blushing as the words leave his lips. You grin back, giving him another soft kiss before taking hold of his hands.

"C'mere," you say to him, dragging him over to the sound mixer.

"What are you—oh." You cut him off by giving him a slight push, sitting him down into the thick, sturdy chair. You straddle his lap, pressing your core against his bulge, rubbing yourself against it through both of your jeans.

"Fuck," Jeonghan gasps as your weight presses against his cock; you lean your head down to kiss him again, locking lips as you start to make out, mouths crashing and tongues eagerly dancing against each other. Eventually you begin to sway your hips, unable to contain your excitement. You gasp as your mouths part, tossing your head back as you grind against him harder; his arms around you squeeze tighter, pulling you in as close as physically possible. His face presses against your tits as he rubs his hands over your ass, guiding you as you rock back and forth on top of him.

"Oh my god…" he sighs. He tosses his head back, and you swoop in, kissing the delicate flesh of his neck, making him let out the most pathetic-sounding groan. You moan as you grind your heat against him, getting the both of you off at once.

"F-fuck, that's so hot," his voice wavers.

"If I keep doing this it's gonna make me cum," you tell him, starting to sound whiny and frantic.

"Oh my god, please do."

You increase your pace, pressing your aching clit against his clothed cock. It feels incredible — you simply can't help the soft little cries escaping your lips.

"Can I…" Jeonghan asks, tugging at the button of your jeans.

"Please," you say breathily as you eagerly nod your head. He unfastens the button, tugging down your zipper and opening your pants enough for him to slip his fingers beneath your underwear. You let out a whimper as his fingertips dip into your folds, his lips parting lustfully as he discovers the absolute pool of wetness in your panties right now.

"Fuck," you whine, rubbing your clit against his fingers with fervor. A burning fire builds in your gut, your whole body tensing in anticipation of your release. It washes over you in bursting waves, your body trembling atop Jeonghan as you ride out your orgasm. As your movement slows, you catch your breath, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. As you open your eyes you get a glimpse at him, you find him looking utterly desperate, and ready to bust at any given moment. You let out a giggle, still in a daze from your high; but you slip off the chair, kneeling down before him between his legs.

"Oh my god, you're gonna kill me," he half-laughs, half-whines. He raises his drenched fingers to his mouth, lapping your juices up feverously, eyes rolling back as he savors the taste of you. You slowly unbuckle the studded leather belt around his waist, unbuttoning his jeans painfully slowly; he wriggles in his seat, silently pleading for you to take his cock out, for you to put your mouth over it…

Finally, you do — reaching into his boxers, you tug them down, wrapping your hand around his hard, thick cock and pulling it out.

"Holy shit," you blurt out, glancing up at him and giving him a giddy smile. "You've been packing this the whole time?!"

He bursts out laughing, cradling your cheek in his hand, slowly guiding your lips to his cock. You lightly circle the tip with your tongue, teasing him; he lets out a sigh, licking his lips as he watches you taste his cock. Slowly you take the head between your lips, suckling it lightly before you start to slide your mouth down his length. You're not even halfway down when it reaches the back of your mouth; you push down further, taking him in your throat, gagging audibly on his size.

"Ohhh, wow," he mumbles as his eyelids flutter back. "That's so good…"

His hips gently push upward as you bob your head up and down, feeding you more of his length as you slide it in and out of your mouth. Your noises escalate, pathetic whining growing louder as you start to increase your pace. He can't help himself — he starts to fuck his cock into your mouth, sliding deep into your throat. Tears well in your eyes, but you continue to stare up at him; the sight is enough to send him over the edge.

"Baby, 'm gonna cum," he groans. A few thrusts later, you feel ropes of hot cum shooting down your throat, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he releases. Soft whimpers escape his trembling lips as he cums hard in your mouth, relishing every moment of the delicious sensation. He strokes your head gently as he finishes; you swallow all his cum, slowly dragging your lips off his spent cock.

"Fuck," he sighs, melting into the chair. Opening his eyes, he looks down at you sweetly, his head still spinning from the orgasm. "Thank you."

"For sucking your dick?" you ask, starting to giggle.

"Yeah," he says with a stupid grin. "That was awesome."

He helps to you your feet, tucking his cock back inside his pants and zipping them up again. He pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you again.

"Sorry I kissed you and ran away like an idiot," he tells you, holding you snugly against him. "That was really stupid and embarrassing."

"You're not an idiot," you reply, playfully thumping him in the chest. "I like you just the way you are."

Jeonghan smiles. In the few years you've known him, you've never seen him radiating with genuine happiness like this — you decide it looks great on him.

[EPILOGUE]

You gasp for air as your head falls back into the pillows, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm. Jeonghan remains parked between your legs, lazily lapping at your soaked pussy — his new favorite place to be.

"Fuck," you sigh, dragging your fingers through his hair. "That was so good."

He lifts his head, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices.

"Good," he replies, grinning at you proudly.

"Kiss me," you plead softly; he crawls up the bed to greet your lips with his, planting a deep kiss onto your mouth. A sudden knocking at your bedroom door makes the both of you jump.

"Hey lovebirds," Mina calls out through the door. "Your take-out just got here. I already paid for it, so you owe me $20."

"It was only $15!" you shout back.

"Service fee. For me," she responds cheekily, already walking away. You roll your eyes, laughing it off. Jeonghan starts kissing your cheeks, pecking gently as the soft skin.

"Hey, that tickles!" you giggle.

"But you look so pretty when you laugh," he replies, continuing to kiss you.

"You're ridiculous."

"I just love you, that's all."

He lifts his head, smiling at you sweetly.

"I love you too," you reply, beaming back at him. "We should go get our food before it gets cold—" you say, starting to try and sit up, but Jeonghan holds you pinned against the bed.

"Hey!" you protest, but he's already sliding back down the bed.

"You have a microwave," he says matter-of-factly, taking hold of your thighs as he positions his face right in front of your dripping core again.

"Besides, I'm not done here yet…"

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, don't forget to REBLOG and COMMENT — your feedback is greatly valued ♡

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower  @hanniebub

@luvseungcheol @escoupsue @shininghoshstar @coupsv  @coupsarchive

[malsmoony]

i don’t think yall understand how much i miss this mf.

[ashlinxloves]

—1(800)WRN6-NMB3R—

Summary: Somebody had been texting you about some group project and kept calling you “Cheol” for three days straight. You told the stranger he probably had the wrong number, but the stranger insisted he had the correct one. With that, the two of you started exchanging things about each other, unaware that neither one of you was as far away from each other as you originally thought.

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!reader

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut, fluff, smidge of angst, romcom, college au, non idol au, best friend!Joshua & Wonwoo, Joshua calls the reader pipsqueak, strangers to friends to lovers, sexting, phone sex, masturbation, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking weed, shotgunning, having sex while high (but it's consensual), protected & unprotected sex, dom!Jeonghan, pussydrunk!Jeonghan, multiple sex scenes, oral sex (f receiving), multiple positions, couch sex, face sitting, they text a LOT, Jeonghan is a horny bastard.

A/N: LOL YOU GUYS THOUGHT I'D POST IT MID MAY. I lied. anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, and I'm sorry it took me a month to write... wish me luck for my exams tomorrow, and as always, this is not how I depict the idols in real life! This is fiction!

Word count: 19.1k (I yap too much)

Dividers from @saradika-graphics & @chrisssiren

Your phone had been buzzing every two minutes, a message notification coming from an unsaved number appearing on the top of your screen. Your best friend glanced at the device before looking back at you. “Aren’t you gonna check who’s been blaring your messages for the past twenty minutes?”

“We’re in the lab right now, Shua. I’m not going to check my phone while I’m in the middle of perfecting a blood smear. Speaking of which, give me your finger, I’ve jabbed myself enough times already.”

You grabbed his hand only for him to swat yours away with a soft hiss. “Take Wonwoo’s hand, I’m not sacrificing myself for your experiments.”

“It’s a blood smear. We’re supposed to do this in pairs. And you’re my pair, by the way,” you deadpanned, grabbing your friend’s arm as he whined when you pricked his finger for some blood. You carefully placed the small drop of Joshua’s blood into the glass slide, grabbed the second slide and placed it at a 45-degree angle before your phone buzzed again, causing you to lose your focus and fail to do your task once more.

Taking a deep breath, you tried not to crash out and scream as you grabbed your phone, unlocked it, and checked your messages from the unknown number.

???: Cheol.

???: Cheol, check this out.

???: [sent 1 attachment]

???: I got sushi from that one place just outside campus. I was thinking we could go.

???: Cheooooooooooooooool

???: dude, stop ignoring me 😐

You: I’m not Cheol, and you have the wrong number.

???: There’s no way you’re not Cheol. This is literally the number he gave me.

You: You must’ve saved the wrong number then. Please stop texting me.

???: Why?

You: Uhhh, because I’m not your friend?

???: I mean, we could be :)) 

You snorted at the logic the stranger you were texting was showing. Glancing around, you continued to text the unknown number while your PI was busy with other undergrads.

You: How?

You: For all you know, I could be a 64-year-old creep.

???: You see, you wouldn’t be saying that if you were actually that old.

???: Plus, no old man would be able to text as quickly as you do.

You: Fair enough.

You: Still, you don’t know me, and you shouldn’t really be spamming a random person’s number.

???: I thought you were my friend, so 🤷

???: Anyway, new friend!

???: What are you up to?

You: I’m in a lab right now, actually.

???: As in you’re a scientist?

You: Undergrad in the Biology department.

You: How about you?

???: Now, now… It won’t be fun if I reveal everything about myself now, will it?

You: You’re so strange.

You: I’m gonna block you now. Nice meeting you, stranger.

???: WAIT WAIT

???: I’m a journalism major. I’m assuming we’re from the same uni?

You: Why would you assume that?

???: Idk, hunch.

You: Okay… I need to go. I don’t want to get in trouble with my PI.

???: Does that mean you won’t block me?

You: I’ll think about it.

You turned off your phone, shaking your head as you grabbed Joshua’s arm again. “One more time.”

“You pricked my finger in the same spot like four times! How consistent can you be?!” Joshua complained as he held his “tortured” finger, as he called it, after you had pricked him four more times during lab. The two of you were walking from the lab towards the exit of the Biology department building to grab lunch at your usual hangout spot, which was the campus cafeteria.

As you shrugged, you shook your head at your best friend and his antics. Your thoughts were too preoccupied with the stranger whom you had texted earlier, wondering what they were up to at the current moment. Deciding to pull out your phone, you checked if they had texted you, but there was nothing.

“Waiting for prince charming to message you?” Joshua peered over your shoulder, which he immediately regretted when you elbowed him.

“I don’t even know if he’s a guy or not.” You rolled your eyes as you pocketed your phone, walking ahead as your friend followed. 

Joshua grabbed your phone from your pocket with ease, unlocked it, and checked your messages. “Totally a guy. No girl would message like this.”

“How do you know?” You muttered as you snatched your phone back from your best friend, smacking him gently as you looked through the messages again. He was right. A girl would typically not text like this, and it was just pretty obvious that a guy was texting you, but you didn’t want to assume.

The two of you continued to banter until you got to the cafeteria to meet up with Wonwoo, who had to leave earlier because of a student council meeting. Once all of you had your food, you sat down by the windows and placed your trays on the table. That’s when your phone buzzed, prompting you to check, only to get disappointed when it was an email from your professor about your data analysis report for Statistics.

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow at Joshua, who just shrugged with a fond smile before digging into his food. You noticed the glance your four-eyed friend was giving you and gave up on staying quiet.

“A random number kept texting me these past three days,” you grumbled, taking a bite out of your food. Chewing and swallowing, you continued, “And I just replied to them today during lab.”

Wonwoo raised his brows, intrigued by your situation before speaking. “So… You just ignored them for three days straight?”

“...yes?” You sounded uncertain as Wonwoo hummed, thinking before shaking his head. “What? You thought of something, tell me!”

“No, nothing. I just thought it was strange that you’d ignore them rather than just block them.” He shrugged, and you blinked at his words, realising what he meant.

Right. You usually did block random numbers, but that was when they called! And this guy did not call, so you didn’t feel obligated to block him. Plus, you were pretty curious about the mysterious texter who wanted to “befriend” you.

“Do we know any journalism majors?” You suddenly blurted out, causing Joshua to look at you with a cocked eyebrow.

“Uh, Seungcheol is a journalism major with his friend—what was his name…” he muttered, trying to recall the name of Seungcheol’s friend. “I don’t remember his name, but why?”

You shook your head, trying to dismiss Joshua’s growing suspicions. “Nothing, nothing… It’s just that he said we might be from the same uni.”

Joshua groaned at that, and you knew what that sound meant. You chuckled awkwardly, knowing it was probably a bad idea to meet up with this person without getting to know them first, but hey, at least you were trying to socialise, right?

“You are not going to meet him! What if he’s some serial killer?” You rolled your eyes at your friend’s tendency to exaggerate everything, but Wonwoo seemed to agree with him. A sigh left your lips before raising your hands, as if to say you were forfeiting the idea. For now.

“You should get to know this guy first before meeting him. Stranger danger and all,” Wonwoo murmured while cutting his pork katsu into bite-sized pieces. “We don’t want you to get into unnecessary danger.”

Your eyes softened at your friend, understanding that they were only looking out for you. Taking another bite of your food, your phone buzzed once more. Expecting another email, you unlocked your phone only to see that the unknown number sent you a picture.

???: [sent 1 attachment]

???: Lunch 😋

You: Huh.

???: What?

You: We are from the same uni, after all.

???: So, my hunch proves to be correct!

???: What are you up to?

You: I'm also in the campus cafeteria, with some friends.

???: OoOoh

You: ??

???: Nothing, nothing.

???: I'd say let's meet, but that's a little too early for that 😉

You: My friends and I were actually just talking about that.

You: Stranger danger, so… what's your name?

???: Wouldn't you like to know? What's yours?

You bit your lower lip as you looked up from your phone to check any students in the surrounding vicinity who were on their phones—almost everyone. A sigh left your lips before you typed out your name and hit send.

???: Cute name

???: I'm Jeonghan. At your humble service.

You: Jeonghan, huh? You know I could just search you up in the student files on the uni website, right?

Jeonghan: But what would be the fun in that, sweets?

You: ‘sweets’?

Jeonghan: You sound sweet, so sweets 🤷🏻

Jeonghan: Anyway, let's set up some rules!

You: For what???

Jeonghan: Since we're from the same uni and all, we're bound to bump into each other.

You: The journalism department and biology department are on opposite ends of campus.

Jeonghan: We could share classes, you never know, sweets.

Jeonghan: Anyways, rules! One, you're forbidden from searching me up on the school website and vice versa. It's more fun if we don't know what we look like for now.

Jeonghan: Two, no asking around people on campus if they know who we are. That'd be cheating. 

Jeonghan: Three, we update each other on our day-to-day to get to know each other better until we're ready to meet. And wanting to meet needs to be mutual, so if one doesn't want to, we can't meet.

You: So, you want this to be like a game?

Jeonghan: Kind of? It'll be fun :)

Jeonghan: So, what do you say, sweets?

You: What if I say no?

Jeonghan: Then I will never text you again, and we will go on with our lives as strangers.

Jeonghan: But I know you're interested, so please say yes.

You: Whatever, sure.

Jeonghan: Perfect. I knew I could count on you 😗

You: Don't ever send that emoji again, or I'm blocking you.

Jeonghan: Got it 🫡

“Having fun texting the stranger?” You almost jumped out of your seat when Joshua spoke up, prompting you to smack him.

“His name’s Jeonghan.” You glanced back at your screen to check if he had sent anything else, but there was just a gif with confetti. A soft snort left your mouth at that before you shook your head. “He's strange, but I'm only a human, and humans get curious.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, finishing his lunch as he stole a fry from your tray. “Just eat your food, you've been texting the guy for the past ten minutes. We have Statistics after this.”

A groan left your lips at that, disliking Statistics out of all of your lectures for the day. You'd rather have lab all day with your strict PI rather than Statistics with your notoriously annoying professor. You finished your lunch quickly and said goodbye to Wonwoo, who had a different lecture from you and Joshua.

“Who's got you smiling like that, dude?” Seungcheol sat across from Jeonghan as the latter cleared his throat before pocketing his phone.

“No one, what are you talking about?” Jeonghan shoved a couple of fries into his mouth, pretending like he wasn't just giggling to himself like some moron after texting you. His best friend raised his eyebrows, unimpressed as he sighed.

“You were texting her, weren't you?” Seungcheol noted the way Jeonghan glanced away, neck and ears burning as he sighed. “Dude, I gave you her number so you could introduce yourself! Not that you could convince her you had the wrong number.”

“I did introduce myself, kind of…” Jeonghan muttered, looking back at Seungcheol with a pleading glance. “I made this whole thing—I'll get to know her through texting, and we'll meet each other once we're ready—”

“Or you could just stop complicating this for yourself and introduce yourself to her like a normal human being?” Seungcheol deadpanned, crossing his arms as Jeonghan groaned. Only if it were that simple.

Jeonghan didn't have the guts to approach you and talk to you as he usually would with other people. He wasn't sure why, but something was stopping him from acting like himself—maybe it was because he didn't want to give you the wrong first impression? He couldn't figure it out, but what he did want was to get to know you better, and this was one way to do it.

He was so surprised when Seungcheol mentioned that he knew you, having taken some classes together during freshman year. He was even more surprised when Seungcheol told him he had your number. That's what got him into the situation he was in—texting you without you knowing that he was just one person away.

“Seriously, Hannie… She'll like you. You're funny, and she's a simple soul, she's practical, and if you play your cards right, she might agree on a date.” Seungcheol looked at his best friend with a sympathetic smile, but Jeonghan was convinced his way was better.

And he'd go through with this plan until he was ready to actually reveal himself.

Statistics was as boring as ever, but you promised yourself you'd actually focus this semester. While writing down your notes in your notebook, you couldn't help but feel someone's gaze on you. You turned your head in the direction you could feel the gaze from, and met someone’s eyes before they hurriedly looked away. Strange.

That’s when you noticed the person he was sitting next to. Seungcheol.

You turned back to your notes, curious about the guy sitting next to the friend you had made during freshman year. They were both probably journalism majors, so maybe they knew Jeonghan. Not like you could ask—it was a part of the rules of the game your next textmate decided to make up.

When the lecture ended, you decided to walk up to Seungcheol and his friend, telling Joshua to go ahead, and that you’d catch up with him later. 

“Hey, Seungcheol…” You greeted awkwardly, not having seen him in quite some time due to your busy schedule. 

The man in front of you immediately perked up when you came up to him, greeting you back with a hug. “Hey, it’s been a while! This is my friend Jeonghan—augh…”

“He meant Jung Han. My name’s Han. Hi,” Jeonghan murmured after elbowing his friend in the rib before shaking your hand with a smile. You gave him a small one back, letting go of his hand after a beat.

“Nice to meet you, Han. I guess, uhm… I’ll see you guys around? I still have to head to the lab to check on my samples—”

“Hannie can walk you there! He has, uh, he has a class not too far from there, yeah.” Seungcheol nudged Jeonghan forward, making you blink at both of them. You weren’t really against the idea, and Jeonghan was quite the looker.

You decided and hummed, nodding. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

The two of them looked at each other, as if they were communicating with each other telepathically, before Jeonghan smiled at you and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

The bold action caused you to snort and take his arm, telling yourself that you could get out of your comfort zone just this once.

“So, Han,” you started, and he hummed, looking down at you as the two of you walked arms linked with each other. “How’d you and Seungcheol meet each other?”

“Hmm, I think it was kindergarten. Why?” He asked back, and you just shrugged, seeming to be curious about the guy you were currently walking with. Jeonghan had this charm to him that you couldn’t place, but he seemed to be a little awkward, even when he was just walking with you.

You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to ask questions you normally wouldn’t have. Jeonghan was just that type of guy you’d want to actually get to know for some reason. Usually, you wouldn’t even be this touchy with a person you just met, putting them at arm’s length, but he just made it a bit easier to open up to. 

So, you talked. Asked questions about him like the curious researcher you were, noting everything down mentally as you listened.

When you got in front of the Biology department building, you unlinked your arm from his before smiling. “This is me… Thanks for walking me here. You really didn’t have to.”

“Nah, it was my pleasure. It was fun talking to you, swee—I mean, uhh… yeah, fun talking to you.” He scratched the back of his ear, giving you an awkward chuckle. “See you around!” 

Jeonghan gave you a salute before he turned and hurriedly walked away. You faltered, wanting to call out for him to ask for his number, but he was already out of earshot. A soft sigh left your lips before you decided to head into the building to check on your precious samples in the lab with a giggle.

“Stop fucking giggling like an evil scientist,” Joshua muttered from behind you as he smacked you with his clipboard. You frowned, rubbing the back of your head as you glared at your best friend. “So, who was the guy you had your arms linked with~?” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing Joshua would want to know about what he saw. “Nothing, Seungcheol offered him to walk me, and I agreed.”

“Just like that? You? Agree for some guy to walk you all across campus?” He raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. “What’s the guy’s name?”

“Jung Han,” you murmured, and Joshua’s eyes widened.

“Jeonghan? Like the guy you’re texting?”

“No, no—Jung Han. Two separate people. His name’s Han.” You explained, and your best friend made an ‘O’ shape with his mouth before furrowing his brows and grumbling to himself. “What?”

“I was sure Seungcheol’s friend’s name was Jeonghan, though, but eh, I must’ve misheard.” Joshua tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue softly before dragging you into the lab room, where a few people were already conducting their research in their own workbenches. You didn’t linger on your friend’s words, focusing on the bacterial samples you had in the small lab refrigerator instead.

Twenty minutes into conducting research and writing your thesis, your phone buzzed, distracting you from your task as you glanced at the device before looking back at your laptop. You contemplated whether it was worth getting distracted, glancing around as Joshua seemed to be preoccupied with sending you random memes on Instagram. So, you decided to abandon writing your thesis to check whatever Joshua might’ve sent you before seeing a message from Jeonghan.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: The sunset’s pretty.

Jeonghan: Like you probably.

You: Are you flirting with me?

Jeonghan: uhhhhhhhhh

Jeonghan: If I am, would you let me?

You: I don’t know.

Jeonghan: wdym you don’t know? :( 

You: If you send me one more sunset pic, I’ll consider saying yes.

Jeonghan: [sent 7 attachments]

Jeonghan: Are these enough?

You stifled a giggle, covering your mouth before replying to his message. You found Jeonghan entertaining, so you indulged in whatever he was trying to do.

You: You’re weird, you know that?

Jeonghan: Yes, you’ve called me strange before, I know

You: [sent 1 attachment]

You: I’m in the lab conducting research right now.

You: Lowkey bored :// My best friend keeps sending me reels instead of helping me.

Jeonghan: That’s cute

Jeonghan: The Sanrio sticker on your laptop, I mean

Jeonghan: Who’s your fav character?

You: Cinnamoroll.

Jeonghan: Noted 😉

You: For what?

Jeonghan: That’s a surprise for the future, sweets.

You: What if I don’t like surprises? What then?

Jeonghan: Ehhh, I think that you do like surprises, you’re just trying to throw me off my game

Jeonghan: But that won’t work! Because I can foresee the future.

You: And that future is?

Jeonghan: You and me on a date :)

You: Right. I’m blocking you.

Jeonghan: NO— WAIT PLEASE

Jeonghan: I was too forward. I apologise.

Jeonghan: One more chance, I beg of you, sweets.

Jeonghan: No date. Unless you change your mind.

Jeonghan: Sweets?

You decided to leave him on read with that, wanting to cackle to yourself. Instead, you settled with a slightly off-putting giggle, prompting the people around you to send you side glances, which also happened to be your best friend. Joshua threw a pipette at you, hitting you square in the forehead, pulling you out of your weird state.

“Stop giggling to yourself like that, weirdo. You’re creeping me out.”

You flipped him off, grumbling to yourself as you dove back into your research with a soft smile on your lips when you glanced at the Cinnamoroll sticker on your laptop.

It was late when you got back home to your apartment, tiptoeing inside so as not to wake your roommate—Minghao—up. It had been a long day, and you were exhausted, so instead of scurrying to your bedroom, you crashed on the leather couch you and Hao had bought last year, deciding to invest in a good couch instead of keeping the old, ratty one that was provided by your landlord.

Your phone buzzed, surprising you. It was 1:04 AM. Why was he still up? You unlocked your device and pressed the notification.

Jeonghan: u still up?

You: Why are you up?

Jeonghan: Couldn't sleep 🤷🏻

Jeonghan: You?

You: Just got back from the lab.

You: I worked on my thesis and didn't realise it was late.

Jeonghan: Ahhhh, I see..

Jeonghan: Do you wanna play 20 questions?

You raised your eyebrow at that, sitting up and leaning against the backrest as you thought about it. Jeonghan was a complete stranger to you—but you just continued indulging him because he was interesting. You thought about the other Jeonghan—or Jung Han, as he insisted, but you couldn't really take it seriously. Probably coincidental that they had the same name.

You: What the hell, why not?

You: Who starts?

Jeonghan: You can :)

You: Were you serious about that date?

Jeonghan: Oho, straight to the hard questions, huh? I can't say I don't like it.

Jeonghan: Maybe… Why?

Jeonghan: U interested? 😉

You: Those two count as two separate questions, so I'll answer them and get two questions myself.

You: Nothing in particular, I was just wondering if you were serious or not, and no, I'm not interested. Not yet anyway.

You: What’s your favourite colour?

Jeonghan: 👀

Jeonghan: Woah, woah— backtrack, little lady

Jeonghan: wdym “not yet”??

You: I don't know you, so.

Jeonghan: Fair enough..

Jeonghan: Oh, and my favourite colour is black.

You: Hm.. why would you want to go out with me? You don't even know what I look like.

Jeonghan: Does it matter if I do?

Jeonghan: Don't count that as an actual question; it was rhetorical

Jeonghan: And to answer your question—why not? You're interesting, and I find texting you quite fun, even when you threaten to block me or text like a robot sometimes.

You: I do not text like a robot! 😡

Jeonghan: Sorry to break it to you, sweets, but you do, painfully so. But it's part of the charm that tugs me towards you 😉

You: Your turn.

Jeonghan: Right. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Jeonghan: Oh! What's your favourite movie?

You: I, uh… 27 dresses. And How to Lose a Man in 10 days. Both romcoms, yes.

Jeonghan: That's cute

Jeonghan: Will be sure to watch them and tell u what I think about them

You: What are your hobbies?

Jeonghan: Hmmm.. That’s a difficult question. But I like playing football (not the American one, I'm a little too unqualified for that), sleeping and taking care of my pet rock ^^

You: You have a pet rock?

Jeonghan: That's two questions, sweetheart, but yeah, I do.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: Its name is Doljjong :)

You: That's…

You: That’s cute.

Jeonghan: Thanks

Jeonghan: How about you? What are your hobbies?

You bit your lower lip at that, contemplating whether or not to share something so close to your heart with a stranger. Deciding not to linger on it, you typed out your answer.

You: I like to read.

Jeonghan: Just that?

You: And, uh, I guess I like to draw sometimes.

Jeonghan: Okay, okay, cool

Jeonghan: Can I ask a more personal question?

You: Uh, sure.

Jeonghan: Do you have a boyfriend?

You: No.

Jeonghan: Why not?

You: Too busy.

Jeonghan: Would you like to have one then?

You: Good night, Jeonghan.

Jeonghan: Worth a shot

Jeonghan: Night, sweets.

You sighed, chickening out before the questions got too intense, not wanting to reveal too much, too soon. Your cheeks couldn't help but warm at the incessant flirting from Jeonghan, unsure why he was so interested in your love life when he barely knew you.

“He's so weird…” You muttered to yourself as you lay back down on the couch.

“Who’s weird?” You shot back up when you heard Minghao’s voice, seeing him getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

You shook your head, dismissing his question with a wave of your hand. “Nothing, just muttering to myself.” 

That seemed to satisfy Minghao's fleeting curiosity as he padded back to his room, leaving you alone once more, your head hitting one of the throw pillows while you thought about your new contact and Jung Han.

“Seriously, you’ve been texting the guy for five days now, and you're thinking about meeting him already?”

Joshua shook his head, still disapproving of the idea of you meeting your phone pen pal. You had been texting Jeonghan for almost a week, and you enjoyed talking to him more often than you didn't. You found yourself liking his free personality, the way he seemed to just be himself through the phone, open with you as he shared little moments of his life without revealing too much. And you did the same; you gave him a piece of your peaceful life, sharing small stories about your experiences at the lab or just talking about your day-to-day, just like you agreed upon.

You found yourself truly befriending the guy who accidentally texted your number.

A groan left Joshua’s lips as he sighed. “Give it more time, get to know him better before you actually agree to something serious. I don't want you coming home crashing out because he wasn't the guy you expected him to be.” 

“What guy?” You suddenly hear a voice behind you, turning to see none other than Jeonghan Han. Your expression seemed to change when you saw him, your face a little brighter as he sat down beside you.

“Oh, uh, nothing. Just the guy I’ve been texting.” You shrugged as he rested his arm around the backrest of your chair before stealing a fry from your tray. 

You and Jeonghan had also been spending some time with each other, getting to know each other as you talked through Instagram DMs. He sent you funny memes and made sure to remind you to drink water. He was friendly and charming, but not in the same way as the Jeonghan you’ve been texting over the phone.

Jeonghan felt bad for lying to you like this, wanting to come clean, but he was in way too deep within his two personas he was showing—the strange charmer over the phone, aka the real him, and whatever this ‘Jung Han’ persona was. It was baffling how you couldn’t connect the dots. He shook it off as he glanced at you with the usual look he always sent your way—yearning and admiring. Even Joshua could notice it, your best friend clearing his throat and coughing.

“I’ll leave you two alone. I don’t feel like third-wheeling. See you during lab.” Joshua got up from his seat, giving the two of you a wave before leaving with his tray. Jeonghan chuckled awkwardly at that, while you just hummed and continued eating your food in soft silence.

“Tell me about that guy you’re texting.” Jeonghan suddenly blurted out, prompting you to pause and look at him. He seemed curious, his eyes darting around before looking back at you. 

“I… I mean, he’s nice. I like talking to him. He’s a little strange, but I guess that’s the part of his charm,” you murmured, smiling as you took a bite of your food, chewing and swallowing before continuing, “He’s asked me out about three times, but I turned him down since it’s only been five days. But we do have a few things in common.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Jeonghan’s heart seemed to clench at how enthusiastically you talked about him to him, feeling jealous of his own self for knowing more about you and not being able to voice it out. It was ridiculous.

“I know I shouldn’t want to meet up with him, but I really want to. I want to see him and talk with him about all the things I talked about. Do you… Do you get what I mean?” You fidgeted with the napkin on your tray, glancing at Jeonghan as he nodded. You didn’t seem to notice how he tensed up, his jaw clenching before he relaxed.

Jeonghan then decided to tuck a few strands of hair away from your face, making you blink and flush when he leaned in. “You like him that much?” He sounded a bit hurt, eyes softening as he continued, “What about me?”

“Wh–what about you?” You mustered out, not moving away as his fingers found your shoulder, gently touching.

“Nothing, nevermind…” He chuckled, but it sounded strained as he moved back, ruffling your hair. “I have a lecture soon, pretty, I’ll see you later, okay?”

You faltered, confused as he got up and grabbed his bag, leaving you all alone at your table, your thoughts filled with nothing but his words. What about me?

Jeonghan wanted to scream into his pillow—well, Seungcheol’s pillow. He was currently in his best friend’s dorm at Beta Sigma Tau’s fraternity house. They were supposed to be writing an article about some topic Jeonghan had already forgotten, focused on his phone instead.

“You should just tell her, man. Stop being a wimp.” His best friend turned to Jeonghan as he sighed at his whining.

“I tried, Cheol… But something in me just flaked out, and I couldn’t bring myself to break it to her. What if she hates me for it?” He sat up, hugging the pillow as he checked your messages—both on Instagram and on his number. Nothing. He wondered if you had figured it out and decided to actually block him—

Ding!

Jeonghan immediately unlocked his phone to see that you had sent him a picture.

He almost fainted on the spot.

It was you in a pretty, baby blue sundress that ended at your mid-thigh, the sleeves puffy, making you look like a modern-day princess. Your face was covered by your phone, obviously not wanting to reveal it yet, even if he knew what you looked like, but this was the first time you’d sent anything remotely involving your looks.

You: Does this dress look okay?

Jeonghan: Yes.

You: Woah, that’s a serious response.

Jeonghan: Sorry, I was just so uh

Jeonghan: Surprised, ig?

Jeonghan: But you look very pretty, sweets

Jeonghan: Are... are you going on a date, mayhaps?

You: Maybe.

You: Jk, I’m not, I just wanted to know what you thought of the dress.

Jeonghan’s heart almost dropped when he saw that first message, before you followed it up with the second one. He didn’t realise he was holding in his breath as he let it out, making Seungcheol side-eye him, but he was too focused on texting you.

Jeonghan: I think the dress is lovely

Jeonghan: Will you wear it on our first date?

You: Maybe.

Jeonghan: You and your ‘maybe’s, just say yes or no, baby

You: Pffft

You: Ask me out again.

Jeonghan: Are you fr right now?

You: If you don’t do it in the next 10 seconds

Jeonghan: Sweets, sweetheart, will you go out on a date with me?

You: Yes.

Jeonghan got up from Seungcheol’s bed, startling his best friend as he re-read your answer before screaming, “SHE SAID YES—”

“What?” Seungcheol grimaced when Jeonghan’s voice cracked as the latter started jumping around like some madman.

“She said yes, dude, I’m going out on a date with her—fuck.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, already thinking of the plethora of things he wanted to do before coming up with a whole idea of where to bring you and whatnot.

This was going to be the perfect date.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. You said yes. You said yes. To a date with Jeonghan, a stranger you just met five days ago. Usually, your instincts told you to run in the opposite direction, but this time, it was telling you not to run away. Like this was meant to happen.

The two of you had agreed that you’d see each other on Saturday, which was four days away, giving the two of you some time to prepare. Prepare for what exactly? You weren’t sure, but you definitely needed the time.

You were currently on your way home, listening to music as you managed to bump into Jeonghan. He seemed as surprised as you were; his face was slightly flushed as if he was in a rush. He murmured your name as you took your headset off.

“Hey—”

“Hi—”

The two of you said in unison as you paused and smiled with a soft giggle. Jeonghan scratched the back of his ear—something he did when he was nervous, as you noted a couple of days prior. 

You spoke up first, your expression full of wonder. “Where were you headed from?”

“Oh–uh, from Cheol’s place. We were supposed to do this one article, but I forgot the topic.” He chuckled, standing there as he put his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I’m guessing you were going home from the lab?”

“Bingo.” You did finger guns, also pocketing your hands into your jacket. Your thoughts lingered on that moment you had in the cafeteria earlier that day, but you didn’t bother mentioning it.

Jeonghan seemed to hesitate, but spoke up after a beat, “Do you want to come over to my place?”

He blurted out, prompting you to pause. You checked your watch before looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late. My roommate wants me to eat dinner with him and his friends. We’re having Chinese. Maybe next time, though?”

“Oh—uh, yeah, sure…” Jeonghan smiled, hiding his disappointment and understanding that you had prior plans. That’s when he remembered about the party that was going to be hosted at Seungcheol’s fraternity.

“Hey, wait,” he managed to grab your wrist before you could leave. “There’s a party at Cheol—I mean Seungcheol’s fraternity this Friday.”

You blinked at him, pursing your lips slightly before cracking a soft smile. “I’m not really the partying type, Han.”

“I–I know! But we don’t have to stay downstairs. I’m sure Seungcheol won’t mind if we stay in his room. We could play Uno, or something.” He rubbed his neck, looking at you hopefully. 

You thought about it for a second before sighing softly and nodding, “Yeah, I’ll go. Just don’t leave me alone there, alright? I’m sacrificing my precious Friday lab plans for this.” You joked as Jeonghan let go of your wrist, letting you leave as he found himself groaning when you were out of earshot.

You, on the other hand, were groaning for another reason. Not only were you sacrificing your precious time at the lab, but you were also juggling between two guys at this point! You felt guilty, but at the same time, it wouldn’t hurt to go, right? You were going there as his friend.

Shaking your head, you decided to stop thinking about it as you headed back to your apartment so you could eat with Minghao, Jun, and Soonyoung.

“I’m home!” You shouted from the front door as you slipped your shoes off, padding over to the kitchen to see Minghao cooking, while Jun and Soonyoung were trying to beat your record in Mario Kart in the living room. You could smell the aroma of the food Hao was cooking, going over to the stove before grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers and trying the soup. 

Your roommate smacked your hand before you could grab another bite of the meat. “It’s not done yet, you impatient—”

Soonyoung, who called your name from the couch, cut Minghao off from cursing you out, and you smiled innocently at him before heading over to where your roommate’s friend was. “I beat your record! Give me the crown!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me beat your record—” You were about to grab the console from him when your phone buzzed. It was Jeonghan. An involuntary smile formed on your lips as you sat down on the armchair, not too far from the couch, before unlocking your phone. Soonyoung looked at Minghao, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: I miss you, sweets

You: Are you in the bath, Jeonghan?

Jeonghan: Uhhhhhh

Jeonghan: Yes?

You: I—Okay…

You: Also, you can’t miss me.

Jeonghan: Why not?

You: We haven’t met yet?

Jeonghan: I can miss my future girl, yk

You: Bold of you to assume I’ll be your future girl.

Jeonghan: You already agreed to go out with me.

Jeonghan: No take-backsies

You: Yeah, yeah. I know.

You: Have you planned out the date or…?

Jeonghan: Ofc I have, sweetheart

Jeonghan: Don’t worry your pretty little head abt it

You: If you say so.

You: I trust you.

You then contemplated whether or not to tell him about the party he Han invited you to. Shrugging, you decided to tell him, not thinking much of it. 

You: Also… There’s this party I’m going to.

Jeonghan: Oh?

Jeonghan: My sweet geek is going to a party?

You: I am, yes. Surprising.

You: A friend invited me, so.

You: Would you like to come?

Three dots appeared and disappeared as Jeonghan typed, making you feel anxious. Was it a good idea to invite him when you were supposed to hang out with the person who invited you? You shook your head, focusing when Jeonghan finally replied to your message.

Jeonghan: Sorry, sweets, but I’ll be busy this Friday ://

Jeonghan: As much as I wanna meet you faster, I’d rather see you during our date, having fun instead of getting wasted

You: Valid point.

Jeonghan: I do hope you have fun with your friend though :))

You: I mean… we’re probably going to his friend’s room and play Uno or something since I’m not a party person.

Jeonghan: So your friend is a him. 

Jeonghan: Cool.

You: Jeonghan, it’s not like that.

Jeonghan: 🙁

You: Jeonghan, you can’t be serious.

Jeonghan: MY FUTURE GIRL IS ALREADY CHEATING ON ME 🙁

You: I AM NOT.

Jeonghan: Gotcha

Jeonghan: You agreed that you’re my future girl 😍

You: I’m literally gonna block you.

Jeonghan: No you won’t <3

You sighed and shook your head, unable to stop yourself from smiling as Soonyoung gently nudged you with his foot. “Yah, why are you smiling like that? It’s creeping me out—Hao, why is she smiling like that?”

“She’s got a boyfriend.” Minghao rolled his eyes as you glared at your roommate. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

“He's not my boyfriend!” You argued, huffing softly as your roommate scoffed out a laugh.

“Right, and you don’t text him almost every day when you have free time.” He deadpanned, causing you to groan and threaten to throw a pillow at him before he sent you a glare back. “Plus, you bought that new dress when we went out, which means that you’re probably going to meet him soon—I’m presuming Saturday?”

“I—” You sputtered before clenching your jaw, kind of expecting this from Minghao. He just knew things, forces of the universe or whatever. Before you could even linger on the fact that he knew about your date, Soonyoung and Jun were tackling each other over the last pocky stick.

When dinner was ready and served on the table, the four of you dug in, but not before you took a picture of it and sent it to Jeonghan Han’s DMs.

You: [yourusername sent a photo]

You: Dinner with the goofs :)) 

Hannie 🩷: Have a good dinner, pretty :) 

You: thank you, Hannie :3

You: Have you had dinner yet?

Hannie 🩷: Yeah, I just got out of the shower and made some ramyeon

You: I’d say you should have more than just convenience store ramyeon, but we are broke college students.

Hannie 🩷: Exactly, pretty

You: What time should I come to the frat house?

Hannie 🩷: Oh! I’ll just pick you up from your place, if that’s okay with u

You: Yeah, I don’t mind :)) 

Hannie 🩷: Perfect :)) I’ll pick you up at 8, since the party starts at 9

You: Alright, I've got to go, my roommate is glaring at me.

You turned off your phone before you could see Jeonghan’s reply, and avoided eye contact with Minghao before he spoke up again. “Who did you send the picture to?”

“Han from Journalism…” You grumbled, and your roommate’s eyebrow cocked in confusion.

“You mean Yoon Jeonghan?” He asked, and you shot him a puzzled look. “That’s the only Han I know from Journalism. You know, Seungcheol’s friend?”

That made you pause. Jeonghan. Han. Seungcheol. Cheol. Cogs turned in your brain until everything clicked. Han was Jeonghan. You agreed to go on a date with the same person who asked you if you wanted to go to a party with him. That’s why he declined your invitation.

You groaned at not being able to realise it sooner, but you didn’t want to do anything about it for now. Jeonghan must’ve had his reasons to keep this from you, so you let it be for the time being. 

You got up from your seat, Jun perking up and furrowing his brows slightly. “Did Hao say something wrong?”

“Oh—no, I just figured something out,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly as you muttered to yourself. Before Soonyoung could add anything, your roommate shushed him.

“Leave her be, she probably figured something out about Jeonghan.”

You decided to call Joshua about this about three hours later. It was late—11:09 pm—and you couldn’t sleep. You were wearing a face mask, typing along on your laptop, when your best friend answered your call, also in the middle of his skin care routine.

“Jesus Christ, I thought you were a ghost,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes at his eccentric comparison. “What is this about? You said it was important, but you just seemed bothered by something.”

“Jeonghan is Han,” you mumbled, and your best friend made a face, not being able to understand you.

“What? Can you repeat that? You literally mumbled it, and I’m not Superman, by the way.” He sassed, putting on his moisturiser. “Jeonghan is who?”

“He’s Han! Like—Like Han, Seungcheol’s friend!” 

You explained everything to Joshua, filling him in on everything, and by the time you were done with your rambling, your best friend was done with his skincare routine, and you were removing your sheet mask.

“That’s a lot to unpack, pipsqueak.” He sighed, shaking his head as he sat down on his office chair, propping his phone up against something while probably opening his laptop to write his thesis, just like you. “What do you wanna do about it?”

“I don’t know! I mean, I like him, but which one is the real him, you know?” You groaned softly as you buried your face into your hands without realising what you had just said.

“Wait, go back. What did you say?”

“Which one’s the real him–?” You looked at your phone screen, confused.

“No, dumbass, the other thing.”

“That I liked—oh. Oh.” You finally got what he meant, realising that you liked Jeonghan. 

You weren’t sure which version of him you liked more, but you liked him all the same. It made you realise that in the past few days, you’ve known Jeonghan as Seungcheol’s friend and as your phone pen pal, you’ve liked talking to both versions of him. The awkward dork side and the more flirty side of him.

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” Joshua repeated himself, looking at you with a knowing smile.

“I’m gonna go to that party and tell him how I feel?” You sounded unsure, feeling your insecurities grow. Jeonghan knew what you looked like all this time, but you still felt like you weren’t going to be enough for him. You also felt a bit betrayed at the fact that he knew who you were, but you didn’t know who he was—not fully anyway. But that didn’t really matter right now, your priorities set on the fact that you’d confront him during your date and not during the party, not wanting to ruin your chances with Jeonghan by cornering him.

Joshua noticed your conflicted expression and sighed. “You’re going to spiral if you overthink this, pips. And damn right you’re gonna tell him how you feel. If you get cold feet, you have to buy me those Prada sunglasses I told you about for my birthday.”

“Dude, your birthday just happened!” You whined, knowing there was no getting out of this. Not unless you wanted a dent in your bank account anyway.

Sometimes you felt like you called the wrong person when asking for advice, but Joshua was always real with you, and so was Wonwoo. But you didn’t want to impede the latter with your love life problems when all he did was game when he had the time with his busy schedule as both a biology and engineering major. It was surprising that he had time to get lunch with you and Joshua every time.

You continued to talk to Joshua until you finally decided to head to bed, bidding your best friend goodnight and ending the call. A soft sigh left your lips as you took a quick picture of your desk and sent it to Jeonghan’s phone number.

You: [sent 2 attachments]

You: Shit.

You: That second picture wasn’t supposed to get sent.

Jeonghan: Fuck, sweets

You: DON’T LOOK AT IT??

Jeonghan: YOU LITERALLY SENT IT??

Jeonghan: You look hot, though

You: I—thank you.

Jeonghan: Is it weird to admit that I got hard?

You didn’t reply to that, as you wanted to scream your lungs out into your pillow, but it was late, and Minghao would smother you with said pillow if you didn’t shut up. You were experimenting—it was supposed to be something you kept in your gallery and then deleted when you looked too hard at it. 

It was you, after your shower, posing a little too riskily for the camera, on your knees in front of your full-length mirror, wearing nothing but a tank top with thin straps, and shorts that were a little too short for your liking. Your face was covered by your phone, but it was obvious that it was meant to be for Jeonghan. You were just too much of a wuss to send it to him now that you knew who he was.

You looked back at your messages, groaning at the fact that you couldn’t turn back time and be more careful with sending pictures from your gallery.

You: That’s rather a bold statement.

Jeonghan: Okay, good you’re back

Jeonghan: Thought you died from embarrassment

Jeonghan: Though there’s really no point in being embarrassed, pretty girl

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Oh, fuck. It was a picture of Jeonghan—wearing his sweats and a loose t-shirt that rode up from the position he was lying in. Bulge prominent in his pants.

You: Is that a current pic?

Jeonghan: Yeah

Jeonghan: I don’t send shit like this to anyone else, pretty

You: Do you really think I’m that hot…?

Jeonghan: Don’t do that

You: Do what?

Jeonghan: Belittle yourself. You’re pretty, hot and everything I could ever want, sweetheart.

You: Stop—

Jeonghan: You got me hard for fucks sake

Jeonghan: Do you want me to send myself jerking off just to prove it to you?

You: …

Jeonghan: Too far?

You: Send it.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched when he saw the message. Send it. Fuck. Were you really serious? He bit his lower lip as he palmed himself while looking at the picture you had sent, feeling like some creep for planning to jerk off to such a pretty photo of you. But he’d rather be sure as he typed on his phone with one hand.

Jeonghan: U srs?

You: Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?

Jeonghan: Idk, ppl usually don’t ask for dick pics, let alone someone jerking off…

You: You offered, I accepted it. Now send it, coward.

Jeonghan: You’re so mean to your boyfriend 🙁

You: Future boyfriend***

Jeonghan: I’ll take it

Jeonghan: Brb

Jeonghan shimmied his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing his throbbing cock as he hissed softly at the cold air hitting his sensitive tip. He bit his lower lip as he opened the camera app, his cheeks flushed behind it as he hit record. 

He touched his cock, stroking it gently as he rubbed the leaking precum all over his thick girth, grunting and whining softly as he imagined it was you and your pretty mouth sucking him off. Jeonghan groaned out your name as he closed his eyes before they fluttered open once more, so he could focus on recording himself fucking his fist, imagining your breasts that almost spilt out of your tank top and the short shorts that probably barely covered your ass.

“Fuck—” He grunted, feeling himself get closer as he teased his tip, but ended the recording before he could cum, just so he could edge himself. He quickly wiped his hand with a tissue from his nightstand before nervously sending the video to you.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: There—

You: Holy fuck.

Jeonghan: ?

You: Nothing…

Jeonghan: Sweets, I just sent myself jerking off to you, speak up

You: It's embarrassing!

Jeonghan: More than me sending a video of myself?

You: …

You: I'm soaked

You: Like, I didn't know I could secrete so much slick

Jeonghan: Abandoning the punctuation marks, that's a sign

You: Aren't you gonna ask me for anything?

Jeonghan: Not unless you're comfortable with it, sweets

You: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan physically groaned, seeing the picture that you'd sent—bent over, your ass facing the mirror as you took the picture from your bed. He could see the cute posters and knick-knacks you had in your room, but he was zeroed in on your panty-covered mound, slick coating your inner thighs and your panties were soaked.

Jeonghan could feel his cock twitching, and more precum leaked out of his tip. A strangled grunt left his lips as he went back to stroking himself, and making sure he reached his release with the sight of you.

Jeonghan: so fucking pretyy 

Jeonghan: gnna bust a nut

You: Jeonghan, I wish you were here…

That was what unravelled him, a choked-out moan leaving his lips as spurts of hot cum shot out of his shaft, coating his lower abdomen and his hands. He embarrassingly snapped a quick photo of it before sending it to you in a post-nut haze.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

You: Is that because of me?

Jeonghan: yws

You: ??

Jeonghan: Sorry, yes, I was typing with one hand

Jeonghan: Did you really mean it?

You: Yeah… I'm soaking wet, and I don't know what to do.

Jeonghan: fuck.

Jeonghan: Call me.

You bit your lower lip as you read his message over and over. Call him. Your stomach fluttered at hearing his voice through the phone, even if you knew what he sounded like, but this would confirm everything.

You hastily slipped off your panties, getting comfortable in your bed as you dialled Jeonghan’s phone number. He answered almost immediately, sounding strained and breathless.

“H–hello…?” You murmured, your phone pinched between your cheek and shoulder as you worked on teasing yourself, rubbing your inner thighs with one hand and tweaking your nipples with your other.

“Fuck… you sound so pretty.” Jeonghan's voice sent a jolt to your clit. It was him. Your theories were confirmed, but all you could do was whimper softly when you brushed your fingers against your slippery clit.

“Jeonghan—” You mewled, earning a soft groan from him as you teased yourself. “Need help…”

“I know, baby, I know… What are you doing?” He rasped out, hearing him shift on his bed. 

“Teasing myself,” you mumbled, and Jeonghan hummed, listening along with your soft gasps when you rubbed your clit. “Rubbing my clit—”

Another soft grunt left Jeonghan’s lips as you started hearing soft fap fap sounds coming from the other side of the call. “Okay, baby, keep teasing your cute little clit, spread your slick…” 

“Okay—hngh…” You mewled, eyes rolling back as you teased and rubbed yourself, your hole fluttering around nothing. “ I feel so empty, Jeonghan—”

“Fuck—put… put your fingers in, fuck yourself with two, scissor yourself, baby. Imagine they're my fingers trying to stretch you out for my cock.”

You whimpered at the command, doing as he said as you inserted two fingers into your sopping cunt, your toes curling as you started pumping your digits in and out and scissoring yourself as he told you to. You imagined him being in your room, talking you through it like he was now, touching you and whispering into your ear. 

“Curl your fingers up for me, sweetheart. Come on, it’ll feel good, I promise,” he cooed, and you listened, curling your fingers up to that spongy spot inside you. Your legs trembled, and you gasped, wanting to squeeze your thighs together as you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers. The heel of your palm grazed against your clit, making you whine as you felt the knot in your lower belly forming.

“I'm close, Jeonghannie—” You whimpered out, while Jeonghan grunted over the other side of the line, the slick sounds of him stroking his cock getting faster and a bit louder. It made you imagine the video he had sent—how big and pretty his dick looked, how he moaned out your name. It was dizzying.

“Keep doing what you're doing, baby, you're doing so well for me,” he murmured, praising you as you got closer to your orgasm. “This really wasn't the way I was expecting us to do this, but fuck, this is hot. You're hot.”

You flushed, mewling his name once more before the band in your stomach snapped, and you let out a whiny moan as your walls convulsed around your fingers, coating them with your release. Your legs trembled as you panted, your vision blurry.

“Baby, you still there?” Jeonghan crooned, and you let out a soft “uh-huh”, still recovering from the intense release you had just gone through.

“I… holy shit—” you gasped as you pulled your fingers out of your slick hole, feeling how soaked you were everywhere; you probably ruined your sheets from coming so hard just now. “I—I think I soaked through my sheets.”

“Fuck, don't say that when I'm not there—” Jeonghan sounded whiny, hearing his pout through the phone as you giggled tiredly.

“It's… It's nice to finally hear your voice,” you murmured, your eyes softening as you closed your trembling legs. Jeonghan hummed, shifting in his bed as he put his sweats back on. You moved to the less ruined side of your bed before grabbing some clean panties from your wardrobe and putting them on.

Feeling slightly awkward, you were unsure of what to say to him now that you were done getting off. “Uhm…”

“Sweetheart, you sound tense. Is it awkward to put a voice to the text message?” Jeonghan chuckled, and you let out a soft huff in reply. “As I said earlier, I… I didn't expect to do it like this.”

“Do what?”

“Have phone sex? I'm more of a hands-on person.” He admitted blatantly, causing you to inhale sharply as you imagined Jeonghan’s hands all over you. He caught on to the silence on your end, a soft chuckle leaving him as you trembled at the sound.

“Now, now… Pump your brakes, little lady. We'll get to that point. Let me buy you dinner first.” He teased, and you whined, rolling your eyes but smiling either way. 

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, listening to his soft breathing before speaking up, “I'll see you Saturday?”

“Yeah, pretty. I'll pick you up, hm?”

“Mhm… goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“Goodnight, sweets.”

After that, you hung up, still trembling, but not because of your orgasm, but because of the excitement of seeing Jeonghan on Saturday and the dread of seeing him on Friday, pretending that you hadn't had phone sex with him. You groaned, the post-orgasm haze wearing off as your logical thinking came back. 

Friday came faster than you’d expected. You were pacing around your living room like a worrywart while Minghao and Joshua played old maid. You were wearing a baby blue blouse and a white denim mini skirt with white sneakers, wanting to somehow look pretty to the party you were going to without overdressing or looking like a hooker.

Joshua groaned when you kept walking back and forth, having had enough of your worrying. “Dude, stop worrying. You'll confront him about it when you're ready.”

“What if he figures out I know?! What if I blurt it out or something—”

“You're worrying about the stupidest of things, you know that?” Minghao deadpanned, drawing a card from Joshua as the latter groaned when he lost. “The two of you are fucking idiots.”

“Hey—” you were about to argue, but the doorbell rang, prompting you to pad over to the front door and check the peephole to see Jeonghan. Unlocking and opening the door, you greeted him with a smile and a quick hug.

“Hi,” you squeaked, earning a raised eyebrow from him as you grabbed your purse and keys. “I'm leaving!” 

You called out to your friends, and they bid you goodbye. “Don't get her near alcohol, she's a lightweight!”

Joshua warned Jeonghan, and you groaned, flipping your best friend off as you closed the door and started walking. Jeonghan offered his arm, and you gladly took it with a soft laugh.

“You look pretty,” Jeonghan murmured, his eyes softening as you flushed under his gaze. Was he always this handsome up close? Your heart couldn't help but flutter, and your body heated up a bit. 

You could handle this. Maybe.

The two of you got to the frat house about fifteen minutes later, entering the loud establishment—music boomed from the speakers, and the place was packed with drunk college students, dancing and shouting at each other to hear what the other was saying. Jeonghan led you up the stairs, opening the door to what seemed like Seungcheol’s room.

“He lives in the dorm by himself?” You looked around, surprised to see only one bed, the rest of the vast space filled with a beanbag and a small couch, along with a desk in the corner by the windows.

“I mean, we used to live together before I decided to move out. And since he's the chapter president, he gets to have a dorm to himself.” 

Jeonghan shrugged, humming uncommittally as he sat down on the bed, patting the free space beside him, causing you to gulp. Act natural. 

You sat down beside him, pretending like the brush of his knee against yours didn't just ignite your skin on fire. He was acting fine, so you should too, right? You technically didn't know Jeonghan was Jeonghan, after all. Your hands were on your lap, and you sat there as Jeonghan looked around the room to see what the two of you could do while the party got crazier downstairs, the music getting louder, and students got rowdier.

“Do you have anything we can do—”

“We can play Uno if you want—”

The two of you said in unison, looking at each other before bursting into soft laughter, and that seemed to break the ice almost immediately. You nodded at the idea of a game of Uno.

“What does the winner get?” You asked, and Jeonghan looked up as if he thought hard about it.

“Hmm, how about a kiss on the cheek?” He offered, and you squinted your eyes at him playfully before he added, “And snacks.”

“You drive a good bargain, Han…” You murmured, touching your chin as you thought about it, humming and making a face that made him laugh.

“I'll take it. The winner gets a kiss on the cheek and snacks!”

At the start of the game, you seemed to have been taking the lead, managing to get to one card first before Jeonghan just smirked and shook his head.

“You underestimate my skills, sweetheart,” he cooed, the nickname sending a jolt down your spine as the memories of last night came flooding back before it got cut short when Jeonghan placed a wild draw four card on the deck. 

You groaned, pouting slightly as you picked four cards from the deck, not having any colour Jeonghan had announced as he placed a blue eight. You picked another card, managing to place a red eight as he clicked his tongue. Your body froze when he shook his head again, placing a red skip card before a red draw two card, which caused you to retaliate with a yellow draw two card, and he clicked his tongue again.

“You sure you wanna play this game, pretty girl?” He tutted, and you looked at him with growing dread as he placed a blue draw two card, forcing you to pick up six cards, leaving him with five cards and you with ten.

Both of you went back and forth until you managed to get three cards left while Jeonghan had two. You bit your lower lip as you looked at your cards—a blue four and a red draw two card. The deck currently had a red eight card, and you were thinking whether or not to place the draw two card or to just pick another card from the deck.

Deciding to take a risk, you place the draw two card, glancing at his reaction. He kept a straight face before sighing. “Sometimes, I wonder if the forces are working against me.”

“Uno, Jeonghan. Your move.”

He picked out the first card from the deck before pausing and glancing at you. You held your breath as he picked out the two cards, having nothing to place in retaliation. He had five cards while you had one. Not like you could place the one you had, so you had to pick another card. A yellow stop card. You wanted to groan, but kept it in as you watched Jeonghan’s moves.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He looked at you with a pensive expression before he apologised, making you look at him confusedly.

“Huh–?” That’s when he placed two wild draw four cards, two wild cards and a blue reverse card, ending the game with your loss.

You just lost.

You lost Uno—the only card game you were probably good at—to Jeonghan.

“A kiss on the cheek is owed to me, my lady,” he teased, grinning as you groaned, rolling your eyes before leaning in and kissing his cheek. Jeonghan hummed at the action, and you couldn’t help but linger in his vicinity as you looked at him up close.

Jeonghan seemed to notice how you were looking at him, and his grin softened to a soft smile. “Careful, sweetheart, I might think you have a thing for me.”

That made you reel back with a flush to your cheeks, hitting his shoulder as he snorted out a laugh. That’s when he stood up, confusing you before he motioned towards one of Seungcheol’s drawers.

“He keeps his snacks here. We can eat them since he’s probably just hoarding them for when he feels like it.” He took out a bag of chips and a box of strawberry pocky. You grabbed the pocky and opened it, while Jeonghan continued to snoop in Seungcheol’s drawer before whistling lowly.

You looked at him with a quizzical brow, and he took out what looked like a blunt of weed. “Is that—”

“Sure looks like it…” Jeonghan murmured, glancing around the room before finding a lighter. “Wanna smoke it with me?”

The question hung in the air as you looked at Jeonghan. He seemed chill about the whole thing, probably had smoked weed before, but you never tried to in your four years of uni. He sat back down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, tilting his head to the side before offering you the blunt.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t smoked weed before.” 

“I haven’t.” You admitted, and Jeonghan’s eyes softened. “But I’d like to try.”

Jeonghan lit the blunt soon after your approval, taking a drag out of it and handing it to you to try. You awkwardly held the blunt between your fingers, taking a drag before you started to cough, handing the weed back to him as he patted your back while you tried to recover from the burn down your throat. 

“I—fuck, I underestimated the strength of it. Sorry,” Jeonghan apologised softly, still rubbing your back. “How about I shotgun you? It’ll be easier on you, but the effect will be weaker, so…”

“Y-yeah, I think that’ll be better.” You nodded, looking at him with teary eyes after practically coughing your lungs out. “How do we do it?” 

You asked, and he glanced away awkwardly before patting his lap. “You’ll have to get close, sweetheart. I will be exhaling smoke into your mouth after all.”

Ah. That made sense. Something in your stomach flipped as you looked at his lap before back at his face, and you made your way to straddle him, slightly hovering. 

“Inhale when I exhale into your mouth.” Jeonghan took another puff out of the blunt, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb, prying your mouth agape before blowing the smoke into your mouth. You did as he said and inhaled, taking in the smoke as you felt the weed affecting you already due to its potency.

With a couple of more exchanges, and you could feel yourself getting high, sitting snugly on Jeonghan’s lap while he talked about something random from his childhood, while you fed him pocky. The two of you had probably gone through half of the blunt before Jeonghan decided to place it down on the ashtray he had found earlier. His hands found your hips, and you didn’t mind the touch one bit as you fed him another pocky stick.

“Play the pocky game with me,” he murmured, his eyes half-lidded as you hummed and agreed without a second thought. You placed one end of the long pocky stick between his teeth while you started biting the other end, getting closer and closer to his lips. 

When your noses bumped against each other, and you were about to take the last bite, Jeonghan took the rest of the pocky stick into his mouth before stealing a kiss from you, prompting you to gasp. He didn’t seem to be sorry as he bumped his nose against yours.

“Was that okay?” Jeonghan whispered, and you nodded gently, already leaning in for more as his grip on your hips tightened. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, Hannie, I liked it…” You murmured back before pressing another kiss to his lips, forgetting all about the pocky as your hands travelled to the back of his head and you tangled your fingers in his hair.

A groan left Jeonghan’s lips as he kissed you back, his hands roaming around your waist down to your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. “Fuck, is this okay?”

He muttered against your lips, fiddling with the hem of your mini skirt, his eyes searching your face for any hint of disapproval. There was none, and you only tugged gently on his hair.

“Touch me, Jeonghan…” you murmured, and a soft noise left him as you said his name. He was too high to realise, and too focused on pushing your skirt up to your hips to care.

When you ground yourself against him, he panted, his dick stirring in his sweatpants as he watched your panty-clad cunt grind against his growing erection. A curse left Jeonghan’s lips when you ducked your head down, kissing his neck as he guided your hips.

“Just like that, sweetheart, mnh…” He grunted as he saw the wet patch forming against his pants, and your panties were probably soaked from the stimulation. He leaned his head back against the headboard, dizzy with pleasure and the weed working through his system. “I want to fuck you so bad, but I can't—”

He choked out, and you whined. “Why not?”

Jeonghan's hazed brain cleared for a moment, knowing that he didn't want this to happen this way—not when you didn't know who he was yet. Not when he was pretending to be someone else.

“Jeonghan, please…” You nosed his jaw, and that's when he realised that you were calling him by his name.

“I– how did you—” He faltered, groaning when you ground down against him once more, his grip on your hips tightening once more to halt your movements. “Baby, tell me.”

“Minghao told me… I kind of confirmed it when we called that night.”

Jeonghan grunted, moving your head from his neck as he made you look at him. “You're… you're not mad?”

“Why would I be?” You murmured, a puzzled expression forming on your face. “You probably had your reasons, and I'm not going to get mad over you hiding your identity. I'm more mad at myself that I didn't figure it out sooner.”

You pouted, moving your hands from Jeonghan’s hair to his face, caressing gently. “Can you fuck me now?”

A choked-out noise came out of him as he faltered and got flustered by your blunt request. He shook his head in disbelief before shifting slightly to sit better against the headboard. 

“You're something else, sweets…” He muttered, stealing a quick kiss from your lips as his hands travelled to the gusset of your panties and tugged them to the side to see your glistening slit. His cock throbbed at the sight, wanting nothing more than to be inside your sweet cunt.

Jeonghan opened the nightstand drawer to grab the box of condoms Seungcheol usually kept, seeing that there were two condoms left. He gently lifted you so he could shimmy his sweats and boxers down to his mid thigh, his cock leaking and hard.

You watched as he clumsily opened the condom and put it on himself. Once he was done, he tossed the empty foil and tugged you closer, positioning you above his aching dick. He paused as his tip teased your entrance, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“You sure you want—” Jeonghan cut himself off when you sank down on his shaft without warning, a moan leaving his lips as your wet heat clamped around him snugly. 

He watched as your thighs trembled when he bottomed out, your hips pressed against his as he raised you up and gently slammed you down, causing you to make such sweet noises that had him immediately addicted.

“Jeonghannie—” you whined, riding him slowly as he guided you, rolling your hips just right as his tip nudged against spots you wouldn't be able to reach with your fingers. “S'good—”

You looked down at him as he seemed to be focused on watching his cock disappear into your warm cunt, a groan leaving him before looking up at your face. You looked so fucked out, and Jeonghan loved it, his hips starting to meet your downward motions, thrusting up into you.

“You're perfect, sweets… everything I ever wanted—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. You like that? Being everything I want?” He panted as he pressed soft kisses to your jaw and neck, slamming you down harder on his cock as he fucked you faster, not being able to help himself.

You felt wrecked, getting fucked so good by the same person you’d texted for over a week in his best friend’s dorm room. It was something out of a fantasy, and you couldn’t help but whimper when Jeonghan’s thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles around the nub as he tried to lead you to your first orgasm.

“Jeonghan, fuck, I’m gonna cum—” You squeaked, feeling how your cunt got slipperier and the knot in your abdomen got tighter. 

Jeonghan only grunted at that, his assault on your bundle of nerves not stopping as he kept thrusting up into your tightness. “Cum for me then, milk my cock for what it’s worth, hm? Come on—”

You cried out when his hips snapped just right, his tip kissing your cervix as your orgasm came crashing down on you like a wave. Your thighs trembled, but you continued to bounce on Jeonghan’s cock until he blew his spend into the condom he was wearing.

“Too hot…” You grumbled, tossing your blouse onto the foot of the bed, leaving yourself in your black lace bra. Jeonghan also shed himself of his hoodie and t-shirt, revealing his lean body. He pulled out of you as he tossed the condom into the box before grabbing another one. You were surprised how quickly he got hard again, not expecting it at all.

Jeonghan flipped the two of you over, so that he was on top of you this time, kicking off his pants while undoing your skirt to toss it into the small pile of clothes that you had made on the floor. Your bra and panties joined the pile soon after, leaving both of you naked. You panted softly as he ground his cock against your slippery folds, his cockhead nudging your pudgy clit before he pushed into your wet hole once more. His grinds were slow and lazy, but Jeonghan filled you up just right as he took one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, managing to hit deeper spots from this position.

A soft grunt left him as he watched you mewl and whimper under him, your arm covering your eyes as your breasts bounced back and forth with each thrust. “You look so pretty,” he murmured, moving your arm and pinning it above your head, seeing your eyes glazed with tears as he cooed.

“Why are you crying, baby? Is it too much—” He almost sounded panicked, and you shook your head, not wanting him to stop.

“No–no, it feels so good, Hannie, I just—fuck, it feels so good—” You whined as your back arched off the bed, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but lean down and press soft kisses to the valley of your breasts, worshipping your body as he continued to fuck you slowly.

Jeonghan relished the way your pussy clamped around his thick shaft, sucking him in and milking him with your gummy walls. Soon, his hips started to move a bit faster, feeling his release building up with each second of being inside your needy cunt.

“I’m gonna cum,” he rasped out, his pelvis rubbing against your clit with every rock of his hips as your velvet walls continued to spasm around him with increasing vigour, signalling that you were close as well. 

It didn't take long for the two of you to reach your orgasms, with yours hitting you first and triggering Jeonghan’s as the two of you moaned softly.

“One more time, Hannie—” You keened out a whine when he pulled out, noticing how sweat sheened from his skin. He was softly panting, still holding your leg over his shoulder as he pressed a gentle kiss to your calf.

“Can't… We don't have any condoms left—” He crooked out, but you only tugged him closer when he threw the used-up condom into the box once more. His cock was still half-hard, and you were aching for more. Jeonghan murmured your name softly, chiding you when you angled your hips, so that your entrance would nudge against his bare tip. “We can't—”

“Hannie, please… I'm on birth control, I just need you inside me one more time, please.”

You begged, and Jeonghan was weak for you. He probably always had been, even when you didn't know him back then. He sighed, praying that his stamina would last one more time. “One more time, and we're done. I'm not gonna last much longer…”

He admitted, and you just nodded. He didn't have to last long, you just wanted to feel him—feel what it was like to have him raw and creaming your pussy instead of a condom. Jeonghan clenched his jaw as he pushed his tip into your bare hole and hissed softly at how wet and snug you felt without any barriers.

“Oh, fuck… I'm definitely not gonna last—” He grunted, filling you up with ease from how slick your walls and inner thighs were. “Fuckfuckfuck—”

Jeonghan groaned, his pace hasty as he drove his cock into your spasming cunt, gripping and sucking him in like a vice. His cock molded your insides, his cockhead abusing your cervix with each thrust as you squealed. 

You could feel your release building up once more, the heat in your abdomen unbearable as you clamped down on Jeonghan’s shaft, the band snapping and releasing hot slick around his length. The pleasure felt like hot lava against your skin, burning you as your back arched off the bed, making a mess out of Seungcheol’s sheets. Your pussy milked him, a milky ring forming around the base of his cock, and Jeonghan couldn’t hold it in anymore.

A guttural groan left his lips as his hips stuttered, movements stilling as he came inside you in hot spurts. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, not being able to hold in your keen whine as he filled you up to the brim until both of your mixed releases were leaking out of your used cunt to your ass down to the already messy sheets.

Once Jeonghan recovered, he pressed a soft kiss to your throat, pulling out as he watched his cum and your juices leak out of you before pushing it back in with his fingers. The action made you whimper, but you let him do what he wanted, watching him with lidded eyes.

“We made such a mess…” He grumbled with a soft chuckle, “Cheol’s gonna kill me for fucking you on his bed.”

“Future us’s problem,” you murmured, groaning deliciously at the ache of your body as Jeonghan grabbed some tissues to clean you up before crashing on top of you. “You’re heavy—”

You complained, but Jeonghan was out like a light, his breathing heavy and rhythmic as you sighed with a soft smile, drifting to take a nap as well.

At about 3 in the morning, you could hear banging outside the door. Jeonghan stirred first as he groaned, grabbing his pants from the floor before tossing his t-shirt for you to wear. You put it on, along with your panties, and when Jeonghan saw that you were fully covered, he opened the door to see a disgruntled Seungcheol.

The disgruntlement immediately switched from shock to disbelief at the sight of his bedsheets. “Dude.”

“Cut me some slack, you invited me to this party. Plus, I didn’t expect we’d fuck…” Jeonghan murmured, sheepish as he glanced at you with a soft smile and a wink that made you flush in embarrassment.

“You smoked my weed!” Seungcheol hissed, groaning as he looked around his room, noticing the half-eaten snacks, the almost-smoked blunt and the messy sheets you were currently sitting on. “Man, I was saving that pocky…”

He sulked as you looked at him apologetically. “Sorry, Seungcheol.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s his—” He pointed at his best friend with a glare before rubbing his face. “I’m crashing at Mingyu’s. I’m not going to sleep in my room for the next week. It reeks of sex and weed in here.”

Seungcheol grumbled as he grabbed a few clothes from his drawer and opened the window before muttering something along the lines of “unbelievable” and “fucking in my room”. He closed the door after himself, leaving you and Jeonghan alone once more. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, stifling your giggles as Jeonghan covered his hand with his fist. “We should clean his room and head back.”

Jeonghan nodded at that, and you put your skirt on, still wearing his t-shirt, while he put on his hoodie before the two of you started tidying up his best friend’s room. Once you were finished, you held your blouse in your hand, leaving the room with a ‘sorry’ note with it.

Walking back to your apartment, you and Jeonghan had your arms linked together, giggling and talking about random shit. When you got to the bottom of your apartment building, he unlinked your arms, but didn’t let go of your hand just yet. 

“I’ll see you later for our date?” He asked, looking at you hopefully, and when you nodded, he sighed in relief. You cocked an eyebrow at that before he spoke up again. “I thought you wouldn’t want…”

“Jeonghan, I just had the best sex of my life. I think I’d want to still go on a date with you.”

“Just because I’m sexy? Or because you actually want to date me?” He pouted, teasing you as you rolled your eyes.

“Can’t it be both?” You compromised as Jeonghan hummed and pursed his lips, pretending to think about it before nodding.

He pulled you closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away. “Both is good, sweets. I’ll see you later.”

You smiled softly, letting go of his hand before waving him goodbye and heading up to your apartment, still wearing his t-shirt.

“That’s one hell of a fashion statement.” Minghao deadpanned as you jumped once you closed the front door. You turned around to see your roommate, your two best friends, and Jun in the living room, visibly waiting for you.

“What does it say?” You entertained Hao’s sarcastic remark as you tossed your blouse into your room before coming back to where they were.

“It says, ‘I was clearly laid, ask me about it because I’ll definitely brag’. It’s quite obvious.” Joshua chimed in, watching as you grabbed a pillow and tossed it at his face. Your best friend let out an ‘oomph’ sound before throwing the pillow back at you.

You huffed at them, irked at the fact that they were all gathered in your apartment. “What are you guys doing here anyway? I get Hao, he’s my roommate, but you three? Wonwoo, how’d you get dragged into this?”

Wonwoo shrugged, pointing at Joshua, “He told me what happened, and as your friend, I came for support. So, are you going to tell us what happened during the party or what?”

“This is my sex life we’re talking about.”

“And? You’ve shared worse stuff, pipsqueak. Spill the tea.” Joshua seemed the most interested in the gossip, while Minghao just sat there, looking unbothered when he was lowkey listening. Jun and Wonwoo were too busy fussing over a game on the latter’s phone, but they were tuning in as well.

You sighed, sitting down on the free armchair by the sofa, before you started telling them about what had happened during the party. Deciding to leave out the three rounds of sex, Joshua was awestruck, Minghao was subtly judging, but at the same time, he was happy for you, while Jun and Wonwoo were still busy with the game on their phones.

“Now, get the fuck out of my apartment. I need to get some sleep before my date.” You pointed at the door, and Joshua whined but dragged your Wonwoo and Jun out of your apartment, but not before Wonwoo could say something.

“I hope he doesn’t break your heart, or he has four guys to deal with.” Your best friend offered you a smile before closing the door. You smiled at the thought of your friends beating up Jeonghan if he ever fucked up, and it warmed your heart, thankful to have such good friends.

After 6 hours of sleep, you woke up around 9 am, your phone buzzing being the reason why you woke up. You checked the notifications bar, seeing Jeonghan’s name on top.

Jeonghan: Good morning :)) 

Jeonghan: Can you come downstairs? I have something for you, sweets.

You: How are you downstairs???

You: We literally saw each other six hours ago.

You: I’m still in my pyjamas.

Jeonghan: Perfect. Could I come up then?

You: Yeah, I’ll open the door for you.

You got up from your bed with a soft grunt, looking at yourself in the mirror as you felt the soreness between your legs. A soft sigh left your lips when your intercom rang, prompting you to rush towards it and open the door for Jeonghan downstairs.

When he finally got upstairs, you opened the front door, seeing him holding two cups of what seemed like coffee and tea in one hand and breakfast from your favourite bakery. “Surprise?”

“You didn’t have to—” Your eyes softened as you let him in, closing the door as he took his shoes off after handing you the bag with your favourite pastries from the bakery. “How’d you know I liked these?”

“Well, uh…” He trailed off, his cheeks dusting pink as he strided towards your couch, looking around your space a little better. “I might’ve had a crush on you before the whole wrong number ordeal.”

You blinked at him, surprise filling you as you connected the dots further—the way he seemed to be awkward and nervous around you during the first few meetings when he was pretending to be Han and his flirty behaviour over text.

“No way—” You shook your head, sitting down beside him, surprise evident in your tone. “We didn’t even know each other back then!”

“Well, you didn’t know me, I knew you. We took Statistics together last year, too.” Jeonghan scratched his cheek awkwardly when you continued to look at him with an astonished expression. “I didn’t know Cheol knew you until a few weeks ago, and that was when I gained the guts to ask him for your number and message you, pretending that I had the wrong number.”

The explanation baffled you, but it made sense at the same time before you scoffed out a laugh.

“Jeonghan.”

“Mmm?”

“You couldn’t have made it any harder for yourself.” You snorted, and he groaned before laughing softly along with you. “Like, seriously. You could’ve walked up to me and talked to me.”

“It wasn’t that simple!” He covered his face, embarrassed, but he kept smiling, a little glad that you found the situation humorous. Jeonghan sighed softly when you finally stopped giggling, shaking his head at how cute you were before noting that it was quite quiet in your apartment.

“Is your roommate not home?” He asked as you hummed, taking a bite out of the pastry in the bag.

“Minghao usually goes to the gym before going for a three-hour nature walk around the campus park. He also takes his time to meditate by the lake, so he’ll be gone for a while. Why?”

Jeonghan just shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee as he watched you enjoy your food. He could get used to seeing you like this—dishevelled after sleep, face bare and hair sticking out from multiple ends. It was cute, and he’d been dreaming of this day.

You noticed his soft gaze on you, making you feel a little self-conscious. “Is there something on my face?”

“Huh-? No, no! I just… I’ve been kind of dreaming of this day, he murmured, smiling softly.

You tilted your head to the side, puzzled, before Jeonghan continued. “You know, uh, seeing you like this—dishevelled and whatnot. Just you.”

You swallowed the food in your mouth, blinking at him. “So, my usual grouchy morning self?”

“Yes.” He nodded, leaning back against the sofa.

“You’re even weirder in person, you know that?” You grumbled but cracked a soft smile. “I can’t say I hate it. Being my boyfriend and all.”

Jeonghan blinked at the words you just said, causing you to look at him with a confused expression once more. “What?”

“Say that thing again.”

“I can’t say I hate it..?” You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure, before Jeonghan shook his head and made a circular motion with his hand as if telling you to rewind.

“No, the other thing.”

“Being my boyfrien—oh.” Your cheeks flushed, looking down at your lap as you tried not to explode on the spot for saying that. “Is… Is that okay?”

“Is— Is being your boyfriend okay? Are you hearing yourself?” Jeonghan huffed softly before grabbing your shoulders and shaking you, “Of course, it’s okay. More than okay, actually—perfect, more so.”

You grabbed his arms and stopped him from shaking you, “Okay, okay—I get it!”

Jeonghan let you go and sat back down on the couch, grabbing his coffee from the coffee table before taking a long swig from it, and placing it back down as you finished your food. Once you were done, you crumpled the paper bag, and he wiped off the leftover crumbs from the corner of your lips.

“So…” You started, curious about what he had planned for today’s date, “What are we going to do today?”

Jeonghan only smiled, winking at you as he leaned back, “That’s a secret you’ll have to unfold later, sweets. I’m not fond of ruining surprises.”

A groan left your lips, too impatient, but knowing Jeonghan, he’d stay true to his word and not reveal anything until the date. You pouted slightly before taking a sip of your tea, humming at the hot beverage filling your system.

“Not even one hint?”

“No. Not a chance, sweetheart. Stop trying to ruin your surprise.” He squinted at you before flicking your forehead, prompting you to retaliate, but he didn’t let you as he grabbed your wrists.

“What if I don’t like surprises?” You argued and tried to tug yourself away from his grasp, and he rolled his eyes, keeping you close.

“Not my problem, sweets, you’re not getting any spoilers.”

Even with your insistence on having Jeonghan give you at least one hint, he only gave you one, very vague hint, which went somewhere along the lines of “you’ll love it” and “it’s something you really like”.

That hint didn’t really help, since he asked you to wear something casual yet pretty, so you were stuck between a white sundress adorned with tiny pink flowers or a loose V-neck sweater and jeans. 

Deciding on the former, you put on the dress, matching it with your white shoes, before heading back out to the living room, where Jeonghan was waiting. He was scrolling through his phone when he glanced up and saw you standing there, your hands behind your back as you awkwardly rocked back and forth.

“Stop staring like that—” You huffed, feeling awkward as he gaped at you before snapping out of it.

“Sorry—fuck… I, uh… You look pretty.” He got up from the sofa, walking over to you and grabbing your waist. “Like, really pretty.”

Jeonghan leaned down, nosing your cheek. “Wondering if we should go on that date right now or—ow, okay, okay, sorry.”

He snickered when you smacked him, grinning as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. That's when you heard a groan behind you, prompting you to turn around and see Minghao with squinting eyes.

“The two of you better not fuck on the couch,” He muttered accusingly before heading to his room, leaving you and Jeonghan alone once more. A giggle left your lips before you patted his chest.

“Let's go on that date, shall we, my lady?” He offered his arm for you to grab, and you smiled as you took it before heading out the door.

The two of you walked to one of your favourite bookstores near campus, which you hadn’t expected for your first date with him. “Bookstore date?”

“That’s not all, sweets.” Jeonghan grinned, opening the door for you as he let you enter the establishment. “I decided to ask the staff… And they let me rent the place out for two hours.”

Your eyes widened at his words, surprised at the fact that Jeonghan managed to rent the bookstore for a whole two hours. When you entered, you saw Kimmy—one of the workers in the store—by the register, winking and giving you a thumbs-up before waving a small green flag she held by the counter to promote books with green-flag men.

A soft giggle left your lips as Jeonghan led you to the small reading nook the owners of the store had agreed to make for you since you came by so often, and it was far from the main hall of the bookstore itself, so you had some privacy. The table you had there was set with a candle, and some food—takeout from your favourite Chinese joint that you frequented with Joshua.

“You thought of everything for this date, haven’t you?” You looked at him with a fond smile, and he hummed before grabbing a baby blue bag from behind one of the chairs.

“That’s not all. Sit down and open it.” He pulled the chair back for you, prompting you to giggle once more as you sat down comfortably and pulled out what seemed like a cinammoroll plush keyring. You glanced up at him with a slightly ajar mouth before he added, “Oh, there’s also an envelope, open it.”

Without another word, you grabbed the envelope and opened it to read, “Here’s my card. You have ten minutes to look around the store and five minutes to grab the books you want. Winky face, your boyfriend.” You looked at him, dumbfounded as he only chuckled.

“We’ll do it after we eat, it’s better to eat Chinese when it’s still hot.”

The two of you ate and conversed, giggling about the stupidest things as you reminisced about the things that happened a couple of hours prior. Jeonghan seemed to notice your flushed expression, grinning slightly. “You’re thinking about what happened last night, did you?”

“Shut up—” You squeaked, stealing a dumpling from his container, and he let you as he leaned his chin on his palm, looking enamoured by the sight of you. Feeling flustered, you took a sip of your drink before clearing your throat. “I’m full, so let’s do that thing, hm? I have a few books I’ve been eyeing, and I know the layout of this building like the back of my hand.”

“I’m going to be broke, aren’t I?” Jeonghan sighed with a soft laugh when you nodded, taking one last bite of his food before getting up and taking your outstretched hand, excited for whatever activity you had planned.

After the timer ended, you managed to snag about 8 books, two of which were textbooks, which made Jeonghan raise an eyebrow at you, but books were expensive as fuck, so if you had the chance to monopolise someone else’s money, you’d use it. The other six paperbacks were romance novels, with genres ranging from romantasy to standard romcom tropes.

“You sure like romance novels, huh?” He teased, looking through one of the books’ synopses, curious about the contents of the paperback, and opening a page where the main characters were having rough sex. Jeonghan whistled softly as Kimmy snatched the book from him, rang it up and put it in the paper bag. You thanked her as you waved goodbye while your boyfriend held the bag with your haul. “Are you sure you’ll manage to read all of these? Six novels are a lot, you know?”

You snorted out a laugh, shaking your head. “It’s the weekend, Jeonghan. I have a whole Sunday free, and my Mondays usually consist of theoretical science that I can miss because the professor sends video versions of the lecture anyway. I’ll manage to binge these in a day.”

That’s when you noticed Jeonghan’s slight pout, prompting you to raise your eyebrow at him before he sighed dramatically.

“Why are you pouting?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled, still pouting. “My girlfriend would rather spend time with books for the whole weekend instead of her boyfriend—” You smacked him, cutting him off as he stifled his chuckles. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I mean, I could kick Minghao out for the day, and we can hang out in the living room without him side-eyeing us.” You shrugged, not thinking much of it, as the two of you walked towards the cafe, where you bought your tea from and bought some drinks before heading to the park to sit down by the small pond.

“How are you enjoying our little date so far, sweets?” Jeonghan asked, looking at you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. You shrugged, causing him to gently nudge you. “Come on, tell me.”

“Honestly?” You looked at him with a soft yet happy smile, “It’s the best date I’ve been on in a while. You’ve outdone yourself, boyfriend.”

Jeonghan grinned, clearly happy with the praise, before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, surprising you. “Perfect. How many boyfriend points do I get?”

“Boyfriend points?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, like… If I get enough of them, I get a prize or something.” He shrugged, making you blink at him.

“Jeonghan, we are not doing that. What are you, a toddler?” You snorted, and he made a face which you almost smacked him for again, but refrained. “We are not doing that.”

“Worth a shot.”

After your date, Jeonghan walked you back home and gave you a goodbye kiss that made you feel like you were on clouds. You felt all giddy, and you were giggling to yourself on the way up to your apartment.

Once you entered the apartment, you saw Minghao lounging around in the living room, watching something on the TV. He glanced at you before sighing, “How was the date?”

“Perfect,” you chirped, still smiling, which made your cheeks hurt. “I think he’s actually not real from how perfect the date went.”

“I’m sure you’re itching to tell someone the details, so spill.”

“You’re the best roommate ever, do I ever tell you that?” You sat down beside him after placing your paper bag with your new books on the dining table. 

“I’ve been told once or twice, yes.” He rolled his eyes, but Minghao was genuinely interested, wanting to know how your day with Jeonghan went.

“Okay, so…”

After talking about your date with Minghao and Facetiming Joshua and Wonwoo in the process, you managed to get some good night’s sleep. You couldn’t kick Minghao out for the day, so you had to cancel your plans with Jeonghan, but the two of you called for about three hours before you had to end the call because you needed food in your system.

While you prepared dinner, you found yourself texting your boyfriend, sharing memes or just talking about random messages.

Jeonghan: Whatcha cooking, good looking?

You: Just some cream pasta.

You: Reading was quite slow today. I only read 50% of the first book.

Jeonghan: That’s still a lot, sweets

Jeonghan: It’d take me about 3 days to get halfway through a book :/

Jeonghan: So, be proud of yourself for reading so much in one day

You: If you say so 🤷

You: Anyway, what are YOU up to?

Jeonghan: I’m playing video games with Cheol

Jeonghan: Kinda boring ngl

Jeonghan: Would rather talk with you ;)

You: Pfft, okay.

You: Play your silly video games with him.

You: And apologise about the weed.

Jeonghan: Just the weed?

You: And the pocky.

You: I don’t regret the sex, you know.

Jeonghan: Oh, I know ;)

Jeonghan: I’d so do it again even if we weren’t high

You: You’re evil.

Jeonghan: You like me so 🤷

You: Fair enough.

Jeonghan: I gtg

Jeonghan: Text you later?

You: If I don’t get immersed in reading, then yes.

Jeonghan: Okay, love u

You reread the message, trying to make sure you weren’t seeing things before turning as red as a tomato. He didn’t mean it like that, right? He meant it as a goodbye and not an actual ‘I love you’? You screamed into your hands, confused and flustered as hell.

On Jeonghan’s end, he was also screaming into his hands after sending you that last message, Seungcheol, looking at him with an ‘Are you fucking serious right now?’ expression. “Dude, you’re overreacting. It was just a text.”

“You don’t get it, Cheolie…” Jeonghan groaned as his best friend was more focused on the game he was playing rather than Jeonghan’s insistent whining. “I said ‘love you’ and not ‘I love you’ because I’m a fucking coward. And I wanna say it to her face, not over text.”

“Then do that?” Seungcheol paused his game, sighing softly.

Jeonghan only groaned, throwing his phone on his bed before rubbing his face from slight frustration. He wanted to do it so badly, but he felt like he’d be pushing it. “It’s too early for me to do it! I don’t wanna scare her off.”

He grumbled, and his best friend could hear his pout without even looking at him. “When did you become such a loser, Hannie?” 

Seungcheol teased, and Jeonghan glared at him, throwing a pillow at his friend.

“Shut up.”

A few days passed, and everything between you and Jeonghan was going smoothly, going on quick cafe dates in between classes, sharing lunch with your friends, or just spending time together in general. 

You were getting used to the whole boyfriend/girlfriend ordeal, not being used to having someone in your space besides your roommate. But you found yourself enjoying it more than you expected, liking the comfort of having someone to lean on for once. It felt lighter to have someone who could carry your burdens with you and vice versa.

It was a Friday afternoon, you had finished most of your lab work early and decided that Minghao had to go for the day because you wanted Jeonghan to stay over, and he just gave you an obvious look that meant ‘I know what you’re planning to do and I’m letting it slide’.

You were huddled up in a blanket, cuddling with Jeonghan on top of you while you played with his hair with one hand and read a book with the other, occasionally moving your hand from your boyfriend’s hair to flip a page. 

A soft grunt left your lips an hour into reading, prompting Jeonghan to move his head from your chest. “What is it?”

“Nothing… I mean, not nothing, I just don’t wanna move at the moment,” you grumbled softly as your cheeks burned. You didn’t want to ask him for it. No way.

“Do you need to pee or something—”

“No, no! It’s just…” You trailed off, your cheeks and ears dusting red as you tried to spit it out. “There’s a sex scene I don’t really get.”

“Ah,” Jeonghan murmured, causing you to flush further from embarrassment, before he tutted softly, “Well, that can’t do, can it? What’s the scene? Read it for me, baby.”

“O–oh, uh, okay…” You cleared your throat. “Harlan angled my hips, spreading my legs wide, teasing his cock against my slit before pushing in—”

“Okay, I got the gist of it, geez. I forgot most of those romance books of yours are in first person,” he grumbled before taking the book from you and placing it down on the coffee table before shifting slightly between your legs. “That’s just simple missionary, sweetheart. Why are you so confused?”

“Because there’s more, Hannie. Let me finish, will you?” You huffed, grabbing the book once more, and he chuckled before nodding. 

You cleared your throat again and continued, “Pushing in with one easy thrust, my pussy squelched from how wet he’d gotten me. I whined, trembling like a leaf as I pawed my enemy’s chest—”

“They’re enemies?” Jeonghan cut you off, gasping dramatically as you rolled your eyes and continued reading.

“—looking up at him so fucked out and dazed. He pumped his shaft into me a couple of times before flipping me around to my stomach without pulling out, burying my face into the pillows of my bed. He grabbed my hips up and started fucking me harder while muttering the lewdest things into my ear.”

You finished reading the part of the page, Jeonghan’s eyes half-lidded as he licked his lips. “I got the gist of it. You wanna…?”

Your thighs clenched around his hips, signalling him that you indeed wanted it. A soft groan left his lips as he slipped off the blanket from your bodies, his hands starting to roam along your hips and waist, pushing up the t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare breasts. He expected it, since the two of you were home, but he still enjoyed the sight. 

A whine left your lips when he leaned down, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, suckling and gently biting while he rubbed your other nipple with his thumb, switching between them so neither would feel neglected. Jeonghan continued his ministrations until you were panting and your nipples were wet, coated with his spit and aching with pleasure.

“Gonna fuck you better than what that dumb book described, mmkay?” Jeonghan crooned against your neck, yanking your shorts and panties down your legs, and throwing them on the floor. His hand ghosted over your wet slit, teasing you as he spread your pussy lips open, watching as your tight hole clenched around nothing and gushed with slick that drooled down to the leather of the couch.

“Hannie, please…”

“Hmm? What is it, pretty baby?” He cooed. “You need to be patient. I wanna take my sweet time with your sweet little cunt this time.”

“But–but, you were gonna show me—”

Jeonghan shushed you softly. “I said I’m going to fuck you better than what was described in your book. So, be a good girl and take what I give you, hm?”

You moaned at that, nodding as he touched you with reverent caresses, whispering sweet nothings into your ear before pushing two fingers into your wet heat, scissoring your sopping cunt as it squelched lewdly at his movements. Jeonghan stretched your inner walls, feeling them snugly flutter and wrap around his digits. His palm grazed your clit just right, pulling soft whines out of you as your thighs tightened around his hips.

Once he was satisfied playing with your sweet pussy, he pulled his fingers out before shoving them into his mouth and let out a groan. When he finished sucking off your juices from them, he smiled at you. “So sweet…”

Jeonghan didn’t waste any more time, shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He looked at you, begging and reaching out for him, so he decided against looking for condoms, and it wasn’t like he had any with him to begin with.

Lubricating himself with your slick, his cockhead nudged against your bundle of nerves a couple of times, causing your legs to tremble and twitch before Jeonghan finally lined himself up against your entrance. Due to how slippery your hole was, he easily slipped in, a guttural groan leaving his lips as he felt your raw cunt around his cock once more.

“Fuck, fuck—you feel so good… Your pussy is sucking my dick in so good, sweets.”

“Hannie—Jeonghan, fuck—I, I, hngh—”

You whined out, grasping the material of the oversized hoodie he was wearing before he quickly shed it, so that he could feel your nails against his skin. You nailed his upper back, causing Jeonghan to hiss in both pleasure and pain from the sharp sting. He then started gently rocking his hips into you, each deep thrust knocking the air out of your lungs. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes darted down to where the two of you were connected, and the sound of his cock bullying into your cunt was enough to make him grit his teeth and think of basketball statistics to prevent himself from coming way too quickly inside your spasming hole.

Jeonghan groaned your name softly, peppering soft kisses all over your neck and jaw before he flipped you onto your stomach without pulling out, just like what you had read in your book. Something about him easily manhandling you made your stomach flutter and your walls to squeeze around his dick as he pulled your hips up towards him, your ass up, while your face got buried in the throw pillows.

“This is what you wanted, right, baby? Getting fucked from behind like a pretty little thing in heat—” Jeonghan grunted softly as he grabbed the globes of your ass, the fat dimpling under his grip as he spread your cheeks apart to watch how his thick length filled you up. 

You could feel how his dick twitched inside you when he saw the messy white ring forming around the base of his cock, his thrusts getting slightly sloppier and harder as he licked his lips. Your moans were muffled but still loud enough to spur Jeonghan on and made him drive his cock deeper into you—hitting spots you couldn’t reach yourself. The way his tip grazed against your cervix made you squeal and push yourself back against him, your back arching slightly from pleasure.

One of Jeonghan’s hands let go of your ass cheek, moving down between your legs to rub on your neglected clit, making you keen out a whine and your hole to clench around him tightly. Your toes curled as the heat in your gut expanded and licked at your tingling nerves.

“Jeonghan—I’m… I think I’m gonna—”

“Let go, baby, let go for me.” 

You whined at that, letting go as you let your orgasm crash through you, making your back arch further as you pushed yourself closer to him, as Jeonghan’s hips stuttered when your velvet walls milked him for his cum.

A choked grunt left his lips as he stilled his motions, burying himself deep inside you as he spilt hot, thick spurts of cum into your messy cunt. Air was knocked out of your lungs as you recovered slowly, hearing your heartbeat in your ears as your vision was slightly blurred from the overwhelming pleasure.

You whined in protest at the loss of Jeonghan’s cock when he pulled out. Turning your head, you saw him panting softly, watching your leaking hole as he pushed his cum back into your used cunt. That was when he tugged you, turning you around as both of you were leaning against your heels. He caressed your cheek and kissed you softly, leading you to sit on his lap as he leaned back against the couch until he was lying down, before pulling away.

“Sit on my face.”

The request caught you off guard, unsure about sitting on his face after he had just come inside you. But he seemed set on you sitting on his face, gently yanking your hips, causing you to grind on his abs accidentally. Your sensitive clit grazed his skin, and Jeonghan moaned at the mess you were making on his abdomen.

“A–are you sure-? I don’t—”

“I’m sure, sweets, ride my face. Let me clean that cute little pussy up.” His grip on your hips gently tightened before letting go, so that you could crawl over and hover your dripping cunt over his face. Before you could even stabilise yourself, Jeonghan pulled you down, his mouth latching onto your sensitive cunt immediately. He didn’t care about your mixed juices, only wanting you and your sweet wetness.

A moan left Jeonghan’s lips as he lapped you up, tongue flat against your slit as he messily made out with your cunt. You grasped onto his hair, tugging and gripping for support as you started to grind yourself against him, his nose nudging against your clit just right, your release building up faster than the last as soft mewls left your lips as your boyfriend cleaned you up. His grip on your ass tightened, eating your pussy out with increasing vigour as he felt you clench around his tongue.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, toes curling as you wailed in pleasure, your eyes fluttering closed as your hips stuttered against his face. Once Jeonghan was done with drinking up your juices, he easily lifted you from his face, shifting you onto his lap before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I guess we broke the rule about fucking on the couch.”

The two of you went over to your room after the situation on the couch. Jeonghan was peacefully napping on your bed while you were silently admiring your boyfriend, playing with some strands of his hair. Noticing your sketchbook on your desk, you decided to grab it along with your pencil and eraser before you started to sketch.

Before you knew it, you had a sketch of Jeonghan with some details, smiling to yourself, and not noticing him stirring awake.

“Whatcha smiling about?” He rasped, his voice groggy after his nap. “Are you drawing?”

He seemed curious, so you showed him the sketch. Jeonghan’s eyes softened at the sight, in awe of the piece of art you had done in such a short time. “You’re talented, sweets.”

“Thank you… It’s something I took from my mother.” You smiled as you flipped through the pages, showing him more sketches, mostly of him, which surprised Jeonghan, but he was secretly very pleased.

After giving him a glimpse of your sketchbook, you closed it before placing it on your nightstand and huddling close to him. 

Jeonghan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, happy in your arms. “I love you.”

The confession was soft, but full of meaning, and you couldn’t help but hug him tighter, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I love you too, Hannie.”

“No take-backs. You love me.”

You could feel his grin against your skin, which made you roll your eyes before giggling.

“I do.”

FIN~

Taglist: @joshujin @wonushy @imissmyseventeen @bramos91

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[malsmoony]

god i miss my main man, this was mf needed

[n9mgi]

Bad Decisions Kim Taehyung x reader

dr<3g dealer taehyung x fem reader

been dreaming about this one...

word count: 12.3k

themes: tae COVERED in tattoos, city life, uni student reader, fluff, slight angst, intense smut omg :p, nonchalant tae, flirty tae, tension, smoking, strangers to lovers/friends to lovers, established relationship, slice of life

warnings: drug use (weed), smut (minors DNI 18+)

(dom!tae, oral f, fingering, explicit smut, unprotected sex)

✩ ♬ ₊. bad decisions - ariana grande

The city always felt quieter in the fall.

Not quieter in the way people meant when they talked about small towns and empty streets—there were still sirens, still buses sighing at the corners, someone arguing outside the corner store at two in the morning. But the air turned colder, and the smell of rain clung to the sidewalks, and everyone seemed to move a little slower.

From your apartment window, the streetlights painted everything gold. You liked nights like this. A bowl of ramen, a blanket over your shoulders, and the hum of the city outside like distant ocean waves.

Living alone had never scared you. But sometimes, when headlights crawled down the block and shadows stretched along the buildings, you wondered about the lives passing below your window.

That was before you knew one of them.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

He’d been on your block a dozen times before you ever noticed him. Most nights, he parked halfway down the street, engine running low, music barely audible through the cracked, tinted out window. People came and went quickly—two minutes, maybe three—and then the door shut again. He was efficient. Quiet. Forgettable. Which was exactly how he liked it.

The first time you noticed him, though, it wasn’t because you were looking. It was because your phone buzzed in your hand. And suddenly he had a reason to notice you too.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Your closest friend from university sent a number with no context. Just a text that said: Athea: If you ever need anything, hit him up.

Followed by a number. It sat in your phone for a week before you texted it.

Your apartment was warm in that soft, lamp-lit way you liked—no overhead lights, just the golden glow of multiple lamps and the faint hum of the radiator near the window. Outside, the street was damp from rain, the pavement shining under the flickering streetlight.

You didn’t usually do things like this.

But living alone in a neighborhood like yours meant you learned quickly that sometimes the easiest way to get something was simply to ask.

So you texted the number.

You: Hi. I got your number from Athea.

You checked your reflection in your mirror. A little eyeliner. Lip gloss you dug out of the bottom of your tote bag. Your favorite jacket—oversized and soft from years of wear. It made you feel a little more put together in your life filled with homework, work, and the chaos of the city.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Unknown: You by 4th?

You blinked. That was fast.

You: Yeah. The building above the laundromat.

After a few texts, minutes passed before headlights turned slowly onto your street. A black car, no plates, low and quiet. Windows so dark you couldn’t see a thing inside. It rolled to a stop near the curb like it had done it a hundred times before.

For a second you wondered if you should’ve just stayed upstairs. Maybe you shouldn't have sent the text. Then the driver’s door opened.

He stepped out like the cold didn’t bother him.

Tall. Taller than you expected. Broad shoulders trapped in a dark hoodie, hands in the pockets of baggy jeans that were slightly sagging. His sleeves were slightly rolled up revealing a peaking sleeve of thick ink. His movements were slow, unhurried, like the whole city had all the time in the world.

He leaned casually against the car door and looked up at the building. Right at you.

Your heart skipped before you grabbed your keys and hurried down the narrow stairwell, the smell of detergent and concrete filling the hallway. By the time you pushed open the front door, the night air was sharp against your cheeks.

He was still there. Watching you. Up close, he was even taller. His fluffy, dark hair spilling out of his hood. The tattoos on his arms creeping up to his neck. And most of all, his face. Jawline sharp and features slender. Plush lips tugged into a straight line. Eyes low and tinted with red. He was fine.

For a moment neither of you spoke. Then he tilted his head slightly. “You text me?”

His voice was low. Calm.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He studied you for a second longer than necessary, like he was quietly trying to figure something out. Not in a creepy way. Just… curious. Then he gave the smallest nod toward you. “You Y/N?”

You blinked. “…Yeah.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost like he found something amusing.

“Thought so.”

You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, suddenly aware of the cold. “You’re Taehyung?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

You laughed softly before you could stop yourself. His eyes flicked to your face when you did. Something about that seemed to surprise him. Most people didn’t laugh around him.

He reached into his dark car and grabbed a small bag, holding it out to you.

You stepped closer to take it. For a brief second your fingers brushed. His hand was warm. You looked up without meaning to.

He was already watching you.

“You live here?” he asked casually, glancing toward the building.

“Yeah. Just a studio.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. “Nice.”

You almost laughed again. Nice was not the word anyone had ever used for your building, and nice wasn't a word he used often.

You tucked the bag into your jacket pocket and passed him the cash. “Thanks.”

Most people turned and left right away. You didn’t. And he didn’t seem in a hurry either. The quiet between you stretched for a second.

Then he said, almost absentmindedly, “You in school?”

Your eyebrows lifted. “How’d you know that?”

His eyes flicked briefly to the worn university tote bag hanging from your shoulder. Then back to you.

“Lucky guess.”

There was that faint almost-smile again. Subtle, but barely there. You felt strangely seen.

“Well… yeah,” you said. “Master’s program.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away somewhere. “Smart girl.”

The way he said it was so casual you almost missed it. Before you could respond, he pushed himself off the car door.

“Text if you need anything else.”

He opened the door and slid back into the driver’s seat. The engine started quietly. For a moment you just stood there on the sidewalk.

The window rolled down slightly. Taehyung had one arm on the wheel and the other leaned on the middle armrest.

"It's cold," he said. "Should get back inside."

Your cheeks flooded with heat despite the frost biting at it. You smiled a little. "Drive safe."

Then the window slid up, the car pulled away from the curb, and the dark taillights disappeared down the street.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung had been on 4th Street for months. Same corner. Same curb. Engine low, music barely above a murmur.

It wasn’t a bad block for work. Quiet enough that nobody asked too many questions, busy enough that people came and went without noticing anything unusual.

Most nights he didn’t look at the buildings. There was no reason to.

But after the first time you texted him, he did. Your window was easy to find.

Second floor. Right above the laundromat sign that flickered every few minutes. And unlike the other apartments on the block, yours never used the overhead light. Just lamps, an array of dark yellows, oranges, and pinks that peaked through your curtains.

It made the place look… different. Cozy.

Like the kind of apartment people actually wanted to go home to.

Tonight the light was on again. Taehyung leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel as someone stepped out of the passenger side and disappeared down the street.

His eyes drifted back up to the window. Through the small peak of the curtains he could see movement.

Your silhouette as you crossed the room slowly, hair tied up, oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder. Probably studying. Or reading.

He didn’t realize he was watching until a car honked behind him. Taehyung blinked and shifted the car into drive, pulling away.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Three nights later, your text came through again.

Hey. Are you around tonight?

Taehyung looked down at his phone, leaning against the hood of his car in a dim parking lot.

He typed back. Yeah.

A pause before your message popped up. Same place.

When he pulled onto 4th this time, you were already outside, standing under the streetlight. He noticed that immediately.

Last time, you came down after he arrived. Tonight, you waited.

You were wearing a long coat that looked thrifted but carefully chosen, the sleeves slightly too big. Your hair was down this time, falling over your shoulders in soft waves.

Taehyung parked and stepped out. The cold air curled around you two.

You smiled when you saw him. “Hi.”

That word again. Too friendly for someone meeting a dealer on a dark street.

He leaned casually against the car door. “Hey.”

You stepped closer, hands tucked into the sleeves of your coat. “I hope it’s okay I asked again.”

His eyebrow lifted very slightly. “You paid last time, didn’t you?”

You laughed quietly. “Yeah.”

“Then it’s okay.”

He reached into the car and handed you the small bag. You passed him the cash. But this time, you didn’t immediately leave. Instead, you glanced at the car. About a decade old, all black dodge challenger— of course it was— a few subtle modifications such as being lower to the ground than normal.

“It’s really nice.”

Taehyung looked at the car like he’d almost forgotten it was there. “It’s alright.”

“The windows are so dark,” you said, leaning slightly to look inside. “You can barely see anything.”

“That’s the point.”

Another small laugh escaped you. Taehyung watched you for a moment. Then he nodded toward the restaurant a block down.

“You work there, right?”

Your eyes widened slightly. “How did you know that?”

“You walk home in that apron sometimes.”

You blinked. “You’ve seen me?”

“Couple times. Do work 'round here a lot."

“Well,” you said, tucking the bag into your coat pocket, “I’m glad I didn’t embarrass myself walking home after a twelve-hour shift.”

Taehyung lightly shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve seen.”

You studied him for a second. “You’re very mysterious, you know that?”

His mouth tilted slightly. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

He pushed himself off the car door. “Probably better that way.”

You hesitated. “Well… goodnight, Taehyung.”

The way you said his name made him pause halfway into the car. He looked back at you.

“Night, Y/N.”

You walked back toward the building, your boots tapping lightly on the sidewalk. Taehyung watched until the door closed behind you. A few seconds later, the warm lamp light flicked on in the second-floor window.

He sat there longer than he meant to. Just looking at it.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

You almost didn’t go out that night.

You had a paper due Monday, two chapters of reading waiting on your laptop, and a shift at the restaurant in the morning.

But Athea had shown up at your apartment with heavy eyeliner and too much energy.

“Put something cute on,” Athea said, already digging through your closet. “You’ve been studying for three days straight. You deserve one bad decision.”

Forty-five minutes and a taxi ride later, you were squeezing through the line outside a crowded club downtown, the bass from inside vibrating through the sidewalk. The air smelled like perfume, cigarettes, and winter cold.

Inside, the lights were low and red, the music loud enough to feel in your chest. Athea grabbed your wrist. “Drinks first!”

You pushed through the crowd toward the bar. You were halfway through your first drink when Athea leaned closer to shout over the music. “Wait here! I think I just saw that hot guy from my class.”

And just like that, Athea disappeared into the crowd. You sighed, turning slightly to watch the dance floor.

People moved in slow flashes of colored light. Laughter, bodies, music pulsing through the room.

“Hey.”

You glanced over. A guy. Late-twenties. Already a little drunk. “You here alone?”

“Not really,” you said politely. “My friend’s just—”

He leaned closer anyway. Too close. His hand slid onto the bar top, near your waist.

“You wanna dance?”

“I’m okay,” you said.

He didn’t move. Instead he smiled in that way that meant he wasn’t planning to leave. “You sure?”

You shifted slightly, uncomfortable now. “I’m good, thanks.”

The guy leaned in again. “C’mon, don’t be like that—”

A voice cut in from behind him. Calm. Low.

“She said she’s good.”

The guy turned and so did you.

Taehyung stood a few feet away, one hand in the pocket of his jacket, the other holding his phone like he’d been in the middle of something.

Black jacket. Dark jeans. Same quiet confidence.

For a second, you just blinked. “Taehyung?”

His eyes flicked to her briefly. Then back to the guy. The guy looked him up and down.

“And you are?”

Taehyung shrugged slightly. “Doesn’t matter.”

The way he said it was so relaxed it somehow felt more intimidating. A beat of silence passed before the guy scoffed and stepped away.

“Whatever, man.” He disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled. “I had that handled,” you said, though your voice held a hint of relief.

Taehyung's eyebrow lifted slightly. “Looked like it.”

You studied him for a moment. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.”

His eyes moved briefly across the room, scanning the crowd. Like he was checking something. Then they settled back on you. “You?”

“My friend dragged me out.”

“Mm.”

There was that familiar quiet pause between you. Then he nodded toward your drink.

“That your first one?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You laughed softly. “Why?”

“Means you’re still making decent decisions tonight.”

Your smile widened slightly. “No shame in making some bad ones.”

That almost-smile appeared again, but it was hard to even catch. “Well,” Taehyung said casually, glancing toward the dance floor, “night’s not over yet.”

You leaned against the bar, studying him. “You just appear everywhere now?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Coincidence.”

Athea suddenly appeared again, breathless. “Y/N! I found—”

She stopped when she saw Taehyung. Her eyebrows lifted instantly. “Oh. I see you found the number helpful."

You tried not to laugh.

“Hi, Taehyung," Athea said, confusion apparent in her voice.

“'Sup.” His tone stayed the same.

But you noticed something small. He shifted slightly closer to you without even thinking about it. Subtle. Protective. Athea noticed too and a slow smile spread across her face.

“Well,” Athea said, grabbing your arm again, “I’m stealing her for a minute.”

You started dragging you toward the dance floor. You looked back over your shoulder. Taehyung was already leaning against the bar again, like the whole interaction had barely registered, but his eyes followed you through the crowd.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The cold air outside hit you the second you stepped onto the sidewalk. Your ears were still ringing from the music. Athea grabbed your wrist and pulled you a few feet down the block, away from the crowd and the neon lights buzzing above the entrance.

Then she stopped and turned, staring straight at you. You already knew that look.

Athea crossed her arms. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you known Taehyung.”

You blinked. “Why?”

Athea let out a slow breath like she’d been holding it in since inside the club. “Y/N. Answer the question.”

You hesitated. “…A couple weeks.”

Athea’s eyes widened. “A couple weeks?!”

“It’s not like that!”

“Then explain why the guy who used to skip half of sophomore year and get into fights behind the gym just stepped in like your personal bodyguard.”

“Wait," you stepped closer. “You know him from school?”

Athea nodded slowly. “High school for a bit. Gave me weed few months ago at a party."

“For a bit?”

“He dropped out junior year.”

Something about the way Athea said it made you pause. It wasn’t in a judge-mental way— you were just understanding.

“Was he bad?” You asked quietly.

Athea tilted her head, thinking. “Not exactly.”

That answer surprised you.

“But he wasn’t exactly good either,” Athea added.

You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, staring down the street where cars slid past in streaks of light. “He doesn’t seem like that.”

Athea laughed. “He acts like he’s half asleep all the time,” she said. “Makes people think he’s harmless.”

You thought about the way Taehyung leaned against his car. The way he talked. The way he’d stepped in at the bar without raising his voice.

“…He is calm,” you admitted.

Athea looked at you sharply. “You guys talk?” You hesitated and Athea’s eyes narrowed. “Y/N.”

“It’s not a big deal."

"You're buying from him," Athea blurted.

"Oh my god, Athea," you looked around. "Can you say it louder?"

She leaned in closer. "A dealer doesn't make conversation with just anybody."

You tried not to laugh. “That sounds very dramatic.”

“I’m serious," Athea studied your face carefully. “You like him!”

“What? No.”

“You do.”

“I barely know him.”

Athea shook her head. "That doesn't stop feelings."

"He's..." you begun. "Interesting."

"So," Athea giggled. "You're curious."

You shrugged. "Maybe a little."

“For what it’s worth,” she said after a moment, “he wasn’t a bad guy in school.”

You looked up.

“He just… had a lot going on.”

That oddly made something in your chest soften slightly. You nodded. That sounded about right.

Athea suddenly pointed a finger at you. “But if he breaks your heart, I’m fighting him.”

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

It was colder than usual a few nights later. The kind of cold that made the air sharp in your lungs when you stepped outside your building.

Taehyung's car was already parked at the curb. You walked over, hugging your sweater closer around you.

When you tapped lightly on the window, it rolled down halfway.

“Hey,” he said. His voice sounded rougher than usual, like he’d been driving for hours.

“Hi,” you leaned slightly on the door. “You’ve been busy tonight?”

“Little bit.”

You expected him to pass the bag through the window, but the sharp winter, city air gushed into his window after hitting you.

"Get in.”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s cold.” He said it like it was obvious.

You hesitated for half a second, then opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The door shut with a heavy thud.

Inside, the world went quiet. The windows were so dark the streetlights barely touched the interior. The dashboard glowed dimly, casting soft blue light across the car.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. Weed. And something deeper underneath it, something warm, clean, sexy. Cologne.

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, one big arm resting on the center console. Up close, you could see the thick lines of ink along his veiny forearm disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket.

He handed you the small bag. You passed him the cash. Your fingers brushed again. Neither of you moved right away.

You cleared your throat softly. "This car is… intense.”

Taehyung looked around the interior like he hadn’t noticed. “It’s just a car.”

“Your windows are definitely illegal.”

He shrugged. "Probably."

You laughed quietly.

The sound filled the small space between you and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The car hummed softly, engine still running, heaters blasting. Then Taehyung reached into the center console.

“Smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking that after I buy from you like four times?”

“Just offering," He pulled out a joint and a lighter. The flame flickered briefly as he lit it, the orange glow illuminating his face for a second.

He took a slow drag, ghosting the white smoke through his lips and back in, then held it out toward you.

You almost hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. Because the air between you suddenly felt… heavier.

You took it from his fingers. Your hands brushed again. This time you noticed the heat of his hand again. You took a drag, coughing slightly.

Taehyung chuckled under his breath. “Easy.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not.”

But he was watching you. Carefully.

You leaned back in the seat, exhaling the smoke, watching in curl in the air. “This car feels like a movie scene.”

“What kind of movie?” He asked, no change in his demeanor.

You shrugged. “The kind where people make bad decisions.”

That almost-smile appeared again. “Sounds about right.”

You handed the joint back to him. Your fingers lingered just a second too long. Neither of you commented on it. Outside, a car passed slowly down the street. Inside, it felt like time had slowed down.

You turned slightly toward him. “You’re actually not as mysterious as you think you are.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Explain.”

You studied him for a moment. “You’re quiet.”

“Mm.”

“But you notice everything.”

Taehyung didn’t respond which, somehow, proved your point. You smiled. “See?”

He shook his head slightly, looking down at the joint before taking another drag. “You talk a lot.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Observation.”

You laughed again. The sound was softer this time. Warmer. Despite the spacious car, the space between you felt smaller now. For a moment you thought he might say something else.

But instead nothing. Once you finished the joint, Taehyung glanced toward your building.

“You got studying to do?”

You sighed. “Unfortunately.”

He nodded toward the door. “Then go study.”

You opened the car door, but paused halfway out, looking back at him.

“You’re coming back to this street again, right?”

His expression barely changed. “Probably.”

“Good.” You stepped out, closing the door.

As you walked toward your building, you could feel his eyes on you. When you reached the door, you glanced back. Taehyung was still sitting in the car, watching.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

It was two hours past midnight when you finally stepped out of the restaurant. The cold hit you instantly.

You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, tucking your chin into the collar as you started the walk home. The streets were quieter this late—just the occasional car passing, the distant rumble of a bus somewhere downtown.

Your feet were sore. Your hair still smelled faintly like fryer oil and citrus cleaner. You were halfway across 4th when headlights rolled slowly down the street. A familiar black car with no plate.

You stopped mid-step. The car slowed before pulling over. The driver’s window slid down, revealing none other than Taehyung. He leaned slightly toward it. “Late shift?”

You smiled, a little surprised. “Yeah.”

He glanced toward the restaurant behind you. “You always get off this late?”

“Depends on the night.”

For a second neither of you moved. Then, Taehyung pushed the door open and stepped out. “You walking home?”

You nodded your head down the street. "It's just there.”

He nodded once. “I’ll walk.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

But he started walking anyway. You fell into step beside him. For a minute you just walked in silence, footsteps echoing softly on the sidewalk.

“You look tired,” Taehyung said after a moment.

You sighed. “Ten-hour shift after classes.”

“What do you do there again?”

“Everything.”

That made him huff a brief laugh. “Sounds about right.”

You glanced over at him. “What were you doing over there?”

“Dropping something off.”

Of course. You nodded like that answer made perfect sense. A cold gust of wind swept down the street. You shivered. Taehyung noticed immediately.

“You got gloves?”

“No.”

He slipped one hand out of his jacket pocket and handed them to you.

You blinked. “You’re not cold?”

“I’m fine.”

You hesitated, then slid them on. They were warm and way too big for your hands. “Thanks.”

He just nodded.

You kept walking and by the time they reached your building, neither of you had noticed how slowly you'd been moving. The laundromat lights buzzed above you.

You stopped at the door. “Well… this is me.”

Taehyung nodded. His hands slid back into his jacket pockets.

Then you said, almost casually, “Do you want to come up?”

The words surprised both of you slightly. Taehyung’s eyebrow lifted. “Up?”

“For tea,” you added quickly. “Or something.”

He studied your face for a second. Not suspicious. Just curious. It wasn’t exactly common to invite a dealer up for tea.

“Thought you had studying to do.”

“I do.”

“So you’re inviting distractions now?”

You shrugged slightly. “Maybe.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Dangerous.”

You pushed the door open. “Are you coming or not?”

Taehyung hesitated just a moment before he followed you inside. The stairwell smelled faintly like detergent and damp concrete as you climbed the narrow steps. You unlocked your apartment door.

When it opened, the warm glow of your lamps spilled softly into the hallway. Taehyung paused just inside. The same way he had the first time he’d imagined it. Cozy and warm. Books. Blankets. Soft light.

Nothing like the places he was used to.

You kicked off your shoes. “See? Not scary.”

Taehyung glanced around slowly. “Nice.”

You smiled. “Everyone says that like they’re surprised.”

He stepped further inside. “I’m not surprised.”

“Then what are you?”

He looked back at you. “Curious.”

The word hung between you. You felt the air shift slightly. “About what?” you asked.

Taehyung leaned lightly against the wall near the door. He shrugged. “‘Bout you.”

Your heart skipped in a way you hoped wasn’t obvious. You turned quickly toward the kitchen.

“Well,” you said, trying to sound casual, “tea?”

Behind you, Taehyung’s quiet voice answered. “Yeah.”

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The kettle hummed softly on the stove.

You leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely as you waited for the water to heat. Behind you, Taehyung had wandered slowly around the apartment. Not snooping. Just looking. His fingers brushed the spine of a book on the coffee table.

“Grad school stuff?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

He flipped the cover open briefly, then closed it again. “Looks painful.”

“It is.”

The kettle clicked off. You poured the hot water into two mismatched mugs and handed one to him. Your fingers brushed again. This time, neither of you pulled away immediately.

Taehyung took the mug but stayed standing close to you. Closer than before.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

You moved to the couch again, sitting a little closer than earlier. The radiator ticked quietly beside the window. Outside, a car passed through the wet streetlight glow. You tucked your feet under yourself.

“So,” you said, glancing over at him, “Athea says she knew you in school.”

Taehyung’s eyes flicked toward you. “Did she.”

“Said you disappeared junior year.”

He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Something like that.”

You waited. He didn’t seem annoyed. Just thoughtful.

“My mom got sick,” he said after a moment. His voice stayed casual, but quieter than usual. “Had to work.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s hard.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Was what it was.”

You studied his face. There was something different about him when he said it.

“You ever think about going back?” you asked gently.

Taehyung shook his head. “Nah. Got other things going on.”

You didn’t push further. Something told you that was as much as he was going to give tonight. Instead you smiled a little with a nod. For a moment you just looked at each other. The space between you felt warmer now.

Taehyung set his mug down on the table. When he leaned back, his arm settled along the back of the couch behind you. Not touching, but close. Your heart beated a little faster. You pretended to focus on your tea.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said softly.

He glanced at you. “You talk enough for both of us.”

You laughed. “Rude.”

Taehyung’s fingers brushed lightly against the back of your sweater. Barely a touch. Almost accidental. You didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned slightly closer.

“You do that a lot,” you said.

“What.”

“Act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “You sayin’ I’m flirting with you?”

You looked at him over the rim of your mug. “…Maybe.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slowly. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed was heavier now. Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the window. You set your mug down.

“You know,” you said, glancing at him, “most people would probably be nervous having you in their apartment.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re mysterious.”

“There it is again.”

“And you sell drugs.”

He shrugged. “Light ones.”

You laughed. Taehyung looked around the apartment again. The soft lamps. The blanket on the couch. Your books scattered across the table.

“You’re different from most people I meet,” he said.

You looked over. “Good different or bad different?”

He thought about that for a second. “Good.”

Your chest warmed slightly. “Thanks.”

Another quiet moment passed. Then, Taehyung stood up. “Probably should go.”

You frowned a little. “Already?”

“Yeah.”

But neither of you moved toward the door right away. You were standing closer now. Much closer than before.

You suddenly noticed how tall he was again as Taehyung looked down at you, brown eyes boring into yours. For a second it felt like something might happen. But instead, he stepped back slightly.

“Should lock your door,” he said casually.

You smiled. “I always do.”

“Good.”

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Before leaving, he glanced back at you once more.

“You working tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Late?”

“Probably.”

He nodded. "Might see you.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. “Maybe.”

Taehyung gave you one last slight smile before heading down the stairs. Moments later, you heard the front door of the building close. You walked to the window just in time to see his car pull away from the curb down the street.

And for the first time since you met him… you realized you didn’t want him to leave so quickly.

--

You weren't expecting to see him again so soon.

Your shift had ended late again, the streets damp from a light drizzle that had passed earlier. The air smelled like rain and asphalt as you stepped out of the restaurant. Halfway down the block, you heard a familiar engine.

The blacked out car rolled slowly beside the curb, the dark passenger window sliding down.

“You get off work at the same time every night?” Taehyung asked.

You smiled. “You waiting for me?”

He shrugged. “Was in the area.”

You laughed softly. “Sure.”

He tilted his head toward the passenger door. “Get in.”

You hesitated for maybe half a second before opening the door. Inside, the car was warm. The familiar scent of weed and his cologne wrapped around you immediately. The dashboard lights glowed faint blue against the dark interior.

“Long shift?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He pulled away from the curb before you could ask where you were going.

“Where are we going?” you asked anyway.

“Drive.”

“That’s not a location.”

“It’ll be fine.”

You leaned back in the seat, watching the city blur past the tinted windows. The streets were quieter now. Neon signs glowing, traffic lights changing for empty intersections.

“You do this a lot?” you asked.

“Drive?”

“Disappear in the middle of the night.”

“Helps me think.”

You drove for a while after that. Talking about small things. Your classes. His car. The weird customers you dealt with at the restaurant. His former strange customers.

At some point the streets turned steeper, the buildings thinner. Eventually, Taehyung turned into a small overlook parking lot. The city skyline stretched out below you, lights glittering across the dark water.

You leaned forward slightly. “Whoa.”

Taehyung shut off the engine. The sudden quiet made the world feel still.

“You’ve never been here?” he asked.

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

He leaned back in his seat, watching your reaction more than the view “It’s nice.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You sat beside him, knees turned slightly toward the door, though you weren't really looking outside anymore.

You had been talking for hours.

Somehow it had started with something stupid—complaining about people—and turned into childhood stories, random confessions, and the kind of comfortable silence that only happens when two people forget what time it is.

Taehyung glanced over at you.

“Y’know,” he said casually, voice low, “you’re not what I expected.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what exactly were you expecting?”

He smirked a little, tilting his head as he studied you. “Someone quieter.”

You scoffed. “That’s insulting.”

“No,” he said, a small laugh slipping out. “I mean it in a good way.”

He reached over absentmindedly, brushing something invisible off the sleeve of your jacket. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary. Neither of you acknowledged it.

The music in the background hummed quietly through the speakers. Taehyung leaned back again, exhaling slowly.

“You talk a lot when you’re comfortable,” he said.

You crossed your arms. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

He looked genuinely amused by that. “Have I?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Then he grinned. “Working?”

You tried not to laugh but failed. Taehyung watched that reaction like he’d just won something. The wind drifted through the car, carrying the faint scent of weed and his cologne. The space suddenly felt smaller. Quieter.

“Why do you come up here?” You asked after a moment.

He looked back out at the skyline. His expression changed slightly—not sad exactly, but distant.

“Clear my head,” he said.

“From what?”

He shrugged. “Everything.”

You noticed. Taehyung noticed that you did. So, he gently bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe I am.”

Your eyes locked. The moment stretched. Taehyung’s small smile faded into something quieter, something almost thoughtful. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before flicking back up.

For a second it felt like the entire city had gone silent.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, Taehyung leaned back again, running a hand through his hair like he had to physically break the moment.

But something about the way he kept glancing at you afterward had changed. And for the first time in a long time, Taehyung realized he might be in trouble.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The car was parked outside your building again. It had become a habit without either of you acknowledging it.

Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel while you talked about something that happened during your shift. Your voice was animated, hands moving as you reenacted the whole thing.

“And then he goes, ‘I know the owner.’”

Taehyung scoffed. “They always know the owner.”

“Right?” you laughed. “Like okay, call him then.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips. The way your eyes lit up when you were telling a story. The way you leaned closer without realizing it. The small crease that formed between your brows when you were being dramatic.

He’d noticed these things before. But tonight it felt different.

You stopped mid-sentence. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Taehyung blinked like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. “I’m not staring.”

“You literally are.”

He looked away toward the windshield, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head. “Dangerous.”

He emitted a small laugh from his nose, but his chest felt strange. Heavy. Because the thought that had just crossed his mind wouldn’t go away. He liked being here. Not the neighborhood. Not the car. Not the late-night boredom.

You. And the realization hit him all at once. The late-night drives. Waiting outside your shifts. Remembering small things you said days ago. The way he automatically reached for the passenger seat when you weren't there.

Taehyung leaned his head back against the seat, exhaling slowly.

You watched him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

But his brain kept replaying the same thing over and over. He wasn’t just flirting anymore. He was looking forward to seeing you. Missing you when you weren't around.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Taehyung glanced over at you again.

You were looking out the window now, unaware of the storm that had just started in his head. And somehow that made it worse.

Because you had no idea. He swallowed, looking back out at the city lights.

Fuck. He was falling for you.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The car heater hummed quietly, fog starting to gather along the edges of the windshield. Taehyung leaned back in the driver’s seat, one arm draped casually behind your headrest.

It had started as a normal conversation, followed by a smoke session. It always did. But lately, the space between you kept shrinking.

“You’re staring again,” you said, glancing at him.

Taehyung smirked. “Maybe you just like being looked at.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped a little. “Then why you dressed like that tonight?”

You looked down at yourself. It was just a sweater and a skirt you found months ago, followed with dark tights and black, worn, knee-high boots.

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“Nothing,” he said easily. But his eyes moved slowly over you anyway. “Looks good on you.”

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

He reached out then, fingers brushing lightly against the sleeve of your sweater. Just a small touch. But he didn’t pull his hand away. The car suddenly felt smaller.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“Why you’re being weird tonight.”

“Weird?”

“You’re extra… something.”

“Something?”

His tattooed fingers slid lazily down your arm before stopping at your wrist. Not grabbing. Just holding it there.

“You nervous or something?” he murmured, his low gaze piercing into yours.

You tried to keep your voice steady. “I’m not nervous.”

He tilted his head, studying you like he didn’t believe that for a second. “Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You can’t feel my heartbeat.”

He shrugged, still holding your wrist. “Feels fast.”

“Taehyung.”

His mouth curved into a small smirk, low eyes watching your expression. “Relax, Y/N.”

His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist absentmindedly. The motion was soft. Distracted. But it sent a spark straight up your body.

“I’m just sitting here.”

“You’re not just sitting.”

He leaned a little closer now, elbow resting against the center console.

“Why you always accusing me of things?”

“Because you’re—”

You stopped mid-sentence. Because now, he was really close. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cologne and smoke on him. Taehyung noticed the pause.

His eyes flicked down briefly to your lips before returning to your face.

“Because I’m what?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed. “Trouble.”

He slightly chuckled under his breath. “Yeah?”

His fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, turning it slightly in his.“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

The tension in the car thickened and neither of you moved. Outside, the street was completely silent.

Taehyung looked at you for a long second before murmuring, “You always look this pretty after classes, or is tonight special?”

You stared at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Still sitting here though.”

His thumb traced slowly across your knuckles. His hand briefly brushed your thigh. Not rushed. Not shy. Just comfortable.

Like touching you had already become normal. And that was the problem. Because neither of you were pretending anymore.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung’s apartment building looked exactly like the kind of place people warned you about. Old brick. Flickering hallway lights. Graffiti on the side of the stairwell.

The stairwell smelled faintly like smoke and cleaning supplies. Your footsteps echoed as you both climbed to the second floor. When he unlocked the door, you weren't expecting what you saw.

The apartment was… surprisingly nice. Minimal.

Black couch. Black coffee table. A sleek TV mounted on the wall. Everything clean, organized, almost too neat.

But it still felt unfinished. Like no one had ever bothered to soften the space. Like it was almost screaming for a woman’s touch. No plants. No art. No warm lighting. Just sharp lines and dark furniture.

You stepped inside slowly. “Wow.”

Taehyung tossed his keys onto the counter. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you said, glancing around. “I expected something different.”

He leaned casually against the kitchen counter.

“Like what?”

“Messier.”

He smirked. “You sayin’ I look messy?”

“Maybe.”

He pushed himself off the counter and walked closer. You suddenly became very aware of how small the apartment felt.

“You always look this cute,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “or is it just when you see me?”

Your eyes widened a little. “Taehyung.”

“What? You nervous again?”

“I’m not nervous.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cologne and weed again.

“Then why you standing so stiff?”

“I’m not stiff.”

“You are.”

His hand moved almost absentmindedly to your waist. Not grabbing. Just resting there. Warm. You froze for half a second, but you didn’t move away.

Taehyung noticed immediately. His thumb brushed lightly against the side of your sweater.

“You always this quiet when you come over to a guy’s place?”

“I don’t usually go to guys’ places,” you said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

That made him almost smile. Something softer this time. “Good.”

His hand slid slightly along your waist. Then it went just a little lower. A little too low.

You inhaled sharply. “Taehyung.”

“Hm?” His voice dropped a little, but he didn’t remove his hand.

Instead, he leaned closer, his other arm bracing lightly against the wall behind you. Not trapping you, just close enough that you felt surrounded by him. His broad shoulders and ridiculous height were blocking your entire view, your eyes showing you nothing but him.

“You gonna stop me?” he murmured.

Your heart was beating way too fast now. “You’re very confident.”

“I know.”

His fingers shifted slightly against your side again, slow and distracted, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Which somehow made it worse.

You shook your head softly. “You’re trouble.”

Taehyung chuckled quietly. That lazy, teasing tone was still there—but something underneath it had changed.

“You keep saying that like it’s supposed to scare you.”

His other hand lifted, brushing lightly against the side of your hair. Not pushing. Just tucking a loose strand behind your ear.

The touch was softer than anything he’d done before. Which somehow made the tension worse.

Your fingers lightly grabbed the front of his hoodie without thinking, making Taehyung freeze for a split second. His eyes dropped to your hand. Then back to your face. “See?” he said quietly.

“What?”

“You touch me back.”

You swallowed. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He stepped closer again. Now there was barely any space between you. “You sure about that?”

His hand tightened slightly at your waist. Your gaze dropped to his mouth before you could stop yourself. Taehyung noticed it too and air between you felt thick. “Y/N,” he murmured.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “Yeah?”

For a second it really looked like he was going to kiss you. His eyes softened, the teasing gone now, replaced by something quieter. Something real.

But then—

Taehyung exhaled sharply and leaned his head back instead. A small, frustrated laugh left his mouth.

“Damn.”

You blinked. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, stepping half a step away. “You’re dangerous.”

You stared at him cluelessly. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He looked at you again, shaking his head slightly. “I’m trying to behave.”

That made you laugh softly. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

Taehyung smirked slightly. “Yeah."

His eyes drifted to your lips one more time before meeting your gaze again.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly.

He walked back into the living room after dropping you off home. His place suddenly felt too big. Every part of it now reminded him of you.

The way you stood near the door looking around like you were studying everything. The soft laugh you let out when he said something stupid. The way you said his name when he got too close.

He dropped onto the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His brain replayed the moment against the wall again. Your hand grabbing the front of his hoodie. The way you looked at him. And the way you looked at his mouth.

Taehyung groaned quietly and dragged a hand down his face. He’d been seconds away from kissing you. Seconds.

And for someone like him, that wasn’t usually a big deal. But with you, it suddenly felt like it would mean something. That was the problem.

Waiting outside your shift. Driving around the city just to talk. Letting you sit in his car for hours. Inviting you over. None of that was normal for him.

Taehyung scoffed softly, shaking his head.

Because the more he thought about you—

The more he realized he didn’t want this to stop. Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck again, staring at the ceiling.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

It was late again. Too late for most people to be outside.

The street in front of your building was quiet except for Taehyung’s car idling at the curb. You stood beside the passenger door, arms wrapped loosely around yourself against the cold.

“You don’t have to wait until I go inside,” you said.

Taehyung leaned against the side of the car, hands in his pockets. “Yeah I do.”

“You don’t.”

He shrugged. “I want to.”

That made you smile a little.

The streetlamp above you cast a soft orange glow over the sidewalk. Your apartment window light was on above them, faintly glowing through the curtains. There was a small pause. Neither of you moved toward the door yet.

You shifted slightly, looking up at him. “You’re quiet tonight.”

He studied you for a moment.

“You get shy every time I get close. It's cute.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed. “I don't get shy.”

Taehyung stepped a little closer. The air between you changed immediately. You noticed it too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.

“What thing?”

“This… intense staring.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe I like looking at you.”

Your heart kicked a little harder. “Taehyung—”

His hand moved to your waist again, like it belonged there now. His silver rings nudging at your skin through your clothes. You didn’t move away.

“You trust me a lot,” he said. “For someone who keeps telling me I'm trouble.”

“You are trouble.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

His thumb brushed slowly along your side. “But you keep showing up.”

You looked down for a second before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe I’m curious.”

That made something shift in his expression. Softer but more serious. He stepped closer. Now there was barely any space between you.

“You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“Because I might believe you.”

The tension thickened. Your fingers lightly grabbed the front of his black leather jacket again without thinking. The same way you had that night in his apartment. Taehyung glanced down at your hand, then back at your face.

“You keep doing that,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Pulling me closer.”

“I’m not—”

Your sentence cut off. Because this time he didn’t pull back.

His hand slid slightly higher along your waist, steady and warm. His other hand lifted slowly, brushing lightly along your cheek. The touch made your breath catch.

Taehyung leaned down just a little. Close enough that your foreheads almost touched.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You shook your head slightly. That was all the permission he needed.

The kiss started slow. Careful. Like he was testing it. His lips brushed yours once, soft and brief.

But the moment it happened, something shifted amongst you. The hesitation disappeared.

You pulled him closer by the front of his jacket, and Taehyung responded instantly, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as he kissed you again—this time deeper, warmer, like he’d been wanting to do it for weeks.

The city around you faded into the background. Just the quiet street. The cold air. And the warmth of him standing close enough that you could feel his heartbeat through his jacket.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing a little unevenly. Taehyung rested his forehead lightly against yours.

For a second after the kiss, neither of you moved. Your hand was still gripping the front of Taehyung’s jacket. His hand still rested warm against your waist.

Taehyung looked down at you like he was trying to process what had just happened.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. But neither of you stepped away. His thumb brushed lightly along your side again. And suddenly the small distance between you felt unbearable.

You leaned in first this time. The second kiss wasn’t careful. Your hand tightened in his jacket as your lips met again, and Taehyung responded instantly, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

“Y/N—” he murmured against your mouth, but the warning didn’t last long.

You kissed him again before he could finish the sentence. That made him laugh softly under his breath, like he’d just given up pretending he had any self control.

His hand moved up your back, steady and warm, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you again—slower this time, but deeper.

The cold night air barely registered anymore. All you could feel was the warmth of him and the way his fingers traced lightly along your side.

When you pulled apart again, it only lasted a second. Taehyung looked at you like he was debating something.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow. “You kissed me.”

“You grabbed my jacket.”

“You leaned in first.”

He smirked slightly. “You started it.”

But before you could argue, he kissed you again. This time his hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, steady and gentle as he pulled you closer. It felt less hesitant now, like you both finally stopped pretending.

When you finally broke apart again, you laughed softly, a little breathless. “We should probably stop.”

Taehyung glanced toward your apartment building… then back at you.

“Probably,” he agreed.

But neither of you moved. Instead, his hand slid back to your waist again, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Just one more,” he said quietly.

You rolled your eyes. And then he kissed you again anyway.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The hallway outside your apartment felt colder than the street.

You fumbled slightly with your keys while Taehyung stood behind you, broad shoulders towering you as his hands were shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You missed the keyhole twice.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Stop talking.”

Taehyung smirked. The door finally clicked open.

Your apartment felt warmer than usual when you stepped inside. The soft glow from the lamps filled the small studio, the same cozy lighting Taehyung had noticed the first time he saw your window from the street. No overhead lights, just warm pools of amber light across the room.

Taehyung closed the door behind you. For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence was different now. Heavy.

You set your keys down on the small table, trying to act normal.

“So,” you said, a little breathlessly, “do you want some tea or—”

Your sentence cut off because suddenly Taehyung was right behind you. Close enough that you felt the heat of him before you even turned around.

“You trying to calm down?” he asked quietly, warmth shooting down your back.

“Maybe.”

“That’s cute.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms slightly. “You’re not helping.”

Taehyung laughed under his breath. “I’m not doing anything.”

But his hands were already moving to your waist. Familiar now. Natural. His fingers settled there easily, thumbs brushing slowly along the fabric of your sweater.

You exhaled. “You said we should calm down.”

“I did.” His voice was lower now. “But you invited me upstairs.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

His hand slid slightly lower along your side. Not rushed, but just enough to make your breath catch again.

“You look pretty.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You saying things like that.”

He smirked faintly. “You always look this cute or just when you see me?”

You groaned softly. “You already used that line.”

“Still true.”

His hand shifted again, fingers resting lower along your hip now. A little more daring than before, making you notice immediately.

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?”

His thumb traced a slow circle against your side. The casual confidence in the gesture made the tension spike all over again. The small studio suddenly felt even smaller.

“You should sit,” You said.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You think sitting down’s gonna help?”

“Maybe.”

But when you tried to move toward the couch, his hand caught lightly at your waist again. Not stopping you completely; just slowing you down.

“Y/N.” His voice was quieter now.

You turned back toward him which was a big mistake. Because now you were close again. Close enough that the tension from outside came rushing back instantly.

Taehyung looked at you for a long second before shaking his head slightly.

“You really invited the wrong guy upstairs if you wanted to calm down.”

You laughed softly, though your heart was racing again. “You came anyway.”

“Yeah.”

His hand slid slowly along your waist again, pulling you just a little closer. And a second later he leaned down and kissed you again.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

20 minutes later~

The convenience store near your apartment was almost empty. Just the low hum of the refrigerators and a bored cashier behind the counter. You walked down one of the aisles, holding a basket while Taehyung followed beside you, towering over you like a personal bodyguard.

“You’re buying too many snacks,” he said.

“They’re for studying.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I studied.”

You grabbed a bag of chips and tossed it into the basket. “You’re very judgmental for someone who showed up uninvited.”

“I was invited.”

“I said you could come up.”

“Exactly.”

You reached for the drink cooler and bent slightly to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf. When you stood up again, you almost ran into someone.

“Oh—sorry.”

A guy around your age stepped aside quickly. “No worries.”

His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary and Taehyung noticed immediately.

You moved past him, heading toward the register. But Taehyung stayed where he was for a moment, watching the guy glance back once and check you out.

Something in Taehyung's expression changed. Subtle. Quiet. Then he followed you. By the time you reached the counter, Taehyung was standing close behind you. Both of his hands rested casually on your waist.

You glanced up at him. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?"

“This,” you gestured lightly toward his arm around you.

He looked down at his hands like he’d just noticed it. “Oh.”

But he didn’t move it. The cashier rang up the snacks, glancing between you with a small smile.

“You two together?”

“Yeah.”

Simple. Casual. Like it was obvious. You blinked slightly, looking up at him. But his expression stayed the same, like he hadn’t said anything strange at all.

The cashier nodded. “Thought so.”

Taehyung handed over a bill before you could act. He grabbed the bag of snacks as you walked out of the store, the cool night air hitting you again.

You turned toward him immediately. “You didn’t correct her.”

“Correct what?”

“You said we’re together.”

Taehyung shrugged, walking beside you. “Felt easier.”

“Easier?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced down at you. “You complainin'?”

You hesitated. “…No.”

That made him smile faintly. As you reached the sidewalk, his hand returned to your waist again automatically, pulling you closer to his side as you walked.

“You’re very touchy tonight.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You mind?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Taehyung hummed. “Good.”

His thumb brushed lightly along your side as you walked toward your building, sharing one of his joints together.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung didn't plan to stay much longer after helping you get your snacks. As much as he wanted to, he wanted to give you time to study. Until you both ended up on the couch again.

The same dim lamps lit the small room, the soft amber light making everything feel warm and sleepy. Some random show played on the TV. Neither of you were paying attention.

“You’re staring again,” you said.

Taehyung leaned back. “You like when I stare.”

“I do not.”

He chuckled deeply. “Sure.”

His hand rested casually on the middle of the space between you. Then, slowly, it moved. Settling naturally on your thigh. You immediately glanced down.

“Taehyung.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

His thumb traced a slow line over the fabric of your leggings like he wasn’t doing anything unusual.

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not.”

His hand stayed there. Warm. Heavy. Comfortable. But then his fingers shifted slightly higher. Just a little. You inhaled softly.

“What's wrong?” His tone was lazy, teasing.

But his eyes were watching you closely.

His thumb brushed along your thigh again, sliding slightly upward this time before stopping. Right at the edge of where it would definitely be too high.

You grabbed his wrist lightly. “Taehyung.”

He smirked. “What?”

“You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that.”

Your fingers were still around his wrist, but you didn't push his hand away. He noticed that immediately.

“You gonna move my hand?” he asked.

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

But you didn’t.

Taehyung leaned a little closer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what I thought.”

The tension in the room thickened again.

You shook your head slightly. “You’re trouble.”

"I know."

After a moment he finally moved his hand, sliding it back down your thigh in a slow, almost reluctant motion.

“Relax,” he said.

“You’re the one making it difficult.”

“That’s kind of my thing.”

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

You were still leaning against Taehyung’s shoulder when he shifted slightly beside you.

“You falling asleep on me?” he murmured.

“Maybe.”

“You’re supposed to be studying tonight.”

“You’re distracting.”

He chuckled softly at that. “Yeah?”

You turned your head slightly to look at him. Big mistake. Because suddenly you were too close again. Taehyung noticed the way your eyes flicked down to his mouth. The same way you had outside your building.

“You keep doing that,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to make some trouble.”

You rolled your eyes slightly. “You’re the trouble.”

His hand slid slowly from the back of the couch to your waist again. The movement was natural now. But this time he didn’t stop there. His fingers tightened slightly at your side as he leaned closer.

“Taehyung—”

But whatever you were about to say disappeared the moment he kissed you. This kiss wasn’t careful like the first one. Or teasing like the others. It was deeper, hungrier. Like all the tension between you had finally snapped.

Your hand immediately grabbed the front of his shirt again, pulling him closer which Taehyung responded to instantly; one arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into him. Your chest was flushed against his before he manhandled you with one arm and onto his lap, straddling him.

The kiss deepened, slow but intense, weeks of teasing finally spilling over. The room felt warmer and smaller around you. Your fingers slid up into his hair without thinking, and Taehyung let out a quiet laugh against your lips.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“You started it.”

“You invited me upstairs.”

“You came.”

That made him smile slightly before kissing you again. His hands moved carefully along your sides, pulling you closer until the space between you disappeared completely.

At some point the blankets and pillows fell to the floor as the TV kept playing quietly in the background. Neither of you noticed because now, you were completely wrapped up in each other. You desperately tugged at his black tee, making him groan in your mouth.

When you finally paused for breath, Taehyung rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“You sure about this?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him, eyes warm, breath still uneven. "Yes."

And then he kissed you again. This time, the softness disappeared quickly. Your tongues colliding, desperately fighting for dominance before he took over yours. One of his hands laid low at your hip while the other rested on the back of your head.

"God," he growled. "You drive me fucking insane."

His words sent chills down your spine before he pulled away, aiming at your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the back of your ear to your collarbone. He took in every noise that left your mouth, something that made him feel dizzy.

"Can't get enough of you," he murmured in your ear.

At this point, his hand was fully grabbing your ass while the other laid lazily on your neck. You were a whimpering mess beneath him as he kissed you, before his finger tugged at the neckline of your top.

"You first," you teased after shaking your head.

He growled into the kiss before quickly sliding both of his giant palms on either side of your ass, picking you up and straddling you against his chest. He settled you on one arm as he roughly opened the door to your bedroom and gently sat you down on the bed.

Then, he did it. Before you could blink, his shirt was off, his buff arms dragging the fabric up and revealing his built chest and the shoulders that now increased ten times in size. Tattoos crawled up his entire body, swirling around his arm, littered across his chest, down his steel abs and back up around his neck.

You visibly bit your lip as he watched you check him out with a large smirk. It wasn't long before he was towering over you at the edge of the bed, eyes dark.

He lowered his mouth to yours, kissing you with hunger before immediately reaching for the hem of your top and gently taking it off of you. Now, it was his turn to check you out as he visibly paused, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

"Always look so beautiful baby," he whispered in your ear.

The name was enough to make you soak through your leggings. It was then when he laid you down on the bed, kissing all over your chest and gently sucking on your tits, crawling on top of you. One veiny hand by your head while the other greedily roamed your body like it was all his.

His fingers came close to your thigh before stopping near your clit. He traced over it through the fabric which earned a breathy moan from you. He darkly chuckled at the wetness already there.

"Wet already for me baby?" He muttered into a kiss.

"These comin' off now," He tugged at your leggings, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

Before you knew it, you were in nothing but your thong.

"Wore this for me?" he grunted, fingers tugging at the lacy material before his eyes praised your body.

"So fuckin' perfect."

Taehyung quickly pulled away to take off his already sagging jeans that revealed the hem of his Calvin Klein boxers. You got up, reaching for his belt loop. He immediately pulled his hands back, grunting as he watched you undo it for him.

You gasped once his jeans hit the floor, the belt causing a thud noise. Large tattoos wrapped around his thick, chiseled legs but you hardly noticed them. Because you were shocked-- you knew it would be big. But this? Beneath his white boxers awaited a monster, one that was clearly hungry for you. You've had boyfriends, but this is a size you've never seen before. He smirked.

"Taehyung--" you uttered.

"See what you do to me baby?" he muttered, leaning down to your ear.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining it with his and pressed a brief kiss to it before dragging it along his hard cock. "Make it so hard for me to behave."

You bit your lip and palmed your hand against his length, making sure to lightly drag your nail along with it. It twitched beneath you before Taehyung let out a groan, immediately picking you up and gently tossing you onto the bed, making you giggle.

He climbed on top of you, engulfing you in a hungry kiss as he lazily traced his fingers up and down your clit. It wasn't long before he pulled your thong to the side and inserted a thick, tattooed finger in you.

You gasped as you immediately clenched around him earning a deep groan from him. It had been awhile for the both of you. Once you adjusted, he inserted another and began to go in and out.

"Fuck baby," he groaned against your neck. "Might tear you apart tonight."

You moaned at that and he couldn't ignore the way your walls got tighter around his fingers, sucking them in through your wetness.

"Like that?" he breathed. "Want me to tear you apart pretty girl?"

You nodded desperately followed by a whine, not trusting your own voice. He then leaned down, leaving a trail of kisses down your figure before stopping below your waist. He left the smallest kiss on your clit then began to gently lap at your pussy.

You cried out; your fingers immediately tangling in his dark fluffy hair and almost pulling on his head. He then dived in you like his was hungry— like he had been starved for days while his two fingers continued to thrust inside you. You quickly felt your release coming, moaning endlessly under him as his tongue greedily explored your insides.

"Taehyung, I'm--"

It was only a brief moment before Taehyung was lapping at your release, his nose practically buried in your clit as he groaned against your pussy while you breathlessly called his name.

He couldn't get over it. How beautiful you were. How you withered underneath him and how he finally had the opportunity to worship you, make you feel good, make you forget everything but you and him.

"Taste so good, baby."

After you came down from your high, you eagerly gripped at his shoulders, tugging him towards you and immediately engulfed him into a kiss. He grinded his clothed, hard member against your exposed pussy that was dripping in arousal.

He kissed you again, tugging your earlobe between his teeth before pulling away. "Got condoms baby?"

"No," you quietly admitted.

He paused, eyes staring so deeply into yours before speaking.

"Then we don't have to--"

"I still want to."

"You sure?" He asked one more time.

"Need you, Tae" you whimpered.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Say it again."

"I need you Taehyung," you cried out.

Then he snapped, darkness completely taking over his eyes before capturing you into a rough kiss again, teeth gently colliding with one another. Your nails gripped at his boxers, and without hesitation, pulled them down.

His member sprung out in front of you, revealing his true, monstrous size. You caught yourself gasping again before reaching out, your hand seeming to have shrunk in size when you wrapped it around him, slowing pumping him.

He let out a loud moan before gently pushing you back down on your pillows, getting ready to line himself up at your entrance.

"Need to be inside you," he grunted.

He teasingly rubbed his tip back and forth at your entrance, admiring you as you whimpered below him.

"Taehyung," you cried. "Please."

He gave you one last look, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before slowly entering it in, his thick tip pushing through your tight walls. You cried out when he was barely past the entrance. He leaned closer to you, his hot breath spilling all over your neck as he pressed gentle kisses all over.

"It's okay baby," he cooed. "You're taking it so well."

After a few minutes of his encouraging praises, you became more adjusted to his size.

"Tae, you can move," you whispered.

And so, he did. He gently pushed himself all the way inside of you, moans erupting from the both of you. He kissed you as he began to thrust, slow and gentle like he was scared to break you. He was exploring every inch of you, taking his time.

"Taehyung," you moaned. "Need you to break me."

"Yeah?" he murmured, to which you nodded. "Can't take it back now, pretty girl."

His fingers dug deeper into your thighs, spreading them widely apart with his barely even a quarter of his strength. He didn't waste any time; his pace immediately quickening to an impossible speed. He hit every spot inside, earning loud moans that made him go harder.

He lifted your two legs up and placed them on either side of his shoulders, leaning down; his bare shoulders blocking your entire view. He was thrusting into you as your feet were in the air, nearly touching the headboard above your head. He was hitting places you didn't know existed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You were a moaning mess when he picked you up with one arm and flipped you over, letting you catch your breath before softly placing you in the pillows. He slapped your ass before entering inside you once again, resuming at his brutal pace.

"All mine," he growled in your hair, leaving no space between you two.

His entire body was on yours, both of his inked hands gripping your low at your hips, fingers trailing over your ass as he trusted into you with all his force.

Everything about him had you absolutely falling apart underneath him- his warmth, his words, how deep he was inside you. He treated you like an absolute angel despite ruining you, despite bruising your insides.

"Feel so fucking good," he breathed.

He kissed your neck sloppily from behind as you cried into the pillows, wet slapping noises echoing throughout your bedroom.

"You're like a drug, Y/N." He admitted, voice low and rough. "Fucking addicted to you."

If his dick wasn't enough, that had you absolutely lost. He pounded into you before you felt yourself coming to your release. You told him through the pillow and he nodded, continuing to hit the spongy part inside of you. You released yourself on his length, crying out as he made his final, slower thrusts.

"Come on my dick baby," he said. "That's it."

"Look at how beautiful you are."

He pulled out before releasing himself all over your thigh, thick hands gripping onto your hips as he cursed.

You gasped for air, turning your head to the side as he was already up and quickly looking for a towel. Before you could even process it, he was already back with one, gently wiping the mess he made on you.

"Y/N," he called out worriedly, tossing the towel somewhere and laying beside you. "You okay baby?"

You turned onto your back, giggling in disbelief. "Yeah. You?"

His heart swelled at the sight of your smile. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your hand.

"Good," he smiled softly— a reaction that he once concealed, a reaction that was hard to get out of him. But it now became familiar to you, and only you.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung’s arm was draped loosely around your waist, his breathing slow and steady against the back of your shoulder.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His hair was messy, his face softer than you'd ever seen it. Less guarded. The version of him no one else probably got to see. You smiled faintly. He slowly opened one eye, voice rough with sleep.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Just smiling at each other, taking it in. Then, Taehyung propped himself up with one elbow to look at you.

"You regret it?" he mumbled.

"What?" You stared at him like the question offended you. "No."

“Good.”

He looked relieved in a way he tried to hide, face almost buried in your neck.

After a moment you tilted your head slightly. “So… what does this make us?”

Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck. A rare, nervous gesture. “You want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you for a second. Then shrugged slightly. “I don’t really see you going anywhere.”

You smiled. “That’s not exactly romantic.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

He reached over and pulled you even closer. “But I mean it.”

You studied him. “You’re saying we’re together?”

Taehyung’s mouth tilted slightly. “Yeah.”

Then, after a pause— “If you want to be.”

You leaned forward and kissed him softly. “That’s a yes."

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Winter had turned into early summer. Your apartment looked a little different now.

There was a bouquet of flowers on the windowsill. A hoodie hanging over the back of the chair that definitely didn’t belong to you. Taehyung sat at the small kitchen counter while you finished making something.

He watched you quietly. The way you hummed softly while you worked. The way you moved around the apartment like it was both of your spaces now. He was incredibly enamored by you every waking day; his eyes never leaving you until they absolutely had to. He treated you like a princess, spoiling you rotten on shopping and dates.

Things had changed over the past months.

You knew more about him now. About the rough neighborhood he grew up in. About dropping out of school. About the years he spent learning to survive on his own.

He didn’t tell people those things. But he told you.

And you told him about your childhood too. About the loneliness. About leaving home and building a life by yourself.

Neither of you had said those words yet. But the feeling had been there for a while. Taehyung had just never said it before, to anyone.

You set the mugs down and sat across from him.

“What?” you asked when you noticed him staring.

“Nothing.”

“Thinking too much.”

Taehyung looked down at the table for a moment. Then back at you.

“You waited,” he said.

“For what?”

“For me.”

You shrugged softly. “I wasn’t in a rush.”

He nodded slightly. His fingers tapped once against the table before he spoke again.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

His voice was quieter this time. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you. Simple. But heavy. Like they meant everything.

You blinked, surprised. You knew how hard that must have been for him to say.

You smile grew slowly. “You took long enough.”

Taehyung scoffed softly. “Six months isn’t that long.”

He leaned across the table slightly, looking down at his hands. A nervous act you had never seen before.

“You gonna say it back?”

You reached over and took his hand. “I love you too.”

And if loving you was a bad decision, Taehyung knew one thing for sure— it was the best one he’d ever made.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

an: been dreaming of this fic for a minute so I decided to take matters into my own hands hehe. hope u guys like it!

check out my other tae fics here !

[malsmoony]

i’m on the biggest bts kick right now and holy fuck this was so good

[pjminii]

CULT CLASSIC ! jeon jungkook

the rewind series

you were just renting your usual blockbuster from the stupidly hot guy at the video store, when it turns out you’ve been handed a tape you really shouldn’t be watching. are you an intruder, or did he give it to you on purpose?

⌗ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader

⌗ word count. 17k

⌗ warnings and tags. pwp, don juankook (lol, jk is a ladiesman), voyeurism, penetrative sex, smitten!oc, kinda smitten!jk, weird love confession, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), oc goes limp with overstimulation lol, jk is kinda all over the places — neither dom or sub, oral pleasure (m!receiving), cum swallowing, cum eating, sloppy aftercare.

notes ! okay this is a bit overdue buttttt at least i finished it, hey! i’m so beyond amazed by my lovely girl ana’s ‘special delivery’, so i’m hoping this won’t disappoint LMAO! anyways, this is crazy. buckle up guys.

banner by @voyter obviouslyyyy

Having a stupid, all-consuming crush is something that defines girlhood. Shoving everything of importance out of your way in order to see, or spend time with set crush is really the only fair option as a young girl. 

However, when the crush has lasted for almost a decade, and you still have yet to make any further progress… it borders on obsession. And it’s incredibly embarrassing.

You see, there’s this video store in town, this tiny, kind of grungy shop that contains every single piece of media imaginable. Old and dusty traveling magazines that no one bothers reading, records and CD’s you spend months saving up for… and what is seemingly a collection of every single movie ever made. 

And behind the counter of that blockbuster shop, there sits a boy you’ve been pining after since the sixth grade. 

Jeon Jungkook. A boy so painfully attractive and charming that he has simply ruined every other man for you, ever. And so incredibly out of reach that you feel like he’s more of a distant dream rather than a real human being. 

The first spark of attraction appeared a few weeks after your twelfth birthday. You saw him through your window, which overviews the park. And there he was, the sixteen-year-old Jungkook, lighting up a cigarette near the entrance, watching patiently over the narrow path as a girl with dark hair approached him. 

At your ripe age, this was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. The way his hand snaked underneath her coat when she hugged him. How he seemingly whispered something in her ear, grinning back at her when she retracted. 

A few days later, you found out who the girl was. Tina Agnello’s cousin, who was in town for the week. You had overheard Tina talk about it during lunch break, sitting a few tables down from yours, and you almost choked on your yoghurt. 

“Isn’t fourteen a bit young for a sixteen-year-old?” you huffed, mostly to yourself. But your friend picked it up, frowning at you. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Nothing.”

It shouldn’t really have surprised you that Jungkook grew up to be the town’s Don Juan. 

He became sort of a community ride… a town bike, if you’d like. At first, you maybe thought there was something incredibly wrong with him, like some serious mental problems. Because why else would he be pounding around town? 

But at fifteen, when you stumbled into the new video store in town, trying to escape the rain that had started pouring down outside, you unexpectedly fell head first into a real-life interaction with him. And weirdly enough, he seemed perfectly normal. Disgustingly charming, that is, but normal. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Jungkook’s voice wasn’t all that deep, but it was soft, curling low in your stomach. 

You stood leaning against the glass door, your wet hair clinging to your temples, droplets falling onto the floor. “What?”

He pointed towards the street behind you, “The rain.” 

Maybe it was your brain short-cutting, but you didn’t understand what he meant… like at all. Your brows furrowed, and you repeated your question. “What?” 

“It’s this thing I do to spark sales. Trap the costumers inside.”

“You make it rain?” 

He chuckled at his own joke, incredibly stupid, but also numbingly cute, “Yeah, I find rain-dances to be very affective.”

It made you kind of mad that this guy had a captivating personality on top of his unfair looks. It would’ve honestly been better if he was just a dumb, stupid idiot, sleeping around town. But he made you laugh… and made you buy unnecessarily amounts of items from his store.

Was he a good salesman? No… not necessarily. But he was so damn flirty that you thought he might marry you if you watched the Star Trek chronicles. 

And now, at your grown age of twenty fucking years old, your bookshelf is short of books and filled to the brim with Jungkook’s movie recommendations. It might be embarrassing, but it has become a weekly ritual. Every Saturday, you stop by his shop, return last week’s watch and pick up a new one. 

“Now, how was it?” he leans forward, bracing his elbows on the counter. His eyes smize at you, trying to read the expression on your face. 

You almost can’t answer because of how close he is. Even though you’ve known each other for five years, he still has this weird hold on you, and you have to clear your throat before you speak. “I liked that the bad guy’s name was Lord Humungus.” 

He presses his lips together, his lip ring getting caught in the motion, and his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Yeah?” he nods, teasingly, and you want to go home and puke and cry. “That’s all… or…?” 

The chuckle he lets out brushes against your face… yeah, he’s that close, and your brain short-circuits. Your eyes dart down to your hands, where the VHS tape dangles from your fingers, and you slide it across the counter. “It was better than the first one.”

“I told you it worked as a stand-alone, you didn’t have to bore yourself with the first,” he smirks, the smile tugging on only one side of his lips, bearing just a bit of his bunny-teeth. 

You shrug, “I like to make up my own opinions, thanks.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

It might be a bizarre way to describe it, but his voice is laced with sex. Constantly. Like there’s always some hidden innuendo behind his words. And with the way he’s leaning forward, his biceps straining through the fabric of his navy uniform-tee, your mind runs laps, completely fogging and erasing every word you try uttering. So you just roll your eyes, trying to act casual. 

“Sorry if I don’t love macho-car-movies,” you scoff, letting your hands slip away from the counter only to tremble nervously at your sides. It’s like your whole body is vibrating just by being near him, and this isn’t anything new. It’s always been like that. He’s just that charming. 

Jungkook hums, nodding slowly before narrowing his eyes, a wondering look appearing on his face. Just to not seem like a lost sheep, you copy his facial expression and glower right back at him. 

“Mhm,” he bites down on the inside of his cheek, his eyes skimming over your face before traveling lower. You have to compose yourself, shifting a bit in your stance, trying not to burst into flames. Jungkook takes his time before he speaks, finally locking with your eyes again. “You’d watch anything I tell you to, right?”

Holy mother of god. Of course you nod. Because you’re an idiot, and you’re certain your voice is going to crack halfway through your answer. And when Jungkook smirks at your obvious flustered state of being, your pulse spikes. His tongue flicks over the metal in his mouth, inherently seductive, even if it isn’t intended to be, and you think you might have to go cry in the backroom. 

Then, without a word, he backs off from the counter and turns to the shelf behind him. He skims over the many cassettes in front of him, searching for something without speaking. You swallow behind him, finally freed from his captivating gaze, forced to stare at the way his back muscles move in waves underneath his tee while he stretches tall before the shelf. 

His tattooed arm reaches out for a tape high above him, but it hesitates before it once again falls back to his side, “It’s here somewhere…” 

You try waiting patiently for him to find whatever movie he’s looking for, but you can’t help yourself. Your gaze drifts, drops actually, and lands on his butt… unfortunately. It’s tightly hidden underneath his dark-washed jeans, accompanied by a pair of strong thighs. Such a nice and perky butt. Your head tilts a bit, taking in the view, if you’d like, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

It’s a shame that this is the exact moment Jungkook gives up on his search and turns abruptly. Your eyes widen, and you flinch, hoping he didn’t just see the way you were drooling over the chiseled shape of his ass. 

But instead of commenting on your awkwardness, he drops to the ground, crouching down on the floor to inspect the hallow counter which contains several more blockbusters. 

He grunts and groans while his fingers flick through the options, never landing on his target. 

“Digging for gold?” you tease, boldly leaning over the counter to look at him. He doesn’t even meet your gaze, he just keeps searching, his eyebrows curled together in a knot on his forehead. 

“Give me a second.”

You hear him pulling out a large cardboard box, watching over as his muscles tense as he drags it forward. And with a grunt, he lifts it, getting up on his feet and dropping it onto the counter. As you peek over the edge of it, you see it’s filled to the brim with identical black CD-covers, just with different scribblings on the side. 

Jungkook’s slender fingers brush over the covers, flipping through the countless pieces until he finally grabs ahold of one. The one with the title Memento poorly written in white marker on the edge. 

“Ah, there you are.” He pulls out the piece from the pool of covers while letting out a sigh of relief. “Thought I’d lost her.”

You lift your chin, looking over at Jungkook who is seemingly lost in his own little world that only contains him and this very neutral tape. “Memento?”

“It’s fucking great.” His eyes dart up, meeting yours, and you almost chuckle at the way they light up. It’s such a cute thing for a guy to have a hobby, to be in love with something. That is of course if you look past the excruciating mansplaining that follows. “A man with short term memory loss—so the entire movie is shot backwards. From end to beginning. You learn the plot with him, it’s insane. He uses these post-it notes to keep track of time, place and faces. Revolutionary, I’ve neve—”

“Shush,” you rip the cover from his hands, cutting off his monologue. You know just how long he can go on if he’d like. There have been times where you’d wondered if he might be on the spectrum, given the fact that he’s constantly restless, and a complete nerd when he wants to, but you don’t like to dwell on that. It’s cute, and it obviously works for him, so you let him act a bit strange. “Let me find out for myself.”

“Mhm, brat.”

You nearly gush at the new nickname, your nostrils flaring as you breathe in deeply. Your hands fall to your sides, and you unconsciously sway a bit in your stance, not really sure if you want to end the interaction here, or if you want to stay, maybe fling yourself over the counter, straddle this man like a horse. The ladder might not be the best idea, so you start searching for coins that are buried deep in the tiny back pocket of your jeans, eager to get the hell out of this place. 

“4.99?” you ask, as if you don’t already know the price. You’re here every week, so it really is etched in your memory. But so is everything he tells you. 

Jungkook smirks, his gum-drop eyes narrowing, “On the house. Since Mad Max wasn’t really your thing.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll pay.”

“Keep your money, peach, I don’t want it.”

Ugh, you hate when he calls you that. Peach. It sounds like some awful pet name that your dad would call you. So you’d really like for him to stop, but the one time you asked him to, it seemingly just fueled him. So you pray that one day he might see you as someone other than this little girl who buys stuff from him without second guessing his opinion. Maybe he’ll one day see you as a woman. Yesss that would be good. And you already know what it is he loves to do with women. Half the moms in town has slept with him. 

Jesus your mind is wandering. You scrunch your nose, trying to act affronted by his arrogance, when really your mind is running through every woman in town who has gotten the taste of him. The jealousy blooming inside you is like a kid’s rage when they’re not allowed candy on a weekday. Why can’t you also have nice things?

“Fine, but I’ll repay you if I love it.”

“Deal,” he nods, his large hand reaching out before him, gesturing for you to shake it, “And don’t worry, peach. You’ll love it.”

Your entire apartment smells of butter and salt as you wait for the microwave’s timer to drop. There’s not a lot you know about this movie, but popcorn is always a good idea, so you’re hoping it won’t be too disturbing, ruining your appetite. 

The CD is waiting for you inside the player, all you need to do is pad over your floor, sink down into the couch cushions and press play on your remote. 

You’ve already brushed off all other plans for the night, your friends scolding you for throwing your life away only to watch some mediocre movie to please Jungkook. “You’re a source of income, you buy everything from him.” 

Hah, bet they’ll be sorry when they hear you actually got this one for free. Mhm. Or maybe not. It’s been five years… it’s the least he could do. 

The timer dings. Yey, showtime. You open the microwave door, the warm and salty smell travels through the air and settles deep within you. You grab the paper bag, tearing it open with a quick tug. Now you’re ready. 

The cushions give in the moment your body meets the couch, and you immediately melt with them, sinking further and further down. You grab onto the soft, pink blanket that’s thrown carelessly over the armrest, and pull it over your body, letting yourself get incredibly comfortable. Although this ritual, watching a movie every Saturday, cozying up in your living room, is supposedly ‘me time’… you know deep inside you do this for him. Your friends are right, you do want his approval. So you’re hoping you’ll like this. Let’s watch, shall we?

You stretch your arm out, reaching for the remote control, and you press play. 

The screen stays black for a moment. No music, no production mark. Weird. You wait for a moment, resting your head back on the soft cushion behind you. Still nothing plays. Mhm, maybe he gave you an empty disk? Or maybe your TV is broken?

You’re about to press play again, wondering if you maybe hit a wrong button the first time… when your whole body freezes. 

The tape starts rolling, but it’s not Memento. Or, it possibly can’t be. That would be too bizarre. Because what plays on the screen is an amateur video… of Jungkook. Seemingly at home, staring straight into the camera, so close that his face blocks all surroundings. All you see is the concentration on his face as he fumbles with the record button, his eyes wide and searching. 

You chuckle. Cute, he misplaced the CD. But what’s not so cute is when Jungkook moves out of frame. 

Ho-ly-shit. 

Your jaw actually drops, your mouth hanging wide open as you take in what’s playing on the television before you. Jesus fucking christ. When Jungkook is out of sight, you realize the camera is placed in his bedroom, and the sight has you gasping for air, your hand flying to cover your mouth. Because on his bed, there lies a girl… in only her underwear. 

“Am I in the frame?” she asks gently, looking up at Jungkook who is still out of sight, her eyes doe-like and glistening. Pure seduction. 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hums, and finally he moves forward, ushering for her to move further down the bed to make room for him by her side. And you think you might actually cry when he’s back on camera. 

Walking into frame, the sight of him has your eyes widening, the hand covering your mouth slowly dragging down your chin. Leaving you gaping. 

Jungkook is completely naked. Butt-ass-naked. On camera. And fully erect, that is. He walks over to the bed, eyes locked with the girls’, his large hands hanging by his side. 

It’s not a modest sight. He looks absolutely insane. His shoulders broad, arms straining with veins and muscle, while his torso is rather lean, a small waist accompanied by a set of washboard abs. But that’s not really what steals your breath away. Because as he’s completely naked, your eyes immediately go to his abdomen. His hips are beautifully defined, his thighs chiseled and muscular, and his cock. Well, that’s just unfair. 

He’s huge when erect, thick and heavy, the tip of him a beautiful, deep red, and as he moves closer, you see the leaking precum that drips from him, running down his veiny shaft. 

You immediately pause the video, too stunned to do anything else, but that doesn’t really help as the still-frame of Jungkook’s heavy cock and deep, lust filled eyes continues to show on screen. So you turn the whole television off instead. 

The screen flatlines, and you’re left frozen on the couch. 

What on gods green earth did you just watch. And why the fuck did Jungkook give this to you. It has to be a mistake. He couldn’t possibly know he gave you this? It’s just a horrible fail, he misplaced the CD. Put it in the wrong cover. What the hell, you don’t even know how to make this sound reasonable. 

Your eyebrows have almost reached your hairline, and your mouth still hangs wide open. The popcorn by your side remains untouched. Because you just simply can’t bring yourself to indulge in a snack right now, as you think you might vomit. Not because you’re disgusted… it’s the other way around actually. What you just saw has you feeling dizzy, a low, curling sensation building low in your stomach… and that’s what you find disturbing. 

He probably never intended for anyone to ever see this, and here you are, on a Saturday, all snuggled up on your couch, watching his homemade porno. 

You can’t be doing this. Let’s stop here. Here, but no further. You inhale deeply, straightening your posture as your torso lifts slowly from the couch, resting your elbows on your knees. The curling pleasure in your stomach has turned into a deep and horrific realization that this is such an invasion of privacy that you should probably be locked up for good. Even though you never intended to watch this, you still did, and you feel evil. 

The black screen stares back at you. Your pulse thunders in your eardrums, you can practically hear your heart leaping out of your chest. As you reach for the remote, optioning to press ‘retract disk’, you stop. Something inside you stills. An evil thought forms. 

This is like the marshmallow test. A kid with an unlimited access to a big bowl of marshmallows, which is in your case a recording of Jungkook finding his own release. Okay. Dilemma. Do you stop here, tell him about the mistake, return the tape immediately. You should. You definitely should. 

Or do you continue? He won’t know just how much of it you saw…

You’ll obviously return it. Apologize. You check the small watch standing on the coffee table. It reads 7:32. The shop closes at eight. Okay. You have plenty of time. You just need to see what you’re dealing with here. Right? 

You’re evil. But it’s impossible, it’s like having a gold mine before you, no one to stop you, not a single person in sight telling you for the love of god, woman, get a grip. 

Your fingers curl around the remote… before you ultimately press ON — play — fast forward. 

The screen turns back on, the recording forwards in quick frames, and you shut one eye as if that blocks out your shame and guilt. You land on a still that seems inviting. The girl, on all fours, Jungkook propped up behind her. 

His hand comes up to his mouth. He sucks in his cheeks before spitting out a glob of saliva, moving his glistening fingers to the girl’s heat, which is perched in the air before him. Jungkook looks down at the view, gliding his fingers through her folds, immediately having her cry out with pleasure. 

“Sshhh, baby, not yet. Want you crying on my dick.”

You shudder at the sound of his voice through the crispy speaker, his tone teasing with a hint of frustration. Your lips press together as you watch him line himself up, the girl’s face crinkling before it falls forward, burying her head in the pillow. 

He thrust inside her with a grunt, his mouth falling open with a strained moan as he’s balls deep inside her. She whines a muted scream into the pillow, her fists clenching around the sheets. He’s probably too big for her. 

Jungkook chuckles at her pleasure-filled misery, starting out with deep and slow grinds before pounding into her. The sounds are wile, having you turn down the volume with embarrassment, afraid your neighbors might tune in. Your jaw is practically on the floor as you watch Jungkook’s facial expressions. He’s smiling. His eyebrows curl together on his forehead as he plunges forward, retreating shallowly just to snap his hips against her ass once again. 

Jesus. You press your legs together, trying to fight the obvious burn in your abdomen. Suddenly, your breath catches. 

Jungkook looks up from the view of his cock driving into the girl’s heat… and his eyes lock with yours. Well, not yours, but he stares back at the camera, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in and out. 

This just got increasingly more embarrassing. You’re indulging in something that feels very illegal here, so can he please look away? As if he’s watching you through the screen, your throat tightens. You can’t bring yourself to look away, it’s like a car crash. You can’t not stare at it. Your eyes flick from his face, to the way the muscles of his torso tighten with every snap of his hips. His palms run over the curve of her ass before it comes down to smack hard, causing her to tip her head back with a yelp. She’s so lost in pleasure that she can’t even talk. 

But he does… and your brain-activity cuts short. 

“Feel dirty?” 

Huh? You still at his words. 

He speaks again, grunts actually, “Filthy girl, wishing this was you.”

Oh my god. He’s talking to the viewer. He’s looking directly at the camera and speaking to you. Or whoever’s watching this. This was intended to be seen. Oh my god. Insert viewer porn. 

You’re very certain this wasn’t for you to see, but someone was in mind when making this. Jungkook’s fingers curl around her hips as he drives harder and harder and harder into her cunt, the sound of skin on skin almost blocking out his next words. 

“Wish it was my dick instead of your tiny, little fingers?” he growls, wincing as the girl wrapped around him clenches, milking him as he pounds into her. His words are stolen from him for just a second, before he bites down on his lips, continuing. “Still want you to cum for me, baby, want you to cum all over yourself.”

Help, you’ve probably fast-forwarded a bit too far into the tape, you didn’t know you were supposed to be touching yourself. Yeah, you won’t be doing that. It would just feel all too wrong. 

You shift a bit in your seat, breath hitching as you feel how sensitive you’ve grown to any form of friction that brushes against your body. Jesus, you should turn this off, it has gotten really strange. Jungkook keeps looking directly at the camera, and although his eyes show nothing but need and desire, you kind of feel as though you’re being judged. 

His moves turn frantic, and you realize the girl bent before him climaxes, screaming out, calling out his name in a row of desperate whines. This just fuels him to keep going, now forgetting all about the camera, his eyes darting down to her ass while his cock disappears inside her again and again and again. 

He’s about to come. Your eyes widen as you see his face turn flushed, the sounds he releases being nothing short of grunted whimpers, desperate to find his own release. It’s fucking overwhelming, watching as the girl goes limp before him, listening to the sinful yet beautiful noises he’s producing. 

Again you repeat here, but no further. 

The remote has been resting in your soft grip ever since you turned the TV back on, and with a subtle press of your thumb — the screen goes black. 

Okay. What you just saw might’ve just ruined your relationship on every level. You just electrocuted your tiny and insignificant bond, hoping it might spark something inside you. It did… but that only makes everything worse. And, sorry, are we just brushing over the fact that he’s making porn on his free time?

You’re quite overwhelmed, every forming thought being overpowered by another, more horrific one. But what you wish the strongest, is for this to just be a mistake. For you to be the idiot in this situation, sitting through about ten minutes of Jungkook’s sextape. Not for him to gift you this… knowing what’s on the disk, knowing you’re going home to watch him get his dick wet. That’s a whole other layer to this very weird scene that you don’t really want to take into consideration right now. 

All you know is that his shop closes in about twenty minutes, and you can’t let this tape marinade in your video player. You’re going to have to return it, and that is tonight. 

You feel like you’re about to melt with the snow that creaks underneath your boots. The CD-cover is buried in the pocket of your coat, burning its way into the fabric like some constant reminder of what an awful human being you are. 

You’ve already thought over the conversation. You are to tell him about the mix-up, apologize, and sadly never show your face again. The two of you have had a good run, but it’s over now. There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to ‘casually’ rent a dvd from him every week when all you can picture is his face when he’s about to… jesus, let’s not even go there.

Why did you do it — why, why, why, you stupid meatball of a woman. Why did you have to let your curiosity get the best of you?

You can see him through the windows of the store as you cross the street. He’s alone (thank god), so it’ll be less humiliating for you to admit the horrible mishap. Your breath leaves in a fog as you exhale, your mouth shaping itself in an ‘o’ as you reach the glass door. You inspect Jungkook, who stands behind the counter with a pen perched between his fingertips as he notes down whatever on a piece of paper.

Let’s do this. It won’t be that awful. You’re a grown woman, you can own up to your mistakes.

“I’m sorry!” 

Jesus. The apology sort of just tumbles out of you as you push the door open, mingling with the overhead bell that notifies your arrival. You’re not sure if yelling out that you’re sorry is the best way to start this conversation, but it’s too late to take it back now. Even though you want nothing more than to grab the exclaim by its neck and shove it back down your throat. 

Jungkook’s gaze lifts along with his eyebrows, staring over at you as you stand covered in snow at his doorstep. It hits you that this is sort of similar to your first official meet, you drenched in bad weather at the door, Jungkook unbothered and dry behind the cashier. Oh how you miss those times, when you were just a girl with a stupid crush, blissfully unaware. Nostalgia will be the death of you. 

As you haven’t really gotten to the next part of your apology, Jungkook clears his throat, his eyebrows forming in a confused knot high on his forehead, “You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry!” you repeat, fully entering his shop, hurrying over to Jungkook while leaving sad and wet little footprints behind you. It seems to amuse him that you’re completely out of breath and quite frankly horrified, as he tongues his cheek watching the way you rush over to him. You tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ears, ignoring the way your cheeks flush when fully exposed — even though it’s probably due to your mortification, you can brush it off as you going red by the cold.

You stop a few steps before the counter, chest heaving underneath your coat, and now that you’re here… you’ve forgotten your prepared monologue. What the hell, you know the basics of it. Let’s just give it a try.

“Euh—uh…” you stutter, now realizing you have no idea how to actually tell him this while looking him dead in the eyes. Hello, Jungkook, yes, it is true — I did in fact watch you pound away at some girl I don’t know. Yes, I could have turned it off, yes I realize that now. No, I don’t have any manners. 

Jungkook frowns before you. Maybe he’s wondering if you slipped on ice on your way over, if you maybe cracked your skull open and that small bits and pieces of your consciousness is slowly seeping out of you. He crosses his arms loosely and leans over the counter, resting on his forearms. “Ah, I see,” he teases, grinning at the way your mouth hangs open. 

This is getting more embarrassing by the minute. You try snapping out of it, putting one hand out in front of you, a flat palm. Okay here it goes. 

“You gave me the wrong tape.” 

Your shoulders slump the moment the words leave you, finally ridding you of the heavy burden. All you hope is that he might not ask about the tape, that he’ll take it back, maybe watch over it in private, realize his mistake and then not wonder why you’re not returning to his shop. 

Because you quite frankly can’t ever set foot in here after what you just watched, not when all you can picture is the way his eyebrows crease when the girl wrapped around him pulsates, spasms, sucking him dry. Fuck, it was beautiful, but oh so inappropriate. So wildly inappropriate.  You can’t ever see him the same way. Not that he was some virgin Mary before this, you’ve always known what kind of guy he was. But knowing he makes his own pornos just makes it absolutely impossible for you to keep your cool around him. 

Jungkook bites down on his bottom lip, letting your words sink in. The piercing catches between his teeth, making a small clicking sound that cuts right through the unbearable silence that fills his shop. Pursing his lips, examining you, he prepares to speak. “Mhm, did I?” 

“Yeah,” you say, taking another step forward. You fish out the CD-cover buried in your pocket, handing it to Jungkook once you’re close enough to reach him. He doesn’t grab for it, so instead you place it down on the counter, trying not to look at it. It’s just this little black, plastic item — something that has managed to ruin your life (or so it seems like). “I just—I’m sorry. I wanted to return it as fast as I could.” 

He stares at you for a moment before reaching for the tape, fingers curling around the plastic then picking it up. You’re kind of weirded out by this. He doesn’t ask any questions, nor does the contains of the tape you watched seem to matter to him. Instead, his eyes skim over the cover’s back for a second, before he puts it down again and shoves it out of sight. 

“That’s too bad, huh?” His eyes meet yours again, and you almost faint. There’s this sparkle in them, a flash of glisten that disappears the moment he blinks. His eyebrows raise just a tad on his forehead, giving him just a teeny tiny pleading look. Alright, this has to be intentional — he knows what effect he has on women. 

You can’t deal with him anymore. It was fine before, when it was just a stupid crush. But it’s slowly turning into something else, something shameful. You want him so bad that you could cry, because there is no way in hell he would ever lay a hand on a girl like you. And now you’ve seen all of him — every admirable inch of him. There’s no way you can keep him in your life without going insane. 

Your lips curl into a thin line, and just as you’re about to speak, Jungkook cuts you off. 

“Is there anything I could do for you?” 

Quite frankly, no. You just need to be left alone, honestly. Curl up underneath your covers and die of embarrassment and lust. So you shake your head, trying to get out of this shop as quickly as possible. You don’t want the actual movie you rented, you just wanted to return the faulted one and flee the crime scene. 

“No-no,” you say, waving a hand in front of you. “There really isn’t. Again, I’m sorry.” 

You haven’t told him what the CD contains, but he’ll find out eventually. And there is absolutely no way that you’ll be here when that time comes. You have to get out of here. This didn’t really go as planned, you apparently don’t have enough courage to own up to your mistake. But you’ve returned the tape nonetheless, so your mission is complete. 

You give Jungkook an almost believable smile, and prepare to walk off. Your feet are about to send you off, and you turn away from Jungkook, setting out on your journey to the door — when you feel a tug on your coat. 

Jungkook has wrapped his fingers in the soft fabric, tugging on your back, keeping you from leaving. Reaching for you over the counter.

Neither of you speak for a moment, you just still the moment you feel resistance. Your chest heaves, you have no idea what’s going on, why he’s holding you back. It’s almost like all the air in your lungs in ripped from you, and when you hear his voice, your knees almost buckle. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want me to do?”

You can’t see his face, but his voice is enough to send you over the edge. It’s a low purr, but you also detect some worry. He can’t possibly be that sorry for lending you the wrong tape. It would at least make him great with costumers, but it can’t just be that. Oh god. He can’t possibly know… can he?

“W-what?” you ask, still not turning to face him. You just stare straight ahead at the snow that falls outside the window, the glass door. And Jungkook’s hand stays knotted in your coat, making it impossible for you to move. 

“Come on…” he rasps, tugging you closer. Your feet stumble backwards, but you still don’t turn, honestly just because you don’t dare to. Looking him in his beautiful eyes right now might make you jump over that counter and fling your arms over his shoulders. So you stand still, your lower back meeting the edge of the counter. And after a while, after you’ve gotten used to the way Jungkook’s breath keeps brushing against the back of your head, he speaks again. “I know you like me.”

Mary mother of christ. There it is. He knows. Of course he knows — how could you be so stupid? You’ve been pining after him for almost a decade. How could he not know? 

Goosebumps bloom on the back of your neck and your breathing turns shallow. This can really only mean one thing. 

He didn’t give you the wrong tape. 

You slip from his hand, turning abruptly, looking at him with wide and frightened eyes. For some reason, you can’t control your breathing. Your chest moves in heaves, and every sentence you try forming in your head dies on its way out. His nostrils flare before you, and as if you’re not having a hard enough time breathing, Jungkook’s eyes roam over your body, taking in your state of shock. 

“Wha—what?” you repeat, still not sure any of this is real. Because how can it be. It’s straight out of a very weird and long porno. Fitting, given the tape he’s gifted you. 

“Look—I’m sorry about the video,” he starts, running stressed fingers through his hair. You’ve never seen him like this, it’s out of character for him to not be teasing or mocking you. But he’s allowed to be nervous, as he has just confirmed to renting you a porno of himself. That has to be some sort of felony. When he’s done messing up his hair, he places his hands flat on the counter, chuckling at his own words. “I just—I don’t know. Thought you needed a push.” 

“Needed a push?” You stick your neck out, baffled and not really sure if you just heard right. Was this an attempt to seduce you? In what messed up world would that work? “I’m sure you could’ve thought of some other way to wring the truth out of me.”

Jungkook shrugs, keeping his eyes glued to yours. “Sure. But I wanted you to see what I could do to you.” 

Your pulse drops, and it almost feels as if someone has spilled a bucket of ice water down your neck. Oh my god, this has to be some kind of joke. Maybe he’s recording this too, and that he might just be a very messed up guy. Because never in your twenty years of living would you have thought that Jeon Jungkook could ever come onto you. Especially not like this. 

For some reason, you can’t speak. But your face gets embarrassingly warm, your cheeks heating up and doing absolutely nothing to hide just how flustered you are. You try cooling it off, letting your knuckles meet the warm skin, not even caring how stupid it looks. 

“Also,” Jungkook tilts his head, smiling at you. You immediately avoid his eyes, looking down at his hands instead, the thick, silver ring that’s wrapped around his left thumb. He notices, bending a bit down trying to search for your eyes. “It’s fun making you blush like this.” 

“You’re—” you start, blushing even more when he points it out. Trying to recover some kind of bravery, you jerk your neck, flaring your nostrils. “This is insane behavior.”

“Romeo killed himself for Juliet—I would argue I’m not insane enough.”

You instantly frown, very taken aback by this absurd analogy. “Are you seriously comparing you giving me porn—your own porn—to Romeo and Juliet?”

“Yeah,” he says dead serious while straightening his posture. His eyes sparkle in your direction, and you gulp as you keep getting lost in them. He has apparently lost his damn mind… but it seems it might be because of you. That can’t be right. 

“I'm sorry—but are we just brushing over the fact that you make your own porn?” Your eyebrows crease so bad it's actually hurting, but you can't for the life of you understand what on earth is going on.

Jungkook scratches the back of his head. “It was—it's something I do for fun—sometimes!” he tries explaining, tumbling over his own words. “I'd never do that to you—I just thought giving you the tape might open your eyes. Show you what I bring to the table.”

What a crazy mindset. Also, you already know what he brings to the table — every girl in town knows. He could’ve just told you ‘hey, I like you’ and it probably wouldn’t have been as strange.

As you part your lips, preparing to speak, your words are ripped from you. Because the moment your words are about to leave you, Jungkook decides to move. He takes a step back from the counter, eyes never leaving you, and starts making his way around, fingertips tracing the flat surface. The veins on his forearm strain against his skin as he moves, as his arm stretches, follows where he goes. And in a matter of no time, he manages to snake around the counter and take his first steps towards you. 

There’s nothing else for you to do but tumble backwards, not knowing if its all because you’re trying to keep your distance from him or if it’s your brain subconsciously keeping you from making a stupid decision — keeping you from flinging yourself over Jungkook’s neck. 

“I swear I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he stresses, slowly walking towards you. “And I know it was a crazy gesture—but the thing is… I kinda am crazy about you.”

You stop in your tracks, letting him close up on you. Your throat clogs as you hear his confession, a row of words you’ve only encountered in your dreams. Maybe you’re dumb and naive, but you’ve been so insatiably in love with him for these past years that the thought of him maybe feeling the same way has your vision blurring. 

What snaps you back to reality is the tape, the way he spoke. How he carries himself, the fact that every girl in town has gotten a taste of him. He must be calculated. This isn’t a love confession — this is a damn ploy. 

“That’s not funny,” you say, nostrils flaring. 

He’s close enough to touch you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stops before you, eyes skimming over your flushed face, moving from one eye to the other before settling on your lips for way too long. He takes a deep breath, one that has his shoulders lifting with the large intake. “I’m not trying to be funny, peach.” 

That fucking nickname. Just this once, you wish he might’ve been able to drop it… just this once. 

His fingers twitch with restraint at his sides, and his tongue brushes past his lips as his eyes are still fixed on your mouth. “If you think I’m just saying all this to win you over—do you really think I’d wait this long?” 

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter, and your voice comes out more strained than you hoped, almost like every word you’re trying to say hurts in your throat. 

One second passes, and without noticing at first, you see Jungkook’s hand lift. His palm comes to cup your cheek, his ring-covered thumb brushing against your warm skin. Your breathing comes out ragged, and your eyes flick over his face like a deer-caught-in-headlights. Trying to ease you, Jungkook brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, caressing your skin along the way. 

“That tape was just a snivel of what I’d do to you if you let me.” 

Oh god, maybe you’re in over your head here. You know you want this, that you want nothing less, but as you’ve established — Jungkook is crazy. And this might just be Jungkook’s brilliant way with words, but every single nerve in your body is tuned to him, and you find yourself glued to the floor, unable and not wanting to move. 

Just dive in without thinking. Allow yourself this indulgence. You never do anything fun, you never take any fucking risks. So just take the leap. 

You tip your chin up, better meeting his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Then what’s stopping you?” 

A small, devilish smile tugs on Jungkook’s lips, before they surge forward, colliding with yours without giving you a second to breathe. The metal in his mouth brushes against your bottom lip, the strength of his kiss urging for you to open your mouth for him, bare him your tongue. 

You do so without thinking, inviting him in, letting the wet muscle of his tongue roll against yours in an addictive dance, while his hand shoves your face harder against his. You’re on your tippy-toes now, stretching as far as possible to reach his mouth. He chuckles against your kiss, but not for long, not when he hears how your breathing has slowed and a small moan escapes you. Because it unfurls something in him, and soon enough his free hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

He groans at the feel of your thick coat against his chest, probably eager to rip it the fuck off, but trying to keep his cool nonetheless. It doesn’t work all that well. “Is it that cold out?”

His words aren’t teasing this time, he actually seems more furious. So you immediately find it funny, smiling still when he keeps kissing your stretched lips. “What, you don’t like my coat?” 

“Hate it, actually,” he purrs, nudging your face away with his forehead just so he can latch onto your neck. You shiver the moment his lips meet your jugular, the wetness of them sending sparks all the way to your fingertips. He licks and sucks as if to mark you, while the hand on your waist takes on a new road, coming to fiddle with the top button of your coat. 

You giggle as the button resists, catching in the soft fabric, refusing to give in. As Jungkook hears this, he retracts from your neck, straightening his posture to look at you with narrow eyes. 

“Oh, we’re laughing, are we?” He tilts his head, giving you just a teeny tiny smile that’s almost unnoticeable. His lips have gone slightly red, a bit swollen, giving him a disheveled look that’s enough for you to lose your damn mind. You pout, looking up at him with wide and unknowing eyes, trying to lure his lips back to yours, but instead you feel his hand move from your button. “Laugh, again—I dare you.”

In one easy motion both his hands grab ahold of the back of your thighs underneath the long coat, and without struggle he manages to lift you, wrapping you around his waist. Your breath hitches, the fabric of your coat rides up, and you instinctively fold your knees around his torso, steading yourself. And as the small breath of air leaves you, Jungkook swallows it with another kiss.

It's like you’re nothing in his arms with the way he so easily handles you. He manages to turn, walk further into the store, still lavishing you in openmouthed and wet kisses. Your arms have wrapped around his neck, and soon enough your fingers are tangled in his silky hair, brushing through the strands that form the rough mullet. Until you remember something crucial. 

“W-waitwaitwait—” you hiss against his lips, retracting to look him in the eyes. They haven’t gone heavy lidded like you’re used to when lathering boys in kisses, Jungkook’s eyes have actually doubled in size, it seems. He stares back at you with two black, glistening voids, wondering why you’re cutting his pleasure short. You raise your eyebrows, because the door remains unlocked. And you’re not so sure if you’re all that keen on going at it with Jungkook while someone could just simply walk in without restraint. “The door?”

Jungkook chuckles as he keeps moving both your bodies across the room, walking past shelves, different sections, until he stops for a second. “There’s another door here, peach.” 

And just like that, almost like it magically appeared with his words, he pushes open a door — already slightly ajar — with the tip of his boot, a door which seems to lead to the backroom. It’s filled with boxes, shelves. It’s just a mess, honestly. And without any further words, Jungkook turns the lock and walks to one of the shorter CD-shelves, propping you up on it. 

Your feet barely dangle above the floor, and you immediately miss the feel of his lips once he leaves you. Needy as you are, you reach for his shirt, trying to pull him back, but he stops you right away. 

“I’m gonna need that coat on the floor before anything else.” 

Fuck.

You were honestly hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Maybe that he would let you sleep with him fully dressed. 

It’s not because you’re self-conscious in any way, you’re actually quite proud of your figure. No, this is way worse. Because underneath your coat lies a dark secret: Your horrible sense of style when it comes to lounging around at home. 

To be honest, you thought you’d spend the night all alone. Well, it’s movie night, so you usually do spend it alone, on your couch, with soda stains on your chest. But you set out on a quest tonight — honestly just to return the tape and never see Jungkook again. You didn’t think he’d be undressing you by the end of the meet, so you didn’t bother to change your clothes… which now you realize was a grand mistake. 

You look up at Jungkook with wide and pleading eyes, “May the coat stay on?”

He just frowns in response before taking matters into own hands, lunging forward and shutting you up with a kiss so harsh your lips might bruise. Jungkook sucks down on your bottom lip, causing you to let out a soft moan in his mouth as he distracts you from the way he’s roughly tearing open your coat, not caring if the buttons rip at the seams. Suddenly, the coat hangs open, and with a begrudging lift of your hips, you let him slip it off your frame. 

Your hands come up to cup his neck, the hair that grows long there, forcing him to not look down. But he does anyways… and stops completely. 

His hands rest by your waist, and his eyes roam over your body, eyebrows creasing with something that might read as disgust, or maybe just utter confusion. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” he scoffs, skimming over your outfit. Rightfully so, because what the hell are you wearing? 

It’s embarrassing, but it’s comfortable. And you don’t care if you stain it. You tread it over your body the minute you get home, you always make sure to wash it before going to bed just so you’ll be able to wear it again the day after. We are of course speaking of your Snoopy-suit. 

Weird name, yes, but there’s no other way to describe it. Because it is a Snoopy-suit. A white sweater with tiny nightgown-Snoopy-figurines all over, everywhere, no inch left uncovered — with a pair of matching sweatpants. The text on your chest reads ‘Sleepy Snoops’. We won’t even get into what’s written on your ass.

You part your lips, but no sound comes out, which has Jungkook frowning ugly in front of you. With minimal strength, you shove at his chest. It does little, as he comes right back again, leaning forward while his palms rest on either side of you down on the shelf’s surface. The veins in his forearms pop as he rests his weight on them. 

“Wha—well I didn’t think I’d be stripping when I got here!” You try defending yourself, but realize it still doesn’t answer Jungkook’s question. Because you quite frankly have no idea what it is that you’re wearing. Thankfully, Jungkook latches onto your words instead of keeping his attention glued to your outfit. 

“You so did,” he chuckles, planting a soft kiss on your temple. 

You keep trying to defend yourself while his kisses continue. “I didn’t!”

“Yeah-yeah, okay—I can’t have you wearing that, though.” He starts by letting one hand brush over your thighs, a move that immediately sends shivers down your spine and all the way to your cervix. Jesus, he must be a sorcerer. The hand keeps moving, fingers brushing underneath the hem of your sweater, lifting it slowly while still kissing you, lips moving down your neck, biting down on your skin as his fingers meets your stomach. 

Eager to strip out of this god-awful outfit, you help him, reaching for the hem of your sweatshirt and giving it a quick tug. Jungkook’s hand replaces yours, and he lifts the fabric off your body, over your head, over your lifted arms, until it falls completely off and is thrown forgotten to the floor alongside your coat. 

The moment you’re bared to him, he chuckles against your skin, pleased to know you’re not wearing a bra. His hand which is not holding onto your waist comes to cup one of your soft breasts, rolling it in his palm where it fits so perfectly. 

You mewl underneath his touch, back arching instinctively as he keeps kneading your breast with his warm palm. He steps in between your parted knees, the hand on your waist pulling you further into him, and the moment you meet his hips, you let out a breathy moan. 

He’s straining against his jeans, a bulge so big it still surprises you, even though you’ve already seen all of him. You’ve seen every vein, every inch — just not up close. And the anticipation is killing you. 

“Take the sweatpants off,” he breathes against your neck, now starting to move lower, kissing your collarbone, your chest, before his lips meet the gentle curve of your breast — the one not trapped in his palm. 

In a hurried motion, your fingers find your waistband, and you rip the soft fabric off, lifting your hips and wiggling out of the pants, kicking off your boots along with the legs of your sweats. Thankfully, your panties aren’t atrocious as well, just a simple, white lace that you’re hoping to be rid of soon enough.

Jungkook grinds into you the second you lose the pants, breathing roughly against your skin when he feels your bare figure hug his frame the moment his hips roll forwards. His mouth moves lower, and after giving your already hard nipple a soft lick, he closes his mouth around it to suck down on it. The hand on your breast gives your skin a deep knead before brushing lower, letting his fingers play with the waistband of your panties, snapping the band against your hip. 

“Kook—please,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head when Jungkook’s tongue starts circling your nipple, flicking over the nub, coating it in his spit. “Don’t hold back with me.” 

He groans against you, running the tip of his tongue back and forth over your hard nipple, “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” 

His fingers move from the waistband, and in a motion so sudden his palm cups your wetness, squeezing tight, feeling how you’re dripping through the lace fabric. Your breath hitches, and your head lolls back as the friction of his hand cupped so tightly against your clothed cunt. Chasing his touch, your hips buck forward, a move which steals a hummed laughter from him. 

Your completely soaked through. There’s no inch of lace left untouched by your wetness, and the fabric clings to you like a second skin. You’re so wet it almost embarrassing, and every squeeze Jungkook’s large palm bestows upon you has you gasping for air. 

He sucks down on your nipple, releasing it with a slick pop. “Fuck, you’re soaked through,” he almost whispers, his breath against your breast sending sparks through your body. 

“Mm-hm,” you hum in agreement, a needy sound you try repressing as you bite down on your bottom lip. But it doesn’t work that well, especially not when Jungkook runs a single finger all the way from your core to your clit, which both are spasming underneath the drenched lace. Your forehead drops to Jungkook’s shoulder for some kind of support, but suddenly the surface is removed. Because Jungkook has taken on a new path. 

Tracing your bare torso in wet kisses, he makes his way down, both hands now coming to tug on the waistband of your panties, ripping it of in one go with the help of a compliant lift of your hips. 

“Have been dreaming of this,” he purrs, “… for so fucking long.”

His palms slowly spread your knees apart, thumbs pressing into the supple skin of your inner thigs, and you feel it like a pulse in your core. You almost can’t think straight, seeing him on his knees between your legs. Although he might be teasing — you actually have been dreaming of this. And now that it’s finally happening, every nerve in your body feels ignited. 

As you let out a small whimper, Jungkook’s eyes flick up, catching yours from between your legs, and you swear your lungs collapse when he smirks, so slight it’s nearly imperceptible. 

Still keeping eye contact, his knuckles brush the slick that’s already coating your folds. Your eyebrows crease at the touch, and your mouth falls open without letting any sound release, just a row of desperate breaths. He lets his fingers stretch, the pads of them trailing down your slit, feeling the way your juices cling to him. It’s a sight he can’t keep away from. 

His eyes dart down, now fixed on the sight of you bare and dripping. The way your clit pulsates, begging and needing to be touched. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.” 

You’re too wet to be embarrassed, to fucking wrecked from the anticipation to be coy or smart. All you want is to audibly beg for him, but you still have some pride you’re hoping to keep intact. You’ll fuck him in the backroom of his shop, alright — but you’re not begging. Well, not yet, at least. 

There’s apparently no need for you to beg this time, as the next thing you feel is Jungkook’s mouth pressing a kiss on your parted lips, right to your clit. 

You immediately jolt forwards, the feel of his lips so unreal that stars start dancing in your vision. But he holds you back with his palms, and with a low rumble, he darts his tongue out, dragging an experimental lick through your folds. He parts them with ease, his tongue flat and broad, starting from the bottom and gliding all the way up to your clit. Your thighs shudder, but he still doesn’t let you move. His arms snake around your legs, pinning you down and locking you open for him. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he purrs in between licks, the tip of his tongue circling your clit, flicking over it once or twice to feel the way your twitch in his grip. You throw your head back, a moan ripping from your throat as his sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it with obscene precision. The suction is gentle, at first, just enough to have your back arching and your fingers flying into his soft hair. 

You feel the piercing in his lip move as he shifts, the cool of it slipping through your folds when he sucks down harder, tearing uncontrollable whines from you. Easing you after the harsh suction, he presses his tongue flat against your clit and rolls it, slow and so incredibly fucking skilled. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, Jungkook—”

He only groans in response, the vibration of it traveling through your entire body. When he shifts his mouth again, you think you might black out. He locks eyes with you, his black marbles staring back up at you as a sly smile appears on his face. His tongue rapidly flicks up and down your clit, and just when he sees your eyes roll to the back of your head, he delves down wrap his lips around the nub, sucking tightly at it. 

You can’t see shit. You don’t know if it’s your eyes who have retreated to your skull, or if it’s your vision blurring due to the intense pleasure — whatever it is, it’s too damn good to care about right now. And with the way he chuckles against your cunt, you bet your ass he’s watching your every reaction. 

Because he loves it, he drinks it in. Every moan, every twitch of your hips, every grip of your fingers in his hair — he can’t get enough of it. Especially when he retracts, licking a fat stripe over your pulsating clit, and you let out a breathy whine, desperate for the orgasm he just teased you with.

Unapologetic and lost in deep pleasure, you look back down at him, eyebrows lifting and eyes widening. “I loved the tape you gave me,” you breathe, tugging gently on his hair. 

“Yeah?” He smiles against your wetness, locking eyes with you as his licks turn slow and torturous. His lips have gone all shiny, his chin too, probably, although you can’t see it. 

A smile tugs on your lips, and you nod, slowly starting to roll your hips against him, following the movement of his tongue. “Yeah,” you purr, your eyes fluttering shut every time Jungkook’s flat tongue moves over the most sensitive spot of your clit. “Loved seeing you. Your arms, your thighs, your dick.” 

Your words come out breathy and seductive, egging him on. It works immediately, as he seals his lips around your clit, sucking down while his tongue messily laps over the nub. His spit and your slick mix together in a thick liquid that coats both him and your thighs, running down to the slit that parts your cheeks.

“Anything else?” He lets up from his sucking as his tongue explores you more deeply, slipping down to your entrance, circling it before slowly pushing inside. 

Your entire body jerks. “Ah—yes!”

He starts shamelessly fucking you with his tongue in low, deep strokes, his nose pressed against your clit, his grip on your thighs tightening as you writhe against his face. 

“I wished it was me—so bad Kook.” The words roll of your tongue, and you ramble mindlessly as his tongue curls inside you, his nose rubbing tightly over your clit. “Wished you’d fuck me just like that—fuck me until I can’t walk.”

He loves the sound of your breathy praise, loves the way you keep spasming whenever he hits the sweet-spot buried deep inside you. He knows exactly what it is you need. So he pulls his tongue out, licks his way back up and circles your clit again — but this time, his fingers join in. 

You’re so wet and pliant you almost don’t notice them at first, but when he goes deeper, your eyes widen. There’s two of them, thick and lock, who push inside you so smoothly that your mouth drops open, a broken sound escaping you before you can stop it. His mouth doesn’t let up during the intrusion, his tongue flicks fast over your clit as his fingers curl inside you, exactly where you crave pleasure the most. Your walls pulsate around his digits the moment he teases the spot.

“Ah—fuck, right there—oh my god—” you pant, eyelids fluttering shut as he keeps stroking in rhythmic pulses, his mouth never leaving your clit. The combination is unbearable, and your hips involuntarily rock into his touch. You tug on his hair, pull him closer, and you feel the pleasure in your stomach starting to knot together. “Oh my god, Kook—I’m so close—”

Jungkook flicks his tongue faster, circles your clit tighter, until your vision wipes out, until your legs are shaking around his shoulders, your orgasm building so fiercely you can almost taste blood. 

No one has ever known their way around your body this way, and you thank god for his previous experience, because with the way he’s working you over right now — there’s nothing else for you to do. His long fingers keep curling inside you, not even caring about the fact that your juices run down his palm, his wrist, coating his forearm. He instead hums in appreciation against your clit, wrapping his lips around it, his lip ring slipping inside your glistening folds, and he sucks down viscously on your clit like a starved animal. 

“Fuck—Kook, I’m cu—” is all you’re able to get out before your orgasm hits you. Your legs quiver, your whole body breaks open against his mouth, your head lolls back and you cry out. You grind against his face because you simply can’t not, because you need him deeper, everywhere, you’re actually losing your mind in this orgasm. And Jungkook eats it up, literally. He moans into your climax, tongue lapping ever drop of arousal, fingers starting to pump in and out of you, meeting every grind of your hip. 

Even when your thighs begin to twitch in overstimulation, he doesn’t stop. He slows, of course, but he stays, licking lazy strokes over your cunt as if he’s cleaning up his mess. And under his touch, your body is melting. You actually feel boneless, a trembling mess — who has also seemingly made a mess out of the boy between your legs. 

His hair is a mess from your hands, his lips have gone red, swollen and shiny, and his chest heaves like he’s the one who just came. And when he feels you starting to tug harder on his hair, trying to pry him off your body, he lets up, giving a final peck to your clit. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands, eyes never leaving yours. It doesn’t really help, his lips are still a wet mess, a mess he doesn’t seem to bother. His tongue darts out again, brushing over his lower lip, savoring the taste of you. 

“Voila,” he jokes, bracing his hands on his thighs as his posture straightens. 

You don’t even care that he’s being a cocky asshole now, all you want is for him to rid himself of those god damn clothes. It’s all you can think of when your vision comes back — how he’s still covered. How the tight tee he’s wearing hides his glorious figure from you, how his pants cage in the length and width of his. A cock so big your mouth is already watering. 

Your voice comes out softer and a bit more embarrassing than you expect, “C-can you… take it off?”

Jungkook tilts his head, eyebrows lifting, being a little shit. “Take what off?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes darting toward his still clothed body, toward the heavy bulge that’s straining visibly through the dark denim. Jungkook grins viciously when he notices your lingering and hopeful grin.

“Everything?” he asks, still in that oblivious and teasing tone that weirdly enough turns you on so much that a new wave of arousal seeps from you. You instinctively press your knees together, suddenly a bit self-conscious about being the only one butt-naked here. So you nod, shyly, letting him know you do want him to take everything off. 

His hands move immediately, but his breath hitches and his mouth opens in a wide gape. Of course, teasing you. “Such a forward young girl,” he says as if he’s affronted by your demand. You just roll your eyes at him, even though you’re screaming internally.

He rises to his feet, towering over you with a frame so broad you gulp, his shoulders squared, hair falling into his eyes as he glances down at you with hunger. Eyes never leaving you, his fingers start moving to the hem of his tee. And it’s torture, the way he peels it off, revealing himself inch by inch. The fabric clings to his back as he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. 

Jesus fucking christ, it’s even better up close. A camera can’t possibly do such a man justice, the way he looks as if he’s sculpted by the gods. Sharp collarbones, thick chest, deep dips between every line of muscle, and somehow a lean waist. Unfair is what it is. And his inked up left arm is just too stunning, the way the tattoos curl around his biceps, his veins. Unfair.

Your gaze traces his torso, licking your lips subconsciously. 

“Like what you see?” he asks, extremely cocky. 

“Shush,” you say as you shake your head, hoping to might snap out of the weird horned up trance he has you in by just removing his tee. 

He chuckles, dragging one hand down over his own stomach, flexing his abs. “Not something I usually show the customers. You’re getting some real special treatment here, peach.”

“I somehow don’t believe that,” you frown, trying your hardest not to laugh when he grunts, flexing even harder. He might be ridiculously hot, but he still can’t escape the idiocy that comes with being a boy. 

His mouth opens, gape widens, and his eyebrows crease. “Are you slut-shaming me?”

“I so am.” You brace your hands on either side of your body, leaning backwards, stretching subtly before him. Gloating in the way he’s undressing before you. Because next go his boots. He tows them off one at a time and they land somewhere far off in the small room. Then go the jeans. 

The second the belt is out from its loops, your stomach flips. He pops the button, drags the zipper down, and your mouth dries when he peels them off. The denim clings to his thighs, and you see now just how thick they are. His legs are strong, dense with muscle, strength that only comes from real, physical work — carrying boxes, lifting crates, whatnot. He can maybe add ‘carrying you around’ to that list, if he wants, of course. 

Now, there’s only one barrier left between you and every inch of him. His black boxer-briefs. And what’s underneath them is already impossible to ignore. 

He’s hard, so hard, straining against the fabric, the outline of his cock bulging beneath the waistband. Long and thick, his girth alone has your core clenching in anticipation. You saw him in the self-tape, of course, you know he’s big already. But knowing he’ll bestow the length upon you feels like you’re maybe in way over your head. The tip of him presses against the cotton, and there’s a darkened spot where he’s already leaking. 

Jungkook giggles (weirdly enough) at the way you swallow hard before him, and jerks his head to the side. “Three—two—one.”

He actually counts down the big reveal, hooking his thumbs under the waistband and dragging the fabric down. 

Your jaw almost reaches the floor. 

Jungkook springs free flushed, veiny and think in a way that’s almost greedy. The head of him is swollen and red, glistening and leaking at the tip, and you feel drool trying to make its way down your chin. You shut your mouth immediately, but you take a big breath in through your nose. He’s absolutely, obesely big. This can’t be good for neither you or him. 

Upon seeing you so baffled, he chuckles low in his chest, stroking himself once from base to tip — just for you to watch, and for him to see your reaction. “You said you didn’t want me to hold back, right?” 

Your thighs squeeze together and part your lips, “Uhm.” God you’re an idiot. Uhm? Well, your reaction is kind of fair, you didn’t expect him to be this absurdly big. But maybe you’ll grow accustomed to him, to his size. You pray to god that you will, because you’re not backing out now. “Right—right. I’m ready.” 

He lets out a chuckle and steps in close, close enough that your knees part for him again, close enough that his cologne and body scent wraps around you like a second skin. He leans forward until his hands land on either side of you, palms flat against the shelf. 

You’re caged in. His arms bracket you completely, veins standing out along his forearms, sleeve tattoo stretching and flexing as his weight settles in. There’s nowhere for you to go — not that there’s anywhere else in the world you’d like to be right now. You could absurdly enough die happily in this position, naked underneath the eyes of equally naked Jungkook. His face is inches away from yours, breath warm, eyes glistening as they flick between your eyes, mouth, chest. 

“Need another countdown?” he asks as he leans in, softly kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. 

You shudder, eyes fluttering shut. But still — please don’t count down. It was weird enough the first time. “Rather not,” you giggle, wiggling away from his kisses as they start to tingle. This only eggs Jungkook on more, resulting in him blowing air behind your ear, biting down on your skin, humming in appreciation as you try shoving him away. “Stop Kook, it tickles—oh—”

Oh. It was a distraction. 

Because suddenly you feel him… all of him, pressing heavy against you. He shifts his hip as he feels you still completely, and drags the length of him upwards, through your folds, coating himself in your slick. 

“Shiit, you’re so soft.” Jungkook’s voice is no more than a whisper, speaking directly into your ear before biting down on your earlobe. One of his hands come to rest on your thigh, squeezing the supple flesh there, as his other hand moves between you to grab himself — guiding himself as he drag his cock upwards to circle your clit with his heavy tip. 

You gasp, and your head falls to Jungkook’s shoulder. It’s obscene how sensitive you are, how easily your body reacts to him. You’re still slick from his mouth, and the slide of him against your soaked cunt has you toes curling instantly. 

Jungkook groans under his breath, retracting from your neck to watch how you drip all over him, how his cock slips so easily through you, how the head of him catches at your clit and makes you tremble. “Fuck—looks so pretty.” The thick length of him glides through you from bottom to top, the head pressing against your clit, guiding his leaking tip just right, flicking it up and down your spasming nub that crowns your mound in torturous drags. 

“Oh—” your breath stutters and your hips jolt forward, hands snaking around his frame to drag your long fingernails down his back, hard enough to make him hiss. As your head falls back, Jungkook lets the hand on your thigh move to your neck, and he presses your mouth against his. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you melt into it immediately, lips parting, moaning softly when you feel his cock glide through you yet again. 

He doesn’t push inside you, he just drags himself through your slick over and over again. Each pass is wonderful, the head of his cock nudges your clit, circles it, presses into it to hear how you whine into his mouth. The size of him is impossible to ignore. He’s so heavy, so thick, that you’re starting to worry about how on earth he’s going to fit inside you.

You lift your arms and tug at his hair, fingers curling into his soft strands. “You f-feel—ah—so good.”

Upon hearing your praise, he chuckles softly and kisses you harder, pushing to tighter against his lips. His tongue strokes slow, his open mouth steals every sound you make, swallowing your moans while his cock continues its relentless pass through your folds. 

You’re soaking him, his cock slipping as it reaches your clit again, involuntarily flicking over your clit as you're so wet his cock can't even keep a straight path. You feel yourself pulsing around nothing, clenching with the hope that he’ll soon fill you, that he’ll soon give you exactly what you want. And as you start growing impatient, tugging harder on his hair — Jungkook starts to play with you. 

He nudges your clit side to side, the hand wrapped around his own length guiding his cock precisely where you’re spasming. New waves of arousal leak from you, mixing with the pearls of precum that continues to run down Jungkook’s shaft. With a gasp, you break from the kiss, feeling your legs starting to shake and the coiling pleasure low in your belly building by the second. “N-no more—”

“Fuuck, but—” he breathes out a low growl, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Feel how hard I am for you, peach.”

His hips roll forward, his own hand making sure he slips perfectly though your folds. He flattens the length of him against your slick heat, and when you feel him twitch, when you feel just how close he is himself, a sharp pulse travels straight through your core. Your hands slide down his back, nails digging into his skin, your whole body arching up into him. You can’t take it anymore — he has teased you for long enough. All you want is for him to fill you so good, to actually split you in half, all you want is for him to make you cry in overwhelming pleasure. 

“I could probably cum like this,” Jungkook rasps, still resting against your shoulder. You feel his eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes tingling against your skin. He lets out a deep breath, and actually whines when he presses one last, heavy glide through your folds. As he reaches your clit again, he lingers there, circling thrice until your nails scrape harshly along his back, until your back arches and all you’re able to do is moan his name. He chuckles, although there’s absolutely nothing funny right now, “I bet you could too.”

Well, apparently you’re not allowed to, as his hands find your hips in a sudden motion. Before you can fully catch your breath, let out one last moan, he’s lifting you off the bench, pressing your body flush to him. All the while his cock is still nuzzled between your folds. 

The change of scenery has you gasping for air, arms flinging over his shoulders and legs wrapping tightly around his slender waist. You try balancing yourself, although there seems to be no need as Jungkook doesn’t falter. It doesn’t look like the lift strains him, he doesn’t even blink. He just holds you like you weigh nothing, easily hopping with you in his arms, making you whimper as his cock once again presses against your clit. 

“I don’t know if it’s you that’s light as fuck—or if I’m just stupidly strong,” Jungkook laughs, and there’s a grin tucked into the corner of his mouth, a grin you kind of want to wipe right off his face, no matter how much you want him right now.

He turns with you cradled against him, your bare chest pressed to his, and he walks the two of you a few feet across the backroom, his bare feet making duck-like waddling sounds against the concrete floor. As sensual as this is supposed to be, you giggle, kissing his cheek for the first time. And oh my god. They’re so incredibly soft. They swell up when he smiles, grinning as you continue pressing tiny pecks all over both his cheeks. 

“I’m about to fuck you dense and you’re babying me?” 

You continue smothering him in kisses, not caring if his words actually kind of frighten you… because how much denser could you possibly become after this? The thought doesn’t stick for long, as you’re suddenly being pinned back against one of the tall VHS-shelves. It’s cold against your spine, and you gasp as the wood presses harshly against your skin.

And yet again — you’re caged in. Oh no… you’re trapped beneath Jeon Jungkook, his body flush against you, the hard line of his cock now pressed hot between your legs… oh no, how awful.

You’re still dripping for him, and you swear you can feel your slick smear across his skin as he shifts. Because he leans in, his mouth immediately latching onto your neck again. And as his mouth works you over, he slowly puts you down, without any tremble in his arms, without any struggle whatsoever, until your bare feet meet the floor. 

At this height, you have to get on your tip-toes if you want Jungkook to continue his kisses down your neck — so you do. You lift your heels off the floor and invite his mouth, his mouth which softly presses just beneath your ear. He drags his lips down the line of your throat until you’re tilting your head back to give him more. But then his mouth opens, and he starts sucking, tongue and teeth coming into play as he bruises the skin above your collarbone.

You inhale a soft gasp or moan, you have no idea, and you subconsciously arch your back off the shelf, your hips nudging against his abdomen.

He groans against your skin, and shifts his grip, suddenly losing all the strength he has used to hold himself back. His tattooed arm slides under your thigh, lifting one leg up and hooking it over his forearm. The stretch of it opens you up for him completely, your core exposed, flushed and needy. He reaches between your bodies with his other hand, wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, and lines himself up.

“Ah—Kook.” Your stomach flips, and your nails drag against his shoulders. 

The head of him is nestled right at your entrance, obscenely thick, already slick from both the teasing from earlier and the precum that leaks from him. Just the feel of him has your walls fluttering for him, begging shamelessly. “Split me open.”

He groans against your neck, a guttural sound that comes from hearing you plead so submissively, wanting him to tear you apart with the width and length of his cock. Lifting his mouth from you skin, he looks down at where his cock presses into you, circling your swollen entrance with a sick grin on his face. The deep red of him disappears so beautifully inside you, causing your head to loll back in pleasure-pain. As his tip retracts from you again, your walls clench around nothing, and you breathe out his name, making Jungkook look up at you, lock his eyes with yours.

“Hold onto me,” is all he says, before slowly pushing into you — agonizingly slow.

Your breath stills in your lungs the moment the thick crown of his cock starts to breach you, stretching your entrance around him. The pressure is immediate, he’s so big that your muscles clench without permission, trying to accommodate him. But you arch your back further off the shelf, shoving yourself further onto his cock as he’s still not even halfway through yet. 

“Fuuck,” he grits with his jaw clenched, eyebrows knotted, eyes locked on where your bodies melt togheter. “You’re so tight—jesus.” He only sinks in an inch more, and still, your breath hitches like it’s being pulled from the base of your spine. You might’ve asked for him to split you open, but now that he actually might, your vision blurs and your mouth falls open.

His hand slips from your thigh to your hip, and he uses the hold to pull you down, just a little, just enough to sink another inch into you — then he holds you there. He pants like a madman, almost going cross-eyed from the unbelievable tightness of your heat, the way you already clench and pulsate around his cock, so un-accustomed to the width of him. 

“Shit—okay, ready?” he asks, eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’ve gone completely dark now, swallowed by his black pupils, and there’s a strange, pleading look to him. You’ve never seen this in him, the way his eyebrows crease high on his forehead, the way he nods at you for permission. It sends a wave of pleasure through you, and your walls start fluttering uncontrollably around him, causing his head to tip back, his lips to part as soft gasps leave him. 

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding back at him. “R-ready when you are.”

The second your breathy confirmation slips past your lips, he exhales something between a moan and a curse and begins pushing in again, torturous inch by inch. The drag of his cock through your walls has your mouth falling open, head thumping softly against the shelf behind you. Because you finally feel every part of him, every thick ridge, every beautiful vein as he opens you in a way that’s probably going to ruin you forever. 

Your eyes squeeze shut when he sinks deeper, but Jungkook’s threaded voice pulls them open again. “Eyes on me,” he pants, cupping your jaw his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he holds your face. “Wanna see your pretty face when I’m bottomed out.” 

Who the hell would say no to that? Probably someone who haven’t laid their eyes on Jungkook and his eyes which are so big you could easily get lost in them, even though you’ve spent years mapping them out. 

So you watch him closely, watch the strain in his expression as he slowly feeds you more of his cock, his brows tights and his lips parted. You feel the tremble in his thigh, the flex of his arm beneath your leg, how even he is fighting to stay in control. He’s all flushed muscle and restraint, every inch of his body working to not wreck you… yet. He’ll get to it, don’t you worry. 

But as of now, he keeps sinking deeper into you — and it feels fucking endless, the stretch so incredibly slow and agonizing that you might decent into madness soon. By the time he’s nearly fully inside you, your legs start shaking, your nails carving half-moons into his inked shoulder. “K-kook—” you pant, the snug fit of him starting to ache inside you. “You have to move.”

It surprises you when he moans loudly, shuddering against you while holding eye contact — something so extremely attractive that you almost come undone right then and there. He pants wildly, groaning as he tries entering you fully. “Almost there,” he whines, eyes glued to yours.

And then finally, finally, his hips press flush to yours. He bottoms completely out, something that has the two of you moaning out loudly in the small backroom. 

His head falls to your shoulder, and you feel his sweat drip down from his forehead and onto your collarbone. You moan out yet again at the fullness, the way he presses impossibly deep, stealing all the air from your lungs. He stays still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting your walls pulse and quiver around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck. 

“Fucking fuck,” he mutters against your skin. His next words have him sounding like he’s in disbelief. “I’m actually gonna split you in half.”

You nod as your head lolls back, feeling stretched to the edge of your limits, but somehow you’re burning for him, needing more from him. Because he doesn’t move yet, he savors the way your body molds around him, his nose nudging your neck as his lips brushes over your skin with shaky exhales. And he prepares himself to pull out. 

When he does, it’s only an inch, but he thrusts right back in with a quiet growl, grinding his hips into yours — his abdomen rubbing beautifully against your clit. You whimper, back arching as the motion drags along your inner walls. And just like this, the head of him nudges at the sweet spot buried deep inside you, causing your moans to die in your throat and your core to clench around his cock.

“Found it on the first fucking try,” he chuckles, biting down on the soft skin of your shoulder when your spasming tries milking him for every drop he’s got. “Shit, just like that.”

You’re barely able to find your voice as he’s pressed heavily against your g-spot. “K-kook—more please—”

He needs no more encouragement, because as the words leave you, Jungkook starts setting a rhythm. It starts out slow, letting you feel all his girth with every stroke. His cock drags out of you almost completely before sliding back in, every inch punching a moan out of both your lungs. You’re equally lost in pleasure, him panting against your neck, you melting with the shelf. 

His arm trembles beneath your thigh, and as he breathes out a quick breath, he decides to pick up the pace. 

“Yes, r-right there—oh my god,” you ramble mindlessly as his thrusts grow sharper. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking into you, your slick coating him, dripping down both your thighs. The shelf behind you shakes with every thrust, VHS tapes toppling onto the floor, forgotten as the two of you moan uncontrollably with pleasure.

You’re a fucking mess — crying out over his shoulder, your body bouncing with every stroke, and he’s right there with you, his voice raw in your ear. “It’s good we didn’t do this earlier,” he grunts, his nose scrunching with every rapid thrust. “I’d be doing this all day—and you’d be fucking limp by now.”

The hand on your hip snakes between your bodies, and somehow he finds your clit even without looking. Two of his fingers press against you, working tight circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, slick from your arousal, his mouth brushing the edge of your jaw as his cock drives rapidly inside you. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s handling you, the sounds he produces, the sounds of his hips slamming into you and the wetness that coats his dick. You’re being taken apart in degrees.

You can fucking feel him in your ribs, if that’s even possible, the weight of him in your belly — and all of it is spiraling higher and higher with every pass of his fingers over your clit. It doesn’t help that you feel your tits pressing so tightly against his plump and delicious chest, that you feel him kissing your throat, open-mouthed and desperate, licking and sucking on your skin. You’re being stimulated at every end, and it feels like you’re about to light on fire.

“Yes—yes—yes—god yes—” The words coming out of you just fall off your tongue as your mind is clouded, thinking about nothing but the feel of his cock against your g-spot and his fingers rubbing your clit. You’ve been teased for so long that you’ve entered a strange, delirious state, not even caring about how desperate and needy you sound. “Fuck me just like that, Jungkook—ah—oh god—”

You cry out, choking on your words as his cock slams into you, the unbearable length of him punching into the spot that makes your vision go white. 

“Shit—you’re gonna cum,” Jungkook grits out against your collarbone, almost as if it’s a revelation. His hand on your clit moves in sloppy motions, because he’s simply just trying to push you over the edge, pinching the swollen bundle of nerves between two fingers, rubbing lazily over it. “Holy f-fuuck, yeah—fucking soak me.”

It’s like you’ve entered the gates of heaven, or something in the likes of it — because you never knew such pleasure could ever exist. His cock hits your sweet spot so perfectly with every erratic thrust, his fingers working you open like your release is the only thing Jungkook wants right now… which it kind of is. 

So who are you to hold back? 

The coiling pleasure in your stomach is almost overbearing now, and you can’t seem to produce any words, just sound, just breathy moans that Jungkook immediately swallow with a deep kiss. When he rolls his tongue into your mouth, you almost choke, unprepared for the sensation. You taste the sweat that’s dripping from his upper lip, and somehow it’s enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh my god—I’m cumming—oh my god, Jungkook—don’t stop—”

You clench and pulsate viciously around his cock, gasping for air as the euphoria of your orgasm takes ahold of you and causes your vision to wipe out. Your hands move to his hair, tugging on the dark and sweaty strands as he continues to fuck himself into you again and again and again. It’s absolutely unbearable, right as your orgasm hits you, you somehow lose your consciousness. Your thighs start trembling uncontrollably, the shake so extreme that the leg which is not help up in his arms actually gives out, completely overpowered by his size and speed. 

“Oh fuck—” Jungkook immediately hooks your limp leg over his arm, holding onto your ass, trying to keep you upright. He repositions, lifting you with a tiny hop, his arms wrapping around you, one right around your waist, the other in between your shoulder blades, pressing your dead body flush against him. His cock is still buried deep inside you, and his thrusts slow down, reaching deeper and deeper inside you as your body lies weightless in his arms. Your head has fallen to his shoulders, your fingers are tangled and unmoving in his hair, and all you’re able to do is breathe against him. “Are you—are you good?” Jungkook asks, pressing a reassuring kiss to your shoulder. 

“Y-yes—I just—” your voice comes out shaky, but you try clearing your head. And that is for the sole purpose of holding out, keeping him inside you with a deep need to feel him cum — to feel the thick ropes coating your walls and clinging to you, seeping out of you once he pulls out. “—I need your cum.”

Jungkook chuckles, biting down on your skin. He starts caressing the skin between your shoulder blades with the pad of his middle finger, just as lazy strokes as the ones of his cock. Although lazy, you still feel the burn of him, wincing every time he goes too deep, or even deep at all. 

“You’ll get my cum, alright,” he purrs, nudging your head to face his, stealing a kiss from your swollen lips. “Can you stand?” 

You only shake your head. 

“Alright, then—” He smiles against the next kiss, not even closing his eyes. “Get on your knees. Wanna cum in that pretty mouth.”

Oh my god — roundabout. You might be a bit sad that he won’t paint your walls with his cum, but the thought of tasting him on your tongue almost gives your body new life. It takes a second for your muscles to respond, but he’s already helping you get down, his hands guiding your legs and knees on the floor. The loss of his cock is a sharp ache, well, a deep sting actually, but it’s replaced by something else entirely when you’re all the way down on the floor, looking up at his tall, bare and sweat-covered frame. 

His cock stands proud before you, glistening with your slick, twitching in the open air. He fists himself once, twice, brushing his thumb over the tip, spreading both your and his arousal over his length. You can tell he’s close, incredibly so, as he’s swollen, leaking constantly — something that has your mouth watering. 

“Open up,” he demands with a gentle voice, moving closer to you. 

You do just as he says, mouth parting obediently, tongue falling out slightly to meet him. He brushes the tip along your tongue first, letting your taste the mix of both of you. And as you want him to break, as you’re so desperate for his cum, you stick your tongue out furthermore, circling the head of him, flicking over the slit gently, teasing before your lips wrap around him.

“Ohhfuuck, just like that,” he moans hoarsely, and his hands go to your head, cradling it while his eyebrows knot high on his forehead. He tastes of you, of himself — it’s strange and addictive. But he hasn’t exactly shrunken in the past minute, so just getting him down your throat is a task so hard tears immediately brim your eyes. A sight which apparently has Jungkook losing his mind. 

“Fuck—are you crying on my dick?” he asks in disbelief, moaning uncontrollably when you hollow your cheeks to take him in deeper. You slide your lips down his shaft, hands wrapping around what won’t fit — because he is quite frankly that big. Jungkook’s whole body shudders. “You look so fucking beautiful.”

You try hiding the fact that you flush immediately at his words, and let one of your hands tug on his balls, playing gently with them as you suck him as deep as his cock can go. It’s a straining task, and you unfortunately gag when you take him in too deep, moaning around him — the vibrations traveling straight through Jungkook’s spine. 

He looks down at you with wild eyes, sweat clinging to his temples, and as you cradle one of his balls, you feel it tense. He’s stupidly close. 

His hips jerk forward without warning, letting you know just how close to the edge he really is. The sound he makes is so beautiful, so sinful, that you kind of wish you were recording this — so you could pocket his moan, keep it with you wherever you go. His eyes never leave you, and he’s sweating and panting like what you’re doing to him actually makes him lose his mind.

“F-fuck, peach—your mouth—shit,” Jungkook pants, his voice torn open and uneven, one hand slipping down from your cheek as you suck him deeper. “You’ve got some fucking mouth—ah—”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, real ones, from the sheer stretch and effort of taking him. Your jaw aches, throat tight around the thick girth of him, your lips puffy and soaked. But you don’t stop — not even when it hurts your throat so bad that the unshed tears finally fall down your cheeks. Because you need to feel him cum. 

And judging by the frantic way his hips twitch against your mouth, the way his hand tightens in your hair — you believe he might be close to losing it. And you’re right by that. 

“Shit—shit—I’m gonna cum—fuck, baby, I’m—”

Both your hands move to the back of his thighs, digging your nails gently into his flesh, shoving your head all the way down his cock, not caring that your throat hurts so bad you could scream. Because when you look up at him, when you see his eyes roll to the back of his head, see the way sweat runs down his temple, down his plump chest, there’s no stopping you. 

His entire body shudders. “I’m cumming—baby, I’m cumming—holy fuck—”

With a deep, desperate moan, he spills into your mouth, thick and hot ropes of cum that hit the back of your throat before you can blink. You moan around him, swallowing as fast as you can, not wasting a single drop. 

Jungkook doesn’t stop twitching. He pulses again and again, his free hand trembling on your jaw as he now watches you gulp down on his cum, watches as both his release and your spit seeps from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. He watches in complete awe. Would you look at that? You’ve got the Jeon Jungkook, your fucking childhood crush, your fucking real time crush, wrapped around your finger. Or wrapped around your tongue, would maybe be better wording here. 

“Fucking look at you,” he moans, voice unhinged. “How are you real?”

You keep going, soft sucks to his oversensitive tip, tongue tracing along the underside of his shaft where a veins throbs beneath the skin. You want him clean, completely. So you don’t stop until there’s nothing left, until his cock is wet with only your spit, your tongue dragging slowly along every vein. 

He shudders, twitches again, and suddenly retracts from you, leaving your throat sore and hurting. “Stop—stop,” he pants franticly, suddenly getting down on his knees before you, almost meeting your height. Without further notice, he wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you flush to him, closing the distance with a sloppy kiss. “Fuck—you’ll be the death of me.”

You’ve never had a guy do this — kiss the mouth that just swallowed ropes own his own cum. His tongue rolls into your mouth, not even caring about the bitter aftertaste of his release, moaning against you as you press your tits against his sweaty chest. 

So there you are, on the floor of the backroom, VHS tapes scattered across the floor alongside all your clothes, making out heavily as if you haven’t just ruined each other completely. 

“Think you can walk outta here?” Jungkook laughs against your lips, not even letting you answer before his tongue breaches your mouth again. 

You gasp for air, running your fingernails down his chest, leaving white marks all over him that will certainly turn red in a moment. “Probably not.” 

“Too bad then,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, eating you up. “I’ll have to carry you everywhere now. What a drag,” he teases, not leaving as much as an inch of your skin untouched by his lips. 

“Oh no,” you mock, trembling in his arms as his kisses find the sensitive spot of your neck. 

“Can I ask you something weird?” he breathes against your collarbone, licking and sucking on your skin as he waits for your answer. You only nod above him, eyes shutting close as he lavishes you in wet kisses. His next words come out low, almost unnoticeable, but your eyes widen the moment you hear them. 

“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone over a blowjob?” 

[malsmoony]

holy fuck, i’m a new woman.

[kikiskook]

Pretty girls lie pretty.

“Break up with your girlfriend for the night.”

↝ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: What if your girlfriend’s pissy friend didn’t want to steal you away? What if he just wanted to fuck the goodness out of you? And what if you let him?

↝ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut ↝ 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: explicit (18+) ↝ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: yoongi x reader ↝ 𝒘𝒄: 15k ↝ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: taken!reader, messy!yoongi, reader is in a wlw relationship and cheats on her with yoongi, yoongi has a tongue piercing bc i’m a whore, yoongi is mean/mocking, explicit themes: sex on table, degradation kink (insults, shaming, mocking), spitting (in mouth + pussy), muffling kink (hand over mouth), lowkey(?) hate sex, choking, hickeys, biting, marking, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, public risk / sex with girlfriend in the next room, fingering, oral (f. receiving), cum on body (ass, thighs), spit as lube, slight handjob, spanking (light/cock), name-calling (“slut”, “messy”, “liar”), slight objectification (“pussy”, “hole”), intense eye contact kink, face grabbing, hair pulling, verbal power play, rough sex, aftercare non-existent, humiliation kink, thigh grabbing, cheating kink, minor clothing kink (panties described/obsessed over), yoongi mocking / complaining about clothes, rough unprotected penetrative sex, messy/wet sex, impact play (table banging), cleanup with napkins 😭 ↝ 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔: playlist | song that inspired it

You really don’t think he’ll notice—the way your gaze snags on him, sharp and shiny as a fishhook—but here’s the kicker: 

Yoongi notices everything.

Wet china sticks to his palm, heat and dish soap biting under his nails. Bubbles pop around his wrists, too clean, too domestic, as if scrubbing meringue off a plate could rinse out what’s rotting under his ribcage. 

To his left, the door hangs half-shut: voices peel through, laughter at the wrong pitch, forks clinking against cheap porcelain. 

Your girl’s laugh, syrupy, and so, so fucking annoying. 

He’d almost rather shatter this plate just to shut her up for half a second.

So fucking loud, all of it. So impossibly not enough.

You’re somewhere out there. Probably pretending to listen to some friend’s vacation story, lips twisting into that smile you reserve for duty. Not pleasure. Not even guilt—God knows you save that shit for him, press it into every accidental brush of your fucking shoulder, every break in that missionary stare. 

He knows the shape of it now.

Guilt looks like you.

Ducking your head to your chest, fingers fussing with silverware, refusing to meet his eyes for more than a second. Like you might combust if you hold it too long.

Sickening isn’t even the word for it. The dish clatters—too hard, almost cracks. He tightens his grip. Wonders if the muscles in his jaw will snap before the ceramic does.

How many birthdays is this now? Three? Four? 

He’s lost count; all these parties blur together. Same sticky heat leaking through the shutters, same goddamn scent—lemon rind, sweet wine, something synthetic you wear on your wrists just to get through the crowd. 

He can taste it, even from here. Bitter almond. 

Makes his molars ache.

The worst part is the pretending. The way you look away on purpose, telegraphing distance like you actually believe you have any left to give. You think if you just blink, just hold your breath, your desire won’t drip out onto the kitchen tiles for him to notice. 

You think you’re some patron saint of loyalty. 

Hah. 

Saints don’t fidget every time he walks behind them. Saints don’t swallow so hard when their girlfriend puts a hand on the small of their back. Saints don’t keep checking to see if he’s looking.

Here’s a secret: he always is.

Soap squeaks between his knuckles. He stacks the plate a little too rough, doesn’t care if it chips. 

What if it did? Would you flinch? Would your perfect little world splinter, just for a moment? 

He imagines the sound—porcelain on tile, gasps from the other room, your head snapping up, eyes blown wide with something that’s not fear. Not quite. 

He wonders how it would feel to ruin something that actually mattered tonight.

In the dining room, someone starts singing off-key, and Yoongi scrubs harder until his hands burn. He doesn’t need to see you to know exactly how your face looks right now: pinched, guilty.

Avoiding him even from thirty feet away.

Yeah, run along. Pretend you don’t want him to follow. Pretend a little harder.

He drops the next dish in the sink with a sharp clatter—just to see if you’ll finally fucking look.

Then, a sound, a voice, a permission.

He hears it—your girl’s voice, syrup slick, cutting through the party racket: “Babe, could you grab that bottle from the kitchen?” 

Ridiculous how she manages to sound grateful and controlling at the same time. 

Maybe she knows. Maybe she fucking knows.

Chair legs screech. Footsteps, soft but pointed, crossing tile—he knows the sound of your tread, timid and dubious. 

You linger by the door like you’re still deciding if you’ll breathe in here. He doesn’t bother looking. 

Why indulge you?

Door whispers shut. Exile. 

Now it’s just the two of you. Your shallow, nervous breaths fill the cracks between his knuckles and the faucet’s hiss. 

It gets hotter. Air growing thick with something moldy, unspoken.

He keeps washing. Doesn’t spare you a glance, because if he does, he fears something beside the silverware will shatter. 

But he does speak. “Aren’t you tired?”

You blink, unsure, thumb tracing the seam of your top. 

That stupid, white tank top that clings to your chest like a promise he knows he can’t keep, you can’t keep.

“Sorry?”

“Deaf now?” He raises a brow—not even for you, mostly for himself. “I asked if you aren’t tired.”

That little panic-glitch you do—eyebrows up, smile flickering. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He sets a plate down harder than necessary. Water slaps the counter. 

“No? Funny, that. Hard to believe, with how you eye-fuck me every two seconds.” 

He wipes his fingers on a dish rag, stares at the back of your neck, the red where your collar pulls tight. His tongue prods at the cold weight of metal behind his teeth, a habit when he's bored or pissed or thinking about you.

You stare at the counter, clutching that bottle of wine you’ve retrieved from the fridge like it might split open and save you. 

Your silence is loud. Worse than excuses.

He lets it hang. Not even mercy; just wants to see how long you’ll squirm. 

“Don’t start playing innocent now. Not when you’re so damn obvious.”

You shake your head, quick—automatic, honest in a way words aren’t. “What? I’m not—”

He cuts you off. “Sure you’re not.” He spits the words, not even angry. Bored, if anything. “Should try not looking so hungry, sweetheart. Gets embarrassing.”

You hover near the doorway, torn between fight and flight, but you do neither. 

You stay. 

Of course you do. 

That’s the root of it, isn’t it? You want him to rip the decency out of your chest, just so you can blame someone else.

The bottle trembles in your grip. Cork stuck, label peeling where your thumb keeps rubbing nervous circles. You’re going to drop it—he can see it in the way your wrist shakes, the way you’re gripping too tight, knuckles bone-white.

“C’mere.” He sighs. “Let me open the fucking bottle for you before you break it.”

You hesitate. Of course you do. Always three steps behind your own impulses, aren’t you? 

But you move anyway, shuffling closer until you’re within arm’s reach, wine bottle extended to him like you’re offering something besides the container.

He doesn’t take it immediately. Just stares at your fingers wrapped around the neck, the way they tremble when he doesn’t move fast enough. Your pulse hammers in your throat—he can see it jumping, frantic and guilty.

“Relax,” he says, finally taking the bottle. “Not gonna bite.”

Liar. 

He wants to sink his teeth into that soft spot where your shoulder meets your neck, wants to make you whimper his name while your girlfriend laughs in the next room.

The cork pops with a wet sound. Wine sloshes, bright and bitter. He sets it on the counter harder than necessary, glass ringing against marble.

You lean against the counter now, arms crossed over your chest. 

It’s pathetic, really. The distance you’re trying to create when you’re already this close, when you came to him instead of asking literally anyone else to open a simple bottle.

“You should break up with your girl for the night.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but he sees you flinch in his peripheral vision, sees the way your breathing stops.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He looks up then, studies your face—the way your eyes go wide, the way your lips part around nothing. “Tell her you’re sick. Tell her you need air. Tell her whatever lie comes easiest.”

You shake your head, automatic. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” He steps closer, just enough to make you press back against the counter. “Can’t lie? You’ve been doing it for months. Can’t disappoint her? You disappoint her every time you look at me.”

Your mouth opens, closes. Fish gasping on dry land.

“She knows,” he continues, voice dropping lower. “You think she doesn’t, but she does. The way you go quiet when I walk in a room. The way you find excuses to stay late when I’m around. She’s not stupid.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what? Stop saying what you’re thinking? Stop noticing how wet you get when I’m mean to you?” He’s close enough now to notice the way your eyes darken when he talks.

It makes him sick. It makes him so fucking sick he needs to kiss them away from you, let them die like your heart does when you glance at him when he doesn’t. 

“You want me to stop pretending I don’t see how you fall apart every time I’m within ten feet of you?”

Your chest rises and falls too fast. Panic or arousal—probably both. “This isn’t—we can’t—”

“We can’t what?” He leans in, smell of cigarettes on his breath, soap on his skin. “Can’t want each other? Too late for that. Can’t act on it? That’s just cowardice.”

You press yourself further back against the counter, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s got you pinned, not with his body but with his words, with the weight of everything you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist.

“I love her,” you whisper, and it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.

“Sure you do.” He reaches past you, palm flat against the counter on either side of your hips. Caging you in. “Love her enough to eye-fuck me at her birthday party. Love her enough to think about me when she’s between your legs.”

You make a sound—half gasp, half sob. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” His voice is barely above a whisper now, eyes fixed on yours. “Tell me you don’t think about me. Tell me you don’t want me to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you forget her name.”

Your hands fly to his chest, but you don’t push him away. Just rest them there, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt.

“I don’t like you,” you breathe.

“Sure.” His eyes flick to the tears gathering in your eyes, the way your lips are swollen from biting them. “And pigs fly.”

A tear falls.

But you’re not saying no. You’re not moving away.

“One night,” he says, and it’s not a question. “One night to get this poison out of our systems. Then you can go back to being the good girlfriend, and I can go back to pretending I don’t want to destroy you.”

Your voice cracks when you speak. “And if I say no?”

“You can say no.” He thumbs away a tear, the gesture almost tender. “But you won’t. Because you’re tired of being good. Because you want someone to make the choice for you so you don’t have to live with the guilt of making it yourself.”

You close your eyes, lean into his touch despite yourself.

“Look at me,” he commands, and you do. “Tell me no. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away. Go back to washing dishes like nothing happened.”

But you can’t. He knows, you know. You can’t say no because you don’t want to, and you can’t say yes because you’re too scared of what it makes you.

“I—”

“Don’t think.” His thumb traces your bottom lip, and you shiver. The tip of his tongue flicks out, silver ball gliding over his own lip, slow and taunting. “Just feel. Just for once in your pathetic, repressed life, let yourself feel something real.”

The party continues in the next room—voices and laughter and the clink of glasses. Your girlfriend’s voice rises above the rest, calling your name.

“She’s looking for you,” he says, but he doesn’t step back.

“I know.”

“You can go back to her. Pretend this didn’t happen. Pretend you don’t want me so bad it’s eating you alive.”

You stare at him, torn between duty and desire, between the life you’ve built and the hunger that’s been growing inside you for months.

Then you grab the bottle and move away, back towards the door like a fucking leashed animal going back to its cage.

“Or,” he continues, like a throwaway comment, “you can let me fucking rock your world, for tonight.”

You stop, reach for the door but don’t open it—just turn around to watch him, check his reaction. He smiles, knows that look. You wear it like it’s your default setting—guilt.

You’re considering it. 

So he moves until he’s in front of you—you against the door, him checking you out.

He notices the strand of hair that’s fallen across your shoulder—always the same piece, always escaping that way you pin it back. 

He brushes it aside with the back of his knuckles, barely touching, but you shiver anyway. Your skin pebbles under his attention.

“I’ve been thinking about this spot for so long,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. 

The place where a necklace would sit if you were the type to wear one. If she so much as asked, you would. He knows. 

His thumb finds that exact spot, drags across it with laziness. Pulse jumps under his touch—frantic, guilty, alive. 

Even when trying to remain composed, your body betrays you around him. 

It’s funny, really. 

“So fucking long,” he continues, thumb tracing circles that get smaller, more focused. “Watching you cover it up with high necklines and scarves. Like you knew I was looking. Like you knew what I wanted to do to you.”

Your girlfriend’s voice again—“Babe, where did you go?”—but neither of you move. 

Instead he leans closer, closer now that his breath ghosts over your skin. 

“You’re so full of shit,” he whispers against your throat. “Standing there like some martyr, like you’re not dripping wet from three words and a thumb on your neck.”

You make a sound—half protest, half moan. Your free hand flutters uselessly at your side, searching for something to hold onto that isn’t him.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, but his mouth is already brushing against your shoulder, lips barely grazing the skin he’s been obsessing over. “Tell me to fuck off and I will.”

But you can’t. You won’t. Your head tilts back despite yourself, giving him better access, and that’s all the permission he needs.

He starts with the softest brush of his lips, testing, stud dragging a cold line across your skin. Your skin tastes like salt and that fucking perfume you wear—fig and almond, bitter and sweet and it matches the feeling he swallows down his throat every time he sees you.

He trails lower, following the curve of your shoulder, marking a path with his mouth.

Then he bites.

Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make you gasp, to make your knees buckle. His teeth sink into that tender spot where your shoulder slopes down, and you arch into him instead of away.

“There you fucking are,” he mumbles against your skin, soothing the bite with his tongue. 

His hand settles on your waist, fingers splaying wide, claiming the space between your hipbone and ribs. You’re trembling now, full-body shaking, and he feels sick for how much he enjoys that.

“Babe?” Your girlfriend’s voice is closer now, probably checking the hallway. “Did you find the wine?”

Yoongi nips at your shoulder again, teeth scraping, and your hand flies to his shoulder—gripping, desperate. 

Not pushing him away, not anchoring yourself. 

Just holding on like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Answer her,” he murmurs against your skin, mouth moving lower to taste the hollow of your collarbone. “Tell her you’re coming.”

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. He bites down again, harder this time, and you bite back a moan.

“Can’t even lie anymore,” he says, and he sounds pleased. Victorious. “Look at you, falling apart from a few bites. What’s she gonna think when she sees the marks?”

Your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging through his shirt. 

Still not pushing him away.

“That’s right,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Hold onto me. Let me give you something to really feel guilty about.”

He works his way back up your shoulder, each kiss hungrier than the last, each bite a little deeper. Your breathing is ragged now, desperate little gasps that make his cock twitch in his jeans.

“I’m—” you start, but he cuts you off with another bite, this one right at the base of your neck. The sound you make is pure sin.

“You’re what?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look at you—lips swollen, eyes glassy. “You’re sorry? You’re a good person? You’re not enjoying this?”

Your girlfriend calls your name again, impatient now.

He moves to your neck again, mouth hot and demanding against the tender skin just below your ear. 

And the kicker of all this is—you keep making fucking sounds—small, desperate whimpers that are going to get you caught if you don’t shut up.

Maybe that’s exactly what you want. Maybe he’s not the only monster, after all. 

His hand slides up from your waist, fingers spreading across your ribs before moving higher—up until he clamps his palm over your mouth, not gentle, thumb pressing against your lips.

“Bite down,” he commands, voice rough against your throat. “Before you get us both in trouble.”

You do—teeth sinking into the pad of his thumb, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to muffle the moan that tries to escape. He groans at the sensation, hips pressing forward until you can feel exactly how much he wants you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth working against your neck. “I should fuck you in front of her. Let her watch while I make you cum on my cock. Let her see how good you truly are. How pliant, how kind.”

Your teeth tighten around his thumb, eyes rolling back—and he knows then the fantasy is bursting behind your eyelids—brutal and wrong and so fucking appealing it makes your knees weak.

Nasty, you’re so fucking nasty. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continues, barely containing his own satisfaction. “Want her to see how desperate you get when someone you crave touches you. How you turn into a whore the second someone pays attention to all that’s rotting beneath your lil’ nice act.”

You shake your head, but it’s no use, really. 

Your body tells the truth—the way you arch into him, the way your breathing goes ragged against his palm.

“Liar,” he growls, nipping at your pulse point. “Your cunt’s probably soaked just thinking about it. About being bent over while she watches, about her seeing exactly what kind of slut she’s been dating.”

“Babe? Are you okay in there?”

Yoongi’s hand tightens over your mouth, thumb pressing deeper between your teeth.

“One night,” he whispers urgently against your ear. “Tonight. After they all leave and she’s busy washing dishes in the kitchen.”

Your eyes go wide, pupils blown with arousal and terror.

“The dining room,” he continues, voice low and filthy. “Right on that table where we all just ate. Where she served you her birthday cake and all you could do is keep stealing glances at me. I’ll bend you over it and fuck you until you forget her name.”

You shudder at that, he feels it, he knows you do too. His thumb is wet with your saliva, and you’re still biting down like your life depends on it.

Maybe it does. He knows your girlfriend is seconds away from finding out. 

And the most twisted of it all? He’s getting off on that. 

“Picture it,” he breathes, mouth moving to the other side of your neck. “Her humming in the kitchen, twenty feet away, while I split you open on the table. While I make you beg for my cock in the same room where she sang happy birthday an hour ago.”

You whimper at that—the words, the motion, he doesn’t know, but he wants to swallow the sound down his throat anyways. 

“She’ll be so focused on cleaning,” he continues, painting the scene for your nightmares. “Won’t even notice how long you’ve been gone. Won’t hear you whimpering my name or the sound of the table legs scraping against the floor.”

Your girlfriend’s footsteps grow louder in the hallway—really fucking close now, and your breath comes in short bursts against his palm. 

But he can see you thinking, weighing the cost, imagining it. Considering it. 

“Nod if you understand,” he says.

You stare at him for a long moment, like you’re not sure if it’s worth the risk, if your guilt is worth the reward. 

But then—then you fucking nod.

Just once. Barely a movement. 

But he’s seen it, telegraphed it and now he fucking knows for certain. 

He drops his hand from your mouth, steps back like nothing happened. 

You slump against the door, legs shaking, lipstick smeared and hair mussed. His tongue darts out, runs over his lower lip, the stud catching on chapped skin.

“Fix yourself,” he says, walking back to the sink. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked, and we haven’t even started yet.”

You push off on unsteady legs, smoothing your hair with trembling fingers, covering the blooming red marks with your free hand. 

“Tonight,” he says without turning around, hands already back in the soapy water like this is just another conversation. “Don’t make me come find you.”

The kitchen door swings open then. 

“There you are,” your girlfriend says, smiling as she steps into the kitchen. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

“Just helping with the wine,” he says easily, voice betraying nothing. “Cork was stuck.”

Your girlfriend looks between you both, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way you’re gripping your neck like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asks, moving closer to press the back of her hand against your forehead. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you manage, voice barely steady. “Just warm in here.”

She nods, accepting the lie, and takes the wine bottle from you with a grateful smile. 

Then, she looks at Yoongi. “Thanks for helping. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No problem,” he says, still focused on the dishes. But his eyes find yours over her shoulder, and the look he gives you is all malice. “Happy to help.”

She grabs your hand, and you let yourself be guided out of the kitchen.

Not without hearing a last: 

“See you in a bit.” 

And goddamn if he doesn’t mean it. 

Your mouth ruins him.

Not in the way people mean when they talk about lips, or smiles, or whatever bullshit poets write. No—your mouth ruins him because you don’t even know what it does. 

Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s the worst part.

He watches you swipe a thumb through whipped cream, tongue flicking out to catch the mess. Innocent. Stupid. You don’t even taste the cake, just the sugar on your skin. 

The plate is untouched. Waste of flour, waste of time. The real dessert’s right there, sitting across from him, legs tucked under the table like you’re not hiding bruises under that kerchief and those shorts that barely count as clothing.

You laugh at something your girlfriend says—soft, feeble, the kind of sound that makes people think you’re gentle. You nod when she asks about the wine. 

“It was fine,” you say, voice steady—but you’re a fucking liar.  You haven’t tasted a thing since you walked back in here, since you let him mark you up in the kitchen like you were begging for it.

He counts the glances. Five in two minutes. He’s not guessing. He’s keeping track, tallying every time your eyes dart his way, wide and pleading, like you want him to call you out in front of everyone. Like you want to get caught. Like you want to be ruined.

You don’t even try to hide it. That’s what pisses him off. 

You sit there, pretty as a picture, tank top clinging to your chest, shorts riding up your thighs, kerchief tied tight around your neck like it’s a fucking leash. 

You think that’s enough? You think a strip of fabric can erase the way you let him bite you, the way you whimpered into his hand, the way you nodded when he told you exactly what he’d do to you later?

Pathetic.

He digs his fork into the cake, doesn’t taste it. Sugar, cream, nothing. He wants to throw the plate. Wants to watch it shatter, see if you’d flinch, see if you’d finally stop pretending. But you wouldn’t. You’d just look at him, big-eyed and guilty, and he’d want to crawl across the table and fuck you until you sobbed.

Your girlfriend leans in, presses a kiss to your shoulder. You smile, soft and grateful, like you’re not thinking about someone else’s hands. Like you’re not dripping onto the seat every time Yoongi shifts in his chair. He can see it—the way your thighs press together, the way your fingers twitch against your fork. 

You’re not even eating. You’re just waiting.

He hates you for it. Hates how easy you make it. Hates how you don’t even have to try and he’s already hard, already angry, already picturing what you’d look like bent over this table, shorts around your ankles, everyone watching while he ruins you for good.

Someone asks a question. He doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t care. He’s too busy watching the way you lick your lips, too busy cataloguing every nervous glance, every movement you fucking make in your seat. 

You’re not subtle. You’re not innocent. You’re just good at pretending.

He wonders if anyone else notices. Wonders if your girlfriend sees the way you keep touching your neck, fingers ghosting over the kerchief like you’re checking to make sure the marks are still hidden. Like you’re proud of them. Like you want someone to ask.

He wants to ask. Wants to rip the fabric off, show everyone what you let him do to you. Wants to see you cry when they realize you’re not the good person you pretend to be.

You catch his eye again. Six. Your mouth parts, just a little, like you’re about to say something. 

You don’t. 

You just look at him, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and he knows you’re thinking about the kitchen, about his hand on your mouth, about the promise he made.

He wants to make you beg for it. Wants to make you crawl under the table, suck him off while your girlfriend laughs at some stupid joke. Wants to see if you’d do it. 

He bets you would. He bets you’d thank him for it.

He digs his nails into his palm, forces himself to look away. 

The room is too bright, too loud. Laughter bounces off the walls, forks scrape against plates, someone pours more wine. He watches the red spill, thinks about how easy it would be to tip the glass, stain your perfect white tank top, give you something else to hide.

You’re talking now, voice low, answering some question about work. He doesn’t care. He only hears the tremor, the way your words catch when you glance his way. You’re scared. You’re excited. 

You’re fucking sick, and he loves it.

Your girlfriend squeezes your hand under the table. You squeeze back, smile at her, lean in like you’re grateful. Like you’re not dying for Yoongi to drag you out of here and fuck you raw. Or maybe not even drag you. Maybe you want it right here, in front of everyone. Maybe you want to see how far you can push before someone calls you out.

He wants to call you out. Wants to see you break. Wants to see you sob and beg and thank him for making you feel something real.

You laugh at something, head thrown back, throat exposed for half a second. He sees the edge of a bruise, purple and red, peeking out from under the kerchief. You see him see it. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open, and he feels his cock twitch.

You’re disgusting. He’s worse.

The conversation moves on. Someone toasts to your girlfriend, to another year, to happiness. You smile, raise your glass, clink it against hers. Your hand shakes. He sees it. No one else does.

He wonders if you’re wet. Wonders if you’d let him check, right here, under the table. Wonders if you’d spread your legs for him, let him finger you while your girlfriend thanks everyone for coming. He bets you would. He bets you’d cum so hard you’d cry.

He wants to see you cry.

You look at him again. Seven. Your mouth is a fucking sin.

He wants to ruin it. Wants to ruin you.

He takes another bite of cake, doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is you. All he wants is to see you fall apart.

You’re going to. He can feel it. You’re already halfway there.

He hopes you choke on your own sweetness. He hopes you beg for more.

Finally—someone suggests wrapping up.

His foot's been vibrating under the table for God knows how long, bouncing against the floor like a fucking jackhammer. 

When did that start? When you licked cream off your thumb? When you adjusted that ridiculous kerchief for the tenth time? When you looked at him like you wanted him to drag you over the table and fuck you in front of your girlfriend?

Doesn't matter. His blood's singing now, electric and vicious, and he's never been more grateful for small mercies.

People start moving. Chairs scrape. Plates clink. 

The birthday girl—your girlfriend—starts collecting glasses with that insufferable smile, thanking everyone for coming like this wasn't the most torturous three hours of his life.

And you. 

Of course you're helping. Of course you're stacking plates like the perfect little housewife, like you weren't begging for his cock with your eyes twenty minutes ago. 

Miss fucking saint. Miss patron of purity. 

He watches you lean across the table, those shorts riding up just enough to make him want to rip them off with his teeth. 

They're long—stupidly long, covering way too much thigh for something that's supposed to be summer wear. What's the point of shorts if they cover most of your thighs? 

They're practically pants. Completely unreasonable. How is he supposed to see anything when you're covered from waist to shin like some prude?

He fucking hates them.

And that tank top—white cotton, innocent as Sunday, except he can see the outline of your bra underneath. 

Why are you wearing a bra? It's hot, it's summer, it's Napoli for fuck's sake. The logical thing would be to let your tits breathe. But no, you've got them locked up tight, probably some modest little thing with full coverage because God forbid anyone see a nipple.

It's completely impractical. Uncomfortable, even. 

He slams his plate down on the pile.

You flinch. Hard. The whole stack wobbles, and for a second he thinks you might drop everything, watch it all shatter on the floor like he wants to.

But you don't. You just swallow, throat working, and look up at him with those wide, terrified eyes that make his cock twitch.

Fear and arousal. The combination that's been driving him up the fucking wall all night.

He wants to shove a dish down his own throat, see if that stops the bile from rising, stops the sick satisfaction from spreading through his chest like poison.

"Stop it," he mutters, voice low enough that no one else hears.

Your throat bobs again. Pupils blown wide, lips parted around nothing. "Stop what?"

He wants to bite his knuckles. Wants to bite yours. Wants to bite that soft spot on your neck until you cry.

"Stop looking at me like that," he says, leaning closer, "or I swear to God I won't be able to contain myself anymore."

You shudder. Full-body tremor that he feels in his bones, and he hates how it reels through him, makes his hands shake with the need to touch.

"My cock's been aching since the fucking kitchen," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "and you haven't been helping your case."

The blush spreads down your neck, disappears under that stupid kerchief. 

You look away, skittering your gaze to the side like you can escape this, escape him.

God damn it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Around you, people are laughing, cleaning, saying their goodbyes. People filter out. Hugs and air kisses and promises to do this again soon. Your girlfriend's in the kitchen now—he can hear water running, dishes clinking, the domestic symphony of someone who doesn't know her world's about to implode.

And here you are, blushing like a virgin at dirty words, looking like you want to crawl away, or maybe crawl under him.

He stacks another plate, harder than necessary. The sound makes you jump.

"Scared?" he asks.

You shake your head, but your hands are trembling as you reach for another dish. "No."

"Liar." He moves closer, close enough to smell that fucking perfume again. Fig and almond. Sweet and bitter. "You're terrified. Turned on and terrified."

You look at him again, and the expression on your face makes him want to flip this entire table.

Soft. Pleading. Like you're asking him to make the choice for you.

Like you want him to drag you out of here right now, consequences be damned.

He wants to. Jesus Christ, he wants to throw you over his shoulder, carry you to the nearest flat surface, and fuck you until you forget your own name. Forget her name. Forget everything except the way he feels inside you.

But he doesn't. He just stacks another plate, watches you flinch at the sound, watches the way your chest rises and falls too fast under that modest tank top.

"You know what's about to happen," he says, not a question.

You nod. Barely a movement, but he sees it.

"Good,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen. "Go give those to her.”

You don't move. Just stare at him with those big, stupid eyes.

"I want you back here in three minutes."

Your tongue darts out, wets your bottom lip. "Why?"

He almost laughs. Almost. "You know why."

But you don't move. You just stand there, plates trembling in your hands, looking at him like you're waiting for permission to breathe.

"Three minutes," he repeats. 

You swallow hard, nod once, and finally—finally—walk toward the kitchen. He watches you go, watches the way your shoulders hunch like you're trying to disappear.

He hears your voice in the kitchen, bright and helpful: "Let me help with those." 

Your girlfriend laughs, says something about how sweet you are, how lucky she is.

If only she knew.

He counts. One minute. Two.

He glances around the dining room—eyes locking on the table where you all just ate, where your girlfriend blew out candles and made wishes. 

Where he's going to bend you over and fuck you until you forget her name.

His hands curl into fists. His cock throbs against his zipper.

Two and a half minutes.

He can hear you in there, voice getting higher, more nervous. 

You're stalling. Of course you are. Probably hoping he'll change his mind, hoping this is all some sick joke.

It's not.

Three minutes.

Footsteps. Slow, reluctant. You appear in the doorway like you're walking to your execution.

Good. You should be scared.

You should be excited.

You are both, and he can see it in every line of your body—the way you hover by the door, the way your hands shake, the way you can't quite meet his eyes.

"Close the door."

You hesitate. "She's right there—"

"Close. The fucking. Door."

You do, soft click that might as well be a gunshot. Now it's just you and him and the weight of what's about to happen.

He doesn't move from where he's standing. Doesn't need to. 

"Come here."

You do.

God help him, you fucking do. Walk toward him like you're programmed to obey, like every instinct you have has been rewired to follow his voice. 

That shouldn't make his dick stand at attention, but it does. Makes him sick how much it does.

He stays where he is, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching you cross the room with careful steps. You're trying to look composed, but he sees the tremor in your legs, the way you keep glancing toward the kitchen door like you might bolt.

You won't. You both know it.

You reach the table, rest your ass against the edge. Safe distance. Or what you think is safe distance.

There's no such thing. Not anymore.

He moves then, slow and intentional, pulling his hands free. You tense when he gets close, but you don't move away. Don't even breathe, from what he can tell.

His fingers find the strip of skin between your waistband and tank top. Just a sliver, maybe an inch of exposed flesh, but it's enough. Your skin burns under his touch, soft and warm and real.

He trails upward. Slow. Watching his own fingers map the path along your ribs, feeling the way your breathing stutters when he reaches the curve under your breast.

Higher. Over the cotton of your shirt, feeling the rapid beat of your heart, the way your chest rises and falls too fast.

His hand reaches your neck. Settles there, fingers spanning your throat, thumb brushing against the fabric tied around it.

"The kerchief is cute," he says, eyes still fixed on where his hand rests.

He grabs the end of it. Tugs. Not hard enough to untie it, just enough to make you feel the pressure, make you remember what's underneath.

Now he looks at you. Really looks. Takes in the way your pupils have swallowed the color of your eyes, the way your lips part around nothing.

"Won't help for covering all the fucking marks I'm gonna leave on you tonight, though."

Your breath catches. Audible little gasp that goes straight to his cock.

He can hear your girlfriend in the kitchen—humming something off-key, water still running. Completely oblivious to what's happening twenty feet away.

His thumb presses against the fabric, finding the spot where he bit you earlier. You wince, just slightly, but you don't pull away.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

You nod.

"Good." His grip tightens, just enough to make you feel it. "It should hurt. Should remind you what you agreed to."

Your hands flutter at your sides, searching for something to hold onto. The table edge. Your own clothes. Anything but him.

"You can still change your mind.”

You shake your head. Quick, desperate.

"No?" He tilts his head, studying your face. "You want this? Want me to ruin you while she's right there?"

Another nod. Smaller this time, like you're ashamed of how much you want it.

You should be ashamed. It's fucking sick, what you're about to do. What you both want.

His free hand finds your waist, settles there like he owns it. Like he owns you.

Maybe he does. Maybe he has since the moment you walked into that kitchen, since you let him corner you, mark you, make you promises you're too weak to refuse.

"Look at me," he commands.

You do. Eyes glassy, lips swollen from biting them.

"Tell me you want this," he says. "Tell me you want me to bend you over this table and fuck you until you forget her name."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

"I—"

"Say it."

The kerchief falls completely now, pooling on the floor like surrender. The marks on your neck are fully visible—his teeth marks, his proof that you're not the saint everyone thinks you are.

"I want—" you start, then stop, eyes darting toward the kitchen.

"She can't hear you," he says, hand tightening around your throat. "But I can. So say it."

You look at him then, really look at him, and he sees the exact moment you break.

"I want you to fuck me," you whisper.

His cock throbs against his zipper. Finally. Finally.

"Good girl," he says, and the praise makes you shudder. "Now sit on the table."

You do what he says, as expected. 

He steps between your legs, the space too narrow now, too charged. 

His thighs press against yours, and you’re already tilting your head back, looking up at him like you’re waiting for what comes next.

Like you’re ready to let him do whatever the fuck he wants.  

His hand finds your stomach, palm flat against the soft cotton of your tank top. He presses—not hard, just enough to guide you, to show you where he wants you.  

You go easily. Of course you do.  

Your back meets the table, hair spilling out around you like some kind of halo.  

Fucking ironic.  

He keeps his hand there, splayed across your stomach, feeling the way it rises and falls too fast under his touch. Your breathing’s uneven, shallow, like you’re trying to keep it together and failing miserably.  

His middle and index fingers twitch, then start to move, tracing a line down the center of your stomach, following the curve of your body like it’s something he’s memorizing.  

You shiver, he feels it under his fingertips, the way your muscles jump, the way your body reacts without permission.  

His fingers reach your navel. Pause there for a second, circling the dip, the fabric of your tank top bunching slightly under the pressure.  

He doesn’t look at your face. Doesn’t need to. He knows what he’d see—knows how your lips would part, how your eyes would flutter shut, how your chest would heave like you’re trying to breathe through the tension.  

Instead, he watches his hand. Watches the way his fingers move lower, past your navel, toward the hem of your tank top.  

It’s not cropped. Not short. It covers you all the way down, modest and practical and completely fucking infuriating.  

His fingers slip under the edge of the fabric, finding the strip of skin just below. He presses a little harder, feels the way your abdomen tenses under his touch.  

You’re so fucking responsive. It’s disgusting.  

He drags his fingers lower, tracing the line of your body, following the path down to the waistband of your shorts.  

The shorts.  

God, the fucking shorts.  

They’re normal. Mid-thigh. Nothing out of the ordinary. But to him, they might as well be a full-length gown.  

His fingers pause at the button, resting there for a moment. He undoes it with one hand, the pop of the metal louder than he’d like.

He’s about to drag the zipper down when you shift slightly, your thighs brushing against his.  

His eyes flick to the hem of your shorts, to the sliver of skin where they end.  

His other hand moves there, fingers skimming the edge, tracing the line where fabric meets flesh.  

“These are so fucking long,” he mutters, voice low and rough.  

You don’t respond. Just look at him, wide-eyed and trembling, like you don’t know what to say.  

“What’s your point?” he asks, fingers still caressing the hem. “You trying to piss me off?”  

You swallow hard, throat bobbing, but you don’t answer.  

“Because you’ve been doing a hell of a good job for quite a while, I should say.”  

Your head tilts slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What?”

“These shorts,” he says, voice low and sharp, “they cover everything. How is anyone supposed to see anything when you’re wrapped like a fucking nun?”

His hand rests on your outer thigh now, thumb still tracing the edge of the shorts. You blink, lips parting like you’re about to say something, but he cuts you off.

“They’re… normal length?” you say, hesitant, like you’re not sure if it’s the right answer.

“Normal for what? A convent?” His thumb presses harder against the fabric. “They go past your fucking knees.”

“They don’t—”

“They might as well.” He pulls at the hem, just slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. “Completely impractical. It’s summer. It’s hot. Why would you want to cover this much skin?”

You don’t answer. Just stare at him, lips pressed together, cheeks flushed.

“Makes no sense,” he continues, pulling the fabric higher, exposing more of your thigh. “Shorts should be short. Should show something. Should make people want to see more.”

You still don’t say anything, and it pisses him off. He pulls more aggressively now, bunching the fabric in his hand, dragging it up until it’s gathered near your groin.

“But no,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “You wear these things that cover everything, hide everything, like you’re trying to torture me specifically.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Weren’t what?” His hand grips your exposed thigh now, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Weren’t thinking about me when you got dressed? Weren’t wondering what I’d think when I saw you in these fucking things?”

You don’t answer. Can’t, probably. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out, and he feels your thigh tremble under his hand.

“Because I think about it,” he says, leaning closer, voice dropping lower. “Think about how much I hate these shorts. How much I want to rip them off you. How much I want to see what you’re hiding underneath all this fucking fabric.”

His grip tightens, and you whimper—soft, barely audible, but enough to make his cock throb against his zipper.

“Sorry,” you whisper, voice shaky.

“Sorry what?” 

“Just… sorry.”

“Next time,” he says, voice sharp, “wear something shorter.”

The zipper goes down in one harsh pull, almost violent, and he doesn’t bother hiding his frustration. 

Stupid fucking shorts. Stupid mid-thigh monstrosities.

They slide down your hips, peeling away from your skin like an insult, and then they’re gone, bunched around your ankles, leaving you bare.

And fuck.  

Red hearts. Little red hearts on white cotton, snug over your hips, wrapping you up in a way that makes his teeth ache.  

His cock jumps, a harsh throb against his zipper, and he hates it. Hates you. Hates those fucking panties and how they make his balls fucking hurt. 

A shaky exhale rattles out of him before he can stop it.  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice is sharp, bitter.  

You look at him then—wide-eyed, soft, devastated—and it’s like pouring kerosene on a fire that’s already out of control.  

You’re not even trying. That’s what makes it so fucking infuriating. You’re not doing anything, and yet here he is, rock hard and pissed off, because apparently little red hearts on you are enough to have his cock doing backflips. 

He leans in, hand sliding up your thigh, thumb hooking under the elastic. “You wear these for her, or for me?”

Your breath stutters. “I—I just—”

He laughs, sharp and mean. “Don’t bullshit me. You know what this does to me? You know how fucking hard I am right now? You like that? You think it’s funny?”

You shake your head, but your hips lift, chasing his touch. Pathetic.

“Because I’ll tell you what I think,” he says, voice sharp, bitter. “I think you’re a fucking tease. I think you’re a liar. I think you wear shit like this because you want me to lose it.”

You flinch, but you don’t pull away. He can see it—the way your chest heaves, the way your fists clench like you need something to hold onto.

“You like it, don’t you? You like knowing how much you piss me off. Like knowing how much I hate you for making me want you.”

“I don’t—” You try, but your voice is weak, useless.

“Don’t lie to me.” His hand moves higher, fingers skimming the thin cotton, pressing just enough to make you gasp. “You’re soaked through these stupid fucking things, and you’re gonna tell me you don’t like it?”

You turn your face away, cheeks burning, eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You don’t.  

His hand shoots up, gripping your jaw tight, forcing your face toward him. His fingers press into your cheeks just enough to hurt.  

“I said, look at me.”

Your eyes meet his again, reluctant and glassy, and it’s all there—guilt, shame, that fucking arousal you can’t hide no matter how much you squirm.  

His cock twitches again. Harder this time. 

You swallow, throat working, and he watches the guilt flicker across your face, chased by something darker.

“Say it,” he says, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “Say you like it. Say you like knowing how much you fuck me up.”

“I…” You falter, eyes shifting to the side like you’re looking for an out. His grip on your jaw tightens.  

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Or I’ll make you say it.”  

Your throat bobs as you swallow hard, and for a second, he thinks you might cry. But then, barely audible, you whisper, “I like it.”  

“Louder,” he demands. His thumb presses against your lip, tugging it down slightly. “Say it like you mean it.”  

“I like it,” you repeat, voice louder this time but no steadier.  

He lets go of your jaw, and your head drops back against the table like you’ve just been let off the chopping block. His hand slides back to your thigh, the pads of his fingers brushing against the soft skin, and he squeezes—hard.  

“Good,” he says, voice clipped. “Because I’m gonna make you fucking regret it.”  

You shiver, and it pisses him off how badly he wants to feel that same tremor under his tongue.

He straightens his spine, stepping back slightly, standing tall between your thighs. His hands rest at his sides for a beat, tension coiled in his shoulders as he looks down at the mess you’ve already made.  

The damp spot. Right there, soaked into the cotton, red hearts darkened around it.  

He clicks his tongue.  

“Of course,” he mutters, fingers twitching at his sides before moving in again. 

He skims over your hips, trailing down toward your pelvis, ignoring the way your thighs shake when you feel his touch. His thumb hovers just over the fabric, teasing the outline of what’s underneath.  

And then he finds it.  

His thumb presses down over your clit through the wet cotton.  

You yelp, jerking slightly, one leg bunching up like you’re trying to close yourself off. 

“Don’t,” he snaps, his voice sharp, unbothered as his thumb starts tracing slow, purposeful circles.  

You freeze, body going rigid under his touch. He watches your hands clench into fists beside your head, knuckles white, watches the way your lips part as you fight to keep quiet.  

Your eyes are screwed shut. A rookie move. He sees it for what it is—an attempt to escape, to shut out just how far gone you already are.  

“Open your eyes,” he says.  

You don’t.  

He presses harder, thumb grinding into the fabric, slow but firm, and you bite back a moan. It comes out as a strangled gasp instead, barely audible but loud enough to make him smirk.  

Your head turns sharply toward the door, panic flashing across your face.  

Ah, right. You’re scared she might hear.  

His eyes flick to the door briefly, listening for anything—footsteps, voices, the sound of the faucet shutting off. 

Nothing. She’s still in the kitchen. Oblivious.  

When his gaze lands on you again, you’re trembling, face flushed, chest rising and falling like you can’t catch your breath.  

“Up,” he says, voice steady. He waits for you to look at him, but you don’t. “On your elbows. Eyes on me.”  

You hesitate, lips trembling, body frozen against the table like you’re weighing the risk.  

He tilts his head, thumb still circling, and says, “You really want to test me, doll? Because I swear I’ll give you a reason to be worried.”  

Your hesitation breaks. 

Slowly, painfully, you prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes darting everywhere but him at first.  

"Eyes. On me."  

When they finally meet his, it's like setting fire to the gasoline pooling in his chest.  

Wide. Glassy. Pleading. 

Fuck, you're a sight.  

His thumb doesn't stop moving, relentless against the fabric. He watches your lips part again, trembling as you try to suppress another sound.  

"That's better," he mutters, almost to himself, thumb circling slower now. "Much better.

He doesn't break eye contact.  

Not as he shifts his weight, not as he lowers himself down until his knees meet the floor. His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every ripple of emotion that crosses your face.  

The way your breathing stutters. 

The way your lips part, trembling like you're not sure whether to beg or cry. 

The way your pupils swallow up the color of your eyes, wide and glassy and full of guilt you can't even try to hide.  

His hands move to your thighs, gripping just above your knees, and he spreads them wider. Your body resists for half a second, tension clinging to your muscles like you think you want to stop this, but then you give in. Of course you do.  

His gaze drops reluctantly, dragging down your body, over the curve of your stomach, past the waistband of your panties, until it lands on your core.  

Pretty. Wet. Fucking ruined already.  

His jaw tightens as he breathes through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed, even as his cock throbs so hard it's almost painful. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, feels the ruby stud click against his teeth—a habit when he's wound up, when he's trying not to lose control.

He hooks the thumb of his left hand under the right hem of your panties, tugging them aside with a firm push. The fabric shifts, bunching against your left groin, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.  

"Would you look at that," he mutters, eyes heavy-lidded as he takes in the mess you've made of yourself.  

You whimper—an actual fucking whimper—and his lips twitch in something that might have been a smirk if he weren't so goddamn wound up.  

"You're a fucking mess," he says, voice low and rough, like he's spitting out the words. "So fucking messy, huh? All that because what—because I mocked you? Because I was mean to you?"  

You puff out a shaky sigh, and the sound pushes something hot through his chest.  

Your cheeks are burning, completely flushed, and you look like you're about two seconds away from breaking. Tears are already pooling in the corners of your eyes.  

"You gonna cry?" he asks, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.  

You don't answer. Just bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark, and he doesn't know whether it's guilt or shame or arousal that's making your hands curl into fists at your sides.  

Probably all three.  

He lets his other hand move now, middle finger dragging up your slit, slow and unhurried, gathering slick on the pads of his fingers. Your whole body jolts at the contact, thighs twitching against his palms. He rubs his thumb and middle finger together, obscene.  

"You're drenched," he says, voice even, but there's a sharp edge to it that wasn't there before.  

Your lip trembles, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill, but you don't break. Not yet. You're still looking at him, still caught in whatever fucked-up spell he's woven around you.  

Good. You've come this far. He's not letting you off easy now.  

His eyes drag back up to yours, and he leans in just enough for you to feel his breath against your skin.  

"If you look away for a single second," he says, voice low and dangerous, "I'll make sure you moan so fucking loud even your neighbors know."  

Your breath hitches, and for a second, you look like you might protest, but then his tongue presses against you.  

One long stripe, unhurried, from your entrance to your clit, letting the ruby stud drag along your slit as an extra point of pressure that makes your hips jerk—unexpected and different, he bets.

Your girlfriend doesn’t have one. 

Your lower lip trembles as you try to hold back a sound, eyes wide and glassy, locked on his like you're afraid of what might happen if you look away.  

Then; he allows his tongue to drag up one side of your pussy, slow as sin, tracing the outer fold obscenely whilst the piercing follows, a firm line of sensation that's neither rough nor gentle—just there, present in every inch he covers. But he doesn't touch your clit—not yet. 

He wants you desperate. Wants you twitching.

He shifts, nose pressed close enough to feel your heat, and moves to the other side, tongue flat and wet, collecting the slick that's already pooling there—and that has your thighs trying to close around his head. He hears you whimper—high, needy, pathetic—and it almost pulls a smile out of him. Almost.

And all the while, he keeps his eyes on yours, unblinking. 

The angle's awkward, but he doesn't care. He wants you to see it. Wants you to know exactly who's making you fall apart. Wants you to feel that piercing—the one you've stared at during conversations, wondering what it would feel like.

Miss perfect, spread out on her girlfriend's table, getting her cunt licked by someone who isn't supposed to touch her. 

What would your girl say if she saw you now? Would she even recognize you like this—red-faced, mouth open, eyes glassy, legs shaking every time his tongue gets close to where you want it most?

He circles your clit, never quite touching, just letting the tip of his tongue ghost around the swollen bud. 

Without looking away, he reaches up, grabs your wrist, and drags your hand into his hair. "Hold on," he mutters, voice muffled by your cunt. "Don't let go."

You do, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just a little when his tongue finally flicks your clit. Once. Sharp, fast. The stud hits the underside of the swollen nub, and that has you gasping, hips jerking up off the table.

He does it again, slower this time, deliberately angling his tongue so the piercing drags across your clit from base to tip. The ruby rolls over the sensitive flesh, firm and unyielding, followed by the soft heat of his tongue. You shudder, thighs squeezing around his head, but he just presses them wider, keeping you open for him.

"Look at you," he murmurs, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. "This what you wanted, sweetheart? Someone to get you messy? Someone to make you forget how to be good?"

He pulls back just enough to spit, sudden and wet, right onto your pussy. Watches the saliva drip down, catching on your clit, sliding down your slit, mixing with your slick until you're shining for him. 

When he dives back in, the piercing glides easier, slick with spit, creating this obscene wet sound every time it clicks against your clit.

"Messy little thing," he mutters, using the flat of his tongue now, letting the stud press firm against your entrance before dragging up. "Bet you never let anyone see you like this, huh? Bet you act so fucking innocent. But look at you now. Dripping. Shaking. Needy."

He leans in again, this time wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, but he keeps his tongue moving—piercing rolling in circles against it, creating this maddening pressure that's both too much and not enough. 

"Keep your eyes open," he says, pulling off with an obscene pop. "I want you to remember exactly who did this to you. Want you to remember what this feels like."

Without warning, his tongue flicks your clit fast, but this time he uses the underside of his tongue where the piercing sits, letting the ruby stud do most of the work—tap, tap, tap against the bundle of nerves. 

Your grip in his hair tightens, nails digging into his scalp, and he grins against you, loving the way you squirm, the way your breath comes in short, desperate bursts.

He pushes two fingers into you—no warning, just shoves them in—and fuck, you're so wet they slide right in. Your cunt grips him immediately, hot and slick, walls fluttering around the intrusion. He pumps them once, twice, feeling how easily you take them, how your body opens for him like it's been waiting.

"Messy," he mutters against you, adding a third finger, stretching you wider. Your cunt takes it easy, greedy for it, and he scissors his fingers just to feel how you grip them. "So fucking messy for me."

He twists his wrist, fingers plunging deeper, letting his tongue do its thing against your clit. 

"Cheating little slut," he growls, and the vibration combined with the piercing makes you sob. "Getting fingered raw while she scrubs plates. This what you do? Spread your legs for anyone who calls you out?"

He curls his fingers hard, right against that spot, and flicks his tongue fast—up and down, the piercing creating this relentless double-sensation that has your whole body locking up.

He feels it when you break—walls clamping down on his fingers so hard it almost hurts, pulsing and fluttering as you cum. 

Slick gushes out around his fingers, coating his palm, dripping onto the table. He keeps working you through it, tongue still moving but slower now, letting the piercing drag lazy circles around your oversensitive clit while you shake and gasp above him.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is soaked, the lower half of his face shining with your slick. The piercing sits heavy on his tongue, warm and wet with you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stands slowly, takes his time looking at what he's done to you.

You're wrecked. Legs spread, panties twisted and soaked, pussy still clenching around nothing. There's a wet spot on the table under your ass, and your thighs are trembling like you might collapse if you tried to stand.

Perfect.

He plants both hands flat on the table behind your thighs, caging you in, leaning over you until his face is inches from yours. The position puts him towering over you, and he can see the way it makes your breath catch.

His eyes drop down briefly, taking in the mess between your legs, then back up to your face. Without breaking eye contact, he palms himself through his jeans, the outline of his cock obvious, straining against the denim.

"Time for the main event, don't you think?" he murmurs, voice low and rough.

You blush furiously, the color spreading from your cheeks down your neck, and you look away, suddenly shy. Like a fucking lamb being led to slaughter.

He tilts his head, studying you. "What?" he asks, thumb still rubbing over his cock through the fabric. "You didn't think you'd get to cum and I wouldn't, right?"

Your eyes dart back to his, wide and uncertain.

"Don't be naive, doll," he continues, leaning closer until his breath ghosts over your lips. "This isn't charity work. You think I'm gonna eat your pussy like that and just... walk away? Leave you satisfied while I go home with blue balls?"

He presses his hips forward slightly, letting you feel the hard length of him against your thigh.

"I'm not that generous," he says, voice dropping to a whisper. "And you're not that lucky."

He glances down, eyes dropping to where his hand is still moving, because fuck, he's hard as a bitch. 

His cock strains against the denim, throbbing under his palm, the outline thick and insistent, begging for more than just this lazy friction—so he presses his own hand against it, imagining how it'd feel without the barrier, how your mouth or your cunt would wrap around him instead.

But then he blinks, shaking off the haze, and looks up because you haven't said a word in too long. Haven't even made a sound. 

And there you are—staring at him with those half-lidded, glassy eyes, like you're drunk on the sight of him. 

Your teeth nibble at your bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh, turning it red and swollen, and it hits him how fucking turned on you look just watching him touch himself.

Pathetic. Hot. Infuriating.

He doesn't think twice. Grabs your hand—the one still trembling at your side—and yanks it forward, pressing it flat against his crotch. Your palm molds to the hard length of him, fingers splaying instinctively over the denim, and he holds you there, grinding into your touch just once, letting you feel every inch.

"If you like it so much," he mutters, voice rough and edged with annoyance, "do it yourself."

Your fingers hesitate for a second, like you're not sure if this is real, if you're actually touching him like this. 

But then they move—slow, tentative strokes over the denim, tracing the rigid length of his cock from base to tip. He feels every inch of it, the pressure building under your palm, the way your hand molds to him, warm and uncertain.

He doesn't let go of your wrist. Not yet. He guides you, pressing your hand harder against him, making you feel the full thickness, the way it pulses under your touch. 

"That's it," he mutters, voice low and gravelly. "Feel how fucking hard you made me? All that staring, all those little looks—like you weren't begging for this the whole night."

You bite down harder on your lip, eyes still half-lidded, glassy and unfocused, but you don't stop. Your strokes get a little bolder, fingers curling to grip him through the fabric, rubbing in slow, deliberate passes that make his hips twitch forward involuntarily. 

He hisses again, sharper this time, because fuck, it's good but not enough. 

“Look at you," he says, eyes narrowing as he watches your face, the way your cheeks flush even deeper, like you're embarrassed by how much you want this. "Acting all shy now. But your hand's not stopping, is it? Bet you'd wrap those fingers around my cock if I let you. Bet you'd stroke it like the desperate little thing you are."

Your breath comes out shaky, a soft whimper slipping past your teeth, and it goes straight to his dick, making it throb harder under your palm. 

He finally releases your wrist, letting you take over, and you do—rubbing him with more confidence now, fingers exploring the shape, pressing down on the underside where he's most sensitive. 

He grinds into your hand once, twice, chasing the pressure, his own hands gripping the edge of the table to steady himself.

"Harder," he demands, voice rough, almost a growl. "Don't fucking tease. You've been doing that all night—those puppy eyes, that guilty stare. Now make it worth it."

You obey, gripping him tighter, stroking faster, your palm sliding up and down the length with a rhythm that's starting to unravel him. 

He can feel the zipper digging into his skin, the confinement making every movement ache, but he doesn't unzip yet. Not yet. He wants you to work for it, wants to see how far you'll go just from this.

His eyes flick back to your face, taking in the way you're watching him now—lips parted, breath coming in quick pants, like touching him is turning you on all over again. 

Slick from before is still drying on your thighs, but he bets if he checked, you'd be wetter now, your pussy clenching just from feeling him throb under your hand.

"Fucking pathetic," he mutters, but there's no real bite to it—more like satisfaction, low and heated. "Look at you, getting off on this. Hand on my cock while your girl's probably stacking plates in there, wondering where you went. Does that make you wet? Knowing you're cheating right under her nose?"

You don't answer, but your strokes falter for a second, like his words hit too close, and he smirks, leaning in closer, his free hand coming up to grip your chin, tilting your face up to force you to meet his eyes. 

“Answer me," he says, thumb pressing into your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. "Does it? Knowing I'm gonna fuck you stupid on her table—does that make your cunt ache?"

Your nod is small, reluctant, but it's there, and your hand squeezes him harder in response, like the admission fuels you. He groans low in his throat, hips bucking into your touch.

"Good. Keep going. Stroke it like you mean it. Pretend it's inside you already, filling that greedy little hole."

Your fingers fumble at his zipper then, hesitant but curious, and he doesn't stop you. Lets you tug it down halfway, the sound of metal teeth parting loud in the quiet. His cock pushes against the opening, still trapped in his boxers, but the relief is immediate, the pressure easing just enough to make him exhale sharply.

"Go on," he says, voice strained. "Touch it properly. Wrap your hand around my cock and show me how bad you want it."

You do, slipping your fingers inside, past the waistband of his boxers, and finally—finally—skin on skin. 

Your hand wraps around him, warm and soft, stroking the bare length, thumb swiping over the head where precum beads at the tip. He thrusts into your fist, slow and controlled, feeling the vein along the underside pulse under your grip.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back to yours. "Just like that. Squeeze it. Yeah—harder. Make me feel how sorry you are for being such a tease."

Your rhythm picks up, hand pumping him steadily, and he watches the way your arm flexes, the way your breaths sync with each stroke. 

It's messy, hurried, your fingers slick and sliding, but it's perfect—just like everything else about this.

He leans down, mouth hovering near your ear, voice a whisper. 

"You're gonna make me cum in your hand if you keep that up. Is that what you want? Or do you want it inside you—fucking you raw until you're leaking me?"

Your hand pauses mid-stroke, fingers still wrapped tight around his cock. Without a word, you bring your palm up to your mouth, lips parting as you spit into it—wet, saliva pooling in the center before you lower it back down.  

He watches, breath catching, as you wrap your hand around him again, the fresh spit mixing with the mess already there, lubing him up in one smooth glide.

Your fingers slide easier now, warmer, coating every inch from the swollen head down to the base, thumb circling the tip where more precum beads out, making the whole thing shiny and slippery.  

"Fuck," he mutters, hips jerking forward into your touch, feeling the lube spread, making everything glide without resistance. "That's it. Get it nice and wet. Like you're prepping it for that greedy cunt of yours."

You don't respond, just keep stroking, eyes locked on his cock like you're mesmerized by the way it swells under your hand, the head flushing darker, slick dripping down over your knuckles.  

He leans back slightly, giving you room, but his voice comes out rough, commanding. "Guide it to where you want it most."

Your breath hitches, a small sound escaping your throat, and you spread your legs wider, thighs parting on the table, exposing your soaked pussy even more. 

Your free hand steadies yourself as you line him up, the spit-slick head of his cock brushing against your entrance, hot and insistent. You push him in—just the tip—sliding it past your folds with a whine, high and needy, your walls clenching around the intrusion immediately, sucking him in like you can't help it.  

The heat of you grips him, wet and tight, and he feels your slick coat him further, the spit mixing with your arousal as you try to take more.  

But he stops you. Grabs your wrist hard, pulling your hand away, and yanks his cock back out with a wet pop, leaving you empty and whining again, hips twitching up in protest.  

"Turn around," he says, voice low and edged with control. "I'm gonna fuck you stupid. But we'll do it my way."

You hesitate for half a second, eyes wide and pleading, but then you move—scrambling to flip over on the table, your tank top twisting around your torso, breasts pressing against the wood as you rest your front down. 

You push your ass up toward him, thighs spread, back arched, the curve of your cheeks on full display, pussy glistening and exposed from behind. He can see your entrance puffy and ready, clenching as you look back over your shoulder at him, eyes wide and desperate, silently begging for it. 

Your ass sways just slightly, hips tilting higher, like you're offering yourself up completely, the red hearts on your twisted panties still bunched to the side.  

He steps closer, cock bobbing heavy between his legs, and he lines himself up again, the head nudging against your entrance, teasing without pushing in yet.

And then, he does. Pushes in slow, one thick inch at a time, feeling the way your walls part for him, gripping every ridge as he sinks deeper. He lets himself go deep—so fucking deep—until his hips press flush against your ass, cock buried to the hilt, balls resting heavy against your clit.

You whine at the depth, your pussy fluttering like it’s trying to adjust to the intrusion. He feels it, and it takes everything in him not to slam back and forth, not to make the table rattle and give you both away.

"Fuck," he hisses through his teeth, the word barely audible as he presses his chest against your back, the heat of his body covering yours completely. 

His hand comes up, gripping your chin hard, fingers digging into your jaw as he covers your mouth, muffling the next whine before it can escape.

"Shut the fuck up," he growls against your ear, lips brushing the shell. "Shut. Up."

You try to nod, but his grip is too tight, holding your head in place as he pulls out halfway—slow, controlled—then pushes back in just as deep, the drag of his cock against your walls making you shudder beneath him. He can feel how wet you are, slick coating him completely, dripping down where you're joined, but he can't move like he wants to. Not yet.

The table would creak. Would bang against the wall. Would announce to your girlfriend exactly what her sweet, faithful partner is doing while she scrubs dishes twenty feet away.

So he holds back, jaw clenched, muscles taut with restraint as he grinds into you instead—deep, circular motions that press his cock against every sensitive spot inside without the telltale slap of skin on skin. 

His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you steady as he rocks forward again, feeling your pussy grip him tighter with each slow thrust.

"Can't even stay quiet, can you?" he mutters against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin before he bites down—not hard enough to leave a mark she'd see, but enough to make you jolt, your muffled moan vibrating against his palm. "Desperate little thing. Getting your pussy stuffed while she's right there."

He pulls out again, torturously slow, until just the tip remains inside, then slides back in, watching the way your ass pushes back to meet him, trying to take him faster. But he won't let you. Not until—

"The moment that faucet goes on," he whispers, "I'm pounding into you so hard your asscheeks are gonna look redder than those stupid hearts on your panties."

You whimper against his hand, and he feels your walls clench around him, like the threat alone is enough to push you closer to the edge. 

He bites your shoulder again, harder this time, using the pain to ground himself, to keep from losing control and fucking you the way he wants to—hard, fast, brutal.

Instead, he keeps the pace maddeningly slow. All so the table doesn't move, doesn't creak—but shit, he can feel the tension in your body, the way you're fighting not to wiggle back against him, not to beg for more through his fingers.

"Look at you," he continues. "Bent over her table like a whore. Pussy dripping all over the wood she'll eat breakfast on tomorrow. Think she'll know her girl got fucked raw right here?"

You shake your head frantically, but your cunt tells a different story—pulsing, sucking him in deeper with every word. 

He grinds against you again, pelvis pressed tight to your ass, cock throbbing inside you, and he can feel his own control slipping, the need to move—really move—burning through his veins.

"Bet you'd cum if I let you," he says, teeth scraping along your shoulder, leaving red marks that'll fade before morning. "Bet you'd cream all over my cock while she's washing your wine glass. But you don't get to. Not until I say."

He pulls out almost completely again, then pushes back in with a maddening thrust that makes your whole body jerk forward, breasts pressing harder against the table. 

Still no sound from the kitchen except the soft clink of dishes.

Come on. Turn the fucking water on.

His hand on your hip slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit, still swollen and sensitive from earlier. He doesn't rub—just presses down, holds it there, feeling the way it throbs under his touch, the way your hips try to grind against his hand for friction.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, cock pulsing inside you, stretching you full. "Feel how deep I am? How your pussy's molding to my cock? This is what you wanted, isn't it? What you've been thinking about every time you kissed her goodnight?"

The shame must hit you because you squeeze your eyes shut, but your cunt clenches harder, wetter, practically begging for him to move faster. He rocks forward again, just enough to drag against your g-spot, and your muffled cry vibrates against his palm.

"Pathetic," he breathes, but his voice cracks on the word. "Can't even lie to yourself anymore. Your body just knows.”

Finally—fucking finally—the faucet turns on. 

The rush of water fills the kitchen, loud enough to mask any sound.

"There we go," he growls, pulling his cock out to the tip. "Now I can fuck you properly."

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. 

He slams back in, hard enough to jostle the table, enough that your hips skid an inch across the sticky wood. His palm stays over your mouth, smothering the long, broken whine that tries to claw its way out of your throat.

His hips snap into yours, each thrust deep and punishing, cock driving into the softest, hottest part of you with wet, obscene sounds that finally don’t have to be swallowed. 

You whimper and buck against his hold, breath coming sharp and frantic against his palm, saliva seeping between your lips and his skin. He grinds forward, leans in, teeth scraping along your shoulder, voice cracking with effort.

“Fucking—ngh—so tight. You hear yourself? Wet little mess, all for me. Knew you’d split open for it. Knew you wanted it this deep.”

You keen, muffled, hips meeting his thrusts now, desperate for every inch, every brutal slam. He hisses, the sound sharp and animal—“fuck—ah—shit,”—little grunts ripped out of him as he pounds into you, pace brutal, control gone.

He lifts his hand from your mouth, just for a second, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing until your lips pucker. He yanks your face back, forces your neck to arch, mouth open and gasping for air. He slides his hips back, never letting his cock slip all the way out, then pushes in again, hard, until your ass bounces against his stomach.

“Open. Wider.” 

You look up at him, eyes glassy, lips parted. He hovers over you, mouth right above yours, and spits—quick, hot, a sharp flick of his tongue and lips, not slow but filthy, needy. His spit lands on your tongue with a wet slap, stringy and slick, pooling in your mouth.

Your eyes go wide, breath stuttering, pink tongue twitching in surprise before you swallow on instinct, cheeks burning. He leans in, presses his forehead to yours, and drags his hips up into you, deep and relentless.

“Good girl,” he croons, filthy and sharp, voice honeyed with cruelty. “Swallow it all. God, you love it, don’t you? Spit in your mouth, cock in your cunt, ass up for me.”

You do, eyes rolling back, mouth open and shining. He lets go, palm slaps back over your mouth to muffle the sound as he hammers into you, using the cover of the faucet to rail you as hard as he wants.

Your cries are so wild behind his hand—whimpering, eager, so fucking earnest it tightens his balls, makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Shit—fuck—you’re gonna make me cum already,” he hisses, hips pistoning faster, so fast the table rattles, the legs skipping half an inch across the floor with every pounce.

He feels it—the way your whole body goes tense, the frantic clench of your pussy around his cock, the desperate, muffled whimper spilling against his palm. Your thighs start to shake, hips stuttering, trying to fuck yourself back onto him, chasing the high that’s about to roll through you.

He knows the signs. He loves them.

Instead of giving you what you want, he slows. Deep, dragging thrusts, grinding against your cunt instead of pounding, holding you right on the edge.

Not enough friction. Nowhere near enough. 

You squeal, high and panicked, fighting his grip, but his hand clamps down harder over your mouth, the other pinning your hips to the table so you can’t wiggle him deeper. 

He tuts, feigning pity. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, the sound dark and satisfied against your ear. “Not like that. You don’t get to cum a second time. Not after making me wait all night. Not after all those dirty looks. All that pretending.”

He keeps his cock buried in you, hips barely rolling, just enough to tease that swollen spot inside, but no more. Refusing to give you any more speed, any more pressure.

Your orgasm fizzles out, pulses into nothing—waves that almost crest and then die back, heat leaking away to humiliation. 

"Look at you," he murmurs. "Cumming but not really. Bet that hurt, didn't it? All that build-up, all those needy little noises, all for absolutely nothing at all."

Your whole body sags, whining into his skin, hips twitching helplessly and he laughs, low and mean, right against your ear. Not a nice sound. 

“What’s wrong? Thought you were about to cum. You wanted to finish on my cock?” He grinds in one more time, slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch he’s denied you. “Too fucking bad.”

He pulls out, cock wet and shining, and taps the head against your pussy, dragging it up through your puffy folds, gathering every bit of your slick and ruined orgasm on his tip. 

He groans, the sight almost enough to finish him right there.

"Turn your head," he commands, one hand gripping your hair and yanking your face over your shoulder. Your gaze finds him, raw and dazed, lips parted, eyes wide and glassy from the frustration and the need. "Watch me cum all over this pretty ass."

He fists his cock, pumping himself fast, hand twisting at the head, mixing your slick with his own precum. His hips jerk, abs tightening, every muscle tensed with need. He lines the head up with the curve of your ass, stroking faster, wet sounds lewd and sticky in the warm air.

Your lower lip quivers, shame and want fighting for space on your face. 

"Red," he mutters, almost laughing, the sound low and mean. "Your ass looks redder than those fucking panties now. Should thank me for it."

You whimper, trembling, but you can’t look away—not even when he starts slapping the heavy head of his cock against your asscheeks, painting you with precum, making sticky little smacking noises with every tap.

What you do actually is arch to meet every slap, every filthy mark he leaves on your skin.

And that makes him groan, deep and guttural, jerk himself hard and fast, and then—there, finally—he cums, hot and thick, striping across your ass in messy, white spurts. 

It drips down the curve of your cheeks, thick and obscene, while he makes sure to milk every last drop, head thrown back, free hand digging into your flesh to keep you still while he finishes on you.

"Look at the mess you made me make," he rasps, voice barely more than a growl. "Maybe your girl will see that too, if you’re not careful."

The faucet stops, barely covering the last few breathless moans that slip out of both your throats. 

He doesn’t move for a second after—just stands there, breathing hard, watching the mess streak down the curve of your ass. His cum, cooling on your skin, a secret so loud it makes his teeth ache. 

Without water running; the house is too quiet. If you listen close, you can hear your own shame dripping onto the table.

Yoongi drags a hand over his face. He should feel triumphant. He doesn’t. He feels raw. Exposed. Like he’s the one who just got fucked.

You’re still bent over, legs shaking, hair falling in your face. 

You don’t look at him. Smart. He wouldn’t know what to do with your eyes right now.

He exhales, sharp. Zips up with a jerk. 

“Don’t move,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “You’re a fucking disaster.”

He grabs a napkin from the table—one of those cheap, floral ones your girlfriend buys, the kind that falls apart if you look at it wrong. He spits on it, wipes his hand, then leans in, brisk and businesslike, to clean you up. He’s not gentle, but he’s not cruel either. Just thorough. Like he’s erasing evidence.

“Lift your hips,” he says, and you do, still obedient, still trembling. 

He wipes the streaks from your skin, careful not to leave any trace. He’s methodical about it, almost bored, but his hands linger a second too long on the soft curve of your ass. 

He hates himself for that.

The napkin’s ruined—smeared, damp, useless. He balls it up, shoves it into his pocket. No evidence. No witnesses.

He glances at your panties, still bunched to the side, and tugs them back into place with a snap. 

“There. Like nothing happened.” His tone is dry, almost mocking. “You can go back to playing house now.”

But before you can move, before you can even catch your breath, he leans down—just once, quick—and presses a kiss to your asscheek. 

Not sweet. Not apologetic. Just a stamp.

He pulls back, face unreadable. “Don’t get cocky,” he mutters, voice low. “That’s not a reward. Just—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “Don’t make a habit of this.”

He helps you off the table, hands steady at your waist, then steps away like he can’t stand to be close anymore. 

His eyes flick to the door, calculating. “You’ve got two minutes before someone comes looking. Fix your hair. Wipe your mouth.”

He tosses you a clean napkin, doesn’t wait to see if you catch it. He’s already moving, already back in his own skin, already building the wall back up.

He pauses at the door, glances over his shoulder. 

“Go be good,” he says, and there’s something almost soft in it, but not enough to matter. “Or at least pretend.”

Then he’s gone, slipping out into the hallway, leaving you to gather yourself—alone, aching, ruined, but clean enough that no one will ever know.

Except him. And you. 

And the kiss he left, hidden under cotton and guilt.

↝ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @yuyu0y11 @wobblewobble822 @candygalx @cravingforbangtan @emixlyn @mar-lo-pap @brokebitch-101 @withluvjinnie @alyssasblogthings @intoxicataeing @hanaohreally @ilikekpop-c @emmie2308 @avawants2havefun @shameless-army @joonwater @jazzluvrr @backseatana @myantcha @preferstyles 

© jungkoode 2025

[malsmoony]

me reblogging a bts fic in the big 2026…. (we are so back)

[miniseokminnies]

never forget a pretty face —- l.sm

✺ pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader ✺theme: 1920s au, mafia au, strangers to lovers, mafia princess!reader, mechanic!seokmin ✺ w/c: 12.5k ✺ warnings: 18+ MDNI, switch!seokmin, switch!reader, , unprotected sex (that's a no no), fingering, multiple orgasms, oral [m. & f. receiving], cum eating, marking, violence, threatening themes, angst, smoking, mentions of drinking and getting drunk, threats, murder (pre-fic) ✺ a/n: written as part of the Puttin' On The Ritz collab put on by @studiosvt - make sure to check out the full collab masterlist here, you're sure to have a roarin' good time! thanks a million to my lovely beta reader: @seungkw1! and thank you thank you thank you for all the help and constant bouncing ideas to @haologram, for without her this fic would not be what it is!

January 11, 1926 New York City's Biggest Mafia Ring Missing Leader by Reporter Lee Jihoon Late on Saturday January 9th a commotion was heard on the corner of Seventh Street and Main Street. The area, known for high Mafia and gang activity, is within the jurisdiction of the New York City Police. Patrolmen state that there were signs of a long over struggle by the time they arrived at the scene. "There was blood on the sidewalk, but no signs of a body." Stated Patrolman Choi Minho after the incident. Insider reports indicate the missing man is Frank "The Shark" L/N (50). Mr. L/N is well known for being the leader of the biggest mafia ring in the city. The aggressors motivations are unknown at this time.

You crumpled the newspaper in your hands and threw it onto the floor of the car. The black dress you wore to your father's funeral only hours ago spilled across the backseat.

"Missing?" You scoffed. kicking the back of the driver's seat in front of you.

"Missing." The gruff voice of the driver affirmed.

"He's dead, Seungcheol." You kicked his seat again.

"Stop that." He warned, another kick. "Better the public be left a bit in the dark than everyone know our business."

"Who cares?" You sneered. Seungcheol caught your eyes in the rearview mirror.

"They will kill you too, Y/N." He reminded you grimly.

You kicked the back of his chair one more time before slumping in your seat and watching the city pass out the window. This was not your first time riding in the back of Seungcheol's car, and it certainly would not be your last. He has been by your side for as long as you can remember, taking care of you.

He was loyal, he was protective, he was ruthless. He was everything your father looked for in a successor.

However, that's not what Seungcheol was to you. Seungcheol was safe, he was consistent, he was your best friend. He watched you grow up, and he would likely look after you like an older brother for the rest of his life. That was just your dynamic.

"Are you gonna pout the whole way there?" He pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Maybe." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Brat." He chuckled darkly.

"It would help if I knew where we were going." You informed him, leaning forward and hooking your chin over his seat.

"Somewhere safe." He stated simply and reached back to stroke your hair softly. He turned the corner down a nondescript alleyway. You watched out the windshield as a garage door opened and he eased the car inside.

Something sank in your stomach as the door closed behind the car.

Seungcheol slipped out of the car and began talking in hushed tones with the man behind the counter. The other man was tall and slender, his coveralls obstructed the cut of his body. They bunched around his waist, his facial features were strong and a mop of dark hair swept across his forehead. He wiped the grease from his hands with a rag as he eyed Seunghcheol warily.

You pretended to not be watching their every move as they began to walk toward the car. Seungcheol pulled your door open.

"Stop eavesdropping." He pulled you up by your arm. "This is Seokmin. He has graciously agreed to be your host until we figure some of this out."

"A safe house?" You eyed the two men curiously.

"More or less." Seungcheol agreed. He skirted the back of the car and popped the trunk open. "Let me work out the details, grab your stuff." You watched him deposit your two suitcases onto the floor of the garage.

"Here." Seokmin held out a set of keys. He held one brass key between his pointer finger and his thumb. "This is the key to the apartment, the door is there." He gestured to the door behind the desk. "There's a flight of stairs just inside the door, it leads to the kitchen. You can either leave your stuff there or put those in the second bedroom on the right. There are only two bedrooms, so it'll be easy to tell which one is yours." He flashed you a wide smile.

Seungcheol watched you unlock the door and close it behind you before turning back to Seokmin.

"Thank you for agreeing to this on short notice." Seungcheol breathed.

"That is an adult woman." Seokmin's smile dropped.

"She's 24." Seungcheol deadpanned. "She's also a brat, needing protection, and my best friend in the entire world."

"I thought that was me." Seokmin joked. "Or Jeonghan?"

"Anyway." Seungcheol's ears reddened. "Some ground rules; do not sleep with her, do not fall in love with her, and above all keep her safe."

"Sure, Seungcheol." Seokmin rolled his eyes. "Can I know why?"

"Privileged information." Seungcheol sighed.

"Of course." Seokmin muttered. "Always is."

Seokmin found you standing in the kitchen, still clutching your bags in your hands. Your knuckles were white as you faced away from where he came up the stairs from the shop. The top step creaked with the weight of him.

"Y/N?" He broke the silence. "Are you okay?" He watched you startle at the sound of his voice. You attempted to wipe your eyes without letting go of your suitcase before you turned to him. There was dark makeup streaking down your face and your eyes were bloodshot. "Oh..Y/N.." He sighed, not entirely knowing how to comfort you.

"Don't pity me." You told him, barely above a whisper.

"Can I show you to your room?" He asked, reaching out for one of your suitcases. You gladly handed it over and nodded. "Come this way." He smiled. His smile was nothing short of dazzling, you had never seen one like it.

He side stepped around you and began down the small hallway, the two of you pass the first bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, you could see his neatly made bed and a well pressed set of pajamas on top of the dresser. "That's my room, you'll be right next door." He said gently as he opened the door to the next room, your room. He gestured for you to enter ahead of him.

You shuffled past him into the room.

"This is your room, I'm sorry it's not all that exciting, if I had known you were coming…" He offered sheepishly.

"It's fine, thank you for letting me stay." Your voice cracked.

"Oh of course!" He brightened. "Friends of Cheol are friends of mine!"

"Right," you heaved your suitcase onto the bed. "Because you're in the organization, right?"

"No. I just fix their cars." He laid your second suitcase on the bed. "Your bathroom is through that door, closet and dressers are open for you." He added.

"Noted." You slipped your own pajamas out from the suitcase. "So you knew my father?"

"Who is your father?"

"My father was Frank."

Seokmin felt his stomach drop so far he feared it would fall out of his ass.

"You're Frank's daughter?" His eyes grew wide.

"The very same."

"What happened, Y/N?"

"Don't ya read the paper?" You asked sitting on the edge of the bed. "He 'disappeared' on Saturday." You rolled your eyes. "His funeral was this morning."

"So he's dead."

"Yes."

"Y/N, I'm so sorry…" He offered, hand reaching toward you until he realized he doesn't know you well enough, and dropped it to his side.

"I'm not." You shrugged. Seokmin's mouth opened and closed, unsure what to say. "His body was delivered to Seungcheol's front step early Sunday morning. Nasty stuff."

"Oh my God.."

"But that's the price we pay for the life we live." You smiled sadly. "Seungcheol's in charge now, if you were wondering."

"Do you know…" He started.

"I don't know anything aside from what I just told you. You'll have to ask Cheol." You bit more harshly than you meant to.

"Right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, if you need anything I'm right next door, and you're welcome to anything in the kitchen, what's mine is yours. Okay?"

"Okay." You agreed, smoothing your palms down your black skirt.

"I'll probably be at work by the time you wake up, so please, help yourself." He moves to exit the room before stopping in his tracks. "Goodnight, Y/N."

After he left you changed into your pajamas and washed your face. You wandered aimlessly around the room for hours, wondering if it was worth it to unpack. How long will you be here?

Seokmin could hear you from the other the side of the wall. Your restless footsteps and the conversation from earlier echoing in his mind until he finally succumbed to sleep.

No matter hard you tried, you did not sleep a wink.

Two honks of a car horn sounded outside Seokmin's shop early the next morning. The car drives in through the garage door as Seokmin opens it.

"Good morning, Seokmin!"

"Good morning, Mingyu." Seokmin laughs. "What did you do this time?"

"I didn't do anything." Mingyu defended as he stepped out of the car. "Cheol sent me on a stakeout and the goons shot out my back window and bent in my back bumper."

"They shot out your window and you still let them get close enough to dent your bumper?"

"You sound like Cheol." Mingyu pouted.

"No, just a confused mechanic." Seokmin corrected before walking a slow circle around the car. "Damn, Gyu, seriously did you just not drive away?"

"I backed into them after they shot at me." Mingyu admitted. "Is that what you wanna hear? You gonna snitch?"

"No." Seokmin narrowed his eyes. "It's going to be a few hours. Sticking around?"

"No other choice." Mingyu shrugged.

Seokmin got started clearing the shattered glass from the back of the car. Mingyu held a cloth out for him to deposit the glass into. "How's she settling in?" He asked.

"Oh, uh," Seokmin knocked a few shards of glass loose. "She's doing okay. About as well as you can do in her situation."

"Do you even know her situation?"

"I can sympathize with her being ripped from everything she knows suddenly." Seokmin informed him. "I don't need to know everything to know she's going through a hard time."

"I guess so." Mingyu agreed. "Is she annoying?"

"No."

"Lucky you." Mingyu snorted.

"What are you talking about?" Seokmin rolled his eyes.

"She's usually so annoying."

"Tell me more about her." Seokmin said, grabbing a trash can for the glass.

"She's real good at poker, she's smart." Mingyu thought for a moment. "She's got Cheol wrapped around her finger, but that's nothing compared to what she can get people to do for her, even on her own."

"So I should watch out is what you're saying?"

"Not exactly, she's nice, she just gets what she wants."

"Who does? Yewon?" The sound of your voice startled both of the men in front of you.

"Oh!" Mingyu smiled in that way he always did when he was going to try to lie to you.

"Don't lie, big guy." You warned him. "Talking about me? Can't resist, can you?"

"Y/N.." Mingyu started.

"It's okay!" You smiled. You looked so vicious that Seokmin was surprised you didn't have razor sharp teeth. "Tell me what you were saying."

"He was complimenting your intelligence, said you were good at poker." Seokmin told you, beginning to examine the bumper on Mingyu's car.

"Oh!" You clapped your hands. "Let's show Seokmin how good I am at poker." You pushed off the wall and strode toward Mingyu.

"I don't know…"

"Come on, Kim." You grabbed the deck of cards from his back pocket. "I'll suck you off, right out there." You pointed toward the alley.

"What do you get if you win?" He gulped.

"Seungcheol's telegraph indicator," You smirked. Mingyu shifted his weight from foot to foot, considering his options.

"Fine." He spat finally.

"Perfect."

The thing about Kim Mingyu, is that he isn't bad at poker. You were simply, better. He grumbled at you from across the table as he scribbled down Seungcheol's telegraph indicator for you.

"Here." He shoved the scrap of paper toward you.

"Don't be a sore loser, Kim." You jumped up from the table and ruffled his hair.

"Would it kill you to be less annoying?"

"You want me so bad it makes you look stupid." You smiled.

"I do not 'want you'"

"Explain your obsession with me on my knees for you then!"

"I'm not entertaining this conversation, Y/N." Mingyu crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fine, suit yourself. " You shrugged.

"Seok, is my car ready?" Mingyu groaned.

"Just about." Seokmin eyed the two of you from the car. He killed the engine and held the keys out to Mingyu. "Get outta here."

"Gladly." Mingyu practically ripped the keys from Seokmin's hand and sank down into the driver's seat. "Thanks Seok."

"Just doing my job." Seokmin nodded.

"Y/N?" Mingyu called sheepishly. You hummed in response. "Don't send him anything until I've been gone for at least an hour, please?"

"Scared of getting in trouble, one of Kim Mingyu's fatal flaws." You snickered. "I'll be sure to include a full report of this in my communications."

"Fuck you, Y/N."

"You'd like that, Kim."

Choi — Come see me. You owe me. — Yours.

Seungcheol sighed and laid his head in his hands. He allowed himself a few minutes to be angry before he took his coat off the rack.

"I have to go to Seok's." He muttered, reaching for the doorknob. ""If anybody needs anything, you're in charge. Two hours, tops."

"Miss her already?" The only other man in the room laughed.

"No, Jeonghan." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "She fucking telegraphed me."

"Oh somebody's in trouble."

"Yeah. somebody."

"You came!" You ran into Seungcheol's arms from the front door of the apartment.

"Of course I did." He wrapped his arms around you but you could tell that he was frustrated. "What do you need, kid?"

"Answers."

"Y/N.." He held you at arms length. "I don't have any."

"Yes you do." You shook his hands off of your shoulders. "Sit. Coffee?" He sank into one of the kitchen chairs as you bustled about Seokmin's kitchen. You retrieved a mug from the drying rack.

"You seem like you've settled in nicely." Seungcheol noticed.

"Yeah, yeah." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand before pouring fresh coffee into the mug. You slid it across the table toward him. "Answers, Choi."

"Y/N, you know everything I know." You narrowed your eyes and considered him for several minutes. He shifted under your gaze, uncomfortable in the growing silence. "He owed them money." He finally blurted out.

"So they killed him?"

"Yes." He scrubbed his face with his hand. "He was shit at poker, you know? He went out to their casinos, always said he'd pay the pot the next time. He got sloppy. He thought they didn't have the nerve to do what they did."

"You told him he's not invincible, I'm sure." You poured a mug of coffee for yourself.

"Of course I did." He rolled his eyes. "But he was an asshole. He never thought about anything but himself."

"When do I get to leave?" You let the warm coffee soothe your nerves.

"Y/N.." He started.

"I won't succumb to your tender tone, Choi." You cut. His eyes darted around the room, the message his body language was sending was not lost on you. You commanded attention in every room you enter, you had a voice and you knew how to use it. Not unlike Seungcheol. Not unlike someone else.

"You sound just like Frank sometimes." Seungcheol muttered.

"Don't compare me to him."

"Why?" He sneered. "Is that not what you wanted?"

"No." You said definitively. "Just tell me the plan so that I know what to expect."

"I don't have one." He gritted his teeth.

"Figure it out!"

"You know you're a pain in my ass, right?" He reached for your hand.

"Have been for 14 years." You grabbed his hand. "Figure it out." You urged him again.

"I'm going to kill them, I just…" He shoved his free hand through his hair. "I just need to figure out where they are."

"Ask Junhui for help." You stated, as if it was simple. To you, it was. "He knows everything about everyone in the city. If he doesn't know Minghao will."

"How do you know my men better than I do?" He sighed.

"Because I listen to them." You shrugged. "That and the fact that I'm not up Yoon Jeonghan's ass."

"I'm not…" His ears reddened. "That's not relevant."

"Sure it isn't." You smiled.

"I'll get it figured out. I promise." He wore circles into your skin with his thumb. "I don't know how long it'll take, Y/N. It could take years to get everything worked in our favor. Are you prepared for that?"

"If I must." You sighed dramatically and looked around the room.

"How are you settling in?" He squeezed your hand.

"Seokmin is very nice." You informed him. "I feel safe."

"He is the nicest person I know." Seungcheol agreed.

"Why here though?" You asked, lowering your voice.

"No one will suspect you here." Seungcheol told you honestly. "We just get our cars fixed here, he's not a part of this."

"Why isn't he?" You asked. "If the two of you are so close."

"Not from lack of trying." He chuckled. "I've been asking him since I met you."

"Interesting…"

"Y/N, no funny business, I'm serious." He warned you.

"I won't, just…interesting that someone can choose a different life…"

"Don't wait up for her." Mingyu knocked on the poker table nestled in the back of the Speakeasy twice. The girl shuffling the cards, waiting to deal to the men sitting around her, looked up questioningly. "She ain't coming, won't be for a while."

"What did you do to that girl, Mingyu?" She huffed, passing out the cards.

"Me?" He laughed. "You think I have the power to do anything to Cheol's little canary?"

"Is this guy bothering you, Tzuyu?" One of the men at the table piped up.

"No?" Tzuyu rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to get information about my friend, idiot."

"Soonyoung I'll gut you with your own knife before you could even notice it's gone." Mingyu threw Soonyoung's knife across the table.

"Fuck you, asshole." Soonyoung slumped in his seat.

"So, it was Seungcheol?" Tzuyu turned back to Mingyu. Mingyu shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess she's staying with someone, laying low."

"Laying low." Tzuyu snorted. "You sure you're talking about Y/N?"

"Wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it." Mingyu rolled his eyes.

"Well thanks for checkin'." She sighed. "Now, scram, somebody's been waiting for you for hours." She gestured to the woman behind the bar.

Mingyu slid up to the bar, in front of the pretty girl pouring a glass of scotch.

"Hey pretty, heard you been waitin' for me?" His lopsided grin catching her eye.

"Who said that?"

"Tzuyu."

"Well Tzuyu is a liar and a gossip." She placed the glass in front of Mingyu and crossed her arms over her chest.

"She's also your best friend and doesn't lie about you." He sipped his drink. "So you want to tell me what's really goin' on?"

"Nothing is going on, Mingyu."

"Now who's a liar, Yewon?"

"Did you see Y/N this week?" Yewon narrowed her eyes.

"I did." He sighed. "Why?"

"Play any games?" She spat.

"Yes." He sighed. "But obviously I didn't win."

"Unbelievable."

"Yewon."

"Stop doing that!" She stomped her foot. She leaned over the bar, getting into his space. "I'll suck you off, whenever, you don't even need to win at poker." She informed him, her voice low.

"When-whenever?" Mingyu gulped.

"God! Men only want one thing!" She shrieked.

"You offered!"

"Offered what?" A gravely voice asked. Mingyu turned to see Seungcheol slide onto the bar stool next to him.

"Head." Yewon deadpanned before turning to retrieve a glass.

"It is not my business what my subordinates do in their free time." Seungcheol muttered. "But you really gotta stop stringing this girl along."

"How is this my fault?" Mingyu whined.

"Stop whatever you're doing with Y/N." Seungcheol insisted. Yewon eyed Mingyu as she poured another scotch for Seungcheol.

"How do you know about that?"

"How else would she have been able to get a hold of me this morning?" Seungcheol asked, downing the majority of the glass in one gulp.

"You didn't leave her your contact information?" Mingyu bluffed.

"Why would I need to when I have idiots like you giving it away?" Seungcheol pat Mingyu's cheek and tossed a few dollars onto the bar before sulking out the door.

The curtains on the window fluttered in the cold February evening wind. It took a moment for Seokmin to register what he was looking at — the window of your bedroom was open and he did not see you. Anxiety settled in the pit of his stomach, Seungcheol would kill him if he found out that you ran away. Then, he would find you and you would suffer the same fate.

He allowed himself roughly three seconds of rational thought, in which he checked your bathroom. Your towel was hung neatly next to the bathtub, intricate bottles of different perfumes were lined up on the sink. The one in the pink bottle must be your favorite, it was closer to running out than the rest. He wondered if this is the perfume he smelled on you, its sweet scent floating around the apartment for the last month.

"Y/N?" He called haphazardly as he closed the door to the bathroom gently. He strained to hear anything in the silence, nothing. He moved to the window, looking down past the fire escape.

"You just gonna stand there?"

Seokmin jumped at the sound of your voice, bumping his head on the open window. He sucked cool air through his teeth, hissing in pain. "Be careful!" You stifled a laugh, "don't want my caretaker to get too hurt."

"What are you doing out here?" He breathed. He watched you shrug, the smoke from the cigarette perched between your fingers curling around you delicately.

"I wanted to smoke, and to think."

Seokmin climbed through the window and made his way over to you. You moved aside, just enough for him to have room to sit next to you on the stairs. You tried to ignore the press of his thigh against your own. You offered the cigarette to him.

"Think about what?" He asked, taking the cigarette between his own fingers. You watched his delicate lips wrap around the end and inhale lightly. His sputtering coughs broke the silence of the night around you.

"Have you never smoked before?" You laughed.

"Not in a while." He coughed, tears filling his clear eyes. "Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not, I'm not!" You covered your mouth with your hand. He slipped the cigarette back between your fingers. You took another long drag.

"Answer my question." He diverted, bumping his knee into yours.

"Oh, I don't know." You watched the smoke climb toward the sky. "Everything, the last month has not been..easy." You sighed. He watched your movements, committing them to memory. "You're a great host."

"But?"

"But," you chuckled. "I miss my life. I miss the bar, I miss poker, Hell, I even miss Seungcheol."

"That makes sense." He assured you. "Even missing Cheol makes sense, he was a big part of your life, even if he is annoying."

"He is a big part of my life," you corrected him. "He is so annoying though."

"Tell me about your life."

"Well," you glanced at him. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Anything." You couldn't help the blush creeping up your cheeks at his attention. "Well, Seungcheol is my best friend. So by extension Yoon Jeonghan is my best friend. They, uh, they kind of raised me." You shivered as the wind picked up.

"When did you meet him?" Seokmin wrapped his arms around you without thinking. You were cold, he could help.

"When I was 10." You melted into his touch. "He was 16, and my father brought him into the organization. Glorified babysitter, but Cheol needed a place to go and Frank gave him that."

"I remember when he joined." Seokmin mumbled, tracing shapes into your arm over your sleeve. You shuttered, not due to the cold.

"That was when I first learned what my father did." You admitted. "My mother passed, that's why I had to live with Frank. He had no idea how to raise a kid, that's where Cheol came in. Not sure what he thought would come of letting a 16-year-old raise his kid."

"You don't call him dad, Frank I mean" It wasn't a question.

"No, I don't." You take one last drag from the cigarette. "He was never deserving of the title."

"What next?" He asked leaning his cheek on the top of your head.

"I don't know." You admitted quietly. "Do I ever get to leave your apartment again?"

"I don't know." He felt like he was just punched in the stomach. The two of you let the silence hang in the air for several minutes. Seokmin didn't move, his arms still firmly around your shoulders.

"I'd like to have a family some day." You whisper, he barely heard you say it. "A real one."

"You will." Seokmin assured you. "It'll happen." You shivered again. "Let's get you inside, you'll get sick out here."

You didn't protest as he pulled you up and helped you through the window. He closed the window and locked it as you shuffled to the bathroom to change. He drew back the covers for you. You settled into bed and Seokmin tucked you in gently. He turned to leave and was almost out the door before you called out to him.

"Seokmin?" He turned and hummed in response. "It's not that…it's not that I want to leave your apartment. It's not that."

"I know, Y/N." He smiled. "You should be able to live your life any way you please. If that includes me even after you're free from me, I would like that."

"Okay.." You blushed. "Do you think Cheol will find them? Realistically."

"If he can't, I have no idea who possibly could." He assured you. "You'll be free someday. I know it."

"Goodnight, Seokmin."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Seokmin laid awake for hours, cursing himself for admitting he wants to keep you around. How embarrassing to feel the way he does for you when he was explicitly told not to.

You stared at your makeup neatly stacked on the counter of your bathroom. Your fingers drummed on the edge of the sink as your face twisted in quiet contemplation.

"Fuck it." You muttered to yourself before grabbing your rouge off of the top of the pile. It felt nice, almost normal, to apply your makeup. You swiped the mascara brush across the cake in the pan and brought it to your eyelashes. Leaning over the sink to get a better look in the mirror you applied it carefully.

Taking a step back you take in your appearance. You look like the you that came to Seokmin's apartment a month ago, but you feel different. You had not heard a word from Seungcheol in days, none of the men from the organization had come to see you either. You could only hope that this meant he hit the ground running on finding the men who killed Frank.

Moreover, you were starting to enjoy Seokmin's company more and more. He talked to you like a friend, like someone worth talking to. Not someone who had a scary father who could kill him if he said the wrong thing. He liked talking to you because of who you were, not your position in the organization.

You ran your hands through your hair and headed down to Seokmin's shop.

"Good afternoon, sleepy head." He greeted you from underneath a car as you stepped into the garage.

"I've been awake for hours." You informed him, slipping into the passengers seat of the car. "What's this one in for?"

"Simple oil change." He replied. "It's Soonyoung's, he'll be back tomorrow to pick it up."

"Oh." You deflated, sad to have missed him. "How long do oil changes last?" You heard him roll out from underneath the car and approach your side of the car. His eyes searched your face, surprised for a moment at your makeup. He leaned on the open window, his pretty fingers wrapped around the window frame.

"20 minutes."

"What?" You burst out laughing. "He couldn't wait for 20 minutes?"

"Apparently not." He laughed along with you. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothin'" You turned the rearview mirror to face you and patted your lipstick with your pinky. "Wanted some normalcy I guess." You shrugged and turned back to him.

Before he had a chance to respond two honks sounded from outside the garage.

"Go upstairs." He pleaded. "I'm not expecting anyone and I don't want you to get hurt, or found out." You nodded and bolted up the stairs and into the apartment.

You spent the majority of that afternoon pacing around the apartment and waiting for Seokmin to come upstairs. You didn't hear any gunshots or sounds of struggle downstairs so you assumed it was just a typical customer.

At around 4 o'clock you decided it was time to settle in. You washed the makeup off of your face and drew yourself a bath. You dangled your fingers in the water, the warmth spreading through your body. Lowering yourself into the tub, you sighed.

You let the warm water lap at your skin as you closed your eyes. The last month or so had been such a break from your normal life. You missed everyone, you missed having your own life.

You aren't sure how long you stayed there, in the warmth of the bath, thinking about your past freedom before you heard Seokmin knock on your bedroom door. You scrambled to dry yourself and empty the tub. You wrapped yourself in your lace negligee before you answered the door.

"Yes?" You looked up at him. His eyes grew wide as he took in your appearance, wet hair, negligee with nothing underneath. A blush creeped up his neck as his eyes moved swiftly to the ceiling. "Seokmin?"

"Oh, uh." He shifted his weight. "I can uh.."

"They're just nipples, Seokmin." You smirked.

"Right, well," He tried to look at you but failed. "Dinner's ready." He told the ceiling.

"Oh thank you." You begin to close the door. "Let me change because it seems the human body makes someone uncomfortable."

The fire escape had started to be, in your mind, a small act of defiance. Seungcheol did not want you to step a foot outside of this apartment, so you stepped a few feet to the left of it, above the alley. Sometimes Seokmin joins you, other times he leaves you alone. His company is appreciated, but you do like being alone at times. The air was beginning to hint at a warm spring and you couldn't wait. There was still a chill in the air now, March almost halfway through.

Seokmin kept you warm, his large frame shielding you from the wind. You watched, almost shamelessly, as smoke curled out of his mouth. He had been practicing smoking in his time with you on the fire escape. He didn't choke on the inhales anymore. He hands the cigarette back to you.

"So," you took a long drag and exhaled away from him. The wind caught the smoke and whisked it away down the street. "What do you do for fun? I've been here two months and I haven't seen you do much beyond working, cooking, and going to bed."

"Well," he chuckled. "I like to read, I do a lot of reading in my room before bed."

"You're such a flat tire." You smiled.

"I am not!" He bumped his shoulder to yours. "Just because I don't have some big scary life like you got, don't mean I'm boring!"

"Sure, sure."

"What do you do then?"

"I drink." You shrugged.

"I do that sometimes, just hard with the laws." He nodded. "Cheol has that speakeasy on hand though, doesn't he?"

"Mhmm." You smiled. "Miss it."

"I've got some liquor in the cabinet." Seokmin offered. "Gift from Jeonghan for my birthday."

"When was your birthday?"

"Last month."

"And you didn't think to mention it?" You sprang up and crushed the cigarette under your shoe. "We're celebrating, come on!" You pulled him to his feet and didn't let go of his hand as you led him back through the window.

You dragged him to the kitchen and only let go of his hand when you opened the cabinet that housed his drinking glasses. Seokmin pulled the bottles of liquor down from where they rested. He watched you reach up on your toes and still couldn't reach. He slid in behind you and grabbed the glasses, his free hand ghosting over your hip.

The alcohol is smooth and warms your belly, toasts exchanged and more glasses poured.

Your vision was beginning to blur around the edges when Seokmin piped up from where he was sitting.

"You're real pretty, you know?"

You stiffened at his words, warmth creeping up your neck. You weren't sure if it was from the alcohol or his words.

"You're drunk." You pointed out. He hummed in response.

"Yeah, I guess.." He agreed. "But that doesn't take away the fact that you're pretty."

On any other day, and if it was any other man, you would pounce on this opportunity. A handsome man calling you pretty, alcohol in your system. You squeezed your thighs together. However, this was Seokmin, the nice man who took you in and let you stay. You couldn't ruin this.

"What's on your mind, pretty girl?"

"I can't leave this apartment." You deflected. "I'm missing everything out there."

"I know.." He sighed. You watched as he tilted the remaining contents of his glass into his mouth. His Adam's Apple bobbled as he swallowed. "I wish I could do something for you, trust me, I want to."

"Give me your glass." You requested, standing up as the room began to spin. He did as you asked and you wobbled to the kitchen, filling his glass with water and returning to him. "Drink." You told him. You stood in front of him and held the glass to his lips. He looked up at you, clear eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He sipped the water as he wrapped his arms around your thighs from where he sat in his chair. When he had drank to your satisfaction you placed the glass on the table next to him.

Seokmin snaked his arms further up on your hips and began to drag you into his lap. You let him. This would not go too far, you were too drunk and so was he, but no shame in getting a bit closer, right?

His hips were caged between your knees as you straddled him. His face was so close to yours that you thought he might kiss you. The thought of that scared and excited you.

"Can I ask you something?" He whispered, his breath hot on your lips. You nodded. "Have you actually…been intimate with Mingyu?" You must have pulled back in your surprise because suddenly his hand was on the back of your head, pulling you back in.

"No." You searched his face. "He never wins at poker, how could I stray from my word?"

"Is that how you determine someone is worth it?"

"Just Mingyu."

"Got it.." He glanced at your lips. "I don't know if I can beat you at poker.."

"Seokmin, tell me to stop messing with Mingyu." Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers tangled in your hair.

"You're your own person I could never—"

"You should tell me to stop messing with Mingyu." You interjected, eyes serious and set on his.

"Oh. Oh." He sighed. "Stop messing with Mingyu, Y/N. Please."

"Why?" You challenged. His eyebrows knit together in confusion for a moment before he surged forward, the hand on the back of your head pushing you forward. His lips were on yours before you had a second to react. Butterflies exploded in your stomach, you hadn't expected this. Your lips began to move in tandem with his as he took control of the kiss. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, you parted your lips for him to explore your mouth. He tasted of the alcohol that was on your breath as well.

"Is this okay?" He asked, pulling away breathlessly. You nodded silently. Seokmin had never seen you at a loss for words. "What's wrong?"

"I've..uh.." You avoided his eyes. "I've never kissed anyone before.."

"Y/N.." Seokmin blinked at you.

"God." You sighed, throwing your head back and looking at the ceiling. "This is so embarrassing."

"But I thought.."

"Fucking people and kissing people are two different things."

"You've been fucking the wrong people." He stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sometimes I don't let them kiss me." You whispered. "And sometimes they don't even try."

"So why did you let me?"

"I always thought a first should be saved for someone who looks at me like I'm more than all the money in the world." You smiled sadly. Seokmin felt heat rising to his cheeks.

"And I was a worthy first kiss?"

"Absolutely." You assured him. "I just wasn't expecting it. Warn a girl, huh?"

"Alright," he chuckled. "Can I take you to bed?"

"Seokmin! I am a lady!" You swat his chest.

"Not like that!" A deep blotchy red blush spreads across his cheeks. "It's late…"

"Right, right.." You eyed him. "Let's go then." He watched you climb off of his lap and practically skip to your bedroom.

You wash your face and change into your pajamas in the bathroom. Your smiling face stared back at you from the mirror, you were practically giddy. You heard Seokmin knock on the bedroom door. He watched your head poke out from the bathroom.

"Goodnight Y/N." He smiled at you.

"Goodnight Seokmin," You watched him turn towards his bedroom. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Will you…will you just lay with me?" You asked shyly. He nodded.

The sheets were cool as you slipped underneath the duvet. Seokmin laid on top of the blankets. He watched you settle in, your eyes heavy. He turned to face you, his nose almost touching yours. You tilted your chin until your lips brushed his. He closed the distance for you, his mouth pressed firmly to yours.

You don't know how long he stayed, just kissing you, before returning to his own bedroom with a promise of 'see you tomorrow.'

"I'm making coffee." You stated as Seokmin slipped into the kitchen.

"Surprised you're up." He mumbled. "Toast?"

"No, just coffee."

"How's your head?" He slotted the bread into the electric toaster on the counter.

"How's yours?" You eyed him.

"Awful!" He smiled. You watched as he carefully removed the slice of bread, turned it to toast the other side, and closed the toaster again. "Have something greasy, for the hangover."

"Coffee's fine." You assured him as you poured a mug for him and slid it across the counter. Turning back to pour yourself one you heard him hum in appreciation. You watched him fish the toasted bread out of the machine and slather it in butter before popping the corner in his mouth and picking the mug back up. He moved toward the door and pinched your hip softly as he passed. The words he attempted to say were garbled by the piece of bread in his mouth. "What?" You laughed. He tore it from his mouth, a perfect bite missing from the corner.

"I told you to eat something."

"Got it, shoo." You waved him off.

"Eat something, please!" His voice bounced off the walls of the kitchen as his footsteps rung out down the stairs. You smiled to yourself as you prepared toast and added in some bacon to get the grease he suggested.

Feeling only a small fraction better than you did before you ate, you flopped onto your bed. Your eyes wandered around the room, catching on something hanging in your closet. A beautiful little dress that Yewon gave you before your father was murdered. You scrambled up and took the fabric between your fingers. Off white, sparkly, and layers of fringe.

You sat back on the bed and stared at the dress. The wheels in your mind were turning, you looked amazing in that dress, such a shame you don't get to wear it, right? You practically skipped to your bathroom, giddy about what you were about to do.

Your rollers were hot against your scalp as you rouged your knees. Once satisfied you moved on to your cheeks. You liked a lot of blush on the apples of your cheeks. You thought it made you look flushed, men might like that. You hoped Seokmin would like that. Lips cherry red and cheeks flushed.

The curls framed your face nicely once your rollers were out and the dress fit you like a glove. Something was missing, you lightly touched your neck and turned to your jewelry box. Your favorite string of pearls caught your eye immediately. You wrapped it once around your neck and tied the end in a knot. Smiling at yourself in the mirror you gave yourself one last once over before grabbing your kitten heels and practically flew down the stairs.

The garage was empty when you arrived.

Seokmin's head whipped up as he heard the door open. His eyes raked down your body, his mouth falling open.

"Shut your mouth." You teased, prancing over to him. "You'll catch flies."

"What are you doing?" He asked incredulously.

"What?" You twirled, the fringe of the dress standing on end. "Can't a girl look pretty?"

"Of course you can," he sighed, catching your hips with his hands. "But why right now? While I'm at work…"

"You're right." You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. "Isn't it time for lunch?" You flip the sign on the front door to closed and grab his arm. Seokmin lets you drag him up the stairs back to the apartment, only stopping you when you get to the kitchen at the top of the stairs.

"Y/N…" He searched your face. "What is this?"

"Let me take care of you." You flutter your lashes up at him. His coveralls were tied around his waist, his white t-shirt fit him like a glove. Your fingers worked at the sleeves knotted around his middle and then you worked the rest of them down around his ankles. His cock was hardening underneath the fabric separating him from being bare to you. "Please?" You licked your lips. He could only nod and bite back a whimper. You hooked your fingers around the fabric and pulled it down with you as you sank to your knees in front of him.

Seokmin rested a hand on top of your head as you took him in your hand. You began to pump him slowly as you pressed kisses to his hips. Your red lipstick stained his skin. His cock was red and leaking over your fingers already, even at the slightest stimulation. "Eager." You mutter into his skin.

"Don't make fun of me.." He whispered.

"Never." You promised and swiftly took his tip into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the bulbous head experimentally, tasting the salty essence of him bloom in your mouth. He let out a soft whine above you, which only egged you on further. You hollowed out your cheeks and took him further into your warm mouth. His cock twitched on your tongue as you took him as deep as you could. You took the rest of his length in your hand and pumped in time with the bobbing of your head. Seokmin thrusted down your throat a few times, in spite of himself.

"I'm sorry." He whined as he tried to still his hips. You took a hold of his hips and began to move them to simulate a thrusting motion. You wanted him to use you. He took you hint and began to slowly fuck your mouth. "Y/N…I'm…" He cut himself off with a shameless moan, his hips sputtering. He was so close, you licked up the bottom of his shaft and let him continue chase his high. He choked out a whine as hot white ropes hit the back of your throat. You swallowed everything he gave you before he began softening in your mouth.

His fingers wrapped around your string of pearls and he pulled you off of him by it. The string snapped and pearls scattered around the kitchen as he crashed his lips to yours. His tongue was in your mouth, you tasted like him. He didn't care. Mapping out every inch of your mouth his kiss was hot and desperate.

He tore himself away from you, the two of you panting. "I have to go back to work. I'll take care of you when I get back, I promise." He smoothed your hair down.

"Don't take too long." You warned. "I might start without you."

Seokmin ran back up the stairs, skipping two at a time, after the shop closed that evening. You heard him coming, smiling wickedly to yourself, you waited for him in his bed.

"Y/N!" He called, completely bypassing his own room to run to yours. When he didn't find you he backtracked to his own. He took in the scene in front of him. You were naked in his bed, hand between your thighs. He stared at your hand.

"I told you I'd start without you." You stated simply.

"Show me." He choked.

"Hm?" You began to pull your hand away. " What did you say?"

"Show me." He demanded, more confidently this time. You watched his face as your fingers lightly swirled around the bundle of nerves. He bit his lip.

"Do you like when I do all the work?" You bit back a moan as you gathered your slick on your fingers and dipped them shallowly into your hole. He surged forward, his clothes fluttering to the ground as he went. You saw the stamp of your lipstick still clinging to his hip. Crawling over you on the bed, he caught your wrist and brought your fingers to his lips, his tongue played between them, savoring the taste of you.

"No." His voice was low, "you deserve to be worshiped." Butterflies exploded in your stomach as he dropped your wrist so he could settle into the bed, his mouth level with your dripping cunt. Turning his head, he placed open mouth kisses to your thighs before diving in. He suddenly licked a fat stripe through your folds, moaning at the heady taste. Experimentally, he moved to your entrance and pumped his tongue slowly in and out, lapping at the arousal. The feeling of his warm mouth eating you from the inside out was enough to almost to the edge in mere minutes.

"Seokmin…" You moaned breathlessly.

"Can't handle it?" He mumbled into your cunt. You slid your fingers into his hair and dragged him back in. His tongue worked you up until you felt like you might snap. Then, the tip of his nose pressed into your clit, the stimulation was enough to have you bucking your hips, in search of that friction that would have you tumbling over the edge. He flattened his tongue and let you ride it out, his nose bumping your clit until finally your vision went white and you saw fire behind your eyes. "You got such a pretty little attitude." He crawled up and caged you between his arms. His chin was wet with you.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

"Right." He laughed as his hand snaked between your thighs. "You can't pull stunts like that." Two fingers slipped inside easily. He worked you open easily.

"Why not?"

"This is my livelihood." He added a third. "Wait until I get home next time."

"I'll just touch myself."

"Right." He pulled his fingers from you, you whined at the feeling of being empty.

"Seok…" You moaned. "I feel so empty." He rolled his eyes, but was a bit embarrassed about how easily you can get what you want from him. He lined the head of his hard cock up at your entrance and waited for you to signal that you were ready. You nodded at him. He pushed inside slowly, giving you time to adjust. He stilled as he bottomed out. "Move, baby, I'm begging" You nearly moaned.

He snapped his hips to yours with a force that told you that he had been waiting for this for quite some time. His mouth met yours, which surprised you. Kissing during sex was a foreign concept to you. You were surprised how much more invested in the act it made you.

You felt every veign drag against your walls as he fucked into you hard and fast. Eventually, you moved from his mouth to his neck, sucking his skin into your mouth as he chased his high and the thread inside you threatened to snap. Your teeth stung his skin before you soothed the pain with soothing passes of your tongue.

His thrusts became sloppy as you felt the knot in your stomach snap. He pulled out of you and gave himself a few sloppy pumps before you watched him finish on your stomach. He was kind of beautiful like that. Pure ecstasy twisting his face in pleasure.

"Oh my gosh…" He whispered. "I'm so sorry, let's get cleaned up." He disappeared into his bathroom, you heard the bath start and he returned with a warm towel. He cleaned himself off of your stomach before carrying you to the bathtub.

"Are you sure about this?" You felt like you could vibrate out of your skin, you were so excited.

"Yeah, you need to get out of the apartment." Seokmin shrugged. You wrapped your arm around his bicep as he led you out onto the street. You were draped in a long coat which concealed the same little dress from the other day.

"What if Cheol is there?" You wondered out loud.

"I'll talk to him." Seokmin stated simply. The rest of the short walk was silent, something comfortable and simple to accompany the sound of the street. Seokmin stepped aside to let you whisper the password to the man at the door, he watched you roll up onto your toes to reach his ear. He placed a steadying hand on your hip.

The man allowed you both to enter, the room opening up to a narrow set of stairs descending downward. You took Seokmin's hand and led him down.

"Have you ever been here?" You called back to him.

"No, I haven't had a reason to." He admitted.

"You'll love Yewon!" You smiled. "Hopefully she'll be done being miffed at me since I stopped promising to blow Mingyu." Seokmin choked back a laugh as the two of you landed at the bottom of the stairs. Seokmin laid a hand lightly on the small of your back and gently nudged you through the threshold.

The room opened up to a beautifully ornate bar decorated with tables and patrons, all familiar to you. Mingyu's eyes caught yours first. The surprise on his face was evident as he beelined for the two of you.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered to you as he planted a kiss on your cheek. He moved to give a handshake to Seokmin. "What are you doing here?" He repeated, firmly gripping Seokmin's hand.

"She wanted to see everyone," Seokmin returned the handshake. "She needed out."

"Cheol's coming out tonight." Mingyu warned.

"It will be fine." Seokmin assured, but the way he chewed his lip told you otherwise.

"Right." You interjected. "While you two…" You scanned the room. "Tzuyu!" You nearly shrieked. The older girl looked up from her deck of cards and her eyes grew wide.

"Y/N?" She gestured you over to her. You moved across the bar swiftly, Tzuyu pulled you into a hug.

Seokmin watched you sink into a chair at Tzuyu's table while Mingyu pulled him back to the bar.

"She's gonna get herself killed." The girl behind the bar leaned close to Mingyu.

"Yewon, I assume?" Seokmin asked. She nodded. "She won't, not here. She'll be going straight home after this. Don't worry."

"Seok…" Mingyu started.

"I'll handle Cheol when he gets here." Seokmin said softly. "Excuse me." Mingyu watched him walk in your direction.

"This isn't gonna end well." He sighed.

"Not at all." Yewon pulled a glass off the shelf. "Whiskey?"

You shrugged your coat off your shoulders and let it fall onto the chair behind you.

"Cheol finally let you off the hook?" Tzuyu asked shuffling her cards.

"Not exactly." You smirked, counting out Poker chips. Seokmin's hand slid onto the back of your chair.

"You want a drink?" His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"A whiskey and a shot of whatever Yewon wants." You smile. "Please." He nodded and walked back toward the bar. You felt Tzuyu's eyes on you.

"What was that?"

"My host being polite." You shrugged.

"You said please." She was staring at you so intently you thought you might combust.

"Yeah, Tzuyu!" You dramatically rolled your eyes. "Manners!"

"From you? That's rich." She laughed. She continued to shuffle her cards before suddenly stopping again. "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

"Deal me in." You tapped your nose with a smirk.

"You're going to be rusty." She stated, passing you cards.

"You've been playing with Soonyoung." You shrugged. "My rusty is better than his best game."

"Watch it." Tzuyu glanced over your shoulder. "Cheol's on his way in, he won't be too keen on this." You collect your cards, trying to not show how uneasy you feel on your face.

Seokmin tensed as he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He tried to ignore it and watch Yewon pour drinks for a man down the bar.

"Seokmin?" Seungcheol pressed.

"Oh." He turned toward his friend. "You surprised me."

"No I didn't" Seungcheol deadpanned. His eyes began scanning the bar.

"Cheol!" Seokmin pulled his focus. "I have a question! Fancy a smoke?"

"You don't smoke."

"Maybe I've started." Seokmin grabbed Seungcheol's arm and dragged him up the stairs and out onto the street. Seungcheol eyed Seokmin curiously as he slid a cigarette between his lips. "Can I bum one?" Seokmin muttered.

"So you haven't started smoking." Seungcheol rolled his eyes, offering the pack over to the younger man. Seokmin took one from the pack and handed it back. The cigarette stayed perched unnaturally between his fingers as Seungcheol lit his own. He took a long drag and blew the smoke out toward the street. "What's the question, Seokmin?"

"Oh. Right…" Seokmin fidgeted with the unlit cigarette. "What are you getting Jeonghan for his birthday?"

"It's April."

"Okay…you never got me anything for my birthday…" He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Y/N's in there isn't she?"

"No."

"I urge you," Seungcheol stepped closer to Seokmin, he could smell the tobacco on his breath, "to think very carefully about if you want to risk lying to me again."

"I swear," Seokmin took a step back. "Just me."

"You've never set foot in this bar in your life," Seungcheol searched his face. "No matter how many times I invite you out. Now all of a sudden, when you're in charge of my girl, you decide to come out, uninvited?" He took another drag from the cigarette. "What? She give you the password and was content to just sit at home?"

"I uh…" Seokmin stammered.

"She's in there." Seungcheol flicked the ash off his cigarette. "Playin' Poker, yeah?"

"Cheol…" Seokmin took a step toward the door.

"Don't be so scared, Seok." Seungcheol laughed, something in the dry sound was dripping with disdain. "What else is going on that I don't know about?"

"Nothing." Seokmin hardened. "She wanted out. I let her out." Seungcheol was always quicker than Seokmin. He threw his hand out and pulled the collar of Seokmin's sweater lower.

"Nothing?" Seungcheol eyed the blooming purple hickey on his neck. "Two strikes, Lee. What else you got for me?"

"I.." Seokmin squirmed in Seungcheol's hold. "I love her."

"Game over." Seungcheol laughed in disbelief. He threw the cigarette onto the ground and stomped on it with his foot. He unhanded Seokmin with a shove and threw himself back into the bar. Leaving Seokmin alone on the street.

You felt his presence behind you before he made himself known. You tried not to tense as his chin hooked over your shoulder. "Time's up, Princess." Seungcheol whispered to you. "Let's go."

"Cheol.." You stared straight ahead. Tzuyu looked at you sadly. She knew that she would not be seeing you, her friend, for a long time after tonight.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Y/N." Seungcheol growled. "So let's get going before I embarrass you.

"Make a scene." You insisted. "Let everyone know that you always ruin my fun."

"Fine." He sighed. "But don't think you or lover boy are off the hook, here." He whispered before lifting you out of your chair and hoisting you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Let me go!" You shrieked. Seungcheol grabbed your coat and threw it over your head. You kicked your legs as he carried you up the stairs and out onto the street. He placed you onto your feet and helped you into your coat. Seokmin looked at you like someone had just kicked him.

"You just don't get it do you?" His tone was laced with so much venom you almost shrunk into yourself.

"You don't get it, Seungcheol." You protested. "I just want a normal life!"

"That is not something you get to have." Seungcheol hardened. "Walk." The three of you started in the direction of the apartment. "All I do is for your fucking safety and you make me look like a fool."

"I was fine! I am safe with everyone there!" Your voice bounced off the buildings surrounding you.

"Lower your voice." Seungcheol warned. "What about the walk there. You could have been spotted, and killed." He grabbed your arm. "You're leaving. I'll give you the night." You felt the sting of tears in your eyes.

"Cheol…" Seokmin started.

"You stay out of this." Seungcheol cut a glare in his direction. "You're lucky she's getting the night, you're even luckier I don't fucking kill you." He tightened his grip on your arm. "Start packing. Be ready in the morning." The garage came into view and Seungcheol pushed you toward it. Seokmin stuttered forward to catch you. The two of you stood in front of the garage facing Seungcheol. "Do not attempt to run. I will find you, do not forget what I'm capable of."

Seokmin slept in your bed that night. He held you as you cried yourself to sleep. You both were intimately aware of what Seungcheol was capable of, of course you were. Seokmin allowed his own warm tears to escape as your body wracked with sobs and cries of how unfair everything was. As your sobs slowed and your breathing evened out Seokmin pressed soft kisses to your hairline.

"I told him I love you." He mumbled to your sleeping form. "I should have told you."

Morning came all too quickly, the golden dawn light streaming through the curtains you forgot to close the night before. You closed your eyes and pretended to not know what was coming until Seokmin was nudging you. "You need to pack…" You rolled over to see his eyes were just as puffy and red as you assumed yours were. "Cheol will be angry if you're not ready when he gets back."

"Who cares?" Your voice cracked with sleep and sadness. "He's ruined my life enough times, he can wait for me to pack my shit."

"Y/N…" Seokmin whispered as you brought his lips to yours softly. He left himself settle into the kiss for just a moment before breaking away all too soon. "You need to pack." You watched his eyes fill with tears again and something in you broke. Your heart sank as you slipped out of bed and began throwing your belongings into the suitcase you thought, foolishly, that you may have never needed again.

There was a pounding at the door downstairs.

Seokmin pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'll go talk to him…just keep packing." You watched him disappear out of your bedroom, you blinked back a fresh bout of tears threatening to spill.

The door opened to a hard-faced Seungcheol.

"Is she ready?" He asked, pushing past Seokmin and into the garage.

"Just about." Seokmin sighed. "Can I talk to you?"

"You're not going to change my mind." Seungcheol turned to face him. He took in the redness of Seokmin's eyes. "Don't cry either, tears do not move me."

"You used to care about that stuff. About me." Seokmin took a shaky breath. "About her."

"I care about her." Seungcheol took a step toward him. "It's you who broke my trust. I told you, a month ago, do not sleep with her, do not fall in love with her." He tilted his head. "What was it? Was it the dress? The kissing?"

"You don't know anything about her, do you?" Seokmin scoffed.

"Watch it." Seungcheol warned.

"No really, Seungcheol," Seokmin held Seungcheol's stare. "Do you ever talk to her? Do you ever ask her what she wants?"

"It doesn't matter what she wants, Seokmin." Seungcheol rolled his eyes. "What matters is keeping her safe."

"I can do that."

"Clearly you can't!" Seungcheol laughed vindictively. "Last night would have never happened if you could." Seungcheol watched as Seokmin stormed across the garage and dug through the bottom drawer of a tool cabinet. He fished something out and came back to where Seungcheol was standing.

"Was the goal to protect her from the people trying to kill her?" Seokmin spat. "Or me?" Seungcheol stood quietly. "Check your priorities. I can protect her." Seokmin threw a small pistol onto the desk between them.

"You're foolish." Seungcheol pushed through the door leading to the apartment, leaving Seokmin alone in the garage.

You looked up to see Seungcheol leaning in the doorway of your bedroom. He watched you pack for several minutes before breaking the silence. "Faster." He stated simply.

"No." You sat back on your heels and crossed your arms over your chest.

"Fine." Seungcheol stood up off of the doorjamb and crossed the room to your bathroom.

"Do not touch my makeup Choi Seungcheol!" You screamed and scrambled up off the floor to follow him.

"Then pack faster!" He shouted back at you as you entered the bathroom. "Stop being angry with me! It's Seokmin you should blame."

"I hate you."

"No. You don't."

You didn't say another word to him as you watched him fold your clothes and he supervised you packing your makeup and jewelry. He leads you back down the stairs and into the garage where Seokmin was trying his best to open the shop. "Say goodbye. I'm packing the car." Seungcheol grunted as he began to walk away.

"Have a safe trip." Seokmin called after Seungcheol who stopped in his tracks for half of a second before leaving the two of you alone. "Do you know where you're going?" Seokmin asked you quietly, wrapping you in a hug.

"No." You sniffle into his chest. "I think we're lucky to be able to say goodbye."

"Probably." He leaned his cheek on the crown of your head.

"Kiss me once, for the road." You whispered. He did. He kissed you with all the love and revery that he held for you over the last month. You hoped and prayed that this wasn't a true goodbye.

You were kicking Seungcheol's seat again. You weren't in a funeral dress, but you were feeling more dread, contempt, and sadness than you were for the death of your father in this moment.

"Stop that." Seungcheol demanded, bored.

"No."

"Y/N, this isn't going to get you anywhere." He sighed.

"Don't care." You kicked his seat harder. "It annoys you, right?"

"Do you want me to crash this car?"

"If it kills us both, yes."

"You're impossible." Seungcheol gripped the stearing wheel.

"And you're the worst person ever." Your kicks picked up speed.

"Y/N if you don't stop—"

"What?" You shouted. "You'll kill me? You can't!" You laughed. despite the tears in your eyes. "You can't! Then you're as bad as them!"

"Y/N this is for your own good!" He shouted back. Suddenly, the kicking stopped. The car was silent for a few moments.

"He was my first kiss.." You whispered.

"What?" Seungcheol asked. He heard you.

"Seokmin was the first boy who cared enough to kiss me." Hot tears spilled over your cheeks. Seungcheol pulled over and twisted in his seat to look at you.

"You're kidding." He insisted. "Y/N tell me you're fucking joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" You angrily wiped your face.

"I know for a fact you've fucked at least a dozen guys." He stared at you. "And you're telling me not one of them has kissed you?"

"Not a single one." You sniffled. "Seokmin even kissed me just to kiss me days before we…"

"Oh my God." He faced forward again. "We, uh, we can't turn around. You can't go back, no matter the…situation."

You sighed. You knew this wouldn't change his mind, you weren't even trying to. You just wanted to go back to Seokmin, to someone who you knew cared about you.

Yoon Jeonghan wasn't used to visitors, let alone visitors at three in the morning. He looked through the peephole on the front door of his apartment.

"Oh what the fuck?" He mumbled to himself before opening the door. "What on Earth are you doing here at this hour?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"I took Y/N to the safe house upstate." Seungcheol frowned. "Can I come in?" He asked as he was already ghosting past Jeonghan and into his apartment.

"Why the fuck is she upstate?" Jeonghan closed the door behind Seungcheol and stared at him as he paced the length of the apartment.

"She slept with Seokmin." Seungcheol stated. "I told him not to fall for her, he knew the consequences and then they decided to play in my face and go to the Speakeasy." He sighed. "She told me she hates me."

"You fucked up." Jeonghan informed him. "You don't need me to tell you that do you?"

"Did you hear me?" Seungcheol stopped in his tracks.

"Yes." Jeonghan told him matter-of-factly. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes." He scrubbed his face.

"You haven't slept have you?"

"She said she hates me.." Seungcheol looked at Jeonghan pleadingly.

"Don't look at me like that." Jeonghan shook his head. "You hurt her. You did it to yourself."

"It was for her safety."

"You're hurting her." Jeonghan hardened. "You're so impossible and you don't think anyone can be right if they're not you. And you're hurting everyone around you because of it."

"Do you think this is easy?" Seungcheol asked, full of venom. "I wasn't ready to take over. Frank left me a mess, and his daughter is just making it harder!"

"Remember when she was more to you than just Frank's daughter?" Jeonghan fixed Seungcheol to the spot with his eyes. Seungcheol squirmed under his intense gaze, feeling like the other man was able to see right through him. "Remember when she was everything to you? What changed?"

"She…" Seungcheol shifted. "She might not need me anymore…" He admitted quietly.

"Oh." Jeonghan crossed the room to smooth his hands down Seungcheol's arms. "Oh. Seungcheol, she will always need you. But you must have known this day would come eventually, right?"

"Maybe, yes." Seungcheol watched where Jeonghan's hands touched his arms lightly. "Just, not this soon.."

"She's an adult, she's ready." Jeonghan assured him. "Go get her."

"What?" Seungcheol's head snapped up. "No."

"Go get her." Jeonghan squeezed his arms. "Or I'll do it myself."

The house upstate was boring. It had been since you got there five days ago. The woman who owned the house, Mrs. Park, was nice. She was incredibly nice actually, but she wasn't Seokmin. When you arrived Seungcheol told her that you needed someone to house you but did not explain much past that.

Mrs. Park didn't ask questions like Seokmin did. She respected Seungcheol's wishes. She left you alone most of the time after she showed you around the house and to the room in which you were staying. There were more books than you could ever imagine reading in the room across the hall. A copy of The Great Gatsby peaked at you from under your bed. You had already read it twice since you arrived.

On the seventh day, Mrs. Park summoned you for breakfast. She made one of your favorite meals, when you questioned how she knew, she said that she had always known Frank's daughter's favorites. You knew she meant well but you lsot your appetite. Once again, you were nothing more than Frank's daughter. Seungcheol's liability. You pushed the food around the plate with your fork until Mrs. Park had to go tend to other responsibilities around the house.

It rained outside on the ninth day. You were tempted to go outside and attempt to get struck by lightning. At least that would be interesting. Instead, you sat at the bay window and watched the dirt outside turn to mud.

On the twelfth day, a car you didn't recognize pulled up outside.

"Mrs. Park?" You called through the house. She didn't answer. You left the bay window, if the men who killed your father somehow found you here you were going to give yourself a fighting chance. You barricaded yourself in your room with the small knife Jeonghan gave you for your birthday last year.

Your heart sank as footsteps rang through the house and they got closer to where you were. Surely, this was going to be how you died. The doorknob turned.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Seungcheol asked as the door creaked open and revealed you, sitting on the floor, a small knife pointed toward him.

"Why are you here?" You jabbed the knife in the air toward him. He crossed the room swiftly and disarmed you handily.

"Jeonghan was a fool to think giving you a knife but refusing to teach you how to weild it was a smart idea." He chucked, tossing the knife across the floor. "I'm here to take you home."

Seokmin sighed as two honks rang out in the alley. He had been swamped with customers all day and he was closed. He opened the garage with the full intention of telling whoever this was that he was closed and they could come back in the morning. He stopped in his tracks when he saw who was driving the car.

"No." He called before turning on his heel and closing the garage door. Seungcheol cursed under his breath before turning to you in the back seat.

"Lock the doors, drive if anyone comes around." He instructed, "let me go talk to lover boy real quick." He didn't give you time to protest before he was jogging into the shop through the front door.

"Hey!" He called to Seokmin.

"I'm closed, Mr. Choi." Seokmin didn't look at him as he wiped the grease off his hands.

"I'm not here to get work." Seungcheol sighed.

"Who's car did you steal?" Seokmin laughed humorlessly.

"Huh?" Seungcheol cocked his head to the side.

"That's not your car."

"Oh," Seungcheol nodded. "It's—"

"Actually, I'm not interested." Seokmin interrupted. "Get out."

"Seok.."

"No Seungcheol."Seokmin slammed his hands on the desk. "You have no jurisdiction here, I may be the only mechanic you trust but I am in charge of this garage and you need to leave. You don't trust me with her, just cars. So if you don't have a car to bring me, get out."

"I brought her back."

The silence in the garage was so loud. Seokmin could hear his blood rushing in his ears.

"I swear to God if you're fucking with me, Choi Seungcheol…" Seokmin got in Seunghcheol's face.

"I won't gut you for calling me that." Seunghceol stated calmly. "That's how serious I am."

"Where is she?" Seokmin demanded.

"Outside. Go pack whatever you need, the car is yours." Seungcheol stated. "I'll sell the apartment for you, close down the business."

"What do you mean?"

"She can't stay here." Seungcheol reminded him. "But…she also can't live without you. I'm fixing what I broke. No matter how much the idea of not being close to her hurts me, it's not about me anymore." Seungcheol blinked back tears. "Go. Pack, we'll be outside."

Seokmin flew upstairs. He only packed what he needed, he knew that he could replace things when the two of you got to wherever you're going. His suitcaase was full of clothes, he left his coveralls behind. Before he met you outside, he snatched a pearl off the floor of his kitchen.

You flung yourself out of the car the minute you saw Seokmin come through the front door with his suitcase. He couldn't help but cry as he took you in his arms. "It was twelve days." Seungcheol mumbled.

"The worst twelve days of my life, Seungcheol." You sniffled into Seokmin's chest.

"Right." He smiled in spite of himself. "Here are the keys." He held out a small keyring to Seokmin. "Take care of her, protect her like I know you can." He sniffled. "Go anywhere, don't tell anyone, don't tell me. Just go somewhere far away where the two of you can make a life together, okay?" He turned to you and pulled you into a hug. "Please, don't tell me where you are."

"I won't Cheol." You weren't ashamed to let tears stain his shirt.

"But please…" He kisses the top of your head. "Write to me, no return address, just…tell me you're okay."

"You have mail." Jeonghan handed an envelope over to Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol 526 Diamond Street New York, New York 10095

Seungcheol tore the envelope open, scanning the page. There was a cherry red kiss of lipstick on the bottom corner of the page, finally after weeks of waiting, Choi Seungcheol can breathe again.

[malsmoony]

yes. absolutely.

[makeitworse]

𝓫onamana

where you and jeonghan find out you’ve been unknowingly sharing the same guy, and get back at him by fucking each other.

❥ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader x jeonghan ❥ words: 4.9k ❥ warnings: everyone is bisexual, brief petty fighting over a man, pure smut: masturbation, unprotected sex, mouth & hand stuff, multiple orgasms, cum eating, mouth spitting, a smidge of ass play, cucking. 18+ mdni.

❥ notes: man, is this filthy. i did not read this shit over. only took a month and a few rewrites but we got here!!

you: [1 attachment] 

you smile at the thumbnail while waiting for it to be sent through to yourself: cheollie’s pretty face stuffed between your thighs. 

just something to keep you company the next time work demands his attention for days on end. finding a new fuck buddy has been out of the question since the first time you met seungcheol at the clubs and promptly took him home — or rather, the first time you hooked up with someone who wasn’t him and realised sex isn’t all that when he’s not the one you’re doing it with. 

once it shows up as Delivered to your end, you shut off his phone and discard it somewhere in the sheets. you roll over and nuzzle into his back, nodding off to the soft snores of the man who just spent the last few hours fucking the living daylights out of you. 

until a ding from his phone cuts through your shallow doze. then another. you blink, confused and increasingly panicked at the timing of the notification. 

…didn’t you send the video to yourself??

you didn’t exactly check the name before sending it, but you didn’t have to. it should be you at the top of seungcheol’s contacts. you’re the last person he messaged after all, since he invited you to a trip to pound town and was pretty occupied with that until knocking out in your bed. 

another ding has you fumbling around the blanket for seungcheol’s phone. you hold it to your face, squinting through the light to read the name on his notification screen. 

‘hannie’? 

you don’t waste another moment in punching in his passcode and opening the chat up with a sinking stomach. whoever this illustrious hannie is, she was on the receiving end of your sex tape, not yourself. 

hannie: ?????? hannie: Cheollie?? 

your stomach flips at the nickname. he told you to call him that too. said it was special, just between you two; only lets girls call him that when he… 

you: this is cheol’s girlfriend. who the fuck is this? 

okay, so you may have just blatantly lied. but you’re not above being possessive, let alone petty.

seungcheol’s quite literally the best dick you’ve ever had — even if you’re too emotionally unavailable to slap a label on it that would make him yours alone — so you’re just a little curious about the competition, especially when up until now you weren’t aware there was any.

you quit seeking out anyone else since the dawn of your little agreement with seungcheol, and you just assumed he was doing the same… considering you let him fuck you raw. 

hannie: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ hannie: No offence babes, but if you really think you’ve got Cheollie locked down, you’re delusional~

you’re shaking with adrenaline all over at this point. you actually can’t believe the audacity on this woman. you scroll back up to the sex tape and hold on it until the little options bubble pops up. if she thinks she’s funny, you’re about to start acting fucking hilarious.

you: [forwarded an attachment] you: if that’s your man then why was he eating this pussy? 🤣

hannie: well fuck hannie: I’m hard

in the split second your mind blanks from disbelief, your thumb flies to the call button in the corner of the screen as you slip out of bed. it barely rings once before hannie picks up. 

“god, you’re forward.” she — or rather, he — says in a low, raspy chuckle. 

your jaw actually drops a little. if you weren’t so pissed off you’d probably find…his… voice attractive. 

“you’re a dude?!?” you whisper-yell, padding into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. 

“yes.”

“your name’s hannie.” 

“it’s short for jeonghan.”

“okay jeonghan,” you seethe with as much malice in your tone as you can manage. “who the fuck are you?”

“i think you owe me the answer to that first, sweetheart. considering you came on to me.” 

“fuck off.” you snap, and he whistles lowly in response. you frown. “are you fucking him?” 

“i have been.” you can just hear the smirk in his tone. 

just like in the movies, your back slides down the bathroom wall until you’re sat on the cold tile. this shitshow is just the gift that keeps on giving. not only is your all-time favourite fuck buddy seeing other bitches, but said bitch is a whole ass man, who’s sassier than you are. 

“i didn’t know cheollie swung that way.” you mutter. 

“i didn’t know he swung your way either. guess our boyfriend was playing us both, hm?”

you scoff, offended that he’d even lump you in with him like you’re some sort of team. “he is not my boyfriend. how long have you been seeing him??” 

“since april.” the same as you. fuck. “he’s not mine either. but does it even matter who was taking him up the ass first? we’ve both been led on, sweetheart.” 

“shut up.” you grit. you could’ve gone your entire life without having to hear you were unknowingly sharing a dick with this cocky ass twink. “and for your information, i never took him.” 

“oh wow.” jeonghan sighs, though it sounds too much like a whine. “is this why cheollie’s always so rough with me? because he…hah…cops it from you?” 

you blink, turning your volume to the max and listening to the unmistakable noises coming from the other end: the shuffling of fabric, barely concealing the slick sounds beneath it. 

“are you seriously fucking jerking off?” 

jeonghan huffs, and you can just hear the way he smirks through the phone. “can you blame me? you sent me a video of my man eating a pretty fucking pussy.” 

“oh my god.” you can only say in disbelief. 

the noises come to a halt, as you can imagine jeonghan’s hand did. against your will, your mind conjures up an image of the way he must be gripping himself right now: cock twitching in his fist, begging for any friction, but refusing to move until your voice is at his ear again. 

until you tell him it’s okay. 

he audibly gulps. “…is that too much?” 

you stare at the tiles of the bathroom floor. the room around you goes blurry as you focus on nothing but his shaky puffs of air on the other end.

you don’t know how it’s come to this. but fuck if you’re not gonna channel all this adrenaline somewhere. 

for a moment, the only response from your end is something shuffling. jeonghan only realises what’s happening when you spit, and he smirks since he knows it must be on your own fingers. 

“i didn’t say stop, did i?” you tell him in a whisper, breath hitching when your fingers swirl over your clit. 

jeonghan moans through a laugh, and you throb under your fingers at the noise. 

“oh, i’ll do whatever you want.” he drawls. 

most people would be devastated if they were in your position: realising that the only dick you’ve been letting cum inside of you, was also getting sticked into holes that didn’t belong to you. and you were devastated over the revelation for all of like a few minutes before just… having phone sex with owner of said holes?

after you came on your fingers to the sound of jeonghan doing much the same on his end, then sat in a puddle of your arousal and regret as you caught your breath, jeonghan’s mellow tone was enough to still your scattered thoughts. 

“don’t feel bad, pretty.” he cooed to you, reading the silence exactly for what it was. “he hid us from each other. looks like this was why, huh?” 

in fact, it was. 

you stayed up all night texting jeonghan from your own phone once you slid back into bed like nothing happened. after one hell of a first impression, it surprised you how well you and jeonghan got on as you properly got to know each other. how often you giggled at his jokes, how attracted you were to him in the selfie he sent where you nearly mistook him for a girl again. 

how you pressed your thighs together when his words turned filthier in response to the selfie you sent back.

you were almost disappointed when seungcheol woke you up the following morning by pressing his morning wood against your ass. it was the fact that you couldn’t invite jeonghan over to see if he’s just as good as through the phone, and all you had was this lying, fat cock throbbing bitchass... 

“where’s this coming from?” seungcheol chuckles as you straddle him, pissed off at him and pent up by jeonghan; grinding your clothed heat right down onto his in chase of friction. 

“just you, cheollie.” you smile lopsided at him, mind elsewhere. 

you think back to memory of jeonghan fucking his fist to the sound of your voice, how wrecked and pretty his moans were. thinking back to the nudes he sent you when the conversation steered to just sexting, how his cock was weeping around his fingers and onto his toned stomach. 

as you rode seungcheol, you did so selfishly. you kept your eyes screwed shut as you rocked on him, uncaring for the movement he needs to get off, your thoughts consumed entirely with the guy he’s been seeing behind your back. the guy you fully intend to start seeing behind his back.

you imagine it’s jeonghan’s slender cock fucking right into your g-spot right now instead of cheol’s girthier length. you imagine it’s jeonghan’s soft moans beneath you instead of cheol’s rough grunts. you imagine it’s jeonghan’s lithe fingers coming to rub at your clit instead of cheol’s thick ones. 

you almost called out the wrong name as your orgasm seized you. 

luckily you didn’t, or else seungcheol would’ve refused to leave your place; especially since you were basically pushing him out the door while he was still in post-nut clarity.

after your place was free of one man, you took your pretty ass to the shower, freshened up, and texted the other man your address.

jeonghan fucked you so good and so thoroughly you damn nearly texted seungcheol and thanked him. 

most people in your position would probably be giving you nasty side eye for it. now, you’re only devastated over seungcheol hiding him purely because you’ve been missing out. 

and well, jeonghan fully intends to make up for lost time. 

you were both on the same page about this being your shared little secret from seungcheol, his own personal karma. but you didn’t intend to stop seeing him, no — that’s where half the fun came from.

jeonghan fit into your days so easily as if the spot was there waiting for him. you texted and called him just as much as seungcheol. whenever your man couldn’t come around, you’d be calling your other man right over. 

you started filming sex tapes with seungcheol for the sole purpose of watching them back with jeonghan. you’d reenact them with him as they played in the background: sometimes he’d be seungcheol and press you into the mattress as he fucked you, sometimes you’d be seungcheol and you’d ride him until he was a shaking mess. 

whenever seungcheol preferred one of you over the other for the week — one being told that he was busy and would make it up next week, the other being fucked into oblivion by him — you always made sure no one else was left out. you traded photos of the messy state he’d leave you in, retold the sex in detail over call as the other got off to your voice: jeonghan jerking off to you telling how seungcheol bent you over a desk, you fingering yourself to jeonghan telling how he deepthroated seungcheol. 

you always have jeonghan over after him. never before. seungcheol’d smell his other lover on you in an instant, and god forbid choi seungcheol feel left out. 

some days it feels like you’re just fucking seungcheol so that you can get a round two with jeonghan once he’s gone. and you’d feel bad, if only seungcheol didn’t try to gatekeep jeonghan first — in an effort to protect his own fears of being the one left out, of course. 

how ironic.

“where he goes low,” jeonghan had cooed to you once, rubbing the aches out from your back in the post-sex haze. “we go lower.”

and you’ve been living by that.

as per usual, jeonghan gets to your place so quickly after seungcheol’s left that you’re worried their cars may have passed by each other. 

he can’t help it. jeonghan’s favourite thing ever is tasting his man while he’s fucking his girl. once you texted him that you let seungcheol fuck you raw, he didn’t even reply. rather, you got the life360 notification that he’d left his house to know that he was instantly on his way over after reading that, forgetting to let you know in text. 

and, lucky for you both, seungcheol left behind his hoodie. 

after jeonghan lets himself in, he finds you laying on your bed in nothing but just that — the smell of sweat and sex and seungcheol still heady in the air. 

you smile at your man, spreading your legs and showing where you’re cupping your hand over your pussy to keep your other man’s cum from leaking out. 

“oh, baby, you’re too good to me.” jeonghan praises in a broken voice, mindlessly throwing his keys somewhere across the room as he dives onto the mattress, sights honed in on what you’ve got for him between your legs. 

you cry out when his mouth latches onto your pussy as if by a magnetic pull. your hands tangle in his hair, trying your best to not just rip the strands out — still sensitive from how seungcheol left you. 

you hadn’t even gotten off, in fact. you’d insisted to him that you wanted to be edged, with the promise that next time he could make you cum til you fainted. and well, you still intend to make good on that promise — but it’s also because jeonghan’s greedy ass isn’t satisfied unless he’s pulled at least two orgasms out of you and some days you nearly can’t take it. call it suffering from success. 

now with the treat you’ve left for him between your thighs, you’re sure you’ll be in for him rewarding you with a handful of orgasms. 

he’s so lost in the sauce that he doesn’t even realise he had his eyes shut until he’s missing the sight of your face. you watch his lashes flutter open, his pretty brown eyes flicking up to your face: lips curling in a satisfied smile as he licks a hard stripe from your hole to clit. 

his chin and cheeks glisten with the messy mixture of fluids. he keeps bobbing his head like that, applying pressure with his tongue just to see you tremble above him. he’s so in tune with your body at this point that he cocks a brow as a thought clicks in his head. 

he pouts. “aw, baby. did cheollie not make you cum?” 

he blows air out on your clit experimentally, and his eyes shade over with how you shudder at the barest contact. 

you shake your head. “told him not to. wanted it to be you, hannie.” 

for such a sharp tongue, you render jeonghan speechless for a beat. his grin stretches wider across his soaked face, and he’s looking at you like he could grant you the whole world if you only asked. 

“you can’t be saying shit like that, sweetheart.” he sighs, plunging two lithe fingers into your core and delighting in the way you sob a moan. “if you ever want me to get rid of me..”

“not happening.” you grit out, throwing your head back when he starts to pump his fingers slowly. 

he sucks in a sharp inhale, one of necessity because you’ve got him that breathless. 

“ah. you must really like me.” he curls his fingers until he hits that spongey spot, tutting at how your thighs clamp around his head in kind. “lucky me, ‘cause i am crazy about you.” 

jeonghan reattaches his mouth to your pussy, lips closing around your clit to suck on the bundle of nerves. you’re sure he must feel how you’re throbbing under his tongue and around his fingers. cheol left you teetering off the edge, so you knew you’d be a goner when jeonghan got here so soon afterwards. 

his fingers relentlessly curl inside of you, his mouth switching between kitten licks and suctioning on your clit until you’re shouting out something that might be his name — orgasm completely taking over your body. 

you think you die a little with how hard and fast it slammed into you. jeonghan’s diligent to lick and fuck you through it, so you’re not sure how long it is before you come down, chest fighting to catch breath and throat sore from the exertion. 

you weakly tilt your chin down at jeonghan, who’s leaving gentle pecks on your inner thigh as he waits for you. his eyes catch on yours and he smirks, no doubt plotting something behind that beautiful face. 

jeonghan inches his fingers out, and you wince as his knuckles drag deliberately against your walls. his fingers are completely drenched: his saliva, your cum, and some of seungcheol’s too. 

he licks his lips at the sight but restrains himself, instead bringing his hand to your mouth. 

you don’t waste a second in closing your lips around his fingers, ravenous as the sharp tang lights up your palate. you can recognise each of your separate tastes and you mewl, taking jeonghan’s fingers until they tap the back of your throat. he cusses lowly before he retracts his hand. 

when your gazes meet again, you see your reflection with how wide jeonghan’s pupils were dilated. 

you grab jeonghan by the scruff of his hair and pull him up your body until his face is just short of yours. you tilt it back with a tug, his neck exposed and bobbing with a gulp. 

your face hovers over his and he opens his mouth expectantly, lips stretched in a helpless smile as he presents his tongue. 

you spit straight onto it, watching how his pupils eclipse even more of his irises in pure delight. 

he moans as he swallows the mess of fluids down — the taste of you, cheol and himself sliding down his throat.

you don’t wait another moment before mashing your lips together, kissing him with more tongue and teeth than anything. 

your free hand fumbles for his lap, palming over the prominent bulge in his shorts. you can tell he’s not wearing boxers (they’d be useless) when his length twitches at your touch, the fabric already soaked with precum. 

“fuck,” jeonghan gasps, chuckling into the kiss. “i might cum.” 

he plunges his fingers right back into your pussy, scissoring you open as he feels for cheol’s cum still pooled deep in your core. he doesn’t want to waste a single drop — he fully intends to fuck it right back into you, feeling both his man and his girl’s cum around his cock. just the thought has his moaning again. 

“can you imagine— hah— how fucking mad he’d be?” he rasps out, hips bucking into the delicious friction your palm offers. 

“oh, god—“ you giggle. “how d’you think he’d react?”

“probably break it off with us both, the big jealous baby.” he huffs out a laugh, wincing when your pussy clamps around his fingers. “but it’s alright, sweetheart, i’d be lucky to just have you.” 

the concept is almost inconceivable at this point: only having jeonghan. you’ve gotten so used to having two men to choose from depending on your mood. to being fucked twice in a day by two different cocks. 

you know that sooner or later it’ll come out. you’ve gotten reckless lately: blatantly texting jeonghan in front of cheol, not even pretending to be bummed when he says he can’t come see you. hell, there was one time where you and jeonghan were mysteriously busy — fucking each other to the tune of your phones ringing as cheol took turns calling you both. 

in fact, it’s made it even more exhilarating. knowing you’ve both got this over him, knowing how much he’d hate it and how it’s his own fault. it’s too bad he didn’t lock either of you down while he had the chance — they’d call him king arthur if he was able to seperate you and jeonghan now. 

about to die from the impatience, you tug jeonghan’s sweatpants down enough for his cock to spring free. he hisses when you wrap a tight fist around him, adding a third finger into your pussy in response. 

“ah, ah— gonna need to fuck you like now.” jeonghan says shakily, pulsing violently in the circle of your hand. “i’m close to making a fool of myself.” 

you nod, laying back into your pillows for him.

“you gotta be fucking…” 

the sound of seungcheol’s low voice through the wall has you leaping out of your skin, but jeonghan simply keeps you laid on your back with a hand pressed onto your tummy. 

your door swings open to reveal your other lover, standing in the frame with smoke pouring from his ears. 

jeonghan isn’t the least bit startled. doesn’t halt his fingers either; just draws out the pumps, leaving you trembling as you stare at seungcheol with guilty, teary eyes. 

“ah, cheollie, it’s about time.” jeonghan drawls. 

you stifle a moan when jeonghan curls a single finger to hit your g-spot, just to be mean. “what are you..?” 

“i came to get my hoodie.” seungcheol’s frown deepens as he takes in your naked form under said hoodie, eyes honing in on where your body connects with jeonghan’s fingers. “what the fuck are you doing?!”

“yah, you can’t ask a girl that when you’re the one who broke into her house.” jeonghan says, speeding up his fingers at the other man watching. 

“the door was unlocked.” seungcheol deadpans. 

you shoot a glance at jeonghan, who just shrugs, guilty. (in his rush to get to you, he forgot to lock your front door behind him.)

jeonghan curls his fingers again, and this time you can’t help the moan that leaves you. seungcheol steps into the room, successfully provoked. 

“fucking— just—” he rambles, looking like he’s two seconds from prying jeonghan’s hand out of you. “what the fuck is this?”

jeonghan shrugs with that same shit-eating grin. knowing he won’t get a serious answer out of him, seungcheol addresses you by name. “why—how do you know him?” 

“you tell me.” you snap back, wriggling your hips lower to give jeonghan even better access in spite. “why don’t you introduce us?” 

“wouldn’t that be nice.” jeonghan coos to you. “i think he’s too scared we’ll fuck each other though.” 

“god, you two really are alike, aren’t you..” seungcheol sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“oh, so he has a type.” jeonghan says. “your greed sickens me. but i get it, i’m no better. not since i got a taste of her too.” 

at that, jeonghan pulls his fingers out, only to wrap them around his cock and line himself up with your pussy — eyes never leaving seungcheol. 

your other lover walks further into the room until he stops just short of the foot of the bed. he runs a hand through his hair like you’re both stressing him the fuck out (you are), completely helpless to just witnessing this. 

“wait. jeonghan, don’t.” seungcheol’s usual commanding tone is lost on him, the words instead delivered as a weak plea. 

jeonghan hums, unconvinced as he swirls his tip at your hole. 

“please don’t,” seungcheol's close to begging. it's almost like he’s in a trance as he drops to the floor on his knees, unable to rip his eyes away from jeonghan’s tip nearly breaching into your wet warmth. “jeonghan.”

through half-lidded eyes you glance at seungcheol kneeling before you, his hand creeping towards the very evident tent in his grey sweats. 

“please what?” jeonghan teases, pre leaking all over your pussy. 

seungcheol gulps down the size of a boulder.

“please don’t stop.” 

per his request, he doesn’t. with one snap of his hips jeonghan pushes into you, and all three of you moan as he fills you up. 

you pulse around him once he bottoms out, and jeonghan shudders as the mixture of cum all up in your pussy gushes around his cock. 

“shit, baby. let’s hope i can last in front of cheollie,” jeonghan snickers in a low voice meant just for your ears. he throws a look over his shoulder at your other lover. “if you can hold back on cumming, i’ll let you join.” 

the older man mumbles something under his breath (can’t be anything nice), but he listens anyways — gripping both of his thighs while trying to ignore the painful pulsing between them. if he touches himself at all while watching you both, he’s going to fail. 

he resolves to biting his tongue as jeonghan starts to fuck you properly, in hopes he might draw blood to distract from how his boner’s screaming at him for some god damn relief. 

the room sounds like a literal porn set: wet slapping and squelching, neither you and jeonghan holding back on your moans with full intents of pissing seungcheol off. 

you could almost forget he’s even there when jeonghan starts slamming into you, your body shuffling up the bed from the force. he cants your hips up so he can angle his thrusts just right into your g-spot, and you all but sob when a thumb comes to circle your clit. 

“just one more f’me,” jeonghan pants out, and almost like on command your pussy starts spasming around him. “yeah, that’s it, that’s my good baby.” 

seungcheol’s cock is so stiff he think he might just die. where your orgasm ends, jeonghan’s starts — but he doesn’t stop rubbing at your clit, pushing you into overstimulation just because he wants to feel you completely wring him dry. 

both of your moans as jeonghan shoots his load inside of you is the sexiest and most torturous sound seungcheol’s ever heard. he’s almost bitten his tongue in half by the time jeonghan’s pulling out, quick to cup his hand over your pussy to make sure nothing seeps out. 

jeonghan gives seungheol a once over to ensure there’s no cum stain on his sweats before cocking his head in your direction, beckoning the other man over. “want a taste?” 

seungcheol’s on his feet and at the bed within seconds. he doesn’t waste another moment in latching his mouth to your pussy, the mess of mixed cum gushing onto his tongue. your back’s arching from the sensitivity, but it’s futile trying to writhe away from seungcheol when he’s eating you out like a man on the brink of starvation.

jeonghan keeps your legs open with one hand pressing your thigh to the bed, the other hand planted in seungcheol’s hair — praising and directing him as he holds his head down. your head is spinning from the overstimulation. the promise you made to cheol be damned, you think you’re going to faint now if he pulls another orgasm out of you. 

jeonghan must see it: the glazed, faraway look in your eyes, how you’ve gone almost dumb with the pleasure. 

high off the surge in pride, he takes his hand from your thigh and kneads seungcheol’s ass. it’s all the warning he gets before a thumb prods at his hole. 

seungcheol’s response is muffled when jeonghan shoves his face even further into your pussy. he doesn’t push in, just circles the rim with enough pressure to make cheol shiver. 

jeonghan’s other hand then reaches down into seungcheol’s sweats and grips his weeping cook. as out of it as you are, your hand replaces his to tug at seungcheol’s hair — keeping him in place as you hump at his mouth, basically riding his face to reach one last orgasm. 

jeonghan has no mercy as he jerks seungcheol off: fist closed so tight to the point it must be painful, moving so fast he can’t feel his arm. 

your nth orgasm hits first: ripping through your body and soaking seungcheol’s face, the taste of all of your cum coating his tongue. a mere few strokes later and seungcheol’s orgasms follows with a pitiful sob into your pussy. 

he shoots ropes across your sheets before collapsing into them, head lolled across your bare thigh. 

jeonghan pats his ass with a satisfied hum. “well damn. if you wanted to cuck, cheollie, you could’ve just asked.” 

he rolls his eyes. “fuck doing that again. you know i hate being left out.” 

“doesn’t feel good, does it?” you remind him, fingers threading through his sweaty hair. 

seungcheol grumbles. “so you found out about each other and now you fuck, is that right?” you both nod at him, and he sulks. “this is exactly why i didn’t say anything!” 

jeonghan tuts. “you better get used to sharing, cheollie.”

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[malsmoony]

i do not play about them period. I NEED MORE FICS LIKE THISSSSSS

[slut4kwon]

forever and always — l.sm

pairing: lee seokmin x fem! reader

synopsis: being married to seokmin feels like proof that love only grows heavier with time. even after several years, he still looks at you like he's stunned you exist. still stumbles over his words when you hold his gaze for too long. still needs you in that ways words will never be enough for.

wc: 5.4k

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, dom!reader, sub!seokmin, soft power play, praise kink, begging, teasing & denial, possessive language, light hair-pulling, multiple orgasms | established relationship, marriage, swearing, fluff, aftercare.

authors note: okay so i’m not actually sure how much i like this but i think this is the best it’s gonna get for now lolol. i’m sure you’ve all seen the things that this man has been doing to me lately, and i honestly owe it to ki for suggesting to write him as a sub bc it fits him SO well. as always, i hope you that enjoy, and please feel free to let me know what you think! ♡

the rain has been steady since dinner, a soft percussion against the windows, wrapping the apartment in that muted, honey-colored quiet that only belongs to night. the bedroom is warm, lit by the low glow of the bedside lamp.

your husband, seokmin, is stretched across the bed, back against the headboard, one knee bent as he scrolls idly through his phone.

his hair is still damp from his shower earlier in the evening, curling faintly at the ends. the sleeves of his t-shirt are shoved up, putting his large muscles on display, as his sweats sit low on his hips.

“baby,” he calls without looking up. “you have to see this thing i found—”

the bathroom door opens before he can finish, steam spilling around you as you step into the room. your white designer robe hangs loose, tied in a lazy knot, the collar gaping just enough to reveal skin still flushed from the shower.

he glances up mid-sentence and goes completely still.

his thumb freezes on the screen. his eyes drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

“what?” you ask, smiling because you know this look too well.

the phone slips from his hand into the blankets. he shakes his head, almost dazed. “how are you my wife?”

you laugh as you cross to the bed. “we signed papers, remember? you were there.”

“no, like—” his hand makes a helpless little gesture, his words stuck in his throat. “how do you just walk out looking like that? we’ve been married for years and you still—” he cuts himself off with a grin. “it’s not fair.”

you climb onto the mattress, settling beside him. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re ridiculously beautiful,” he counters as his eyes sweep you again, much slower this time. "it’s actually sort of offensive at this point.”

you shake your head, amused. “all i did was take a shower, minnie.”

“exactly!” he says, leaning towards you. “you shower and somehow come out looking like…like you belong on a magazine cover. meanwhile, i look like—”

“—my husband?” you cut in with a smirk.

he grins, leaning closer until his nose nearly brushes yours. “your very lucky husband.”

you laugh under your breath, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “you’re so dramatic.”

“obsessed,” he corrects softly, eyes holding yours. “completely, and hopelessly obsessed.”

“mm,” your smile turns teasing. “i’m aware.”

“good,” he murmurs, keeping his voice warm. “just making sure.”

you roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth still curves in spite of yourself. “you act like you’ve never seen me in a robe before.”

“not this robe,” he says instantly, sitting back just enough to take in the whole picture. “or maybe i have, and just blacked out.”

“you’re the one who bought it,” you remind him, amused by his flustered reaction.

“which only proves my taste is flawless.” he responds, clearly very proud of himself.

you shake your head, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of him. “you were about to show me something on your phone literally two minutes ago.”

he waves it away, eyes fixed on you instead of the phone lying useless beside him. “whatever it was, it’s irrelevant now.”

you smirk. “me, fresh out of the shower, is more interesting?”

his gaze sweeps over you once, slow and unashamed. “you—always. but fresh out of the shower like this?” he makes a small, helpless gesture toward you. “it’s criminal, baby.”

you let him look, your smile curving deeper at the way his eyes cling to you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

you lean in, brushing a light kiss against his mouth. “you’re in a mood tonight.”

“more like a spell,” he murmurs, catching your wrist before you can pull back.

“a spell?” you echo, brows lifting.

“yeah.” his voice dips, playful threaded with sincerity. “the kind where my wife looks so good that i forget how to breathe.”

you laugh under your breath, and he takes advantage of the moment, guiding you into his lap with ease.

his fingers go straight to the knot at your waist, instinct pulling at the belt.

“woah—” you catch his hand. “not so fast.”

he blinks, surprise flickering before that familiar, adoring grin spreads across his face. “why not?”

“because,” you say, letting your thumb trace over his knuckles. “you don’t just get to unwrap me because you feel like it.”

“i always feel like it,” his instant reply has you shaking your head with a small smile.

“exactly,” you murmur, leaning in just enough for your nose to brush his. “and if i let you have your way every time, you’d forget how to work for it.”

his gaze darkens, voice low and edged with promise. “i’d never forget.”

“prove it,” you whisper, releasing his hand but keeping the knot secure.

he eases back for a moment, studying you with that same unwavering intensity he always reserves for moments like this. no frustration, just focus, almost like he’s committing you to his memory even though you’re the only thing that ever crosses his mind to begin with.

“you know i’ll do anything you ask,” he says finally, reverence woven into every syllable.

“i know.” your palm cups his jaw for a fleeting moment before falling away. “that’s what makes it fun.”

his grip on your waist tightens, but he doesn’t touch the knot again. instead, his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear, leaving slow, deliberate kisses along the line of your throat.

the robe shifts, causing his breath to falter, but before he can take advantage of the slight movement, your fingers curl into his hair, tugging lightly until his eyes lift back to yours.

“mm, easy,” you mumble with a knowing smile. “i’m not convinced yet.”

“not convinced?” he echoes, like the words are a personal offense. “i’ve been obsessed with you for years, and you’re not convinced?”

you tilt your head, feigning thought. “flattery’s sweet, minnie, but too it's simple. you’ll have to get creative.”

his lips twitch like he wants to laugh, but the hunger in his eyes drowns it out. “creative, huh?”

you shift against his lap, the movement subtle but enough to draw a sharp breath from him. “make me believe you deserve to untie it.”

his hands slide to the back of your thighs, coaxing you closer until the knot presses against his chest. his mouth trails along your jaw, lingering before he finds the spot just above your pulse, sucking lightly until your breath hitches.

“you could just let me,” he mutters, his voice a low plea. “i’d worship you all night.”

a quiet laugh escapes you as your nails drag down his arm, the muscle flexing beneath your touch. “i’m sure you would. but where’s the fun in that?”

he groans, caught between frustration and want, cupping your ass to press you harder against the obvious strain beneath his sweats.

his mouth returns to your throat, rougher this time, teeth grazing your skin until you gasp.

“mm,” you warn, still smiling. “you’re getting greedy.”

“i’ve been greedy since you walked in,” he breathes. “since the day i met you.”

your grip in his hair tightens, tilting his head back so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “prove it.”

he moves without hesitation, one hand anchoring you in place while the other slides beneath your robe, dragging his palm up your thigh inch by inch until you shiver under his touch.

his fingers trace higher, lingering just shy of where you need them most, but he doesn’t rush. he holds your gaze, lips parted like he’s waiting for permission that he already knows you’ll give.

“you’re shaking,” he murmurs, the back of his knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh. “and you want to tell me i haven’t earned it?”

your laugh is soft, caught somewhere between amusement and need. "i didn’t say that. i just like watching you work for it.”

his jaw flexes, but his mouth softens into something almost boyish. “you just like teasing me.”

“i love teasing you,” you correct, tugging lightly at his hair until he groans. “especially when you've got that look—like you’d do anything i say.”

“i would,” he replies instantly. “you know i would.”

“say it properly,” your tone dips, quiet but still commanding.

his eyes never leave yours. “i’ll do anything for you. anything you want. always.”

your smile is equal parts tender and cruel. “i know, baby. that’s why i married you.”

his fingers drift even higher, his fingertips circling lazily, as if he has all the time in the world to remind you he knows every inch of you.

but he doesn’t push them inside of you. not yet. he just watches your face, hungry, waiting for that moment when your control starts to waver.

“you’re already so wet for me,” he says softly, like it’s still something that surprises him.

you hum, your nails grazing along his shoulders as your hips roll against his hand. “maybe i just like watching how desperate you get.”

his eyes flutter shut when you grind harder, but he forces them open again, staring at you like you’re all that exists. “i’m desperate for you all the time.”

“i know,” your fingers thread through his hair again. “and i love when you beg without even realizing you are.”

his laugh comes out shaky, but it’s cut short when you grind against him. “please,” he breathes, the plea spilling out from his lips before he can stop it.

the sound of his desperation makes you ache. “please what, baby?”

his jaw tightens, but his body leans into your hand, need written all over him. “please let me—please let me make you come.”

you tilt his chin up with your hand, forcing his gaze to lock onto yours again. your chest tightens at the sight; how badly he wants to give, and how much he’s holding back right now.

“go ahead, handsome,” you whisper. “do it.”

the noise that leaves him is half relief, half hunger. his hand finally shifts with intent, sliding lower, his fingers sinking into the heat he’s been taunting.

he groans against your collarbone the second he feels you open for him.

“fuck—” his voice breaks as he eases a finger inside, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady. “you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.”

your hips rock instinctively, pulling him in deeper. your head tips back, a soft sound spilling from your lips, and he watches you like a man starved.

“yeah? that’s it,” he murmurs, curling his fingers just right, while his thumb drags slow circles over your clit. “ride my hand, pretty girl. let me feel how bad you need it.”

you moan at his words, clenching around his fingers when he slips a second one in. he swallows hard, eyes flicking up to your face, dark with need.

“god, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers, breathless, his pace quickening as you grind down against him. “look at you—already trembling.”

your laugh comes out broken, tangled with a whimper. “mm, and you’re already a mess just watching.”

“i can’t help it—fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you’re on top of me like this.” he says, knowing the praise will bring you closer to your high.

your hips grind down harder, chasing the pressure that won’t quite break. frustrated, you catch his wrist and guide him deeper, a breathless moan spilling out when he obeys instantly.

“that’s it,” you whisper, eyes on his. “good boy. just let me use you.”

his jaw slackens at the sudden praise, his pupils blown wide. “fuck…” he groans, clutching your hip like he’s drowning.

you rock down onto his hand with more intent, every curl of his fingers hitting just right. his own sounds come out wrecked and strangled, like he’s the one unraveling instead of you.

“you’re being so good for me, minnie,” you mumble, dragging his soaked fingers deeper with every roll of your hips. “you love when i ride you like this, don’t you?”

“yes—god, yes,” he chokes out, forehead pressed to your chest, voice breaking “you feel incredible—you always do, baby.”

your head falls back, a cry tearing loose as the pressure quickly builds. “look at me,” you command, forcing his dazed eyes to stay fixed on yours. “don’t look away. i want you to watch what you do to me.”

the room fills with the wet, relentless sound of you. his thumb circles faster over your clit, and your pulse kicks harder, stuttering beneath his touch.

“that’s it—fuck, just like that,” he gasps, his voice breaking as you grind down, meeting every thrust of his hand with a sharper roll of your hips.

your nails scrape against his shoulders, your whole body trembling in his lap as you ride him, always greedy for more.

“min—” the word cuts off in a strangled cry, and his answering whimper is broken and desperate.

he can barely breathe, watching you unravel in his lap. “oh baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your jaw as you continue to fuck yourself on his fingers. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

your thighs tense, body jerking with every deliberate curl of his fingers. your breath falters, breaking into uneven gasps, your throat too tight for words as his thumb moves even quicker against your clit.

“baby—fuck—” you cry out, causing him to groan, relentless as he works you through your first orgasm of the night.

“come for me,” he murmurs against your skin as his lips ghost the curve of your chest. “let go, pretty girl. i want to feel you fall apart.”

you unravel on his hand, body seizing as you cry out, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

he doesn’t let up. his pace stays steady, his fingers relentless, coaxing you through the high until every aftershock ripples out of you.

“that’s it,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked, one arm steadying you as the tremors fade. “there you go, beautiful.”

still catching your breath, you let your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently as you whisper, “you can take it off now, baby. you’ve earned it.”

he exhales hard, almost as if you’ve given him access to the thing he’s been aching for his entire life.

with trembling focus, he works the knot loose. your robe falls open, the silk pooling around you, baring exactly what he already knew would be there.

for a moment, he just stares; jaw slack as his eyes devour you.

“fuck…baby…” he groans, voice raspy. “you’re—” he breaks off, shaking his head, too undone for words.

you smile faintly. “speechless? that’s rare.”

that earns you the softest laugh before he shifts, his hands grabbing your waist as he flips you effortlessly, settling you onto your back.

his lips find your shoulder first, brushing a slow kiss against the curve of it. you can feel his smile there, warm against your skin.

“you’re so beautiful,” he mumbles as his lips trail lower on your body. “every inch of you. you drive me crazy, you know that?”

your breath hitches, but you can’t stop the soft laugh that slips out. “you tell me that every day.”

“because it’s true every day,” he answers without hesitation, his mouth pressing reverently along your collarbone.

each word comes between kisses, like he can’t decide whether to worship you with his voice or his lips. “i’m never gonna stop saying it. never gonna stop needing you.”

you sink into the mattress, warmth spreading through your chest. “god, minnie…”

he hums at the sound of his name on your lips, hands framing your waist as his mouth moves lower, starting at your chest and following a slow path over the soft curve of your stomach.

“i’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your skin, the words torn between a vow and a plea.

your fingers curl into the sheets. “you already do,” you breathe.

“not enough,” he insists, soft but still sure. his lips graze the edge of your hip before trailing along the inside of your thighs; slow kisses that make you shiver. “never enough.”

your body arches towards him instinctively, need spilling out before you can voice it. “please, baby…”

he chuckles as he brushes his mouth just above your pelvis, so close it makes your thoughts splinter. “yes, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, mischief flashing in his tone.

but the teasing is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by sincerity as he kisses just beneath your navel. “i love you. i love you more than anything.”

your fingers twist in the sheets, then slip into his hair, pulling gently when he lingers at your lower stomach.

he presses another slow kiss there, right where you’re aching for him, and the tension in your chest breaks with a sound you can’t contain.

“seokmin,” you breathe, the sound equal parts wanting and warning. your voice falters when he looks up at you; his eyes too soft, too full of devotion.

“i know, baby,” he assures you gently, his smile brushing against your skin. “i know what you need.”

he doesn’t make you wait any longer. his mouth opens against you, warm and wet. the first stroke of his tongue makes your whole body tighten, your head falling back into the pillow.

he sighs like he’s home, like this is where he’s meant to be, the sound reverberating through you.

your hips twitch for more, but his hand steadies your thigh, as if to remind you that he’ll give you everything, and that you just need to be patient.

“oh my god,” you gasp, tugging his hair, your body betraying every ounce of control you try to hold. “you—fuck—you’re insane…”

he moans against you from the sound of your pleasure, his eyes flicking up briefly; filled with nothing but devotion.

“that’s it—my perfect boy. you always know exactly what i need,” the words tumble out of you before you can catch your breath.

his tongue moves deeper, steadier. you feel him responding to your every tremor, only desperate to give you more.

“slow down, baby,” you whisper, and he obeys instantly, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue in long, lazy strokes that make your thighs tremble.

your grip in his hair tightens, guiding him gently. “look at me.”

he lifts his gaze, mouth still pressed to you, eyes still burning with admiration.

“god, you’re so beautiful like this,” you breathe, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. “between my thighs, making me lose my mind.”

he whines softly, muffled against you, and the sheer need in the sound makes you pulse.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “please, baby, don’t stop.”

he clings tighter to your body, his tongue working in perfect rhythm, deliberate and unrelenting.

“yes,” you moan, hips rolling against his mouth. “yes, just like that. you’re perfect, minnie. so fucking perfect.”

he pulls back only once, lips wet, breath ragged. “i love this,” he admits, his voice hoarse, almost shy. “i love you like this.”

your chest tightens at the raw honesty in his voice, the way he says it like it’s the simplest truth he knows.

seokmin was never one to be shy about letting his feelings for you spill out into the open. he always loved you loudly, earnestly, and with a steadiness that made it impossible for anyone to doubt.

“and i love you for it,” you breathe, voice trembling before it steadies into something needier. “now finish what you started.”

he groans at the command, diving back in with renewed hunger.

your voice fractures into moans and gasps as your thighs tremble around his shoulders. “don’t stop—oh my fucking god, don’t stop—”

he wouldn’t dream of it. he stays with you through every wave, coaxing you gently until you’re trembling and crying his name into the dark.

when it finally subsides, you sink into the sheets, breathless and undone. he soothes you with soft kisses, reverent and unhurried, like he’s worshipping the aftermath as much as the act itself.

“come here,” you breathe at last, tugging him up with the little strength you have left.

his lips are swollen, his jaw glistening faintly, and his eyes hold nothing but love as he hovers above you.

you cup his face, smiling through the haze. “you did so well for me, baby.”

his answering smile is shaky, almost boyish. “i could stay there forever.”

“i know,” you whisper, pressing your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his lips. “that’s why i’ll never let you go.”

his breathing is ragged against your mouth, chest pressing into yours. his hips push down, restless, aching. you feel the hard length of him straining through his sweats, desperate for relief.

your hand slips between you, wrapping your fingers around him through the fabric. he shudders at your touch, forehead dropping to your shoulder like his body can’t hold him up anymore.

“baby,” he groans, his voice breaking.

you kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate, stroking him just enough to keep him on edge. “you want me to take care of you now?”

he nods against your neck, a whimper spilling out. “please. i need you.”

your smile softens, tender even as you keep him trembling. “let me make you feel good, baby. you’ve earned it.”

in seconds, his pants and boxers are thrown to the floor, his whole body quivering as your hand finally closes around his aching shaft. you stroke him slowly, your thumb circling his slick head until a ragged gasp tears from his throat.

“fuck,” he chokes, hips jerking into your hand.

you press your lips to his temple. “relax, minnie. let me take care of you.”

he nods frantically, but his body betrays him, straining for more. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close so the length of him slides between your folds.

his breath hitches, head snapping up to meet your eyes.

“you feel that?” you whisper, moving your hips just enough to drive him mad. “you’re so hard for me, baby. so perfect.”

“fuck—don’t tease,” he begs, the words breaking as his voice gives out.

you guide him slowly until his tip nudges against your entrance. he inhales sharply, and you hold his gaze, pressing your body into his just enough to make him whine for more.

your free hand cups his jaw, thumb brushing along his skin as the other hand strokes him again, unhurried and cruel in the sweetest way.

“look at you,” you whisper fondly. “you’re already falling apart for me and i’ve barely even touched you, baby”

he moans your name, hips jerking helplessly into your hand. his forehead drops against your shoulder in defeat, damp hair clinging to your skin as his breath breaks unevenly against your collarbone.

every whimper vibrates through your chest, muffled into your neck.

“baby,” he rasps, the sound cracked and desperate.

you tighten your grip, twisting your wrist just right and causing his whole body to tense up. “you like that, don’t you? the way i touch you?”

his head tilts slightly, lips dragging across your skin like he can’t help himself. “yes—god, yes. only you. always you.”

your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice; a reminder that years of marriage haven’t dulled the way he unravels under your hands.

you slow your strokes, watching his brows knit and his mouth fall open, helpless against your touch.

“you sound so pretty when you beg, minnie,” you whisper as your lips brush against his cheek. “say it again.”

he tries to hold it in, but his voice fractures. “please. i need you—need to feel you. i can’t—fuck—i need to feel you.”

you reward him with a slow drag of his cock against your slick folds; still not inside, but just enough to make his whole body jolt like he’s been shocked.

“you’ve never changed,” you breathe, stroking his hair back until his eyes meet yours. “years later, and you still fall apart the second i touch you. still all mine.”

“always…god—always yours. i couldn’t belong to anyone else if i tried,” his voice fractures when he finally gets it out, every word dragged from his chest.

you drag him against you again, slow and cruel, and his hips snap helplessly. “say it again.”

his breath stutters, the words catching in his throat before they break free. “you…fuck—yours. i’m yours. always…only you.”

your smile softens at his words, but you keep him there, balanced on the edge, his body trembling with restraint.

“i need you. please—don’t make me wait anymore.” his words spill out, stripped and honest.

his plea hangs heavy in the air, raw and trembling, until you finally relent. you guide him inside slowly, inch by inch, your grip now firm on his biceps as his body eases into yours.

his moan breaks in your ear. “god—” his forehead presses to yours. “fuck, baby, you feel—”

you swallow his words with a kiss, wrapping your legs tight around his waist to lock him in place, deep inside of you. his hips twitch, desperate to move, but you flatten your palm against his chest and hold him still.

“please,” he whispers into your mouth, voice splintering. “i’ll lose my mind if you don’t let me move.”

your lips brush the shell of his ear. “beg for it.”

his breath hitches, broken against your throat. “i am begging,” he chokes as his hands grip onto the sheets. “baby, i’m fucking begging you. let me move. let me make you feel good. please.”

you can already feel the tension winding tight inside of him, his thighs shaking as he forces himself to stay still.

“please, baby. please let me fuck you,” he breathes as his hands slide up your sides. “i can’t—i can’t hold it when you’re like this. you’re killing me.”

when your eyes lift to his, he looks wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted like the next breath might break him.

“okay,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to him as the word settles deep between the two of you. “you can move, baby.”

he doesn’t hesitate after that. he eases back just far enough to make you ache, then thrusts forward hard, a low groan spilling from his chest; half prayer, half hunger.

you cling to him as he finds his rhythm, deliberate and heavy with years of knowing exactly how to undo you.

“fuck,” he groans into your shoulder, his teeth grazing agaisnt your skin. “you were made for me.”

your nails drag down his back, pulling a broken sound from his throat before his mouth crashes back onto yours, messy and consuming.

“fuck, minnie,” you gasp against his lips, the words trembling out. “just like that—give it to me.”

his weight sinks into you, pressing you deep into the mattress, his chest hot and unrelenting against yours.

“oh my god, baby…” his voice comes out wrecked. “you’re perfect. you’re everything.”

you scratch lightly down his spine, just enough to make his body jerk. “don't hold back,” you murmur, voice quiet but commanding. “i want all of you.”

“fuck—take it. it’s yours. all yours,” his chest heaves as the words tumble out rough, almost like they’re pulled straight from his lungs.

you frame his face in your hands as your thumbs stroke his cheekbones. "let me watch you fall apart for me, baby."

he obeys, doing his best to keep his eyes locked on yours, but it doesn't last long. the moment your body clenches around him, he breaks it.

“fuck, baby…i can’t—” his forehead falls to yours, his voice fracturing with the pleasure of it.

“don’t fight it, pretty boy.” you whisper, locking your legs tighter around his waist. “let go with me.”

his rhythm falters, breath shattering. “baby…oh god—fuck—” he chokes, his voice unraveling as he drives deeper.

“oh—oh my god, right there,” you moan against his mouth, pulling him closer.

your body breaks first, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you clench around him, pleasure tearing through you in jagged shocks.

the sound wrecks him. he follows instantly, hips slamming into you as a loud moan tears out of him, everything in him giving way all at once.

the release leaves you both unsteady, your breaths stuttering as the intensity slowly ebbs. he collapses into your chest right away, his body still lightly trembling, all warmth and weight as you wrap your arms around him.

you hold him there, one hand stroking gently through his damp hair, the other pressed firm against his back to keep him close.

he doesn’t lift his head or try to move away; he just gives in completely, falling into you with a quiet shudder, like his body hasn’t quite caught up to the world yet.

the room hums with silence, broken only by your uneven breaths and the loud beats from both of your hearts.

“jesus…” you breathe, a weak laugh slipping out with it. “you’re gonna kill me one of these nights.”

he huffs against your collarbone. “worth it,” he mutters, voice cracked and hoarse. “you’re always worth it.”

you smile faintly, closing your eyes, still stroking his hair. “you’re a mess.”

“your mess,” he retorts, almost slurring it as his lips brush lazily against your skin.

after a long moment, he finally lifts his head from your chest, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before carefully sliding out of bed.

you sink deeper into the mattress, heavy and spent, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he leaves the room.

you don’t need to ask where he’s going; aftercare was never something seokmin left to chance. he always insists on taking care of you himself, like loving you properly afterwards is simply part of loving you at all.

when he comes back into the room, there’s a warm cloth in his hand. he settles between your knees again, his movements careful and unhurried. “lift up a little for me, beautiful.”

you do, pliant beneath his touch, and he cleans you with steady, practiced hands. every pass is slow and thoughtful, never rushed; tender in a way that makes your chest ache.

it doesn’t feel like routine.

it feels like care. like reverence. like the steady reassurance of knowing you’re safe with him, the way you always have been.

“you always take such good care of me,” your lips curve faintly, the words coming out fragile but certain.

he glances up, eyes soft despite the exhaustion written all over his face. “of course i do,” he says, as though there’s no other truth in the world.

when he’s finished, he picks your robe up from the floor and holds it out to you. you sit up a little so he can help, arms sliding into the sleeves without either of you having to say a word.

he gently pulls it around your shoulders, his hands lingering just long enough to make sure it’s settled before moving down toward your waist.

his fingers work the belt into a loose knot before he finally leans back with a tired smile. “best thing i ever bought you.”

you let out a weak laugh. "not the ring? not the house?"

his smile deepens, somehow still boyish even through the exhaustion. "nope. the robe wins. nothing else even comes close."

instead of calmly climbing back into the bed, he drops face-first onto the mattress beside you with a dramatic groan, one arm hanging off the edge.

your laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. it's the kind of laugh he always manages to pull from you, no matter what mood you’re in.

he turns his head at the sound, just enough to brush a lazy kiss against your arm before melting into the sheets again.

“i'm so tired,” he mumbles into the cotton, voice muffled.

“big baby,” you tease, rolling onto your side to face him. your fingers trail slowly down his back, light and soothing, and he exhales hard, his shoulders quickly loosening under your touch.

“mm, don’t stop,” he mutters, already halfway gone. “this is heaven.”

your smile widens against the pillow. "thought i was your heaven."

he cracks one eye open, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. "you are. this is just...the proof."

taglist: @gggtabi @mayakahlo @crvshedpetals @teardoong @kyrasworldd @authorscurse @jajabro @moonqz @letstakeabowimoutthedoor @vynn30 @ilovegdragon123 @serenadeonacanoe @strhwa @seungsjo @rayslilbubble @jiyongsbaby88 @loveesiren @h0lographicsun @breakmeoff @xxxicddbr88 @my-neurodivergent-world @evasmlp @weasleytwins-41 @evemds @vwintershire @junnhuisworld @arwen-u @coupsv

[malsmoony]

seokmin has been wrecking me like no other these past couple weeks. i love this man so mf much hello…

[miniseokminnies]

forgive my northern attitude —- c.sc

❅pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader ❅ theme: exes to lovers ❅ w/c: 13k ❅ warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol and being drunk, insults, jealousy, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, protected sex (that's a yes yes), marking, fingering, choking, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, oral [f. recieving], praise kink, angst, miscommunications, death of a parent (pre-fic), holiday depression, minor character calling reader a bitch, feelings of being lost and directionless ❅ a/n: this entire fic is based off of the album stick season by noah kahan. it is truly a love letter to grief, love, small towns, and growing up. as someone who has a lot of complicated feelings surrounding the holidays it felt fitting to write something a bit sad for the season. this fic is absolutely dedicated to @tomodachiii as she is the first person who heard this idea over a year ago and i am so excited to share it with her and all of you. i really hope that it means as much to you as it does to me. also a huge thank you to @haologram and @seungkw1 for being with me every step of the way on this one. enjoy and happy holidays. dividers by @strangergraphics

Seungcheol Choi felt like an idiot as the cold Vermont wind ate through his clothes. He knew the snow was coming this morning and still pushed off digging out his winter coat for another day. Shoving his hands in his pockets he jogged the short distance from his truck to the front entrance of the local grocery store. He pulled out a cart from the line and pushed into the store. Sighing he pulled out his phone to check his grocery list, unfortunately this was one of those grocery trips where he needed just about everything. He just wanted to go home.

Snaking through every aisle was proving to be much more of a task than he would have anticipated for a trip on a Monday night. Most people would be too tired from work to try and make it to the grocery, or so he thought. That was of course how he ended up with a mile long grocery list. His body worked on autopilot while his mind wandered. He really needed to figure out what he was getting his mom for Christmas.

"Seungcheol?" The sound of his name down the cereal aisle pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up toward the voice.

"Mrs. L/N?" He feigned a smile.

"Hi!" She pushed her cart up next to his. "How are you doing?" She smiled widely, he suppressed a wince. You look just like your mother.

"Oh, uh," He shrugged. "As well as I can I suppose."

"I understand, it's been a hard year." She nodded. "It's almost over though, hang in there and say hello to your mother for me." She patted him on the shoulder.

"I will, absolutely." He nodded at her. She gave him a small wave before moving down the aisle past him. He let out a sigh and put in his headphones. He didn't want any more unwelcome conversations.

Seungcheol dragged himself through the front door of his apartment, all of his groceries in his hands, he refused to make a second trip, not with the wind as cold as it was. He dumped the groceries on the floor of his kitchen and began to put everything in its place.

He didn't even want to make dinner for himself, he hated getting home late. He settled for throwing a frozen pizza in the oven. His feet ached for him to sit on the couch while he waited for dinner but if he didn't get his coat out of the closet now he never would. He dragged himself over to the hall closet. It shouldn't be hard to find the coat, he didn't keep much in here.

He sifted through the hangers until he saw his big brown coat. He pulled it from the hanger and folded it over his arm.

"What is all this shit on the floor in here?" He wondered out loud. He turned and threw the coat over the back of the couch and crouched down to see what he had shoved in here months ago and forgot about. Several pairs of shoes were scattered there, slides, tennis shoes, boots. He pulled out the pair of boots to set by the door. A green sweatshirt was nestled against the back wall of the closet, his heart sunk before he even reached for it. His fingers touched the fabric and he pulled it out only for his suspicions to be confirmed.

Vermont Law School was printed boldly across the chest and it still smelled like you.

"Are you sure you have to go?" Your coworker, Lina, asked while she watched you pack up for the day.

"What are you talking about?" You laughed. "I've had this PTO approved for months!"

"I know," she leaned against your desk. "But there's so much to do! You're one of our top attorneys and we'll really miss you."

"I know," you sighed. "But I haven't taken a day off in over three years so I could spend two weeks with my parents." You reminded her.

"Where are you from again?" She asked.

"Vermont," you slung your bag over your shoulder. "Small town about an hour from Montpelier." Lina looked at you blankly. "Montpelier? The capitol of Vermont?"

"Right." She said, not convinced. "How long of a drive is that?"

"A little under four hours." You told her. "I'm leaving in the morning so I can get there by around lunch time."

"Well be safe!" She smiled. "Can't wait until you're back!"

"Hold it down for me!" You winked before you practically ran out of the office.

Coming home wouldn't be complete without your soul leaving your body courtesy of the pothole off Elm Street. Your tire hit it full on and you just knew it was flat. Dread settled in your stomach when you remembered what that meant. You pulled over and desperately googled any tire repair shops in the immediate area, you knew it was a fool's errand because the only shop anywhere close to you was Choi and Sons and you would have to drive the small stretch of Main Street to get there.

You pulled into the parking lot slowly, feeling sick to your stomach. This isn't the reunion you were hoping for, you were actually banking on avoiding him for the next two weeks entirely. Now you realized how foolish that was.

Seungcheol watched the car, your car, pull into his lot. He snatched the hat off of his head and threw it beneath the counter. He was running his hands through his hair when the bell above the door chimed. Time seemed to stand still as you stood in the doorway of your ex-boyfriend's shop. Your mouth went dry and you fiddled with your keyring.

"Let me guess." He broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. "That pothole on Elm and Main is still givin' you shit?"

"I haven't been here in three years." You mumbled. "It should be filled by now."

"It's been there since before we could drive." There was a pain in his chest at the familiarity of the conversation. "You thought they'd fill it now that you're gone?" He forced a laugh. "Let's see what we're working with."

You led him out to where your car with an extremely flat tire was parked. Seungcheol walked around the car a few times as you shoved your hands into your coat pockets, shielding them from the cold. "You still drive this hunk of junk?" He asked finally.

"It's a perfectly fine car." You bounced on your heels. "Can you fix the tire or not?"

"You know I can." He fixed you with a look. "Don't talk crazy." He started back towards the lobby of the shop and you followed in tow.

"How long do you think?" You asked, leaning against the counter.

"Couple hours, tops." He assured you, typing your information into the system. "No one else is here so I can start now." He looked up from the computer at you, "you hangin' out here or is your mom coming to get you?"

"I'll probably just stay here." You nodded. "I wouldn't want to make you wait for me to come back later." Seungcheol bit back a response as he held out his hand.

"Keys."

"Oh." You fished out your keys from your purse and placed them in his hand. He shoved them in his pocket, trying to ignore the fact that the keyring with his football number was missing.

"Have a seat wherever." He told you, avoiding your eyes. "I'll give you updates as I have 'em." With that he was out the door. You watched him duck into your car and pull it into the garage.

The lobby of Choi and Sons was exactly as you remembered it. Pictures of the Choi family littered the walls, Seungcheol playing football, he and his brother's Little League team from elementary school, professional family Christmas photos his mother forced upon them. Your favorite seat in the house, a worn out denim couch, was still here. You sank into the well loved piece of furniture and lifted the matching cover on the arm. Doodles done in black sharpie, fading with time, were littered under it.

'Y/N ♡ Seungcheol'

'Class of 2013'

'Seungcheol and Y/N Choi ♡'

You sighed and placed the cover back down. You were a stupid kid, even so, you hadn't expected it to end the way it did. Looking around, you noticed while everything was pretty much the same, it was all like the couch, worn out. The neon sign on the wall behind the counter that boasted the name of the business was flickering, probably will need to be replaced soon.

Overall, the place felt empty. You knew Seungcheol's brother ended up moving halfway across the country after he graduated college, Mr. Choi and Seungcheol stayed behind. Distance was a big factor in your breakup, Seungcheol lost his scholarship after sustaining an injury at Semi-State your senior year. He was thankful to have the family business to pour into, but the plans the two of you had got shaken out in the wash.

You always felt bad. He assured you it wasn't your fault, and that you should still chase the future you wanted, but a future without him was hard to comprehend. Until it hit you in the face.

Now here you were, feeling 17 again, waiting for him to fix the tire you kept blowing out on the same pothole. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable.

The bell above the door pulled you from your thoughts. Seungcheol strode toward you, his cheeks bitten from the cold.

"Not too bad this time." He told you, wiping his hands with a rag. "Shouldn't be too long." You nodded. "Do you…can I get you anything?" You could tell his customer service instincts were betraying his feelings.

"No, I'm good." You forced a polite smile.

"You know where everything is, so if you change your mind…"

"Got it, thanks." You nodded.

"No worries." He took a step backward. "I'll get going and get you out of here."

It took Seungcheol less than an hour to replace your tire. You were always so impressed with how good he was at this. You watched him type everything into the system.

"How's your dad?" You blurted out. You don't know why you asked, it just bubbled up. Seungcheol's eyes cut to you suddenly. It was almost as if he was trying to figure out if you were serious.

"Dead."

The world came to a screeching halt. You hadn't even known that Mr. Choi was sick. It had been that long, and now you felt like the worst person on Earth.

"Oh, Seungcheol, I'm so sorry—" You started.

"Don't." He cut you off. "It'll be $90 today."

"Huh?" You blinked at him. "That's a lot cheaper than I expected.." You added, pulling out your credit card. You heard Seungcheol sigh behind the counter.

"Friends and family discount." He said through gritted teeth as he glanced at a photo of his father on the wall.

The clinking of glasses filled your ears as your two best friends smiled widely.

"The girls are back in town!" Nayeon beamed from across the table. You smiled into your drink before taking a sip, the cheap vodka burning your throat on its way down. This was the only bar in town, a town so small you knew everyone in it. You came back to this bar year after year, to visit with friends, and up until a few years ago, your boyfriend. However, with your schedule you've missed the last few opportunities, leaving Nayeon and Eunbi to fend for themselves, but not without protests in your messages.

"I'm so glad you're here, Y/N." Eunbi laid her hand over yours and gave you a sincere look. You smiled at her before you heard Nayeon tapping her nails on her glass.

"This is all very nice and gooey," she stated matter-of-factly. "But we're here to drink and have fun, remember?"

"Fine, fine." You laughed and lifted the straw to your lips once more. The three of you spent the better part of an hour catching up. Eunbi really likes her class this year, a lot of really bright kids. Nayeon was dead set on a promotion when she got back from the holiday break.

"What about you, Y/N?" Eunbi asked. You opened your mouth to respond but your response was cut off by the jingling of the bell above the door. Looking up, you saw his friends first. Jeonghan and Joshua greeted the bartender as soon as their feet crossed the threshold. Friendly, as usual. Your stomach dropped as Seungcheol followed them in, his head hung heavily and his hands were stuffed into his pockets.

You slumped back in your seat, your mouth tasted bitter. You could feel your friends eyes on you but you stared at the condensation pooling on the table under your glass.

"He follows me everywhere." You muttered. Eunbi and Nayeon exchanged a glance.

"This is the only bar in town." Eunbi leaned forward. "He comes out once a year."

"How do you know?" Your eyes flicked to hers.

"I still live here, remember?" She sighed. "I go out with the other teachers and I've never seen him anywhere but work, his apartment, or his mother's."

"Well, tonight isn't about him!" Nayeon smiled. "Right, Y/N?"

"Yeah…yes." You sat up. "Sorry, old habits and all that." You forced a smile onto your face.

It took Seungcheol approximately four minutes to glance in your direction. He should have known Nayeon and Eunbi would have dragged you out tonight, just like Jeonghan and Joshua drag him out the minute Jeonghan gets back into town.

"Don't worry about it." Joshua told him, following his gaze to the table the three of you were sitting at. "Tonight is for us, their night is for them, okay?"

"I'm fine." Seungcheol muttered into his beer.

"No one said you weren't." Jeonghan pointed out. "Pool?" He tacked on, hopping off of the bar stool. Seungcheol sighed and downed his beer, signaling to the bartender for another round before joining Jeonghan who was racking up the balls. Joshua opted to watch from the bar, his eyes dancing between his friends and Eunbi.

You eyed Seungcheol warily while Nayeon was rattling on about some guy she's been flirting with from the IT department at work. He sucked at pool, always had. He'd be lucky if Jeonghan didn't put money on it this time, he'd be stupid to play if he did. A few years ago you would have been sitting beside Joshua, laughing at the pout on Seungcheol's face as Jeonghan hustled him, again.

You watched Seungcheol line up a shot but suddenly, as you heard the crack of the cue ball, there was someone blocking your view. Their presence even stopped Nayeon's lightning speed recap of her week at work.

"Can we help you?" She narrowed her eyes at the guy in front of you.

"I just," his eyes darted from you to Nayeon and then back to you, "wanted to introduce myself." He gestured to you. Nayeon knew you better than almost anyone. She took one look at your confused face and spoke up again.

"It's girl's night," she sat up on her knees, getting closer to the man. "So we're not interested, but thanks!"

"I wasn't talking to you." He deadpanned. He was young, maybe just barely 21, that would explain why you didn't know him and why he felt so confident to talk to Nayeon that way. Plus, flirting with you in front of your ex-boyfriend was an interesting choice.

"I'm not interested." You rolled your eyes. "Especially if you're going to talk to my friends that way."

"You don't have to be a bitch." He didn't even have time to continue before a fist connected with his cheek. Your eyes widened as you saw Seungcheol standing over the man as he fell to the floor. Seungcheol just stood there, not looking at anyone, the skin of his knuckles reddening from the contact.

"Choi!" The bartender shouted gruffly as he approached. "Out." He grabbed Seungcheol by the collar. You watched wordlessly as Seungcheol shook the man's hold off and he stalked out the door. You could feel eyes on you, looking up you realized all of your friends were staring at you. All your friends and Jeonghan from across the room. He was waiting you out, wanting to see if you would follow or if he would have to do it.

"Go get him." He mouthed to you, stealing a glance at the front door.

"I'll be right back." You mumbled. Without giving Eunbi and Nayeon time to respond you crossed the small bar quickly. You cut a glare in Jeonghan's direction but tunnel vision prevented you from catching his reaction.

The cold air bit into you as you pushed out the door, you left your coat on the bench next to Nayeon. Seungcheol hadn't gone far, he was leaning against Joshua's car with his back to the bar. He had also forgotten his coat.

"I had that handled you know." You called out to him. His body flinched at the sound of your voice breaking the quiet of the night.

"He called you a bitch." He turned toward you.

"I've been called worse." You informed him stepping closer.

"Yeah well I wasn't around to hear any of that." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's not your responsibility to defend me." You bit, anger rising again. "Not anymore." You saw the expression on his face morph into something soft and hurt before hardening again. You had meant for the words to sting, you laced them with poison on purpose.

"What were you going to do?" He pressed. "Throw your little vodka cran in his face?"

"You think I can't do anything for myself!" You shouted. "I could have handled it, I don't care what he called me."

"What?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Like you can handle the pot hole on Elm and Main?"

"Fuck you Seungcheol." Your face twisted with disgust.

"You used to." He muttered.

"You're drunk and an asshole." You turned on your heel and pushed back into the bar. "Go get your friend, Jeonghan. Leave me out of it." You spat at the man who was watching Seungcheol walk in the direction of his apartment from the front window.

"Ma!" Seungcheol called, entering his childhood home through the garage. "It's me!" He knelt down to greet his dog, Kkuma. He cooed at her and scratched her behind the ears.

"Hi sweetheart," His mother entered the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting you today!"

"Brought dinner," he shrugged as he moved to kiss her on the cheek. "Preheat the oven to 350, it's a pasta bake from the store." His mom bustled over to the oven. He took the tray out of the plastic grocery bag and slid it onto the counter next to the oven. He attempted to shove his hand back in his pocket but his mother was faster.

"What's this?" She clicked her tongue as she held his hand, his knuckles painted with a bruise.

"Y/N's in town." He diverted as he pulled his hand away.

"Becky told me she was coming in." His mother had always been close to yours, so it was no surprise that they talked about you coming in for the holidays.

"And you didn't think to tell me that?"

"Seungcheol."

"Eomma."

"She's coming home to see her parents." His mom stroked his cheek. "Just like Jeonghan, just like every kid who moved away. No need to be so worried about it."

"Got banned from the bar."

"What?" She glanced at his hand again.

"Some kid was bothering her and Nayeon and Eunbi." He shrugged. "He deserved it."

"A kid, Seungcheol?" She nearly shrieked.

"21 probably, I didn't know him."

"Seungcheol you need to stop doing things like that."

"Ma, he was a jerk, Dad would've done it!" He dug in the refrigerator for something to drink.

"Even so, you can't do stuff like that!" She insisted. "You're 30 now. You can't punch 21-year-olds." Seungcheol shrugged again.

"Fine." He shut the refrigerator. "Next time some kid calls a girl I care about a bitch, I'll let him."

"Seungcheol." She warned. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Watch your language." The oven beeped. Seungcheol slid the pasta bake in and set the timer.

"She came to the shop." He admitted quietly. "I wasn't expecting to see her."

"Did she?" His mother sighed.

"Yeah the pothole got her again." His fingers gripped the can of soda in his hand. "She didn't know Dad died."

"Oh.."

"Yeah, that was awkward." He chuckled in spite of himself. "Dad always liked her."

"We all did." She sat next to him. "We all do."

"I guess." He sighed. "I gave her the friends and family discount."

"Good, your father would've been beside himself if you didn't." She laughed.

"Why do you think I did it?" He smiled.

"Right," she sighed. "No other reason."

Nine reindeer made of tinsel crashed into the shopping cart. You leaned your arms onto the handle of the shopping cart and watched your mother reach for more garland. She grabs a package and looks back at you. Sighing, you move around the cart and grab a few bustles as well.

"What is all of this for again?" You asked tossing the garland into the cart.

"Are you serious?" She looked at you like you had grown a second head. "Our Christmas party, Y/N!" The two of you started down the aisle again, you pushing the cart behind her.

"Oh." You deadpanned. "You still do that?"

"Y/N, we've done this every year even before you were born." She sighed looking at snowmen figurines as you passed. "Those are overpriced."

"All of this is overpriced." You laughed.

"That's true." She noted before putting the snowmen in the cart.

"Do I have to come?" You asked.

"It's at our house."

"So yes?"

"Yes!"

"Is…he invited?" You stared at the back of your mother's head as she stilled for just a moment.

"His mom is coming, so I wouldn't be surprised if she brought him." She eyed you nervously. "It's been a terribly hard year for them, she still relies on Seungcheol a lot."

"I know.." You conceded.

"It won't be so bad, it's going to be enough people to avoid him." She assured you.

"Dad is gonna kill you for all this stuff, you know?" You changed the subject.

"I know." She winked.

The doorbell rang as you were hanging green and red tinsel around the door. You climbed down from the step ladder and opened the front door. Mrs. Choi smiled at you from the porch. You could feel your heart sink so low it settled in your stomach.

"Hi sweetheart!" She pulled you into a hug.

"Hi Mrs. Choi." You muttered. She pulled back and looked at you up and down.

"Boston is treating you well." She smiled.

"I think so." You smiled back. "Come in!" You moved aside to let her in. She somehow managed to smile even wider at you as she shuffled past you. "Mom's in the kitchen." You offered. The sounds of your mother and Mrs. Choi greeting each other echoed through the house.

The tinsel dangled from where you taped it above the door as you ran up the stairs to your bedroom.

You felt stupid for crying, you knew she would be here, Mrs. Choi helps every year. You just weren't expecting to see her so soon. The framed photos of you and her son were turned away from you, the first thing you did after he broke up with you. Your parents had left your room untouched, aside from the few Christmas presents for your nieces stashed away in your mostly empty closet.

Wiping your tears you pick up one of the photos, it was from your senior prom. Your dress was hot pink. You laughed in spite of yourself at the glaringly 2013 aesthetic of it. Seungcheol was smiling widely next to you in his black suit and matching hot pink tie. If your memory was accurate this was one of the few moments, in front of your parents, where his hands weren't on your ass. He loved that dress.

You set the photo back down on your dresser and moved to the next. Seungcheol sweaty from his football game, still in his uniform. Your lips were pressed to his cheek as he held your waist, you were draped in his Letterman jacket and a warm headband wrapped around your head.

It was strange that things could just fall apart seemingly out of nowhere.

You heard your mother downstairs and the sound of the front door. Scrambling, you ran to down the stairs to see Mrs. Choi on her way out. You ran on to the porch.

"Mrs. Choi!" You called to the woman in the driveway. She turned around, smiling brightly at you. "I'm so sorry about Mr. Choi…and I'm so sorry I didn't say anything to you until now." She walked toward you and you almost thought she was about to yell at you, something she has, to your knowledge, never done to anyone. To your surprise, she wrapped you into a warm hug.

"Thank you, honey." She whispered. "It's not your fault."

The weight of her words was not lost on you.

Seungcheol woke up, earlier than he wanted to, to his mother calling. He contemplated ignoring her and going back to sleep, but he knew that was a bad idea.

"Hi Eomma."

"Are you up?" She sounded frazzled. Seungcheol checked the time, it was 10:03 in the morning. Later than he thought but still not late.

"Well I am now." He grumbled.

"Don't get smart with me, Seungcheol." She warned.

"Mama, what's going on?" He sighed.

"You forgot?" She deflated.

"Forgot what?" He panicked, it's not her birthday.

"The Christmas party is today and you just woke up!" He could hear her shuffling around, stuffing things into grocery bags. Seungcheol silently tried to wrack his brain for an excuse. "Mrs. L/N's Christmas party, Seungcheol!"

"Do you really think that's a good idea…" He started.

"This is my social event of the year." Her voice was becoming stern, Seungcheol knew this voice well.

"Ma.." Seungcheol scrubbed his face. "It's at Y/N's house, where Y/N will be."

"It's the first year your father won't be at this party with me." Her voice was quieter now. "I just..would like you to be there."

"Of course, Eomma." He hated the crack in his voice. "I'll be there."

There were only a few cars in your driveway when Seungcheol and his mother pulled around the corner. He recognized your car and Eunbi's. He assumed Nayeon would be here too, if she wasn't already and hadn't carpooled with Eunbi. He was feeling unprepared. He'd seen you twice since you came back to town and both of those times were unbearably awkward. This will be worse.

Your mom greeted them before they had the chance to ring the doorbell. Nayeon, Eunbi, and yourself were gathered around the kitchen island stealing bites of the snacks your mom told you to leave for the party. Your friends stole glances at you as they heard her greet Seungcheol.

"I'm fine." You hissed at them, "stop looking at me." You popped a pretzel in your mouth and wandered toward the dining room to straighten up the table settings that had already been set to perfection.

You were able to avoid him while he helped your dad with getting folding chairs from the basement. Your mom enlisted you and your friends to make punch, so it wasn't hard to stay busy. Nayeon buzzed by your side the entire time so even if Seungcheol wanted to talk to you he wouldn't want to piss Nayeon off.

As the other guests began to arrive Seungcheol stalked into the kitchen and stood behind the island. He nodded at you and you as you scurried out of the kitchen to retrieve your nieces from your brother.

The girls squealed as you greeted them, Seungcheol smiled to himself in the kitchen as he popped a piece of the puppy chow into his mouth. Your mom always had the best recipes.

"Where is Uncle Seungcheol?" Charlotte asked, affixing a crown to your head. You froze for a moment. What were you supposed to say? He's in the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm sure he's around here somewhere!" You faked a smile. "Am I princess yet?"

"Oh!" She skittered over to where her sister was organizing the necklaces from your old copy of the Pretty Pretty Princess board game. She scooped up a handful of the necklaces and some plastic rings and ran back to you. "Here, these are your family gems." She put the necklaces over your head. "You must protect them Princess Auntie Y/N!" She exclaimed as she slid the rings onto your fingers.

Charlotte and Madison wouldn't allow you to take the jewelry off even when your brother came to get them ready for bed. They insisted that you wear it downstairs. You loved these girls so you humored them, you'd take it off when you got to the kitchen.

Seungcheol was still there when you got there, powdered sugar on his lips and his black button down. You stifled a laugh and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"You've got powdered sugar.." You gesture to your lips.

"Nice get up." He mumbled. "Nice of you to talk to me."

"You've been hiding out in here the entire party." You reminded him as you took off the crown. The plastic rings clattered onto the counter next to the crown.

"Can you blame me?" He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I was upstairs with the girls all night." You deadpanned.

"And risk Nayeon grilling me?" He leaned against the counter.

"She could've come in here on her own." You reminded him. "Your logic isn't really airtight."

"Whatever." He sighed. "Are the girls good?" He asked.

"They asked where you were."

"You haven't told them?"

"They're 6 and 7, Seungcheol." You reminded him.

"Shit." He pushed off the counter. "They're that old now?"

"It's been four years since you've seen them, yeah." You watched as he crossed the kitchen to you. He reached past you to grab a cup.

"I guess that's true." He ladles your mom's 'famous' holiday punch into the paper cup, there was something amusing about him drinking punch out of a green paper cup with snowmen all over it. "Crazy how things change."

"Funny how things don't." You mutter, watching the powdered sugar melt off his lip as he sips the punch.

"What?"

"Nothing." You push off the island, suddenly wishing to be anywhere else. "See ya, Seungcheol." Something about how you said his name had his heart sinking. He searched frantically for something to keep you close to him, even for a few minutes.

You were on your way to the dining room, all of the guests were in the living room. Setting his cup down he met you in the doorway, away from the eyes of everyone you've ever known you crashed into his chest. "What are you doing?" You bit, agitated. He cleared his throat and glanced above your heads.

"Rules are rules…" He whispered. You followed his eyes up and there it was.

Mistletoe.

"No." You attempted to move past him but he caught your arm.

"No one is watching."

"It doesn't matter." You tore your arm away. "I don't want to kiss you." You lingered in the doorway for a moment too long for that to be believable. He saw it in your body. You did want to kiss him, and he knew it.

"Just one." He said lowly, taking your hand. "To appease the Mistletoe Gods."

"My mother?" You asked, dazed as he pulled you to him.

"I guess." He shrugged. "We've kissed in her kitchen enough, she won't mind just one more." He pressed his lips to yours softly. It was a whisper of a kiss, he didn't linger. You could feel how unsure of himself he was, as if he didn't think this was a good idea either. It was over before it started and he left you standing in the doorway as he busied himself with the snacks again.

Your lips tasted of powdered sugar and cherries for the rest of the night.

"Soooo…" Nayeon smiled mischievously at you over her glass of iced tea.

"So?" You stirred the ice in your drink.

"You were talking to Seungcheol at your mom's party." She raised an eyebrow.

"And he's annoying." You cut. "Nothing much has changed."

"I don't know." She flipped through her menu. "Looking kind of cozy these days."

"Nayeon." Eunbi warned.

"It's fine." You shrugged. "We're not back together, we won't be getting back together. Can it rest now?"

"Fine, sure." Nayeon sighed. A silence fell over the table as the three of you looked through the menu, you knew that none of you actually needed to look it over, you would all end up getting the same thing you always did. You couldn't help feel a bit fidgety over the fact that you're lying to them. Seungcheol kissed you in your parent's kitchen and you hadn't stopped him. That isn't technically lying is it? A quick kiss didn't mean you were getting back together. Right?

The waitress pulled you from your thoughts asking for your orders. You were right, same orders since you were in high school and started coming here. Once the waitress had walked away Nayeon turned her attention to Eunbi.

"So you and Joshua?"

"Oh my God, Nayeon!" Eunbi rolled her eyes. "You're just a gossip."

"We knew that." Nayeon stated, feigning boredom. "Spill!"

"Um.." Eunbi's gaze flicked to you.

"He's had his eyes on you since junior year." You forced an airy laugh, "it's okay." Eunbi smiled at you widely before launching into a recount of all the little dates Joshua has been taking her on for the last few months. You were happy for her, but it did nothing for the pit that was slowly forming in your stomach.

The sun was starting to set and you were pounding your fist on the door of Seungcheol's apartment. The ghost of your breath fanned out in front of you as you heard him shuffling around inside. You continued banging until the door flew open. He looked down at you, bewildered.

"What are you doing here?" He blurted.

"To give you a piece of my mind!" You jabbed a finger into his chest.

"Okay?"

"You shouldn't have kissed me."

"Oh." He crossed his arms over his chest. "You leaned in first."

"No I didn't!" Your voice raised in spite of you trying to keep yourself calm.

"If you're going to yell at me let me drive you out to our spot." He leaned against the door jam.

"No." You replied firmly.

"Why not?"

"We never 'talk' out there." You roll your eyes, accentuating 'talk' with air quotes.

"We will this time."

You fidgeted in the passenger's seat of his truck, you hadn't been there in so long. Your hands were wedged under your thighs as you stared out the windshield. Music was playing lowly on the stereo you helped him install four years ago. Everything about this truck, hell this town, was a tapestry of your relationship with Seungcheol.

Night had fallen soon after he convinced you to get in the car. The headlights sliced the darkness in front of you just enough to recognize the familiar incline of the small hill. Seungcheol and yourself used to come here to get away from everyone, and eventually to hook up in this same truck. He cut the headlights but kept the engine running to combat the cold of the outside.

"You can talk now." He murmured from the other side of the truck bench.

"We're not getting back together." You said, not looking at him.

"Okay." He chuckled. "Is that all you needed to say?"

"No." You turned toward him. "You need to stop trying to defend me, or talk to me at all."

"Got it."

"You're not reacting."

"What do you want from me, Y/N?" He turned toward you. "Do you want me to beg? You don't want me."

"I want to know what you really think!" You threw up your hands. It would be so easy to reach toward him and feel the warmth of his skin.

"What I really think?" He inched closer to you.

"Yes." You nodded not moving away from him.

"You're it for me." He stated simply. "You've ruined me for anyone else." He continued as he slid across the bench to you.

"What are you talking about?" You pressed, looking everywhere but his face.

"I don't want anyone else." He insisted. "And maybe you're mad at me now, but you won't be forever. And the minute you're not anymore, that's when I'll prove to you, I'm it for you too."

"Seungcheol.." You whispered as he leaned into you.

"It's us in the end," his breath fanned across your face. "It always has been." His hand snaked through your hair and anchored itself on the back of your head. He leaned in close to you without allowing himself to touch his lips to yours.

The warmth of his breath wrapped around you and the intimacy of his words went straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, desperate for some relief. His free hand wrenched your knees apart.

"Want me to help?" You nodded chasing his warmth. He pawed at the waistband of your leggings as you tilted your hips so he could pull them down to your knees. The pads of his fingers grazed the patch of arousal soaking through your panties. He sucked his teeth, "oh baby, I've missed that." Without another word he hooked his fingers in the fabric and pushed it to the side. "Come over tomorrow." He demanded, almost too quiet for you to hear.

"What?" You breathed.

"You heard me."

You gasped as you were exposed to the cool air. He began to slowly drag his fingers through your wet cunt, it was almost agonizing. His lips connected to your skin, just below your ear. It seemed as if Seungcheol did not forget anything about how to drive you crazy. His index finger began to circle your clit as he left sloppy kisses on your skin. A moan ripped from you as he pressed the pad of his finger pressed onto the bundle of nerves harshly. "Missed that too." He grunted. Your hips sputtered as you started to feel the pleasure mounting. "Not yet, please baby, you can't cum yet." He whined.

Something about his pathetic whining set your skin on fire.

"Please." You choked. Your hips bucked in search of any kind of relief. He lazily dragged his fingers away from your clit, gliding through your folds again. A broken protest fell from your lips but was silenced quickly as he slipped two fingers inside of you. "Fuck, Cheollie." You breathed.

"Shit." He muttered, his voice deep and gravely with lust. "Missed Cheollie." He emphasized his sentence by pumping his fingers in and out of you, setting a pace you were happy to keep up with. Your hips jerked in time with his passes at the spot inside of you only he could reach. "God you're beautiful." His lips were on your hairline now. The thread in your stomach was snapping, you couldn't help yourself from crying with pleasure as fireworks exploded behind your eyes. "That's it, let go."

Your fork scraped against the plate as you pushed the green beans around. Your mother was asking your father about the mundane details of his day while you were weighing your options. You knew your mom had no idea what your dad was talking about, even after nearly three decades of marriage she didn't understand his job, but she always asked anyway. Your parents had a way of making each other feel valued despite it all.

Suddenly, you felt like TV static took up residence in your ears.

"I have to go." You announced as your fork clattered out of your hand. "I have plans with the girls, don't wait up!" You were already grabbing your keys and fleeing the house before your parents had a moment to react.

Your car roared to life as you turned the keys in the ignition. The air vents blasted out cold air, begging for a moment to heat up before you left but you didn't care. You threw it into drive and peeled off for the short drive to Seungcheol's apartment.

Your usual spot next to his truck was somehow miraculously empty for it being a Wednesday evening. The knocks on his door were gentler this time. He knew it was you before he even saw you.

"You came." He smiled down at you.

"Just to talk." Your face hardened. "We didn't get a chance to talk yesterday."

"Right," he stepped aside for you. You entered the apartment, it looked the same as it did the last time you were here. Not surprising, considering how busy Seungcheol is and not to mention his aversion to change. You laughed in spite of yourself. "Talk." He offered, closing the door behind him.

"I have questions for you." You started, standing in the middle of the living room, feeling somewhere between comfort and like you were a stranger in a place you had been a thousand times.

"Okay, shoot." Seungcheol busied himself with arranging the cushions on the couch, clearly he was also having some feelings about seeing you in his apartment again.

A million questions swirled around in your mind but for whatever reason the one that escaped your lips was, "why did you punch that guy in the bar?" You heard a surprised chuckle bubble up from him.

"He was bothering you."

"I could have handled it." You protested. "I know the owner I could have gotten him kicked out. "

"We all know the owner, Y/N." He deadpanned.

"Well…still."

"Sure, I handled it a lot faster than you could have." He moved to straighten the magnets on his refrigerator.

"Now your banned from the only bar in town." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"They'll let me back around in a few months, besides, it's not like I care much about going out." He scoffed. "I only go around Christmas to appease Jeonghan." You nodded quietly from where your feet might as well have been glued to the floor.

"Why did you come to my mom's Christmas party?"

"My mom made me." He straightened a magnet from your school trip to Washington D.C. "You know how she can be, remember senior prom?"

"Of course I do." You smiled. "Treated those pre-prom pictures like a tight scheduled photo shoot."

"So I assume that answer will suffice." You hummed in response. "Anything else?"

You stared down at your shoes, a long silence filling the room.

"Y/N?" He called.

"Why didn't you kiss me?" You asked, barely above a whisper. Something fluttered in his chest as your words.

Suddenly he was crossing the apartment with purpose, once he reached you he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands and tilted your face toward his. He smashed his to yours so forcefully that it almost hurt. Properly kissing Seungcheol was like riding a bike, you might have forgotten what it felt like but it didn't take long for you to remember how to do it. His lips moved against yours hungrily, like he's been craving you his entire life. His hands stayed there on your cheeks as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip. Your lips parted for his tongue. He re-familiarized himself with your mouth as your hands anchored at his hips.

You raked your tongue against his, drawing a deep rumbling sound from his chest. You knew that sound, you've missed that sound terribly. His hands dropped from your face to wrap his arms around your shoulders. Your chest brushed against his as your head tilted up more sharply. You reached under his shirt and splayed your fingers over his back. He broke the kiss and sucked in a lungful of air at the cool touch.

"I didn't think you'd want me to." He muttered, so quietly you almost didn't hear him. His nails raked over your sweatshirt covered skin lightly.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You know why." His gaze hardened for a moment. You leaned toward him and let your breath linger on his lips.

"Well kiss me now, make up for lost time." You watched his pupils blow wide.

"Let me do more." He breathed. "Let me show you how much I missed you…how sorry I am." You felt your heart sink in your chest at his words. You felt yourself nodding your head. He pushed you back towards his couch, you felt the cushions against your legs. He sat you down and gently pressed a kiss to your hairline, the intimacy of it almost sent you reeling. Before you had time to react Seungcheol was sinking to his knees between yours.

He took his time, untying and removing your shoes, he tossed them to the side before shuffling closer to you and tucking his fingers beneath the waistband of the Christmas pajama pants you came here in. If the burning between your legs wasn't so intense you might be embarrassed. "Cute." He mumbled as he hooked his fingers around the fabric and pulling them down your legs, impossibly slowly.

Leaning forward he kissed every swath of skin that came into view. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his lips and you shuttered in anticipation as the pants finally landed next to your shoes. You caught him staring up at you from the floor. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. The arousal between your legs was so intense you longed to squeeze your thighs together for any sort of relief.

Suddenly Seungcheol lurched forward buried his face in your clothed cunt. You gasped as his nose pressed your clit despite the barrier of your underwear. Slowly, his teeth brushed against your panties, you threw your head back onto the couch at the stimulation. You knew you were soaking through at this point but you weren't sure where your arousal ended and his saliva began.

He was moaning into your wet underwear. He felt pathetic, but maybe he was. His fingers peeled the ruined fabric from your body. He barely gave you a moment to catch your breath before he was diving back into you. His tongue was warm as he licked the first fat stripe up your cunt. He groaned at the taste, he missed it so much. Your skin was on fire as he dipped his tongue into your leaking entrance. His tongue pumped in and out slowly as you unspooled in his mouth. He pulls you closer to him, sliding his arms underneath your bare thighs, his tongue flattens over your folds as he lets you rock your hips over it. Eventually, he dragged his mouth up to latch on to your swollen and neglected clit, you nearly screamed at the contact.

You could feel your orgasm bubbling under the surface, almost ready to boil over. His fingers ghosted over your weeping hole.

"Yes." You screwed your eyes shut at the rumbling of his laugh in your pussy. He slipped two fingers in easily. Immediately your hips bucked, chasing your high. As your stomach tightened Seungcheol added a third finger. A moan ripped from your chest as you rode his fingers, he let you fuck yourself as his tongue circled your pulsing clit.

Your orgasm ripped through you. Seungcheol pulled out his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. He lapped up every last drop. The warmth of him left you as you came down. You shivered at the cold air. Your eyes stayed closed until you heard the sound of his pants joining yours on the floor.

Cracking open your eyes you watched him retrieve your underwear from where he threw them. His cock was stiff and leaking as he wrapped your wet panties around it. He hissed as the slick covered fabric touched him. Slowly, he began to pump himself, moaning at the ruined sight of you in front of him. He stood tall, jerking himself off into your panties, your arousal covering his chin. He has never looked better to you.

You itched to touch yourself. The visual in front of you was too much, despite your orgasm from just a few minutes ago the burning between your thighs was back. Without taking your eyes off where his cock disappeared into your panties in his fist you slowly spread your legs open. He bit his lip. Your fingers trailed down your body and dipped into your folds shallowly.

"God baby." He breathed. You couldn't stop the whimper from escaping your lips at the pet name. Your fingers circled your clit slowly. You were hurtling yourself toward overstimulation but you didn't care. "Can I.." He moaned. "Can I fuck you?" You nodded, maybe too eagerly.

He discarded your underwear back onto the floor. He pulled you toward him by your ankles, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he hoisted you up off of the couch. He nipped at the skin below your ear while he walked you back to his bedroom. Suddenly you were flat on your back on his bed. His familiar scent was flooding your senses. The room was dark, you shuttered when you felt his hands on your body. He pulled your shirt over your head, chuckling at the sad excuse for a bra you wore. That joined the shirt somewhere in the dark room quickly. "One second, honey." His hands left you and you heard him fumbling with a condom.

When he joined you in the bed he was everywhere. You felt the sting of his teeth on your collarbones and your breasts. The process of biting was followed by licks of his tongue to soothe. You knew his affinity for marking well. He knew where to place them so they were only for the two of you to see. You felt almost giddy to see his art on your skin later after the bruises had bloomed on your skin.

"Ready?" His voice was was gravely and laced with lust. You nodded your head eagerly. "Gotta hear you, it's dark in here."

"Yes." You whined. "Fuck me, please."

"I love when you beg, you sound so beautiful."

The fat head of his cock nudged your entrance. Excitement fluttered low in your stomach. Slowly, he pushed himself inside of you, the stretch stinging as every inch dragged against your walls. He stilled every few seconds to give you time to adjust before he continued before he bottomed out. You felt like you could feel him in your throat.

Slowly, he began to thrust in and out of you. You could feel every drag against your walls. After a few slow drags he began to pound into you at a faster pace. Tears began to prick at your eyes as you cried out in pleasure.

"Cheollie…" You moaned.

"Take it, baby." He grunted. "Take it all. You know how." He articulated his words with harsh thrusts into your cunt. The command set your skin on fire. You wrapped your legs around his waist so he could get deeper. He hoped the evidence of your nails on his back was still visible later. He wanted you to claim him as yours again.

Suddenly, he flipped you. You were on your knees, your back to his chest. He held you to him with a hand lightly wrapped around the column of your neck. You leaned your head back until it hit his shoulder. His free hand found your breast. He pistoned in and out of you from behind as he kneaded the flesh.

"You're doing so well." He praised. "You're always a good girl, I've missed this pussy." He whispered to you. You could feel your walls tightening around his cock as your pleasure began to mount. "Gonna cum?"

"Mhmm.." Was all you could manage. His hand moved from your breast down to stimulate your clit as he continued to fuck up into you. You felt his hips sputtering but he kept going. His calloused fingers stroked your abused bumdle of nerves as your white hot orgasm took you by surprise. You cried out in pleasure and surprise as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. You chanted his name like a prayer as you came undone on his cock with the assistance of his fingers. Your nails dug into his thighs below you.

"That's a good girl." He coaxed the last of your orgasm out of you before laying you facedown in the bed. "I'm gonna make quick work of myself, okay?"

"Okay." You whispered between aftershocks. He thrust in and out of you a few more times before he sped up and his thrusts got sloppy. You heard him moan as he finished into the condom. "Are you okay?" He whispered after a few minutes. His cock softened inside you as he pulled you to him.

"Yes." You breathed as he stroked your hair.

"Can I get you cleaned up?"

"Shower with me."

"Deal." He kissed your hair.

The warm water cascaded over your skin as you stretched out your muscles. Seungcheol had to hold you up every so often. He held you to his chest as he ran a warm washcloth through your folds and over your skin. "Did a number on you, didn't I?" He chuckled.

"Don't you always?" You yawned.

"At least I take care of you." He kissed your temple. "Did anyone in Boston do this for you?"

"Are you asking about my other exes right now?" You turned to face him.

"Exes?" He cocked his head. "Multiple?"

"Two." You pluck the shampoo from the shower rack. "Neither of them took care of me or washed my hair." You held the bottle out to him.

"Turn around, brat." He teased, taking the bottle from you.

A comfortable silence settled between you while he massaged the shampoo into your hair.

"Cheol?" You broke the silence after several minutes. He hummed in response. "What happened to your dad?" You whispered.

"Oh." His fingers stilled for a moment.

"I'm sorry..I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay." He continued scrubbing. "You should know, I'm sorry no one told you. He got sick just before Christmas last year. Maybe…the end of November?" He sighed. "It happened really fast, he was gone by mid December."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Byungcheol and Sadie came in for the funeral and stayed for Christmas but they were gone by New Year's." He continued. His mouth had a bitter taste after mentioning his brother and his sister-in-law. "Your mom really helped pick up the pieces." He admitted.

"Really?" You whispered.

"Yeah, turn toward the water, baby." He began to wash the suds out of your hair. "I lived at my parent's for a month and your mom organized a meal train for us. Everyone came through for us." He smiled sadly. "I only came back here because my mom made me. I contemplated moving back in." He admitted.

"I'm sure Kkuma would have loved that." You mumbled.

"You're right." He chuckled. "She slept in my bed every night."

"Cheol, I really am sorry."

"Don't be, you didn't tell the universe to do that."

As much as you didn't want to leave him, you had to go. You bid him goodbye and he stole as many kisses as he could manage before you were out the door. You snuck in through your bedroom window that night, as if you were 17 again.

"Cut to the chase, Y/N." Nayeon demanded as she slammed a shot glass down on the bar. The liquor barely had time to warm your stomach before she was looking at you with those eyes that told you she wasn't about to back down this time.

"What?" You sputtered.

"What's going on between you and Seungcheol?" She demanded. You cut a glance toward Eunbi but she and Joshua were huddled close to each other, absorbed in whatever conversation they were having.

"Yeah!" Jeonghan's voice rang in your ear as he slung his arm over your shoulders. "What is going on there?"

"I told you!" You insisted, letting Jeonghan warm your shoulders. "Nothing, we're not getting back together."

"Mhmm." Jeonghan hummed, leaning his cheek into the crown of your head. "That's why your car has been parked next to his at his apartment twice since you got back last week." You stiffened at Jeonghan's side. You had forgotten that his parent's house, where he was staying, was the block over from Seungcheol's apartment.

"Nothing is going on…" You repeated. You wanted another shot, or ten.

"You can tell us, you know." Nayeon's voice softened as she reached out to run her hand over your arm. You suddenly felt out of control, the situation was out of hand. You should have never let him talk you into kissing him.

"Can I have another drink?" You muttered. Nayeon and Jeonghan shared a glance before Nayeon turned toward the bar to order another round.

"You can tell me." Jeonghan echoed Nayeon's previous statement. You heard the sincerity in his voice. You broke free of his hold and dragged him to the table you sat at just a week ago when Seungcheol got banned from this bar. "You're really this freaked out?" He asked, sliding into the booth.

"Yeah.." You nodded.

"Did you fuck him?" You cut him a look. "Oh, Y/N…"

"Jeonghan don't do that." You crossed your arms.

"Do what?" He pulled your hand free and held it across the table.

"Talk to me like you pity me for sleeping with your best friend."

"I don't pity you because you slept with my best friend." He squeezed your hand. "I pity you because you slept with your ex."

"You slept with him?" Nayeon attempted to conceal her shock with a thin veil of nonchalance. She set the shots on the table as well as a vodka cranberry for you. You groaned. "Take the shot, girlfriend, and then spill." She told you, holding out her shot for you and Jeonghan to cheers. The three of you clinked your small glasses, tapped them on the table, and threw them back.

You confided in your best friend and Seungcheol's best friend, who you had grown close to in all your years of dating. They listened attentively as you told them all about how it came to this.

"Do you still love him?" Jeonghan asked bluntly, four shots in, at the end of your story. The room was going fuzzy at the edges and you were probably drunk. Your suspicion was confirmed as soon as you answered his question.

"Yes."

"Then you should go tell him that." Jeonghan tipped his glass toward you.

"What if he doesn't love me?" You slumped in your seat.

"Y/N, a guy doesn't treat a girl the way Seungcheol has treated you in the last week if he doesn't love her." Nayeon pointed out.

"And he hasn't shut up about the fact that he loves you in the last four years." Joshua's voice chimed in from your left as he pulled up a chair for himself. Eunbi squeezed in next to Nayeon. "We are talking about Seungcheol aren't we?" He smiled at you.

"Obviously!" You whined. "Has he really been talking about it that long?"

"Yes." Eunbi and Joshua asserted at the same time.

"Come on," Joshua stood and held his hand out to you. "I'm designated driver, I'll drive you over to his."

"Should I tell him when I'm drunk though?" You were grabbing his hand anyway.

"No," Joshua laughed, walking you toward his car. "But you won't tell him when you're sober."

For the third time in a week you were knocking on Seungcheol Choi's door. It was one in the morning, you were drunk and cold. Seungcheol answered the door in his boxers, hair askew.

"Y/N?"

"I'm drunk." You stated matter-of-factly before pushing past him into his apartment. Joshua waved from the car, Seungcheol waved back, more confused than he was before. Seungcheol closed the door behind him. You were standing in the middle of his living room.

"Are you okay, baby?" He asked groggily.

"I love you." You blurted out. He blinked at you.

"You're drunk."

"I'm drunk and I love you."

"I love you too." He told you. "Let's talk about that when you're sober." He wrapped an arm around you and led you back to his room. "You need a shirt to sleep in?"

"Yeah." You yawned. "You love me?"

"Never stopped." He rifled through his drawer. "Here." He set a shirt from your high school on the bed. It was still big enough for you to swim in. He helped you undress and get into the shirt before tucking you into his bed. "Where's your phone?"

"Pants." You snuggled down into his bed.

Seungcheol fished your phone out of the pocket of your jeans and walked back into the kitchen. Keying in your passcode, Charlotte's birthday, he unlocked your phone and scrolled through your contacts before he found the one he was looking for and pressed call. It only rang once before she picked up.

"Y/N?" Your mom's voice crackled through the phone. "Are you okay?"

"Hey Mrs. L/N." Seungcheol grabbed a glass from the cabinet. "She's fine, Joshua dropped her off here."

"Oh, okay. Good." She sighed. "Is she staying over?"

"Yeah, she's already in bed." He chuckled. "She's safe."

"Thank you for the update Seungcheol." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Have a good night."

"No problem, you too."

He filled the glass with water and padded back into his room, expecting you to be asleep.

"If we love each other," he jumped at the sound of your voice. "We should sleep together again."

"Not tonight." He laughed. "You're drunk." He set the glass of water on the bedside table next to you. "And falling asleep already."

"'m not." You insisted.

"Goodnight, baby."

You woke up the next morning with only a slight headache. You thanked the universe for bestoying this gift upon you. Seungcheol was latched to your back, his warmth spreading through you. You blushed as you realized his hardening cock was pressed to your ass.

"Do you remember last night?" He whispered before you even had time to wonder whether or not he was awake.

"Yeah.." You whispered back, terrified he would reject you now that you were sober.

"You love me." He pulled you closer.

"I seem to remember that you love me too." You smiled, grinding your ass back, rubbing onto his length just slightly.

"Never stopped." He repeated.

"You also declined to fuck me."

"What a fool I was." He breathed. His fingers pressed to the spot of arousal soaking through your underwear. "Let me fix it." He pleaded.

"Mhmm.."

He picked your leg up and hooked it over his hip and shimmied out of his boxers carefully. He continued to spoon you as he moved your panties to the side and slid into you slowly. He groaned at the feeling of your walls hugging him tightly. He savored it as he let you adjust.

"You still look good in my clothes." He mumbled before biting your shoulder. You began rocking your hips slightly, seeking relief. He took the hint and began thrusting into you lazily.

"You love me." You moaned, meeting his thrusts.

"I love you." He agreed.

"What does that mean for us?" You asked as his fingers came back to press your clit.

"You're asking what being in love means while I'm inside of you?" His finger applied slightly more pressure. You whined.

"I'm efficient." You moaned.

"Let me fuck the girl I love." He pleaded.

"Fine." You conceded. His fingers circled the bundle of nerves while his thrusts picked up their pace.

Apparently, being in love makes a person cum faster because you both lazily tumbled off the edge too soon.

"Hand me the tape, please." Your mom asked, her finger holding down a piece of wrapping paper. You slid the roll of tape across the table to her. You fluffed the tissue paper in the bag in front of you. "So.." She started.

"So?" You pressed, moving the present to under the tree in the living room.

"Seungcheol called me last night." She stated casually.

"He did?"

"He wanted me to know that you were at his house and safe." She taped the paper down.

"That was nice of him." You pulled another present from the pile.

"Are you guys getting back together?" She asked. The question was valid enough, but something about talking about the possibility with your mother had nerves settling in your stomach.

"I…" You bit your lip. "I don't know.."

"I support you either way, I just know that long distance was really hard for you guys last time." She reminded you. "I would hate for it just end the same way if you did try again."

"I know.."

"Seungcheol is a great guy, Y/N." She moved the present to the done pile. "I would just hate for one or both of you to get hurt again is all."

"I know Mom." You sighed. You would hate for that to happen too. "Mom..?"

"Mhmm?" She hummed as she tried to figure out how to wrap a seashell shaped toy for one of the girls.

"Why didn't you tell me about his dad?" You whispered. You watched your mom put the tape down on the table.

"Honey.." She started.

"No, seriously." You insisted. "Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"You two had broken up…"

"Three years before he passed."

"And you were so busy with work.."

"I should have been able to go to the funeral." You pressed.

"See, that's why." She conceded.

"What?" You blinked at her.

"You're so headstrong, and I knew if I told you, you'd insist on being there." She sighed. "And I didn't want to take that choice away from Seungcheol."

"And he never told me.." You mumbled.

"I'm so sorry…"

"No I get it."

Not even two hours later, Seungcheol had you pinned to his bed under him. Your wrists crossed under his hand as he fucked into you.

"Tell me again." He pleaded.

"I..I love you." You choked out.

"Good girl." He pulled almost all the way out just to slam himself back into you. "I love you." He reminded you. You felt every vein drag against your walls deliciously as he said it. You knew he meant it, so why did it scare you suddenly? "You're so perfect." He continued, "like you were made for me."

Even though you were nervous about what the end of the week might mean for this fragile relationship, his praises went straight to your cunt. You moaned his name. His thrusts picked up their pace as he chased his high. If he had any inclination that your mind was somewhere else he didn't let on. He fucked you the way he knew you liked to be fucked all while making himself feel good as well.

You felt your orgasm run its course through you as he finished in the condom. He cleaned you up in silence, he had to know something was up by now. He never said anything. He laid you down and pulled you to his chest.

He placed featherlight kisses to your shoulder as he waited for you to tell him what was going on. Tears blurred your vision, everything in his room being distorted.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You finally whispered.

"Tell you what?"

"About your dad.."

"You weren't here." He stated simply.

"I would have been." You sniffled. "For your dad, of course I would have come back."

"No." He fidgeted behind you. "You weren't here." You sat up, his arms falling from your body limply.

"You broke up with me." You reminded him, looking around for your clothes.

"Because you weren't here." He repeated.

"You broke up with me because we were long distance?" You grabbed your leggings from the floor. "Something you agreed to?"

"Well excuse me for thinking you'd still have time for me when you were off doing better things!" He bit. His sudden venom caught you off guard, you weren't expecting a fight.

"Preparing for my future?" You leveled.

"A future without me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was never a part of your world, once you went to college." He sat up. "I didn't fit anymore. I saved you the headache of breaking up with me."

"Seungcheol what are you talking about?"

"God, Y/N” Seungcheol all but shouts, “The crazy thing is, I could listen to you talk about blueberry yogurt, or law, or the branches on the trees all day!” he shoves a hand through his hair, “I don’t care, as long as you’re talking to me—"

"Cheol.." You attempted.

"No, let me get this out or else I will regret it forever," he continued, holding a hand up, "I needed you, fuck, maybe I still do, but you weren’t there. You weren’t there and how the fuck am I supposed to live with that?" Your mouth went dry. "Everyone left, aside from Joshua, but he's always so busy with Eunbi, I see him just as much as I see Jeonghan."

"It's not my fault that your plans fell apart." You spat.

"Remember when they were our plans?" He laughed. You looked at him in disbelief. He just shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

"What happened?" You asked.

"You used to love—"

"I still lo—"

"No, you don't." He assured you. "It's fine. But you used to love Vermont.." He wiped his eyes. "You used to love me." He stood up off the bed and pulled on his boxers. "You've changed."

"You haven't."

"Maybe I haven't." He handed you your shirt from the floor. "Better than selling my soul."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You used to be cool." He pulls on a shirt. "Since when are you a lawyer?" Static sounded in your ears.

"I was in law school when you broke up with me." You couldn't help the tears falling from your eyes now. He shrugged. "You knew that. Seungcheol there is no way you didn't know that!"

Did he not know you at all?

There was a sleeve of green fabric sticking out between his bed and the wall. He followed your eyes to it.

"Is that my Vermont Law sweatshirt?" You moved to go pull it out but he stopped you. "Why do you have that still?"

"It smelled like you."

"Why did you lie about not knowing I'm a lawyer?"

"I don't know."

Christmas after fighting with your ex sucks. There's no other way to put it, both of you felt it. Too bad neither of you wanted to make the first move to extend the olive branch. Seungcheol thought of you the entire day, he spent his time at his mom's house watching cheesy Christmas movies in his pajamas with Kkuma in his lap.

Your day was spent with the chaos of two little girls on Christmas, it warmed your heart to see them so happy. However, every so often you longed to share this moment with someone, with Seungcheol. You thought about texting him several times, but his words rang in your mind every single time.

You ended up going home early.

"I have lunch!" Joshua announced happily, entering Choi and Sons at noon three days after Christmas. Jeonghan followed him into the lobby of the shop. It was Jeonghan's last day in town before going back to being the big corportate HR guy he was most of the year.

"Be right there!" Seungcheol called from the garage. Joshua and Jeonghan busied themselves with setting everything up in the employee break room.

"You're gonna tell him, right?" Jeonghan whispered to his friend.

"Well, yeah, I just need the right time." Joshua muttered.

"What'd you bring?" Seungcheol asked, crossing the small room to wash his hands at the sink.

"Leftovers from my mom." Joshua smiled as he took the lids off of the tupperware.

"Nice, tell her thanks from me." Seungcheol sat at the table. The three of them ate in silence for several minutes before Jeonghan started giving Joshua glares from across the table.

"Sooo.." Joshua started.

"Spit it out, Hong." Seungcheol said with a mouthful of noodles.

"What?" Joshua faltered.

"Jeonghan has been making mean faces at you for ten minutes," he swallowed. "So out with it."

"Are you done trying with Y/N?" Joshua sighed.

"What?" Seungcheol put his fork down. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just…" Joshua leveled with him. "Don't you think you've fucked it up with her one too many times?"

"I mean, it'll work out." Seungcheol sighed. "It's us."

"How can you be so sure?" Jeonghan asked.

"I'm going to go apologize to her today."

"Cheol…" Joshua turned to him. "She went home on Friday."

"What?" Seungcheol shouted.

"Yeah, Eunbi told me she left early.." Joshua said cautiously.

"Fuck.." Seungcheol scrubbed his face and slumped in his chair. He had really messed up this time. He was so hellbent on not losing you a second time that he didn't even realize that he neglected to fix what went wrong the first time.

"Maybe it's time to move on." Jeonghan suggested. He wasn't afraid to say what Joshua was implying more directly. He knew Seungcheol needed people to be direct with him sometimes.

"Do you not like Y/N?" Seungcheol asked. He wasn't sure why.

"No, I actually love Y/N." Jeonghan bit. "And I love you. Which is why I know you need to move on."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're terrible for each other." Jeonghan sighed. "At least you have been for the last six years. The two of you have serious shit to work out if you can ever dream of actually giving it another go." He put a hand on Seungcheol's shoulder. "You've put that girl through enough."

"I need to fix it." Seungcheol sighed.

"Do you think she even wants you to fix it?" Joshua asked.

"I don't know." Seungcheol crossed his arms over his chest. "I really don't"

Your apartment felt too big. You felt too small. There was still several days left of your time off from work, you weren't supposed to be back yet. Days were spent pacing around the apartment, you were worried you might wear holes into the ground. Seungcheol's words were still bouncing around in your mind. You could call Nayeon or Eunbi but you were worried they would just lecture you about how foolish it was to sleep with your ex.

Being alone was awful, Lina was your only friend in Boston and she was a work friend. Most of the time you didn't mind the lonely nights but this was not one of those times.

You woke up the next morning to a voicemail.

Voicemail: Seungcheol 3:12 am

'Hey. I shouldn't be calling you, I know that. But I'm drunk and I wanted to hear your voice. Don't worry, I'm still banned from the bar, I took from my personal stash. I know you probably don't wanna hear from me, especially when I said what I did, and when I lied. I really don't know why I did that, Y/N. Because the truth is, I'm so proud of you. You achieved everything you said you would, everything I always knew you would. I'm jealous, sure. But above everything I am so so proud of you. God' he laughed. 'You're so amazing, you always have been. But you just keep getting more and more amazing. I want to try again. Like, us, I mean. Long distance sucks, but I can do it. And this time I won't get weird and distant and jealous. If you'll have me of course. If you don't want any of this, tell me to fuck off. Block me. You probably should have done that a long time ago. But you didn't, which has to mean something right? Anyway, call me back. I need to sleep, but I miss you and I can't wash my sheets because they smell like you. I love you, I'm sorry.'

You were crying.

You listened to that voicemail every night before bed for three days. His voice, heavy with sleep and intoxication lulled you to sleep. That should have given you the answer long before it hit you.

You loved him. You wanted him back, no matter the cost. You knew that now and you felt ashamed that you ran away from home before you realized.

Incoming Call: Y/N 11:54 pm

"Shit." Seungcheol cursed as he stared at your name on his phone. The wind whipped his hair as the last snow of the year swirled around him. He accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Hi." You breathed on the other line. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest at the sound of your voice.

"What's up?" He tried to sound nonchalant.

"About your voicemail…" You started.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." He sighed.

"No, no it's okay." You laughed, nervously. "I thought about what you said."

"Oh." He braced himself.

"Yeah I think we should try again." You breathed. Suddenly there was a knock at your door. You jumped. "I'm sorry, someone knocked on my door."

"You should answer it." Seungcheol's heart was beating in his ears.

"No, it's 11:56 pm on New Year's Eve." You laughed. "It's probably some drunk idiots being annoying."

"Y/N." Seungcheol pressed. "Open the door."

"No? That's dangerous!" You insisted. "Besides don't you care about what I just said.”

The knocking turned into pounding. You could hear it at the door and through the phone.

You could hear it through the phone.

You ran to your front door and flung it open. Your phone fell to the ground.

"Can I come in?" Seungcheol asked with tears in his eyes. "It's freezing out here and I'd like to kiss my girl at midnight, if you don't mind."

[malsmoony]

DONT PLAYYYYY (im literally tearing up hello)

[haologram]

prom night ❆ l.sm [m]

𝜗ৎ part 4/17 of happy haolidays with haologram!

— synopsis: ten years after being crowned prom queen and thinking you'd left your small town in your rearview, you tuck your tail between your legs and come right back home...only to find out that the boy that took you to prom has been waiting patiently for your return. – genre: brother's best friend au ; minimal angst, fluff, smut. — pairing: best friend's brother!lee seokmin x reader. – word count: 9.4k — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warnings: mentions of fuckass WISCONSIN. mentions of virginity loss (almost too many), swearing. mingyu is yn's brother and annoying as shit. kissing, etc. smut warnings: unprotected sex (if it's lee seokmin anything's possible.) brief body worship (f.rec, including the feet), unspoken high heel kink (?), brief cock worship, oral/brief fingering (f.rec), overstim, praise kink, hair pulling (m.rec), multiple orgasms (2 / f. rec) ; creampie. that's about it! — what to listen to: ten years - the black lillies ; million days - sabai, hoang, claire ridgely ; when you're gone - avril lavigne ; star - loona. – author's note:  [special thanks to @/saradika here on tumblr for these lovely snowflake dividers!] welcome back to haologram! this is a special segment i’ve created to give a quick thank you to all of my friends this holiday season, and this one is for (all my ladies) my cuties g, @miniseokminnies. bennie, being your friend this year has been one of the most rewarding experiences i've ever had. i have never felt so loved so quickly and in the way i'd always hoped. thank you for always sending me pictures of cool lamps and always letting me know that you love and miss me. i hope to see you soon and give this LDR a better chance than just 'maybe', my baby. happy haolidays, bennie! i love you!

"I'M JUST SAYING, THERE'S NOTHIN' DRY ABOUT THE WAY I HUMP, Y/N."

You roll your eyes, leaning over the cart as your best friend pushes it. Soonyoung insisted he come grocery shopping with you — something about you not being back home in years (ten, to be exact) and how much the supermarket has changed. Spoiler: it hasn't changed at all aside from them finally getting a better selection of snacks, gallon boxes of Goldfish included (and tucked neatly into the corner of your cart.)

"I really, really wish I cared, Hosh." You give him a feigned apologetic look, and he juts his lip in a pout as he fishes through the bag of grapes. He plucks one out, shoving it into his cheek as you swat his hand, "stop that! I'll have to get another bag if you keep eating them!"

"You said we'd go to lunch and we've been here for an hour and a half," he whines, popping another grape into his mouth as you scowl.

"I just moved in, Soonyoung. I have nothing at my apartment and don't forget, you begged me to tag along. I told you I'd swing by your place after I was done!" You scold, only for him to stick his tongue out at you as you toss a sack of apples into the cart, nibbling on your lip as you peruse the produce. Your list was crumpled and long forgotten in Soonyoung's jacket pocket, and the blond groaned loudly as you tentatively picked up a pineapple and brought it to your face, "quit that before I send you to go sit in my car."

"At least the car has AUX." "Kwon Soonyoung, I mean it."

"Alright, alright…" he trails off, sighing as he looks around the supermarket. You place the pineapple into the cart, the scent sweet and lingering as you cross your arms before Soonyoung's gasp grabs your attention.

"What? What? Is it an old teacher? Are they pregnant?" You look up, your eyes darting around the produce section before Soonyoung's hand grabs your jaw gently and tilts it towards the pile of 'organic plums' — your eyes landing on a white shirt stretched exhaustingly across the broad expanse of shoulders far too familiar. Your jaw tenses at the sleeves that leave nothing for the imagination, straining against toned biceps as your eyes travel further, a slim waist cinched by a black belt and holding up a nice pair of light blue denim jeans. A wallet is tucked into the back pocket and you follow the movement of the arm tying up a plastic produce bag full of said plums — decorated in a singular silver ring on the pinky and a thick watch on the wrist.

"Lee Seokmin, in the flesh!" He calls, and you feel your face hot as said Lee Seokmin turns around, a bright smile spreading on his face as he spots Soonyoung as his hand drops from your face. He makes his way over, the basket in his hand flexing the tendons in his forearm as he gives Soonyoung a one-armed hug, "good to see you, buddy. Did you get a chance to catch up with Seungkwan? We're planning that dinner next month with the guys, it'd be really great to get everyone together…"

He trails off as he sees you standing next to him, a softness glazing over his eyes as he extends his hand to you, "My apologies, I didn't see you. You look…familiar."

You hadn't changed much from high school. Maybe grew a couple of spontaneous inches, learned how to properly do your makeup, stopped acting like you didn't care about other's perception of you and actually put an effort into being more social. He tilts his head as Soonyoung shoves your shoulder, your hands twitching at the hem of your denim miniskirt you'd foolishly worn in the biting Wisconsin wind.

"Sorry," you mumble, taking his hand and giving it a quick shake. "We went to prom together."

"Oh my God, so it's true! I heard that you'd moved back home but I wasn't sure if Yoon Jeonghan of all people was worth getting my news from," he rolls his eyes, before the smile on his lips grows slightly warmer. "It's good to see you, Y/N. You look…nice."

"You hesitated." Soonyoung huffs, shoving his friend's shoulder. "Coward."

"Soonyoung," you elbow him, pressing your lips into a firm line as you nod at Seokmin. "It's fine. You look great, I'm glad to see this town did someone well."

Soonyoung pouts at the insinuation that he's not that someone, making you snicker inwardly as Seokmin eyes you carefully. Like he's studying you, like something is different and he can't figure out what.

"Are you settling in okay? Is Soonyoung being helpful?" He asks, leaning against the apple display, hooking his thumb on his belt loop. You tongue your cheek as you look up at Soonyoung, who acts like the Virgin Mary herself is calling his name as he clears his throat, "oh, look. They have…uh…rotisserie chicken. I'll get you one! You guys catch up!"

He scurries off, and you just shake your head as you move stuff around in the cart.

"I'm settling in fine. I only came back to spend time with my parents, Gyu moved out to go to grad school, but I'm sure you knew that." You shrug, "Soonyoung is Soonyoung. He helped me unload the boxes from the moving truck but I'm taking the weekend and next week to unpack. Just me and a glass of whiskey on the rocks…or two, or three."

You smile as he nods, "do you need help? I'm free all weekend."

"Oh, I'm alright." You respond quickly, almost too quickly. "I've uh…become quite the collector of things. Things I don't exactly need everyone to know I like."

"Vintage Playboy magazines, huh?" "Shut up!"

He laughs softly, his eyes forming crescents as he glances down at the cart, "have you met up with anyone from here?"

The question stings slightly, but you force yourself to brush it off as you shake your head. "No one to meet up with besides Soonyoung, you know. Wasn't always that good at keeping bad company around, you know me."

He does.

He does know you.

The thing about Lee Seokmin is that he knew everything there was to know except where you went the moment you peeled out of this stupid town — small and not at all living up to the Pleasant Hill name. Wisconsin was still Wisconsin, and you still loved the cheese curds from Culver's but the fact of the matter was that Lee Seokmin was likely the only memory you allowed yourself to revisit when you thought about this stupid place.

Sweet, understanding Seokmin that graduated the same year Mingyu did. Sweet, understanding Seokmin that was so cute and absolutely your (and all your friends') hallway crush from grades six through eleven, before you got a boyfriend halfway through your junior year. He still waved at you in the halls, and you still smiled back — but eventually, the boyfriend grew tall enough to block your line of vision and the idea of Seokmin melted from your mind.

You met Seokmin when you were nine years old. He'd been your brother's friend for ages but only when you were in fourth grade was Seokmin officially allowed to come over to your house to spend the night with Mingyu. Your brother would lock his bedroom door as his friends huddled over baseball cards and delicious sandwiches made by your father with the crusts cut off. Eventually, your friend Minghao made it into your brother's get-togethers — effectively rendering you hypoethetically friendless until one of the boys slipped out of Mingyu's room for snacks or water, or even to suck up to your father for an extra serving of dinner before bolting back into the room.

Before Seokmin came around, you had Jihoon, Soonyoung and Minghao — they usually huddled up with you at the dinner table and asked about your friends and your schoolwork. They'd ruffle your hair, they'd pinch your cheeks and steal home fries off your breakfast plate; so they were like three more version of Mingyu you never asked for, but loved nonetheless. You'd swat at them, shove them away before they inevitably got picked up and left you to get thrown around by Mingyu on the trampoline in your backyard as he debriefed all the girls that they liked that were in your grade.

Then, Seokmin moved in next door.

His family bought the beautiful brick two-story with a wrap-around porch that once housed the town doctor before he up and took off out West, chasing a wild wet dream (read: his mistress.)

He was suddenly over at your house every single day, glued at Mingyu's hip — tossing a pigskin around, tinkering around under the hood of your mother's 1969 Cadillac Deville…bothering your father for a sandwich with the crusts cut off because Mingyu was a big baby. He'd split it with your brother on the porch and ask about your day as you stomped up the steps after dance practice. You'd never delve too deep into details, simply shaking your head or giving him a thumbs up before ducking inside and burying your head in the books.

Mingyu and his friends graduated, going all over the country for college — but Seokmin stayed. He went to state school to stay close to his parents, but not so close that he didn't get that same taste of freedom that your brother and Minghao were enjoying at Rutgers in New Jersey. You were a senior in high school, trying to make the best of all the changes — only for it to be the worst year an 18-year-old girl could have.

You got (and crashed) your first car, which was Mingyu's before it was yours so it had that gross 'I give my friends rides home from football practice' smell permeated in the seats. You failed your first semester of Calculus and had to go to tutoring and Saturday school for six weeks to even attempt to earn a C. You injured your foot during practice and got benched for the rest of the year, so there was nothing to look forward to (not that they would've kept you on the team anyway, since you failed Calculus.)

To top it all off — your best friend and your boyfriend were in cahoots. Six years of friendship (and her gross crush on Mingyu) and almost a year and a half of dating were wasted, and both presented their end three weeks before prom — which was two days before graduation.

You'd stared at your dress for a good while the night before it was all supposed to happen. It'd been hung up on your closet door, the one thing you looked forward to after such a shit year that wasn't graduation — and it was sullied. The sparkly butter yellow tulle made your stomach hurt, the sweetheart neckline littered with glittering rhinestones making your eyes prickle with tears. You stared at the French pedicure you'd gotten at your local nail salon that would've peeked out the bottom of your dress — your shoes six-inch tall heels and the straps were decorated with flowers.

You were a nominee for Prom Queen. You had your hair and makeup inspiration saved to a Pinterest board you'd been curating since you found out prom was a thing that would happen in your life. Your ex-boyfriend's matching tie and corsage sat on your dresser, abandoned. You didn't have a date, and now an extra ticket to a gathering you weren't sure you wanted to attend.

Until Mingyu knocked on your door.

He'd come home from college for the summer a week earlier, making the drive back to Wisconsin right after his last final. He dropped Minghao off at his house, and skirted right into the driveway of your house, welcomed lovingly by his parents and confused when his little sister was holed up in her room, staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling.

"I'd go with you if I could, pipsqueak." He said softly, sitting on the edge of your bed as you let hot tears pool in your eyes. "But I know you'd think that's mega lame."

"It is mega lame. Gyu." Your voice had been so thick you could hardly understand yourself, but he squeezed your ankle through the blanket before sighing. "Mingyu, why has this year been so shit? Was your senior year this shitty?"

"Well." He adjusted slightly, "I got dumped because I chose Rutgers over staying here, and I had to take Minghao to prom. We still had a good time…maybe you can take Soonyoung. He's in town again, I know he swung by earlier to see how you were holdin' up."

"I look like such a loser taking a friend to my fucking prom. It was supposed to be me and my boyfriend." You huffed, angrily wiping at your eyes. "I don't even have a cute guy that I could pretend is into me."

The silence that blanketed over you both was deafening, before you met each other's eyes in that way siblings do when something is so good but it's crazy. It's so good, and it'd work so well — but it's absolutely insane.

Mingyu grabbed the tie and corsage while you practically tumbled down the stairs in your pajamas, running out the front door and across the lawn barefoot as the sprinklers started going off. You banged on the front door of the Lee house, hearing rustling before the door swung open and your fist was caught by one Lee Seokmin.

"Go to prom with me."

Naturally — as a favor to an old friend's little sister, Seokmin agreed. He blindly agreed as Mingyu instructed him to be your arm candy all night long, to show you off, let you be the star of the show. Pretend that an older boyfriend in college was far more interesting than some cheap party thrown together by the school in a fancy hotel — essentially, make you something worth envying.

It worked.

It worked like a dream — he stayed by your side the entire night, speaking softly to other dates, getting along with your dance team members, even greeting his old teachers with a bright smile that made them forget he was there with a student and wasn't one himself. They asked if he was your boyfriend, and you interrupted with a loud yes — his cheeks tinging pink as he held you close and kissed your temple. It was sweet, it was cute, and it was triumph coursing through your veins as you were crowned Prom Queen and left right after.

You sat in your mother's '69 Cadillac Deville with him, parked at a Dairy Queen on the outskirts of town with a sweet vanilla milkshake in your hand. He's thrown his suit jacket in the backseat, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie haphazardly pulled off. He rolled his sleeves up, leaning his head back against the seat when you snorted.

"You know what's funny?" "What's funny, sweets?"

He toyed with the straw of his own milkshake, his silver watch glinting in the low light.

"You can't tell Mingyu I said this." "I wouldn't tell Mingyu anything that's happened tonight if he paid me."

"I was supposed to lose my virginity tonight," you roll your eyes, kicking your heels off and crossing your legs at the knee. You stare up at the sky, "I was going to go to a motel with him, my ex. Get it over with so that I wouldn't go to college a virgin. Stupid, isn't it?"

"If that's the only reason you were going to do it, then yeah. A little bit." He nodded, plucking the cherry out of his cup and pulling the syrupy fruit off the stem with his teeth. "But I'm not any better, so I can't judge because I'm speaking from experience."

"You're not a virgin? I thought you were." "Haven't been since last summer. Why are you even thinking about it? I'm nineteen. I do…things." "Sure, man. Was it good? Is that TMI?"

"No," he snorted, shaking his head as he sighed, sucking his teeth. "It was just…there. The opportunity, I mean. I wasn't dating the girl either. It was a mistake and I regret it but life goes on. It should be with someone you trust and actually like, it adds to it. I guess. What do I know?"

"Lots of stuff." "Name two things." "You know my favorite color and you know how to drive. I trust you with my life, I think."

He laughed then, shaking his head as he played with his straw, "yeah, well. I'm sorry your senior year turned out this way. If it's any better, mine was pretty shit, too."

"Nah. I'd say it ended pretty well. I'm eighteen, I have a license, I graduate on Sunday and then I'm gone. I'm off to California and I never have to see this shitstain town again." You shook your head, sucking your teeth as you twisted in your seat. His eyes were wide, "you hate it here that much?"

"I have no good memories." "That might be a stretch, but I understand." "Thank you." You shrugged, tracing the stitching in the leather. The thread was a custom cobalt blue, to match the exterior of the car and paired with creamy beige seats. "Hey, Seok?"

"Yeah?" "Do you remember how you used to say hi to me everyday before you graduated last year? In the halls?"

He smiled, and you swore you saw a hint of a blush creep up the shells of his ears as he nodded, "yeah, of course I remember."

"Why'd you do it?" "Because…I don't know. It was a habit, and I liked seeing you…I don't know. It's courteous." "When you say I don't know…you mean you do, but you don't want to tell me. Right?"

"Right." He agreed, and you leaned slightly closer, holding your pinky out to him. He glances at it, and you scoot closer to him on the bench seat so your thigh is brushing his as you push your hand into his space.

"Pinky promise I won't tell Mingyu." "Mingyu doesn't scare me anyway."

He rolled his eyes, but linked his finger with yours. You waited for him to let go, but he interlaced his fingers with yours and held them on this thigh.

"For starters, everything I said is also true." "I figured, yes." "I think…I had a little bit of a crush on you. Nothing insane, of course. Just…a little one. Hallway crush, I think I heard Mingyu call it once."

You shifted then, your hand subconsciously squeezing his as you cleared your throat.

"And you never said anything?" "You're my best friend's little sister. Even I saw the cliché there. It's not that…I wouldn't have made a move, I just didn't think it was a wise choice in the long run."

You nodded, "yeah…that makes sense."

Neither of you moved away or unfurled your fingers, but Seokmin sighed, "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. You're very right, Mingyu would've knocked our heads together." "…Our?"

"You think I waved back because it was courteous? Get with the program, Lee." You snorted, shaking your head as you stared up at the sky. The stars twinkled, almost mockingly as you sighed, "though, it's much worse with it's best friend who likes the little sister. It's kind of expected for the little sister to like the best friend, you know? Clichés and all that…always blamin' it on the girls. Like it's my fault Mingyu has cute friends."

"Plural?" "Singular, sorry."

"Would you have let me kiss you?" He asked suddenly, and you lolled your head to the side, scanning his face with your eyes before shrugging. "Y/N."

"Depends. Are you kissing me because you want to or because it gives you the rush of kissing your best friend's sister?" "Mostly the first." "Cynical." "I'm honest."

You laughed then, squeezing his hand before sitting up properly. You tucked your legs under you, the fabric of your dress hanging off the edge of the seat as you kneeled next to him, your knees pressing into his thigh as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks for taking me to prom. You didn't have to." "I don't do these things for free, you know. Pay up, sixty bucks."

The smile on his lips said he was joking, but you feigned shock anyway and softly smacked his shoulder. He laughed, pulling his hand out of yours to wrap his arms around you. You let him pull you into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you buried your face into his neck. He patted your back, humming softly before he spoke.

"Thanks for thinking I was the right choice to leave a lasting impression. College boyfriends don't do this sort of thing, at least none of the ones I know."

"Well, you're my college boyfriend for the night." You shrugged, pulling back slightly. Your eyes met his, your faces centimeters apart. He shamelessly glanced at your lips, shifting slightly, "I'm sorry I missed your birthday. I know Mingyu came home, I was slammed."

"Are you going to keep talking about my brother or are you going to kiss me?"

You try not to remember the kiss, or the soft scent of vanilla floating off both your mouths.

Quite often, you shove it out of your mind and force yourself to think about what could've been if he'd said no. If your mother had called just a moment earlier, before your lips met his. If your brother had texted him just three minutes before his hand cupped your face gently and pulled you closer, milkshakes forgotten as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You never retell the story with the kiss included. You always just say your brother's best friend took you to prom and took you to milkshakes after. That he drove you through the outskirts of town in your mother's '69 Cadillac and made you feel like a princess.

Every single person lets you know that they think that 'brother's best friend' had a crush on you.

So to stand in this grocery store and know that Lee Seokmin has kissed you, has had a crush on you, has seen you cry — it feels vulnerable.

"Let's have dinner soon, if you're not busy. I'd love to catch up." He spoke softly, and Soonyoung was still acting stupid around the selection of rotisserie chicken, acting as if lemon herb and garlic rosemary were such hard choices. You gave Seokmin a small smile, holding up a finger as you called across the store, "pick a damn bird and get over here!"

Soonyoung pouted, grabbing one of each as you turned back to Seokmin. He was still looking at you with that same twinkle in his eyes, like he still wondered if you thought about him. If you thought about that night, if you thought about the sweet vanilla on his tongue as he kissed you for what felt like decades in the bench seat of your mother's car. If you thought about the way he pulled you into his lap, the way you pulled his hand up the expanse of your thigh that peeked out through the slit of your dress.

If you thought about the way he stopped kissing you before it could end the way most prom nights end — losing your virginity to him in a car. If you thought about how embarrassed he looked that he let himself get carried away, kissing down the slope of your neck and how he apologized because you were Mingyu's sister, because he was a year older than you and had more life lived, because, because, because.

Never in those reasons did he say because he didn't want to.

"We should, if you'd like. Uh, I'd offer my apartment but…" You rubbed your neck sheepishly, and he only shook his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening a new contact. He handed it to you, your fingers trembling as you typed in your number, "was Mingyu very annoying while I was gone?"

"He actually told me earlier that I'm not allowed call him annoying." Seokmin scoffs, "because I'm, in his words, ten times as annoying but I don't think that's all that true."

"It's not." "Of course you say that, he's your brother."

"Birds of a feather flock together, Seokmin. If you're annoying, so is he." You deadpan, typing your name into the contact file. "But, you're less annoying because I have no obligation to tolerate you. If you piss me off, I can just walk away. Can't do that with Mingyu, I'll just have to see him again. Family and all."

You roll your eyes, handing his phone back. He nods, "valid."

"I see you've gotten acquainted once more," Soonyoung tries to ease into the conversation, but frowns as you and Seokmin both point your eyes at him. "Yah, you'd think I asked about that stupid prom night kiss."

"Anyway." You speak quickly, your cheeks hot as Seokmin's ears tinge pink under the fluorescent lights of the supermarket, "uh, Friday? Does Friday work for you?"

"Friday's great!" He blurts, "we can just do it at yours. I don't think you should be unpacking all those boxes by yourself."

"She doesn't even have a mattress, Seokmin. A mattress!" Soonyoung exclaims, and you nibble on your lip in embarrassment as Seokmin shoves his shoulder lightly, "you should be helping her!"

Soonyoung scoffs, wrapping his hands around the cart handle and pushing it forward, "I don't have to take this shit from you guys. I'm the glue that holds this family together, damnit."

He stalks away, head held high as Seokmin shakes his head.

"He's dramatic." "Oh, tell me about it. He's been whining about how hungry he is when I told him this would take time."

You sigh, your face still hot as you take a tiny step back, "well, it was nice seeing you, Seokmin. Uh, Friday, yeah? I'll send you my address."

"Sure, sure." He nods, clearing his throat. Things feel awkward in the air between you, "sorry about Soonyoung."

"It shouldn't be awkward. It was years ago," you try, but still cover your face with your hands. "God, I'm sorry."

"No! It's okay, it was just…not something I was expecting today." His laugh is still warm, but there's something else in it. Maybe embarrassment, maybe frustration.

Maybe guilt.

You extend your hand, "well, it's fine. Friends, right?"

He glances at it, taking it gently. He runs his thumb over your knuckles, "friends. Now, run along. I can see his blond head in the bakery from here, he's gonna make you buy him a cake."

"It's the least I could do," you snort, squeezing his hand carefully. "Bye, Seok."

"Bye, sweetheart. Be safe."

YOUR APARTMENT IS STILL A MESS WHEN SEOKMIN ARRIVES.

You are still a mess when Seokmin arrives, a pout on your lip as you open your front door and see him nicely dressed in a soft sweater and a crisply pressed pair of chinos under his brown peacoat — and the little black hoops looped through his ears that you hadn't seen in ages.

He only laughs, gently pinching your cheek between his knuckles and stepping inside to a mess of broken down boxes and old tape rolled into a ball, chucked over your coffee table. You've got an old, paint-stained t-shirt that used to belong to Mingyu over your pajama shorts, and you insist that you'll be ready soon — which he only smiles at your half done hair and full face of make-up (sans lipstick.)

"Take your time," he shrugs, "seems like you had quite the week getting this place fixed up. Nice work."

"Don't praise me, it won't bode well." You huff, scurrying back to your bathroom to make sure the curling wand didn't burn a hole into your sink.

The week had been insane — you paid Soonyoung in cheesecake on Monday and Tuesday to help you unpack your kitchen and your bathroom, and then told him not to bother you until Sunday because you were going to do the rest on your own. You managed to get most of it done, including getting a mattress delivered and your bedframe set up by Wednesday…

But the lingering boxes, trash and the like were all cause of your frequent back-and-forth texting with one Lee Seokmin.

You caught up on minute things — him leaving UW-Madison his sophomore year and meeting Mingyu and Minghao at Rutgers. Him getting a masters degree, you getting a masters degree. You living in California for six years and four in Oregon, and the unspoken knowledge that the other four were purely for a boyfriend.

One that you wound up breaking up with (and one that fueled the fire of you moving back home) after catching him in your bed with his ex-girlfriend. From high school. Who was also engaged to his best friend!

There was a joke in the conversation from Seokmin, asking how college was as a virgin. You fired back that it was much better than having a crush on your brother's best friend, to which he replied with a frowning emoji and insisted he was better to crush on than some snotty-nosed frat boy who drank like a fish.

You both silently acknowledged that the Mingyu wedge was still present, and neither of you would be making the move to overlook it…even if you silently hoped he would.

You also swapped social media accounts in the process — his was full of adventures. Trips to Seoul and Osaka with your brother and other friends of his, trips to the mountains and skiing out east. Gardens in New Jersey and his graduation from Rutgers (and the impressive Cornell, despite not being nearly as snooty as half the other people you'd met in California that had come from the Ivy League.)

Yours had been curated carefully — luncheons, aesthetically taken shots of you by your old roommates who had all moved home back east. There was summer vacation carousels, photos of you with Aperol Spritz' in your hand and lounging on boats in bikinis you begged your brother not to tell your mother about (who only asked why you weren't showing more skin when you called her that following Christmas.)

Seokmin only liked the latest carousel on your profile. Your goodbyes to the beautiful wilderness that surrounded you in Oregon, and a promise to return someday — a photo of your packed up apartment, a cat lounging in the mid-morning sun atop your U-Haul, a thickly packed bagel with one for the road written across the top corner in an Instagram font you used almost too heavily during your days as a sorority girl hoping to reach prospective sisters.

And a selfie of you and Minghao, who had flown out from Boston to help you make the drive back home. Your heads were touching, his long hair ruffled against yours as you both winked at the camera, holding up to-go cups of hot tea and coffee — which you never liked, even if it was winter.

You ignored the shirtless photos on his profile.

"Have you decided where you want to go? So I can dress for the occasion." You called from your bathroom, having turned the curling wand off and opening the door to relieve some of the warmth you felt all over your face. You slipped out, seeing Seokmin staring at your wall of trinkets. Little clown figurines made by an Oregon artist that were grouped with Nyota and Skullpanda figurines you'd gotten in blind boxes, a couple of framed photos of you and Mingyu as kids, a snowglobe with a picture of you and your mother in it when Mingyu and your father got stuck in New Jersey during your senior year of high school.

"Uh, there's a nice place in Madison, if you don't mind the drive. Plus the potential traffic, it is a Friday." He nods, "just wear a dress? Maybe a long one?"

"Gotcha, yep."

You rooted around and found a long dress you'd worn back in California once for a Christmas dinner with your boyfriend during grad school. It had off-the-shoulder long sleeves, and a skirt that stopped at the ground with the right pair of shoes (read: your favorite pair of black heels.) You scurried around, grabbing your shoes and nibbling your lip at the slit that ran high up your thigh in the dark red fabric in the mirror of your vanity.

It felt a little…derivative.

You put your jewelry on, swiping on a creamy layer of lipstick before grabbing your purse and switching things around to your clutch. Your winter coat was in the hall closet, and you held your heels in one hand as you exited your bedroom hurriedly. Seokmin glanced over his shoulder from the pinned tour posters on your wall, turning around fully as you fixed your hair in the mirror that hung on your wall.

"Is this okay?" You ask, not bothering to look at him as you wiped the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, perfect. You look great…and we're running late." He teased, making you groan as you look at him in the mirror, "you told me to take my time!"

"I didn't think that meant forty minutes, sweetheart. Hop to, or we'll miss our reservation." He taps his watch, "where do you keep your coat?"

"Hall closet," you sit at a chair in your dining room, bending at the waist to pull on your shoes as he ducks past. He returns with your coat and a red mark on his forehead, a pout on his lip as you look up from your shoes, "what happened?"

"Your box of photo albums fell on me. How did you not hear that?" He whines, and you coo as you let him help you slip your coat on. Your fingers gently rub at the spot, "you'll be okay."

"Yeah, easy for you to say." He huffs, and you roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to your fingers before patting them against his forehead.

"Yeah, it is. Now, move along."

The drive to Madison was slow, but the restaurant he chose had been well worth it. You were sat at a rounded booth in the back, the lights dim and the environment cozy with soft jazz playing overhead. The waiter was sweet, but a bit too flirty for your taste — and clearly for Seokmin's as well, because he pulled you closer to him by your waist, his fingers lingering on your hip long enough for the waiter to see as he brought your drinks from the bar.

Dinner was relatively fun. Soft conversations, bringing up old memories, catching up on things. Seokmin asked about your psychology degree, you asked about his sudden move to Rutgers.

"Home isn't as fun without having a neighbor girl to bother." He stated, shrugging his shoulders as you gave him a deadpan look. He swiped a scallop off your plate then, making you scowl because you were not going to take a bite of his steak. "Plus, it was quiet. Madison is nice but Jersey was new and exciting. I roomed with Mingyu, Minghao and our friend Wonwoo, and it was fun until I would come back to one of their rooms with a sock on the door."

"Ew, I don't want to know about their adventures. I got enough with Hao complaining about his boyfriend wanting them to move to New York. Something, something, is the sex not filthy enough that he wants to move to Manhattan?" You scrunched your nose, making him laugh as you crossed your legs at the knee. Your dress splayed open, your thigh exposed to the warm air of the restaurant and the soft fabric of Seokmin's pants.

He didn't bother looking down, only tapping your knee before pulling the fabric over it.

"They're going to end up moving. Junhui has a hold on Minghao that you wouldn't believe. You would love him." He nods, "I helped Junhui plan the proposal."

Your eyes widened at that, and Seokmin swore you into secrecy before spilling the beans of your childhood friend potentially getting engaged before the end of the year.

Dinner came and went, dessert was sweet on your tongues despite the dark chocolate and Seokmin pouting when you had the last bite. You kept talking — your families, how shitty the holidays are as you get older and lose the childlike wonder of Santa Claus and gifts under the tree, girlfriends, boyfriends…

Your jaw tight as he mentioned his, his tight when you mentioned yours and a frown gracing his lips when you mentioned the Oregon boyfriend in particular.

"Well, he sucks." Seokmin clicked his tongue as he held the door open, the receipt blowing in the wind between his fingers. He'd fought you to pay the bill, shoving his card in the waiter's hand as he pinned you to your seat with a hand on your thigh.

A move that neither of you spoke about but both knew it could've created something neither of you were too sure you'd dislike. Not that either of you knew the other felt the same about the latter, but it wasn't your business to know.

Not yet, anyway.

The drive back is comfortable. You took AUX as he drove, complimented the recently refurbished bench seat of his truck. He smiles, says he also helped your mother get her '69 Cadillac get a beautiful new layer of that cobalt blue paint she loves. He prompts you to sit closer, and you end up resting your head on his shoulder with his hand low on your hip as you drive back into Pleasant Hill.

He's warm. He smells floral, like iris and neroli with a hint of cedarwood. He's drumming his fingers against you, running his hand slightly up and down your hip as you watch the sky become clearer the further you get into your small town.

He feels like home.

"Did you miss me while I was gone?" You ask suddenly as he rolls to a stop at a red light just half a block before your apartment complex. He raises a brow, looking down at you with an amused expression.

"You think I didn't?" "I wouldn't be asking."

"Of course I missed you, Y/N." He shakes his head, subconsciouly squeezing your hip. "I left Pleasant Hill because I missed you. I came back because I missed you."

"Or because my brother asked you to." "Your brother is the closest thing I get to you, so you have to give me some credit. Hallway crushes don't disappear as easily as I thought, especially not after you kiss her on prom night."

Your cheeks burn as the light turns green, your hand on his knee tracing circles as he presses on the gas.

"It's been ten years since then, Seokmin." "No, it's been nineteen. I've liked you since I was ten years old."

Your eyes widen as he pulls into your apartment complex, expertly slipping into a shaded parking space. He turns the car off as you look up at him, "you should head inside. It's late and you'll need your rest to finish unpacking."

"Mingyu's coming in the morning to help me." You murmur, and he nods simply, "he always was a nice guy. He's making long distance work with Tzuyu."

"Seokmin." "Yes?"

"Are you going to keep talking about my brother or are you going to kiss me?" The words slip from your mouth as easily as they did ten years ago, but he doesn't bother responding before he presses his lips to yours. Soft, smooth but hungry as he pulls you on top of him, his hand wrapping around your neck and holding you firmly in place. Your hands pulled at his sweater, shoving it up as his tongue slipped into your mouth. He let go of your neck, shoving your coat off your shoulders as you sucked on the tip of his tongue, your fingertips toying with the buckle of his belt before he pulled back.

"We can't." "We can." "Mingyu—"

"You came up for a nightcap and helped me unpack. Too drunk to drive home and spent the night on my couch." You unbuckle his belt as he groans, his hands eagerly pulling at the slit of your dress to expose your thighs. His fingers are warm as they slide up the plush flesh, squeezing shamelessly as you pull his belt through the loops and toss it to the side, "not embarrassed about your little collections anymore?"

"What I do with my Maxim subscription is between me and the comfort of my bedroom." "Better read than Playboy, eh?" "With the same beautiful women. Are you going to Prom Night me or what, Seokmin?"

"We're using that as an adjective now? Prom Night-ing?" He huffs, your lips parting with a soft gasp as lithe fingers squeeze the swell of your ass over the lace of your underwear. "I wasn't going to take your virginity in a car."

"Well, someone else has that shit now, and we did it on a fraternity beanbag." "I don't want to hear about that. The guys you've been with didn't deserve you in the first place."

"Then prove you deserve me more than they did." You whisper against his lips, "and it'll be like it never happened. Just you, just me. Yours, and mine."

He sits for a moment, his eyes boring into yours as he slides his hands over your hips carefully. He kneads the soft skin between his fingers, nibbling on his lip as his thumb toys with the hem of your panties before plucking at it.

"What if you regret it?" "Seokmin, we've had a thing for one another for the last nineteen years. We're as cliché as they come. Probably down to the ring and the house and the kids, if you want them."

He blinks, nodding slowly as he clicks his tongue.

"You think Mingyu knows?" "Are we going to keep talking about my brother?"

He presses his lips to yours, a mumble of no slipping out as he pulls you higher on his lap. Your fingers undo his pants easily, the sound of the zipper catching his attention as your hand dips beneath the fabric of his boxers to palm at his cock. His fingers immediately slip between your legs, pulling the embarrassingly damp fabric of your panties to the side to circle your clit with his thumb. Your thighs tighten around his hand, your gasp swallowed by his lips before you pull away, letting him kiss down the expanse of your neck and littering the soft skin with nips of his teeth.

His fingers slip lower as your thumb swipes over the leaking head of his cock, shaky breaths falling from your lips as he circles your entrance with his fingertips before pushing in slowly. He sighs against your chest at the wet sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers, a whimpered groan falling from your lips into his shoulder.

"Seokmin, we s-should—" "We should go upstairs."

It's a tumble to get out of the car, his pants hastily buttoned and your fingers shaking as you try to unlock the door. He pushes it open from behind you, shoving it closed with his foot once you both step inside and pinning you against it. He pulls your coat off as he kisses you desperately, throwing the coat over a bunch of boxes labeled bedroom before his hands wrap around your thighs and lift you up. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, the kiss turning to teeth and tongue as he carries you in the direction of your bedroom.

"I could worship you for the rest of my life and it still wouldn't be enough to deserve you." He mumbles against your lips as he nudges the bedroom door open, your cheeks heating as he sets you on the edge of your bed gently. He pushes you back against it, kissing you carefully — a total switch up that makes your head spin as he cups your face with one hand, his knee slotting between your thighs as you move to lean back on your elbows. "I would've waited ten more years if it meant you'd come back to me."

"Seokmin," you pout against his mouth, only for him to kiss you chastely before his hands move to gather the fabric of your dress at your hips. You sit up, letting him pull the dress over you and toss it across the room before his hands slid down your sides. His eyes don't make you feel self conscious as they trail over you, his fingers hooking with the waistband of your panties and easily pulling them down your thighs. He shamelessly tucks them into his pocket, smiling inwardly as he kisses your parted lips.

"You're a pervert." "You're beautiful." "Well don't be nice to me, it ruins the purpose."

"It's banter, gorgeous." He trails his lips down your jaw, making your skin prickle as his hands spread your thighs. He traces a path down your chest, murmuring soft praises as he kisses each of your nipples before kissing down your soft belly, his hands massaging the muscle of your thighs as he spread them further. He drags his lips across your hips, peering up at you through his lashes as he litters kisses on the inside of your thighs, kneeling at the edge of your bed.

"Seokmin." "Patience." "I waited ten years, isn't that enough?"

He raises a brow, sinking his teeth into your skin and making you flinch, before quickly running his tongue over the mark.

"I waited ten years, too, you know." He says pointedly, his lips ghosting over your clit before he presses an open mouthed kiss to it. Your thighs twitch around his head as he pulls you closer to his face, "I spent the entire week fucking my hand, thinking about you in that little skirt at the grocery store."

He doesn't let you reply, opting to slip his tongue between your folds in long, languid strokes — gathering your arousal in his mouth before swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit. Your spine arches off the bed as he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your hand carding through his hair and giving it a harsh tug as soft pants fall from your lips. His fingers slide down your thigh, prodding at your entrance gently before sinking in carefully, your thighs closing around his head as he works you over with his tongue. Your mewled moans of his name fill the air, your hips rutting against his face earning nothing but hums and curls of his fingers as he finds that spongy spot that makes your legs tremble around his head. Your heels dig into his shoulders as the wet sound of your cunt around his fingers hits your ears, your cheeks burning hot as the coil in your belly snaps with a whimper from your lips.

You can feel him smile against your skin, the smug bastard.

"Did so well for me, honey." He whispers against your thigh, his fingers slipping out of you slowly and circling your clit. Your skin prickles as you jerk away from him, closing your legs around his hand as he catches your ankle before it hits him, using it as leverage to pull you flush against the tent in his pants. "You can give me another, can't you? Just one more, baby."

He keeps his eyes on you as he kisses up your calf, his fingers still tracing circles on your clit as you squirm. He kisses the side of your foot, his teeth tugging at the strap of your heel around your ankle to grab your attention.

"One more." "On your cock." "Whatever you want, baby."

He slips his hand out from between your thighs to shuck his sweater off, tossing it somewhere in the room before reaching into his back pocket and pulling his wallet out — procuring a gold foil packet between his fingers. You sit up, rolling your eyes as you pluck it from his hand, flicking it across the room before pulling him closer to you and kissing the bulge in his pants. Your fingers unbutton them swiftly, mouthing at his cock over his boxers.

His hand drops his wallet as your fingers curl around the waistband, his own raking through your hair as your spit soaks through the fabric before you pull them down his thighs. Your hands circle the muscle, digging your nails into the side as you lick the tip of leaking precum. He bites down on his lip as take him deeper in your mouth, peering up at him through your lashes as the tip hits the back of your throat. You sink slightly further, your nose brushing his lower stomach as he groans, gathering your hair in his hand asyour hand slides up his thigh, cupping his balls as you slowly bob your head up and down his length. You pull off briefly with a soft gasp, lips swollen as you kiss his shaft before he pulls you away gently.

"Later," he whispers, bending to press a kiss to your spitslick lips. "Lie back, baby."

"Seok—" "Later, I promise."

You pout but do as you're told, leaning back on your elbows as he kicks off his pants, toeing off his shoes before you reach to undo your heels — only for him to grab your ankle and pull your leg away from you, "leave them on."

"Freak."

He doesn't reply, only smiling inwardly as he spreads your thighs for him, your cunt still glistening with his spit and your cum. He wraps his hand around himself, sliding the thick head of his cock through your slick folds with a soft moan. You rut your hips up, begging for any kind of friction when he pins you to the mattress, "be patient."

"Fuck me." "I am."

"You're taking your sweet ti—" Your sentence is cut off by his cock sinking inside you slowly, a smirk playing on his lips as your eyes flutter shut. He holds your thighs apart, his eyes trained on the way your cunt sucks in him, his lips parted as he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Your breathing is shallow as he presses his chin to his chest, the low light of your bedroom light showing off all the soft contours of his body as your fingres itch to touch him.

He leans forward, brushing a kiss to your lips as your hands slide up his arms, digging your nails into his shoulders as he gives a tentative roll of his hips. A punctuated fuck falls from your lips, making him trail wet, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat. His hand snakes between you, thumb finding your clit and pressing against it hard as he rocks into you with a barely controlled pace that settles the idea in your brain that he wants you just as bad as you want him.

"Feel so good, baby," he whines into your neck, his hips meeting yours with hard thrusts that make your breath hitch in your throat. "Such a good girl, yeah? Say you're mine."

"'M yours," your voice is hardly steady as you can taste the embarrasingly close end on the back of your tongue, your limbs fuzzy as you drag your nails down his back. He shivers, your walls clamping around him as he drags his lips down your neck, holding your knees tight to your chest as he swirls his tongue over one of your nipples. You thrust your chest up, your back bent in half as his cock drags deliciously in your spasming walls as you stave off your orgasm. "Want to you cum inside me, p-please."

"Please, huh? My baby's so polite…" he kisses back up your chest, dragging his tongue up the slope of your neck before his teeth tug at your earlobe. "You're mine, right? My girl. Mine."

You nod with a soft whine, your orgasm ripping through you and making your body feel hot as he spills inside you. Your fingernails are digging into his biceps, tears pricking at your eyes as he fucks you through it, your thighs shake around his waist, his hands quickly sliding over them and squeezing the soft flesh. Your skin is slick with sweat as he kisses down your chest, "you did so good for me, baby. So good."

You drape an arm over your eyes, embarrassment coating your cheeks in warmth as he carefully undoes the strap of your heels without pulling out. You feel his fingers gently circle the reddened dip of the straps, massaging the spot as you clench around him. He jerks in response, making you gasp as you close your legs as much as you can with him holding your ankles. He's still hard inside you, his hands pulling your ankles together over one shoulder and giving a slow roll of his hips; your hand darting out to push his hip away.

"S-Seokmin—" "Just one more. You can do it, I know you can."

Your hand on his hip slides off, "slow. I mean it."

"Whatever my girl wants." "You." "You have me, baby."

"And you're mine, too?" You peer up at him, eyes glossy with unshed tears as he nods, stopping his movements to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. You scrunch it, pursing your lips for a kiss. He obliges, speaking against your lips.

"I'm yours, Y/N."

IT'S VERY OBVIOUS THAT NEITHER OF YOU REALLY STUCK TO THE STORY THAT SEOKMIN GOT DRUNK AND COULDN'T DRIVE HOME.

You're twenty-eight years old, sitting on your couch with your twenty-nine year old (newly pronounced) boyfriend as your brother (unfortunately, also his best friend) screams like a husky wanting out of the house. He goes on and on about the integrity of a promise — apparently, Mingyu did know that Seokmin had the hots for you way back when, and made him swear he would never make a move on you. It doesn't help that you and Seokmin both spill the beans at the same time about how the two of you almost slept together the night of your prom — making Mingyu rub his face in embarrassment as he paces in front of you both.

"Fine, fine! Whatever!" He exclaims, throwing his arms up in defeat. "You win! Just don't ruin my sister's life and I won't fucking kill you."

You chew on your lip, shifting in your brother's old, paint-stained t-shirt as he huffs, crossing his arms on his chest.

"So you're not mad at me, right, Gyu?" You murmur, and Seokmin immediately scoots closer to you, tucking you into his chest as your older brother sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, it's not like I didn't expect this." He mutters, "neither of you are very good at keeping your feelings a secret."

"Then why are you over here yelling like a banshee?" You ask, and he sighs again, crouching next to your coffee table.

"Because you're my sister. It's my job to embarrass you and also yell at any of my friends that think they have a chance with you." He says pointedly, before looking at Seokmin. "I mean it. She was gone for ten years, and if I lose her again I'm killing you. The grave will be a ditch in Appalachia and no one will ever find your fucking body."

Mingyu didn't stay to help unpack, instead handing the task over to Seokmin with the label of it being 'to prove he was worthy of being with you.' He left with a kiss to the side of your head and a sniff at Seokmin, stalking out of your apartment and slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

"…He wouldn't actually, would he?" "No, I'm pretty sure he would. It's the could that I'm skeptical about, Mingyu can't even go hunting."

Seokmin snorted, laying back on the couch and pulling you on top of him with a soft brush of his lips to your cheek.

"Well, he doesn't have to worry about it. After all, I could spend the rest of my life worshipping you and it still wouldn't be enough."

You think it just might be.

HAOLOGRAM © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[malsmoony]

at the end of the day i’m the biggest sucker for seokmin 🙈

[makeitworse]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘

── an unexpected reunion with your father’s friend causes old feelings to reach their boiling point.

tags: f!rea x seungcheol | smut/pwp 18+ wc: 8.7k content: age gap (reader early 20s, cheol late 30s), miscommunication, light angst, alcohol, smoking, mentions of mingyu x reader, smut including dom!cheol, grinding, choking, hair pulling, fingering/oral, unprotected sex

notes: idk man i blacked the fuck out. don’t look at me. shout out to emmie & mer for cheering me on while this fic and i were throwing hands ily both

𝓣HE PRESENCE OF YOUR FATHER’S FRIEND HAS NEVER FAILED TO MAKE YOU FEEL JUST SHORT OF PSYCHOTIC. 

if you weren’t at such a high-end event, and from one of the most esteemed families on the guest list, you’d allow your wobbling knees to buckle from underneath you; the tears clumping in your lashes to flow down in inky streaks.

you’re acutely aware of how childish it is, to feel this way about one man. to feel this way at all at your age. but years worth of social etiquette lessons and honing emotional intellect run for the hills where he’s concerned. they always have.

swallowing down the boulder-sized lump in your throat, you count the breaths until your vision isn’t blurred with tears anymore. all your hard work is almost for nothing when you side-eye his corner of the room and realise he’s still fucking staring at you. probably hasn’t stopped, the creep.

you can’t even remember what mingyu was yapping your ear off about one minute ago, what had you wishing for divine intervention to get you out of this conversation. it was like the air tilted, like the room moved with him— choi seungcheol. fire of your loins, bane of your existence as of about a year ago.

it’s as if his eyes commanded attention the instant they fell on you, since your head was turning before you could even clock the reason why.

which brings you to now: feeling like you’re dying from the inside out as your father’s friend watches you like a hawk from across the room, mingyu none the wiser while he continues to listen to himself talk.

you curse yourself for not hiding your phone in your bra, instead having forfeited it to security at the entrance. you start scanning the room for a circle of people to step into, or even a server holding a tray of champagne to beckon over, as you ignore your father’s attempts to get your attention.

instinct wins out when he calls your name, and you make the mistake of snapping your head to his direction— instantly locking eyes with the dark brown pair that has your previous glasses of bubbly churning in your belly.

pitifully, you excuse yourself from mingyu, directing his attention to your father very clearly waiting for you to come to him. you give mingyu’s arm a squeeze as you promise you’ll continue this conversation, in hopes that he might rescue you later.

your lips are near pursing in a tight-lipped smile as you finally walk to your father’s side, refusing to spare even a glance towards his friend standing silently across from you.

“you haven’t forgotten mr. choi, have you?”

you wish you had.

it feels like a puncture straight into your ribs when he says your name in that mellow voice. “it’s been a while since i’ve last seen you.” seungcheol smiles.

the memory of the last night you heard from him still flashes hot in your head. it’s been a year, maybe more. you’ve met a lot more men than just your father’s friend— enough decent ones to last you a lifetime. and yet, you’re still bitter like it was just yesterday.

you can only manage a nod in response, swallowing down the cusses sizzling on your tongue.

“well, i’ll leave you two to catch up, then. you used to be such good friends, didn’t you?” your father asks you without leaving room for argument. he shakes hands with seungcheol as he takes his leave, stepping out of the conversation he started; leaving you stranded and pissed.

you keep your eyes trained on your father’s back as he walks off, hoping that the ground might open up and swallow you.

“you look really beautiful tonight.” seungcheol starts, speaking softly as if to a baby. “how’ve you been?”

noticing that you’re ignoring him, he tries to step in to your line of sight that you’re purposefully keeping away from him. in retaliation, you duck your head down to pick at your nails, and he chuckles lowly.

“you’ve gone all shy now?”

that hits almost like a slap. it feels like he’s poking fun at the very last interaction you shared, even if that’s not what he meant.

you let him win and actually look at him now.

your resolve damn nearly crumbles. seungcheol’s been aging like the finest fucking wine.

breathlessly, you take in his features you’re already familiar with that have somehow gotten even more attractive: the dark hair loosely framing his temples, the heady gaze of his eyes behind thin glasses, the faintest smug curve of his full lips.

he looks wider too, no doubt thanks to his steadfast commitment to the gym. seungcheol’s dressed in black from head to toe in a button-up and slacks that fit him like a damn glove, if not a little tighter with how the fabric looks like it’s straining around the muscles he’s hiding under there.

it’s not until your eyes meet his again that you realise they ever left. you unclench your jaw, becoming acutely aware that you’ve been ogling him and he was just.. letting you.

self-conscious, you grimace. “what do you want me to say? i don’t want to talk to you.”

it’s only half true. and if you had kept in contact, he’d be able to see right through it. but you didn’t. so you watch seungcheol’s face drop ever-so-slightly, buying the bitter edge to your words.

“i know.” he shifts his weight, perhaps uncomfortably. good. “i didn’t ask your father to do that. i’m sure it’s only because he got tired of me asking about you.”

“what?” you nearly scoff out, trying to not sound too eager at the fact he still gave even a single shit about you.

“he called you over so that you could just answer my questions yourself. i tried to insist that it was fine, though.”

you heart pangs a little over the fact seungcheol tried to convince your father against calling you over. even if you were close to having a breakdown just because you realised his eyes were on you.

“okay… so ask.”

his lip curls. maybe disbelief, maybe amusement. “how’s school been treating you?”

you stifle a roll of your eyes. calling it school made you feel like a kid. you’re in your third year of college, for christ’s sake. in saying that, seungcheol knew your father as the company’s CEO first and foremost before he became his friend, so you’ve always been the boss’s daughter to him.

even when he started coming around your home, joining your family at dinner, asking about your day in passing. even when you were old enough to be on a first name basis with him and catch up regularly over the phone when you moved away for college. seungcheol always finds a way to remind you that you’re just a kid to him— in case you ever, god forbid, hope he could view you as an equal.

“well, the work doesn’t get any easier. but i’m enjoying staying in the city. it makes coming home feel like a holiday.”

“you’ve made some more friends there?”

“of course i have.” it comes out like a response to an accusation. you don’t want him thinking you’re lonely. you don’t know why you still care what he thinks.

seungcheol’s smug grin only stretches wider at your tone. “and they’re good for you?”

better than you, fuck you, i hate you— “they keep me sane.”

seungcheol chuckles, a deep sound from his chest that feels like a punch straight to yours.

god, you’re still so attracted to him. you’d even say you’ve missed him, if only you didn’t have to jump off a cliff before letting yourself admit that.

you startle the poor server boy passing by when you call out to him by name suddenly (“chan” the name-tag read), and he faces you like he’s braced for a scolding. softening your face with an apologetic smile, you take one of the champagne flutes on his tray and thank him before he scurries off to the other side of the room.

seungcheol’s brow quirks in that infuriatingly cocky way he does as he watches you take a hefty gulp of the champagne.

too eager, some of the liquid ends up running down your chin and falling onto your cleavage in droplets. you mutter a cuss as you swallow down, unceremoniously wiping your chest off with your hand.

your eyes flick back up to seungcheol, and you catch his doing the exact same movement as they meet yours— as if he was also looking down there.

you narrow your eyes at him.

“you look.. different.” he mutters.

“worse?”

he cocks his head, voice low and deliberate. “you know that’s not what i said.”

a shock races straight up your spine with the way his eyes go half-lidded, jaw slack. if you were still as insane about him as you used to be, you could delude yourself into thinking he was giving you bedroom eyes.

but you know he isn’t. seungcheol already made it clear that he doesn’t want you like that.

“i miss your calls, you know.” he admits in a murmur.

before you can stop yourself, you’re thinking out loud with a scoff: “gee, i wonder why they stopped.”

at that, the air between you completely changes— replaced by something crackling with tension. seungcheol goes rigid, brows furrowing like he’s checking if you’re joking, but you don’t back down.

you may as well stop beating around the bush. stop ignoring the massive fucking elephant in the room.

stop pretending that you didn’t ghost seungcheol for a year after he ghosted you for a night.

he sighs, stepping to you. “you never let me explain myself.”

you step back in turn, reinstating the distance between you. “kind of speaks for itself, doesn’t it? i’m a big girl, i can take a hint.”

seungcheol’s lip twitches at the big girl part of your sentence before he runs a hand through his hair; fixes the glasses on his nose like he’s composing himself.

“i didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and i’m sorry. but you know why i had to make that choice.”

“i don’t know, actually.” you reply, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. “i don’t know why you couldn’t just talk to me like an adult instead of standing me up.”

you hate how little it makes you feel, arguing your side. like what could you ever understand about the grown-up reasons behind his actions?

you catch seungcheol’s hands flex at his sides, and he clicks his teeth, incredulous. “i don’t expect you to explain the obvious for why you blocked my number, so don’t expect me to do the same for why i didn’t come that night. you know damn well how it would’ve looked on me.”

“like what? what are you so afraid of?” you push him, shoving the rational part of your brain into timeout.

you need to hear him say it. it’s not like you planned on anything actually happening that night— hoped and dreamt and possibly prayed, yes— but realistically, you didn’t expect it to go any further than you just confessing your feelings.

you’re a woman, maybe not as grown as him, but an adult at the end of it. he’s acting like he would’ve been taken away in handcuffs.

when seungcheol says your name again, this time it’s a warning. his dark eyes behind those lenses watch intently for your next move, and your blood flares with the adrenaline of pissing him off. if you can get under his skin in any way, you’re going to run with it.

“okay. well, for future reference, maybe don’t tell a girl you’ll go to dinner with her if you’re just not going to fucking show up.”

seungcheol’s eyes widen, and you feel a buzz of anticipation as his jaw ticks, before his tense shoulders deflate with a sigh. “i really am sorry.”

sorry isn’t nearly enough to cut it. last year, when you were briefly home for your spring break, you’d asked seungcheol to join you for dinner on your last day there. by this point, catching up with him over the phone was part of your daily routine. you’re grown enough to be studying for a serious ‘adult’ job, to be calling him just seungcheol instead of mr. choi, and to think that maybe your long-term crush on him could actually be reciprocated. he promised that he’d be there, after all.

silly you.

you don’t know whether he was intentionally leading you on or you were a dog chasing an imaginary bone but you felt so incredibly stupid all the same. and now he has the gall to be standing in front of you, looking like a kicked puppy because you dare confront him about it.

“you know what? i actually don’t care what your reason is anymore. just leave me alone.” another lie that you’re hoping he can’t see through.

you go to walk right past him, but seungcheol catches your wrist in a firm grip, rendering you frozen as he pulls you close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body— right here in the middle of this crowded room like you’re the only person he even sees.

seungcheol carries an air of dominance everywhere he goes. when he speaks, his voice demands silence. it’s why he stands as high as he does in your father’s company— he knows what he wants and he knows how to make it his. but he is never rough in his ways. there’s a composed way to how he controls things. and everything you’ve come to know about seungcheol is completely contradicted by the man standing before you.

“i wasn’t lying when i said i missed you.” he mutters, thick brows pinched in frustration. “you don’t understand how much regret i feel for how we left things.”

you really didn’t understand. sheepishly, you turn your head to the side to get some air away from his breath hitting your face, and also to check if anyone’s staring at you both like you’re crazy. seungcheol intercepts your efforts, nose an inch from bumping yours as he dips his face close.

“would you let me try to fix it?”

are you drunk and hallucinating?? how he can stand you up for a private dinner because of ‘how it’ll look’, and now tug you by the arm this close to him in front of your peers and ask you for a second chance, you wonder just what the fuck happened to him during your year apart.

you don’t budge, and his frown grows even deeper as he groans out a hoarse “please.”

you could get high off the way he’s looking at you, like he’ll beg if he doesn’t get an answer. all the power is in your hands here and your mind is reeling because of it. you wonder just what he means by ‘fixing it’, and how far he’ll go to do so.

but, instead of finding out, you just smirk cruelly and snatch your arm back from out of his grip.

“no. fuck you.”

you don’t spare him a second glance as you walk off, progressively feeling more self-conscious at the weight of his eyes burning holes into your back.

you’re not recognising any of the faces here, anyone that you could spring up a conversation with. before you start to panic and look like an idiot, you pivot for the bathroom.

by the time you’re locking the door behind you, your clammy palms leave the knob slippery.

really, you needed to take that dramatic exit before you did something embarrassingly desperate in retaliation. you didn’t know how much longer you had left before your knees gave out, with how seungcheol’s heavy stare and tight grip on your wrist was chipping away at your sanity.

he has never been like that with you.

in the past year you’ve had his number blocked, you considered going back on your decision before talking yourself out of it time and again— convinced he probably couldn’t give even less shits than he must already.

evidently, he looks like he’s been even worse off than you are. and he’s the one who stood you up.

your dress feels like it’s sticky and also somehow like it’s made of sheet metal. you readjust how everything’s sitting on your body, slipping out the lighter and single cigarette tucked into the side of your bra (just a mousekatool to help you later) to peel the elastic from your sweaty skin and fan it dry.

after you feel freshened up and like a person again, you sigh and open the door to the hall outside, nearly knocking into seungcheol.

you jump at the sudden sight of him, muttering a curse under your breath. your initial shock quickly curdles into annoyance that you’ve run into a him a second time.

“are you seriously following me?” you snap, stepping past the threshold.

“no, i’m just—” he stops himself short when you suddenly readjust how your bra’s sitting on your body. you don’t miss the way his eyes flick down, though they’re back up and staring at your face as if it was just an accident. “…waiting.”

you scrunch your face at him like he’s dumb. “for what?”

seungcheol doesn’t reply. he looks past you, into the bathroom, down at his shoes. anywhere but at your face. he must be waiting for you to leave already, you realise.

“you’re being weird.” you study his face. “did something happen?”

“nothing’s happened.” he answers at once.

silence stretches. it presses. his jaw works, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“well, i hope i don’t see you around.” you say after a long moment, unconvinced.

you go to step around him, intending to walk off, except seungcheol doesn’t move out of your way quick enough and your arm knocks with his as he takes his hand out from his pocket.

you turn back to make another annoyed comment, except you take immediate notice of how seungcheol was standing. without shame, your eyes dart down to his hand as it moves towards the front of his pants, almost covering his—

oh.

you blink thrice to prove you aren’t just imagining things, noticing his fingers twitch where they try (and fail) to shield the visible lump in his black slacks.

your lip curls. “are you .. turned on?”

seungcheol looks like he’s gone into rigour mortis.

“sorry,” he murmurs. “it’s not intentional.”

it’s like your world goes into slow motion as he moves to step past you. if you don’t take advantage of this situation that’s in your favour right the fuck now, you may lose the only chance you’ve got.

much like he did before, you stop seungcheol when you wrap a hand around his arm. his bicep completely tenses under your touch, and you think you’re about two seconds from losing it.

seungcheol looks like he’s already gone when his eyes meet yours. jaw clenched tight, pupil dilation cranked up to the max. you recognise the look immediately. you’ve see it in men before, but not choi seungcheol; the irrepressible crush that’s defined your entire adulthood. and you feel plastered off the flip in power.

you scoff out a laugh, breathless. “what, are you gonna jerk off in there, you freak?”

“i’m not.” he retorts, voice dropping a decibel.

you must look crazy with how you’re smirking right now.

heart pounding against your ribs, you throw all caution to the wind and rake your fingers up over seungcheol’s arm. when he doesn’t immediately flinch away, you smooth your palm over his shoulder until you’re cupping the side of his neck, thumb resting over his fluttering pulse. you swear you feel him shiver at the warmth of your touch.

seungcheol startles you when his hand flies out and envelops yours, ripping it off his neck.

“you need to stop.” he nearly pants out.

heady with adrenaline, you just blink dumbly. “why?”

his eyes flutter shut as he exhales a shaky breath through his nose. your own eyes flick down, feeling your stomach knot at how he’s still hard against his pants, and at this proximity you could so easily—

“because i’ll do something i fucking regret.” he murmurs, eyes shaded over when he opens them.

you can’t believe this was the same man that stood you up a year ago— the same man that’s nearly two decades older than you— now agonisingly turned on and it’s all your fault.

you were so sure it was because he didn’t want you. because he still sees you as a kid. and you may as well be, since you don’t know what’s true or not anymore.

your face splits into a shit-eating grin. “i don’t believe you.”

seungcheol’s breath hitches, lip curling halfway to a grimace as he fights a war with own conscience. your eyes go half-lidded, and that seems to be enough to convince him.

you hold your breath as seungcheol steps forward, wetting his lips with his tongue. your eyes flutter shut— but before you can feel the warmth of his mouth on yours, your eyes snap open at the sound of footsteps around the corner.

your heart goes from fluttering like a hummingbird to completely stopping. seungcheol drops your hand from his grip, but it’s too late to back away from each other before a figure appears at the start of the hallway.

chan’s wide-eyed as he catches you both, a tray full of empty champagne flutes wobbling in his hands. he’s gone within the next blink, scampering off like he walked in on something he knows he shouldn’t have.

you’re not too worried. if anything, you’re relieved it was just one of the staff.

seungcheol sighs, putting distance back between you as he steps away. “i’m sorry. i should be better than this.”

“don’t be.” you quickly say back.

when seungcheol raises his eyes to yours, it knocks the air straight from your lungs. he looks like he’s dying. he looks like he’s at his fucking wits end and wants to drag you right down with him. and you’d go happily.

but, before lust can completely cloud your judgement and you follow him into that bathroom, you take a step back too.

“cheol.” your first use of his name all night getting his breath to hitch. “come find me outside after. we should.. talk. right?”

you flash him a smile, and his eyes just widen. he manages to get out a silent nod, and before you can ignore your judgment and bend yourself over that bathroom sink, you turn away and leave him to it.

you’re greeted by the chirping of cicadas when you push past the sliding glass door out to the gardens. you slipped through the crowd quietly enough and without anyone pulling you aside or calling after you, so you hope no one but seungcheol will be coming to look for you out here.

you need that damn cigarette.

reaching into the side of your bra, you slide out the cigarette, but turn up empty when you try to feel for the lighter that should be right next to it.

you must look insane as you feel your own boobs up, trying to find where the lighter might’ve shifted to. you’re about to start patting at the grass until the crunch of gravel has your head snapping up.

seungcheol cocks his head, tutting at the sight of the cigarette hanging between your lips. “you know better than that.”

“oh, fuck off. don’t even try to parent me.”

“language.” he smirks, and it just gets a roll of your eyes in reply.

once seungcheol’s closed the distance between you, he lifts a hand up to your face— and you can only watch in disbelief as he slides the cigarette out from your mouth himself, the pads of his fingers brushing across your lower lip.

you can’t even feel mad as you watch him stuff it away inside his pocket.

flicking your eyes back up to meet his, noticing the newfound heaviness to his gaze and the smirk playing at his lips, you decide you’ll bite first.

“be honest: when you got hard back there, was it because you were checking me out?”

his lips part for a thought, and with the way he’s keeping his eyes locked on yours, you could almost think he’s forcing himself to not trail down.

“i was.”

your tongue pokes your cheek as you grin— in triumph, and in disbelief.

“alright.” you nod. “but why now?”

“what do you mean?”

“why change your mind? you already turned me down before.”

“and i can’t tell you enough how sorry i am. i wish i never did that.” he presses a palm to his chest, face pinching like the memory physically hurts him.

“but you did. you had your chance already.” you fire back, feeling what was once desire quickly derail into your bottled up resentment. “it took you a year to decide you want to return my feelings, but first you had to stand me up and make me look like a—”

“—because i shouldn’t feel them.” seungcheol cuts you off by suddenly closing the distance, massive frame caging you in. you can’t breathe at the sight of his pupils blown wide open, lowering your gaze to the fists clenched at his sides like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

his breath hits your face as he exhales shakily, sounding like he’s two seconds from exploding. “i’ve got no right to feel any type of way about you. i work for your father— hell, i’m old enough to be your father. what kind of man does that make me, feeling the way i do?”

exactly the kind of man you were hoping he was, that’s what.

“you know why i didn’t show that night?” he goes on. “because i was afraid. of what we—what i would do. what i knew would’ve happened because when it comes you i can’t—”

you frown. you know what he means, what he’s trying to imply. but he keeps beating around the bush instead of saying it outright, saying what you’ve wished upon a star for him to confess, and that simply just won’t do.

“what are you saying?” you whisper. seungcheol’s face twitches when he spots your lip tremble (just a little act put on for encouragement). “is this.. are you rejecting me again?”

you go to twist away from him, but seungcheol stops you with two firm hands either side of your arms. heat erupts where he’s holding you.

“no, no—” you watch his throat bob in a gulp before he speaks. feel his fingers dig tighter like he’s still scared you’ll run away. “i do want you. god, fuck, i do. i have. i wish i didn’t but i do and it’s driving me insane.”

there it is.

fucking finally. it feels like victory, like pure bliss.

it is palpable how all the power is in your hands right now. it has been, always. and you know now, this is precisely why seungcheol didn’t show that infamous night. because all resistance runs for the hills where you’re concerned.

you tilt your chin up, revelling in the pure want pouring from his eyes.

you chew your bottom lip softly, watch as his eyes follow your every minuscule move. then you release it, popping the ‘p’ as you say: “prove it.”

seungcheol hesitates a second too long. you open your mouth to berate him— but then he smothers the words with his lips on yours.

it’s soft at first, which takes you back. seungcheol’s hands move over the bare skin of your arms: one falling down to hold your waist, the other holding your cheek. you melt into him, letting him take the lead as your lips follow his.

you breathe in his cologne, sighing out something that sounds like a whine, and a low noise rumbles in seungcheol’s throat over it. he kisses you even harder until your head cranes back from the force. his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, keeping you right where he wants you as he licks into your mouth.

you whine once again around his tongue, just to rile him up, and you get what you want when he pulls you in to press flush against his body. his arousal digs hard into your thigh. you so badly want to tear his flyer open and drop to your knees right here.

your hand wedges between your bodies, and you try to snake your hand down to palm at him before seungcheol’s own flies out to catch it.

he parts with you, smirking with glossy lips as he shakes his head. “uh-uh.”

you pout. “you’ve made me wait this long already.”

“sweetheart,” he hisses when you press your body up against him, thigh shifting to rub at his clothed cock. “we need to make good choices.”

“so what are we doing then?” you say a little too loudly. too carelessly. “because i’m—”

your heart sinks at sound of someone else’s voice, calling out your name.

you can’t will your body to move when your recognition of the voice dawns. seungcheol’s quick to act for you, softly guiding you to your knees. he leads you towards a concrete pillar and you shuffle behind it. it shields barely half of you, and you look up to seungcheol with a panicked expression.

“trust me,” is all he can get out before the voice comes again, startlingly closer.

seungcheol turns around, standing against the beam. you get the hint and hide yourself behind his legs.

“oh… mr. choi.”

“mingyu.” it comes out a little breathless, but he gulps, voice smoothed over as he asks: “what are you doing out here?”

your heart skips a beat when mingyu says that he’s looking for you because you need to talk, and you can only pray that seungcheol kept his face straight.

you question if mingyu would even notice anyways, since he’s obviously had some more alcohol since the last time you spoke, with how he’s drawling his words.

“i thought i just heard her voice...”

“what do you need to talk to her about?” seungcheol answers too quick, too snappy.

“it’s… private.”

fuck.

seungcheol shifts his weight, forcing himself to not glance back at you, and mingyu seems to catch on to whatever seungcheol’s reaction gave away.

“is she there?”

you’re sure both your and seungcheol’s stomachs dropped in unison.

he manages to shake his head. “nope. i haven’t seen her all night.”

mingyu nods, seemingly wrestling with himself on whether or not to say something, before landing on a decision.

“chan says he saw you with her earlier.” the server boy? fuck, did mingyu get his friend a job? well, someone’s getting fucking blacklisted tonight— “apparently you looked really close.”

“i’m good friends with her father. yours is, too.”

“no, but..” mingyu shifts, gravel crunching under his shoe. “he said it was a weird close. like it looked like something—”

“i think you should lay off the champagne, mingyu.” seungcheol cuts in, deadpanning. “that’s not an appropriate thing to insinuate about your father’s coworker and his boss’s daughter.”

mingyu stammers, and deciding that he needs to fuck off now, seungcheol makes a show of sighing like he’s run out of patience.

“well,” seungcheol says, slipping his hand out from his pocket, and you can only watch in pure fucking disbelief as he pulls your lighter out— followed by your cigarette as he sticks it between his lips. “i’ll see you inside after i have this.”

you can hear mingyu taking a step back, seemingly accepting defeat.

“and mingyu? have some water while you’re at it.”

you listen to his receding footsteps and for the sliding glass door to shut in the distance before you get back up.

“kim’s boy, huh?” seungcheol starts before you can, tone accusatory.

“are you mad?”

“no.”

“i can literally tell that you are.”

“you weren’t honest with me.” he sulks.

“i don’t need to tell you who i’m with.” you snap back, growing annoyed. “that’s none of your business.”

“you’re together?” his eyes go wide as saucers as he exclaims.

“no, we’re not.” you scowl. “it shouldn’t even matter to you, but since you won’t just drop it: we went out for a bit. i broke it off and we stayed friends. that’s it.”

you graciously neglect to mention the part where you sometimes still see him on lonely nights, hence why he won’t leave you alone.

but so what? a girl has needs and seungcheol denied you them. mingyu was eager to please and he was a gentleman, and he’s older than you just enough to fill the seungcheol-sized void.

seungcheol looks like he wants to scold you— for what exactly, you’re not sure, since he’d just be a raging hypocrite.

among other things, actually.

“how about i ask you why you have my lighter, you fucking perv.” you punctuate the question with a finger pressed to his chest.

seungcheol’s lip twitches. “was i supposed to leave it in the bathroom? not a good look at an event like this.”

“your face won’t have a good look when i fucking—”

seungcheol shuts you up with a kiss on the lips, wasting no time to push his tongue past your teeth. his hands are back on your body, though he’s mindful in where he puts them, even if that means he’s avoiding right where you want him to squeeze you.

you push yourself up against him, mindlessly rocking your hips and chasing the outline of his cock through the layers.

you’re too impatient at this point, adrenaline pumping hot from nearly getting caught by mingyu. you need an out to this energy before you implode. you need him.

“want you, cheol,” you whine in between his tongue tasting every inch of your month.

even through all the fabric you can feel his cock twitch at your words. you paw at his chest when he doesn’t respond— whining on his tongue and grinding down on his hips until he breaks off the kiss, cussing in between heavy breaths.

his eyes flit all over your face while he thinks scattered thoughts. he licks the taste of your spit off his lips, then pinches your chin between his fingers. “i want you too, gorgeous. but we don’t have many options.”

god fucking damn, you’re about to actually just bend over a bush if he doesn’t get in you within the next few minutes.

“did you drive here?”

“i did.” seungcheol reaches into his pocket, and his car keys jingle.

“then let’s fucking go.”

ever the gentleman, seungcheol opens the back door to his car for you to climb in first. on your hands and knees, you make a show of hiking your ass in the air as you crawl to the other side. you’re not even sat down before you hear seungcheol shuffling in behind you, and you jump when the door slams shut. 

“are you trying to draw attent—?”

“—come here.” seungcheol urges you breathlessly, his large hands on your waist guiding you to lay back on the seats before he’s diving in to kiss you. 

since you both know exactly where this is going, you’re a lot more shameless now. you let all the little whines spill from your lips as seungcheol kisses you, each noise just driving him crazier as his tongue licks deeper and harder into the heat of your mouth. 

he keeps his body hovering over yours, mindful to keep his full weight off of you, even as you tug at his shirt to try and get him to press against you. both his palms roam freely up and over your curves, grabbing greedy handfuls of the flesh through the fabric, yet conveniently avoiding the places right where you want him. 

frustrated, you bunch your hands in the fabric of his shirt like you’re trying to tear it open, and he chuckles lowly onto your lips. 

“patience, sweetheart.” he coos, gently stroking your hair. 

you groan. “cheol, i want you to—”

he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your lips. you try to slide your tongue past his teeth, but he pulls away, tutting. 

“i know what you want.” he smiles, pinching your chin between his fingers. “and i’ll give it to you. just let me do what i want first, yeah?” 

you narrow your eyes at him. you haven’t waited literal years to get fucking edged any more by him. 

you go to argue again, but you shut up real quick when his hand finally finds your breast, gently kneading it. you whine as he swipes a thumb right over your nipple, earning a soft groan from seungcheol in response. 

“i knew you weren’t wearing a bra.” he says hoarsely, seemingly entranced at how the bud hardens through the thin fabric. 

seungcheol flicks and pinches at your nipples over the dress, and your hips end up unintentionally bucking from the sensitivity— knocking right into his crotch he was intentionally keeping away from you. seungcheol lets out a heavy breath, looking like you’re crumbling his resolve with every second. 

“this fucking dress..” he sighs, almost to himself. 

“do you like it?” 

“i love it.” he smiles, tapping the strap on your shoulder. “take this off for me before i rip it?” 

you nod, tugging the straps over your arms and pulling the top of the dress down your chest, exposing your bare tits to him. seungcheol watches with a slack jaw, and you worry he might start drooling. 

you blink, and then he basically jumps at you, latching his mouth to your nipple. you squeak when his tongue swirls over the sensitive bud— keeping the other occupied as he flicks at it with his thumb. 

seungcheol finally drops his body down to yours, and when you feel the weight of his arousal press at your thigh, in the next breath you’re tugging your dress up to wrap your legs around his pelvis and grinding right up against it. 

a strained groan from seungcheol rumbles on your chest before his free hand flies down to grab at your ass, a futile attempt to hold you in place as you keep rutting your clothed heat against his. 

his mouth pops off you, the hand at your nipple reaching up to hold your jaw as a warning— not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your eyes glint in anticipation. seungcheol notices, and his lip curls. 

“you want this too, don’t you?” his hand slides down to yours neck, softly pressing in until your breath audibly hitches. you nod frantically. he cocks his head, breathless. “god, you’ll kill me.” 

“stop making me wait then.” you pout. admittedly, it’s not like you to forego all foreplay. quite the opposite actually. but you’ve also never had a man like choi seungcheol above you. you might as well have orgasmed already with the wet mess that’s down there, and you need his cock to clean it up yesterday. 

seungcheol chuckles on his way back down to your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth to suck. your hips grind on him again at the sensation, and this time it gets him to snap.

you gasp when his hand tightens around your throat, pushing you down into the car cushion as he takes over, rolling his hips harshly into yours. you can feel the length of his cock dragging against you, chasing the friction through all the layers— and another suck of his mouth on your nipple has your eyes rolling back without him even being in you yet. 

“didn’t you parents teach you how to use your manners?” seungcheol asks you, thrusting at an angle that has his cock prodding right where your hole is. “hm?” 

all that leaves you is a whimper when his fingers dig further into your neck, another gush of wetness soaking your underwear. 

god, you love that he’s older. that he’s got countless years more of experience than you and he knows exactly how to use it. that he’s not afraid to own it anymore— talking down at you like you’re a child who needs a scolding. 

you knew you haven’t wanted him since you first met for nothing. seungcheol just keeps getting more and more perfect. 

“please,” you nearly cry out, going batshit insane at the feel of his cock grinding against you but not in you. “please just put it in me already, cheol, seriously,”

you’re not one to beg but you don’t even care at this point. you’re so horny you can’t remember left from right. 

thankfully, that seems to tug at his heartstrings. he pulls both hands away from you, reaching down to hike your dress further up your tummy and out of his way. you spread your legs as far as you can in the cramped space, and he cusses lowly when his eyes land on your soaked-through panties. 

seungcheol shuffles back on the carseat, leaning down until he’s level with your core. tentatively, he trails a finger over the fabric, and he moans when he feels you clench around nothing. you physically can’t wait any longer. 

“stop teasing me, old fucking man.” 

seungcheol’s response is closing his mouth over your clothed pussy, causing you to full-body jolt as his tongue drags over the fabric like he can’t even wait to get it off first. 

“fuck.” he groans, and you can hear his lips smacking as he licks the taste of you off them. you prop yourself up by your elbows, and you can’t help yourself to whining impatiently as you watch him hook a finger around your underwear to pull it aside. 

“i’ll fuck you soon, sweetheart. promise.” seungcheol smiles up at you, pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy apart. “just gotta taste you first.” 

you sob out into the car when you feel the heat of his tongue dip into your hole, licking up the pooled slick before it drags upwards, stopping to circle at your clit. 

your hand finds solace in his hair, grabbing at the locks until you damn nearly make a bald patch. seungcheol only encourages you with a moan, the noise vibrating on your pussy. 

seungcheol mutters curses while he spits directly onto your clit, and you pull at his locks as you jump. he uses two fingers to rub his saliva onto your clit, his mouth diving back down to fuck you on his tongue. 

you’ve never been eaten out like this, like the man down there is a fucking caveman about to starve to death. there’s no doubt a massive stain on his car seat from all the spit and slick running down from between your thighs. seungcheol doesn’t seem to pay the thought any mind, lapping at your clit like a dog while his fingers keep you spread wide open so you can feel him lick at every nerve end. 

with how he’s eating you out like a madman, it’s barely a few minutes before your stomach’s coiling tight, your moans turning higher and faster as you pulse under seungcheol’s tongue. 

you whine as you clench down around nothing but air once again, and you hadn’t realised your eyes even closed before you’re opening them to stare down at seungcheol. 

his eyes, however, never left you— gaze trained on how your face scrunches, lip even curled in that cocky ass way as it closes around your clit to suck harshly. it only makes you clench down again, desperate to feel him in your fucking guts. 

“f-fuck me—” you manage to get out around a moan. “use your—”

there’s a wet smack as his mouth comes off you. 

“manners.” he reminds you, blowing softly on your clit just to be mean, and something that sounds like a sob leaves you. 

you’re so out of it that you don’t even hear the strained ‘please’ from your mouth since his is immediately back on you— tongue attentively swirling on your clit as his hand snakes down, sliding his pointer finger into your wet heat. 

you don’t even realise just how hard you’re tugging at his scalp either until his loud moan rumbles on your clit. in retaliation, a second finger joins the first, crooking up to hit your sweet spot. 

he moans again when you clench down around his fingers— and when you start to tighten around him in spasms, he knows what’s happening before you do.

seungcheol starts to curl his fingers relentlessly and hollow his cheeks around your clit just before you can topple off the edge, so your orgasm comes slamming into you like a bag of bricks. 

you shout something that might be his name in between your borderline screams, seungcheol staying diligent to fuck you with his fingers and suck you with his mouth right until you physically can’t shake anymore. 

as you’re winding down from your high, seungcheol leaves kitten licks on your clit until you’re pawing at him that it’s too much. 

he smirks, dragging his knuckles against your walls as he pulls his fingers out, leaving one last kiss on your clit before he sits up. 

when you’re finally not catching your breath anymore, you look back to seungcheol, and you’re instantly ready to go again when you see he’s palming himself over his slacks as he licks the taste of you from his fingers.

you grab at his belt loop to weakly tug him closer, batting your lashes as you ask: “my turn?” 

he chuckles hoarsely. “if we weren’t in this car, it wouldn’t be your turn for a long—” he cuts himself off with a hiss when you grab his whole length through his slacks. 

it sits heavy in your palm, twitching just from the heat of your touch. you stroke him over the damp mess of fabric, and he gets lost in the feel of your hand for only a moment— eyes fluttering shut as he breathes out a moan— before he’s stopping you with a firm hand around your wrist. 

“fuck, if you do that..”

you pout. “you promised me.” 

he nods, before the lust-fuelled haze falters for just a moment. he goes silent, and you’re worried he may be getting cold feet before he mutters: “…i don’t have a condom.” 

you blink, unphased. “then just don’t go inside.”

“what?” his eyes go wide as saucers. “sweetheart, don’t just go saying things if you’re not—”

“i’m certain, cheol.” you reassure him, this close to just jumping him like a tree. “now hurry up.” 

“fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” 

“going dry over here—”

you gasp out a moan when seungcheol plunges two fingers into you, curling them without warning. 

“thought you wanted this old man?” 

the motherfucker just smirks as he keeps fucking into that spongey spot, his free hand working on unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. 

“god, lucky i’m not going inside. you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you clench around his fingers at the name, and he breathes out a moan at the revelation. “you like being called that? huh? baby?” he coos, and you can only nod weakly in response. 

you don’t even realise he’d pulled his pants and boxers down until his dick is bobbing out and slapping his shirt, a string of precum connecting it. you just gape at the size of him, watching in awe as he pulls his fingers out from your pussy and strokes himself with your slick. his eyes flutter shut as he fucks his fist, moaning softly into the car. 

suddenly not having a condom is the least of your worries. 

“take these off for me?” he says hoarsely, tugging at your panties. 

“they’re already to the side.” 

“i want to see all of you. i haven’t waited this long to not…” he trails off, hoping you don’t mention it. you do. 

“oh, have you thought about this before?” you grin. 

his mouth opens then shuts, mind gone blank at the sight of your bare pussy laying before him. he nods. 

the confession shoots straight down to your core, and seungcheol exhales when your pussy visibly twitches. “my fucking god.” 

you make a mental note to hound him later to know exactly how he’s thought about you like this in the past.

he leans in, and you squirm when his tip nudges your clit. he guides his cock down, cursing when his head is soaked in the slick pooled at your hole. briefly, you think his self-control is going to snap, before his cock travels back up, smearing your pussy in the mix of your arousal and his pre. 

seungcheol’s already heaving above you, eyes trained on how you clench around thin air while his cock rubs over your clit. 

you actually can’t take it anymore. 

“cheol,” you grab at his cock, and he keels over with a moan at your vice grip. “i can’t do this. i need you in me.” 

“sh—fucking shit,” he moans, “baby, as much as i want to we can’t,” 

“i don’t care.” you near sob. “you promised me you would, please, if you’ve really waited this long then show me. you can even keep my panties.“

his hips buck at the thought, right into the circle of your fist, and he twitches violently in your palm with a tortured groan. you think you could throw up from how badly you want to feel that twitching and leaking inside you. 

“okay,” seungcheol pulls out from your hand, face contorting. “okay. but the second you want to stop—”

“not gonna wanna stop.” you grin, triumphant. 

he shakes his head with a smile like he’s in disbelief. he holds your hamstrings with his hands, lining himself up with your core. you whine when his tip nudges into your heat. seungcheol takes a moment to breathe before he slowly inches forward, giving you time to adjust to the stretch or to tap out. 

if he hadn’t of fucked you on his fingers, seungcheol would’ve split you in fucking half right now. the size of him burns, and you dig your fingers into his biceps as you settle around him, pussy fluttering. seungcheol hums softly each time. 

“fuck,” he laughs out breathlessly. “this was a bad idea. i don’t know how long i’ll last.” 

“you can move.” you croak out. 

seungcheol forces himself to get out a nod, snapping his hips once before you’re both moaning in unison. anyone who walked by the parking lot could probably hear what’s happening before they see it. that’s the last thing on your mind though, as seungcheol starts fucking you with a steady rhythm. 

you’re completely lost in the feel of his cock dragging inside of you, tip fucking right into your g-spot with each precise thrust. you couldn’t care less about the gaps in your years of experience when it gets him to fuck you like this, like he’s completely in tune with your body. 

before you know it you’re pulsing around him like crazy, eyes rolling back into your head, and seungcheol bites down on his lip as he channels all his willpower into fucking you through your orgasm as it washes over you. 

he can’t last as long as he was trying to, and you whimper through the aftershocks of your high just as seungcheol reaches his— shooting warm ropes of cum into your pussy. 

he stops himself from crushing you with elbows planted beside your head as he keels over, and you wince at every ragged twitch of his cock as he pulls out. 

you both catch your breaths for what may have been minutes, fogging up the car windows. 

“you’re trying to kill me.” seungcheol finally speaks, voice strained from all the hooting and hollering. 

“you’d deserve it.” 

“i would. i meant to ask, before we..” he gestures to your bodies, covered in sweat and spit. “would you let me take you out? to dinner?” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “finally hungry a year later?” 

“baby, i’ve been hungry.” he taps at your still-sensitive pussy and you writhe, swatting him away. he chuckles. “but i meant everything i’ve said tonight. however i can make this up to you, just say the word and i’ll do it.” 

you hum in thought, before an evil thought bubbles up to the surface.

you smile sweetly, pressing a kiss to his nose. “let me ask my dad first.” 

M.LIST ⋮ TAGLIST ⋮ ASK

@ateez-atiny380 @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lunaryoongie @vanillakirstein @babycaratdeul @sseungcheols @sunnysidesins @livelaughloveseventeen @nezhamoment @nervousaggressive @madebybec @aaronwarners69thwife @gyuguys @macherizz @my-neurodivergent-world @bussdownflockiana @jm1655 @sunbrighty @acolytees @darknesscreepin @k4trinabluu @justwonus @beatrixssworld @coupssvtdn@bluebellocean @ladywhistledownx @carnalcrows @joshualoveshot @haechanien @gyuslv @acolytees @woncheoliez @bt21chim @arrowpacc @cherrybabycheol @geeznena @jnghanlvr@thinxwhitexlies @choitcherry08 @darknesscreepin @barilnisanzu @fwairychlo3@precious1vory @t-r-b-l-e @fallingruby @cherryas-world @marindalva@beomgyusgrapes @trippledoublecherry @janeluvwonuuuu @fangkexin @soodesuu@hhwksixjshs @bunnystrm @putlonghatdog @speedywizardland @coupsiesss@slut4kwon @ashleytjw @nxysh0124 @cheerscheol @haomywife @dianasoliss12@wheinkyy @choco-scoups @janagalvez godnfucking damn so many people wanted to read this shit

[malsmoony]

me bc i’m acting like freaky sonic rn